The Prince of Homburg

There was a moment, after we read the first few paragraphs of The Prince of Homburg programme, when we seriously considered getting the fuck out of the Donmar and nipping round the corner to the newly opened Jamie's Italian on Upper St Martin's Lane. Something to do with Heinrich von Kleist committing suicide shortly after writing it, aged 34, possibly, or it being about the Prussian Cavalry and the battle between dreams and the rigid strictures of order; ambition and enthusiasm clashing with institution and formality.
.
But THANK GOD WE DIDN'T because it was utterly, unexpectedly, captivating and brilliant. Sure it's about all those things, but it's such a punchy story, dynamically delivered and swiftly dealt with - there's no posturing, drawn out scenes, long tedious soliloquies or anything i basically thought i was going to have to endure whilst reading the bumph with bug-eyed horror. All the performances were smart, assured and sparky - the dialogue nippy, witty, incisive, direct. the play literally sped from beginning to end with the pace of a match or game - the prize being the Prince of Homburg's life which hangs in the balance as punishment after his overexcited, preemptive charge during battle. Sounds boring? It's NOT. strange, but true.