Another London and off-Broadway success by one of the theatre's most inventive and versatile writers, Harold Pinter's The Lover is a subtle blending of artful nuance, veiled menace and sly humor.
“A husband goes to his office politely asking if his wife's lover will be coming today. She murmurs 'Mmmm,' and suggests he not return before six. In order not to return before six he will no doubt visit a prostitute. A competition is glossily established. When the lover does come, he is the husband, which is not surprising. The kind of sex-play follows that suggests this is the necessary titillation, and the necessary release of hostility, between a man who means to be master of the house and a wife who means to be both wife and mistress, whatever the house may be. But there is a flaw in the accommodation. The lover is weary of his mistress; she is no longer particularly appetizing. By the time he returns, as husband, in the evening, his wife is still disturbed by the news. The performance of the afternoon has begun to carry over into the reality (or pretense) of the evening. Suddenly the husband is not quite husband, diffident over his drink. He is blurring into the lover, at the wrong hour, and angrily. The wife must seduce him now as wife, not as mistress. She does.” – New York Herald-Tribune