I'll admit, I was a little sceptical about returning to Avenue Q. I saw it on its original West End run back in… OH MY GOD I AM SO OLD! FUCK! Where did the time go?

It's always hard to know how much to update a show. Does it need constant reinvention to stay in the zeitgeist or can it be pickled forever as a classic?

"I wish I had taken more pictures" was something that utterly resonated with me about my university experience. Photos were a rare commodity back when film still cost a couple of quid to develop. Perhaps today's uni students will sing "I wish I had posted less on Instagram"?

The show has been sympathetically updated. Some of the references have been modernised, a transphobic joke given the boot, and the lyrics tweaked to sometimes devastating effect. The song "Everyone's A Little Bit Racist" seems to have the most changes - and all for the better.

Parts of the show are adapted for a UK audience. Barely anyone here knows who Gary Coleman was so his intro is changed (although I guess part of the metajoke is that we all watched foreign celebrities on Sesame Street when we were growing up - so what's one more obscure cultural reference?). In the American show, the Bad Idea Bears proffer Long Island Ice Teas - that was a bit tame for UK audiences, so in the original UK run they guzzled absinthe daiquiris - a change inexplicably reverted for this limited run.

As a piece of pure entertainment it is spectacular. The laughs are genuinely non-stop and the whole auditorium rose to give the performers a well-deserved ovation. It is a tender and beautiful show which shows off the power of live theatre.

The songs are still stuck in my head and the puppetry is still amazing. Absolutely hilarious, genuinely shocking in places, utterly filthy - an excellent night out.

Pre- and Post-Show

I've written before about The art of the Pre-Show and Post-Show. With West End prices higher than ever, it is incumbent on theatres to make their shows a memorable and spectacular evening out. That can be as simple as a bit of set dressing in the foyer, or as extravagant as they can get away with.

The offering is pretty reasonable here. You can buy the T-shirt, hoodie, and commemorative socks at exorbitant prices. The souvenir programme is £8 and, while lush with photos, is pretty sparse. The original West End programme from the early 2000s had a pin-up calendar of Lucy The Slut, a bunch more funny photos, and fake autographs of the puppets.

There's a photo-booth for taking selfies, but it appeared to be broken.

It might been nice to have a few puppets placed around for people to take photos with.

One of the simplest things a venue can do is put on a themed cocktail menu. I'm surprised more shows don't do that. Who is going to turn down a glass of "The Internet Is For Pornstar Martini"?

The Shaftesbury Theatre itself isn't too cramped, even in the cheap seats. Although, at the back of the stalls, the overhang cuts off the top of the set which means you will miss a bit of action in some scenes.

While we were waiting for the show to start, the auditorium was filled with soundscape of subway cars rattling and distorted announcements. Again, fairly cheap and simple, but a nice way to build the mood.

As we exited, we were handed leaflets encouraging us to come back and bring our friends. Even better was the £10 discount on our next booking!

Considering this is a limited run, the production has done a fair job of getting the audience in the mood and rewarding them for their patronage.

Well done to all involved!

You've read the books, listened to the original radio performances, re-read the books, worn the t-shirt - and now it is time to be part of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to The Galaxy.

*Cue the music from Flight of the Sorcerer*

This is a 90-ish minute immersive experience. As well as a full cast of actors and a puppet android, there are ✨celebrity✨ voice cameos.

And songs! So many songs!

Pre Show

I'm always interested in how shows build excitement before a performance. We were encouraged to arrive early to stash our coats (a very reasonable £1 each) and soak up the atmosphere.

It mostly works! We're deposited into the pub with lots of texture. As well as multiple screens displaying a variety on in-jokes, the actors hobnob with the guests. Nifty!

Show

From a technology perspective, the show is astonishingly good. Laser display boards mixed with puppets, dry ice, surround sound, and a hundred little decorations to notice. The actors are witty and talented improvisers. They did well with the matinée audience who needed a little warming up. There's a bar halfway through the experience where you can buy a (typically overpriced) branded beer - but I'd recommend having a warm up Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster in the bar before the show.

Wandering around the Vogon ship is a sonic and visual delight. The chaos of running between the sets feels utterly on-brand for H2G2. The sets are lush and, as mentioned, the technology integrates well with the story.

So, about the story.

There is no continuity in this franchise. Canon is noticeable by its absence and you should throw most of your preconceptions of plot out of the window. This isn't a cosy retread of the books you loved, nor is it a something entirely new. Essentially it is a series of sketches ripped and remixed from various versions. It kind of felt like there was a missing segment in the show - characters disappeared (to go perform for the next set of participants) and then reappeared.

