“I don’t want a job, I want to be an MP!” whines Robert Houston as the press are rattling at the door of his second home to question his expenses claims. Set in the messy midst of the expenses scandal of 2009, The Duck House is the tale of a fictional MP who did all the things that some of our very much real MPs did to get out of paying for anything and/or earn a little bit of extra cash for themselves whilst in power. From the writers behind Have I Got News For You and Mock the Week, the play was never going to pull any punches, and it doesn’t disappoint: no one is spared.
Ben Miller stars as Labour backbencher Houston, a generic paradigm of an MP complete with public school accent encumbered by forced glottal stops. His toffee-nosed, champagne-guzzling, technologically illiterate wife Felicity is the perfect accompaniment, and fully supportive of his decision to jump Gordon Brown’s sinking ship and join the Tories. Political integrity? Ideology? Sod that: “At last we’re Tories! Yes!” they exclaim as they are informed that David Cameron’s right hand man, Sir Norman Cavendish will be coming to see them to check that all is in order before the big announcement is made. The timing, therefore, of The Daily Telegraph’s witch hunt is particularly inconvenient, as it just so happens that Robert has done nigh on everything that his colleagues are getting proverbially crucified for under the nation’s glare, and ‘the call’ from the papers is painfully imminent. Cue a frenzied dash to hide the evidence – the hanging baskets, the massage chair, the elephant lamps, the glittery toilet seat and lord only knows what else, not to mention the dreaded duck house – before Sir Norman arrives.
A duck house, I should clarify, is what Sir Peter Viggers (the sort of Tory big wig to whom Houston aspires) claimed on his expenses for the sum of £1,645. It is exactly what it sounds like: a sort of doll’s house made for ducks, that sits in the middle of a pond in case they feel the need to perch. The ludicrousness of getting the taxpayer to fund such an item made this the perfect symbol of the affair, and forms the crux of the tale at The Vaudeville Theatre; whatever you have claimed for, it had better not be a duck house or else you’re toast.
As Miller himself says, the play “is more of a farce than a satire” and it is magnificently ridiculous. However, by the end of the first half I was somewhat tired of the slapstick silliness – it was like an elongated episode of Fawlty Towers pushed a little too far; did Sir Norman really need to get covered in icing sugar and eggs, and sandwiches, AND manure? And, obviously, it had to happen on the day that this dragon of a man was set to meet the Queen. Just typical, isn’t it? More than one set of eyes started to roll in the audience. For the most part though, the strength and speed of the dialogue made up for such over-indulgence, and things pretty much got back on track for the second half, once a few more plot turns arrived. And, regardless of whatever daft charades were being played out on stage, people were still laughing – it is a show that will tickle everyone, some way or another, for its refreshing, sharp and contemporary writing. In fact, the production’s seeming frivolity highlights the gravity of the scandal in question rather than overshadowing it.
Miller is witty, manic and simply spot on, and bears the weight of the role well. He makes throwaway remarks seem slick and effortless, and as his smugness descends into a frantic plight for self-preservation, you end up gunning for him in a perverse sort of way. Nancy Carroll as Felicity is cruelly accurate, too. Then there’s a bolshie, over-privileged son with a gaudy girlfriend (an endearing Diana Vickers, who is funny and terribly game, but in a one-dimensional role) and a mafia maid fulfilling Daily Mail clichés. The real shocker is Simon Shepherd as Sir Norman – the terrifying Tory grandee with a penchant for tough love from a bad mummy. I really never thought I would see him dressed in a nappy, demanding to be spanked by a rolled up Lisbon Treaty. But stranger things have, I’m sure, happened in Westminster. You need an actor as accomplished as Shepherd to make this ridiculous role laughable for the right reasons and the outcome is, luckily, highly amusing (if mildly disturbing).
Both high and low brow at any one moment, The Duck House is by no means Shakespeare, but it is a good giggle and you need something to make you laugh at this expenses kerfuffle, or else you may very well cry. This play will make you realize that.
The Duck House at the Vaudeville Theatre, 404 Strand, London, WC2R 0NH, until 29th March 2014. For more information and tickets visit the website.
