This article is taken from the February 2026 issue of The Critic. To get the full magazine why not subscribe? Get five issues for just £25.
The fate of Mr Walliams highlights a long-standing dilemma for those of us in the trade, yet again forced to contend with a disgraced figure amongst our number.
Convention dictates celebrity “friends” can offer only the most tacit of support at so challenging a juncture — navigating a precarious course between implied allegiance (should he bounce back to sabotage careers) and cutting the vampire adrift in a way professional pragmatism requires.
Billing himself “The Pied Piper of Pitlochry” since taking charge of its local theatre, Mr Cumming naturally raises the bar.
With Alan securing the services of all manner of celebrity pals, not to mention dispensing with unglamorous Scottish repertory types, Highland workhorses labouring behind the scenes are sensibly forewarned this dazzling dictator requires only unstinting admiration in the months ahead.
Following my own briefest of flirtations with the miserable world of “fat jabs” back in 2025, the sight of once well-nourished fellow theatricals now laughably reduced to the hollow-cheeked frauds we see before us, leaves one with a growing sense of relief and joie de vivre!
Death duties denied
Not for the first time, one (inconveniently) contends with the sudden demise of his agent — the latest having been hired to handle affairs merely months ago, before taking a final tumble down the steps of St Martin-in-the-Fields.
Whilst an amiable enough fellow, of similar vintage to myself, hindsight indicates the old dodderer’s appointment to have been a knee-jerk affair, after I’d furiously severed links with dead-eyed millennials last spring.
A generous offer to say a “few words” at the send-off (alas, very much a forte these past years) ended up being rudely rebuffed, with the secretary/mistress deeming our association too brief for so prominent a role in proceedings. Preferred “tributes” from Anthony Andrews and the bird from ’Allo ’Allo! instead proved lacklustre on the day.
Though this elderly player had clung to the belief such jiggery-pokery could never hope to emulate the nuance of the well-lunched character actor in his prime, relentless news of AI phantoms invading the profession recently proved cause for concern.
Mercifully, I hear matters are now in hand thanks to the intervention of valiant folk over at actors’ union Equity, whose record for success speaks for itself. With the comrades angrily declaring “enough is enough”, not to mention housewives’ favourite Mr Bonneville amongst those leading the charge, we can be sure these 21st century villains are finally realising just what they’re up against.
Hats off to reformed hellraiser Tony Hopkins, finally celebrating 50 years off the bottle. Needless to say, we shall never forget those demons the great man so heroically overcame in the darkest of days of late December 1975, seeing as he hasn’t stopped banging on about it ever since.
Briefly on the back foot thanks to impertinent “nepo baby” talk whilst directing the boy’s star-studded screenwriting debut, a resilient Ms Winslet returns to form reviving fashionable claims of 1980s fat-shaming at her expense.
Though this harrowing tale previously wobbled when subjected to unhelpful scrutiny by grubby journalists digging around our heroine’s school years (tastefully meeting with the vaguest of clarifications from Winslet HQ), suffice to say canny Kate has all the facts she needs.
Not a dicky-bird again in the New Year Honours, despite 56 years of endless service on stage, screen and radio — as well as raising millions down the decades for what I imagined were popular charities at the time.
Though long enough in the tooth to remain philosophical at this stage of the game, I can merely add one Dame Elaine Paige was recently heard expressing “frustration and bemusement” on my behalf.
A presently popular soundbite amongst leading stars of the day, sweetly claiming they “fell into acting by mistake”, indicates a remarkable sequence of events, doubtless difficult for outsiders to comprehend. Be assured these wide-eyed victors are the picture of sincerity whenever regularly maintaining to interviewers they had “next to no idea what was going on!”
Whilst foes in the press delight in noting Mr Cox was amongst “left-wing luvvies” unknowingly championing an Egyptian “extremist” wishing us the very worst, we can rest safe in the knowledge BBC producers shall persevere in their difficult mission to present Brian as the seasoned political sage he imagines himself to be, rather than the hopeless windbag feared.
Slings and arrows
Excessive BBC celebrations marking the 75th birthday of bumpkin saga The Archers predictably masked a more cut-throat state of affairs, long known by jobbing troupers in the trade.
Having myself dared to imagine an ongoing association with the show many moons ago — not least after enthusing at length about the “overnight popularity” of my roguish Ambridge alter ego to the Radio Times — this then carefree player was blissfully unaware of green-eyed adversaries gathering at his expense.
Abruptly recording one’s farcical exit from Borsetshire just weeks later (a hackneyed “storyline” of the lowest order), the barely disguised glee on the faces of senior cast members present told one all one needed to know.
An Honourable Mention for one-time Stratford comrade Sir Ben Kingsley, after the old peacock delightfully declares he can’t possibly consider giving us his Lear, seeing as his career’s already transcended the role!
The silent treatment
Having wasted little time introducing myself to the forty-something fellow suddenly at the helm of the deceased agent’s theatrical empire, this veteran was once more up against the kind of modern-day detachment he dreads.
From notable lack of eye contact to a ruthlessly limited attention span, the casually-clad ghoul’s preference for unsettling silences predictably brought out my very worst. Shamefully reduced to filling the gaps by compulsively blathering on about all manner of professional insecurities — from the next cruise ship contract to the status of ongoing allegations over at Channel 5 — the chilling lack of reassurance coming from across the desk only escalated matters.
Upcoming marriage to the fourth Mrs Coates, scheduled for this spring, revives the age-old dilemma concerning one’s “best man” for the occasion. With the feral nature of show business ensuring the last three rogues selected went on to enjoy long-term affairs with the wives in question, I’ve resolved to break this sorry jinx by identifying a former co-star too decrepit for such treachery in 2026.
