When: Wednesday 1st August
Where: Southwark Playhouse
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| M & M |
This production of Mack and Mabel seems to have divided
audiences and critics alike – even my mate Nikki and I found at the interval
that we were having completely different experiences. The show itself is known
to be imperfect and problematic in its narrative and characters, as well as the
fact that it exists in several different forms. This version definitely hasn’t
solved those problems, although director Thom Southerland’s version set the
whole show in Mack’s memory, which was a clever touch. Although it was a
generally enjoyable experience, I’m definitely erring on the side of the
critical at the mo.
Laura Pitt-Pulford as Mabel was erratically pleasing and her
voice was completely brilliant. She also stood out from a cast of otherwise
seriously, seriously questionable American accents (I genuinely thought Mack,
played by Norman Bowman, was doing a Scottish accent for the first half). Mack
is supposed to be supremely charismatic despite his boorishness and
single-minded selfishness in pursuit of making movies, which is a challenge for
any actor, I grant you, but I wasn’t convinced by Bowman. He played the husky,
regretful and emotionally stunted aspects of Mack well, but didn’t really match
it with the big personality and big performance – just with empty shouting and
a mediocre singing voice. Which was a bit of a shame. However, the supporting
cast shone as an ensemble, and the chorus numbers were fantastically
choreographed, especially in quite a restricted space, and their energy and
panache was properly impressive. Jessica Martin as Lottie was the true stalwart
of the show and was pleasingly Bonnie Langford-esque in her performance (that’s
a compliment).
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| Fabulous chorus. |
It’s a fringe theatre so I expected it to be a bit grungy,
and the Vault at the Southwark Playhouse certainly is that – but it’s also
awesome, inventive and atmospheric. The sound of the trains rumbling overhead
somehow manages to contribute to the experience, and the staging and visuals of
the set were really great. On the downside, all the actors were mic-ed and
seemingly turned up to max volume which was far from ideal, and often even so
found themselves battling with the band (who were also being piped in from
backstage – SO far from ideal). The seats were unbelievably uncomfortable,
which, call me old fashioned, but I think is quite a vital issue – if you’re
squirming around throughout, it has to take away from the performances
somewhat, especially if the whole spectacle isn’t thrilling enough to distract
you from your twitching legs and the stabbing pains in your arse. However, we
were given free cheese at the bar in the interval, which went a long way to
soothing my wounded body.
As I think will always be the case until the end of time (or
until the day my dreams come true and the leads are played by Nikki and John
Barrowman), the true stars of this show are the songs. The score is just
amazing. The fabulous, unbeatable overture, as made famous by Torvill and Dean,
is amongst my top played on iTunes, and Wherever he ain’t has to be the
ultimate kick-ass break-up song. I won’t send roses is essentially the
entire plot summed up in a few poignant verses, and the brilliantly random Tap
your troubles away always makes me laugh (even despite the fact that is it
has been tainted improved for me forever by Acorn Antiques’s alternative
version, the ‘Tip Top Tap’). So in that sense it’s always worth seeing this
show just for the music alone, and this cast did do them justice, for the most
part.
I like the theatre’s chilled out style and aeroplane-style
pricing for seats (earlier you buy the cheaper they are, show up and sit
anywhere scenario), but I was 50/50 torn between enjoyment and beady-eyed
criticism the whole way through, which made it – combined with the seats – a literally
uncomfortable experience in general. Not sure I’d go again. Sad face.
As we dodged our way through the car park and edged past a people carrier advertising itself as a ‘LOCOG official sex tours’ vehicle (nope, no idea…), I began to wonder where my colleague had brought us... But as we reached the Street Feast, which appeared before me basically as a concrete rectangle of deliciousness, I breathed in a sigh of both relief and barbecue-smokey goodness.
