Tea with Ladies who Present

Watching Mrs Henderson Presents last night I found myself, as I do, thinking "what if?" What if one of the soldiers who come flocking to the Windmill threatre owned by Mrs Henderson (Judi Dench) went on leave to Cornwall where they met a batty old lady madly in platonic love with a Polish violinist who was washed up on shore below her cottage (Ladies in Lavender, starring Judi Dench); then, having rejoined his unit, got posted to the Allied invasion of Italy where he encountered a fearsome old biddy at the head of a coterie of elderly English ladies interned by Mussolini (Tea with Mussolini, starring Judi Dench).

In fact, for an elderly classical actress, Judi Dench has knocked up a fair tranche of WW2 movies. As has Maggie Smith, who co-stars in two of the above.

But Mrs Henderson Presents is my favourite of the three. It is the largely true story of a hugely wealthy ex-Raj ("in India we always had someone to look down on") widow who, apparently on a whim, buys up the ailing Windmill theatre in London. Mrs H is a woman of impeccable taste and breeding, and can instinctively tell the difference between smut and art featuring nudes, even if the difference isn't immediately obvious to others. She is in no doubt that if she packs her stage show full of nude ladies then the seats will sell out - but at the same time is adamant that this is all in the best possible taste, and the ladies will not be taken advantage of.

The Lord Chamberlain, on whom the theatre's licence depends, talks of bosoms. She talks of breasts. "What's the difference?" he asks. "It's in the soul," she replies. She goes on to point out that art galleries are packed full of nude women. He points out that women in pictures don't move about much. And thus is born a fantastically British compromise. The Windmill theatre can feature nude women - as long as they stay absolutely motionless, poised in carefully arranged tableaux that emphasise the B-word and draw attention away from what the Lord Chamberlain (and John Gielgud before him) calls the Midlands.

The argument obviously worked on the present day film licensing board, because I don't think I have ever seen as much exposed flesh in a 12-rated film before. Though any film that can also feature (briefly) a full frontal unexpected naked Bob Hoskins really should have a certificate category all of its own.

The proud claim of the Windmill was that it never closed, not even during the Blitz. It helped being underground, so as safe as any shelter and a lot more fun. Eventually Mrs H's reasoning comes out. Her own son was killed aged 21 in WW1. Going through his things, she found a nude postcard and realised that this was probably the only nude woman her boy ever saw in his short life. Now the country is once again asking its brightest and best to lay down their lives for their King, she reasons the least it can do in return is give them an eyeful before they go.

Well, it's a point of view.

It's a very sweet, innocent and mostly plausible story, with wonderful performances from La Dench and Le Hoskins, playing characters who are entirely platonic and yet love each other fiercely. You only want to punch Will Young in his film debut two or three times, tops. (Mrs H asks his opinion of the dancers; he explains that he has "other inclinations"; she giggles, "oh, how delicious!") And the astonishing thing is, you probably wouldn't feel shy showing it to a party of 12 year olds.

You have to be older to giggle at the Lord Chamberlain, though. He is played by a tall, grey haired, distinguished man, every inch the aristocrat ... Christopher Guest, who I last saw extolling the virtues of an amplifier that goes up to 11 in This is Spinal Tap.