Some people – say, Neil Postman and now possibly the Times’ theatre critic Clive Davis – are afraid, in this age of entertainment, we might amuse ourselves to death. Not me. I live to be amused. I could die happy knowing I devoted my life to the pursuit of amusement.
Which is why I seek out nights at the theatre, specifically the musical kind, that self-restrained sophisticates might tastefully decline. Yes, musicals are very amusing, they say, but where’s the substance, the meat to chew on? Somewhere in our cultural evolution, those on a sugar-free diet have decided musical theatre will rot your teeth; that is nothing but fluff designed to make you stare stupidly like the bourgeoisie with their TV screens and their square eyes. That musicals are theatre for the masses (and I think it’s fair to say they imply, for women).