There is seemingly no end to the drama that can be wrung out of the lives of miserable rich people. Miserable rich people, with their jealously guarded little empires and their taste for refined cruelty and their toxic secrets and their sense that no level of wealth or privilege or influence is ever quite enough. Welcome to The Party, then: adapted by Sarah Solemani from Elizabeth Day’s 2017 novel and landing in territory that feels familiar but still able to bear minor variations.
As we meet Luke Evans’s political journalist Martin Gilmour, he’s spattered in blood and being interviewed by the police. It’s clear that something has gone terribly wrong. Via multiple timelines, it soon emerges that it could be any number of things. Martin (Jonathan Houlston stars as the younger version) is a working-class lad from Wales who, as a teenager, was sent on a scholarship to an elite public school. He isn’t quite as good at rugby as his background might suggest but in an otherwise unwelcoming world, he falls under the influence of handsome, entitled young aristo Ben Fitzmaurice (played as a teenager by Lucas Ely and then, by Tom Cullen).
Before he knows it, he’s code-switching: pheasant shoots, gentle flirtations with Ben’s sister Phoebe and Bullingdon-esque parties in which cocaine is snorted, vomit is sprayed and elderly butlers are jocularly humiliated. TV dinners watching Corrie with his mum Sylvia lose their appeal. However, Martin is also writing Ben’s essays for him – and this is by no means the last time Ben’s status will allow him to mercilessly exploit Martin’s brains. The red flags in The Party come early, come often and aren’t flown with any great subtlety.
Back in the present, it’s time for a party. Ben is turning 40 and is hosting a lavish do at a glorious country pile. Shortly after Ben and his pregnant wife Lucy (Solemani) arrive at the venue, a bout of semi-serious but mildly homoerotic play-wrestling ensues. It’s clear that these two men have an intimate, intense relationship. Ben has left a gift in his pocket but Martin has to fish it out. You’d guess this is probably not particularly common behaviour among middle-aged British men but maybe you just had to go to the right school?
Initially, there’s something oddly stilted about The Party. Evans’s performance feels slightly wooden but it becomes clear that this awkwardness isn’t a bug but a feature. He’s supremely uncomfortable in his own skin. Martin’s Welsh Valleys accent comes and goes, depending on his level of emotion and who he’s talking to. He doesn’t quite belong in any of the worlds he inhabits and he’s keenly aware of that fact.
But frankly, who would want to belong in this world? Ben may be celebrating but he’s schmoozing, too. This is a weird party: a party in which people bosh rails of powder and line dance to “Saturday Night” by Whigfield. It’s a party full of vaudeville performers, haunted-looking wives making the best of it and leathery men called Giles conspiring in corners while glugging enormous tumblers of whiskey. Who are these strange people? They’re Tories, basically. The party leader has announced their resignation and Ben’s guests are jostling for position. Ben is jostling too. Martin is his media consigliere: he’s still out of his element but he now knows the lie of the land and has weapons at his disposal.
For a start, he knows where the bodies are buried. Drip-fed across the first four episodes, elements of Ben and Martin’s friendship origin story often feel melodramatic and less than plausible. Their relationship hinges on two secrets: one dark and tragic, the other innocent but still shrouded in shame. Essentially, it’s a drama about class, sexuality and repression. But these elements sometimes feel like they’re not fully explored: both men are, in different ways, closed books but even so, too much of their internality goes unexamined, even as they’re driven to breaking point. Why are they like this? It remains a mystery.
Accordingly, The Party doesn’t quite live up to its obvious forebears (the BBC’s 2006 adaptation of The Line of Beauty feels like a clear reference point). A fine supporting cast, which includes Joanna Scanlan and Lindsay Duncan, feels slightly underused. Still, while it could have gone harder in terms of examining its themes of co-dependence, sexual repression and establishment corruption, it sails along very entertainingly. It’s not a party you’d want to attend but it’s one you’ll happily, voyeuristically observe with a shudder. Towards the end, one copper describes the case that unfolds as “Toff v Taff”. As it turns out, he’s not far off the mark. The lingering sense remains, though, that The Party could have been slightly more.
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