Two sets of diners in an expensive restaurant trade stories of affairs and casual insults while the restaurant's staff look in on them, giving glimpses into their own pasts. Pinter creates a war of words which barely masks what is really going on behind the scenes.
There is no action in Celebration; words are what Pinter specialises in, and this work is as devastating as any of his plays from the last half of the 20th century. Nobody says what they really mean and every exchange is a power struggle, more often than not motivated by sex.
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