Hooked? Not by this lame Peter panto
ON TV’s Bake Off it is always the lopsided sponges and floppy tarts that make for the best viewing.
In theatre, fun can spring from wobbly sets, missed cues and pratfalls. This week I saw two Peter Pans: a pantomime in Wimbledon and an (intentional) disaster in the West End.
Wimbledon’s routine affair stars American Verne Troyer, who is little taller than a magnum of claret. His pirate character is named Lofty. He is joined by Marcus Brigstocke, a politically correct stand-up, and Jarred Christmas, a bearded New Zealander who appears on panel shows.
Throw in generic, primarycolour scenery, by-the-yard tunes, a handful of weak references to political figures and, bingo, you have the sort of brash, insistent japery that makes a reliable December profit for many second-division theatres.
Mr Brigstocke annoys me on radio, but here makes a sound Captain Hook. Mr Christmas is tireless. Mr Troyer commands the stage by his shortness. But it is all pretty idle and hellishly loud.
Peter Pan Goes Wrong is far jollier, though anyone who has seen The Play That Goes Wrong, from the same outfit, may feel a format is being worn thin. There’s nothing subtle about it but it is done with energy and a crescendo of madness.
A troupe of amateurs is putting on Peter Pan. Things are going awry even while the audience settles — feverish-eyed electricians trying to run a cable through the stalls, barging past the punters.
Once the lights dim, lines are lost, a fat Nanny gets stuck in the dog flap, costumes catch fire, etc. But director Adam Meggido does not allow a sense of normality to develop before it is shattered by catastrophe. Modern audience attention spans demand instant gratification.
The cast, led by talented Henry Shields — who works some depth into the lunacy — keep it going. Well done Dave Hearn, Charlie Russell, Henry Lewis and others.
Weights plummet from on high, planks smash into faces, props collapse alarmingly near necks and fingers and limbs, and some accomplished tumbling is required. One dreads to think of the risk- assessment forms the producers had to complete.
The idea of a play going wrong has been done before, not least in Kenneth Branagh’s current revival of Terence Rattigan’s Harlequinade (which is actually more deft and funny).
I reach for the fourth star because it will do the business for audiences wanting an uncomplicated evening of physical calamity and because the actors throw themselves into it with so little regard for their own mutilation.