The best theatre of the year
Clive Davis
Under Milk Wood, Olivier, National Theatre, SE1
Lyndsey Turner’s bold staging of Dylan Thomas’s Under Milk Wood — set in a care home — may not have pleased all the traditionalists, but Michael Sheen’s portrayal of the narrator was mesmerising. He roamed the Olivier like a lost prophet.
The Wife of Willesden, Kiln Theatre, NW6
Brash, profane and endlessly talkative, Zadie Smith’s 21st-century incarnation of the Wife of Bath was played by Clare Perkins in a joyous Chaucerian rewrite. The poor ex-husbands had no chance.
Anything Goes, Barbican Theatre, EC2
The American actress Sutton Foster reprised her Broadway role as Reno Sweeney in the Barbican’s magical production of Cole Porter’s ocean-going musical. That tap-dance routine at the end of Act I was one of the spectacles of the year.
East Is East, Birmingham Rep
Chip-shop humour and gritty realism in this 25th-anniversary revival of Ayub Khan-Din’s groundbreaking play about a Pakistani traditionalist trying to make his mixed-race children toe the line in 1970s Salford. Tony Jayawardena played the bullying patriarch.
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Best of Enemies, Young Vic, SE1
Writer James Graham and director Jeremy Herrin explore the roots of today’s culture wars in this barnstorming Headlong-Young Vic study of the 1968 showdown between two sharp-tongued American patricians, Gore Vidal and William F Buckley. It’s running to January 22.
And one turkey . . .
Manor, Lyttelton, National Theatre, SE1
No question about this one. Moira Buffini’s state-of the-nation play at the National piled one ludicrously overheated scene on top of another. It was so awful that we gave it a rare nul points.
The best comedy of the year
Dominic Maxwell
Bo Burnham: Inside, Netflix
The funniest thing to come out of lockdown: the teen YouTube comic turned stand-up and film-maker isolated himself in his guest house in Los Angeles with nothing for company but camera and lighting and recording gear, his keyboards and his genius. The result was 85 minutes of nonstop ingenuity that touched, certainly, on ideas about isolation and mental health, but kept more good jokes and more good electropop tunes coming than seemed possible.
Trevor Noah, the O2, SE10
The South African-born host of America’s The Daily Show gave a masterclass in stand-up in front of two sold-out crowds at the 20,000-capacity O2. Jokes about Covid and colonialism, yes, but also about dancing and punting (yes, punting) and American self-hatred as he put on a seamless and consistently hilarious show.
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Liz Kingsman: One-Woman Show, Soho Theatre, W1
The year’s outstanding debut. Kingsman, part of the sketch trio Massive Dad, here went solo for a wildly inventive and ceaselessly funny celebration/mockery of the sort of empowered female monologue of which Fleabag is the market leader. Every moment was gorgeously inventive, carefully considered, beautifully performed and, most importantly, properly funny. It returns to Soho Theatre in January.
Bridget Christie: Who Am I?, Soho Theatre, W1
Can we joke about the menopause? We must, insists Christie with the same expert blend of articulate anger and self-mocking absurdism that she brought to earlier shows about feminism and the Brexit. A fabulous mix of the fanciful and the furious.
Bill Bailey: En Route to Normal, touring
Bailey knew what was needed of him as he embarked on his post-Strictly Come Dancing lap of honour of the nation’s arenas: funny stories, acidic putdowns, unlikely musical collisions, all plied with a good cheer that belied the energy of the performance and the precision of the writing. It’s a master at work, looking as if he’s just having fun. One of his best shows, when we needed it.
And one turkey . . .
Dave Chappelle, Eventim Apollo, W6
The subject of discussion this year for his allegedly transphobic and homophobic jokes, the only real controversy the American comic could muster when this tour arrived in London was daring to charge £100+ a ticket despite clearly having used up a lot of his material in his latest Netflix special. In the end, after a big build-up from his support acts, the commanding yet fatigued Chappelle just sort of filibustered for an hour. It was a rotten rip-off.
