Review – Nell Gwynn, Apollo Theatre

Still playing a bit of theatrical catch up here with those shows that might appear to tickle our peculiar fancies.

So it seemed Jessica Swale‘s Nell Gwynn a broad, camp, comedic, backstage-with-royal-patronage tale of big frocks and massive millinery, a bit of cross-dressing and based on historical fact looked as if it might tickle and tick all our boxes. And it might have ticked big time if that other broad, camp, comedic, backstage-with-royal-patronage tale of big frocks and massive millinery, a bit of cross-dressing and based on historical fact, Mr Foote’s Other Leg hadn’t got to us first.

Review – The Rivals, Southwark

A curse upon unreserved seating! A pox upon thine playhouse! The rivalry for seats bits of bench at the otherwise wonderful Southwark Playhouse‘s production of The Rivals last night proved more intense than anything the Whingers will ever see on a stage.

Were there a lot of Germans in the audience on Tuesday night? Ersatz beach towels in the form of scarves and coats were draped across swathes of seating. “I’m reserving five seats!” explained one woman, channelling Mrs Malaprop’s hauteur, but presumably she had lived here long enough to lose her accent and therefore break the habit.

The auditorium filled to capacity and then some more people arrived. The staff implored us: “Could you squeeze up a bit?” Er, no, we couldn’t actually. Even with Andrew’s newly gym-honed carcass and Phil’s buttocks clenched as tight as a fringe theatre’s budget there really wasn’t room for another. A gentleman was pushed onto the end of our row nonetheless and quite how he perched on one buttock for the not-far-short-of three hours we shall never know. I suppose we could have asked.