A giant screen projecting Christopher Biggins capering in a Hawaiian shirt and mustard suit is a pretty heady sight early on a Saturday morning. And yet I wasn't the only one who chose to witness it: a huge queue snaked around Leicester Square for West End Live last weekend. Compered by Biggins, it was billed as the world's biggest free theatre festival – as punters flooded in for a taster of London's most popular shows. This year's event hosted a record audience of 150,000 people. Unsurprising when you consider how deliciously recession-friendly the combination of free entry and crowd-pleasing hits from big-name musicals is.
Inside, it was a riot of cheers from the crowd, consisting mostly of families on an inexpensive day out. There was a gentle surge to the front as Alexia Khadime from Wicked took to the stage. She looked lovely, but wasn't in costume, causing a pair of inordinately crestfallen women beside me to murmur and cluck, as they wondered why she wasn't green.
Nonetheless, Khadime's big musical finish was met with untrammelled whooping (establishing an audience standard for the rest of the day) and Biggins duly called her back for a bit of a gush once she'd taken her bow.
But were we to be cheated out of full theatrical dressing for the rest of the day? To the relief of the disappointed visitors above, there did, in fact, follow a succession of fully-costumed, fully-made up, all-singing and dancing casts. The jiving, singing nuns of Sister Act were, predictably, a gladdening spectacle.
But not everyone was impressed. Karl and Dave, a pair standing at the back of the square with a swanky-looking picnic, were feeling peevish despite their Prosecco: "It should be in Trafalgar Square - it's so small, the poor little kids can't see any of it," said Karl. "But, long may this happen - it's a must. Lots of people can't afford to go to the theatre and the crowd here are enjoying it, that's the main thing."
The co-organisers, the West End Marketing Alliance, might privately disagree about the festival's chief purpose. With the ticket booth heavily flagged up everywhere, "the main thing" surely, was that these 10-minute tasters spurred audiences to buy tickets for the shows themselves.
After a pretty tepid number from The King and I, Westminster's town crier bounded on stage, booming what a fun show it seemed, but judging by the limp physical advert presented by the cast, I can't say I was similarly convinced.
Jodie Prenger, all cockney pluck and pathos as Nancy from Oliver!, appeared to earn the biggest cheer of the day. Her rendition of As Long As He Needs Me prompted a big singalong moment, but when asked if they'd be stumping up for tickets to the show, my neighbours were less enthusiastic: "When you've watched it on the telly, it's great to see it live ... but now we've seen quite a lot of bits from [the shows], probably not."
Oh well. Organisers will undoubtedly claim the event as a success. Judging by the audience response – in particular the group of teenagers wearing paper hats with West End Live glitter-penned on the front – and the bitesize exposure given to the shows, it more than likely was.
Plenty of people might not have bought theatre tickets off the back of the festival, but to use prissy marketing-speak, the audience reach and awareness of the productions was a triumph.
After a very shiny disco number from Priscilla Queen of the Desert, with the temperature hotting up and crowds swelling even larger, I realised I may have reached my key-change limit for the day. From the look of it, I was the only one: I left Biggins et al to a crowd still tirelessly, heartily roaring.