If you have even a passing familiarity with H2G2 (in any of its forms) then I think you'll enjoy it. If not, I think it is a little scattershot. 90 minutes isn't enough to build up much of the complexity or tension in the drama. That said, it is rather jolly fun and surprisingly tender.

Post Show

It isn't quite "exit through the gift shop" but not far off. I remember how the end of the Alien experience in the Trocadero had audience members running out into a public area - here it's a gentle stroll into the bar.

This is a worthy addition to the many different adaptations of Douglas Adams' opus.

The experience runs until the 15th of February at the Riverside Studios. Tickets start at, of course, £42.

The "…by Candlelight" concerts have a simple premise - come to a cathedral or church to hear top West End talent sing your favourite singer's songs, backed by a live band. This is a cut above your usual tribute act - they aren't trying to do impressions of the act, they're stamping their own energy onto beloved songs.

It works! Mostly. This concert was in a West End theatre so the (electric) candles were only on the stage. It perhaps wasn't as intimate as some of their other concerts. But, still, I was blown away by how powerful their voices were and how loud the band was.

The first half perhaps felt a little too polished - but the second was more raucous. Lots of encouragement to get up and dance, sing along, and snap photos.

All the hits were there - with the deepest cut being "In the Land of the Pig, the Butcher Is King" and the Jim Steinman penned "Total Eclipse of the Heart".

You're never going to be able to see Meat Loaf sing live (unless he returns from the dead as foretold in prophesy) but this is a good substitute. None of the singers could individually match his vocal ferocity - but when they come together it is a thing of joy.

Meat Loaf by Candlelight is touring the UK now.

One of the best things about London theatre is that once in a while a show will give its understudies a chance to break out of the dressing room and soar on the stage. It's a chance to see talented performers at a discount price. What's not to like? Lucy Donnelly and Mark Sean-Byrne are both flawless. His slouched frustration plays against her manic dream pixie self-loathing. The stage is gorgeously laid out - allowing the performers to dance around each other.

The Mayor of London passed a law a few years ago which said that every theatre performance needs to incorporate a live video backdrop. That's the only explanation for that particular cliché's ubiquity. But here it actually makes sense! We see social-media star Katya going live to her legion of followers, and her face is blown up a million pixels wide, dominating the stage. At times, the waveforms of the characters' voices undulate along the back wall. It is hypnotic.

It's such a shame that the dialogue is so inept and the plot so ridiculous. The characters' emotions change because the plot needs them to - not because of anything that has actually happened. I get that the play is called "Interview", but that doesn't mean every line of dialogue needs to be a question, does it? Finally, there's no reason for any of the plot to happen.

At its core is a good question about the tension between new-media and old. Whether selling parasocial relationships is whoreish behaviour (and if that matters)? Are pale-stale-male journalists the enemy? Or does their tragic backstory absolve them of responsibility?

Unlike, say, Mamet's Oleanna there's no he-said/she-said. There isn't a lot of ambiguity about what is and isn't happening. The final "twist" is works well but, again, there's no reason for it to happen. The whole play lacks a sense of why.

The play is on until the 27th of September. The performances are stunning, the staging innovative, the sound design is excellent. It's just a pity the play itself is a bit underwhelming.

Unlike Gallifrey Cabaret which puts on a plethora of variety acts, this is a rather stripped down⁰ production.

The central conceit is that two acts have been accidentally double booked. One, a high-class opera singer, the other a low-down burlesque performer. HI-JINKS ENSUE!

Bellinda Williams has the voice of an angel and Elsie Diamond has the body of a devil¹. They teach each other the secrets of their art form which leads to the most unlikely mash-up I've seen in some time; Opera Burlesque.

It is exactly as batty as it sounds. Each of them attempting to Eliza Doolittle the other to the great merriment of the audience.

I'm sure there's something profound to say about the origins of opera and its intersection with courtesan couture, or how empowering it is to play dress up with your friends, but I was too busy laughing to think of anything that intellectual.

As befits a fringe show, it is rather short and I could have easily enjoyed more. There seem to be a few revivals of cabaret de l'érotique² within London's now-sanitised Soho. Most, like this, are fairly tourist friendly and unlikely to draw the wrath of The Lord Chamberlain. Perhaps we'll see them on the Royal Variety Show next?

There's only one thing which bothers me, and that's the origin of one of the marquee quotes. One of the performers is mentioned thusly:

famously described by Danny Dyer as having “a good old fashioned pair of Lils”.

I'm reasonably familiar with Cockney Rhyming Slang and its step-sibling Polari, and I can't find anything even close to that.

