The only flaw in this performance is that it is so sparkling that we rarely forget that you are watching a performance. It becomes most interesting, in fact, when Peggy is left alone, having lost a writer, and Lipman quietly and shakily lights a cigarette. We are left to draw our own conclusions. Robin Lef vre's production, transferred from the Hampstead Theatre, is certainly worth seeing for the sight and sound of Lipman gawkily moving around her cluttered office in an alley off St Martin's Lane, formerly a brothel, having difficulty with her shoes, fussing among her papers, absently hitching her skirt up at the waist in a manner suggesting she has lost weight but cannot spare the time to buy new outfits. But where the play's first half and its closing moments are definitely good, my interest dipped sharply when the smoothie and the roughie are the other half of the duologue.
Writing becomes glib and performances slick.
Author Alan Plater has plundered his memories of this great British eccentric, a woman whose scabrous personality matched her ability to spot theatrical winners. He presents her, in the gloriously gawky shape of Maureen Lipman, as a lovable gorgon firing off witticisms, critiques and staggeringly tactless comments like machine-gun bullets. Plater's play is contrived but well-crafted, narrow in scope but expansively funny. Those who do will have a fine time. Robin Lefevre's fine production, splendidly designed by Liz Ascroft, brings out the play's rich mixture of warmth, poignancy and surprising toughness, and as well as Lipman's delightful performance there is strong support.