The Rolling Stone is very much a play.

And yes, that’s a veiled indictment of the text’s square structure. Form is best when it’s in conversation with the content, and not merely a straightforward vehicle for it, one that transparently allows the playwright to cover the ground he wants to explore, missing the content-form interplay that complicates, deepens, and expands the piece’s potential resonance.

Singling out one member of the cast should in no way diminish the rest, but: keep both eyes on James Udom; the chameleonic range he displayed between his performance here and in last season’s Mies Julie forebodes a hell of a career ahead.

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