REVIEW: The Twits, The Bear Pit Theatre, Stratford, until 10th December by Steve Sutherland

What on earth is that pong? Oh, it’s me!

Or, to be more precise, it’s my rancid slip-on trainers emitting that funky whiff. I’m currently holding them over my head, along with everyone else in the audience who’s been requested, then urged, then harangued into removing their footwear and brandishing them high in an attempt to convince Mr and Mrs Twit that they are actually upside down.

Photos: Patrick Baldwin

I turn to the prim and proper lady sat next to me and say, “Sorry, these dogs are barking,” in homage to the late great John Candy removing his reeking loafers sat next to a disgusted Steve Martin in Planes, Trains And Automobiles. It’s a reference entirely lost on her as she wrinkles up her nose and holds her expensive-looking odour-free stilettos aloft. Naturally, I give her the stink eye, as you would.

Meanwhile, the little lad sat in front of me is going somewhat berserk. Actually, he’s not sat, he’s out of his seat, jumping up and down, waving his trainers and screaming stuff like “Poo!” and “Wee!” at the top pf his lungs, his gleeful ire aimed at the loathsome couple trying to get their bamboozled noggins around their inverted predicament. And the lad’s not alone. You know that prep school playground racket, like a pack of Chihuahuas on a yapping rampage? Well, that’s what it’s like in the Bearpit tonight once the Twits turn on the audience and threaten us for being goody-goody tattle-tales. There’s really no escaping it, this is high-pitched fun and then some.