London—In a town cheered worldwide for theater, there are fewer productions on offer these days. The first explanations could be the Brexit trickle-down influence as well as frightening incidents hitting the news that affect potential tourist revenues. Or perhaps, it’s just a phase. Leastways, there are plenty on offer to fill a theatergoer’s show card during a short, or even longer, stay.
The Wind in the Willows – Palladium. Kenneth Grahame’s beloved 1908 novel about animals living along the water has certainly been adapted for the stage before book writer Julian Fellowes, lyricist Anthony Drewe and composer George Stiles have tried it. For instance, a celebrated 1991 production popped up the National Theatre.
Now it’s been musicalized (again?) and possibly by the obvious songwriters: Drewe and Stiles, whose previous children-oriented Honk!, Just So and Mary Poppins, among several others, have put them on that map and kept them there.
So maybe they’re allowed a clinker, which this one is—not so much for their contributions but for Fellowes’s clunky transfer of the Grahame tail—er, tale—to the stage. For the sophisticated author of Downton Abbey and Gosford Park he’s been shockingly witless and charmless in his retelling of Mr. Toad’s misadventures and how Rat (the funny Simon Lipkin), Mole (the cute Craig Mather), Mrs. Otter (the perky Denise Welch) and Badger (the authoritative Gary Wilmot) outwit Chief Weasel (the hyperactive Neil McDermott) succeed as thy go collectively about saving their impulsive, speed-loving friend from troubles he’s gotten himself in.
The standout new Stiles-Drewe tune is “A Friend is Still a Friend.” It’s so obviously the catchiest of the many catchy, if often generic, songs in the score that it’s reprised at the curtain call and nicely joins the song annals of other tributes to friendship. Second to it is an amusing Christmas ditty called “The Wassailing Mice.” Whether this cutie becomes a part of the seasonal songbook is another question entirely. Incidentally, there is a rather retrograde number called “To Be a Woman.” It’s an encomium to femininity that no female songwriter would ever cop to.
To mount this misfire, set and costume designer Peter McIntosh, lighting designer Howard Harrison, sound designer Gareth Owen and numerous others have done their level best at maximizing the production, as has director Rachel Cavanaugh. Not so choreographer Aletta Collins, whose penchant for awkward movement may stem from a belief that clumsy is how certain animals gad about.
Incidentally, Rufus Hound normally appears as Mr. Toad, but was unable to make the press preview I attended. Chris Aukett, his understudy, went on at short notice and was alarmingly well prepared. He extracted everything there is to extract from the role, which is that of an egotistical fellow difficult to like in the best of times. Good luck to the recovered Hound for getting much more out the famous literary figure.
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Artistic director Emma Rice, whose last Shakespeare’s Globe summer this is in what she’s dubbed the Summer of Love—has apparently decided it’s necessary to convince audiences instantly that the Bard is still cogent four centuries after his death. Director Daniel Kramer’s Romeo and Juliet kicks off with a kabuki rock number, while her Twelfth Night, or What You Will starts when a large man in a Diana Ross wig and flashy gown (Le Gateau Chocolat) welcomes everyone to the S.S. Unity. Then, an ensemble rendition of the Sister Sledge Top 40 click “We Are Family” kicks in.
It’s an unnecessary tactic. Rice is so full of ideas for enhancing the actual script that she doesn’t need to resort to extraneous notions. For her production she imagines that Shakespeare’s Illyria is some lively junction within, or near enough to, Scotland that kilts are proper men’s wear. When Malvolio (tiny, terrific Katy Owen) appears smiling and cross-gartered, he’s wearing what looks to be a loud version of a 1920’s golfing outfit. (Lez Brotherston is the costume and set designer.) Sir Toby Belch (Tony Jayawardena) is definitely a golfer. He even drives a few outsized yellow golf balls into the groundlings’ space.
The Scots theme is carried through by way of many jigs, the primary interpreter being Orsino (tall, manly Joshua Lacy). Incidentally, Orsino has a strong case of Elvis-pelvis, and he’s not the only one. Sir Andrew Aguecheek (Marc Antolin, accenting the swish) does some, although not so much in the boxing match with Viola (Anita-Joy Uwajeh) that replaces swordplay.
Occasionally, the abundant insertions work. (Carl Grose is credited for additional text and lyrics.) When Malvolio (seemingly) ad libs “That were a rhyming couplet, thank you,” the laugh is earned, but maybe not so much when Sir Andrew twice hails a taxi. Otherwise, there’s enough of the original Will to keep the Unity afloat in what eventually becomes an all-in-good-fun outing.
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Our Ladies of Perpetual Succour – Duke of York’s. Preparing for their choral competition, six uniformed schoolgirls (the marvels Caroline Deyga, Karen Fishwick, Isis Hainsworth, Kirsty MacLaren, Frances Mayli McCann, Dawn Sievewright) rehearse Felix Mendelssohn’s “Lift Thine Eyes” in an award-winning harmonious manner.
When the apparently modest singers finish, they reveal themselves to be anything but demur. They’re the swearing female gits that nuns of a previous day would be rapping the knuckles of, not to say expelling.
The Sister Condom to whom they refer never appears to chastise them, but as their day proceeds—they’re eliminated from the contest in the first round—they are hilariously funny. (But that’s only if the proliferating f-words are appreciated by auditors). Eventually they’re also quite moving. One is waiting for cancer test results and does receive them. Another confesses a romantic longing for a co-singer.
Lee Hall adapted the play with music—and plenty of it—from Alan Warner’s novel, The Sopranos, and has done well. Vicky Featherstone directs with a solid penchant for presenting six raucous girls who rarely stop carrying on gaily.
Martin Lowe did the music sourcing and supervised the top-notch arrangements. Bartok, Bach, Handel, Vaughan Williams are intoned, along with the likes of Jimmy Cliff’s “Many Rivers to Cross.” Imogen Knight choreographs with hearty flare.
By the way, the “Succour” of the title is a lascivious homonym, which should indicate the kind of race-y time in store for ticket buyers.