This article is taken from the February 2025 issue of The Critic. To get the full magazine why not subscribe? Right now we’re offering five issues for just £10.
Ever since alarming press reports that senior members of the war-torn Actors’ Benevolent Fund had been sent “poison pen letters” from a mystery foe implying assassination (!), efforts to expose the beast responsible have been ongoing.
Whilst a provisional list of embittered suspects was swiftly drawn up by those of us in the know inside the AGM (well aware Jimmy Bolam’s made himself plenty of enemies down the years), attempts to confidently identify anyone amongst our largely decrepit number possessing credible “hit man” credentials in 2025 continue to draw a blank.
Right royal huff
In contrast to most celebrity theatricals feigning indifference when once again snubbed by the misfiring honours system, housewives’ favourite Dominic West struggles to hide mounting resentment.
With the poor fellow reduced to spouting conspiracy theories his so-so Netflix portrayal of the monarch severed once amiable royal associations, we must hope he finally finds strength to put a lid on such unhelpful emotions, not least when in the company of pretty girl journalists.
Committed to preparing students at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art for the “outside world” since being appointed vice-president, Cynthia Erivo courageously addresses the challenges that accompanied her lucrative screen role as Wicked Witch of the West.
Reflecting on having to be painted green for the part, the award-winning black actress emotionally concludes: “But every time I took the make-up off, I loved who I was even more. So I’ve come away feeling really beautiful.”
We can all agree the future’s in safe hands …
Honours Stephen
Grandly declaring himself morally bound to decline a gong from the King due to Emerald Isle ancestors, North London celebrity Mr Mangan’s announcement is de rigueur for Celtic stars of this drearier vintage.
One naturally hankers for less po-faced days when leading Celt theatricals wittered on endlessly about undying love for the long-vacated old country, whilst cheerfully bagging every perk and honour dastardly England had to offer.
Having long endured the raucous jollifications of fellow rail passengers, particularly when the profession takes this trouper to the provinces, one social experiment suddenly felt overdue.
Again required to listen to all manner of “banter” and accompanying din from mobile devices whilst sitting in close proximity to such folk (generally attired like cheap Americans), a post-cocktail decision to level the playing field by defiantly blasting out the latest episode of The Archers soon enough met with hostility.
After a burly train employee arrived to address the controversy caused, it became patently clear that noise pollution can no longer be deemed an equal right of the travelling middle-classes.
Highlighting her approach to bonding with weary crew members, Oscar-winner Kate Winslet claims to sweetly assure them: “This is ridiculous … I can truly think of at least five other brilliant actresses who would have played this part much better than me. They just read the wrong name off the list. They didn’t mean for me to be here.”
What a joy this unassuming girl must be!
Bravo, Sam West, whose delightful Malvolio at Stratford-upon-Avon suggests there’s still hope for the crisis-ridden RSC after all!
Seeing young West firing on all cylinders compelled one to draw a line under past professional difficulties with recently deceased West senior, whose bizarre hostility towards this fellow cast member on three separate occasions down the years should now be written off as regrettable misunderstandings on Timothy’s part.
A happy Stratford evening was eventually interrupted when late-night playful comments concerning certain fellow players’ pictures adorning the walls of the Dirty Duck were reported to bar staff as “offensive” by a fragile young flower eagerly eavesdropping nearby. If unable to maliciously gossip about old RSC co-stars in the Duck of all places, you wonder whether anywhere’s now sacred?
Hail Mary
Farewell to the dazzling Ms Hussey, whose presence on the Jesus of Nazareth set in 1976 was the cause of many an amorous agenda amongst one’s fellow cast members (McShane predictably fancying his chances).
Though this humble telly apostle never had the honour of sharing screen time, juvenile admiration only increased on hearing our Virgin Mary had dared to turn up for the Crucifixion scene completely blotto.
Well-versed in the dark arts of showbiz survival after difficult years, hats off to Mr Walliams for fashionably announcing he’d wish to be considered “non-binary” if given the chance all over again!
Whilst history confirms post-Bond life to often be a struggle (George Lazenby gaga/Pierce Brosnan painting) Mr Craig’s fate proves amongst the most concerning. Though cannily choosing to channel a homosexual of note on screen to “turn the page” on the career, rough diamond Daniel’s sudden announcement he was troubled by 007’s “masculinity” indicates an ex-Commander Bond very much lost at sea.
Sensibly kept off the airwaves of late after a series of disasters, I hear old foe Brian Blessed is reduced to entertaining chortling youths on a minor Soho stage, once again telling the same pack of fibs that have been this ancient baboon’s stock-in-trade for decades. The ruthless promoter responsible doubtless deemed punters too young and carefree to reflect on the tragedy of it all.
Cynically squealing “retirement” for the umpteenth time, attention-seeking Dame Biggins delights in deceiving media hacks too lazy to study the form. Subsequently forced to concede it was all hogwash when unhelpfully confronted with the facts, rest assured the silly pudding will be back plying her trade in Doncaster or some such place come December.
Collapse of stout party
Commencing the new year with my now acclaimed one-man show Only The Liars Remain (“a remarkable exposé of theatrical betrayal spanning 1971 to the present”) in a charming venue outside Northampton, matters were interrupted by an onstage dizzy spell, later unhelpfully diagnosed as a “cardiac arrest”.
As I was in particularly agitated mood at the time of collapse, recounting a lengthy tale of long-ago treachery at Nigel Havers’ expense, one of course deems the man himself largely responsible.
Apropos recent health challenges, special mention must be given to the fellow character actor who took time to visit the Earl’s Court residence to personally “check” on my recuperation.
With the very same bit part player having also privately instructed his agent to explore potentially nabbing my small but pleasing role in House of the Dragon, this most weaselly of adversaries should know that we’re on to him!
