Yes, I know: this is a bit off-topic for this blog.
And, yes, I know: I'm a bit late to this particular party.
A show that's garnered more unconditional love than a YouTube clip of kittens watching a YouTube clip of a baby panda sneezing. A show that appeared to have absolved James Corden from the tawdry mess that was Lesbian Vampire Killers. A show that went stateside quicker than a white collar criminal.
Yes, I know. I'm a bit late.
You may have seen it? You may have loved it? If so, look away now.
Your faithful reporter, hoodwinked into going along last night, was fooled by the pre-curtain music: the excellent skiffle band (period-informed performance?!?) was easily the best thing of the evening.
For it soon became clear that the meat in this particular pasty was a dessicated pellet of cod Am Dram rattling around hollowly in an impenetrable pastry coffin of cheap gags, sub-panto mugging and unconvincing 'audience'-participation.
Perhaps my 800 fellow-patrons last night were less resistant to lines such as "What a Count(ry Life)" - hilarious! - or the sub-Are You Being Served spectacle of an old man falling repeatedly down stairs?
Was I missing the point? Could this have been an edgy, on-the-button critique of provincial theatre? A visionary director letting his actors put everything on the line by baring every fibre of their souls? Mike-Leigh-meets-Haneke? "Oh no it wasn't!"
As a celebration of the mediocre, a hymn to the lowest common denominator, 'One Man, Two Guvnors' was, at best, an embarrassing Perfect Storm of awfulness. At worst, it was a reminder of how fearful we have become of Art, how cheaply we feel we need to flog culture, and truly depressing.
*/2 (the half-star for its being indoors, in case it had been raining)
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