Legends of Variety
It’s all too easy to sneer at old fashioned entertainment, and old- fashioned entertainers for that matter, but there seemed a lovely bond between everyone on stage. They are all such consummate pros I suppose that could be confected, but I don’t think so.
Theatre Royal
Occasionally, you find yourself seeing something so unexpected it hadn’t previously even made it onto your bucket list. I felt that way when I saw Alan Price performing Dancing Bear, or the Wombles play live, or Noel Harrison singing Windmills of Your Mind. I can now add star of stage and screen Anita Harris to that list, alongside a whole host of yesteryear performers. Younger readers may wish to have google to hand before reading further.
The Legends of Variety show opened with a slideshow of performers that tread the boards in the long gone Music Halls of the past. Many of the names were familiar, some not, while others went on to a successful career on television. The likes of Arthur Askey, Tommy Trinder and Morecambe and Wise have long gone, and as Freddie Davies quipped in his opening routine, the audience might have thought he was no longer with us either. On the contrary, he still has he own hair – as proudly revealed – and has taken it upon himself to gather likeminded mature performers to put on a show. Better described as TV stars (no less than three of the acts found fame through Opportunity Knocks) it will be through that medium the audience at the Theatre Royal will have remembered them, and judging from their reaction, were thrilled to see them live.
Tommy Cannon was our host for the night, introducing himself with a few gentle gags before singing Together We'll Be Okay, the tune most closely associated with his partner Bobby Ball. It was poignant hearing this duet sung solo. Lest we forget, Bobby Ball was one of the many casualties of Covid, and while Cannon did a stand up job, I thought he looked terribly lonely without Ball by his side. Freddie Davies occupied the opening slot, and proved to still be a genuinely talented comedian. Both self-deprecating and self-aware – “I’m the oldest comic that has yet to be arrested” – he brought his alter ego Samuel Tweet back to life, told shamelessly ancient jokes, winning both the hearts and minds of his audience. I was disappointed Bernie Clifton didn’t do his Ostrich routine – I could have added that to my retrospective bucket list – but now in his late eighties, I suppose he’s not as light on his feet anymore. Instead he wheeled on a shopping basket of props, which he used in a routine that was as silly as it was charming. You have to hand it to someone that can carry an audience by getting them to finish off advert jingles, but the crowd was certainly up for it. We were taken to the interval with a performance by Bobby Crush. Born in 1954, he might take exception to being bracketed as a legend of variety, but his grandstanding piano playing certainly felt at home here. He is the one act of the night I had previously seen, in a superb one man show about Liberace, and I thought back then it was a shame he wasn’t able to capitalise more on his undoubted talent. Here, it was simply a case of show tunes, flashily played with seeming effortlessness, bringing to a close a first half I found not only entertaining, but oddly moving.
After the interval, we had a touching film tribute to Bobby Ball, before the Grumbleweeds took to the stage. I vaguely remember them being a band with their own kids show during the eighties, so a stretch to call them legends, but I suppose they would have fitted a variety bill had they been around at the time. At some point thereafter, they apparently turned into a double act, with Robin Stewart Colvill the sole survivor from those days, only recently joined by James Brandon. Their routine was broad, so say the least, but folk seemed to like them, so why should I be churlish? Perhaps my mind was on Anita Harris, and whether she would appear. Having very recently lost her husband, it would have been understandable if she felt unable to.
Appear she did, though, trooper that she is, looking impossibly glamorous in a gold dress than shimmered with star quality. Perhaps it’s ungallant to even comment on such things, but she looked so stunning I thought I must have been confused about her age and had a sneaky Google when I got home. Without revealing the number found, I can say in all honestly she looked thirty years younger. Inevitably, her singing voice now has fragility to it, but the grace with which she occupies the stage is undiminished. And what a lovely person she seemed too.
In fact, they all seemed lovely. It’s all too easy to sneer at old fashioned entertainment, and old- fashioned entertainers for that matter, but there seemed a delightful bond between everyone on stage. They are all such consummate pros I suppose that could be confected, but I don’t think so. Neither do I think their affection and appreciation for their audience was manufactured. In the end, I found myself deeply touched by their determination to tread the boards, entertain folk of their own generation, and simply celebrate the idea they were still around to do so.
Shame about the ostrich though.
