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Who says septuagenarians can’t be on trend? Seventy-nine-year-old comedy veteran Barry Cryer has noticed the Cumberbatch-ushered Sherlock Holmes revival and penned this festive farce with his son Bob and a little help from physical comedy troupe Spymonkey. But instead of the pipe-puffing detective taking centre stage, in Cryer’s affectionate spoof, it’s Holmes’s long-suffering landlady Mrs Hudson who gets top billing.
We join her – along with Holmes, Dr Watson and ditzy neighbour Mrs Brayley – in the kitchen of 221b Baker Street. From here the action spirals into three very loose tales: two before the interval in classic Holmes style; one in the second half that’s really just an excuse to retell the Nativity with swears.
Storywise, it’s a patchy affair. Scenes are of patience-stretching length, two of the playlets go nowhere, and the jokes are – as you might expect from Cryer Snr – 80 percent groaners.
It’s the cast’s superb performances that keep proceedings the right side of corny in a piece that is part panto, part tribute to music hall. Sophie Russell’s put-upon Mrs Hudson and Toby Park’s upbeat Sherlock have a wonderful chemistry, and there are many laughs to be had from Aitor Basauri in multiple parts of various nationalities, all with his thick Spanish accent.
Unfortunately, the usually rubber-limbed Petra Massey had injured her leg on press night. But despite a a dampening of her typical physical exuberance, she still received the biggest laughs as the oversharing Mrs Brayley, who has a penchant for ignoring the script.
What the show will be once Massey is match fit, it’s impossible to tell. Currently, it’s a silly, enjoyable romp. With a bit of tightening, it might live up to the promise of its title.