Saturday March 30, 2024
THE DROWSY CHAPERONE
Review

THE DROWSY CHAPERONE

March 21 2014

THE DROWSY CHAPERONE, Squabbalogic with the Hayes Theatre Company at the Hayes Theatre, March 16-April 6 2014. Photography by Michael Francis: above - the company; right Jay James-Moody.

This is such a clever show; such a ridiculous show and so utterly beguiling you'd have to be several days deceased not to be charmed by it and chortle and guffaw and admire it throughout. It's the second astute production for HTC and maintains the stratospheric standard set by Sweet Charity.

The Drowsy Chaperone is a musical within a musical - our host, the clinically depressed Man in Chair (Jay James-Moody) introduces his solution to the blues: put on a record (yes, a vinyl record) of a Broadway musical. It's what you always hope for, he says, to be transported beyond reality, away from the everyday. When you go to a theatre you pray that it will be good, that it won't be too long and that it will have a few good songs and a half decent story. It's not much to ask, he says plaintively, but it seems beyond the capabilities of many of the hit musical creators of the 21st century… 

Man in Chair muses about how, once upon a time, we would wonder "what are George and Ira Gershwin going to give us tonight?" Or, "what has Cole Porter come up with this time?" but these days…it's Elton John. No wonder he's depressed. He drops the needle on the first of a remastered two disc cast recording and shuffles across to the kitchen counter to make himself a mug of tea. The music starts - it's the overture, he explains with a twinkle and a wide smile. As well he might: the modern audience of a modern musical might not understand the concept of an overture - a taster of all the tunes to come - when we're lucky if a modern musical has even one hummable tune.

Man in Chair's choice then - jiggling his tea bag as he sits in his dreary New York apartment clad in jim-jams, slippers and a shapeless cardy - is the 1928 classic, The Drowsy Chaperone. That it never existed and is a deliberately absurd title anyway explains why most of us haven't a clue what we're about to experience and are therefore swept away by the conceit and wit of the show's architects, Bob Martin and Don McKellar (book) and Lisa Lambert and Greg Morrison (music and lyrics).

Man in Chair introduces the story, characters and opening scene and they come to life, entering the apartment through a conventional pair of doors - and somewhat less conventional - via the fridge, or Frigidaire as he calls it. Within the prescribed first ten minutes, reality and fantasy collide. Just as most will be thinking - of a trite scene between society matron dotty Mrs Tottendale (Gael Ballantyne) and her butler, Underling (Chris Coleman) - that it's all a bit silly and passe … Man in Chair confides in us that he thinks this scene is silly and passe, but after all it was 1928 and what you need to know about these two is that in real life the performers were…and so on.

The plot is painfully simple, Man in Chair announces merrily. There is a sassy bride (Hilary Cole) and a gormless groom (Brett O'Neill) and they must be kept apart on their wedding day by the Chaperone (Michele Lansdown) who is partial to a drink or two and is therefore frequently drowsy. That's it. Well, no it isn't it really, because Chaperone is played by the 1928 equivalent of Ethel Merman and therefore always has a great big belting anthem number - whether relevant or not - and the bride is the up and coming new star, Janet Van de Graff

Janet's cigar-chomping producer Mr Feldzieg (Laurence Coy making hilariously like James Cagney), is desperate that she not retire into married bliss because he owes a gangster big time and needs her name in lights. Meanwhile, the gangster has sent two hoods disguised as pastry chefs (Steven Kreamer and Richard Woodhouse) to intimidate with baked goods and probably take him out. 

Feldzieg has a possibly life-saving idea: get Aldolpho to seduce the bride so the wedding will be called off. As played by Tom Sharah, Aldolpho is the love child of Antonio Banderas's Puss in Boots and Jean Dujardin in The Artist and the reek of Californian Poppy brilliantine is heavy in the air - even though he isn't actually wearing it. Unfortunately, although Aldolpho is the great seducer, he's not very bright - he beds the wrong woman. 

THE DROWSY CHAPERONE

Meanwhile, elsewhere, the groom kisses a mysterious French girl so Janet calls the whole thing off and a tiny window of opportunity opens for showgirl Kitty (Jaimie Leigh Johnson). Her voice is reminiscent of Lina Lamont in Singin' In The Rain, however, so we know her career will be mercifully brief. The eventual arrival of Trix the Aviatrix (Monique Salle), a character Man in Chair reminds us is nowadays known as The Lesbian, heralds either intermission - or the finale. And so on…

The Drowsy Chaperone opened on Broadway in 2006 and picked up the Tonys for Best Book and Score among five nominations. Its silliness is shrewd and its cleverness is alternately subtle and as broad as Broadway. On several occasions (on Thursday evening, not opening night) a burst of laughter from the audience signalled a quip so rarified it had taken 30 seconds to sink in. It's a unique treat for those who live and breathe musical theatre, and it also mercilessly takes the mickey out of them too. It's also a superbly fun Musicals 101 for those who think Andrew Lloyd Webber is…whatever he thinks he is.

While Man in Chair yearns for the glamour and pizazz of the heyday of musical theatre, The Drowsy Chaperone is actually a dog of a show. There is a novelty act, an almost-has-been star, some pretty bad tap dancing and more ham than is Don is good. The big number is winningly entitled "As We Stumble Along" and, as Man in Chair opines, the ingenue's love song has a pretty tune but the lyrics are hopeless.

Blessedly, the Squabbalogic production is everything that 1928 show was not. Directing as well as observing and orchestrating as Man in Chair, Jay James-Moody is spectacularly good in the least pushy but actually pivotal role. The casting of the entire company is similarly fine: Hilary Cole is no longer up and coming - she's arrived - and Tom Sharah is a revelation of bold comic timing and humour. Similarly, the depth of talent available beyond the usual suspects is evident in the welcome appearance of Gael Ballantyne and Michele Lansdown.

The creatives are equally noteworthy: as well as dashingly slapping her jodhpurs as the Aviatrix, Monique Salle is also the choreographer and has wrought miracles on the tiny stage with the company of 16 and their various dance routines. The apartment set - with its versatile fridge - is also a miraculous use of the space as it also accommodates the band (behind). It is also wittily lit to signify its transformation into a theatre (design Lauren Peters, lighting Sian James-Holland). The costumes, by Elizabeth Franklin, are a marvel of style and shoestring ingenuity, as are the musical arrangements and execution of the score (musical director Paul Geddes, sound design Jessica James-Moody).

The Drowsy Chaperone is an absolutely wonderful night out and soooooo much better than it wasn't in 1928.

 

 

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