My embarrassing tendency to fall in love from the front row of the Royal Circle strikes again. Though I was dazzled by Julie Atherton the first time around, the gap between viewings of Avenue Q allowed me to forget her utter fabulousness. It’s perhaps obvious that I can fall hard for a good leading lady, but when said leading lady can sing, mimic, act and operate two puppets all at the same time, well damn.
Some shows don’t stand up to a second viewing, but Avenue Q’s production stays just on the intentional side of gimmicky. The singing cardboard boxes may seem like a rip-off of The Producers’ dancing pigeons, and occasionally it’s hard to overlook that some characters end at the waist, but the fantastic songs and phenomenal comic timing of the cast save the day.
Ah hell, it turns out I would have sat through Mamma Mia to get a night on the town with my bezzer, and walking them to the hotel let us wander wide-eyed but sleepy through Covent Garden, just as in love with the city as with each other. Unfortunately the romance was ruined by the heat on Holborn platforms, but we made it home alive anyway.