People are allowed to say they hate modern art, or cats, so I’m out and proud with my own personal dislike. Yet when I tell people, they’re appalled, and insist that the problem isn’t the theatre in general, it’s what I’m going to see.
Rubbish. You spend your evening in a seat that’s so cramped it makes Ryanair look spacious, invariably behind the tallest person in the world.
If you want to eat, dinner has to be at either lunchtime or bedtime. You will be parched, but unable to do anything about it. By the time you’ve fought your way to the bar in the interval, you will have precisely 20 seconds to neck your precious drink before a bell, which reminds me unpleasantly of school, orders you back to your seat. All that, while watching some people in the middle distance pretend to be someone else. Have a great time. Count me out. – The Times