In at the deep end

Kurt Barling goes to the theatre and ends up on stage

A man and a woman on stage wearing hats — Kurt Barling and Gaby Roslin in Whodunnit4 and Park Theatre – (Credit – Craig Sugden)

For six years I have had the privilege of serving as a trustee of Park Theatre, one of North London’s most remarkable cultural institutions. It is a theatre that survives not through abundance, but through determination, ingenuity and a stubborn belief that live performance still matters deeply in modern life.

That belief is currently on full display in Whodunnit [Unrehearsed] 4, the theatre’s ambitious biennial fundraising production running until 27 June. The premise is gloriously chaotic. Every one of the 64 performances features a different celebrity guest playing the Sheriff without ever having seen the script or attended a rehearsal. An earpiece feeds them lines and stage directions live during the show while a fully rehearsed cast attempts to keep the wheels from flying off entirely. The result is missed cues, improvised recoveries, corpsing actors and an audience roaring with laughter at the sheer unpredictability of it all.

Sixty four shows. Sixty four Sheriffs. Sixty four entirely different ways for disaster and brilliance to collide.

And yet behind the hilarity sits something very serious indeed.

Park Theatre is a charity. It receives no core funding from the Arts Council or local authority and must raise at least £600,000 annually beyond ticket income simply to remain operational. This fundraiser is not some optional flourish. It is, quite literally, a lifeline. It enables the theatre to continue offering affordable tickets, free access for schools and community groups, creative programmes for young people, dementia initiatives and outreach work across the local area.

In a sector rarely flush with resources, this is theatre helping itself survive.

And importantly, it does so without bitterness. We understand why public funding bodies increasingly prioritise regions outside London. Theatre belongs to everyone, not merely to the cosmopolitan elite. But while we accept that reality, we also quietly get on with delivering what we believe matters: affordable, accessible live culture in the heart of North London. We keep ticket prices below cost where possible. We do not moan. We create.

Into this carefully choreographed mayhem the directors introduced another element this year: unsuspecting audience participants drafted into the performance for extra spontaneity.

That is how I found myself, entirely without warning, standing backstage with approximately fifteen minutes notice before being thrust into the opening performance alongside Gaby Roslin. That is because one lucky member of the audience gets a ticket label BT1 or BT2. These are for the on stage Bartender role. Cue more embarrassment and hilarity.

No one had mentioned this possibility when I arrived for what I assumed would be my usual Saturday evening fix of live theatre.

Now, to be fair, I had spent many years at the BBC performing live in a different sense, improvising under pressure as a television news correspondent when technology failed, scripts changed or events overtook the running order. Live broadcasting teaches you how to think while falling. But stepping onto a theatre stage is another matter entirely.

The last time I had performed in theatre was sometime around 1980 at the National Youth Theatre. I remember very little of that production now. Perhaps mercifully.

So there I was, suddenly trying to ad lib my way through the first half of a Wild West murder mystery while desperately attempting not to derail a production involving experienced performers who actually knew what they were doing. I recall flashes rather than sequences: trying to keep a straight face, missing cues, laughter erupting around me, and the peculiar adrenaline that only truly live performance creates.

Because that is the magic of theatre. Unlike film or television, it exists only in that moment. Every audience creates a unique collective experience that can never quite be replicated again. One line lands differently. One pause extends too long. One accidental glance sends the cast into hysterics. The imperfections are precisely the point.

Looking across at Gaby Roslin on stage, I found myself reflecting not simply on performance, but on generosity. Here were people with established public profiles willingly placing themselves in vulnerable, ridiculous situations for no financial reward whatsoever, purely to support a community-centred cultural institution. The celebrities receive no payment. They volunteer because they believe places like Park Theatre deserve to exist.

That matters enormously.

The ancient Greeks and Romans understood that live theatre was not merely entertainment but civic life itself: a shared public space where communities gathered to feel, laugh, question and experience something collectively. In an age increasingly dominated by algorithms, isolation and on-demand streaming, there is something profoundly human about sitting shoulder to shoulder with strangers while absolute chaos unfolds in front of you in real time.

You feel alive in live theatre because anything might happen.

At Park Theatre, quite often it does.

So, if you want an evening of genuine unpredictability, enormous warmth and proper belly laughter, come and join us at Park Theatre. Support a venue that continues to fight for affordable and accessible culture against increasingly difficult odds. Treat yourself to a show where nobody, including the cast, entirely knows what is going to happen next.

And, check your ticket, if you are particularly lucky, until 27th June that unrehearsed moment could be yours too.

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