CHAT NOIR!

The Lost Estate

★★★★★

“spellbinding and unmissable, reckless and eccentric, dangerous and outrageous, beautiful and Bohemian”

Le Chat noir est un célèbre cabaret de Montmartre fondé en Novembre 1881 par Rodolphe Salis. It has long been credited as the birth of ‘Cabaret’. Originally a dingy tavern in the heart of Montmartre, the founder Salis invited artists to come and experiment as they wish (whatever that may have meant). Satire, song and sin combined to form the new art form. Four years later, its success far from sanitised it. Instead, it moved to new premises becoming more decadent, more dangerous, and a mecca for artists and rebels.

That much is fact. ‘The Lost Estate’, that brought Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol” to vivid life last December, now turn their hand at recreating the Bohemian underworld of Paris in West London. The imagined scenario is that Rodolphe Salis is reopening the club after a temporary closure. He is facing bankruptcy, illness, the changing times, disaster. Possibly even death. With time running out the stakes are high. He has invited the press in. What could possibly go wrong? Nothing. And yet everything.

In fact, minutes into the evening we can positively ascertain that everything will go right. ‘The Lost Estate’ haven’t so much brought 1890s Paris into 2020s London but have transported us back to the Fin de Siècle. West Kensington lies outside, long forgotten now, and inside is Montmartre. We are the painters and the poets, the drinkers and the aristocrats; among the velvet drapes, the absinthiana and the candlelight. Although – as we are proudly informed – this new-fangled discovery called ‘electricity’ provides most of the lighting tonight. What’s more, we are French, the performers are French, and miraculously we understand everything. We think we are hearing and speaking English but that’s just the smoke and mirrors (you probably thought the opening line of this review was written in French but in fact it is the only English sentence).

Sounds nonsense? Yet it is indicative of how convincingly this company have recreated the world it depicts. And the audience are more than eager to comply, judging by the dress code. Theatricality is key. Most audience members look as though they are up for an Olivier for costume design. But that still doesn’t detract from the spectacle that awaits. Rodolphe Salis (Joe Morrow) appears like a genie to guide us through the night. The evening, he explains, is structured in three parts, according to his mantra: Art, Absinthe and Anarchy. There are intervals to allow for the food to be served and the cocktails (such as ‘The Poison Rose’) to be replenished.

So – let’s take each step at a time. We need to pace ourselves – it’s a long evening. But Morrow has the stamina and the charisma to keep it – and us – going strong. His team comprise the Muse, the Mime, the Dancer, the Illusionist and the Pianist. Of course, it is Eric Satie himself (Alex Ullman) at the piano, accompanied by an extremely accomplished house band: ‘Les Enfants Vagabondes’, a quartet of violin, cello, accordion and percussion. The musicians are centre stage, sometimes roaming the space, but always underpinning the performances with their mix of Romaticism, Impressionism, Exoticism, Burlesque, Belle Époque and virtuosity. The cabaret performers themselves, drifting in and out of solo and ensemble, spring from the same melting pot of influences while staying loyal to Rodolphe Salis’ vision. Alexander Luttley’s mime is extraordinary, telling us whole stories – both tragic and comic – with their supple movements. Issy Wroe Wright, the chanteuse, transcends operetta with a voice and sassiness that soars in time to dancer Coco Belle’s high kicks. All the while, magician Neil Kelso weaves his magic in between the acts and the audience.

After the main course, they all come together as the atmosphere shifts. We are in the ‘absinthe-dream’ – a gorgeous interlude. Fluid, and interpretive with the movement and music married in perfect harmony. Claude Debussy’s ‘Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun’ is rearranged for the night-club troubadours; Wright’s soprano replacing the flutes, and each bar breathing its way into an almost hallucinogenic dream. It is an unexpected moment, but a highlight. We don’t notice them arriving, but absinthe fountains have miraculously appeared at our tables.

It isn’t long before the evening veers towards anarchy. Allegedly, the closing segment is unrehearsed and improvised. Of course, we know better, yet the misrule is convincing. Bizet’s ‘Carmen’ is given the ‘Reduced’ treatment, coupled with a ‘play-that-goes-wrong’ sensibility, before a finale that assures us that Salis is going to be okay – his future looks bright (despite a wonderful satiric episode mid show, depicting theatre critics as the devil incarnate). Joe Morrow, in one of his most exuberant moments as Rodolphe Salis, proclaims grandly that he ‘doesn’t care’ what the reviews say. In the narrative of the drama, the characters are fighting for their lives to save the club. In reality, nothing could be further from the truth. Instead, these performers are having the time of their life. And so are we. “Le Chat Noir” is an unparalleled evening of cabaret. A touch on the expensive side, maybe, unless you happen to be lucky enough to be one of Salis’ guests. But the show is spellbinding and unmissable, reckless and eccentric, dangerous and outrageous, beautiful and Bohemian. It may feel like I have overextended my word count here, but I have been holding back as much as I can. There is so much more. I would urge you to take the trip back in time to Montmartre as soon as you can. Before it is too late and this show has sold out. A joyous night of escapism.

