Tuesday, October 12, 2004

Last night, I saw Darwin in Malibu at the Hampstead Theatre. Short form; great set, but intellectually disappointing. My cousin agreed with me. It was slightly marred by Nigel Planer of Nigel Planer fame being indisposed, and someone standing in reading holding the script (who was pretty good, but still). But the intellectual "fun" of Darwin and The Bishop of Oxford and Wilberforce meeting up in twentyfirst century Malibu kinda paled, really, and I lost the plot, literally, in the second half. The Hampstead Theatre have been really struggling since their £xmillion new building; it's a little Blairite, actually. They used to do fabulous house-selling-out work in a prefab, now they're all marketing and flashy bar (which turns off its cappucino machine at 9.45pm, so not that flashy, then), but no real substance.

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