In west London, a line of smartly dressed theatregoers on a street corner enter a building and walk back in time. We pass through tight lamp-lit corridors and arrive in a cavernous hall, with tables laid and lanterns dangling overhead. This is Charles Dickens’ parlour, where he has just finished writing A Christmas Carol, and it’s dinner time.
The Great Christmas Feast is an immersive production in which a three-course meal is served while a quicksilver Dickens (David Alwyn) narrates his ghost story about the perils of penny-pinching in the season of goodwill. Immersive theatre has evidently concocted a tasty festive offshoot that might suit those tired of watching yet another straight-up adaptation of the classic tale.
Versions of cabaret and interactive dinner theatre have long existed, including Faulty Towers: The Dining Experience, while Rebecca Frecknall’s West End staging of Cabaret offers food and drink packages for premium ticket holders at the Kit Kat Club. What has been notable in recent years is how sumptuous some site-specific productions are becoming, with an elaborate convergence of spectacle, story, music and food. They certainly solve the conundrum of when to eat dinner. Before a show usually seems too early, afterwards too late. “During” is the perfect solution, I think, as I enter this music-filled production, which is in its eighth year.
My dinner companion and I have come hungry, and we are not kept waiting. My welcome drink is a mix of non-alcoholic cider, chestnut cordial, ginger and spice tinctures. A starter is served with period newspaper decor and rustic-looking mains – roast duck or pithivier of shiitake and king oyster mushrooms for vegetarians like me along with lovely trimmings (mulled red cabbage, spiced parsnip puree). It is a hearty plate of food followed by Christmas pudding, and in keeping with its period setting (archives and historical manuals are scoured by the production company, The Lost Estate, under the executive chef Ashley Clarke, previously of the Gordon Ramsay Group).
The audience have been advised to dress up, and there are top hats, waistcoats, ruffled dresses and feathered fascinators all around. My dinner companion has rocked up in sweatshirt and trainers and now tries to pass herself off as a Victorian ragamuffin.
The story is divided into distinct acts, told between courses around the room and on a central platform in the round, sometimes stopping at a cliffhanger. A few diners are enlisted to read a short exchange of dialogue from a script, and are clearly tickled to be asked.
Alwyn is charismatic, playful and in full command of the material, and there is pin-drop silence as he performs. Three versatile musicians around him (Guy Button, Beth Higham-Edwards and Kieran Carteron) play string instruments and percussion. There are lovely minimalist elements too – the three Christmas spirits are cleverly evoked, surprises come from different corners of the room. It is a feat that the production manages to make such a familiar tale newly dangerous and its message of charity feels genuine.
When immersive theatre works, there is nothing quite like it. But numerous elements need to align: you might get a great show but bad food or vice versa, which is sadly the case with The Nutcracker Noir, produced by Secret Theatre in east London. Billed as a reimagining of Tchaikovsky’s classic “with a twist”, it has some characters from ETA Hoffmann’s original story but without a cohesive or compelling narrative around them.
We are initially led into a series of rooms to be introduced to some of the characters. There is ethereal magician Eldar (Christopher Howell); Frank Zane (Jairus McClanahan), the nattily dressed son of club owner George (David Michael Johnson); and protagonist Clara (Anita Nicole), who stands on a dais in an elaborate confection of pink net, tutu, hoops and diamante.
The rooms certainly evoke a fantasy realm, with heady swirls of light and projection. Tonight is the grand re-opening of Zane’s club and Clara has orchestrated the show we are about to see. A critic called Madame Zel (Jessica Alonso) is here to review it.
The characters are beautifully, flamboyantly dressed – coloured wigs, ruffs and fishnets along with Dangerous Liaisons-style aesthetics. But the imagination poured into these costumes outweighs the drama itself. Adapted by Richard Crawford, who co-directs with Gary Lloyd, the barely fleshed out story has tenuous nods to the original Nutcracker tale, along with song and dance.
The central stage and dining area is impressive all the same, an opulent pop-up dining room with chandeliers and disco lights. Frustratingly, performers continue with intros and warm-ups for too long. The food is slower to arrive in this show but it is beautifully presented and tasty too. Again it is served in intervals, between performances, with champagne, cocktails and mocktails flowing generously. The five-course meal is created by Jenny McNeill (from immersive dining pioneers Gingerline and Heston Blumenthal’s The Fat Duck). It begins with a seasoned, flavoursome butter and sourdough, and proceeds with pretty looking dishes full of invention, such as nori and brown sugar-cured trout and the most gorgeous mid-winter salad featuring slivers of sweet potato and pickled cranberries.
The ensemble finally begin their floor show. It’s not the finest; there are backing-dancer moves to club beats and covers of Louis Armstrong’s What a Wonderful World, David Bowie’s Changes and the Pogues’ Fairytale of New York. Clara narrates her life story, which has a strange incestuous revelation at one point, and feels unsatisfyingly thin and incoherent. Before pudding is served, we are led out into a room where Madame Zel tells us how much she is enjoying the stage show. So much so that we must help her write a letter to Clara, telling her so. It galls, to be railroaded into critical praise.
The couple beside me, who are fans of dining cabaret nights, tell me that they bought half-price tickets and still feel let down by the unfolding experience. But there are plenty of others who are enjoying it. Many are up on their feet now, some dancing. An announcement tells us that a man has just proposed to his girlfriend. Cheers all round. The room is embracing the mood, and exudes office party vibes. Have the cocktails gone to people’s heads? A conga starts up around us. Our waitress is leading it and doing a vigorous job of getting people on their feet. “I hope she’s paid commission for that,” says my friend.
While the room congas to Sister Sledge’s We Are Family, we eat our pudding, which is a baked Basque cheesecake with sugar plum coulis. It is smooth, light, utterly delectable – the highlight and consolation of this bizarre hybrid entertainment. And there lies the sugared nub of high-end dining theatre: if the show itself is best forgotten, there will always be the cheesecake.
The Great Christmas Feast runs until 4 January. The Nutcracker Noir runs until 21 December.
