Tag Archives: National

Review – The Playboy of the Western World, Lyttelton Theatre, National Theatre, London, 29th December 2025

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It has long been a personal travesty that I’d never seen a production of a J M Synge play. I’ve always been fascinated by the story of the riots at the opening performances of Playboy of the Western World in Dublin in 1907, where the honest Dubliners were affronted at the perceived slight on decent Irish womanhood that Synge dishes out. Synge wanted to show a warts and all representation of Ireland, despite the fact that his Irish patrons didn’t want to see that at all. In Britain, only the personal intervention of the Lord Chamberlain himself allowed the play to be performed in London – his advisers expected the play to provoke similar bad reaction from the crowds in Britain as in Ireland. But they overestimated the extent to which British audiences cared about the decency of Irish women, and the play went down rather well as a comedy drama.

In County Mayo, young Christy Mahon turns up at a scruffy bar, dishevelled, tired and dirty. He claims to have murdered his father, which sparks a fascination with him, leading to his becoming a surprise local celebrity. Pegeen Mike, who works in the tavern, despite the protestations of her fiancé, falls in love with him. However, when Christy’s father also turns up, and is revealed not to be dead after all, the townspeople turn against Christy for his deceit. In an attempt to regain his popularity, he has a second go at killing his dad, but this doesn’t make matters any better.

We all know that girls prefer a bad boy. You can deny it as much as you like, but deep down you know it’s true. Playboy can come across as the ultimate proof of that belief, with Christy’s criminality seemingly being a turn-on for the village women. But that is to miss the point. It’s not that he’s a bad boy that makes the girls swoon – it’s that he can spin a great tale. When his craic turns out to be false, it’s the ultimate turn-off. And trying to recreate the crime just makes it worse. The irony is that Christy never intends to be a Playboy – he’s really just a blundering oaf who accidentally becomes popular. No wonder he’s clueless how to put it right.

It’s a cliché to invoke the description a curate’s egg, but in this instance, it nails it. There’s a lot of excellent work here. Katie Davenport’s set and costume design, for example, is outstanding – you can truly believe this is a rural backwater and Catriona McLaughlin’s direction equally makes you believe in the people who live there. The performances are nuanced and strong. Let’s face it: a cast led by the likes of Nicola Coughlan, Siobhan McSweeney and Eanna Hardwicke is always going to turn in a powerful performance. In our show, Old Mahon was played by understudy Donncha O’Dea and he was superb.

The overall impression one gains from the entire production is one of resolute authenticity, from the keening of the village women to the straw costumes for the mumming scenes. And of course, some very strong accents. However, this authenticity is also a problem for a London audience. This production provides a lesson in early 20th century Irish drama that the audience might not realise they need. There’s no doubt that the accents are very, very strong – and if your familiarity with Irish inflections goes no further than Father Ted or Mrs Brown’s Boys you might find yourself completely failing to understand much of the first Act. Regrettably, it was no surprise to anyone that there was a considerable number of no-returns after the interval.

The production is very reverential of Synge’s original work; slow-building, solid, respectful and an authoritative portrayal of that Western World of north-west Mayo in 1907. The trouble with this reverence is that, as a result, it forgets that it’s a comedy; we miss the humour and only concentrate on the characterisations and plot. Many subtleties are lost, including Synge’s gifted use of language, and the reason why Christy gains and loses his popularity so drastically. Unfortunately, that’s really what the whole play is about.

Despite its best intentions and the undoubted expertise of its cast and creative team, this production fails to communicate the essence of the play. It comes across as a historical curiosity rather than a timeless tale with a message for today. Sadly, for me, the negative aspects of this production outweigh the positives. I can’t imagine anyone watching this as their first Synge and then committing to discovering more of his output – and that’s not just a shame, but a disservice to a great writer.

Two Disappointing For More!

Review – Dear England, National Theatre, Olivier Theatre, London, 16th April 2025

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If you were to write a letter to your football team, what would it say? I’d write something like: Dear W*** H**, When you get it right, you get it so right, but you exasperate me when you get it wrong. However, you’re in my heart and my soul, and you’ll always be part of who I am. Then imagine sending that letter to England – if you are English, that is –  and see if it fits with your feelings about both the national football team, and the country as a whole.

James Graham’s Dear England has only been around since 2023 but is already on its third run, having transferred from the National to the West End in October 2023, and is now back at the Olivier. It’s pretty much the same production with many of the same cast but the text has been updated to take account of recent footie developments. I didn’t see it in 2023, nor was I able to catch many of the cinema screenings that followed; but I was determined to catch it this time around, having heard sensational things about it.

