Bah hungry! Our theater critic enjoys immersive feasts inspired by Charles Dickens and The Nutcracker | stage

IIn west London, a line of smartly dressed theatergoers on a street corner enter a building and step back in time. We passed through narrow corridors lit by lamps and came to a cavernous hall, where tables were set and lanterns hung above. This is Charles Dickens’ parlor, where he has just finished writing A Christmas Carol, and it’s time for dinner.

The Great Christmas is an immersive production in which a three-course meal is served while the mercurial Dickens (David Alwyn) tells his ghost story about the dangers of pinching money in the season of goodwill. Clearly, immersive theater has created a delicious festive offshoot that may suit those who are tired of watching yet another live adaptation of the classic tale.

Versions of cabaret and interactive dinner theater have long existed, including Faulty Towers: The Dining Experience, while Rebecca Frecknall’s West End show Cabaret offers food and drink specials for premium ticket holders at the Kit Kat Club. What has been notable in recent years is how luxurious some of the site’s productions have become, with an elaborate juxtaposition of spectacle, story, music and food. They definitely solve the mystery when For dinner. Before the show it usually seems too early, and afterwards it’s too late. I think “Through” is the perfect solution, as I enter this musically packed production, now in its eighth year.

My dinner companion and I came hungry and couldn’t wait. My welcome drink is a mixture of non-alcoholic apple juice, chestnuts, ginger and spice tinctures. Starters are served with vintage newspaper decor and main courses have a rustic look – roast duck or shiitake mushrooms and king oyster mushrooms for vegetarians like me plus lovely trimmings (crushed red cabbage and spiced parsnip puree). It’s a delicious plate of food followed by Christmas pudding, and in keeping with the period atmosphere (archives and historical evidence are being examined by the production company, The Lost Estate, under the supervision of executive chef Ashley Clarke, formerly of Gordon Ramsay’s set).

The audience is advised to dress smartly, and there are top hats, waistcoats, frilly dresses and feather charms everywhere. My dinner companion had donned a sweatshirt and sneakers, and was now trying to pass himself off as a Victorian gentleman.

The story is divided into distinct acts, told between courses around the room and on a central platform in the tour, occasionally pausing on a cliffhanger. A few diners are enlisted to read a short exchange of dialogue from the script, and are clearly tickled when asked.

Alwyn is charismatic, funny, in complete control of the material, and there is intense silence during his performances. Three multi-talented musicians surround him (Guy Button, Beth Higham Edwards and Kieran Carteron) playing string and percussion instruments. There are simple and beautiful elements too – the three spirits of Christmas are cleverly evoked, and surprises come from different corners of the room. It’s a feat that a production can make such a familiar tale newly serious and have its charitable message ring true.

When immersive theater works, there’s nothing quite like it. But there are many elements that need to be aligned: you could get a great show but bad food or vice versa, which is unfortunately the case with The Nutcracker Noir, produced by East London’s Secret Theater Company. Described as a re-imagining of Tchaikovsky’s classic “with a twist”, it contains some of the characters from Etta Hoffmann’s original story but no coherent or compelling narrative around them.

We are first taken to a series of rooms to get to know some of the characters. There’s the ethereal wizard Eldar (Christopher Howell); Frank Zane (Jairus McClanahan), the impeccably dressed son of club owner George (David Michael Johnson); and protagonist Clara (Anita Nicole), who stands on a platform in an elaborate confection of pink netting, tutu, hoops and diamonds.

The rooms certainly conjure a fantasy world, with swirls of light and projection. Tonight is the grand reopening of Club Zen and Clara has curated the show we’re about to see. A critic named Madame Zell (Jessica Alonso) is here to review it.

The characters feature beautiful, dazzling outfits – colorful wigs, poses and fishnets combined with a Dangerous Liaisons style aesthetic. But the imagination flowing through these costumes outweighs the drama itself. This adaptation by Richard Crawford, who co-directed with Gary Lloyd, carries faint nods to the original Nutcracker tale, along with song and dance.

The center stage and dining area are impressive though, a lavish pop-up dining room with chandeliers and disco lights. It’s frustrating that the performers drag on intros and warm-ups for too long. The food is slower to arrive at this offering but it is beautifully presented and delicious too. Once again it is served in intervals, between performances, with champagne, cocktails and mocktails flowing generously. The five-course meal was prepared by Jenny MacNeil (of immersive restaurateurs Gingerline and Heston Blumenthal’s The Fat Duck). It starts with deliciously spiced butter and sourdough, and continues with beautiful-looking dishes full of invention, like nori and brown-sugar-cured trout and a wonderful midwinter salad featuring slices of sweet potatoes and pickled cranberries.

The band finally began its floor show. It’s not the best. There are backing dance moves to club beats and covers of Louis Armstrong’s What a Wonderful World, David Bowie’s Changes, and The Bogues’ New York Fairy Tale. Clara’s narration of her life, which includes a bizarre revelation of incest at one point, feels unsatisfyingly weak and incoherent. Before the pudding is served, we are led into a room where Madame Zell tells us how much she enjoyed the theatrical performance. So much so that we have to help her write a letter to Clara to tell her. It’s annoying to be directed at critical praise.

The couple next to me, fans of the nightclub dining, told me they had bought tickets at half price and were still disappointed by the experience. But there are plenty of others who enjoy it. Many are on their feet now, and some are dancing. One ad tells us that a man has just proposed to his girlfriend. Cheers all round. The room embraces the mood and exudes an office party atmosphere. Have cocktails reached people’s heads? The congas start around us. Our waitress drives by and works hard to get people on their feet. “I hope you paid a commission for it,” says my friend.

As we sit in the room with Sister Sledge’s “We Are Family,” we eat our pudding, a Basque cheesecake baked with plum pudding and sugar. It’s smooth, light, and utterly delicious—the highlight and solace of this strange hybrid entertainment. And therein lies the essence of fine dining theater: if the show itself is best forgotten, there will always be cheesecake.