I did not have specific plans to see The Play That Goes Wrong again. But there was a ticket available in the front row for the 11 October 2026 matinée at only £25, and... look, the point is that I don't think I can be held accountable for my actions.
Sitting in the front row was so much fun! I've only previously seen The Play That Goes Wrong from the back of the dress circle. The Duchess is a small theatre, so even the view from the very back is a good one, but there's a lot you pick up in the front that you might miss otherwise: facial expressions, muttered or whispered lines. (The 'this is an actual play going awry' conceit of The Play That Goes Wrong means that the 'actors' will sometimes mutter or hiss at each other in a 'this isn't intended to be heard by the audience' way you wouldn't usually see in a regular play.)
The whole cast was great, but I'm thrilled to report that I loved the depiction of Robert in particular! Because I'm so attached to Robert as played by Henry Lewis, I can be a little nervous about seeing other actors in the role, but I thought Will Bishop's Robert was fantastic; he's easily my favourite Robert I've seen after Lewis's. He's an understudy, so I felt very fortunate to have had the opportunity to see him!
Before the play, Chris pursued Trevor down the aisle next to my seat. "We've got to be up in six minutes - don't run away from me! What are you doing? Trevor, what are you doing?"
They ended up standing at the other end of the front row, in front of the stage, having a quiet argument. I could make out occasional snippets: Trevor telling Chris, "It's not my fault," or saying, "Tell him what happened," to the audience.
Eventually, Chris grabbed Trevor by the front of his T-shirt and shoved him against the lip of the stage. "Whoa!" Trevor exclaimed.
Chris kept him pinned there for a couple of seconds, then let go and stalked away while Trevor demanded of the audience, "Did you see that??"
The coal scuttle didn't flare up properly, so we didn't get Robert extinguishing it, alas; that's one of my favourite parts! It's usually the point at which the coal scuttle is removed from the set (which is necessary for later collapses to go, ahem, smoothly), so I was curious to see how they'd deal with that; Robert ended up casually taking the coal scuttle with him as he left at the end of his next scene.
At the point where it becomes clear that Max and Sandra are going to have to kiss off-script, I noticed Max giving a pleading 'why would you do this?' look to the tech box. I looked up to the tech box to see that Trevor had his phone out and was filming the scene.
Robert gave Max a little 'are you okay?' thumbs-up when Max hit himself in the head with the loose floorboard, which Max returned. I'm always delighted by evidence that Robert, for all his self-absorption, does still care about the others in his own way. Similarly, when Chris prepared to jump off the upper platform, it was clear from Robert's urgent "No, no, Chris—" that he was concerned for Chris's safety.
Max choked out "safeword!" in a small voice when Robert grabbed him by the collar and dragged him across the room after their swordfight.
Nobody called out to tell Chris where the ledger was, and I was a little disappointed that we'd miss out on Chris's optional interaction with the audience. But his actor managed to engage with the audience anyway!
Chris: (seeing the ledger at last) A ledger! (to the audience, very sarcastic) Thanks for your help.
(The audience laugh. Chris's response is a mocking, near-hysterical 'hahahaHAhahaha'. The audience applaud.)
Chris: Are you applauding yourselves??
(Chris turns to resume the play, then turns back to the audience.)
Chris: And, while I've got you here, this is a serious murder mystery. STOP LAUGHING. (gesturing to a couple in the front row) Why can't you be more like these two down here? Forty-five minutes, and they haven't laughed once.
Annie, nervous in her early efforts at having a hysterical episode, kept looking at the audience for approval. From my seat in the front row, I gave her a double thumbs-up; she caught my eye and smiled and seemed to gain more confidence.
In the interval, Trevor came by my seat and asked me and my seat neighbour whether we'd seen the missing dog.
Me: Could you ask one of the human actors to play it instead?
Trevor: I could try, but I don't know if they'd go for it. Robert would be fuming.
Me: Maybe he'd just be glad to have more stage time.
Neighbour: (to Trevor) Maybe you could play it yourself.
Trevor: Yeah, right. Can you imagine me on that stage? How about one of you?
Me: I don't know if I'd be much good at barking.
Neighbour: I've got three poodles at home.
Me: So you're qualified!
Trevor: Could you get one of them over here?
Neighbour: They're in Belfast.
Trevor: Yeah, probably cutting it a bit fine. Let me know if you think you can get them here, though. At least someone's taking this seriously.
He handed me a flyer and walked away.
