Review – Young Frankenstein, Garrick Theatre

In which Phil acts as advisor to Mel Brooks.

Phil’s having a half-arsed catch up of shows he missed during his confinement. Or you could say a catch up on the seventies since this is his third in a row that steals from classic movies from that decade (Network, The Exorcist). Though this is less of a catch up than a revisiting. Of sorts.

Review – Master Class, Vaudeville Theatre

If the Whingers were writing nine word reviews (dream on) then an overheard from a precise elderly gentleman at the interval of Master Class might suffice; “She was a bit of a diva wasn’t she?” Quite.

The Whingers found no challenge camouflaging themselves amongst the throng of gentlemen d’un certain âge cramming this Broadway transfer at the Vaudeville Theatre where further eavesdropping supplied wistful reminisces like “Well, I saw Sutherland, but I never saw Callas.”

Yet even if we superficially blended into this expensively fragrant crowd (Andrew sporting a cravat, Phil’s pashmina insouciantly thrown over his shoulder), cheap aftershave the only giveaway to our lack of class and money, the Whingers just aren’t the sort of chaps who do opera. Like Maria Callas it’s all Greek to us. Our loss no doubt. If Terrence McNally‘s hugely enjoyable entertainment (director Stephen Wadsworth) doesn’t convert us little will.