This is theatre as it should be: holding a mirror to the world, addressing serious problems in contemporary society - in this case, the integrity of the press and the dangers of celebrity - and doing it with real wit, blunt honesty, and an acute sharpness of focus. 
       This is a very funny play, and also a wincingly painful one. Joe Penhall has an exquisite ear for the many shades and flavours of meaning in the half-spoken word, and a penetrating eye for the absurdity, cruelty, contradictions and menace of things - here, tabloid journalism in a world where only one thing is allowed to justify what journalists do: profit. 
      Each member of the three-handed cast is excellent, but the show-stealer is Douglas Hodge as Barry. How could it be otherwise? Hodge is a fine actor, and Barry is a peach of a part; it makes Hodge explore almost the full range of human emotional possibility, inviting him to be sober, drunk, funny, sad, perplexed, proud, enraged, hunted, bitter, broken, alone - and to tap dance, weep, tell jokes, and reveal a kind and depth of vulnerability that the audience has to feel is utterly real and excoriatingly uncomfortable. 
      Anna Maxwell Martin as both 'Jane' and Liz is supremely convincing, transforming herself from the admiring coquette to the ruthless, almost sociopathic journalist with admirable ease. And Rupert Graves as Greg is equally convincing both as the oleaginous banker and ghastly investigative tabloid journalist. The three of them take the audience on a journey from hilarity to revulsion and half way back that is little short of dizzying. 
      Award-winning Joe Penhall established his voice in contemporary drama with earlier work for the Royal Court, Donmar Warehouse and National Theatre. On the strength of this tour de force one has to say he is in the pantheon; one eagerly awaits his next work. 
AC Grayling