Jack and the Beanstalk: What a Whopper – Charing Cross Theatre, London

Writer: Jon Bradfield and Martin Hooper

Songs: Jon Bradfield

Director: Andrew Beckett

Jon Bradfield and Martin Hooper’s annual adult celebration of all things crude, spectacularly rude, and cosily camp returns in top-notch form with their take on panto favourite Jack and the Beanstalk, here helpfully subtitled What a Whopper! for those poor unfortunates who may mistakenly suppose they are headed to a family-friendly affair. Anticipate tacky charm, deadpan gags, snug vulgarity, and the hearty embrace of all things filthy wrapped around a surprisingly traditional pantomime structure.

Yes, the jokes may not be entirely new and are mostly nearer the elbow than the knuckle (there is a fisting gag in there somewhere). The writers sensibly assume it unnecessary to bother with double entendres when single ones will do the job equally efficiently. And yes, those unfamiliar with LGBTQ+ culture may scratch their heads at the unending catalogue of cracks about the ins and outs of gay sex – though this is an eminently inclusive show. Bradfield and Hooper pretty much founded the adult panto genre aeons ago, and this indubitably remains the Grande Dame of the form. Impeccably produced, flawlessly performed, and riotously funny, this is head and shoulders above anything of its kind.

Somewhere in the Yorkshire Dales, adjacent to Middle Finger, lies the picturesque village of Upper Bottom. On a dilapidated dairy farm, some way out of the parish lives erstwhile soap opera star Dame Dolly Trott (a caustic, ad-libbing Matthew Baldwin on absolutely top form) and her permanently priapic son Jack (Keanu Adolphus Johnson). Dame Dolly’s days of winning “Best Comeback From The Dead” TV awards are long gone, and she is now reduced to baking cakes, watching episodes of “The Great British Jerk-Off” and bemoaning the presence of a “smelly beaver lurking around the back”.

With the nearest Grindr user many miles away and only cows Claudia and Tess for company, lonely Jack, ripped unwillingly from a leisurely life of escorts and cocaine in the fleshpots of Leeds, grows lettuces and cruises the village graveyard for company. Who should he encounter on an evening’s tryst but local Reverend Tim (Joe Grundy), who is decidedly dishy but very much on the down low? Can Jack persuade Tim that there is more to being gay than “bumming and watching Wicked”? Outrageous local fairy Dale (Chris Lane channelling the twin ghosts of Frankie Howard and Kenneth Williams) is there to smooth things along. In a decidedly meta twist, the fairy creates an am-dram production of fan favourite “Sir Cumalot” to bring the budding lovers together.

Meanwhile, villainous local landowner Lady Fleshcreep (Jordan Stamatiadis bedecked in a glorious pastiche of a Chanel power dress) has plans to buy up the village and turn it into a theme park for townies, something which requires the eviction from their home of Jack and Dame Dolly. Add into the mix Fleshcreep’s improbably stupid niece Simone (Laura Anna-Mead), who has the hots for the local district nurse Alice (Caitlin Swanton). Also making an appearance are Viking dildos, beans that grow into enormous “penstalks”, and a mysterious giant (a voiceover from Ian McKellen reprising a version of his most famous line from Lord Of The Rings) whose genitalia is every bit in proportion with his massive frame. Laura Buhagiar and Fin Walton complete the excellent ensemble.

Bradfield’s songs are all original and range from folksy country and western to power ballads. Show-stopper On The Down Low neatly sums up the moral of the piece: to be true to yourself, you have to be true to who you are and who you love. There is also a dig here at the imposition of city values on country traditions—one suspects the likes of Jeremy Clarkson would be nodding along with the message if not the medium.

Robert Draper and Sandy Lloyd’s beautifully rendered costumes ooze West End production values and remind us that for all the silliness, this is a seriously well-put-together slice of panto. Andrew Beckett’s direction is zippy and efficient, though one wonders on occasion whether he is parodying or paying homage to the physical theatre elements of panto tradition. Hisses, boos, audience interaction and a sing-along to an X-rated version of the Grand Old Duke of York, add to the spice and bring a weirdly retro feel to the evening. This is two hours of divinely comfortable filth that is not for the churlish; everyone else will love it.

Runs until 11 January 2025