Constant eruptions of anger, sexual frustration, discrimination of town against country and English against Irish, and hostilities of son against father, servant against master and mistress run as a guiding set of threads through every scene; and assorted categories of gendered vanity, both misogynist and misanthropic, provide the root of much of the humour, some of it still unsettlingly cruel and mocking
In the first of our Tales From The Dressing Room series, Penelope Keith chats candidly to JBR about the changes in the industry since her training. “Come in, come in. Welcome to the most elegant dressing room in the West End.” How could it not be? This is, after all, the famed Dressing Room No. 10 at the Theatre Royal, Haymarket. Current resident, the ever fragrant Penelope Keith, is precisely as one imagines her to be; part hectoring schoolmarm, part favourite aunt. “I like the idea of older actors passing on what they know, but don’t make me sound too much like an old fart,” she pleads, as she crosses the room and takes her seat. The room is not the most extravagantly appointed one in the West End. A large, French style dressing table occupies the right hand side where Keith’s wig sits, proudly, on a stand. Modest amounts … Read more
With Peter Bowles and Penelope Keith in the roles, the chemistry between them is positively infectious as the gently flirt their way through the proceedings.