• Cockney:
  • Lilian Gish - fish. A somewhat unlikely comparison.
  • Lilly The Pink - drink. Although I suppose a pair of "pinks" might make sense?
  • Little And Large - margarine. I guess "Little" might be heard as "Lil"? And Ms Diamond's are not exactly on the smaller side.³
• Polari:
  • Lills - hands. I have no evidence that her hands aren't old fashioned.
  • Lilly Law - police. Perhaps Mr Dyer was comparing the shape of a bobby's helmet to the size and shape of…?⁴

Either way, Show:Girls is performed sporadically - keep an eye on their websites for the next performance. The entrance fee isn't too expensive, but in exchange you'll receive your fair share of thruppeny bits⁵.

Sluts With Consoles is a brilliant two-hander. Girly-twirly pick-me Player One and Gothy just-one-of-the-boys Player Two are locked in mortal - and emotional - combat. They represent the duality of the female gaming experience. Is it better to be feminine or feminist? Is gaming an escape from the cliques of teenage oppression, or just another form of self-deception?

That all sounds a bit heavy-handed, but it is a hilarious show. It perfectly observes modern gaming tropes and how we all evolve our gamer styles.

Throughout, it asks a very specific question; "does a single stuck pixel spoil the entire view?" That is, what are we prepared to tolerate in order to live in our fantasy world? Older brothers swiping our power-ups transmogrify into incel-gamers shouting slurs. Who cares if we're having fun, right…?

As with any powerful piece of theatre, it's unlikely to be seen by those who have the most need of its message.

Nevertheless, it is an entertaining and amusing show with a +20 battle-damage buff.

The show is touring throughout the year and it is absolutely worth seeing if you have any interest in gaming.

Mr Wickham is ready to set the record straight. Celebrating the 250th anniversary of Jane Austen’s birth, Adrian Lukis, who starred in the renowned BBC TV adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, returns to the role of Mr Wickham.

Join Pride and Prejudice’s most roguish gentleman, George Wickham, on the eve of his sixtieth birthday, to lift the sheets on what exactly happened thirty years on from where we left him… And discover his own version of some very famous literary events.

You remember "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead", right? Take two minor characters from a famous play and weave a tale around their misadventures. This is in much the same vein. A one-man show where we get to spend time with Pride & Prejudice's most clubbable old rake in order to better understand why he was such a scoundrel.

There's a lovely bit of intertextuality in having Adrian Lukis both write and perform as Wickham. For people of my age, he is Wickam. Sure, he's no Darcy in a dripping wet shirt, but played the perfect bounder and cad.

The Jermyn Street Theatre is the perfect venue for these tall tales. An intimate room where we're slowly drawn in to the confidences of a master manipulator. Behind the twinkling smile there is, be in no doubt, a predator.

Wickham lives off his charms and it is no wonder that the audience is eating out of the palm of his hand within minutes. His outrageous name dropping is all part of the seduction.

Of course he has been viciously abused in literature; done dirty by those envious of his success. Yes, he is a bit of a rascal but - and his eyes flirt with us at this point - isn't that what makes a man interesting?

Adrian Lukis doesn't redeem the villain; he indulges him. It is a delight to spend an hour in his company, hearing the old sot reminisce about old conquests, and catching up with the Bennet gossip. But you'll walk away wondering if you're any closer to the truth or have just been beguiled like some many others.

There's an interesting bit of media rights discussion to be here as well. Famously, the actors who play James Bond aren't allowed to wear a tuxedo in other movies lest they be confused with 007. All of Jane Austen's works have long since passed out of copyright - but is the character of Wickam based on the book version of the 1990's screen version? There's no portrait of Julia Sawalha on the wall, so you'll have to make your own mind up on that count.

I do wonder how many other other actors will take the opportunity to revisit their star turns? The nostalgia roadshow rumbles on.

Mr Wickham is in residence until the 30th of August and I have no doubt that you will find his company most agreeable.

The writing is like an exaggerated soap opera script which consists solely of angry people asking each other questions, which are then answered with more questions.

Sample dialogue:

Who are you?

What's it got to do with you?

Is it a crime to ask?

How do you figure that?

And so it goes on. Tedious with little chance to advance the plot. Mind you, the plot isn't much to write home about. A disreputable cast of characters each with a deep dark secret. The actors mostly do well with the dire prose - although a few struggle with the American accents - but they don't have much more than stereotypes to work with.

As for the music. I love Bob Dylan songs - which makes it such a shame to see them treated so shabbily. Most of the melodies have been reduced to a dirge suitable for fiddle, banjo, and piano. Rather than getting a range of styles, they all seem to blend into one. Very occasionally something familiar like "All Along the Watchtower" or "Rolling Stone" is played straight, but it is slim pickings.

Which brings us to the question - what is the point of a jukebox musical? In something like "We Will Rock You", we accept that the songs sort of relate to the story. In & Juliet the songs are tweaked a bit to fit the plot. In "Girl from the North Country" the songs are just sort of dumped in at random.

