The status of Die Hard as a Christmas movie is contested. The quality of this live adaptation is, alas, less debatable. The show takes place on the fifth floor of an office block by Southwark Bridge, masquerading as floor 30 of (deep breath) “Nakablowme” Tower. Terrorists have taken over, led by louche villain Hands Grubby, clad for no apparent reason in sequinned jacket and fishnets. Step forward macho Noo Yawk cop John McClean to save the day, and to connect with his closeted sexuality via a romance with a PC from South Croydon seemingly styled by the Village People.
We’re in the realm of camp action-movie parody then, in a show that bids for the boozy and forgiving Christmas crowd, wanting a knees-up more than a play. The problem is that, in Bertie Watkins’ production, neither is satisfactorily delivered. Dead Hard’s immersive element is weak and swiftly dispatched, as Nakablowme’s CEO orchestrates two audience-participation games involving dildos (the show is obsessed with dildos) and other phallic appendages. Thereafter, we sit in a studio theatre and passively watch the show unfold.
