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Sometimes, with even the juiciest, most insanely entertaining, and blindingly silly story, there’s a danger of being told too often and in too many ways. Over-egg the pudding and all the zing is lost.
But this is not at all the case when it comes to the £3million Rebekah Vardy v Coleen Rooney Wagatha Christie Libel Trial of Epic Silliness that raged for a week in May in the Royal Courts of Justice.
Back then, it was a fiesta of fake tan and fury that gave us thousands of pounds worth of designer finery, some truly hideous language, an astonishing insight into the crazy, evil, wonderful world of Wags, and scorched images of poor Peter Andre’s alleged chipolata. -great modesty forever in our brains.
It grabbed us, excited us, cheered us on, added new phrases to our daily lexicon (the Scouse Trap, Wagatha Christie, a story about Skulwaggery), divided us into #teamrooney and #teamvardy, and left us wanting more, more , Lake.
Rebekah Vardy (pictured) is played brilliantly by Lucy May Barker – ‘straight-back, boot-faced, designer sunglasses glued to her face and hair parted more strictly than Frida Kahlo’
Especially for those who, unlike me, were not lucky enough to watch the court cases unfold from ringside.
So yes, there are two documentaries on the whole thing in the works. And yes, there’s a two-part dramatization coming out on Channel 4 later this year starring Michael Sheen as Coleen’s lawyer David Sherborne.
Oh no, I don’t forget Vardy made new inflammatory allegations this week that she was framed.
Quite simply, we can’t get enough of it.
So it’s no surprise that London’s Wyndham’s Theater is packed to the brim for what has been billed as a 90-minute football-themed theatrical retelling of the greatest Wag-off of all time.
The set is a mix of courtroom and football field – genius! – with two experts on hand to explain the (not very tricky) points of the law.
On one side is Rebekah (brilliantly played by Lucy May Barker) – straight back, boot face, designer sunglasses glued to her face, and hair parted more strictly than Frida Kahlo.
On the other side of the stage is Laura Dos Santos’s Coleen – petite but sturdy, in her disappointing High-Street dress, single Gucci loafer and trusty Aircast boot, with Wayne looking catatonic next to her.
Walking around like preening peacocks is for Coleen, David Sherborne, lawyer to the stars (including Hugh Grant and, in short, the Duchess of Sussex), and for Rebekah (although he had strongly advised her to settle down) Hugh Tomlinson, a former favorite of former Chelsea FC owner Roman Abramovich.
It’s no surprise that London’s Wyndham’s Theater is packed to the brim for what has been billed as a 90-minute football-themed theatrical retelling of the greatest Wag-off of all time.
Ms Justice Steyn, meanwhile, holds the gavel and looks like she would much rather wrestle with a complicated Saudi arms deal. Or, at the very least, not having to hear about poor Peter’s pecker measurements or get to grips with Instagram’s various mechanisms — thank goodness, she actually tried.
That might be my cue to fill in a few blanks. Because while it’s hard to imagine anyone not being 100 percent au fait with every twist in the Wagatha saga, right before the show at the theater bar I meet Shannon, a music teacher from Canada, who proudly tells me that she has no idea where it’s all about.
“I make a point of never reading celebrity gossip,” she says firmly. “But this sounded funny, so I went along.”
For the benefit of Shannon, here’s a very brief overview.
It all started in 2019 when Coleen was Queen of Wags, which Rebekah really wanted to be, and – from her throne – Coleen didn’t like the look of the stories that keep popping up in The Sun newspaper about her personal life.
Then Queen C saw something: All the information came from her private social media account — bits of her life she had confided exclusively to her inner Wag circle, including Rebekah. And so, with her sights set firmly on Vardy – she previously had a form about leaks to the press – Coleen executed a brilliant sting operation where she wrote posts revealing false personal information that only Vardy would see.
