Theatrical Catch Up: From On the Town to The Mentor

It’s been a while.

Phil’s been busy having a bit of work done. At home. Not on his face. Yet.

Review – Top Hat, Aldwych Theatre

Andrew recently passed a big and significant landmark which, to put it delicately, did not involve sitting aboard the 52 bus and whizzing past the Royal Albert Hall.

No, it was one of those occasions where everyone was coming up with ideas for unusual things he could do on the actual day. Phil suggested he stayed in and blew the dust off that anthology of Harold Pinter he gave him several birthdays ago. Some hope. (In case you’re interested, he ended up spending it with Nancy Lam)

But if Andrew ever feels despondent about his advancing years he can always instantly feel 20 years younger for the price of a theatre ticket – at least for as long as Top Hat runs.

The Whingers were feeling almost nubile amongst the Aldwych crowd. When Phil stood up before the show started to see how many were in the orchestra pit (15 for the record) a shrinking mittel-European lady behind him tapped him on the shoulder and anxiously enquired, “I hope you’re not going to keep standing up during ze show”.

Review – Annie Get Your Gun, Young Vic

Roll up! Roll up! See Annie Oakley, the best little sharpshooter in the west!

Roll up! Roll up! See possibly the most misguided, misfiring musical revival to go off half cock EVER.

Roll up! Roll up! Begin to forget what showbusiness is, never mind whether or not any other business might bear some resemblance to it.

Review: Call Me Madam, Upstairs at the Gatehouse

Phil suffers from vertigo (and everyone around him suffers too) so the Whingers had never before ventured Upstairs at the Gatehouse whose unique selling proposition is that it is “officially London’s top theatre – we’re 446ft above sea level!”.

But ripping off their oxygen masks they were heartened to see that this was actually very much their kind of venue – a sign on the auditorium’s door (see below) which invited, nay almost ordered them to “Drink as much as you like”.

So from grumbling about the Gatehouse’s unreserved seating policy and it’s stupid  ticket-reservation-by-answerphone system (“we will only call you back if there is a problem”) their moods shifted instantly to exactly the right frame of mind to enjoy a Sunday matinée performance of Irving Berlin’s Call Me Madam.