Review – The Bodyguard, Dominion Theatre

“BEVERLEY KNIGHT IN THE BODYGUARD”

Well, that’s what our only souvenir from the show, a flyer, claims (programmes are a whopping £8, which is more than a mug at a mere £7). But, long-sighted buyers beware, in ant-sized type on the back it states she’s “currently scheduled to appear at Tuesday to Friday evening performances and both performances on Saturday, subject to illness and holidays”.

We’ve been caught that way before. When we saw The Bodyguard in its first run at the Adelphi Theatre, headliner Heather Headley had better things to do and we saw her (albeit very good) stand in.

So second time lucky. Fortunately for us it wasn’t a Monday night or Wednesday matinee and Ms Knight wasn’t suffering croup or lying on a sun lounger with a pina colada somewhere but giving considerable wellie (welly?) on the Dominion stage.

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Review – The Bodyguard, Adelphi Theatre

Despite it having been 1992’s second-highest-grossing film* neither of the Whingers ever quite got round to seeing The Bodyguard. On the other hand no wild horses would have been required to get them to the sadly urrealised sequel starring Princess Diana as the romantic lead. We can only dream. In the meantime…

Review – The Sunshine Boys, Savoy Theatre

Two grumpy old gits with failing memories harbour massive grudges and snipe at each other. One of them prefers to spend as much time as possible lolling around in his jim-jams.  Both attempt to flog tired old gags in a double act that’s way past it’s sell by date.

The Sunshine Boys has a most pungent, room-clearing whiff of someone having a laugh at the Whingers’ expense. Would it prove a bit too close to home (a retirement one of course) for them?

Prolific Neil Simon‘s 1972 play arrives at the Savoy Theatre with an eagerly-anticipated USP: Danny DeVito making his West End stage debut as an old vaudevillian Willie Clark.

Cast opposite him the altogether less diminutive Richard Griffiths as his former stage partner Al Lewis (didn’t he play Grandpa in The Munsters?) and you might believe you’re almost Twins-set for a perfect match.

Review – 13, National Theatre

It’s a brave man who calls his play 13.

The opportunities for easy gags (who us?) are almost irresistible.

But then this is the Mike Bartlett who bravely presented his Cock at the Royal Court two years ago which led to much unseemly schoolboy giggling from the back of the Whingers’ unruly class.

Imagine if he ever writes a play called Inch. We can only imagine the programme compilers having great fun debating the order of his writing credits.

So, inspired to defy superstition, the Whingers will present 13 reasons why you may (or may not) wish to fondle a rabbit’s foot in your pocket and visit the National Theatre.

Review – Cause Célèbre, Old Vic

Tuesday 22nd March 2011: Stephen Sondheim’s 81st birthday (and by an ironic coincidence also Andrew Lloyd Webber’s 63rd).

What a relief. We can relax again knowing we no longer need to assist Mr Sondheim in celebrating his 8oth. It has been a too, too exhausting year.

But now Mr Rattigan is making similar demands on us from beyond the grave in commemoration of what would be his 100th.

We had already tooted into our party blowers for his Flare Path a few days earlier. Now we were required to quaff bubbly again at the Old Vic for his last play (originally for radio), written in 1977, Cause Célèbre.

Review – Blithe Spirit, Apollo Theatre

There’s nothing the Whingers like more than having the willies put up them.

With Ghost Stories under their belts and Ghost The Musical coming up in the outside lane the Whingers found themselves again taking stock of their relationship with the supernatural in the form of Noël Coward‘s Blithe Spirit.

And despite a cynical take on all things ectoplasmic Phil had a peculiar, nay spooky, experience at the Apollo Theatre. Only a few hours earlier he’d be musing not only about the last time he saw the play on stage (with “sock it to me!” Judy Carne as Elvira) but also about an old friend he’d lost touch with and hadn’t seen for many years. A dry, deeply cynical but solid fellow, definitely not prone to flights of fantasy, he had once told Phil a pretty convincing tale, witnessed by many others at the same moment, of seeing a ghost (a floating head if you please) in a Spanish monastery many years ago.* And there he was (the teller of the tale, not the ghost) standing in the bar at the interval of Monday’s preview, imbibing his own choice of spirits!

All very peculiar and unsettling. Call for Derek Acorah. Even better, call Shirley Ghostman!

Review – After the Dance, National Theatre

It’s hard to believe that the Whingers have never seen a Terence Rattigan play before. Well, not as Whingers anyway, nor even when they were going to the theatre together as dull-and-plain-old Phil and Andrew before they re-branded as the dull-and-plain-but-with-airs West End Whingers.

Of course, each had seen a Rattigan before they first met that fateful day when they both reached for the same artichoke in marketplace of Capri. But clearly the Whingers’ appreciation of a well-constructed play, a proscenium arch, French windows, hats and servants declaring “luncheon is served” meant that a Rattigan sortie was well overdue.

All that was missing was a Dame of the British Empire, but you can’t have it all can you? Surely the Whingers would be in seventh heaven?

Review – The Misanthrope with Keira Knightley, Comedy Theatre

“Why are we doing this?” grumped Andrew, plaintively.

“Who is she?” he continued, wailing.

Phil explained patiently: “She was in those pirate films, Bend it Like Beckham and that fim you saw with James McAvoy in a vest.”

Well, James McAvoy always gets to wear a vest in every film so that didn’t narrow it down and Andrew wasn’t convinced that this “Keira Knightley” was someone he needed to see.

But it seems the rest of the world does. People are flocking to the Comedy Theatre in droves. Let’s face it, they weren’t there because of their need to see The Misanthrope or their love of Molière.

Review – Mrs Klein, Almeida Theatre

Dear Andrew,

Where are you? You don’t call, you don’t write, you don’t Twitter, have you turned into Stephen Fry? And you keep sending me off to see things on my own, it’s all rather disquieting.

I heard rumours you were spotted in Coventry earlier this week. I can quite categorically state it wasn’t me who sent you there.

By the time you receive this letter the run of Mrs Klein will probably have ended long ago and we’ll be DBEs.

It’s all beginning to look rather peculiar. The last time you sent me off to the Almeida Theatre it was Duet for One, a play set around a series of therapy sessions.

Are you trying to tell me something?