Mike Bartlett's 13

I was really looking forward to this, after enjoying Earthquakes in London by the same author on the National Theatre's Cottesloe stage.  But I left at the interval -- something I rarely do -- out of sheer boredom.  This is not so much a state-of-the-nation play as a state-of-the-world play peopled by a long cast of mostly unmemorable characters, none of whom have the chance to develop any depth in the first half of the play.  Bartlett's structure of short scenes, none longer than a few minutes, doesn't work for me. It may suit people who like listening to the Archers. It's not the fault of the actors (I like Trysan Gravelle in particular as a soapbox Messiah) nor of the director Theo Sharrock, of whose work I am a devotee.  Designer Tom Scutt uses a large black semi-transparent cube and the revolve to good effect, but the Olivier stage is an unforgiving place for writers. Its sheer size punishes banal writing and two-dimensional characters like these, all of whom seem to be suffering from the same undefined malaise involving bad dreams at night.   The play aims to be topical, but isn't.  In the background is not the reality of 2011 and the euro debt crisis, but the idea of a British prime minister getting sucked into an American invasion of Iran.  I was told the play gets better after the interval, but I couldn't manage to care enough about any of the characters on stage to wait and find out.  Perhaps I was still suffering from the deep impression of seeing Wesker's The Kitchen on the same stage a week ago.  That play also had a large cast of characters, but managed to blend them into a coherent ensemble. Mike Bartlett is a very talented writer, but I feel this play is too large and too diffuse.