Illustration by Micah McPherson

Jack Holden’s adaptation of Alan Hollinghurst’s Booker Prize-winning novel, The Line of Beauty, is a chaotic delight.

1983, Notting Hill: a vision of solitude, luxury and rare comfort. Jasper Talbot’s Nick Guest arrives at the Kensington townhouse of Oxford friend Toby Fedden (Leo Suter), whose parents task Nick with “catsitting” their daughter, Catherine, played by Ellie Bamber.

Christopher Oram’s set reflects the townhouse’s luxury, with towering white pillars and mirrored surfaces against the Almeida’s raw brick hinting at the family’s private collapse and Nick’s inner turmoil. The costumes and soundtrack reflect the period without slipping into camp. Ridiculous dresses and music like New Order add character, but focus remains on Nick navigating this alien space.

Half of Nick’s life is idyllic; he lives comfortably in a townhouse among the few Thatcher favoured. But, as a gay man navigating the AIDS epidemic, anxiety follows him. The production handles AIDS respectfully, its quiet presence heightens the stakes of intimacy. Nick exists beyond the crisis, but tension permeates everything he does; his pursuit of beauty and pleasure are always shaped by external pressure.

Holden’s adaptation and Michael Grandage’s direction compel (and frustrate) when exploring intimacy. Sex is frequent but rarely intimate; bodies radiate lust, tenderness is scarce. Early scenes with Nick’s first boyfriend, Leo (Alistair Nwachuku) feel playful, while Nick’s relationship with Arty Froushan’s Wani is driven by escapism. Froushan disgusts the audience; he’s clearly attractive and charming, but there’s an ugliness there that you can’t quite place. But no matter the partner, Nick is still driven by some insatiable desire. Is everyone just another stop on the line of beauty?

Talbot’s connection to the space is precise and precarious. Each step is calculated, with gestures revealing Nick’s internal collapse. The audience is led to question who Nick Guest really is. As the contrarian of the Fedden household, Cat rages against her environment, forcing the audience to acknowledge the persistent, unpredictable reality behind Nick’s facade. Bamber throws herself across the stage, hair and limbs hurling from point to point in direct combat with Talbot’s obsessive gait. Physicality matters as much as words; every movement reveals who belongs, who’s about to break. Visible to the audience, rarely to each other.

What is consistent throughout the play is a clear respect for Hollinghurst and his novel. A conversation with Talbot revealed Leo and his family’s swift departure from the story was intentional, inspired by many novel characters omitted from the adaptation that Nick encounters and abandons. Holden’s adaptation is astonishingly complete: pacing never falters, and the story remains whole.

At its core, The Line of Beauty studies contrast. Talbot dances through mirrors in an endless pursuit of pleasure, but tenderness is rare, and connection hides from the spotlight. Queerness is celebrated; desire is constant and the hunt for aesthetic perfection is endless. Historical context looms. This story refuses to let the audience settle. We are invited to feel, acclaim, and question. When The Line of Beauty ends, all that remains is despair, desire and the final glimpse of white light.

The Line of Beauty ran at the Almeida Theatre from 21 October – 29 November 2025.