If you’ve been living under a rock for the last couple of years and don’t know what it’ s about, the play traces the fortunes of Gareth Southgate as England manager, from being given the job on a temporary basis for a couple of months in 2016 following the “resignation” of Sam Allardyce, to his own resignation in 2024. James Graham describes the play as a “fictionalised account of the struggles and successes of England’s football teams” although many of its characters are real people; not only the players, but the FA staff, commentators, pundits and politicians, and there’s enormous fun in recognising how accurately some of these famous people are portrayed.

Its large cast and busy staging have tremendous impact. The combination of Es Devlin’s set design, Evie Gurney’s costumes, Jon Clark’s lighting, Dan Balfour and Tom Gibbons’ sound, Ellen Kane and Hannes Langolf’s movement and, especially, Ash J Woodward’s amazing video design stay in your head long after curtain down. A dream team of creatives, if ever there was one. As an aside, the production’s use of music is incredibly effective – the association of songs with football is well known but this production brings it into powerful focus.

The story of Southgate’s approach to the job is fascinating, including how he ruffled so many feathers with his innovations, particularly the use of sports psychology, having been so damaged himself by his famous penalty miss in 1996. If anyone needed to write a Dear England letter, it was Southgate. But the play is so much more than just the story of one man’s journey. It’s also more than just the team’s development. It’s a fascinating look at what it means to be part of a team, particularly one that has existed for 150 years, and how a team deals with an outsider – in this instance, Pippa Grange, the psychologist that Southgate brings in to help. It also explores what it is like to be that outsider.

The play also considers what it means to be English, and what that famous flag represents – both positive and negative. Even more, it’s an examination of the effects of carrying the weight of the hopes of the nation on your shoulders, and how your success or failure directly affects tens of millions of people. That’s one very heavy responsibility. Fortunately, Graham’s writing balances the emotions with humour, and this is an extremely funny play, as well as bringing back all the excitement and suspense of significant moments in England games. Act One ends with the Russia 2018 World Cup, finally breaking the curse of the England penalty shoot-out, and it’s still as thrilling today as it was then.

Director Rupert Goold has created a superb ensemble to represent the England team; their interaction, movement skills and laddish boisterousness makes you forget that they are actors – you really feel that they are footballers. Everyone shows superb commitment, and whilst it is impossible to name each cast member, there are several outstanding performances. Ryan Whittle steals every scene with his uncanny and hilarious portrayal of the ultra-thoughtful Harry Kane, as does Josh Barrow as the chirpy, bouncy Jordan Pickford. Tristan Waterson is excellent as the unpredictable Dele Alli, and Jude Carmichael shows tremendous promise in his professional debut as Marcus Rashford, aloof until he can start recognising his own demons. The always reliable John Hodgkinson is superb in his several roles including FA chairman Greg Clarke; having briefly met Mr Clarke a few years ago I can personally testify what an accurate portrayal it is.

Liz White is great as Pippa Grange, employing all her character’s own skills and knowledge to survive in the challenging – and misogynistic – world into which she is thrown, and Matt Bardock is brilliant as the old school team analyst Mike Webster, struggling to keep up with Southgate’s vision for the future. Leading the squad, literally, is Gwilym Lee’s fantastic performance as Gareth Southgate; not only recreating him so accurately in appearance, but convincingly conveying that struggle between strength and vulnerability, influence and insecurity that combine to create his complex personality.

It’s a remarkable play, written with true affection, that carries us through a sea of triumphs and calamities, and ends with such a positive message – a truly feelgood work. I had expected it to be excellent – but not this excellent. If you love football, or if you consider yourself English, this play is for you. It runs at the Olivier until 24th May, then transfers to the Lowry, Salford, for a month and embarks on a UK tour (specifically England!) from September to March.

Five Alive Let Theatre Thrive!

Review – The Importance of Being Earnest, National Theatre Lyttelton, 28th December 2024

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Oscar Wilde has always been known for the vivacity of both his writing and his lifestyle. If ever there was an early exponent of today’s you do you message, it’s Wilde. Max Webster’s brilliant vision for this new production of The Importance of Being Earnest is to highlight its celebration of all things gay which has been hiding in plain sight all these years. It’s both fascinating and laudable to see that he achieves this with the minimal amount of liberty-taking with Wilde’s original text.I was expecting something along the lines of Zinnie Harris’ rewriting of The Duchess (of Malfi) as seen recently at the Trafalgar theatre; clever, but merely a serving suggestion of John Webster’s text. Here, there is no need to make changes what Wilde has already written; just a few tiny modern additions bring it forward 130 years (yes it really did first appear in 1895) and it’s as fresh and as funny as it ever was.

