Merseyside’s Poirot plays a blinder in this court drama with extra giggles as LUKE JONES discusses Vardy v Rooney: The Wagatha Christie Trial
Vardy v Rooney: The Wagatha Christie Trial (Ambassadors Theatre, London)
Verdict: Court drama with extra giggles
Judgement: ****
Crouching next to the home of Agatha Christie’s grizzled old crime caper, this rival proudly bills himself as “The Scousetrap.”
Every baffling twist and expletive from last year’s smash hit Rebekah Vardy libel trial is recreated (“Witless For The Prosecution,” would have been my catchphrase).
Liv Hennessy has expertly edited court transcripts to their bitchiest; and director Lisa Spirling unfolds the result as the spiciest of reality TV.
You remember the plot. Alpha-WAG Coleen outstarts Vardy as the source of leaks from her personal Instagram account to The Sun, following an almost unbelievable ruse of fake messages. But Vardy is suing.
WAGs at War: Lucy May Barker as Vardy and (right) Laura Dos Santos as Rooney
Liv Hennessy has expertly edited court transcripts to their bitchiest; and director Lisa Spirling unfolds the result as the spiciest of reality TV
It’s hardly The Comedy Of Error – although judging by the remarkably young crowd on the night I went, perhaps Bard stotherers could use some selfies as a plot device, rather than another blown-up shipwreck.
We meet in the messiest-looking Supreme Court for this literal rehash. On a white-striped lawn with clear plastic seats, a pair of commentators (Halema Hussain and Nathan McMullen) dribble us nicely through the action, nodding “Yes, Jeff” to each other.
The two angry women in the middle are very nice. Lucy May Barker as Vardy, staggering proudly through the scene – all poise and clueless – is a comedic visual marvel.
Her voice crashes from chastised, defiant courtesy in the dock to honking Botox-effort rage in dramatized WhatsApps.
Laura Dos Santos is a fine Coleen, but her playful Merseyside accent does much of the work.
Because it’s word-for-word lyrics, you hardly get Lady Macbeth’s “un-sex me here,” but she makes a noose over a new pair of pajamas seem vital.
The first sight of our Merseyside Poirot – puffer coat on, leopard leather notepad in hand – made the house stifle a chuckle.
I could have used some more fictional shenanigans out of court. The characters are almost held back by the truth. Act Two sags a bit, despite the arrival of Our Wayne (McMullen again, this time with a voice like a Beatle on helium).
To Kill A Mockingbird’s place on the curriculum is safe. But come for solid titters in the promised ’90 minutes plus stoppage time’.
I could have used some more fictional shenanigans out of court, writes Luke Jones
