Timothy Sheader’s utterly astonishing, profoundly beautiful, and intensely gripping production of To Kill A Mockngbird, is now playing at the Barbican Theatre. It’s not practically perfect in every way – it is absolutely perfect in every way. In terms of glorious story-telling and superb ensemble acting rapturously telling a richly detailed and extraordinarily resonant – but sublimely simple – tale, there is nothing to touch this production (bar Gypsy) currently playing in London.
It has everything: dirty, jazzy songs sung lustily; knob jokes; fake brawls; knickers tossed to the audience; knob jokes; sex scenes of all kinds; an altercation with a garbage bin; knob jokes; liquids tossed or splurged onto the audience; dress ups; knob jokes; raunchy scene changes; prostitutes masquerading as Nuns; knob jokes; big items being removed from small, dark places despite security measures including the penis on a small statue of David; fart jokes; and characters called Master Whopping Prospect, Penitent Brothel, Dick Follywit and Mr Littledick. Did I mention there were knob jokes?