There's a Black guy who is a boxer - so naturally he sings a few verses of "The Hurricane". Why? For no reason related to the plot that I could discern. What's the divine "Duquesne Whistle" doing chucked in there? Perhaps it is to beef up the number of songs the audience might have heard of? Most are deep-cuts from obscure albums and b-sides which, in of itself, is fine - but a jukebox musical demands that the audience should be able to tap their toes along to most of the numbers, right?

I am bewildered by the positive reviews. It is a plodding and unoriginal script which squanders a sublime musical catalogue.

The pre-show is exemplary. You're handed a lanyard with a room number and make your way through the imposing set until you find your waiting room. It is like if the TV show Severance had come alive. A congenial host signs you in, there's digitally manipulated news to watch, and some world-building lore to get you started. It's a small and friendly pod - maybe a dozen of you - frantically trying to work out what's going on.

And then - just like The Crystal Maze - you're deposited into a new zone. I don't want to give any spoilers, but the sets are outstanding. Beautifully decorated, intricately designed, and fully of fiddly-bits to investigate. It is clear a lot of money has been spend on this show. And that's kind of the problem - the sets and design are so expensive and yet the story is so weak.

The Storehouse holds every bit of information from the Internet. And something is going wrong. And there's a mysterious founder. And there are some heavy-handed clues. And then on to the next room. It's a 90 minute experience with no interval (and cramped portaloos outside) which means the story never really gets a chance to breathe.

It's trying to say something about fake news and media literacy, but it is all rather garbled and lost. Perhaps I'm showing my prejudice, but I don't think any Brexit voters or conspiracy theorists are spending their evenings inside an experimental theatre production. Even if they are, the world-building is so complex and the plot so flimsy, that I'm not sure it would change their mind.

A lot of care and effort has obviously gone in to this production. Every room feels unique, all the gadgetry and multi-media sensations are well integrated. There's a little bit of puzzle solving but (again, because of time constraints) it's mostly resolved by a cast member saying "Do you remember? It's like the big obvious clue we saw in the last room!"

The ending is intense - almost spell binding. It blows apart the 4th wall and becomes something halfway between communal relief and spiritual enlightenment. But, sadly, there's no catharsis of applause. The players vanish and we never get a chance to thank them. A shame because the cast are excellent - they have the tough job of presenting exposition, shepherding the audience, and improvising with us. They rattle through the technobabble with ease and fully embody their weird roles.

As for the post-show - another triumph. Deposited into a bar with interesting cocktails and a gorgeous view. Blinking into the sunlight, we are handed pamphlets about our experience, which seems like an apt metaphor.

It is absolutely worth visiting Storehouse. Go with an open mind, get involved, and try not to think too hard about whether any of it makes any sense.

Who is Doctor Doom? I have only a passing interest in the increasingly convoluted Marvel Cinematic Universe, so I walked into this new comedy show with no idea. I assumed a baddie of some sort?

I left with, if not a university education on the subject, then a healthy appreciation for the character, the tropes he embodies, and what makes him Him. Hibbett's PhD (available in all good shops now) is about "Transmedia Characters"; those who appear in various media and yet are still recognisable.

For example, is the Buffy of Buffy The Vampire Slayer the movie the same Buffy of Buffy The Vampire Slayer the TV show? Or even Buffy the Video Game or audiobook? Different actors, different directors, different hairstyles, but somehow always ineffably Her. Hibbert, naturally, conveys his methodology via the medium of PowerPoint and acoustic guitar.

He's sort of like if Billy Bragg was more interested in pulp comic books than radical socialism. The songs are delightful and silly - it takes real skill to compressing some dense academic work into a series of toe-tapping comic songs.

Even better, all of Hibbett's data from his research is available as Open Access if you would like to check it for errors in multiverse continuity.

The show is touring round the UK - catch it if you can.

I never really got the concept behind Secret Cinema. It seemed like an overhyped cult with its mish-mash of festival, improvisation workshop, and collective film watching. The various production snafus didn't go unnoticed by me. It was fair to say that I went in to the world of Rydell High as a sceptic.

But I left as a convert.

Nestled in the middle of Battersea Park is an open-air funfair blaring the hits of the 1950s. A massive screen shows trailers for "From Here To Eternity" and other period pieces. It seems like everyone is dressed in either leather jackets or puffy dresses. The atmosphere is fun and convivial. There are a few actors milling about doing small interactions but its pretty easy to miss them as they're dressed similarly to the audience.

