TRIASSIC PARQ THE MUSICAL
TRIASSIC PARQ THE MUSICAL, Squabbalogic at the Reginald Theatre, Seymour Centre, 17 June-4 July 2015. Photography by Michael Francis: above - Adele Parkinson, Rob Johnson, Crystal Hegedis, Monique Sallé and Keira Daley; right: Adele Parkinson, Rob Johnson and Crystal Hegedis.
Triassic Parq is a tongue-in-cheek homage to Michael Crichton’s 1990 novel Jurassic Park turned by Steven Spielberg into That movie in 1993. Triassic Parq the Musical won Best Musical at the 2010 New York International Fringe Festival which suggests it was a pretty lightweight year for fringe musicals. Nevertheless, it’s been picked up for Squabbalogic and Chief Squabb/director Jay James-Moody has waved his magic wand over it. With the aid of an impeccable and hard working cast he has turned it into a more entertaining 80 minutes than its creators, Marshall Pailet, Bryce Norbitz and Stephen Wargo, deserve.
The book and lyrics are reasonably witty and irreverent – particularly if you’re a fan of the Jurassic Park brand – and designer Neil Shotter waggishly takes us both sides of the movie dinosaur park’s massive electric fence and deep into the jungle via a dozen potted palms and Mikey Rice’s lighting. So far, so fun.
Triassic Parq promisingly tells a gossamer-thin “what if?” strand of the story from the dinosaurs’ point of view and that, as you may recall, is an entirely lady view as none of the cloned critters were male. Then the very existence of T-Rex 2 (Adele Parkinson) is called into question as stomach cramps turn into an involuntary sex change and a dangly appendage that alarms her more than it did the kids in the audience. (It’s not recommended for under-13s. Apparently that’s the crucial year when trans-gender matters and penises will no longer offend parents or damage tender psyches).
As if all that were not enough, T-Rex 2’s BFF, T-Rex 1 (Monique Sallé) suffers confusion of her own when the cramps in her innards turn out to be wild jealousy as she watches T-Rex 2 attempting the dinosaur with two backs with a critter other than herself. Meanwhile, other versions of gender swapping are going on as the splendid Blake Erickson shifts from impersonating the Velociraptor of Faith (think Joan Collins) and the omnipotent voice of narration, Morgan Freeman. The latter’s portentous utterances are sadly cut short when he’s eaten in the opening minutes.
Rob Johnson is a charismatic and beautiful Velociraptor of Innocence while the prehistoric origins of mime are finally confirmed in Crystal Hegedis’s running gag as a white-faced, white-gloved child of Marcel Marceau. (Don’t ask, I have no idea. Logic has no place in this confection.)
And so it goes. The musical director AKA pianosaurus Mark Chamberlain leads a tight four-piece and the company – including Velociraptor of Science Keira Daley – gives it their vocal all with dance moves and cunning velociraptor walks (choreographer Dean Vince, sound design Jessica James-Moody). The production is also given extra verve and wit via Elizabeth Franklin’s costumes – steam punk meets Gothic rock meets Cabaret.
They just about keep it afloat for the duration despite the slight material and essentially one joke nature of the beast. A cast this good and this committed deserves better, however, and while they’re all paddling as fast and hard as they can and the fun bounces along with the prosthetic willies, there is too much time to ponder what they can and could do with a first rate show. Roll on Grey Gardens.
