Steven Berkoff turns his acerbic eye on the thespian world
The five actors weave in and out of various characters, all full of flattery to each others’ faces and equally full of backbiting and jealousy behind their backs.
There’s the London EastEnder who boasts of his tenuous connection to the great Marlon Brando – “he used to call me Mo”– based upon a limo mooning episode in 1979, or the desperate luvvie who finds himself dropped off the Hollywood A-list and has to live with the shame of losing valet parking and having to walk through “ordinary streets filled with ordinary people”.
Then there is the breathless ingénue who is impressed by all the posturing and boasting around – until she is left to pick up the bar bill.
My favourite was the working- class hero demanding at least £1million in government funding for his anti-establishment theatre group. After all, the audience had gone up 50 per cent – from three to six! But will the Tory bastards fund him? Never.
Written at the height of Thatcherism with poll tax riots lling the country’s streets, Berkoff’s satire remains as fresh and funny as ever.
This performance by Les Siege of Herons is well worth seeing – and there’s even a free glass of prosecco, dahling.