★★

“For the most part, the play paddles in the shallow waters of caricature and stereotype”

The King’s Head was the UK’s oldest pub theatre when it closed its doors last August. Less than six months later – though years in the planning – the doors reopen to the new purpose-built space. The site is steeped in theatrical history, and many of us stepping through the doors on opening night for the inaugural production carry fond memories or have personal connections with the old space. The spirit of many great names in British theatre still lingers, some of them now ghosts. Watching perhaps. We can only speculate as the evidence is whitewashed over, and little remains, despite directly connecting to the old dressing room. None of the atmosphere has crossed the threshold. No memorabilia. No link to its colourful history. No echoes from the past. Nevertheless, as we descend the stairwells down to the subterranean black box, the anticipation is palpable.

“Exhibitionists” is an apt play to open the first season. In line with the LGBTQ+ leanings the venue has adopted over the years, it also harks back to a romantic golden age of twentieth century theatre. In their programme notes, writers Shaun McKenna and Andrew Van Sickle, reference Terence Rattigan and Alan Ayckbourn, while also drawing parallels with the screwball wit of Hollywood’s Charles Lederer. Bizarrely no mention is made of Noël Coward, even though the plot of “Exhibitionists” is lifted, lock, stock, and barrel from Coward’s thirties comedy of manners, ‘Private Lives’. Almost. Except it lacks the manners, or Coward’s mastery of the language. The subversiveness of Coward’s sexual identity was reflected in his plays – particularly ‘Private Lives’ – but as well as being a closet gay play, it is a classic that maintains universal appeal. “Exhibitionists” is overt, brash and blatant, but its focus is much too narrow.

Set in the San Francisco art world, Conor (Ashley D Gayle) and Robbie (Robert Rees) are living separate lives having split from their volatile, open relationship years previously. They both now have new, younger partners. Conor is with upcoming film-maker Mal (Jake Mitchell-Jones) while Robbie has hooked up with the heteroflexible Rayyan (Rolando Montecalvo). The two couples stumble upon one another at an art exhibition. The exes reunite, reignite and relocate swiftly to a nearby motel run by the implausibly eager Sebastian (Øystein Lode) with the new partners in hot pursuit. Squabbles and sex alternate as the farce unravels.

“The performers do well to counteract the faithless writing but cannot escape the cartoon landscape in which they are trapped”

The premise is predictable and, for all its profanity, not at all subversive. For the most part, the play paddles in the shallow waters of caricature and stereotype. Which is surprising, but also unsettling in that it seems to be unwittingly marginalising the culture it represents. There is little sense of celebration. The in-jokes jar, as though written by an outsider looking in, which renders the piece exclusive, eradicating its wider appeal in one foul swoop. Meanwhile, promiscuity and predatory behaviour are promoted in a way that, if presented in any other environment, would be condemned.

The performers do well to counteract the faithless writing but cannot escape the cartoon landscape in which they are trapped. Bronagh Lagan’s direction moves the action snappily, encumbered however by superfluous entrances and exits (which become as repetitive as the dialogue); and more so by the poor sightlines created by the venue’s raked seating.

“Exhibitionists” is a rather unsubtle revival of a delicately intelligent original. A poor man’s Coward. For half a century the King’s Head has paved the way for pub theatre. The previously shabby auditorium has attracted top writers, directors and actors throughout its eclectic and eccentric history. The atmosphere hasn’t crossed over to the new venue, and the opening show is not one to draw it in. The ghosts will want a new space to haunt. Let us hope the audiences don’t follow them because, with time on its side, the King’s Head will recapture its soul, and our hearts.

POTTED PANTO at Wilton’s Music Hall

★★★★★

“Basically, you’ve just got to see it to believe it.”