As the sounds of Frankie Valli fill the area, we're ushered inside to a perfect reproduction of Rydell High. There's so much attention to detail - posters on the walls, trophies in cases, cheerleaders with pom-poms, and a live band! Unlike my usual complaints about London theatre, the pre-show here is exquisite.

The interior is cavernous - dominated by the raised dance floor in the middle, with various sets dotted around. No matter where you stand, you'll be able to see what's going on thanks to some rather clever camera work which melds the original film with the stage actors.

The actors are fantastic - their singing, dancing, and crowdwork were impeccable. Obviously, this is a bit different to a normal immersive show - you aren't going to get any plot-twists from them, or clues about what's going to happen next, but it is rather jolly. And, yes, there's a good chance you'll be pulled into an interaction - either dancing on stage, singing with a choir, or invited to the slumber party. If that's not your thing, there's no pressure to get involved.

But you should absolutely get involved! Dance with the one that brung you, climb the bleachers, swoon over your heart-throb, and sing. Sing loudly. Grease is exactly as interactive as you want it to be. You could buy a VIP ticket and sit at the back (why?!?) or you could run around like a loon, hand-jiving when instructed, and admiring all the effort which has gone into it.

Just like the West-End shows which do singalonga nights, this is an exercise in communal singing to lift the spirits. It is intoxicating to feel like you're within the musical, rather than just being a spectator. It isn't interactive as such - nothing you do will change the plot - but it is wonderful to be swept along with everyone.

Sure, it's a corny old film with dodgy politics and there have been a few subtle tweaks to make it feel a little more 21st century. But the songs are rocking, the crowd are there to have a good time, and the production values are excellent. I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

Food, drink, toilets, and costs

Obviously, food and drink costs are outrageous. £7.50 for a 330ml can of lager?! £13.50 for a veggie burger!? Hey, at least the condiments were free! We did also find a character giving out samples of tequila - which softened the blow somewhat. I get that London prices are insane, but it will add up to an expensive evening. That said, there is vegan food available so at least I didn't walk away hungry. The menu is available online.

Food and drink is available both inside and outside. There are also "Cigarette Girls" carrying around trays of drinks if you don't want to queue at the bar.

Outside there is a single fairground ride, a fun house, and a couple of fairground games. Again, these are pay-to-play. It feels a little cheeky to charge extra for these given the ticket cost.

There are plenty of loos - the inside ones are well maintained and there are some external portaloos which aren't too disgusting.

The cheapest tickets are £49 each. That's better than many West End shows. You won't be stuck in a cramped seat with a restricted view. We got there a bit before 19:00, hung around the fairground, then left around 22:00 - so 3 hours of entertainment. Not a bad bang for your buck.

Verdict

If you like Grease, you'll love this. If you're indifferent to Grease, you'll still have a big smile on your face.

For more information and tickets, visit https://greasetheimmersivemoviemusical.com/

Speaking of other plays, I'm not sure when Sir Sadiq Khan passed a law saying every show in London must have a revolving stage, but it needs to be revoked. What was once an elegant and innovative way to parade your clever set, now looks like a tired trip-hazard.

But the play's the thing, right? Perhaps it is stunt-casting to have real-life mother and daughter play on-stage mother and daughter - I don't care; it works wonderfully. There's a tender viscousness between them which flowers into ragged disappointment. It is excellent. The whole cast make the most of the characters - but there's a special shout-out for Reuben Joseph who plays an utter rotter just perfectly.

For all the effort the cast put in - both in performing and balancing on the revolve - bits of the script are rather showing their age. Characters monologue at each other with alarming frequency. Their polemic is directed at the audience for having the temerity to live in an unjust world. I found the play rather equivocated on whether prostitution is justifiable. Oh, sorry, spoiler alert, Imelda Staunton plays a raddled whore and Bessie Carter plays her feminist daughter struggling to reconcile her love and revulsion.

For all that, it is a good play. Funny, timely, and asks us to confront some difficult questions. Beneath the genteel exterior is a rabid fury which shows no sign of diminishing.

The Theatre

Sadly, the Garrick needs to be torn down. Despite its recent refurbishment, it simply isn't a good space. The constant rumble of trains under the building makes it hard to hear the cast at times. The support pillars get in the way - although they do allow the theatre to offer some cheap "restricted view" seats. And, of course, there's barely enough toilet provision.

The lack of loo space wouldn't be so bad - but there's no interval in the play! Hence a long queue of (justifiably) frustrated women before the show, and a constant trickle of people leaving their seats towards the end. Frankly, it's pretty ableist to think paying customers are going to be happy to cross their legs for close to two hours. It is also fairly insulting to the cast to suggest that they won't be able to re-engage the punters after a piss and an ice-cream.

For once, the programme almost justified its price. Very few adverts and some lovely long interviews with the cast. Still a rip-off for a fiver, but less egregious than other shows.

