It’s the time of the year when we abandon our critical faculties and discover our inner child, and you know what terrible taste children have. It is, in short, Advent, otherwise known as the Runup to Christmas, and it’s when we embrace the gaudy, the effusive and the sentimental in the way of popular entertainment. I’m thinking A Christmas Carol. I’m thinking Nutcracker. I’m thinking Paddington.
Now I once had lunch with Michael Bond, creator of Paddington, and you’ve never met anyone less like Santa Claus. He was reserved, clever and pleasant, but never looked like he was going to break into a ho, ho, ho. He gave me a present of Monsieur Pamplemousse, his French work, but that was as far as the handouts went. And yet his most famous creation has somehow managed to usurp the place normally reserved for panto in the programmes for the Festive Season, something suitable for all the family. Britain’s most famous illegal immigrant in his theatrical incarnation at the Savoy Theatre has managed to melt the hearts of even the crustiest theatre critics. “Paddington is here to scrape the cynicism from their hearts”, says The Standard’s critic, Tim Bano. “The Bear Captures our Hearts,” said The Times.
