The much-celebrated Lehman Trilogy, now showing at the Gillian Lynne Theatre, aims to chronicle the rise and fall of the Lehman Brothers, one of the financial world’s most infamous institutions. The production has garnered considerable acclaim for its sprawling narrative and epic scope, but for all the praise it’s received, it is ultimately an unsatisfying experience.
One of the main issues lies in the lack of character development. Over the course of three acts and nearly three and a half hours, we follow three generations of the Lehman family, beginning with the arrival of the brothers to America, their initial ventures into the cotton trade, and their subsequent expansion into finance. But despite the potential for dramatic tension and personal insight, none of the characters are given room to truly breathe or grow. The brothers, Henry, Emanuel, and Mayer, remain largely static, archetypal figures rather than fully realised human beings. They each enter the story as defined personas, Henry as the visionary, Emanuel as the manager, and Mayer as the negotiator, and little shifts beyond these roles. Worse, the play leans heavily into uncomfortable stereotypes: the brothers’ relentless pursuit of wealth is justified, almost excused, as part of their Jewish background, reducing complex characters to little more than flat embodiments of greed and ambition. By the end, the audience are no closer to understanding who these men were or what drove them.
This narrative flatness is compounded by the play’s insistence on summarising rather than dramatising. The script, written by Stefano Massini and adapted into English by Ben Power, relies heavily on exposition. We are told what happens, told what the characters think, told how they feel, often in a dry, detached tone that keep the audience distant and removed. The actors rarely speak to each other, instead narrating events like impersonal guides to a story museum. For all the grand themes and sweeping historical moments that the play attempts to cover, it ends up feeling more like a lecture than a living, breathing piece of theatre.
The few moments when the script allows for something more personal, like Henry’s nostalgia for his homeland or Emanuel’s moment of doubt as they step into the stock market, are glossed over so quickly that they barely register. There is no tension, conflict, or any real exploration of emotional stakes. Instead, we are swept along to the next business deal, the next financial manoeuvre, the next chapter in a tale that starts to feel mechanical.
And yet, it’s not all bad. The set design, by Es Devlin, is a marvel, a rotating glass box that shifts and transforms, symbolising the precariousness and relentless motion of the financial world. The visual metaphors, mirrored floors, towering walls of books and papers, convey more about the play’s themes than the script does. The actors, too, do their best with the material they’ve been given, slipping in and out of roles, shifting from narrator to character. But despite their best efforts, they are trapped within a production that never allows them to fully connect with each other, or with the audience.
In the end, The Lehman Trilogy feels more like a stylised history lesson than a gripping drama. For all its ambition, the production sacrifices intimacy and emotion for scope. There’s no denying the craft on display, but it’s a hollow spectacle, impressive on the surface, yet devoid of the human depth it so desperately needs.