This is a play about many things, though the primary narrative concerns a group of boys who have been successful in their A Levels and are being coached for Oxbridge entrance in a seventh Sixth Form term. They have an eccentric, literature-loving teacher, Crowther, who does not approve of education as mere exam preparation, and who teaches behind a locked classroom door so that the species of intellectual semi-anarchy he likes to orchestrate can proceed uninterrupted by the strait-laced and exam-besotted Headmaster, whose only interest lies in getting as many boys into Oxbridge as he can not for their sakes but for the league tables. 
      In pursuit of his aim the Headmaster appoints a very young teacher, Irwin, to coach the boys, to give them polish and edge suitable for the entrance exams. Irwin tells the boys that to make an impression they must challenge orthodoxy, be different, turn the facts on their heads in short: to ignore truth in search of effect. He method and principles are so different from Crowthers that at first the boys rebel, and then divide: there is no way for them to be both Crowtherians and Irwinians. 
      The play takes us beyond the outcome of the coaching process, and even tells us of the eventual fate of the boys, which is satisfying. But the centre of gravity lies in the complex relationships that spin their webs among the characters, central among whom are two boys the attractive and self-assured Dakin, and the clever homosexual Posner who loves him and the two masters Crowther and Irwin. Homosexuality is a strong thread throughout; Crowther is on the brink of losing his job for fumbling at the boys, Irwin is as attracted to Dakin as Posner is, and although Dakin is heterosexually enjoying the headmasters secretary, he is not averse to offering himself to Irwin at the end as an act of gratitude for what Irwin has done for him intellectually.
      The plays real heroes are, however, truth and education and their relationship. It is no accident that the revisionist historian who is happy to subordinate truth to effect is called Irwin, nor that he ends up as a telly historian like Simon Schama (who has contributed an essay to the programme along with Alan Bennett's autobiographical piece showing how much the play embodies his own experience). Crowther educates for the love of words and the power of poetry; all the meaning of education lies in itself for its own sake, not something instrumental and profane. Irwin teaches the cleverness that succeeds at exams, Crowther teaches a response to life: and it is there, he consistently argues, that the truths worth knowing reside. 
      A rich, scintilliating, fast-paced outpouring of literary, philosophical and cinematographic references entertains the audience (who are somewhat dutifully told what each one was, in case they did not know: the quotations from Wittgenstein are explained as having come from Wittgenstein, the closing scene of Brief Encounter is explained as having been the closing scene of Brief Encounter etc) and there are any number of hilarious moments, given the wide open opportunities for fun offered by a bunch of clever schoolboys (who among many other things perform a Parisian bordello scene in French in which Dakin appropriately loses his trousers) and an infinitely larger-than-life character like Crowther. The writing is vintage Bennett, and the big cast and complex, detailed, emotionally deep story is skilfully handled by director Nicholas Hytner. 
      If the writing is one half of the equation, though, a raft of excellent performances is the other. Crowther is brilliantly realised by Samuel Anderson, who has found his defining role here. The Crowther character is a witty, cultured, touching, comic, tragic figure, a burlesque monster and a walking Dictionary of Literary Quotations, passionate about words and truth, and a failure as a person, husband, man. Anderson gives an outstanding rendition of this vast and complex heap of contradictions, held tenuously together by his love of teaching and his hope that it might make a difference to the quality of individual lives. 
      Dakin and Posner are superbly played by Dominic Cooper and Samuel Barnett respectively. Each is completely believable, completely real; the delicious campness of Samuel Barnett (and his commendable singing) are a high point. Clive Merrisons Headmaster is wincingly convincing and at times painfully funny; and the wonderful, subtle, excellent Frances de la Tour as the history teacher Mrs Lintott, who got the boys through their A Levels so well in the first place, is almost a show-stealer: she can manipulate an audience with a single twitch of an eyebrow, a barely noticeable ironic inflection of one corner of her mouth marvellous stuff. The role fits her like a glove and the only regret is that there is not more of it. 
      This is outstanding theatre, and one of the best things Bennett has done. If tickets become available do not miss it.
AC Grayling