I love the West End but how on earth can they charge £250 a ticket, writes ...

I love the West End but how on earth can they charge £250 a ticket, writes ...
I love the West End but how on earth can they charge £250 a ticket, writes ...

After all the suspense of lockdown-and-release, hope and disappointment and pingdemic cancellations, lovers of live theatre have finally had something to cheer about.

For those desperately in need of their fix of big show-stopping numbers, exhilarating outbreaks of tap-dancing, comedy and drama galore, there’s been the usual bevy of choice in London’s West End: from The Bob Marley Musical to Matilda, from fan-favourite Moulin Rouge — a spectacular Broadway import boasting eye-popping excess — to Mamma Mia! and The Book Of Mormon.

The trouble is that actually getting to the shows is proving eye-poppingly expensive for many. And that’s because ticket pricing seems to be on a ceaseless hike to inaccessibility.

The cheapest seat for Moulin Rouge, when I tried to book for Saturday December 18, was £75, high up in the distant Grand Circle, while a good view from the stalls would set you back — hold tight — £250. An unlikely family outing for most.

For those desperately in need of their fix of big show-stopping numbers, exhilarating outbreaks of tap-dancing, comedy and drama galore, there’s been the usual bevy of choice in London’s West End. Pictured: Moulin Rouge! The Musical

For those desperately in need of their fix of big show-stopping numbers, exhilarating outbreaks of tap-dancing, comedy and drama galore, there’s been the usual bevy of choice in London’s West End. Pictured: Moulin Rouge! The Musical

Elsewhere, it is common for stalls to cost well above £100 — even really good seats at the creaky old Lion King can be up to £203 — with the cheapest at £63.

And while it is wonderful to have Harry Potter And The Cursed Child back, the circle costs £65 a head — and you might need to book tickets for the sequel, too, since the first one ends on a rather grim Dementor-y note.

There are, of course, odd last-minute bargains, especially if you’re alone: I am something of a sneaky expert at finding them, sometimes at the expense of weirdly cramped legs and a need to crane sideways at the vital moment, which the director has unkindly set right at the edge of the wings.

There are cheaper times and offers, and some theatres do make an effort to cater for people who couldn’t dream of spending the price of a designer coat just to sit for two and a half hours to watch something they might hate (there’s always that risk, believe me).

For instance the Criterion’s new, hilarious ‘Pride And Prejudice* (*sort of)’ deliberately offers no boastful ‘premium’ seats and keeps costs under £60. But it’s a rarity in the West End.

A 2019 survey by The Stage found the average top price for tickets was £116, up from £95 six years earlier. While a family outing on the £200+ hot-tickets for the likes of Hamilton pushes you into the thousand-quid stratosphere, even before you account for travel and food.

Of course, there are obvious reasons, especially now, for theatres to suck in money. The pandemic has been ruinous for the arts sector: jobs have been lost, some for good. 

Actors, directors, musicians, designers, skilled carpenters and painters, ushers and administrators have been driven to the edge often without support because of freelance status.

Adam Cooper, former star of the Royal Ballet and lately a glorious performer in Singin’ In The Rain, drew on Universal Credit payments and applied unsuccessfully for van-driving jobs.

The trouble is that actually getting to the shows is proving eye-poppingly expensive for many. Pictured: Hamilton

The trouble is that actually getting to the shows is proving eye-poppingly expensive for many. Pictured: Hamilton

Orchestral musicians and lead stars found themselves working on building sites.

The Government’s delay in supporting and reopening theatre was resented: football supporters were allowed to crowd together, merrily spreading viruses as they howled their team’s name, weeks before theatres could let quietly behaved people sit with empty seats between them, in masks — and not uttering a sound.

So yes, the theatre world needs money to recover.

But it is also true that this big-price ticket trend was ramping up long before the pandemic — and the irony is that it risks harming the industry further, killing the golden goose by putting people off for good.

And in case you’re writing me off as one of those lucky pigs who gets press seats, indeed I do for my work as a reviewer. 

But I have also bought tickets all my adult life and still do, often hunting for the cheapest seats — or, perhaps more frequently, splurging because I’m desperate to see something wonderful again (despite the hefty price-tag).

I hate raising this subject, but when you love theatre and revere those who make it well, ticket inflation really is the elephant in the room.

Of course, live shows are expensive: even apart from actors, designers, writers and directors (very few of whom get stinking rich), there are sets to create, buildings to maintain, heating, dazzling lighting, innumerable safety requirements, rehearsal space to hire and ushers to pay.

Indeed, what must it feel like to look out at swathes of empty seats after all that, and know you’re losing money every minute? But that’s another reason why prices matter: people really will turn away to the TV or cinema.

And the small theatres and local playhouses know this only too well: immense attention is paid to keeping prices at reasonable levels to ensure the footfall, even in those which get no government subsidy.

For around 20 quid, even in the capital, you can see some remarkably skilled work, even catching future stars before anyone’s heard of them.

There may not be ‘grandeur and glory’, but there could well be music, wit, laughter and ideas to walk away with, without feeling broke.

All the same, the West End matters for the sake of art and joy, for great top-level performances, for the glory of its buildings and their tradition, and for its huge contribution to Britain’s economy and international attraction.

For some, inflated prices are frankly taking the mickey. Especially for shows which were originally developed with public subsidies at the National (such as The Ocean At The End Of The Lane) or the RSC (like Matilda).

It astonishes me particularly now, because — due to Covid’s impact on travel — we are not awash with rich foreigners who have traditionally enabled mad pricing.

One reason sometimes given is the cut taken by independent ticket agencies whose names generally comes up top on anyone’s hurried or naive Google search, because they’ve paid to be there.

It’s far better to go to the theatre’s official box office site: in one press investigation before the pandemic a particular seat through an agency was found at £269 but could have been bought from ATG (the theatre group site) for £193.

But despite all that, even the cheapest box-office-bought West End seat often is priced at a huge amount for something which will be over by 10.30pm and may, alas, not even be a

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