I was so pleased to receive this; what a cool souvenir!
I showed the flyer to the woman next to me, and we got chatting. I asked her about her dogs. She asked if I had any dogs of my own.
"I have two cats," I said.
"Older or younger?" she asked.
"Than... me?" I asked, bewildered.
She was asking whether they were on the older or younger side for cats, it turns out! I was very confused for a moment.
(I've ended up chatting with fellow audience members at most of the Mischief shows I've been to, come to think of it! Something about these silly plays really brings people together.)
When Trevor was playing the 'bong's of the clock striking midnight, he paused halfway through and asked, "How many's that?"
"Six," the audience called back.
"Thanks," Trevor said. He played the next stroke. "Seven."
Some small children in the audience audibly counted along: "Seven."
Trevor was clearly delighted by this. The kids counted him through the rest of the strokes, and he ended up playing two extra 'bong's for them to count along with, rather than the usual one extra.
At one point Dennis, clearly on the verge of tears, turned away from the audience. "They keep laughing at me," he said quietly to Max, who patted him consolingly on the back.
Max, while Sandra's character was trying to seduce his gardener character, looked in my direction and whispered, "Help me." I think he was addressing the woman next to me, rather than me directly, which is just as well, because I was no help at all.
On multiple occasions throughout the play, the characters drink white spirit and spit it back out. I managed not to be sprayed with any 'white spirit', despite being in the front row; I did wonder whether that was a risk! I was, however, close enough to feel the breeze from the set walls when they collapsed, which was both very cool and slightly terrifying.
Most of the cast didn't come out of the stage door; it was a fairly late matinée, so they were probably preparing for the next show, and it's clear that stage dooring is less of a thing when the original Goes Wrong cast aren't involved. (I was, in fact, the only person at the stage door, which was slightly disconcerting.) To my delight, though, I did get to meet Robert's actor, who I'd really wanted to speak to!
Bishop: (smiling) Hi!
Me: Hi! (hesitates) I'm afraid that, now that you've changed your clothes, I'm going to have no idea who anyone is. May I ask who you played?
Bishop: I was Robert.
Me: Oh, you were my favourite!
Bishop: Oh, thank you!
Me: Robert's my favourite character, so I'm always a bit nervous about seeing different depictions of him. I thought you were fantastic in the role.
Bishop: Thank you very much. I'm actually the understudy for the main guy.
Me: I thought you were an understudy; I was thinking I was lucky to see you. It seems like it must be exhausting to project that hard for the entire play.
Bishop: It's all pretty exhausting. All that running around and climbing. (I had, in fact, been close enough to the stage to see his sheen of sweat. I did not mention this, and I look forward to receiving my 'Not As Creepy As You Could Have Been' medal.) And Robert's entire thing is that he's loud. I've lost my voice a lot.
Me: Is that why the main guy's off today?
Bishop: (laughs)
Me: (producing my Christmas Carol Goes Wrong script) Would it be too cheeky to ask you to sign a play you're not in?
Bishop: Oh, I actually was in this one!
Me: Oh, what's your name?
Bishop: Will Bishop. I was an understudy there as well.
Me: Well, in that case you can sign the front page!
Trevor's actor Kieron Michael also came out of the stage door:
Michael: Did you enjoy the show?
Me: I did! Sorry we couldn't find your dog. You were great as Trevor. I enjoyed how much you enjoyed those kids joining in on the counting.
Michael: (laughs) Yeah, that was cute. I don't actually do much acting. I basically just play myself.
Me: Well, that sounds like the perfect person to play Trevor.
Michael: It's great. Easiest job in the world.
The third and final member of the cast I met was ensemble member Phoenix Edwards, and our conversation illustrated the perils of plays about actors:
Me: You're a stagehand, right?
Edwards: Oh, I'm actually an actor; I'm an understudy—
Me: Oh, I'm sorry, I meant that you play a stagehand.
Edwards: I play a stagehand, yes.
The Stage Door Conversation That Goes Wrong. She was gracious about it!
A thoroughly enjoyable theatre visit! The only problem is that I now find myself hoping to see Will Bishop in the role of Robert again, but he's an understudy, so it's unlikely to happen unless I personally incapacitate the principal actor.
Mischief, if you're listening: this man should be your Robert in the next cast reshuffle. You've got the perfect person for the role right here. Give me some professionally shot promotional photographs of Bishop's Robert for my website, while you're at it.