4 days ago
The Room Where it Happens
'Rose, for many people this is their idea of Hell,' wrote my editor, his message flashing up obnoxiously on my phone. I smirked, and prepared to unleash my best Liza Minnelli vibrato along with 50 other delirious musical theatre fans. I don't take back a word of the message I sent my editor that evening: 'This is the best night of my life'.
Okay, maybe not the best (my wife made me write that) – but pretty goddamn close. And if you, like me, love showtunes, cocktails, and arguing over whether Idina or Cynthia hit those 'Defying Gravity' high notes best, then you need to make your West End debut here ASAP.
Named after a banger from Hamilton, The Room Where It Happens is inspired by New York's famous Marie's Crisis Café. The concept is simple and glorious: from 5pm, 'resting' professional musical theatre performers work as singer-servers, oscillating between taking orders and casually blasting diners with Sondheim, Lloyd Webber and Kander and Ebb's finest. Guests can scan QR codes to request songs (in exchange for tips), and everyone is very much encouraged to sing along. Then at 9pm, the pianist continues playing for those who can't yet call it curtains.
TRWIT sits at the top of a Soho townhouse once frequented by Oscar Wilde. It's a shamelessly theatrical space; flickering fake candles illuminate a gilded gold ceiling; a camp red curtain drapes across the back wall and West End show posters hang proudly above cabaret-style tables. On my visit, eager musical fans of all ages gathered around the long black bar, behind which a long-haired, bespeckled guy played the piano. He was joined by the host for the evening; a bright-eyed, sparkly-jacketed woman clutching a wireless microphone, announcing the songs and hyping up the performers.
Let's be real: this place knows you're here for the tunes. There's nothing truly groundbreaking about the food and drink menus, and yet a great deal of care has gone behind the pleasingly themed 'Musical Mainstays' cocktail list. The appropriately American 'The Judy' (bourbon, cinnamon roll syrup, apple juice) is a boozy highlight, as is the sweet 'The Bernadette' (Disaronno, citron vodka and maraschino cherries). You'll also get serious bang from your buck with the two-for-one happy hour on basic cocktails until 8pm. And to eat? You could do bar snacks or go for a full multi-course feast from a globally inspired menu, the standard of which I would describe as 'decent wedding fare'. The fresh and zingy Asian papaya salad, doused in a delicious tamarind and lime sauce, is a highlight, and the sirloin steak with fries and greens hits the spot. (The bland, plant-based shepherd's pie not so much, sorry vegans). The service could have been slicker – but who really cares when your waiter suddenly unveils pipes to rival those of Julie Andrews?
My editor was right: if you're not into this stuff, then none of it makes sense. In fact, I'd say, avoid this place with the fervor of Jean Valjean evading Javert. But if you love musical theatre, it's truly the stuff of dreams. Like all the best shows, The Room Where It Happens knows how to build to a dizzying crescendo. The mild sense of hysteria in the room began to grow as the night wore on; hen parties shout-singing The Greatest Showman. Couples swooning over Disney ballads. Prosecco-fuelled girls and gays nailing every Six lyric. I don't know when we all decided to stand up; it could've been when an original cast member of the West End Hamilton appeared, as if by magic, to perform 'My Shot'. It could've been the group singalong to 'One Day More' from Les Mis. But what I do know is that for those final few songs, it was as if we were all part of one rapturous West End chorus. And it felt incredible.
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