Going to the theatre is a social activity and I always think it’s dismal of the critics to turn up without a guest.

Jack Tinker always used to take a guest, plonk him or her (usually him) in the bar at curtain down, despatch the review, then adjourn for dinner. That’s the way to do it. “Is anyone sitting on that seat?” Alan Brien was once asked. “Yes, my raincoat,” he said.

So I felt a bit sheepish being tout seul at Shadowlands last night, especially as I know that if I’d made the effort and asked around, plenty of friends or neighbours would have jumped at the offer of a free ticket. Still, it wasn’t all solo meditation. I happened to find myself sitting next to the author, William Nicholson, who was charm personified.

We had a jolly good chin wag about the history of his play, as well as Dickie Attenborough (who filmed it) and all the stars who’ve acted in it. He was on the point of introducing me to his entire family when he noticed my notebook at the ready.

Still, he was relatively undaunted by this and was so forthcoming in his conversation that we were even still whispering away at the curtain call. Now, if I’d had a guest in tow, such a happy accident would never have occured.

Artistic policy, said the director William Gaskill, is the people you work with. And a good night out, even for critics, can often be the person you sit with. Critics, however, are a lot of miserable buggers these days, all too easily conforming to the Robert Robinson description of them as men in mackintoshes on the last bus home to Muswell Hill.

I’m still reeling from the sight of a new kid on the block, Tim Walker of the Sunday Telegraph, turning up at the first night of Present Laughter at the National with Rupert Everett. Perhaps they were at Ampleforth together. Or, as Tim is a diarist, too, perhaps they’d just met at a swanky drinks do and Tim had whisked him away to the South Bank.

Rupert would certainly have wanted to take a butchers at the Coward, as he’s a dab hand at the Master himself (and I have to say his memoirs are the funniest and most enjoyable I’ve read in a long while).

But, still, whatever next? Benedict Nightingale with Beyonce, Kate Bassett with Julian Clary, or Paul Taylor with Rufus Wainwright? (Actually, I really did sit next to Rufus at the all-day premiere of Angels in America at the Lyric Hammersmith in June; utterly delightful, and I could see how jealous Paul was even then.)

My own guest at Present Laughter was Rose de Wend Fenton, the peerless co-founder of the LIFT festival in 1981, and a graduate of Warwick University along with Alex Jennings, who’s playing Garry Essendine.

She’s always the most fantastic company, and we were lucky to be seated next to Nicholas Hytner himself (his jaw sagged when he saw me, lifted again at the sight of Rose).

The story is told in Braham Murray’s new book about the Royal Exchange in Manchester of how Hytner was called in to direct The Scarlet Pimpernel there with Donald Sinden — and happy birthday to you, Donald — 84 years, egad! — in the mid 1980s and met Alex for the first time in that cast.

They’ve worked often together since and are great friends. What a great time for new actors that was in Manchester: Jennings, Janet McTeer, Des Barritt, Michael Grandage… 

The rest of Braham’s book, alas, is a little on the peevish side with too many disobliging remarks about his colleagues. 

So, the show itself is only part of the evening. Taking your chance and going with the flow is all part of the fun. With or without a guest on your arm.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, October 9th, 2007 at 3:59 pm and is filed under Michael Coveney. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.