In fact, dare I say it, even more so. Algernon Moncrieff (but we can call him Algy) is still living a debauched, carefree existence in town without the means to pay for it and getting out of commitments he doesn’t fancy by pretending his ill friend Bunbury needs his attention. Jack is still his bestie, subsidising Algy’s appetite for the good life, and using their association to get closer to Algy’s cousin Gwendolen with whom he is passionately in love. Except… there’s no doubt here that Algy and Jack’s relationship goes a lot deeper than this, even if Jack isn’t fully aware of it (Algy certainly is). It’s also delightfully balanced by a similar recognition between Gwendolen and Jack’s ward Cecily; their sudden friendship, then enmity, then friendship again is clearly more than mere girl power.

What’s extraordinary in this production is that all this is done with the utmost lightness of touch. There’s no heavy-handedness or labouring any of the points it wishes to make; nothing is forced, it’s all purely natural. And you feel that Webster’s version has truly lifted the lid on this perpetually marvellous play and delved even deeper. It’s like finishing the first tray of a box of chocolates only to discover there’s a whole new selection of goodies in the tray underneath.

I’m unwilling to spoil any of the surprises in the production, although it is bookended by two truly fabulous flights of fancy with a very pink first scene – the official production photos reveal this very unusual opening – and an outrageously over the top curtain call. Even then, it’s stunning how Algy’s Liberace moment melds perfectly into his opening conversation with his manservant Lane. For all its 100% gayness, the production simply works on every level and remains remarkably truthful to the original.

But here’s a few titillating moments to with which to tease you: watch out for Algy’s unsuppressed reaction when he discovers that Cecily is worth £130,000 in the Funds, and the initial letters of the volumes that Jack pulls out of the library when he’s looking for the Army Lists. Laugh too at the list of bills Algy tears up at the end of Act One, and the perfectly chosen extracts of modern songs that occasionally appear throughout the show. Normally I bridle at anachronistic use of music in a play but here it works hilariously well.

Beautifully staged, with a superb set and costume design by Rae Smith (Algy’s first act suit must be worth thousands), the famous handbag is given pride of place on entering the auditorium, only to be gently whisked away and concealed till needed; when it does return, it appears literally as a deus ex machina. And Max Webster has assembled a dream ensemble who exceed all expectations in their perfectly cast roles.

Heading the cast is Sharon D Clarke as Lady Bracknell, a terrifyingly no-nonsense Caribbean matriarch who relishes every sentence and always takes complete control of the situation, even when things take unexpected turns. Whatever preconceptions you may have of how Lady Bracknell should speak or appear, prepare to be amazed at Ms Clarke’s performance.

I’ve only seen Ncuti Gatwa on TV as Doctor Who and didn’t know what to expect from him as a stage performer, but I was literally blown away. He has truly incredible charisma, filling the theatre with joy by his facial expressions, perfect comic timing and extraordinary versatility. I’ve never been so surprised to see an actor do something so unexpectedly delightful, and I can’t wait to follow his stage career in future. He’s perfectly matched by a brilliant comic performance by Hugh Skinner who again I only know from TV’s W1A. He gives a fantastic physicality to his performance, with a totally convincing characterisation, stuffed with endless comedy highlights.

The other superb comic performance comes from Ronkẹ Adékoluẹjo as Gwendolen, gleefully playing up to both Jack and Cecily with barely concealed sexual excitement, a total powerhouse of activity and comic inventiveness. Eliza Scanlen’s Cecily gives a terrific portrayal of a not-quite-spoilt young woman finding her way in the world, Amanda Lawrence gives us a rather wretched Miss Prism clinging on to respectability when she is so publicly shamed, Richard Cant’s Chasuble is a splendidly earnest (there’s that wordagain) chap who holds a very bright candle for Prism indeed, and Julian Bleach’s two butler manservants are so very differently characterised – his lolloping Merriman is a feat of comic genius in itself.

One of those magic theatrical experiences where you simply run out of superlatives. Ernest, Jack and Algy are alive and well and not just living but thriving on the South Bank. The Importance of Being Earnest is playing until 25 January, but many of the remaining performances are sold out – and it hits the cinemas from 20th February. You’ve seen reviews of plays that claim “it’s a revelation” – this time it really is.

