A critic’s guide to theatre bars

Head upstairs. That’s my tip for thirsty play-goers during the interval. Most West End theatres are sunken affairs built in scooped-out craters, and this quirk of their design places the stalls 20 feet beneath the earth’s crust (hence the belly-rumble of Tube trains that wakens sleepy-heads during Twelfth Night or The Winter’s Tale). So the stalls bar is invariably a cramped dungeon with flock wallpaper and a ventilation system that pipes fresh air in from the Gents. Up a flight or two, you’ll find lightness, space and perhaps a view. But it seems that bunkers are now the first option of theatre architects.

The Old Vic’s basement bar has been given the full SM treatment. Hot light bulbs glare angrily at sweating walls and stag-beetle black tiles. If you’re not wearing studded lederhosen and a gimp-mask you’ll feel out of place. Three jollier bars await you higher up, including a champagne booth at street level for show-offs.