Revelations
Hampstead
You know the feeling. The interval bell rings. A voice, well trained in morale-boosting, urges you to return for Act II. And you say to yourself: “No. I don’t want to go back there.” This play is bilge. I know already how it’s going to end. Still, duty calls. So: here it is. Four couples who have made contact over the internet converge on a Lake District house with pre-Raphaelite connections — that stained glass of Adam and Eve may be by Burne-Jones. The purpose of the gathering is a sex orgy. About 15 minutes on, you realise nobody is quite what they seem; that, sooner or later, everybody will be unmasked; and that the point of Stephen Lowe’s play is to philosophise about the nature of love and sex, and why they give people so much bother. The writing is relentlessly jokey, and the dear old f-word is much in evidence, clearly to give the author street cred. Theology and smut saunter hand-in-hand back to paradise. I worry about the long-term mental health of the eight excellent actors; about the theatre’s artistic director, Anthony Clark, who directs this play; and about audiences, who could be put off sex and pre-Raphaelite painting for life.

John Peter

Peter Pan
Savoy
This quaintly old-fashioned production is faithful to the text of JM Barrie’s 1904 play, in which the little boy who never grew up first appeared. The sets and costumes are traditional and unsurprising: cute nursery, believable pirate ship, big feather headdresses for the Indians, a lolloping man in a furry dog outfit as Nana, a twittering beam of light for Tinkerbell, lots of sparkling fairy dust. Among these strides Anthony Head — famous for his roles in those icons of contemporary culture, the Gold Blend ads and Buffy the Vampire Slayer — hamming it up nicely as Captain Hook. And jolly good he is too, commanding the stage as authoritatively as his ship, until he literally disappears between the jaws of a huge green crocodile head that rears up at right angles to the stage. I wondered what two children, whose normal entertainment contains its fair share of computer games and pop music, would make of all this. In fact, they loved it, comparing it favourably to a more experimental Peter Pan they had seen in a previous year. For them, it seemed to be proper theatre. For the accompanying adults, the straightforward nature of the staging threw into relief what a very strange imagination created this tale full of yearnings and attachments that verge on the disturbed.

Adrienne Connors
Maria Lawrence, 7, says: “It was good acting and good scenery. I liked the flying, but they were on strings and I could see that.”
Anna Lawrence, 9, says: “Captain Hook was my favourite, he’s an interesting character. It’s an odd story with lots of imagination. I thought they made a really good job of it.”

C’est Barbican
Barbican
Cabaret is often attempted, rarely successfully. There seems to be a permanent desire for evenings out that mix alcohol and entertainment, but somehow, the only form that survives is table dancing. In a sense, the Barbican’s seasonal floor show, C’est Duckie — resident at the Vauxhall Tavern, the London gay club — satisfies the principle of both. Table dancing and cabaret, that is. The premise is simple: each table is issued with Duckie dollars, from which you purchase table-top performances from the boys and girls of the troupe, as well as guest entertainers. High-kicking dance numbers crop up now and then, and the whole thing is washed down with champagne. Highly recommended, but effectively indescribable, are Miss High Kick Does Seven Cocks, Stilettos of Death, The Wicked Witch of the West Does Robert De Niro in Spanish and James Joyce’s Ulysses. It’s good, mucky, grown-up fun. In these Pop Idol times, Duckie are exactly what we need — just sleazy enough, just silly enough and just gorgeous enough to satisfy a gaping hole in our culture that is not going to be filled by Busted. You will leave with a smile plastered all over your face.

Stephen Armstrong

The Happiest Days of Your Life
Royal Exchange, Manchester
You would have thought that John Dighton’s 1948 comedy-farce would have dated more than Gammer Gurton’s Needle and Black-Ey’d Susan — but no, you are pleasantly surprised. Here is a Ministry of Evacuation ordering a Hampshire boys’ boarding school to share its premises with ... a girls’ school. Outrage from teaching staff, parents and Rainbow, the grumpy caretaker. Those, those were the days — when women seemed adorably virginal, frighteningly sporty or irredeemably masculine, men were terror-stricken, infantile or patronising, and you could say “homo in omnibus” without giving anyone the wrong idea. This is an entirely good-natured comedy that just stops short of being bland. Philip Madoc, looking like a cross between Lloyd George and David Jason, is the florid headmaster; Janet Henfrey, looking like Dante in drag, leads for the mistresses; and the delectable Joanna Riding is unrecognisable as the shrill, frumpy little sports mistress. If you want to forget top-up fees, council tax or NHS waiting lists for two hours, this is your chance.

John Peter