Andrew is on sabbatical but Phil is soldiering on to help you decide between the Merlot and the Marlowe and generally putting London's West End theatre to rights
There was a very big divide in Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom.
No, not between Phil and Andrew, they were in accord. It was the show itself which came in two very separate parts. Act 2 is rather riveting but at the interval Phil thought it was desperately in search of a plot, or as Andrew more grandly declared “a narrative”. Read the rest of this entry »
Phil’s first trip to the theatre since his return from what he likes to call the Orient.
Always one to worry about the potential hazards of exotic travel, he hadn’t researched things enough to discover there would be dangerous centipedes or bees, let alone that his chief destination would be positioned perilously on on the Ring of Fire. It was here he experienced his first earthquake, which arrived with a star rating of 6.6 apparently, though some critics downgraded it to 6.3, but it was still enough to discombobulate him slightly, though not as much as the giant inflatable duck which, as a result, exploded in Taiwan’s Kaohsiung harbour.
But theatre gave Phil an excuse to catch up with Andrew and bore him with his experiences of the wobbles, both from his vertigo at the top of some of the world’s tallest buildings and seismic. “Did you see any theatre?” asked Andrew. When Phil explained that Phantom of the Opera was playing in Shanghai (his last stop on the trip) there seemed to be no need to expand on the conversation. Read the rest of this entry »
Gosh, how unwhingerish. Two Shakespeares in one week and on consecutive days no less.
A rare group outing and appropriately there was much ado about Much Ado About Nothing too. People were dropping out like all over the place. There were more withdrawals than a Roman orgy. 50% of the group fell by the wayside to be replaced by members on the waiting list. One person dropped out, dropped back in, then irritatingly dropped out again. Andrew never dropped in in the first place. Do we know a lot of people who possess the gift of foresight ? Read the rest of this entry »
Picture it. Two very troubled people, interdependent and inseparable due to circumstance; one is very old, extremely crotchety and makes the other one’s life hell.
But how much is the careworn younger one culpable for the older person’s distress? What is behind this ghastly symbiotic relationship of psychological cruelty. Why can’t they live together? Why daren’t they exist apart.
Goodness! Who’d have thought there’d be so many parallels between the characters in Martin McDonagh‘s* exceedingly black comedy The Beauty Queen of Leenane (newly revived at the Young Vic) and the Whingers’ own peculiar arrangement. The only immediate difference being that the Whingers, thankfully, were never umbilically connected.
Oh, and that Phil doesn’t eat Complan – but that can only be a matter of time. Read the rest of this entry »
Blame that notorious award-hogging Jerusalem-jiving Jez Butterworth. Blame Mike Bartlett and his impressive Cock.
These two playwrights made such a lasting impression on the Whingerz last year that they’ve booked for a slew of playz at the newly appointed official powerhouse of interestingness, the Royal Court. And yes, since you asked, we intend to get very cheap gagz from milking Mike Bartlett’s Cock for years to come.
So, anyway, could Bola Agbaje’s Off the Endz make it a hat-trick for the Court? Read the rest of this entry »
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.
Read the rest of this entry »
A West End Whinger 