Played by Jeremy Irons and Patrick Malahide; directed by Michael Blakemore; based on a novel by Sándor Márai.

It is 1940. Henrik (Irons) has waited for 40 years for his friend Konrad (Malahide) to return, after he left in mysterious circumstances. This is the evening when Konrad returns, and Henrik is determined to find out the truth about what happened.

In the first few minutes we learn that this is somehow about Henrik’s wife, now long dead. (Not surprising, really, that a drama between two men would revolve around a woman.) The rest of the evening slowly uncovers more of the past, revealing why 40 years have passed since they last met, and also explaining why, after 40 years, the meeting is happening at all.

Márai’s storytelling skill is a large part of what makes this play interesting. The story itself is simple. But the way it unfolds is compelling: step by inevitable step, revealing small things that – when you reflect on them for a moment – tell of larger things in the background. It hints at the hours that Henrik has spent obsessing over all of this and rehearsing for this single evening, which he has been waiting for for years. It was also interesting to wonder how much Henrik already knew or guessed, and how much he only consciously realised when talking to his friend.

(As usual, reviewers and even the programme reveal far too much of the story. I’m glad I hadn’t read any of them in advance. The drama would have lost a lot of its power for me if I had known more about the story.)

The stage version is really a monologue by Henrik – Konrad is only there to act as the reason for the story. Unfortunately the only seats we could get, for any weekend, was the last row in stalls, so we didn’t have a very good view and missed quite a lot of Konrad’s performance. Facial expressions don’t carry as well as sound.

I have not read the book, but I understand that it’s not presented as a monologue. I think this approach works well on the stage, but I am interested in reading the original version. Several reviewers have said they preferred the book, and found the stage version inert, bloodless and lacking in life. A matter of taste, I guess – I would describe it as refined, subtle, and simply told. And a play about two old, bitter, world-weary men shouldn’t be lively.

As with many recent shows we’ve seen, the performance would have been even more enjoyable if it the rest of the audience hadn’t been there. Adults should be able to sit still without constant fidgeting through two short acts. And I cannot help but be annoyed by people who expect every play to be funny, and laugh out loud as soon as the story takes an unexpected turn, or an actor uses an unexpected phrase.

Photos.