Theatre - The Dynasty diva serves up a delectable feast of camp, writes Julian Clary An Evening With Joan Collins White Rock Theatre, Hastings

I owe a lot to Joan Collins. Back in the 1980s, when I liked nothing better than slapping on make-up with a trowel and wearing black rubber and pink feather boas, my stage name was the Joan Collins Fan Club. I invited the audience into my world of glitter, glamour and blemish concealer. From Joan I learned the importance of creating a product, of becoming the brand and selling it for hard cash. The niche Joan inspired me to carve out for myself has allowed me to earn a living making lewd references to buggery for longer than might be considered seemly. Thanks for that, Joan.

Twenty years later, dressed soberly in jeans and a brown leather jacket, I sat in the back row of the White Rock Theatre in Hastings and had the thrill of seeing my Joan skip on stage, the epitome as ever of glamour, idealised vampiness and, above all, survival. How does she do it? It doesn't really matter if she's a medical marvel or a theatrical illusion. She's here. In years to come we can talk about our evening with Joan in the same hushed tones as those who saw Judy Garland, Nina Simone or Pope John Paul II.

But first, to work us into a frenzy of anticipation, Joan is supported by Four Poofs and a Piano. I thought it polite not to watch. Then, at last, Joan is among us. We stand and cheer, marvel at her trim figure and luscious hair, and feel a warm glow of gratitude. The Queen of Chic has allowed us into her presence.

"Let's begin at the beginning," she purrs, and takes us on a fascinating, if somewhat businesslike, troll through her life. Rada, Hollywood, sundry marriages, Dynasty, bestselling novelist - her stately progress is briskly dealt with.

Like her career, Joan's performance never falters. She wafts from chair to lectern, telling us how it was, with no tears and no regrets. She doesn't choose to analyse her legacy, and she glances dispassionately up at the screen showing clips of herself through the decades.

Towards the end, though, she utters a sentence that may well be her philosophy of life: "Life is a predator. You have to eat it before it eats you." I, for one, am going to write this on a Post-it note and stick it on my fridge. My next apathy attack will be nipped in the bud, and no mistake.

If Joan has ever given us her Lady Macbeth, she doesn't mention it. I wish she would. She has acted in dozens of films and TV dramas but she remains, in all of them, Joan Collins. This is camp and, some might argue, the whole point.

The show is a Hello! magazine-style telling of a life story. We hear of no self-doubts or traumas. Joan brightly informs us that her first husband, whom she married when she was 18, tried to sell her to an Arab sheikh. Rather upsetting, surely? But by the next sentence Joan is a Rank starlet being force-fed speed and fighting off randy executives. Personal crises, deaths and divorces have no place in this show. The dodgy Swedish husband isn't mentioned at all, just rather wonderfully airbrushed out of her life.

I loved the gloss and momentum of her story. The truth is, there isn't time for everything. Bette Davis, Bing Crosby, the Beatles: Joan has lived a life worth talking about. The clips and stills are gripping. By 15 she had developed her "come hither if you dare" look, and whether she was playing an innocent novice nun in Fantasy Island or the superbitch Alexis in Dynasty, or standing on stage in Hastings, that was always going to be the subtext of any script.

Joan commands the theatre with effortless stagecraft and heart-melting charisma. She tells us her story with a cleverly mannered intimacy, occasionally picking up the phone as she relates, "And then Hollywood called . . ." She sits, stands and wanders obligingly about the stage as she talks ("So I broke off my engagement with Warren Beatty . . ." You did WHAT?), enchanting us completely.

The best bits are beautifully underplayed. I didn't realise until I was on my way home that she had described Marilyn Monroe as a "nondescript young girl". The nerve! Go, Joan. She was a bit minty about Liz Taylor, too, it seemed to me.

I hope I'm not being disrespectful when I say that there's a (classy) Essex-girl vibe about our Joan. You wouldn't mess with her. I love her for it. God bless Joan Collins for bringing an exciting evening to the provinces. What a trouper! There was a real buzz about Hastings on the Saturday evening, and that, I am reliably informed, isn't normally the case.

An Evening With Joan Collins is at the Grand Opera House, York on 13 May. For tour dates see www.joancollins.net

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