All is not well in the world of musicals. It’s so bad that politicians seeking public favour will, any day, announce how they plan to fix the sorry mess. David Cameron will declare that we should all start hugging the cast of Chicago. Or Gordon Brown will reveal that he will allow performers to reclaim the VAT on their stage make-up (providing that not more than 12.74 per cent of any panstick is consumed for personal pleasure use).

Problems have been piling up all week. The leading man has just walked out of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s new West End show, The Sound of Music; then Lloyd Webber’s former collaborator, Sir Tim Rice, in an interview in The Times, dismissed much of today’s musical theatre as “pretty ghastly”; finally, there is always a danger that — provoked by the commercial success of Mamma Mia, based on the music of Abba, and of We Will Rock You, based on the music of Queen — Mick Hucknall will stage a musical featuring the music of his own band, Simply Red.

Sir Tim, who wrote lyrics for Jesus Christ Superstar and Evita, is complaining that many musicals today seem to be motivated by a desire to make money rather than art. Curiously, on the same day that The Times published Sir Tim’s remarks, it ran a story about how barristers have produced a booklet to debunk hurtful myths about the profession, such as that “barristers are all fat cats earning £500 an hour”; an accusation that is obviously denigrating to lawyers, because many of them earn far more than that.

So look, why don’t Sir Tim and the Bar get together to stage a musical that reflects Sir Tim’s passion for art over profit, while promoting barristers as a breed of professionals who don’t only work for the rich, but whose services are available to all — you know, the same way that a table for six at 9pm for this Saturday at Nobu is available to all? They could start by updating the title song from Jesus Christ Superstar by, say, tailoring it to a current high-profile legal case:

Heather Mills, Heather Mills, Who are you? What, Tell us, are your skills? Heather Mills, would-be star, Are you as grim As they say you are?

Beatle Paul, Beatle Paul, What’s this we hear, That you made her crawl? Beatle Paul, what a mess, What will she cost you? What’s your best guess?

Heather Mills, Heather Mills, Why do you look, Green around the gills? Heather Mills, Macca’s wife, Time’s running out, For your grand highlife.

Beatle Paul, superstar, Man who wrote songs, With the word “doodah”. Beatle Paul, you look fraught, Just try and settle This thing out of court.

This could maybe lead into a solo from Heather Mills McCartney, injecting a contemporary note into the song Don’t Cry For Me Argentina, from Evita:

And as for fortune, and as for fame,
I never invited them in,
Though it seemed to the world they were all I desired.
That’s an illusion,
They just fell in my lap from all my great work,
I wanted nothing for me,
Hey! Why does that make people smirk?
Don’t cry for me, Paul McCartney,
The truth is I’ll pocket millions.
Talk to my lawyers,
They are my power,
Best in the business,
Charge by the hour.

The show would reach a climax in a grand courtroom scene. Barristers enter, stage left, to show how the divorce might progress if the parties fail to settle out of court and, tragically, run up legal fees large enough to fund all the lawyers’ children’s school fees, as well as pay for the house in St Barts or Aspen they’ve been eyeing. Maybe King Herod’s Song, from Superstar might be appropriate for this finale:

So, you are Miss Mills,
You’re the great Heather Mills,
People say you boast non-stop,
Kate Moss says she’s seen you hop.

So you are Miss Mills,
You’re the great Heather Mills,
We’ll show the court that you’re a honey
(but please stop talking about the money).

(All cast exit; except for the lawyers, who wait until the clock strikes 11 o’clock, so that they can bill for the full hour.)

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