The culture: ‘Wonder.land’, National Theatre Olivier; ‘The Woman Hater’ by Edward’s Boys, King’s College London Chapel
The cheap seats: £5 Entry Pass stalls seats (upgraded to centre, row D); £10 general tickets
Over the last few weeks I’ve seen some brilliant and brutal theatre, starting with Sarah Kane’s torturous masterpiece ‘Cleansed’ and then Jean Genet’s tricky drama ‘The Maids’ at Trafalgar Studios. Both had brilliant casts and powerful women galore. They were hard hitting, tackling issues of race, gender, class. They were sweary and violent but also beautiful in a twisted and disturbing way.
They were also difficult. Both plays are firmly lodged in my brain but I didn’t really ‘get’ them. I left the theatres feeling a bit floored, but not feeling like I understood the plays, and certainly not like I had been entertained. I also think I’ve gained a brow-wrinkle from thinking about them.
There’s something to be said for something that’s pure joyful fun. Last weekend I finally saw ‘Wonder.land’ at the National Theatre, the new musical based on Alice in Wonderland by Moira Buffini and Blur’s Damon Albarn. I booked before it got savaged on press night and, having seen the reviews, almost returned my tickets. But I’m so, so glad I didn’t. ‘Wonder.land’ is high-camp fun of the highest order, the kind that is usually reserved for pantomime season. Aly is a troubled teen from a broken home who enters ‘Wonder.land’, a virtual reality game where you can be whoever you like, to escape the bullies at her new school and the fall-out from her parents’ break-up at home. Yes, it was a bit patronising in places. But the theme of self-acceptance was so uplifting, there were so many inspired moments, so much glitter, and a very sexy white rabbit, that I left grinning like the Cheshire cat himself.
Sunday’s treat was a little more high-brow. As part of King’s College London’s Beaumont400 conference (an antidote to all the bardolating that’s going on at the moment), Edward’s Boys, a boys’ company from Stratford-upon-Avon, staged Francis Beaumont’s forgotten gem of a comedy ‘The Woman Hater’. The entire show was brilliantly stolen by its madcap subplot in which a glutton will do anything, including marrying a prostitute, to sample the rare delicacy of his dreams – a fish head. There was even a Dean Martin song thrown in. I’ve never laughed so hard in a chapel.
While I love a serious piece of drama as much as the next frequenter of the NT, there’s a lot to be said for fun theatre, and for revelling in childish jokes, belly laughs, glitter cannons, pimps dressed as priests, and fish heads.