People at the National, one star

Oh dear. Someone should have told Alan Bennett his latest offering was complete and utter shit, but I expect they are all too in awe to do so. A pathetically unfunny, predictable and tedious lukewarm farce set in a stately home that the family are arguing over. Should it go to the National Trust, should they sell off all the valuables or should they hire it out as a set for porn films? Cue cringing double entendres and a naked bottom. France’s de la Tour does the best she can with a limp script, but the others are mere caricatures – the officious parson sister, the gay props man, the luvvie director, the batty companion, the bimbo porn star. You get the drift. I nearly drifted off. If you have tickets for this sell out, put them on eBay and spend the proceeds doing something entertaining. One star.
Luckily the evening itself was saved by a great meal at the Riverside. It’s attached to the BFI and I had a very tasty pulled pork burger and chips with coleslaw. Plus an easy bottle of wine. Unlike at the Lyttleton bar where we had to send back the Chenin blanc as it was so disgusting. But even it was probably more palatable than the play.