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New Moon is nothing if not an international advertisement for the hungry virtues of virginity and young people can’t get enough of it
The Twilight Saga: New Moon
Theatre
A smart, prickly and rewarding view of sexual and emotional confusion
Cock
Restaurants
Kitchen W8 is a bargain for this area, if such sophistication is what you crave
Kitchen W8
Too long and drawn out but very entertaining with excellent special effects
This is a peculiar play and does not work for me. Some of it is very funny but there are real flaws
Alex has a strong powerful voice and was faultless, she is far better now than she was on the X-Factor
London,
Nick Curtis's rating
Reader rating
Dir: Tamara Harvey.
Cast: Rachel Pickup, Sam Spruell
Description: A comedy by Lloyd Evans about a British tennis player and her bodyguard. With Rachel Pickup and Sam Spruell.
Trains: Tube/BR: Angel/Highbury & Islington 
Phone: 0870890 0149
Website: www.kingsheadtheatre.org
Email: info@kingsheadtheatre.org
Extra info: Party Hire
Very mixed doubles: Brit tennis hopeful Madeleine (Rachel Pickup) with her bodyguard Cedric (Sam Spruell)
Fair play to Spectator theatre critic Lloyd Evans for practising what he preaches, but his latest play, a lightweight tennis comedy, scores few points.
It's a tongue-in-cheek romcom, in which rich, neurotic, tenth-rate Brit hopeful Madeleine (Rachel Pickup) frees herself of superstition, guilt and the loser mentality under the influence of East End thug-savant bodyguard Cedric (Sam Spruell). Actually, 'under the influence' is right, as our girl gets plastered the day before her last, miraculous chance at Wimbledon and - even when not covertly yearning for Ced's evening burger 'n' fags, or his body - shows a cavalier attitude to training, and to turning up on time on court.
Fair enough: one doesn't demand locker-room realism of an airy comedy. The problem is that Mad 'n' Ced never convince as characters. They're just dummies with a few class-conscious characteristics, on which Evans scribbles tart but unconnected observations. These include the thesis that Brits never win Wimbledon because we cherish failure, and the not-entirely original idea that sports stars debase their talents by taking endorsements and colluding with the tabloid media.
Admittedly, Cedric comes out with a scarily impressive pre-interval speech suggesting that wilful, violent criminality is the apotheosis of free choice, a triumph over the cowardly conscience. But this cues up a plot-twist almost as improbable as Madeleine's grooming of a nascent stalker, because his existence proves she's 'made it.'
The pretty but alarmingly thin Pickup and the pugnacious Spruell do the best they can with these awkwardly contrived characters. Director Tamara Harvey keeps the pace up but can't disguise the flimsiness of the whole thing.
I bet Evans, with his hack's hat on, imagined all the tennis puns reviewers would lob at him. I've tried to refrain, but must conclude by saying: nice try, good effort, but ultimately not up to scratch. Which is pretty much what we say each year about the Brits at Wimbledon.
Until 26 July (0870 890 0149).
Details are correct at the time of publication - please check with venue before booking.
