Sister Act (2024)
“This is shit, all of these Mormons are Nuns!”
A turnaround in my recent entertainmajoyment has been my tolerance of musicals. Choir of Man was fun and the Biggie was Cirque du Soleil, which was an almost transformative experience not least because apparently I’m longer afraid of clowns. Sister Act the film is great from what I remember, Whoopi Goldberg was good, despite being named after a Jewish fart cushion, and I like a lot of Sister Act’s West End stage cast. A musical film perfect for a musical.
Work has been intense lately, and the day of Sister Act I had beasted myself and couldn’t wait for some laughs while listening to bangers belted out by lead actor Beverly Knight.
A convivial dinner at a wonderfully authentic, French restaurant on Dean Street was a lovely start. I had double steak; tartare then bavette. And some wine. My girlfriend, aunt and some of her lovely friends were there too, which made me look like less of a steak slag. I don’t think the day of me ordering three courses of red meat while alone is too far off, but let’s wheeze across that bridge when it comes. I just hope they let you smoke in restaurants then, let’s speed the inevitable up eh!
A few weeks ago we went to see A Long Day’s Journey into Night, a sincere play lauded as a classic which was utter boredom interspersed with Brian Cox occasionally impersonating Brian Blessed BY SHOUTING VERY LOUDLY. It was tedious and we left at the interval. Not when we wanted to twenty minutes in, because we’re classy and also I’d entered late, awkwardly shuffled past half the world with my fly open and I didn’t want to look those people in the eye again.
My issue with musicals has long been their ruining any coherent storyline with a stupid, unamusing or unpalatable song. Sister Act wasted no time by not even bothering having anything to ruin. Less fun than a panto which at least knows it’s shit, I had to suffer 40 minutes of godawful exposition sung vociferously but with nothing unique about it whatsoever. There are no known tunes and those the award winning Alan Menken made up for it were less catchy and as boring as safe sex.
The first half is an hour and ten minutes, I went to the bar at about minute 30 but they shut them so had a long smoke. I checked my phone and Man City were winning, but I'd still rather have watched them, the cunts.
The woman in front of me had big hair and didn’t stop moving and talking. People used phones and there was no loud eating embargo. Eventually I used this as my blanket of safety. Sadly you cannot not hear Sister Act. Its aggressively show off singing isn’t in any way enjoyable but it is loud and you can tell the people on stage would be fun in the pub after a few light ales. You just can't hide behind big hair and her dunderheaded idiot accomplice. In his favour, I think he was as upset as me to be there after about 15 minutes.
London’s West End has plenty to offer and I began thinking about other things to do. What’s the Prince Charles’ Cinema got on late? Oooh, watching half of Soho shout at Mah-jong is great in the casinos. Charing Cross is only a ten minute walk and there are bars on the way… So as I walked back to Charing Cross I passed The Wyndham Theatre, still mid Brian Cox-shouts-a-lot. I toyed with catching the second half so down was I.
If you like this type of stilted, by the numbers, unengaging musical theatre shit, then have at it. Not for me son. I've seen far better, lesson learned. I did find a great restaurant to go to though, which is far more important. I won’t insult your intelligence with a score, you know.
Where's The Book of Mormon when you need it.
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