Daniel Clarkson and Jefferson Turner (thereinafter referred to as Dan and Jeff) take on the task of presenting six-and-a-half popular pantomimes in the space of eighty minutes. They’ve been doing it for some years now, so are probably getting quite adept. Just to show off, immediately after the interval they summarise the first act (a mere four pantomimes) in three minutes. ‘Potted Potted Panto’ they call it. They don’t stop there – they then recap (donning their ‘recap caps’) in one minute. Yes, you guessed: ‘Potted Potted Potted Panto’. It goes on. Until breathlessly they somehow revert to the task in hand. This is their modus operandi. They are constantly having to rein each other in, pulling themselves away from the many digressions and bizarre, surreal, outlandish embellishments they have piled thick and fast onto the traditional stories. It is a miracle that they are condensed at all, what with the sheer number of laugh-out-loud moments packed in.

Dan and Jeff are a slick duo. Vaudevillian, but a touch more risqué. Morecambe and Wise but with the more modern, anarchic chaos of Rik Mayall and Ade Edmondson. Deep down we know that this show has been rehearsed to a tee, but it feels like a rampage. One that is forever teetering on the verge of collapse. The popular titles they have chosen are ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’, ‘Dick Whittington’, ‘Snow White’, ‘Sleeping Beauty’, ‘Cinderella’ and ‘Aladdin’. Ah, yes, the ones we know and love. Except that after witnessing Dan and Jeff’s interpretation we cease to know them – but love them even more. At Dan’s insistence, ‘A Christmas Carol’ is shoehorned in (hilariously mashed up with ‘Aladdin’ – I shall say nothing!). Strictly speaking, Dickens’ Victorian classic is not a pantomime. Jeff feels the need to point this out. Neither is the Nativity. Nor the John Lewis Christmas advert, nor the Doctor Who Christmas Special.

Dan concedes. And so, the roller coaster ride begins. Caught in the cyclone of activity are dozens of costume changes that more or less keep up with the plot twists. Our perceptions of the fairy tales we grew up with are not just stretched but snapped clean in two. We are in a world where giant moose lay golden eggs and Dick Whittington conquers London in his shiny green hotpants and thigh high boots. Where fairy God-chickens wave their magic baguettes and dinosaurs wander into Sleeping Beauty’s bramble-thick garden. Where the ghost of Christmas Present is summoned from a genie’s lamp… I could go on and list every bizarre twist, joke, reference, visual pun, innuendo, satirical zeitgeist. But it would take all day. And you wouldn’t believe it anyway so there’s no such thing as a spoiler for this show. I could hand you the script word for word and you’d be none the wiser. Basically, you’ve just got to see it to believe it.

Written by the pair (along with Richard Hurst) it is, despite all evidence to the contrary, an exceedingly witty and intelligent creation. The intricate balancing act of the language and the humour aims straight for the ‘grown ups’ and the ‘little ones’ simultaneously without any confusion being whipped up in the crossfire. It is difficult to decipher who is enjoying it the most as the laughter from each generation vies for supremacy in the auditorium. Similarly, it is a joy to witness the performers having just as much of a ball as the audience. Even when they are corpsing they are in command. They don’t really need it, but aid comes intermittently in the shape of stage manager, Sammy Johnson, who adopts a couple of idiosyncratic characters of his own. And Marie-Claire Wood matches their comic flair wordlessly, before stunning us with her beautiful singing voice.

If I were to put down on paper what this show is about (oh, hang on – that’s exactly what I’m doing) I’d be wary about letting anybody read it. I don’t think it would make much sense. What would make less sense, though, would be to miss this sensational, seasonal show. Even if the show itself makes no sense. But that’s the beauty of it. ‘Tis the season to be silly. Or is it jolly? Anyway, “Potted Panto” is jolly silly. ‘Potted’ – according to the dictionary – has more than one meaning: 1. Shortened. 2. Intoxicated. Well – that says it all.

EXHIBITIONISTS at the King’s Head Theatre

★★

“For the most part, the play paddles in the shallow waters of caricature and stereotype”

“The performers do well to counteract the faithless writing but cannot escape the cartoon landscape in which they are trapped”

EXHIBITIONISTS at the King’s Head Theatre

Reviewed on 8th January 2024

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Geraint Lewis

Previously reviewed at this venue:

EXHIBITIONISTS

EXHIBITIONISTS

POTTED PANTO at Wilton’s Music Hall

★★★★★

“Basically, you’ve just got to see it to believe it.”