High Society
Clear your mind of the film, take along your I Spy book of Cole Porter songs, and a hugely entertaining event awaits
Theatre Royal
A cast of Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Grace Kelly. Blimey – follow that. No one was ever going to, of course, and it would be unfair to judge a show by that yardstick. That said, Helen George came pretty close with a stellar performance that lit up the stage whenever she appeared. I'm not familiar with Call the Midwife, and so came to the show unencumbered by expectation. So often, TV stars that are thrust onto the stage, particularly the musical stage, fail to deliver, but not in this case. And in fairness, other familiar faces, such as Freddie Fox and Nigel Lindsay, acquitted themselves well. The show itself was thoroughly entertaining, filling the stage with dance routines, ensemble numbers and fabulous costumes. All of which is quite surprising given the history of this musical adaptation of one of cinema's greatest musicals.
Arthur Kopit's adaptation of The Philadelphia Story – tellingly, the musical purports to be based on Philip Barry's play, rather than the later musical – first came to the stage in the late nineties, and was generally considered a dud. It ran for only 144 performances on Broadway, having received unfavourable reviews. It's a wonder that director Rachel Kavanaugh was brave enough to pick up the baton and run with it. The key difference between the film and the stage versions is this. The film is a poignant love story with the occasional break for song. The stage musical is packed with songs by Cole Porter, occasionally interrupted by narrative. As a consequence, much of the depth and wit of the movie is absent. Not so much in the first half, where scene-setting necessitates chatter. There are some really sharp lines, particularly in the exchanges between mother and daughter, played by Josefina Gabrielle and Naomi Pacquette. There is tentative political commentary too, in the early back and forth between Carly Mercedes Dyer and Freddie Fox. When they ask Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, it sets up the staff to comment – we do.
Because High Society – let's pause a bit and reflect on that title – is really all about class. This is a dysfunctional family. Julian Ovenden's Dexter is a recovering alcoholic, Malcolm Sinclair's Seth is a serial philanderer, Nigel Lindsay's Uncle Willie a woman-chasing drunk, while Helen George's Tracy Lord is marrying Davis Seadon-Young's Kittredge, a man dismissed as merely an accountant. The production glosses over all this, and that's a legitimate artistic choice, but it does mean the stage version lacks the bite, indeed the coherence, of the film. When Willy and Seth are forced to impersonate each other, nothing really comes of it. Dexter is no longer a jazz musician, making the jazz number a tad incongruous. Louis Armstrong's role is consequently removed entirely. The point of the model yacht is muddled.
Arguably, much of the plot is muddled. Equipped with the blueprint of the film in my head, I didn't find it so, but my companion – equipped only with his wits – got lost halfway through. There's no mystery to this. The stage version is about as long as the film but has twice as many songs and as a consequence half the narrative arc. It's a surprising direction to take. The original Broadway show was criticised for adding songs, yet Rachel Kavanaugh added yet more. The nineties show did at least get Susan Birkenhead to tinker with the words so they slotted in. In this version, we get the incongruity of Be a Clown shoehorned into advice about a groom's speech. It's actually Seadon-Young's best moment. He does an excellent job of making Kittredge a sympathetic character, so why do I take issue with putting him in the spotlight? The answer is the song makes no sense, and doesn't push the story on. Time and again, and particularly towards the end, we halt proceedings to hear an incongruous song, when we just want to get on. There are exceptions. When Carly Mercedes Dyer sings I've Got You Under My Skin, she interprets the song in a way that perfectly captures her unspoken love for Mike. For the most part, however, Tracy proclaiming I Love Paris in the middle of a family row, or Dexter insisting their relationship is Just One of Those Things, just doesn't make sense. No wonder my companion was so confused.
The impulse to produce a Cole Porter jukebox musical, rather than offer a production with real and complex emotional depth, was an opportunity missed. What masks this shortcoming, and does so remarkably well, is the superb cast. I'm not sure Fox and Ovenden managed the insouciant swagger needed for Well, Did You Evah!, but there's no denying they can sing. Josefina Gabrielle specialised in scene-stealing with her excellent comic timing, second only to the avuncular charms of Nigel Lindsay. Who knew he could sing?
Hats off as well to Jon Morrell for fabulous costume design and Anthony Van Laast's choreography. I thought Tom Rogers's set design a little odd. The dual staircase allowed the dancers to arrange themselves agreeably, but it didn't seem to represent an appropriate backdrop to any of the scenes. It looked impressive, but why was it there? It's a minor quibble, however, as the production was, for the most part, well staged. It was well acted too, when the actors were allowed to flex their acting muscles, and it was good to hear a live orchestra contributing. Clear your mind of the film, take along your I Spy book of Cole Porter songs, and a hugely entertaining event awaits anyone who attends