Jukebox musicals usually stick to a single-artist (Mamma Mia, & Juliet, Tommy). As a result, they all start to sound a bit samey after a few numbers. Shows like Return To The Forbidden planet shoe-horn in songs from a dozen artists without much regard to plot, tone, or pacing.

Just For One Day goes down a different route. Rather than just recreate the famous Live Aid concert with a procession of soundalikes, it attempts to tell the story behind the concert. In doing so, it chops dozens of songs into thousands of pieces and lets the snippets segue seamlessly into the prose. It entwines the songs into each other beautifully. A supremely talented cast backed with a superb live band - it is guaranteed to have you screaming and cheering.

The central plot device is a little silly - a mother who went to the concert is chiding her teenage daughter about political activism. It is a bit mawkish and gets the show off to a stage-schooly start. Similarly, the daughter's righteous indignation fuels her interrogation of Saint Geldof which, again, becomes a bit preachy.

But that's the nature of Live Aid. It is preachy. And for all the arguments about whether it was the right thing to do - at least it did something. The show doesn't gloss over some the problems - and problem personalities - behind the production. Nor does it shy away from the reality of the limits of the help provided. Albeit backed by joyous music.

I felt that it pulls its punches a little bit. Rather than showing any footage from the Ethiopian famine, it recycles a speech Geldof gave a few years ago.

Nevertheless, it is a powerful and moving spectacle.

Oh, and there's a rap battle between Bob Geldof and Mrs Thatcher.

Tickets start at £20. The music is so loud, and the staging so expressive, that you'll get a decent view from the cheap seats.

Far better than the average jukebox musical.

Pre-show and Post-show

As regular readers of my theatre reviews know, I'm obsessed with how theatres treat their patrons.

Bag searches were conducted quickly, and they were happy to let me bring in a small plastic bottle of water. The Shaftesbury has spacious corridors and bars. There are plenty of toilets which - in a shocking departure from West End tradition - are well maintained.

There's a little bit of set dressing inside the theatre to allow the audience to take selfies with famous backdrops. That's cute - but it might have been nice if they'd added a few more, or even put up original posters, press clippings, etc.

As we exited the theatre we were handed a commemorative ticket! What a swell idea! I thought it contained a QR code to donate to the Band Aid Charitable Trust or find out more about their projects. Instead it's a coupon for £20 off your next visit. That feels like a bit of a missed opportunity.

If you're unaware of the book (or the film. Or the novelisation of the film. Or the Twitter thread. Or the inaccurate tumblr retelling.) the story involves a dastardly British plan to use a corpse to fool the Nazi menace into diverting their troops.

So, naturally, this is a glitzy West End Musical. And, as befitting a story with a hundred different characters, there are five cast members playing everyone. Obviously, it is very silly.

I can't lie - I found the start of the first act a bit underwhelming. It feels derivative of every other musical I've seen; like a British "Hamilton" without the budget. But as it wore on, something magical happened. The songs become interesting, the choreography leaps alive, and the cast started playing off the audience’s energy.

The second act has the strongest opening I've seen in a good long while. It builds to a terrific conclusion - with just the right amount of joy and melancholy.

Naturally, the cast are superb. It's exhausting watching them quick-change and shimmy across the stage. They are a beautifully formed ensemble. I usually don't like seeing shows multiple times, but given the frequent cast changes I find myself curious about how the various permutations work.

It is an excellent and kinetic work of theatre. It revels in its daftness and knows exactly when to tug your heartstrings.

Pre-Show

Regular readers know how much I love discussing the pre-show elements. Mincemeat isn't as bad as most, but still treats the paying audience with the contempt London venues are known for.

The theatre is cramped, with a packed bar, and inadequate toilet facilities. The corridors are decorated with photos of current cast members, which is nice. There's also a pre-show trivia quiz which, while fun, is only half-a-dozen questions - essentially a thinly veiled attempt to get you onto a mailing list.

The cost of the programme is exorbitant - an advert filled brochure with the same information as can be found on the website.

On the plus side, the stall seats are spacious and there's a bar to one side (if you can afford it).

A single "cheap" ticket usually costs about 3-months of Netflix. Full price tickets are a monocle-popping 7-months of Netflix! At that price I'd expect a free souvenir programme and a complimentary ice-cream. And possibly a foot-massage.

The ticket lottery reduces prices to a shade under 2-months of Netflix.

There's nothing like seeing live theatre performed by a hyper-talented cast. Theatres need to understand that home entertainment is ubiquitous, cheap, and comfortable. If I can't pause your show to go for a wee, you'd better make sure you have enough loos for everyone at the interval.

