The Kid Stays in the Picture, theatre review: A dark look at the life of a Hollywood legend

Simon McBurney is often described as a visionary — a wildly inventive artist who presides over his company Complicite with an unusual mix of rigour and generosity. Here, working with James Yeatman, he’s adapted legendary Hollywood mogul Robert Evans’s memoir of magic and madness.

For a while at the outset we’re confronted with a row of actors speaking into microphones, and it seems as though we’re going to be stuck with something akin to a dry corporate presentation. But before long a swirling collage assembles — combining projections, news cuttings, deft impersonation and carefully curated sound effects to create an absorbing feast of reminiscence.

The highs of Evans’s career were thrilling. After a brief and undistinguished spell as an actor, he turned to production. Involved with The Godfather, Love Story and Chinatown, he mixed with Marlon Brando, Jack Nicholson, Roman Polanski and Henry Kissinger. Along the way he saved a struggling studio and breathed fresh life into the movie industry.

But the lows were dismal — a tempestuous marriage, drug busts, a connection to a creepy murder case — and as we survey his triumphs and subsequent unravelling, this homage to a workaholic charmer also serves as a testament to his vanity and as a scandalous indictment of Tinseltown politics.

At different points in his life Evans is played by Heather Burns and Christian Camargo, as well as a barely visible yet resonantly audible Danny Huston. We see him as a callow young man and then as a cool deal-maker, perpetually juggling phones, and we also observe him in silhouette, narrating his rise and fall with a voice that calls to mind a dusty road.

There’s always a risk that a show this dependent on technological wizardry will go awry. The production’s opening was delayed by various hiccups, and there are still moments when the balance between its many distinct elements is precarious. Yet it’s layered, evocative and nimbly performed, flecked with humour but mostly feeling like a dark and sleazy dream.

Until April 8, Royal Court Theatre; royalcourttheatre.com