Following a sell-out extended run at the Arts Theatre, the critically acclaimed hit show Garry Starr: Classic Penguins is diving onto an even bigger stage, transferring to the Garrick Theatre, seating over 700 audience members a night, next February. For four exclusive performances, Garry Starr will continue his mischievous West End adventure at one of London’s most historic venues.

In true Garry Starr style, ahead of the transfer he has officially submitted to the Guinness Book of World Records with the application for “Longest cumulative time of full-frontal nudity in a West End stage show.”If verified, this audacious accolade will see Garry officially recognised for taking artistic exposure to entirely new heights in the name of great literature.

Garry Starr: Classic Penguins is a glorious act of cultural vandalism — and it’s all the better for it. This is theatre that kicks the door open, tosses the literary canon into the air, and gleefully dances underneath as the pages rain down. It’s irreverent, fearless and joyfully unhinged, delivered by a performer who understands that the best way to honour great art is sometimes to take the absolute piss out of it.

From the moment Starr appears, there’s a delicious tension between control and chaos. He presents himself as a man on a mission — to conquer “the classics” — yet almost immediately allows that mission to spiral into a riot of physical comedy, knowing glances and exquisitely timed stupidity. What follows is not a respectful summary of great novels but a camp fantasia of ideas, images and impulses, stitched together by clowning brilliance and a total lack of shame.

The nudity, much discussed and much anticipated, quickly reveals itself as more than a gimmick. Instead, it becomes part of the show’s strange, liberating honesty. Starr’s body is not presented as spectacle to be judged, but as a playful tool — vulnerable, ridiculous, and proudly unpolished. In a queer context, this feels quietly radical: a rejection of perfection, an embrace of silliness, and a reminder that bodies on stage can exist simply to be human, funny and free.

What truly elevates Classic Penguins is its relationship with the audience. Starr treats the room as a living, breathing collaborator. He draws people in, invites participation, and allows unpredictability to become part of the performance. The laughter is not passive; it’s shared, infectious, and occasionally hysterical. The theatre transforms into a temporary queer utopia where awkwardness is celebrated, embarrassment is dismantled, and everyone is allowed to laugh at themselves together.

Beneath the clowning and chaos lies a surprisingly sharp critique of cultural seriousness. The show gleefully skewers the idea that great literature — or great theatre — belongs only to the elite. By reducing revered texts to visual gags, physical exertion and joyful nonsense, Starr democratises the canon, making it accessible, playful and profoundly alive. It’s a reminder that art doesn’t survive by being placed on a pedestal, but by being handled, loved, and occasionally thrown across the room.

There’s also something deeply queer in the show’s refusal to behave. Classic Penguins revels in excess, exaggeration and failure, leaning into mess rather than resisting it. It celebrates performance as a space where control can be relinquished and joy can erupt unexpectedly. For LGBTQ+ audiences, this feels like home: a place where camp is not decoration but philosophy, where laughter becomes a form of resistance, and where vulnerability is power.

By the end, you don’t leave feeling like you’ve “seen a show” so much as you’ve survived a communal experience — sweaty, silly and strangely uplifting. Garry Starr: Classic Penguins strips theatre back to its bare essentials and rebuilds it as something playful, inclusive and gloriously queer.

This is theatre with its clothes off and its heart wide open — a triumphant celebration of camp chaos, collective laughter and the enduring joy of not taking things too seriously.