Five Alive, Let Theatre Thrive!

Review – Till The Stars Come Down, National Theatre Dorfman Theatre, London, 15th February 2024

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Sylvia and Marek are getting married – and we’re invited to the wedding. The morning is the usual race against time for all the women to get their hair done, check their outfits, and maybe even start on a few early cheeky glasses of something sparkly. It’s a great opportunity for a family reunion for Sylvia and her sisters Hazel and Maggie, especially as Maggie left the area suddenly a few months ago. They’re still missing their mum – none more so than their dad Tony. Marek, Sylv’s intended, is of course Polish, but they’re fine with that; after all, Brexit is a thing of the past now. Isn’t it?

But old sins cast long shadows, they say; and in these ex-mining communities people still remember the wrongs done by not only the Thatcher government of the 1980s but the scabs who undermined the strike. Fortunately, it’s a happy occasion! What could possibly go wrong at a family wedding? As you’ve probably guessed, gentle reader, quite a lot. Passions run high, old enmities are exposed, prejudices are teased out, and it can only take one little misjudged event to push a whole family over the edge. When someone takes it on themselves to deal out summary justice, it becomes a no-turning-back moment for everyone.

Beth Steel has written earlier plays based on East Midlands communities – she is from Nottingham originally – and as my own hometown of Northampton just counts as East Midlands too, Till The Stars Come Down was strangely calling my name. Unexpectedly classical in structure, the play – largely – observes the unities of the French tragedians, by all taking place on one day, having basically one action (the wedding) and occurring in one place (you could argue that isn’t quite the case here.)

Ms Steel’s writing exquisitely fills in the details of these larger than life characters, as truths, lies and everything in between emerge over the course of two and a half hours. She has a knack of giving a character a simple, seemingly innocent line that instantly makes us realise a whole new side to someone that we thought we already knew. The play is bound by a gritty realism that does not hold back from showing us the tougher elements of life; and the characters’ irrepressible strength and resourcefulness comes out in some genuinely and unexpectedly hilarious scenes and conversations. For me, the only times the play doesn’t quite succeed is when it drifts away from realism, such as the scene (cleverly staged though it may be) when some of the characters represent the planets and stars revolving around each other.

Bijan Sheibani’s production is beautifully and simply staged on set designer Samal Blak’s big green block of astroturf, with minimal props or scenery apart from a few tables and an electric fan. It’s a great example of how effective it can be to suggest a scene with just the basics, allowing our imaginations to work harder. Paule Constable’s lighting design constantly astonishes with its surprise effects – you’ve never seen a glitter ball make such an impact.

The cast are uniformly excellent and work together to create a true sense of ensemble. There isn’t one role, nor one performer, who dominates the proceedings; the play is written so that every single character is, at some point of the procedure, the most important person there. Lorraine Ashbourne is great fun as the bossy Aunty Carol, picking fights over the seating arrangements, the embodiment of living life to the full, no matter the consequences. Lucy Black’s Hazel is a seething mass of anxieties and heartbreaks that are never far from the surface, and Lisa McGrillis’ Maggie is a study of someone trying to come to terms with both the past and the present whilst still giving off confident vibes. Sinead Matthews presents Sylvia as an optimistic fiancée and happy newlywed who only wants the best for herself and Marek.

Alan Williams’ Tony is a man brought down by the experiences of a lifetime yet carries on undefeated; Derek Riddell’s John also puts on a brave face despite his internal torments; and Philip Whitchurch’s Pete does his best to water down Carol’s excesses whilst refusing to give way to his principles of the past. Marc Wootton’s Marek is a contented self-made man who can neither understand nor forgive the barely concealed racism that he faces. There’s excellent support from Ruby Stokes’ Leanne, trying to make sense of the family issues as she understands them, and, in the performance we saw, Bodhi Rae Breathnach was excellent as the young Sarah, a child in an adults’ world, mixing playtime with the horrors of reality.

Superb performances in a highly entertaining and frequently shocking play. The final scene is so full of almost uncontrollable emotion between the three sisters that, as the lights came up to signify the end of the show, the actors were all mouthing to each other you okay hun as part of their return to the real world, before they could turn to the audience to take the applause. Remind me to resist the temptation to attend any more weddings. Till The Stars Come Down continues at the Dorfman until 16th March.

4-starsFour They’re Jolly Good Fellows!