What's lost is the sense of topicality. Hey! Don't we all look at our phones too much?! Gosh! Isn't Daniel Craig a different James Bond to Roger Moore?! Zowie! That Viagra is a bit of a laugh amiritelaydeezngentlemen?!

The latter joke being almost 30 years old and, as he cheerfully informs us, originally written for Ronnie Corbett!

There are flashes of delightful danger. A routine about assisted suicide is obviously underscored with a burning passion for justice and dignity in death, yet cheerfully thrusts the audience's distaste back at them.

The audience of the Wednesday matinée are, obviously, of a certain age and the show is squarely aimed at them. Lots of the jokes are basically "Your grandkids have different pronouns?!?! What's that all about!?!?"

I'll be honest, it's a bit grim and feels like a cheap shot.

And then.

Ben is the master at turning the joke back on the audience. "What's wrong with new pronouns?" he asks. He points out how all the radical lefties of old were fighting for liberation and can't complain now that society has overtaken them. The snake devours its own tail.

Similarly, he has a routine about how taking out the bins is a man's job. It's all a bit old-school and, frankly, a little uncomfortable. The volte-face is magnificent - pointing out that lesbian couples obviously take out the bins, as do non-binary households. So woke! So redeeming! And then he undercuts it with a sexist jibe at his wife.

And that sums up the whole show. He points out folly, turns it back on itself, then mines the dichotomy for laughs. Honestly, it feels a bit equivocating.

Yes, it is mostly funny - but it is also exhausting waiting for Ben to catch up with his own politics.

Elektra is uncompromising.

It is the sort of play the average customer might have heard of in passing, but hasn't made a significant dent in modern consciousness. The name "Sophocles" doesn't pack them in the same way Pemberton and Shearsmith does.

Elektra doesn't give a shit.

You want stars? Here's Brie Larson. Not enough? Here's Stockard Channing! Are we going to let them act? Fuck you. You're going to listen to monotone recital of translated Greek poetry and be grateful.

Elektra scorns your plebeian desire for form, function, and fun.

Offset against the staccato delivery of the stars is the mellifluous sounds of a divine Chorus. Close harmonies and exposition in undulating tones with unwavering commitment. You could listen to them for hours. Then, when they sing long stretches, you realise that you are being tortured with their beauty.

Elektra refuses.

The set is Spartan. Perhaps that's a hate-crime against the Ancient Greeks? There is no set. The theatre stripped back to the bricks (which is now a bit of a West End trope), a revolve keeps the actors on their toes (again, like plenty of other productions), and the distorted wails of the star are propelled through effect-pedals until they are unrecognisable.

Elektra burns it all to the ground.

Down the road is Stranger Things. Its vapid tale packs them in - drawn like moths to the flame of name-recognition. Elektra repels. It deliberately and wonderfully squanders its star power in order to force you to engage with the horrors of the text.

Elektra is mad and maddening.

Is it any good? Yes. In the way that radical student theatre is often good. It plays with convention. Tries something different and uncomfortable. It says "what if we deliberately did the wrong thing just to see what happens?" Is it enjoyable? No, but I don't think it is meant to be. It is an earworm - and the bar afterwards was full of people singing the horrifying motif of Elektra.

Elektra provokes.

In many ways, it is the complement to Inside Number 9 playing next door.

Cooper, Morecambe, and Monkhouse were dead to begin with. Perhaps you grew up watching them live at the Palladium, or on grainy VHS tapes, or in microbursts on TikTok. But they got their last live laugh several decades prior to today.

Nevertheless, their comedy lineage remains. Every comedian milking a laugh or mining for a joke owes a huge debt to these men. So they have been reanimated for our pleasure. Just as behind every laughing jester is a crying clown, behind every grin is a bleached skull. What happens in the waiting room between life and death? Do we get to laugh with our pals or are we tormented by their ghosts?

We're granted a peek backstage at an event which never happened. What if these three comedians wound up in the same dingy dressing room before a show? It isn't exactly behind-the-scenes at the Yalta Conference, but we're probably not here for a dramatic retelling; we want to see our old favourites brought back to life. And that's exactly what we get.

90 minutes of pure tribute-act would probably be unbearable. People flock to musical tributes because The Beatles are unlikely to play your neighbourhood pub - but tribute comedians are usually relegated to a few minutes from an impressionist. The actors - Bob Golding as Morecambe, Simon Cartwright as Monkhouse and Damian Williams as Cooper - are uncanny. They perfectly bring their characters to life. They walk a dangerous tightrope between parody and mimic. Perhaps there's a touch of over-reliance on clichéd cadence - but they're able to recreate the jokes in a pitch-perfect way. So who am I to complain?

