Ruined Theatre brings a brilliant cast of seasoned West End performers to strut their hour among the ruins of Abbey Wood. Hey, gentrification has its benefits, OK?

I don't know how many times I've seen "Dream", but I know I've never seen it performed in an actual wood during summer. Booking the tickets a few weeks ago during England's heatwave, it sounded perfect. A warm, dusky evening, accompanied by færies and asses. The British weather, of course, had other ideas.

The Show Must Go On

The storm clouds were, as the bard wrote, heavy, black and, pendulous. Outside it may be raining, their makeup may be flaking, but everyone knows that Shakespeare is best played when defying the elements, right?

Even in the rain, it was great! Theseus and Hippolyta as selfie-obsessed poseurs made for a delightful start. Recasting Athens as Lesnes was a great touch. And then we were led through the woods. Rather than traipse us from scene to scene, we settled in to a clearing - bringing our own camping chairs with us - and watched the magic unfold.

Half the fun is in watching children and teenagers giggling at Hermia's rage and Bottom's overconfident bombast. But you can't go wrong with actors studiously ignoring the downpour and professing their (misplaced) love for each other. Honestly, who'd lie down in the mud just to make us chuckle? How many laughs can you ring out of a man with an ass's head? Lord, what fools these mortals be!

It is a fairly straightforward production. Aside from modern dress there wasn't much updating of the text other than trimming it down. The smoke machine might have been an eerie touch on a still summer's night, billowing around us, instead the wind took it before it had a chance to settle. The incidental music worked well - especially the intertextuality of Pyramus & Thisbe playing to the Romeo+Juliet soundtrack - but the speakers were over-driven and distorted. A small crimp on an otherwise fine production.

Reflections in a dappled pond

I'm fairly sure I once played Demetrius in a youth production. Or possibly Lysander. I know I got to kiss Helena. Or possibly Hermia. The mind plays funny tricks as you age. Some of the more dreary prose becomes light and airy. The laughs which felt forced come more easily. The gender politics a little more nuanced.

You can never go back, of course. But you will always remember your first stage kiss with Hermia (or possibly Helena) with great affection. Seeing Shakespeare again and again and again in a hundred different variations just helps you realise what a master storyteller he was.

In the olden days, after a wild animal was slaughtered, the tribe's shaman would wear the skin and re-enact the hunt. As he became one with the beast, the people slowly understood the ways of nature.

Cats is a similarly spiritual experience wherein we watch androgynous sylphs gyrate across the stage and believe (if only for a moment) that the human has become feline, all in service of better understanding the mysteries of our moggies.

Does there need to be so many sequins? So much dry ice? Such a quantity of pyrotechnics?

No, probably not. But it all adds up to a spectacular which will keep you grinning.

The deficiencies in Cats are somewhat inherent. The scrapbook story doesn't make a lick of sense. It is more like a variety show than musical theatre. The lyrics are, at times, utterly asinine. The music soars, until someone starts playing what sounds like a genuine 1980s Casio keyboard - and all you can hear is squelch.

But then Gary Wilmot (!!!) comes on as Gus and all is forgiven on a haze of metatextual glory.

The choreography and dancing are exemplary. The singing occasionally gets muddled but is mostly delightful. The stage is perfect - the wind blowing through the trees and the moon gently rising only helps to accentuate the atmosphere.

The pre-show is good. As well as a variety of food stalls, patrons are encouraged to bring their own food and drink for a picnic. There are plenty of tables and a couple of selfie points.

The programme isn’t horrendous at £6 but still feels like it contains more advertising than content. The queues for the loos were outrageously long and the stalls weren't particularly clean.

There's nothing to do post-show except trudge back through the park. The selfie point is still illuminated if you want to queue for that. Even the t-shirt sales stopped after the interval.

I first saw Cats in the West End some time in the 1980s as a child and loved it. Afterwards my parents asked if I wanted to see a ballet or an opera next. "Eurgh! No! Boring!" I said. They politely informed me that I'd just seen both in one show and my juvenile mind was blown.

A few decades later I saw Cats on Broadway - shortly before it closed, I think. The C90 cassette they used to play the music was warbling like a demented bird and the sets looked equally tired. Despite the half empty auditorium, the cast attacked the songs with vigour. I still loved it.

And, today, I still had goosebumps. Maybe it was the unseasonable chill in the air, maybe it was the moonlight, or maybe it was the magic of Cats!

For plot-related reasons, a television company asks a literary genius to create a "pro-weapons sitcom".

It is a fast paced mix of the sitcoms 2012 and Episodes. The jokes come at a steady pace - some attack with the furiousity of bullets, others the the subtlety of a knife in the night.

All four of the cast are spectacular. Turning the sometimes-stock characters into powerful avatars. The amoral Zuckerbergian horror of data driven decision making is the perfect manure in which to grow comedy roses.

It stands well against any classic farce and I hope it tours until the end of the world.

A special shout out to the Pleasance Above for being the most comfortable venue in Edinburgh! Raked auditorium, cushioned seats, and air conditioning all make for a delightful theatrical experience.

New Zealand's Half Trick have shrunk their full-length play into a Fringe-standard 60 minutes. That does make it a little brusque and, simultaneously, a bit repetitive. The characters don't get quite enough room to breathe. Mike Teavee has, of course, become an incel online troll - perfect! - but the rest haven't changed much.

