The Beast's Pen

At its best, Jerry Herman’s score for Mack and Mabel must rank alongside the greatest ever written for a Broadway musical and Jonathan Church’s revival reminds us that it never strays far from that best. The overtures to both acts, played here superbly by Robert Scott’s orchestra, send shivers down the spine, before Herman’s exquisite lyrics are heard or the sparkling dance routines are seen. So, the enigma of M & M is why it has never received all the fine things that it deserves either on Broadway or in the West End, where it may never have been seen at all were it not for Torvill & Dean’s unforgettable routine to its music. The theory that musical theatre audiences demand happy endings is not borne out by the success of many other shows and Michael Stewart’s book is certainly not sub-standard, or at least not in this version, revised by Francine Pascal. Maybe the story, a love affair based on real-life characters and set against the backdrop of the birth of Hollywood in the 1920s silent movie era, is trying to pack in too much. Maybe the relationship between the central characters is just too complex to convey successfully. For me, having now seen four different productions, a clue comes from the fact that my favourite remains the miniature version directed by Thom Southerland at the old Southwark Playhouse in 2012. The intimacy of the small venue may have diminished the spectacle of the big routines, but it brought the human story to the fore. Here, Chichester’s large thrust stage is perfect for the big song and dance numbers, but, when one or two characters are alone on it, they seem lost. In the end, it probably comes down to striking the right balance between the intimate and the spectacular and, maybe, no production, including this one, has yet quite managed to achieve that. Michael Ball, quite a bit older than Mack Sennett was in the 1920s captures the essence of the hard-nosed film director who is obsessed with making people laugh and is totally inept when it comes to wooing his leading lady, Mabel Normand; but then Herman makes it easy for him by summing up the character in a single song: “my pace is frantic my temper’s cross, with words romantic I’m at a loss…”. Ball may well have sung I Won’t Send Roses a thousand times over the years, but here he acts it and means it. Rebecca LaChance is beguiling as the naive small town waitress Mabel, but she is less assured when her character develops into the self-important, damaged movie star. It is somewhat disappointing, given the stage space available, that Church does not make more of the slapstick, particularly the Keystone Cops, and some of Stephen Mear’s choreography in the first half is just ordinary. However, Hundreds of Girls is buoyant and When Mabel Comes in the Room is staged with real panache. Near the end, in the middle of the show’s unfolding tragedy, comes Tap Your Troubles Away to do exactly what Hollywood movies have always done – cheer us up. This is the third time that I have seen Anna-Jane Casey take the lead on this glorious dance routine and, if she chooses to shape her career around it, is anyone going to complain? One serious gripe (and a surprise bearing in mind the number of years in which Church has worked at Chichester) is that almost all of the production is played directly to the front, apparently ignoring the fact that the audience here is seated in a crescent-shaped auditorium. Yes, the production will be going on tour to proscenium arch theatres, but, if that is the excuse, it is a pretty weak one. Otherwise, this is a polished and highly entertaining show that will do nothing to damage Chichester’s growing reputation for generating world-class productions of musicals. One day, someone will come up with the perfect Mack and Mabel, but, while we wait for it, at least we can wallow again in all those magnificent songs.

Performance date: 5 August 2015

This review was originally written for The Public Reviews: http://www.thepublicreviews.com

