Review – Spring Storm, National Theatre

Well, come Monday evening (no, not the Bank Holiday the one before that; bear with us, we’re out of synch) the Broadway Bellyachers had finally reverted to West End Whingerhood and were feeling decidedly other-worldly. This was mostly thanks to a red-eye flight (which obviously made no difference whatsoever to the colour of Phil’s eyes) which reluctantly took off  after  a near-3 hour wait on the tarmac at JFK, the misery of which was not really entirely offset by the compensation of a single beaker of water proffered by Virgin Atlantic. What was that all that about? Don’t they know who we are?

Well, no, they don’t any more. No-one does. We’re air-side now. Our bogus minor royalty status has drained away. Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Angus McIndoe any more.

Anyway, it’s a mere 10 hours after we land and we’re at the Whingers’ most dreaded “space”: the  National Theatre‘s Cottesloe  which – let’s be honest – on previous form is hardly the likeliest of places to keep the Whingers from dropping off mid-play. And this one – Tenessee Williams’ Spring Storm – is 2 3/4 hours long.

Surely the Whingers would need a Spring awakening to keep them from flagging. But then again they would be in the Cottesloe, so the chances of an interval departure seemed almost inevitable.