The horrors of industrial accidents mixed with corporate malfeasance makes for an excellent comedy. The cast inhabit their characters perfectly, each totally believable as a childhood favourite who has become a deeply troubled adult.

I'd be delighted to read a full length novelisation of the script. It is a witty and terrifying update to a book I devoured as a child. Only now do I realise that it was also devouring me. Truly when you gaze into the lake of chocolate…

When Vincent Met John is an oddity in that it is a normal play, rather than a musical. It is also an oddity in being 90 minutes long rather than the standard fringe slot of no more than an hour.

What if van Gogh and Lennon could have a conversation? They were both tortured artists whose influence spanned the world and only grew after their untimely deaths.

It is incredible!

Much like Yasmina Reza's "Art" this is a meticulous argument about the nature of creativity. And, much like, The Last Laugh this feature fastidiously observed recreation of beloved figures.

Can Lennon conceive of someone who doesn't recognise Him? Can van Gogh conceive of Yoko Ono's conceptual art? Is Lennon's braggadocio an impediment to his happiness? Is van Gogh's obsessive nature blocking him from progressing?

The script sizzles. Lennon almost seems to speak in rhyming couplets - as befits a lyricist and poet. It is peppered with throwaway references to his cannon (including many deep cuts for the obsessives). One of those plays where I immediately want to grab the script and study it to death.

Both actors utterly inhabit their characters and give play off each other perfectly. The direction is precise and inventive. Even the set construction is perfectly attuned to the needs of the show.

An astounding piece of theatre and strongly recommended.

There you go, now you've seen the show. That's about the height it reaches. Distil the tortured Prince of Denmark down to an hour and sprinkle in parody pop songs.

It so nearly works. There are a few good chuckles and a smattering of clever lyrics but, even for an hour, it feels a bit flabby.

The cast are game, with KT Ihnatyszyn giving a tour-de-force performance as Hamlet. But for every decent pun there's a piece of uninspired mugging to the audience.

The main weakness is that it looks cheap. There can be a certain charm to "we'll put on the show right here - I just think Fringe audiences deserve better than tatty cardboard props and flimsy plastic swords.

Tightened up, it could be something really special - it just fell flat for me.

Perhaps a couple need a little bit of extra cash and the siren song of OnlyFans is right there. Let's fire up the webcam and release ourselves from financial drudgery!

Then reality hits.

The script by Sean Stillmaker sounds like it was ripped straight out of LinkedIn. Under a lesser cast, lines about synergising brand strategy to optimise the subscriber funnel would sound contrived; here they sound like hyper-savvy young adults rationalising their poor decisions. If influencers are the dominant cultural force in the world, then it seems right that their language now infiltrates dialogue in the same way "Valley Girl" speech conquered early 2000s TV and movies.

The cast - Ellen Pallant and Anton Bibby - flit about the stage with poise and grace. Their kinetic energy buzzes out into the audience who remained transfixed throughout the performance. They each have an intensity and passion which fills the space - fully bringing to life characters dominated by hubris and helplessness. Full praise must go to Adébayo Bolaji, the director, for finding a way to stage the show without it becoming tawdry and exploitative.

The political polemic around the exploitation of the working class (and of the working girl) isn't exactly subtle. But it fits right in with the themes of being in slavish thrall to both bosses, the algorithm, and - ultimately - the fans who love/hate you.

The ending feels a bit abrupt, but had the audience gleefully discussing it as we were expelled into the cold light of day.

Perhaps it was sitting right at the front of the stalls, but the opening of Hadestown feels like dinner theatre; almost cosy in its intimacy. The first act is so busy - there are a hundred-and-one things happening on stage that it occasionally becomes overwhelming. The second act is slightly more intimate, but no less dazzling.

Having the musicians on stage lends to the feel of being in a nightclub. The stereo separation makes it easier to pick out the various musical threads and brings a lovely texture to the songs. Also, who knew a trombone could steal a show?

Lots of the cast sing in their natural accents. A roaring northern Hades versus a Mancunian Orpheus makes for quite the thrilling combination. Having subsequently listened to the Broadway cast recording, it is amazing what a positive difference it makes.

And, yes, the obligatory revolve spins the performers on a near-constant merry-go-round. When I am King of the West End, the revolve will be banned for the laze cliché that it is!

A stunning show with a killer soundtrack and a delightful set of performers.

I've written before about how the pre-show and post-show experience shapes an event. The Lyric theatre is generously sized, so plenty of space to mill about before the show, rather than being crammed into a tiny bar. The toilets weren't in too bad a condition. Once again, no set dressing in the liminal spaces. Would it have been so hard to mock up some travel posters for the eponymous station? Or have something for people to take photos with?

The themed cocktail menu was inventive but shockingly expensive, even for London prices. The programme is only a fiver and, unlike other West End shows, is full of interesting information and not just an excuse to cram in adverts - excellent value for money.

After the curtain call, we get a few more minutes with the musicians, which was delightful. On the way out there was no leaflet offering a discount on return visits (unlike Avenue Q). There is, apparently, a "Hadestown Passport" which you can get stamped every visit - although I didn't see any evidence of that.

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.