Review – Blues for an Alabama Sky, Lyttelton Theatre, National Theatre, London, 26th October 2022

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The second stage (literally) of our three-part Blitz on the National Theatre was to see Wednesday’s matinee of Blues for an Alabama Sky at the Lyttelton Theatre – Lynette Linton’s acclaimed production of Pearl Cleage’s 1995 play. Set in Harlem in 1930, Angel is a club singer who shares an apartment with her friend Guy, a clothes designer whose dream is to create extravagant outfits for his heroine, Josephine Baker, in Paris. Fired from her job and dumped by her gangster boyfriend, Guy carries her home drunk with the assistance of a handsome passing stranger. Supported by Guy, and their friends Delia (from the adjacent apartment) and Sam, a local doctor, Angel sets about picking up the pieces of her life. But then the passing stranger passes by again, this time deliberately, to see if Angel has recovered, and he doesn’t seem likely to take no for an answer…

Plays are peculiar things. A bunch of words on paper, they come to life when transferred to a stage – especially if the creative team behind the production gets it right. This is one such occasion; a superb production that – dare I say it – elevates the words on the page to a level way further than you might expect. Lynette Linton’s direction, Frankie Bradshaw’s set and especially costumes, Oliver Fenwick’s lighting, Benjamin Kwasi Burrell’s music, and so on, all contribute to presenting us with the most elegant of productions. It shrieks class, although it’s far too elegant to shriek.

There’s also something about the production – and I can’t quite put my finger on why – that lures the audience into complete involvement with it. So when a character makes a really telling statement, or a very dramatic event occurs, there are audible gasps, even cries, from the audience. To create that link between us and what happens on stage is a rare gift.

However, and it’s quite a big however, I must confess that I didn’t really like the play itself that much. It feels long – I’m sure it could have shaved at least twenty minutes off without losing any of its content. It was, occasionally, a little bit boring. There are a couple of major plot events that are telegraphed a mile off. I don’t believe it’s in Delia’s character to do what she does at the end of the play (no spoilers). And the suggestion in the final scene that Angel is about to embark on some kind of Groundhog Day re-enactment of what has gone before means that nothing has changed, which is  a miserable conclusion, no matter how stylishly it’s conveyed. The direction also triggered one of my pet hates, when imaginary walls that divide rooms or buildings are unnecessarily breached by an actor walking through them. No!! What are you doing!! You’ve just picked that chair up and moved it through a brick wall!

Having said that, the play is genuinely fascinating with the development of a character who is absolutely committed to the cause of a woman’s accessibility to both contraception and abortion rights, particularly as it is progressed through promoting it through the church. It also nicely examines the bigotry of the Christian right through the character of Leland, slow to recognise homosexuality in his surroundings simply because he cannot believe it exists in any environment where he might find himself.

The performances are fantastic throughout and fully justify your decision to buy a ticket! Samira Wiley, in her UK stage debut, is incredible as Angel. She is the kind of performer you simply cannot take your eyes off. No movement, no gesture is wasted; she inhabits the role so fully that you are completely convinced she is Angel. Her singing voice is superb, her emotions get you in the guts, and she’s a dab hand at the comic timing and business too. A remarkable performance. Giles Terera impresses as Guy, with an entertaining range of camp mannerisms and vocal tics that delightfully bring out the humour of the character, but also complement his kindness and his realistic ability to the cut the crap and get to the truth. Ronkẹ Adékoluẹjo is brilliant as Delia, combining her earnestness with her innocence; she brings the whole audience with her on her gentle journey of love with the supportive Sam, another excellent performance from Sule Rimi. And Osy Ikhile is great as the handsome stranger Leland, the epitome of dignity and romance until the brutality of life stretches his patience too far.

The superb atmosphere that the production creates never lets up throughout the whole play, even if the play itself does occasionally leave something to be desired. But there’s a delicate mix of comedy and tragedy, fascinating character development, and an incredible connection with the audience which means the good definitely outweighs the not so good.


4-starsFour They’re Jolly Good Fellows!

Review – Jack Absolute Flies Again, Lyttelton Theatre, National Theatre, London, 27th July 2022

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One of the greatest joys of the British theatre in the 21st century has been the rise of the playwright Richard Bean, whose One Man Two Guvnors stands out as one of the true comedy highlights of the past twenty years. Now, in collaboration with Oliver Chris, who also starred in that play, he has taken another old play and given it a modern update – this time, Sheridan’s The Rivals, which has been inventively shaken up and repositioned in Sussex in 1940, where Churchill has requisitioned Malaprop Mansion as an RAF base where our brave chaps are taking flight daily to shoot down their German enemies, or, rather, scrambling their spitfires, pressing the tit and bagging a Jerry (thanks to the helpful glossary of terminology in the programme.)

