On a video screen, snowy fabric — a bedsheet? A shroud? — flaps on a washing line. The screen crashes to the stage, revealing a glass pyramid with a revolving door. There’s a shiny bar, spindly see-through furniture, moody lighting: it’s like a chic minimalist watering-hole. The clientele are dressed for a night on the tiles — some in spangles or spiffy dress suits, others in leather — but there’s a ritualism about their shuffling procession that suggests that this is their very last blow-out. These are members of the Young@Heart Chorus, all aged 73 or over; and the night of revelry, reminiscence and regret takes place in a well-appointed waiting room between this world and the next.
The Massachusetts-based choir has built up an