The Telegraph: Joan Collins puts on the glitz for her panto debut

Dick Whittington, Birmingham Hippodrome, review

If you’re going to make your panto debut at the age of 77, you might as well do so stepping out from a giant rotating glitter ball, surrounded by scantily-clad performers and accompanied by a flourish of the theme tune from the Eighties American soap that made you an international star.

Joan Collins always had style, and, as Alexis Colby in Dynasty, became such a byword for bitchiness that she acquired the status of a gay icon. Her participation in Britain’s annual outbreak of arch villainy, kitsch decor and outlandish dressing-up must be counted long overdue.

Cracking her tail like a dominatrix’s whip, cavorting on stiletto heels in a silver-lined bodice, and generally looking a million dollars – and half her age – Collins is on hand to hog the limelight as Queen Rat in Dick Whittington at the Birmingham Hippodrome. Almost!

They pride themselves on doing things bigger, better and brasher at the Hippo, and, in a stroke of casting that verges on the over-zealous, they’ve hired self-styled “Lord of the Mince” Julian Clary to play the Spirit of the Bells.

Clary, you may recall, started out his comedy career with the Joan Collins Fan Club, but there’s nothing approaching fan-like subservience in the role as he plays it. Here you get two attention-seeking queens for the price of one.

Read the full review in The Telegraph online by clicking here.

The Opposite Sex: Now Available on DVD!

"I've waited a whole year to grow claws like these. Jungle Red!" One of film's greatest lines belongs to a wronged wife who wins back her man with the aid an aggressive shade of nail polish. First a hit play, then an all-star 1939 movie (and again in 2008), The Women resurfaces here as the musical The Opposite Sex, complete with an all-star cast, lines dipped in acid wit, big production numbers and fabulous '50s couture in scintillating CinemaScope. June Allyson portrays the betrayed woman. Joan Collins is the siren who steals her husband. And Dolores Gray, Ann Sheridan, Ann Miller, Agnes Moorhead, Charlotte Greenwood and Joan Blondell are assorted gal pals (true blue and envy green) who convince their demure friend to paint her claws - then use them.

Click here to purchase your copy on Amazon.

Joan Collins: Christmas on Stage

Thanksgiving is always a huge deal in the US and this year was no different, except for the fact that the media were full of dire warnings about the inconveniences travellers would face at the airports due to the new regulations imposed by the Transportation Security Administration in the US, and the new body-scanning techniques and the euphemistically named ‘pat-down’, which is not so much a pat-down as a feel-up. Watching a news programme, I was treated to the sight of a lady whose breast implant had been poked so violently that it became dislodged and slid down to her diaphragm. Then I listened to a poor soul whose colostomy bag had sprung a leak due to a severe going-over. Rather than face the indignity of the pat-down when flying back to London last week, I decided in advance to choose the body scan, but I needn’t have worried. At JFK there were no new x-ray machines or indeed pat-downs, just a laconic TSA employee who politely waved me through the metal detector, then asked if I was Joan Collins. As I had stripped myself down to bare minimum — no shoes, hat, sweater, jewellery or sunglasses — I was surprised he recognised me. Not so polite were some of my fellow travellers — one, after removing his belt, flourished it like a lariat and nearly garrotted me. But our flight to Heathrow was excellent, landing on time in spite of doomsday prophecies about England being completely frozen over. Two days later I was complaining about my overheated apartment.
I was in Manhattan to perform my one-woman show, One Night with Joan, at Feinstein’s at the Regency Hotel for two weeks and it was a joy — not only to me, but to the world (joke!). It was fun, fabulous and, most importantly, full. Every night the audience was packed with friends, some famous, some not, some who I knew were attending and some who were a total surprise, but all of them to a fault wonderfully supportive and appreciative and delightfully enthusiastic. New York was more glorious than ever, clear blue skies, crispy cool days and exquisitely and tastefully decorated throughout all the shop windows and avenues, bringing the Christmas spirit alive. Nowhere is more glamorously festive than Manhattan in the holiday season.

Read the full article in the Spectator online by clicking here.

Joan Collins: Do I love my first panto? Oh YES I do!

When I was a little girl, Christmas was always a thrill — but the years when my father Joe booked his variety acts into pantomime shows were even more exciting.
He was a theatrical agent and during those special Christmases his acts would showcase their panto turns in the living room of our flat in Great Portland Street, central London.  I would be allowed to watch only if I was seen, but not heard; a common rule for children of my generation.

It was magical to see these performers at these early rehearsals —despite the fact they were stumbling over their lines, book in hand and often quivery voiced at the piano.  When I finally went to their pantomimes, they were transformed into fairy-tale princesses, dastardly villains, red-nosed comedians and, of course, everyone’s favourite — the dame.
When someone whom I clearly knew to be a man in my living room turned into a matronly woman on stage, I admit it confused me somewhat.

Read the full article in the Daily Mail online by clicking here.