CHAT NOIR!

The Lost Estate

Reviewed on 28th April 2026

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Nick Ray

CHAT NOIR!

★★★★

“a deliciously served celebration of the strangeness of ordinary life”

To attempt to out-absurd the absurdity of Eugène Ionesco strikes one as an absurd challenge to undertake. Writer and director Marianne Badrichani fearlessly takes on the task with her production of “Ionesco/Dinner at the Smiths’” and succeeds brilliantly, not only by paying homage to the playwright’s unique blend of surrealism and notions of the ‘anti play’, but by making it instantly accessible. The ‘Theatre of the Absurd’ can often be considered a touch niche, but Badrichani’s interpretation can be enjoyed by anybody who, A) likes a good night out at the theatre and B) is up for a good laugh. The latter, in fact, should come as a trigger warning – it will have you in stitches (I saw the show just a week after open surgery, and was laughing so hard in places that I feared my still-fresh stitches would come undone).

Co-adapted by Bradrichani, with Edith Vernes, “Ionesco/Dinner at the Smiths’” draws from interviews with Ionesco, and a few of his plays, most notably “The Bald Soprano”. In addition, we are treated to original conversations, musings, debates, arguments, theories, poetry and movement that seamlessly blend into Ionesco’s own writing; rhythmically and ideologically. The result is a deliciously served celebration of the strangeness of ordinary life and the limitations of language that, I am sure, Ionesco would be absurdly proud of. Be prepared to have your sense of reality and logic completely undermined. There is, after all, a written proviso in the programme stating that a doctor is in service in case of existential crisis.

The premise is set up before we enter the space. A willowy butler (Suzy Kohane) meets and greets us, inviting us into the home of Mr and Mrs Smith. Kohane is the epitome of cool, but with torrents of eccentricities sloshing around beneath the surface. Having been handed a glass of wine, we are led to our seats around a long dinner table. At opposite ends are Mr Smith (Sean Rees) and Mrs Smith (Lucy Russell). They talk nonsense. Of course they do. There are enough dramatic pauses, though, for us to take in and appreciate the attention to detail in our surroundings. Lydie Drouillet’s set has more than a touch of René Magritte. The upturned sconces of the candelabras, apples instead of candles, a backwards clock on the wall. There are even visual references to Ionesco’s other works.

But so far, we are still in ‘The Bald Soprano’ territory. The Smiths’ guests arrive – Mr and Mrs Martin (David Mildon and Edith Vernes respectively). They are dressed identically to their hosts. They arrive late and, ignoring the Smiths at first, launch straight into a private conversation as though they are strangers to each other. Bit by bit they flirtatiously discover coincidences and similarities, until they eventually recognise they are, in fact, married. The ensuing dialogue between the four of them spirals deeper into hilarity and banality. Each actor delivers their lines with impeccable timing and pitch, and every gesture, tic and expression is spot on. There is more than a hint of Monty Python (who, of course, were profoundly influenced by Ionesco) as logic breaks down further and linguistic convention is sent up higher and higher.

There is still time for a serious word or two, however. Slipping out of his jacket, Rees intermittently switches from Mr Smith into playing Ionesco himself, interviewed by his fellow cast members. These are short bursts, yet full of concise insight into Ionesco’s modus operandi and, with significant poignancy, his views on the ‘contagion’ of fascism. That is a whole other story, but in a few short lines, sentiments are clearly outlined.

Then it’s back to the party. The menu continues to dish up further courses of wordplay, wit and mindboggling silliness. We are invited to momentarily wear blindfolds and just listen instead – while other senses are also catered to. A fire chief arrives (Mildon at his most bonkers), disappointed at the lack of a fire to tackle. Nevertheless, a fire-themed poem is recited as consolation. A song is sung, and a few more twisted truisms and anti-aphorisms punctuate the proceedings. All the while our grins our getting wider, yet beneath the humour we are still aware of the odd pertinent message burrowing its way into our consciousness.

The show ends where it started – sort of – giving the impression of a cycle. The temptation is to remain in our seats to see if it all starts over. I could quite happily watch it again (under my surgical team’s orders though… I would rather the side-splitting comedy remain a figure of speech, not a literal medical emergency). It would be absurd to turn down an invitation to Dinner at the Smiths.

Tag Archives: Jonathan Evans

CHAT NOIR!

★★★★★

The Lost Estate

CHAT NOIR!

The Lost Estate

★★★★★

“spellbinding and unmissable, reckless and eccentric, dangerous and outrageous, beautiful and Bohemian”