With tickets to the much-maligned Manor burning a hole in the bank balance, I’m blue for Terence Rattigan and a decent play
Unless you’re loaded, booking theatre tickets is like Russian roulette. When to hit the website? Leave it until after the reviews and, if they’re good, you’ll struggle to get a seat. But jump too soon and you may come to regret it, your spirits falling faster than a safety curtain as the demolition jobs roll in.
Last week, the National Theatre’s production of Moira Buffini’s new play Manor received some truly atrocious notices, the critic at the Times deigning to award it no stars at all, which spelled bad news for me. I booked my tickets ages ago, a decision based on the fact that Buffini has written good things in the past, that one of its stars, Nancy Carroll, is amazing, and that the other is Shaun Evans, on whom I seem to have developed a crush following his appearance in the BBC’s preposterous submarine drama, Vigil. Oh, woe. My seats for this turkey cost more than an easyJet flight to Rome.