Finally, the characters ask what is comedy? Should writers be credited or is it the performer who deserves the laugh? Do double-act inevitably lead to resentment? Big questions for our heroes to chew on, but it is more for the audience to mull-over on the journey home. If a joke gets a laugh, it is funny. That's it. When you watch an impressionist tell someone else's joke - and one you've heard a hundred times before - is it still funny? Are you laughing at the recreation or at the memory?

The show wisely avoids an interval - the momentum of the jokes keep us going so you don't quite notice how depressing and ponderous it is becoming. Blokes can't talk about their emotions, so every moment of vulnerability is undercut by a witticism.

If you wore out your (or your parents) tapes, you'll recognise most of the jokes on offer. That's no bad thing; we're here to reminisce. Paul Henry's production has elevated the art of the tribute act to something quite spectacular. It is pure joy to pretend even for just a moment that our old friends are still here with us and still making us laugh.

The Last Laugh in in London for the next 4 weeks and then goes on tour. Well worth seeing.

Oh, sure, you could analyse it as being a blend of Commedia dell'arte and modern dance, but it is closer to Minions. All cartoon violence, generic-Euro-mumble speech, and tunes that they'll recognise when they're older (but the parents will love). The kids in the audience were constantly shrieking with laughter and the adults were chuckling with delight too.

The (mandatory) audience participation is delightful and, besides, you're already clapping along so you might as well start singing. It reminded me of those shows you get in theme-parks; all dry-ice and family-friendly sketches. There's nothing challenging or subversive - it's just people bashing things on their heads in order to make music.

For a 90 minute show, the £18 tickets are fairly priced. It is silly - and I truly mean that as a compliment. Any kids you take with you will immediately want to become performers and will be dancing all the way home.

In one episode of Inside Number Nine, two old comedians are bickering. In a moment of understated savagery one says to the other "That's a cheap laugh, Len."

Len replies with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "Oh, come on. A laugh's a laugh however you earn it."

That sets up the central tension for the West-End-Spectacular version of the show - Stage/Fright.

What makes for a "cheap" scream of terror? It's easy to have a jump scare, or an on-stage explosion. The audience will shriek but then quickly descend into giggles as they realise how embarrassingly naïve they've been.

How do you ratchet up the tension on-stage? What call-backs work as well for tickling your funny bone and chilling you to the bone?

Stage/Fright balances all of that perfectly. For every "cheap" laugh there's a belly-laugh which has been well and truly earned. For every made-you-jump there's a scene of creeping dread. For every little jab at a theatrical folly, there's a deep cut of West End satire.

Pemberton and Shearsmith are delightfully generous to their outstanding cast. A script which could so easily have been dominated by their double-act is, instead, handed over graciously which gives the cast a real chance to shine.

It is an excellent show. Funny, scary, tense, wry, and affectionate. If you can manage to scrounge a ticket, I urge you to do so.

Pre- and Post-Show

As I continue to whinge about, theatres need to up their game in terms of getting people in the mood. The inside of Wyndham's Theatre is devoid of props, photos, or anything related to the show. The standard programme is a measly affair with most of the pages dedicated to the history of the theatre rather than the show. There's an expensive deluxe programme with more content. There's nothing to do in the interval other than queue for inadequate toilets and overpriced drinks.

Where's the build up? Why aren't there social objects to take a selfie with? What can be done to make people feel like this is a better experience than watching TV? How do you encourage people to see the theatre as an exciting and vital venue that they want to come back to?

A well-hyped show like this doesn't have any trouble putting bums on seats. But they could at least make some effort to make the audience feel special.

I cannot overemphasise how silly this production is! It is a joyful explosion of madcap mayhem, with dozens of costume changes per minute, and a healthy disregard for the fourth wall.

I'm unfamiliar with the original text, but I assume the horny nuns, dodgy rat-catchers, and squeaky-voiced pharmacists are all 100% accurate. And, if not, someone should re-write the novel to include them. #JustMyOpinion.

As well as being meticulously staged (no room for error with this production) it is also perfectly paced. I find most shows slow down in the 2nd half - not so here! If anything, the action picks up, leaving the audience breathless with laughter.

The direction is exquisite. The three-sided Southward Playhouse isn't the easiest space to direct for, but the cast give equal love to all corners of the stage. The sex scenes in particular are inventively staged and give the audience a unique insight into the characters.

But, best of all, it is funny. There isn't a slack moment in the whole show. The cast exhaust themselves running about the place, doing a variety of silly accents, and expertly wrangling their props. I can only imagine the chaos backstage.

Is it a particularly festive show? Well, there are three (un)wise men and a (lapsed) virgin, so yeah, I think it counts.

The show is currently in previews, which means tickets are cheaper this weekend. Go on, treat yourself!