Wonderful as the place is, it takes some doing to make Southwark Playhouse appear opulent. Yet, with just one glittering chandelier, a host of glorious performances and a ravishing musical score, it now looks and feels like a million dollars (or maybe Deutschmarks). The setting is the Grand Hotel, Berlin in 1928, a building hosting fabulous wealth and creeping decadence in equal measures. Based on Vicki Baum’s 1929 novel, this is a Tony Award winning musical that is hardly a stranger to these shores, having had two major London productions previously, the most recent of which was at the Donmar Warehouse in 2004. Producer Danielle Tarento and director Thom Southerland have specialised in rescuing American musicals threatened with obscurity and bringing them to London fringe venues. One of their greatest successes, Titanic, was seen here exactly two years ago. The involvement of Maury Yeston gives a clear link between this show and Titanic, while the musical style and the subject matter of the two also bear strong resemblances. Here we have characters in transit all facing their nemeses – failing health, failing finances, failing careers – and in the distance is the metaphorical iceberg of the Third Reich. Southerland makes this point to chilling effect in a finale that sees all the finery stripped away and discarded ruthlessly. A traverse performance area gives the impression of the show taking place in a long hotel corridor. This occasionally results in awkward staging and some craning of necks is required from most seating positions. However, Southerland makes imaginative use of the set-up at the very start, with hotel staff and guests entering at opposite ends and facing up to each other as if going into battle. Then follows a 20-minute opening musical sequence in which the characters are introduced to us, one by one. A sinister, war-wounded German army doctor (David Delve) roams the hotel like a harbinger of doom, witnessing a period of change in which American financiers are mingling with fading European aristocrats. The old order is represented by the young, penurious Baron von Geigern (Scott Garnham with debonair looks and a soaring tenor voice); living off his title and dodging his creditors, he proves incapable of succeeding as either a thief or a gigolo, because, at the crunch, he is just too decent. Christine Grimaldi brings grace and elegance to the role of a 50-something ballerina, guarded by her loyal aide (Valerie Cutko); she convinces us that she is too old to dance and then she falls hopelessly in love like a teenage girl and dances. Victoria Serra is charming as a timid secretary, dreaming of a career in Hollywood, but hampered by being pregnant. Perhaps the most moving character is Otto Kringelein (George Rae giving a glowing performance), a terminally ill Jew who is determined to blow all he has on living, albeit briefly, the high life. The hotel manager at first refuses him entry, giving a bitter reminder that Hitler did not invent anti-Semitism, but, after the Baron has intervened, Otto revels in the luxury and gaiety. He performs the show’s best number, Who Couldn’t Dance With You?, and, casting aside his frailty, turns cartwheels across the stage. Such moments of magic linger in the memory for quite a while. Time allows only for the characters to be drawn as small cameos, but they are drawn vividly in the songs of George Forest, Robert Wright and Yeston and brought to life by an outstanding company of 17. The show is close to being sung-through, but Luther Davis’ book gives it shape and substance. Lee Proud’s choreography, incorporating Waltzes, Foxtrots and Charlestons, is spot-on, as are Lee Newby’s period costumes, and an eight-piece band, under the direction of Michael Bradley fills the space with a rich sound. The most striking features of Southerland’s production are its effortless flow and its unfaltering momentum. No scenery means no scene changes, multiple entrance and exit points mean that action at one end of the stage has begun almost before action at the other end is over. Everything combines to produce a whirlwind 110 minutes (no interval) and the only regret is having to check out so soon.

Performance date: 4 August 2015

This review was originally written for The Public Reviews: http://www.thepublicreviews.com

London is a city that began selling its soul many generations ago and continues doing the same right up to the present day. This is the verdict given by Steven Hevey in his 100- minute one-act play, examining the rights and wrongs of inner city development, which is getting its World Premiere here. “A vibrant hybrid environment” and “beyond urban” are descriptions offered by a glib estate agent (Ross Hatt), who is showing clients around a tiny, dingy flat in the East End. In more common terms, it is an area about to become gentrified and Ben (Matt Whitchurch), an architect, and his girlfriend Asma (Ritu Arya), an interior designer, see the flat as an affordable place to begin their life together. Hevey paints a bleak picture of a community lacking in real warmth, unable to free itself from the shackles of the past or to accept the changes that will bring the future. This is an urban area in which indigenous badgers, foxes and human beings are being overrun by city professionals, where cocktail lounges are replacing pubs and where sushi bars are taking over from jellied eel stalls. Links to the past are personified by the three members of the local Community Association. The feisty and stubborn Mary (Paddy Navin), born in the flat now rented by Ben and Asma, has known plentiful hardship and tragedy; she is battling for a row of Victorian villas to be turned into a shopping and leisure complex, because she believes that her area “deserves nice things”. Ben is scornful of such plans and favours preserving the villas for their aesthetic and historical value. Also on the Committee are Roy (Gary Beadle), a park keeper who has left-wing revolutionary views and Keith (Daniel York) who gives us a reminder of ugly undercurrents of racism, homophobia and violence still persisting in this part of London. The ingredients are in place for a meaty drama, but the writing meanders and John Young’s direction provides too little momentum and tension. As a result of this, when Hevey sharpens his focus and raises the stakes in later scenes, the conflicts feel forced and unnatural. Libby Todd’s set design is littered with cardboard boxes, but, too often, it feels as if they are sharing the stage with cardboard characters. Hevey’s play is driven by issues and the protagonists in it appear to have been created primarily to give voices to the various conflicting arguments. Despite highly capable performances, the characters are not sufficiently well rounded for us to become involved in their lives. Overall, this is a timely and thought-provoking piece that can stimulate healthy debate, but it is one that rarely ignites as an absorbing human drama.

Performance date: 3 August 2015