Hi, I’m West End Producer: unmasked at last

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My dears, I’ve titillated, teased and taunted you for too long now. It is time for the sweaty mask to come off. So, here we go. Who am I? I’m 24601! No, that’s wrong, sorry. I’m Spartacus! Oh bother, another mistake. I’m Cameron Mackintosh! No, of course I’m not. Who am I then? I’m so confused I can’t even remember myself.

So, let’s start at the very beginning…

West End Producer (or WEP to his friends) was born in a messy theatrical heap backstage, many moons ago. Twitter was new, and I had the idea of tweeting as a theatrical impresario, an anonymous satirical character who could write about the industry. I had no idea what WEP would become.

I tweeted about shows (and helped publicise them), gossip I’d heard and truths about the industry that had gone. unvoiced. In truth, I wanted to help. Everything was done to amuse and tickle, never to cause offence. Theatre is a hard business and can be taken far too seriously – I wanted to provide some light relief.

After an article in the Observer called WEP the “Phantom tweeter of the West End”, the account started to gain something of a following. As his followers grew, so did his ego. Bless him. People started speculating that WEP was Mackintosh or Andrew Lloyd Webber, or even Nica Burns, which was great fun. No one ever guessed it was little old me.

Tweeting anonymously was the easy part – it got a lot more complicated when WEP started to make public appearances. His first appearance was an interview at London’s Soho Theatre – but this happened in silhouette, so it was easy to disguise myself. The real challenge came when I ran an online talent competition called Search for a Twitter Star, which unexpectedly grew quite big, with more than 500 entries. I enrolled the musical director Mike Dixon and the casting director Anne Vosser, alongside many other brilliant industry professionals, to help judge, and the marvellous Tony Green offered to produce a live final in the West End. This, of course, meant WEP would have to appear.

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A Dear West End Producer feature from a 2022 issue of The Stage

I bought a mask online (I started with only one, but have five spares now – they get incredibly smelly) and I was given a wig by the legendary wig mistress Linda McKnight, who is hugely missed. I wore a cushion under my clothes to make me look bigger and stooped to appear shorter. Would we get away with it? Would Elaine Paige rip my mask off? How was I going to drink my Dom Pérignon (WEP’s favourite tipple)? But, apart from being a hot mess at the end of the night, we did it. The final took place at the Lyric Theatre and I remain thrilled and genuinely proud that I was able to give young performers an opportunity to appear on a West End stage. This was followed by a similar contest for musical theatre writers – Search for a Twitter Composer – at Soho Theatre.

When going to press nights, I would stuff WEP into my little suitcase and get changed in either Charing Cross or Victoria Station public toilets. Sometimes, if the public loos were particularly offensive, I’d get changed in the back of a cab and tell the driver I was filming a new comedy show and had to turn up in character. After a show, I’d sip bad prosecco through a straw – drinking in latex is a tricky business – and then quickly get changed back into my normal clothes in back alleys all around central London. Who said showbiz was glam, dear?

A tweet that poses the question of the week to WEP in 2019

I’d always thought WEP should write a book about the sacred art of acting, so I sent a sample to Nick Hern Books, and the crazy dears decided to publish it. Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Acting (But Were Afraid to Ask, Dear) went down so well that I was asked to do a sequel – Everything you Always Wanted to Know About Going to the Theatre (both are still available – please do buy them, Equity minimum doesn’t cover my lavish lifestyle).

This led to me writing a column in The Stage – I’d read The Stage since I was a student dreaming of jazz hands and showgasms – so was a great honour to have my weekly column here for six years. In 2019, I took WEP to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe for a one-man show, Free Willy (and guests). We created the show at Pitlochry Festival Theatre with its artistic director Elizabeth Newman, who helped direct. It was quite the challenge doing it all anonymously – playing the piano, interviewing guests and performing in my tight mask and loud costumes – but we managed it (just!).

It’s been an interesting journey, and I’ve learned a lot. WEP would be invited to all the press nights, posing on the red carpet in his flashy theatrical jackets like a celebrity in his own right. People in the industry would have deep conversations with me, sharing honest thoughts and asking for advice, even though they had no idea who I was. People opened up to WEP. They wanted to believe he was someone really important. And I suppose, in a way, he was. But that’s the interesting thing – through WEP, I have seen two different sides of the industry. The one where I am successful as WEP – I had a voice, wrote books and articles, did radio interviews, made public appearances, was written about in the national press and felt as if I was making a difference. And then there is the real me, a jobbing actor. The truth is, the only time I felt really successful was when I was wearing that bloody mask. After a few years, it started messing with my head (my therapist has had a field day).

And so, it’s time for a break. Thanks to the friends, family, colleagues, lovers, ex-lovers and ex-ex-lovers, who have kept the secret for the past 11 years. Special mentions to Mark, Trevor and Tim for their advice and inspiration. But for now, my dears, WEP is off on holiday. He may be back for the odd press night, writing and tweeting, but the mask is coming off. So here goes. I’m not a celeb. I’m not even a producer. Sorry to disappoint. I’m Christian Edwards. And I hope that’s enough, dear.