Hollywood in 1950 was a city built on illusions. Stardom depended on playing a role both on and off screen, and the price of breaking the rules was silence or exile. Michael McKeever’s The Code, now at Southwark Playhouse Elephant, captures this world with elegance and bite. It is a play about glamour, secrecy, and survival, and it lands with an unsettling force.

The setting is the home of Billy Haines, once a star of the silver screen, now an interior designer who refused to trade his relationship for a studio contract. John Partridge gives him quiet authority, a man still charming but deeply aware of the cost of honesty in a dishonest system.

“I’ll give up Jimmy when you give up your wife.” – Billy Haines

There is wit and warmth in his performance, but also resignation, as if he has already walked through the fire. His closest ally is Tallulah Bankhead. Tracie Bennett makes her entrance with a martini in hand and a laugh that can cut through the smoke. She is dazzling, vulgar, magnetic, and vulnerable all at once, a whirlwind of charisma who steals every scene but also gives the play its heart.

“This town isn’t cruel. It’s savage.” – Tallulah Bankhead

Bennett’s Tallulah can make an audience roar with laughter one second and fall silent the next. She embodies survival by sheer force of personality, and it is an astonishing performance.

“The person you think you are does not exist. What you are is an idea. If you don’t like it, there’s the door.” – Henry Willson

Their evening is disrupted by agent Henry Willson and his new discovery Chad Manford. Nick Blakeley’s Willson is smooth and menacing, a man who rewrites lives to suit Hollywood’s demands. Solomon Davy brings Chad from naïve innocence to a young actor caught in the trap of ambition, his collapse both painful and inevitable. The four of them spark against one another, the conversation laced with gossip, seduction, and barely concealed threats.

“I don’t even know who I am anymore.” – Chad Manford

Christopher Renshaw’s direction finds a perfect rhythm, letting the humour sting and the tension build until the room feels like it might explode. McKeever’s dialogue is sharp, full of wit and rage, skewering the hypocrisy of an industry that celebrated beauty while punishing authenticity. “This town is a cesspool,” Tallulah spits, and the line hangs in the air like smoke.

The design frames the story with deceptive glamour. Ethan Cheek’s set of white sofas, peach blinds, and gleaming chrome captures Hollywood style at its most seductive, while Jack Weir’s lighting shifts the room from glittering cocktail lounge to shadowy cage. Everything looks perfect, yet feels fragile, ready to collapse.

What makes The Code resonate is not only its history but its relevance. The silences demanded in 1950 still echo in the industry today. The struggle between truth and image remains, and the play makes that connection without ever forcing it. It is entertaining, funny, and stylish, but also deeply political.

The ensemble is faultless. Bennett is magnificent, Partridge grounds the story with dignity, Blakeley chills with cynicism, and Davy shows us innocence destroyed. Each actor claims the stage in their own way, yet together they create something bigger, a portrait of a system built on compromise and fear.

The Code is more than a glamorous period drama. It is a play about survival, about the cost of hiding, and about the courage to be visible. With its sharp script, immaculate design, and four extraordinary performances, it is one of the finest productions of the year. At Southwark Playhouse Elephant, Hollywood’s golden age has never looked so brilliant or so brutal.

The Code runs at Southwark Playhouse Elephant from 12 September until 11 October 2025, with evening performances at 7pm and matinees on Thursdays and Saturdays at 2.30pm.

Book online at southwarkplayhouse.co.uk

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