[In Can't Pay? Won't Pay! (also performed as We Won't Pay! We Won't Pay!), the] fun, though considerable and expertly staged, spirals too far beyond what it more or less remains in Accidental Death and One-Woman Plays, the logical reflection, illustration and exploration of subject and theme. Specifically, would the 'respectable' CP member really convince himself that the stolen vegetables his rebellious wife has stuffed up her jumper are actually a pregnancy transplant? He and his friend emerge as morons, scarcely the Fo view of workers. Whether for this reason, its tendency to repetition and prolixity, or something else, the play's political clout proves less than we've come to expect of a writer whose very name has a combative ring, akin to Agamemnon Enemy or Xerxes Thug. (pp. 23-4)

Benedict Nightingale, "A Spare Man," in New Statesman, Vol. 102. No. 2629, August 7, 1981, pp. 23-4.∗