Musicals are essentially camp, and essentially absurd. To be seduced by them, you really need the lyrical wit of Cole Porter, or W.S.Gilbert and the musical genius of Sullivan or Richard Rodgers. It is not so much, as with serious opera, a matter of suspending belief. More, it requires you, as with attending a really silly fancy dress party, to enter into the spirit of the thing. This is why, for example, my fastidious wife can’t bear musicals (or party games)
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A very kind friend asked me to come to a musical called J.EDGAR, which has been compelling cult-watching in the USA and has now come to the King’s Head theatre in London. I went because I liked the friend, and because he had also invited some other friends I like, rather than because I felt much in the mood for a musical on one of the hottest nights of the year in Islington. But I can happily report two hours of
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