Theatre: Boeing Boeing

As much as I am a contemporary arts man, I am not exactly a theatre man by the same token. And I could - or should. My cousin Eva heads up the music production at the mighty Globe on the Southbank, but when it comes to Shakespeare versus an intense 2-cast blackbox play at the Bush theatre I would favour the latter - sorry sweetie.

More shockingly, I have only been to a West End show once...in five years - and that was upon request of my visiting parents. However, my partner got free tickets for Boeing Boeing, and that is where at least one end closes to my cousin: she wildly recommended me to see this production when Marc Rylance, the then artistic director and head actor at the Globe, departed his venture after 10 years to embark on a mainstream production, yes, this one. (he is not there anymore but his successor was fab to say that upfront)

So, what is it all about?

Revisit the 60s, when flying was considered not a commodity but luxury for a very few, and being an air hostess for a venerable airline granted you C-celebrity status and a lucrative affair with the tanned pilot (B-celebrity) if that was your cup of tea. In Boeing Boeing, however, the air hostesses are all engaged to Bernard, a successful architect living in Paris, and to be precise, he has three of them. He manages this love rectangle with meticulous attention to detail, by studying their flight schedules, changing his diet, and of course, all the taste swings in his swanky appartment.

It all goes smoothly until one day his old friend from school shows up - the exact opposite of the cool elegant playboy, and becomes, you guess it, witness of a day gone wrong: storm over the Atlantic brings the American from TWA back on the wrong evening, and the Italian gets another day in transit, all when his German favourite is supposed to fly in for the night.

What happens then over the course of the next 2 hours is a one big laugh caused by wicked humour, lots of banality jokes, and a terrific performance from Gretchen, the Lufthansa Eagle, who encapsulates the intense drama queen to a T. I have not laughed at my own cultural stereotypes so loudly in a while. And of course, Robert, the dorky shy friend, is being dragged into juggling these three hotbeds, together with the annoyed and cynic house keeper.

The piece is very retro, and predictably posed some questions in my head afterwards: were that the good old times my parents were talking about, when flight schedules were stable (stale) for years, when a lot of jobs triggered a romantic fascination in people, like being a sailor in the 18th century, all before the efficiency squats of huge management consultancies strip all roles and tasks bare of any (inefficient) fun parts. On a side note, an air hostess isn't even called that way any more, but I guess we call them flight attendants more for reasons of political correctness. Fine, but the glamour has gone as well: there is a sarcastic German term for it nowadays coined "Saftschubse" which literally means 'Juice Pusher'. That doesn't suggest IT Girl, does it?