Lorna Irvine takes in the spectacle that is Johnny McKnight and theTronTheatre's Aganeza Scrooge.
If you go down to the Tron tonight, you are sure of a big surprise. There are Yule logs, candy canes, biscuits and sweets galore - however nothing, but nothing can prepare you for Aganeza Scrooge.
This is the fly in your eggnog- panto for people (like me) who usually avoid panto. Johnny McKnight's self-penned and directed show is set in Dickensian Street, an oddly familiar amalgamation of Sauchiehall Street, Argyle Street and ''that wee stinkin' lane at Trongate, ye ken the wan''.
As Kenny Miller's stunning set ( both utterly modern and traditional in red, silver and black, with a floor comprised of printed bank notes) splits open, McKnight, who is one part Govan Hillary Davey/ one part Joan Collins, all bastard, sashays out and proceeds to krump in a bronze glitterball costume. Subtle, this ain't.
With a brilliant mostly-female supporting cast, including a wonderful Sally Reid channelling Kate Nash on Helium as Tiny Tim, playfully lampooning emotional manipulation with her pathetic coughs and Michele Gallagher skipping between simpering do-gooder Gloria and a sexy if flatulent Ghost Of Christmas Future dominatrix, the laughs come thick and fast. It never once panders to the kiddies, even though the show is peppered with references to Ben 10 and Justin Bieber - here, the emphasis is on the brand awareness children have.
Scrooge herself is grotesque yet pathetic - "Ah havenae joked since Kylie's face moved'', acid and a game gal in prosthetic boobs, tummy and bum. The more things fall apart, the more McKnight loves it, ad-libbing effortlessly throughout. It is almost impossible to take your eyes off him.
The songs too, composed by Ross Brown and played by Brown and Joseph Delaney like a supper club band, are enormous fun, with references to the horrors of getting the night bus, 80s kitsch and going to the Pavilion theatre - very cheeky. Helen McAlpine's Jimmy Krankie song is uncanny.
Yet I will find it hard to erase from my mind the sight of one Michael Cox (who he?) getting dragged out of the audience and molested by McKnight - and seemingly enjoying it - as he is taken up to Aganeza's ''Merchant City pad'', an explosion in an Ikea shop.
Aganeza Scrooge is all you could ask for - knowing, bitchy and with enough fart gags for the weans - it is also slicker than it should be. The Aganeza's the ecstasy - drum roll, cymbal crash.
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