The Money, County Hall, review: a fiendish, clever show that tests your generosity
Now here’s a clever idea. First staged in 2013, The Money is a game of cruel and ingenious simplicity, designed to bring out the fuming Handforth Parish Councillor in us all. Each night, two near-silent women – one in red, one in yellow, both with a faint aura of evil – swoop into the grand courtroom of London County Hall. Onto a central table surrounded by “players” – the front two rows of the audience, where tickets for seats are ominously cheaper – they drop a contract and a pile of cash.
The players have an hour to agree unanimously how to spend the money, then sign on it. If they do, it’s theirs; if not, it rolls over to the next night. It can’t be split or given to charity. Other audience members can buy a seat at the table at any point by adding at least £20 to the pot.
I was sitting outside the table, as a “silent witness”. The clock began to tick down. “How much is there?” After an agonising minute of shuffling notes and coins: “£270.” Not a fortune, but not nothing. What would you spend it on? “Beer!” chirruped one bloke. “I’d like a carpet,” offered another. “Books for my school library,” suggested a teacher. This noble idea was batted around for an earnest 15 minutes, until a bored, tipsy lawyer offered £200 from her own pocket for the library just so everyone could shut up about schoolbooks and think of something less dull.
Why not phone up the first contact on a random person’s mobile, and give them the money? Put them on loudspeaker, let the room hear the baffled gratitude. A fun idea, but how to choose randomly? Silence.
At this point I bought my way in, and suggested spin-the-bottle. I spun. It landed on me. There were dark mutterings of a fix. Not wanting to be strung up, I nominated a woman in the second row. We called – held our breath – and got a message saying her SIM was out of credit. Back to the drawing board.
Panic set in. With five minutes on the clock, an angelic child, perhaps eight years old, joined the table. It was the birthday of her cousin, whose broke single mum was having a hard time. Could she spend it on a birthday party? We agreed, giddily, with seconds to spare. A happy ending for all.
But wait. Mesdames Red and Yellow scrutinised the contract, and found only 15 signatures from 16 players. It was invalid. The crestfallen child had forgotten to sign. The crestfallen child had forgotten to sign. All seemed lost, until a final post-show twist: one generous “silent witness” started an informal whip-round for the girl.
The Money isn’t theatre, game-show or social experiment; it is a parable, a blessing and a curse.
Until July 18. Info: themoney.live
