Review: In a Dark Dark House, Almeida Theatre

The Whingers have very few secrets left. Oh, it’s true that they know the locations of some dark, dark bars which they will never share with their clamouring, clamouring public; places where they can enjoy a bottle of red, red wine uninterrupted by the constant, constant throng of fans and celebrity hangers-on.

And Phil knows secret, secret things about Andrew that he wouldn’t dream of sharing with the world: he has after all seen him swilling his undie(sirables) in a Frankfurt hotel bathtub; he knows what Andrew looked like before his operation; and that Andrew’s middle name is Margaret. But he would never, never tell.

But the secrets unravelled in Neil La Bute’s In a Dark Dark House at the Almeida are altogether more controversial.

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Push-A-Playwright

Push-A-Playwright is the new craze that’s sweeping the nation.

It’s a game which was devised by the West End Whingers quite some time ago but we haven’t got around to playing it yet.

It’s a bit like happy-slapping except that it’s funny.

Review – Fat Pig, Trafalgar Studios

Some things are clearly not meant to be.

The Whingers were fully expecting to be able to review their own West End stage debuts in Fat Pig.

Having missed out on making their Broadway debuts in both Xanadu and the 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee they leapt at the chance to secure on-stage seating at the new Neil LaBute play at the Trafalgar Studios.

Andrew had got himself into a right old tizzy of excitement. He had spent weeks planning his “performance”, trying to pin down the nuances of his character (sadly elusive) and, most importantly, deciding what he should wear to draw most attention to himself. He eschewed Phil’s offer of his favourite fashion item of the moment: a Sarah Jessica Parker style fascinator, instead settling for his old favourite “Ignore Me. I’m Just Reviewing Your Performance” t-shirt.

But their plans were cruelly dashed.

Review – Helter Skelter / Land of the Dead by Neil LaBute, Bush Theatre, London

The West End Whingers pride themselves on their metropolitanism so it’s always worth of comment when the journey to a theatre is considerably longer than the play.

Unaware that Shepherds Bush tube station was closed and engrossed in his reading material (Andrew’s well thumbed copy of Quiltmaker magazine) Phil suddenly found himself in the wilds of White City. Not for the first time he really had no idea where he was. Thinking that Emerald City conventions might apply he clicked his heels together and uttering “There’s no place like The Bush” but to no avail.