★★★½

“a noir pastiche, a caper, a Pink Panther-esque rollcall of mishaps, long shadows and sharp reversals”

The chief quality of Irish bar fly Mike Malloy is right there in the title. He won’t die.

And this is a major problem for a growing band of co-conspirators in this insurance scam. Because they really need Mike Malloy to die.

Until he does, they are spending money hand over fist to fund their increasingly outlandish plots.

But Malloy is the “Rasputin of the Bronx”, downing whisky and all sorts of other wicked substances, coming back each time if not stronger then at least not dead, as he should be. A lesser man would have gone down in the first. A sober man would have realised his friends were not his friends. For example, a closer inspection would have revealed the true contents of his freebie sardine sandwich.

Not iron-bellied Mike Malloy, he of the remarkable bounce-backability, amiable stupidity, bottomless tab and drunken Irish ditties. Not Mike the Durable.

And the thing of it is, it’s all true.

Playwright and director Luke Adamson seized on the story after hearing the podcast Things Are About To Get Weird. He had to go back and check again because the story is astounding. The story is a gift.

It’s 1933 and this small-scale production leans heavily into period. There’s a jazzy soundtrack (sound designer Dan Bottomley), a sleazy air of neon, and dry ice (way too much dry ice). People say, “I tell ya” and “It’s our only shot” and a nasally “yeah” making it three syllables and two octaves.

Plotter-in-chief is Francis Pasqua (a light touch from Will Croft), with his trilby and Sam Spade narration. He is a funeral director, so he knows a lot of relevant guys. Elsewhere we have Bryan Pilkington as jovial soak Mike Malloy and Stefani Ariza as speakeasy owner Toni Marino. The pair fill out a full cast of Noo York drunk-tank archetypes with a tonal tweak here and there, having endless fun doing so.

Everything is wry up to the eyeballs – a noir pastiche, a caper, a Pink Panther-esque rollcall of mishaps, long shadows and sharp reversals.

The script wants you to laugh. There are knowing quips about import tariffs and how no-one would be stupid enough to do that again. Pantomime tiptoeing. Jokes about jugs. They are on the cusp of indulgence and the play wouldn’t suffer for their excision.

But ultimately, you’re pulled back in by Mike Malloy and his inability to die. And there’s much fun to be had re-discovering this astounding fact time and again in 80 entertaining minutes.

FAWLTY TOWERS THE PLAY

Apollo Theatre

★★★★

“the stage becomes a compressed farce machine – a pressure cooker of mounting chaos”

Reviving a show as beloved as Fawlty Towers for the stage is a feat fraught with danger. With just 12 original episodes broadcast in the 1970s, the sitcom has long enjoyed legendary status. So, how do you take something that is perfect in its own right, wrap it in theatrical garb, and not break it in the process?

The answer, it seems, is by doubling down on what people already adore. Director Caroline Jay Ranger’s slick, affectionate production at the Apollo Theatre does little to reimagine the world of Torquay’s most dysfunctional hotel, but it does an impeccable job of reanimating it.

This is not so much a reinvention as a meticulous act of resurrection. The script, overseen by John Cleese himself, splices together three of the series’ most memorable episodes – The Germans, The Hotel Inspectors, and Communication Problems – into a 90-minute parade of familiar gags, lovingly preserved and expertly timed.

This is a jukebox comedy, playing the greatest hits for the faithful:

Don’t mention the war. Check.

I know nothing. Check.

May I ask what you expected to see out of a Torquay hotel bedroom window? Check.

There’s enormous pleasure in watching Danny Bayne goose-step and rage his way into Basil Fawlty’s frustrated shoes. His performance is an astonishing feat of mimicry, down to the clipped vowels and furious flailing limbs, provoking cheers not just for the comedy but for the uncanny likeness to Cleese himself.

The supporting cast are similarly faithful to their television forebears. Mia Austen is spookily accurate as Sybil, her grating laugh and imperious glare brilliantly intact. Joanne Clifton channels Connie Booth’s Polly with quiet efficiency, while Hemi Yeroham turns in a wink-to-the-crowd Manuel. Paul Nicholas, meanwhile, gently steals his scenes as the absent-minded Major with a twinkle in the eye.

Designer Liz Ascroft deserves special praise for conjuring the hotel’s multiple settings within a single, beautifully retro set, even allowing for an exterior view of that classic black and white hotel façade (and sign). With cleverly arranged spaces for reception, dining room and guest quarters, the stage becomes a compressed farce machine – a pressure cooker of mounting chaos.

And indeed, the play’s structure, while episodic, leans into the genre’s strengths. The escalating misunderstandings, linguistic blunders and slapstick near-disasters all translate well to live performance. Few comedies have ever lent themselves so easily to farce.

While the adaptation’s loyalty is its triumph, it is also its limit. By mining the original show for greatest hits, the production struggles to establish its own momentum. Lines have been trimmed or lightly updated, but the framework remains largely untouched. The jokes are still funny – often hilariously so – but they’re jokes we already know. The audience laughs with a sense of shared affection.

People – giddy with glee – were applauding in recognition of an iconic line, character, or episode long before they duly arrived.

There’s no denying the sheer craft and zest on display. Ranger and her cast have pulled off a tricky balancing act, creating a stage experience that honours its source without sinking into lazy pastiche. It doesn’t reimagine Fawlty Towers for a new generation, because it doesn’t have to (and maybe the xenophobic tendencies make the material too problematic to try).

It simply invites us back, to laugh, remember, and marvel at the little slice of perfection John Cleese and Connie Booth carved into the very English comic canon.

THE UNKILLABLE MIKE MALLOY

Bridge House Theatre

★★★½

“a noir pastiche, a caper, a Pink Panther-esque rollcall of mishaps, long shadows and sharp reversals”

THE UNKILLABLE MIKE MALLOY

Bridge House Theatre

Reviewed on 10th July 2025

by Giles Broadbent

Photography by Cam Harle Photo

Recently reviewed by Giles:

THE UNKILLABLE MIKE MALLOY

THE UNKILLABLE MIKE MALLOY

THE UNKILLABLE MIKE MALLOY

FAWLTY TOWERS THE PLAY

Apollo Theatre

★★★★

“the stage becomes a compressed farce machine – a pressure cooker of mounting chaos”

FAWLTY TOWERS THE PLAY

Apollo Theatre followed by UK Tour from September

Reviewed on 3rd July 2025

by Giles Broadbent

Photography by Hugo Glendinning

Previously reviewed at this venue:

FAWLTY

FAWLTY

FAWLTY

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