Once upon a time, a glamorous screen siren breezing into town for a
rare stage appearance could reliably expect to be brutally savaged
by London drama critics, even the straight ones. Years of grueling
fringe theater in the upstairs rooms of pubs in obscure outlying
boroughs, years of exposure to nudity on the stageβwhere on the
whole the people who take their clothes off are the people youβd
rather didnβtβall this had left them with no use for such banal
Hollywood values as flawless skin, defoliated armpits, firm breasts,
etc. But last year, when The Blue Room opened at the Donmar
Warehouse with Nicole Kidman, she brought out the kid in every man.
βStunning,β said The Daily Mailβs Christopher Tookey. βPure
theatrical Viagra,β said The Daily Telegraphβs Charles Spencer.
Was that a rolled-up copy of the Telegraph in his pocket or was he
just pleased to see her? Hard to tell. Fortunately, the Evening
Standard sent along a lady correspondent to peer through the sea of
middle-aged male drooling and apply a more rigorous critical
dissection:
βNarrow hips, bosoms at armpit level, long
rangy legs β¦β
Er, thanks, but how about the play?
βNoβrepeat, noβcellulite β¦β
And the direction?
βI was concentrating on her removing her bra
under her vest β¦β
Anything to say about the design?
βNo unsightly chicken-joint effect in the high-
cut front β¦β
Well,