This Week's Entertainment Review. A round up of the Shanigans in the last seven days. Baffled enthusiasm, showbiz chaos, and the kind of cultural turbulence that can only happen when Madonna misplaces a corset!

Well, folks, it’s been another thrilling week in the entertainment world, by which I mean a week in which absolutely everyone seems to have collectively decided, “Yes, let’s make Jim Corbridge question reality again.” 

Let’s begin with the most wholesome story: Christine Baranski, a woman so classy she could probably deliver Shakespeare while assembling flat‑pack furniture, has announced that her West End debut is a “dream come true.” This is lovely, of course, but also slightly alarming, because if Christine Baranski has dreams left to fulfil, what hope is there for the rest of us? This is a woman who has conquered Broadway, television, film, and the entire Mamma Mia Cinematic Universe. Meanwhile, my greatest achievement this week was remembering where I left my glasses, which turned out to be on my head!

But let’s move on to the opposite of wholesome: Amy Winehouse’s dad has lost a court case over an auction, proving once again that the universe has a dark sense of humour and that nothing involving celebrity estates is ever simple. Every time you think the saga is over, another legal subplot emerges, like a Marvel post‑credits scene but with more paperwork and fewer explosions.

Speaking of explosions, Madonna’s corset has gone missing. Yes, the Queen of Pop wore a corset at a gig, and then in a twist worthy of a Netflix true‑crime documentary  it vanished! She has now offered a reward for its return, which raises several questions. Who steals a corset? Why? And what is the appropriate resale value of a Madonna‑worn torso‑shaping device? I assume the culprit is either (a) a superfan, (b) a confused stagehand, or (c) the corset itself, which has gained sentience and fled in search of a quieter life.

Meanwhile, in the world of high culture, the 2026 Proms have announced a James Bond and Prog rock feature, which is exactly the sort of sentence that makes traditional classical‑music fans clutch their pearls while younger audiences shout, “Finally!” I personally look forward to the moment when a full symphony orchestra blasts out the Bond theme while someone in the balcony attempts a dramatic dive roll and immediately regrets it.

But wait there’s more. Because apparently we, as a society, have not yet reached peak surrealism. Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson’s wrestling film is being turned into a stage musical. This is tremendous news for anyone who has ever watched professional wrestling and thought, “Yes, but what if they sang about their feelings?” I fully expect at least one power ballad titled Suplex of the Heart and a tap‑dancing ensemble number called People’s Elbow: The Reprise. Broadway will never be the same, and frankly, it shouldn’t be.

And finally, the red carpet has been rolled out in London for the premiere of Devil Wears Prada 2, a sequel nobody asked for but everyone will absolutely watch. The stars lined up in their finest outfits, ready to celebrate the return of cinema’s most terrifying boss. I assume the plot will involve even higher heels, even sharper insults, and at least one scene where someone cries in a broom cupboard while holding a gluten‑free muffin.

So there you have it: a week in entertainment that included a dream fulfilled, a court case lost, a corset stolen, a spy theme orchestrated, a wrestler musicalised, and a fashion devil resurrected. If next week features a tap‑dancing Sherlock Holmes or a Bake Off cinematic universe, I won’t even blink.