If you know The Rivals, there’s a lot of fun to be gained by comparing Sheridan’s characters with Bean & Chris’ modern equivalents. We still have the braggart Sir Anthony Absolute paying court to Mrs Malaprop. We still have Young Absolute trying to woo Lydia Languish who only has eyes for another, whom Absolute impersonates (in an amusing northern switch, Ensign Beverley becomes Dudley Scunthorpe). Julia and Faulkland are still in love, Sir Lucius O’Trigger the Irish baronet in love with Lydia is now Bikram “Tony” Khattri, a Sikh pilot, and Lydia’s maid Lucy is still up to no good. Today, Mrs Malaprop’s lexicographical mishaps have taken a turn for the worse and the fourth wall is broken more than ever, and the writers surprise us with what could be a sad ending, if only the rest of the tone of the play wasn’t so buoyant.

It’s all presented in a slightly larger-than-life style; the gardens and boudoir of Malaprop Mansion are colourfully realised in Mark Thompson’s set design and his military uniforms for the characters are crisp and convincing. The direction is fast and furious, and to say it’s played for laughs is an understatement. That’s because, deep down, apart from the surprisingly moving last five minutes, “laughs” are basically all there is. The play constantly bombards us with so much joking, wordplay, physical comedy or any combination of the three, that there is no time to take breath between them. Inevitably, some of the jokes don’t land, whereas others land beautifully. There are some brilliantly funny sequences, primarily between Mrs Malaprop and Sir Anthony Absolute, but there are also several scenes that languish (geddit) and don’t hit the spot.

Caroline Quentin is rapidly becoming one of our grandes dames of theatre, and she rises beautifully to the challenge of getting every other word wrong as Mrs Malaprop. It must be so difficult to continuously, deliberately, say the wrong word – your brain must be going nineteen to the dozen trying to correct yourself. She does some fabulous pratfalls, and even if they’ve given her way too many malapropisms (my favourites were clitoris and Mexican), it’s still a terrific comedy performance. She’s partnered with a lot of comic bluster from Peter Forbes as the pantomimish baronet Sir Anthony Absolute, channelling his Ronnie Barker Hark at Barker persona from the 1960s. Like everything else in this show, it lacks subtlety, but the characterisation is spot on!

Impossible to tell if this made a difference to the energy of the show, but for our performance we saw George Kemp as Jack Absolute, in what I suspect may have been quite a last minute change, judging from the very supportive round of applause to him from the rest of the cast and his facial expression that said phew! during curtain call. He certainly looks the part, very dapper and heroic, and gave a very good performance. Kelvin Fletcher is also excellent as the fitter Dudley Scunthorpe, all engine oil and short vowels, and it was entertaining (if not vital to the plot) to have a dance number where Mr Fletcher could exercise his Strictly credentials.

Kerry Howard provides a crowd-pleasing performance as the mischievous and wise-beyond-her-status maid Lucy, pointing out Khattri’s poetic plagiarisms, and indulging in a rather sweet game of Hide The Duck with Dudley. I was slightly put off by her vocal characterisation being straight from the Catherine Tate stable, but then Ms Tate does so many characters that sometimes similarities may be inevitable. Natalie Simpson is a delightfully gung-ho Lydia Languish, and there’s great support from Jordan Metcalfe as the wilting Roy and Helena Wilson as his innamorata Julia (who has probably the best line in the show), James Corrigan as the never-give-up Bob Acres and Tim Steed as Brian Coventry, the senior RAF officer who’s clearly holding back a secret, and whose life at base might become more interesting with the revelation that one of the new fighter pilots is “a Brian too”, nudge nudge, wink wink.

For all the effort that’s put into the show, and for all its excellent pedigrees, there is something about it that somehow, unfortunately, just doesn’t quite work. It’s the old sum of the parts not equalling the whole kind of thing.  I guess it’s possible to just try too hard to be funny; less is more, and all that. It’s the kind of show that Mrs Chrisparkle would describe as relentless, which is not a compliment, although oddly she actually enjoyed it more than me. If the National Theatre were expecting the next One Man Two Guvnors, they’ll be disappointed, but nevertheless it’s certainly full of derring-do and frequently titillates your beer-lever.

4-stars

Four They’re Jolly Good Fellows!