'Assassins' review or 'Bullseye.'

Assassins, Stephen Sondheim

Watermill Theatre, 30th September 2019

Written for The Guardian 

Assassins is almost certainly the musical we deserve right now, but is it what we need? Stephen Sondheim’s musical, which premiered in 1990, sets out to decimate the American Dream but you may ask if there is anything left to decimate.

With a score and lyrics by Sondheim (both brutally clever and inventive) and a snappy book from John Weidman, this is a deeply unsettling yet seductive show about a rostrum of real-life assassination attempts on US presidents, from Abraham Lincoln through to Ronald Reagan. Director Bill Buckhurst has past form with Sondheim revivals and has done a stellar job with his musician-actor ensemble. His production feels punchy, dangerous and downright brave in places. But it’s also a strangely deadening experience – one that lights up the brain but snuffs out the heart.

Buckhurst and designer Simon Kenny shroud their show in a fading American flag: peeling red, white and blue paint adorns the stage walls and, in a typically flamboyant yet devastating scene, an assassin is executed using a flag-coloured noose.

Amid the assassinations, a “cheery” balladeer (played with a cool yet chipper spirit by Lillie Flynn) pops up and reminds us that the bad guys do not win: “Angry men don’t write the rules/and guns don’t right the wrongs.” It’s such a brilliant line, yet there’s something almost too on-the-nose about Sondheim’s icy irony. In another bruising scene, Samuel Byck (Steve Simmonds) sits in a cramped and gloomily-lit booth. Intent on killing President Nixon, this father of four – dressed in a grubby Santa suit – barks out: “Who do we believe? Who do we trust? What do we do?” The parallels with today are almost too pertinent to bear.

It’s the funny scenes that create a bit of distance and allow us to look at the dark themes from a slightly different angle. Evelyn Hoskins and Sara Poyzer are excellent as two wannabe assassins of President Ford. They guzzle coke, confess their warped fantasies and practise their aim with that most American of props – a huge bucket of cheap fried chicken.