Laura Dos Santos plays Coleen Rooney (pictured with husband Wayne) – “small, but sturdy, in her disappointing High-Street dress, single Gucci loafer and trusty Aircast boot, with Wayne looking catatonic next to her”
As the sun rose each day and related articles appeared in The Sun, Coleen stubbornly saved the evidence that only one other Instagram account had access to and took a screenshot of it.
And then, on Oct. 9, 2019 — and in a move worthy of Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot (hence “Wagatha Christie”), she shared her genius with the world, posted to Instagram and Twitter, and ended with the amazing reveal: ” It is . . . Rebekah Vardy’s bill.’
Rebekah, who was seven months pregnant at the time and on vacation in Dubai, naturally denied everything. And began a defamation lawsuit against Rooney in June 2020.
Two years, massive media coverage and several million pounds in legal fees later, the whole sorry thing ended in court – where I was lucky enough to watch and write match reports for the Mail.
Back here at Wyndham’s Theater and this is really the highlights of the game: all the nuggets; the sob-out loud and the OMG-she-just-said-that moments.
And it’s just brilliant. Better yet, it’s all real. Because this play – adapted by Liv Hennessy and directed by Lisa Spirling – contains nothing but real dialogue.
It’s all verbatim – taken word for word from thousands of pages of court transcripts. They really did say all these things, Shannon!
Everyone can now witness the best bits of Sherborne’s brilliant cross-examination of Vardy.
Or every time she lied and denied and sighed. Or when Caroline Watt repeatedly punched Caroline Watt in the face of her expletive-ridden WhatsApp messages to her PR: “what a ****!”
Meanwhile, Wayne sits firm as a baked potato – staring off into space as he hears what his wife has been up to for the past three years while passing out naked in hotel rooms.
It’s all here. Even down to Sherborne’s reference to Wyatt’s cellphone being buried at the bottom of the sea in “Davy Jones’s locker” and Rebekah’s ridiculous comments comparing Coleen to a “pigeon in your hair.”
And soaking up every word is the most playful, most exciting crowd imaginable. As they grab white wines, proseccos, gin and tonics, or each other’s hands, everyone cheers and gasps, oops and hooray.
“I don’t normally laugh at people’s misfortunes,” says Tessa, an adult student from East Sussex. “But I followed the process and I wanted to see it in all its glory.”
Adding to the excitement is the presence of the real David Sherborne – who sat behind me in deeply tanned splendor (and a rather tight suit) in the Royal Circle, surrounded by a huge entourage, watching him look brilliantly smart on the stage. (And maybe he wonders why actor Tom Turner looks so underwhelming with pasty skin).
Of course there are a few things missing from the original. About four inches from Wayne’s waist, for starters, though Nathan McMullen playing him is the perfect mix of brilliantly bewildered and surprisingly articulate when it comes to his moment in the box. There were more tears in the real thing too – mostly from Rebekah who, towards the end of her grueling cross-examination, lay with her head in her hands and cried desperately.
Also missing is the real Hugh Tomlinson KC. Try as I might, I couldn’t see the old Rottweiler anywhere in the audience – presumably he’s back in his comfort zone with oligarchs.
No sign of Coleen or Rebekah either. Or Peter Andre, for that matter.
But perhaps what is most lacking is the spectacular level of gloss and glamor that only real Wags seem to be able to achieve.
Unfortunately, there are no £2,000 Alessandra Rich suits with lemon foam or Chanel jackets. No expensive balayaged hair. And not nearly enough contouring, designer bags, fake tan and cosmetic enhancements.
But forget that. Because these are just trifles – and not enough to disturb this bustling crowd, who jump up at the end.
Who knows exactly why this sad saga has entertained us so richly. Maybe it’s because we’re British and it appeals to our brilliant niche sense of humour. Or because everything else in the world is so unspeakably horrible right now that we need some relief.
Whatever the reason, the continued demand for all things Wagatha is so great that the producers have extended the show.
My firm advice would be to do everything you can to get yourself a ticket.
Visit delfontmackintosh.co.uk/whats-on/vardy-v-rooney-the-wagatha-christie-trial for tickets.