The Wagatha Christie affair began in 2019 when Coleen Rooney accused Rebekah Vardy of selling stories from her private Instagram account to the Sun. Rebekah denied the charge and sued Coleen. The case reached the High Court last summer and has now arrived in the West End in a verbatim script by Liv Hennessy.
The staging is brilliantly funny with the court presented as a football pitch where a set of TV pundits explain the legal niceties to us. Rebekah, the plaintiff (and husband of former England striker Jamie Vardy), is cross-examined by David Sherborne of 5RB chambers who acts for Coleen. Sherborne begins by attacking Rebekah’s claim that she never leaks personal information by reminding her of a tabloid story about her former lover, Peter Andre. ‘A miniature chipolata,’ was her description of his reproductive equipment. It gets worse for her as Sherborne reveals how she sucked up to Coleen in public but plotted privately to milk her for gossip. The crowd reacts to Rebekah’s faltering testimony like a mob at a public execution, jeering explosively at every half-truth and evasion that falls from her lips. It’s a cruel but shamefully enjoyable experience.
When Coleen takes the stand she faces Hugh Tomlinson of Matrix Chambers who sets out to expose her as a scheming truth-twister. He suggests that she can’t be trusted because she used falsehoods to entrap Rebekah. ‘Why were you not honest?’ he asks pointedly. ‘Because I didn’t want to be,’ says Coleen. And how, he demands to know, could you possibly sift through 300 private Instagram accounts? ‘It’s quite easy on a mobile phone,’ she explains. She seems to regard Tomlinson as a bit thick and she helpfully informs him how she tracks down stories about herself in the newspapers. ‘I open Google and type in “Coleen Rooney news”’ More eruptions of laughter greeted this because her demeanour shone with a simple and unbiased frankness.
It’s a cruel but shamefully enjoyable experience
But it was Tomlinson who bore the brunt of our derision. The distinguished inquisitor, and expert in French philosophy, comes across as a clueless beginner easily outsmarted by a Scouser who left school at 16. Not that David Sherborne gets off lightly. Caramel-tanned and capering around the court like a matador on speed, he seems so delighted with his nimble wits and dashing appearance that he starts to act unprofessionally. Having subjected Rebekah to a Gestapo-like interrogation, he lounges in his seat and admires his polished fingernails when he ought to be listening to Tomlinson’s arguments.
One legal issue receives less attention than it deserves. Coleen’s team argue that her exposure of Rebekah as untrustworthy was a matter of public interest. How so? Back in 2019, Rebekah, was hardly a household name. She had no job, no public responsibilities, and held no elected office. Rebekah deserved to be protected from the insults of a WAG who stood far above her in the food chain. You may read broadsheet critics warning you not to attend this unedifying punch-up between two hard-as-nails millionairesses. Ignore their advice. Treat yourself to a night of gloating smuggery. You can always claim to be interested in the minutiae of legal procedure at a libel trial. And that’s a fair excuse. This show is an absolute must for anyone considering a career at the bar. Will there be an appeal? Let’s hope so.
Cinderella is the big Christmas offer from Stratford. The panto has a specific historical location in the middle of the first century BC. Mark Antony and Julius Caesar are stranded in Egypt after suffering some vague military setback. They get involved with the court of Cleopatra who has locked her step-daughter, Cinderella, in a dungeon beneath the Great Pyramids while her twin daughters, who are also the Ugly Sisters, plot to seduce Mark Antony. They oust Cleopatra, who forms an alliance with Caesar and a Fairy God-Mummy, and the three of them dethrone the Ugly Sisters and install Cinderella as Mark Antony’s bride.
This is not an easy story to follow. Kids will be baffled by it. Even Egyptologists would find it difficult to unscramble. And the script leans too heavily on adult humour with references to Caesar’s ‘massive clock’ and a skit on the Oscars ceremony. Cleopatra collects the famous statuette. ‘First of all,’ she says, ‘and for my own protection, I’d like to thank Will Smith.’ That’s the show’s best gag.
At press night the kids didn’t seem to mind the impenetrable storyline. They loved catching the sweets hurled at them from the stage and they squealed like maniacs when the actors threatened to empty buckets of shaving foam over their heads. A panto can be a useful gauge of public opinion. Brexit wasn’t mentioned but the line ‘we need a general election’ was cheered to the rafters.
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