Review: DEALER’S CHOICE, Donmar Warehouse

Photo credit: Helen Murray

Before the first line is even spoken, Dealer’s Choice has already drawn you in. As the audience enter the Donmar Warehouse, opera music hums through the space, and Daniel Lapaine’s Steven is already on stage, silently focused, meticulously drawing lettering with a ruler. It’s a quietly compelling image—order, routine, control—all of which will soon unravel in a gripping exploration of masculinity, power, and vulnerability.

Patrick Marber’s 1995 play is revived with real bite by director Matthew Dunster, and this Donmar production proves just how relevant and resonant the story remains nearly three decades on.

Moi Tran’s set design is minimal but richly effective. A working kitchen with hob and sink stretches upstage, while a modest table and two chairs sit downstage. This clean divide between the restaurant’s back and front of house is sharply drawn, and the thrust stage layout pulls the action into an intimate, immersive space. It’s a configuration that demands precision, and the cast never drop the ball.

Daniel Lapaine’s Steven is a successful restaurant owner wealthy, posh, and always in control. Or at least, he likes to think he is. Lapaine walks the line between charm and coldness, veiling frustration beneath tight smiles and clipped commands. His relationships are complicated: part mentor, part boss, and part antagonist to his staff; and with his son Carl, it’s a heart-breaking portrait of a parent who’s given everything except what was needed most.

Act 1 offers a lighter tone, driven largely by Hammed Animashaun’s standout performance as Mugsy. He’s bursting with energy, quick wit, and perfectly timed one-liners that cut through moments of tension. Mugsy is bold, full of ideas, and always angling for more. Whether he’s pitching his business idea to Steven or trying to lighten the mood, Animashaun gives the character irresistible charm and presence. He’s the comic heartbeat of Act 1, but never a caricature; his humour is a coping mechanism as much as a source of laughs.

Theo Barklem-Biggs plays Sweeney, the surly competent chef, with understated grit. He moves around the kitchen with complete authenticity, genuinely cooking mid-scene and provides a steady counterbalance to the louder personalities around him. Alfie Allen’s Frankie brings flair and flamboyance, injecting moments of camp confidence into the group dynamic. There’s a smoothness to his delivery and presence that brings levity without undermining the character’s emotional truth. His chemistry with Mugsy and Sweeney is natural and lived-in; you completely believe these three have shared years of post-shift pints and behind-the-pass arguments.

One standout moment in Act 1 is a scene split between two escalating arguments, Sweeney and Frankie in the kitchen; Steven and Carl at the table. The layering is skilfully directed, and the contrast in emotional outbursts, knife-grabbing fury versus icy verbal attacks, reveals much about the characters’ class, upbringing, and coping mechanisms.

Brendan Coyle’s arrival as Ash introduces a quiet sense of tension. At first, he’s treated like an inconvenient customer, someone the staff are trying to hurry out the door so they can begin their regular after-hours poker game. But the shift is brilliantly executed. By the end of Act 1, it becomes clear that Ash isn’t just here for a bite to eat. The way he gradually moves from background annoyance to the story’s true antagonist is handled with real finesse. It’s a surprising and satisfying twist not through a dramatic reveal, but through a slow, steady recalibration of how we see him.

It’s in Act 2 that the production truly takes flight. The set transformation is theatrical brilliance: the kitchen slides back, the floor lifts, and a revolving poker table is revealed beneath, complete with a drop-down staircase. It’s not just a technical feat, it’s a visual metaphor. The audience quite literally descends into the basement, into darker emotional territory. And the revolving stage becomes more than a gimmick; it builds suspense and reinforces the constantly shifting balance of power. Each spin raises the stakes, keeping the audience just as on edge as the characters.

Here, every actor gets their moment to shine. The comedic warmth of Act 1 gives way to emotional volatility, rage, desperation, disappointment. Mugsy, who seemed so full of optimism, now reveals just how deeply he longs for something more. His loud, gleeful cry of “diamonds!” each time he pulls one from the deck has the audience howling with laughter but beneath the bravado, it’s clear he’s clinging to hope with both hands.

As players fold and exit, the poker game becomes more psychological than strategic. The final moments between Steven, Ash, and Carl are raw and tense, building to a quiet devastation. The final moments between Steven and Carl is heartbreakingly restrained a man desperate to connect with a son who can’t, or won’t, be saved.

If there is one area where the stakes feel slightly underplayed, it lies in the conclusion of Ash’s arc. For much of the play, he’s positioned as a threatening outsider, slowly shifting from a minor disruption to a figure of danger. But when it’s revealed that he’s ultimately not so different from Carl, and is in fact another gambling addict stuck in a self-destructive cycle, the narrative payoff feels a touch muted. It’s not a reflection on Brendan Coyle’s performance, which is compelling throughout, but more a structural note in the writing: a build-up that promises a greater explosion than it delivers.

Still, Dealer’s Choice remains a compelling piece of theatre, sharply written, slickly directed, and brought vividly to life by a knockout cast. It may not fully cash in on every dramatic chip, but it still plays a smart, satisfying hand.

**** Four stars

Reviewed by: Laura Harris

Dealer’s Choice plays at London’s Donmar Warehouse until 7 June, with further info here.