David Mamet’s The Shawl, first produced in Chicago in 1985, is an extremely concentrated (yet not overbrimming) example of what its author is capable of. Written only a couple of years after the success of Glengarry Glen Ross, it is a tiny play in four acts that can be performed in just under an hour, with three perfectly crafted characters: a (possibly) psychic middle-aged man, John; his younger and impatient lover, Charles; and an elegant, wealthy woman in her forties, sparingly referred to as Miss A, who is trying to come to terms with her mother’s death. Miss A comes looking for John’s supernatural help, and we witness their private sessions as well as John’s moments of supposed honesty with Charles - a vast quantity of money on one side, and the lack of it on the other, are the double pivot of the plot.

In the hands of a less brilliant playwright, by the end of the fourth act we would know what to make of John - a fraud, a genuinely kind man, a selfish old guy who is only after the money to secure a future with a younger partner, someone with a real gift. Thanks to Mamet’s talent, and thanks to the splendidly staged production that the Arcola makes out of it, there is no line in the sand, in spite of our best and repeated attempts at tracing one throughout the hour, we are mostly cynical about the whole business - or are we?

Mamet has often shown a keen interest in the most subtle and least perceptible mechanisms of heists, cheats, and betrayals; his brilliance lies in the fact that his works regularly refuse to take the obvious moral stance - or, actually, any moral stance at all. Another one of his 1980s plays, Speed-the-Plow, was resurrected a couple of years ago at the Old Vic, in a stellar production with Kevin Spacey and Jeff Goldblum - there as here, a triangle of two men and a woman, the two men closely connected until the female arrives, served as ambiguous personifications of different ethical principles. There as here, by the end of the evening the audience was left confused, questioning not only what their opinion of the matters at hand was now, but what exactly had it been before, and why? Before watching The Shawl, I would have thought that it would take quite an effort for someone to convince someone else of his psychic gifts; I am now left wondering whether exactly the opposite could be true - after all, as John says, ‘we all want magic’.

The greatness of The Shawl demands a precise director and a clever cast, and the intimidating perception of this might be the reason why this play is not picked up more often (whereas one might expect its length and lack of particular staging requirements should make it a favourite for fringe companies who like text-based theatre). There is a very sizable risk of overkilling it by providing the answer that Mamet denies. But this does not happen at the Arcola, as this is a shining, impressive production. Amelia Nicholson’s superbly controlled direction profits from two memorable performances: Elizabeth McGovern is a hurt and fiery Miss A, with the perfect look of the well-groomed woman with a nervous disposition. Matthew Marsh, after a hypnotising opening speech that sets the tone of what is coming next - and, I suspect, makes us all desperate to be enthralled by John – gives an incredible eye-rolling, sweaty, virtuoso monologue during a séance scene. Anna Bliss Scully gets the design just right - an unmistakably American set with a shadow of Puritan constraint.

A few critics have said this production is so exceptional that it should transfer to the West End; this is true, if by this one means it should receive what would be considered the highest possible honour on the London theatrical scene. However, in its present staging it really is remarkably perfect - the dark and industrial performing space inside the Arcola’s Studio 1, the lack of fuss and crowds, even the location of the theatre somehow confer an extra portion of atmosphere. And most importantly, I would not have wanted to see Marsh and McGovern on a raised stage. So regardless of whether it will, indeed, transfer to the West End in the near future, it should really be seen at the Arcola right now: far into the East End, in a black box with no velvet seats, and close to the actors.

Till 3 October 2009