THEATRE REVIEW: A Chorus Line

London Palladium

10 April 2013

Booking until January 2014

Photo: AndyRobertsPhotos

A Chorus Line has been away too long. This is the show's first return to the West End stage since it first burst into life at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane in 1976 – and so its first in my lifetime. So naturally I jumped at the chance to see this hit musical as it returned to the Palladium this spring, envisioning a Fame-like, retro dance-off. What I didn't expect is quite how much I'd fall in love with this musical, or how touching it would be. Most people are at least faintly familiar with the sparkling, high-kicking finale, with its co-ordinated hats and frankly awful gold spangly suits; but there's far more to this musical than one show-stopping number. Sitting in a theatre watching the experiences, and the struggles, of those who strive to perform there was a surprisingly thoughtful experience, revealing the highs and lows of the performing arts: there really is no business like show business.

Originally created from interviews with real performers – some of whom formed the first cast – the show charts the progress of seventeen dancers through the audition process for an unnamed Broadway show. Yet this is no ordinary audition, as director Zach insists on not only seeing their dancing abilities, but also hearing about their childhood, their dreams and their inspirations. As Zach, John Partridge exudes ambition and authority yet also shows moments of uncertainty which add warmth and depth to a character who is seen very little; in ensemble dance scenes the eye is drawn to him, as his confidence and attitude – and partly, let's be honest, his muscular physique – dominates the stage. Certainly you would not recognise this experienced stage actor as a former EastEnder. However, although it is unfortunate that his stage presence can only be witnessed in a small number of scenes, his mostly off-stage role is effective in leading us through the auditionees' triumphs and failures, their joy and their pain, as he questions them one by one.

The musical numbers flow easily out of these conversation without seeming unnaturally placed – with the possible exception of the most conventional number 'What I Did For Love', although frankly this hit tune could have cut across the dialogue and drowned it out and I wouldn't really have minded. Although the preceding discussion is touching, as the dancers become aware of the potentially fleeting and transitory nature of their careers, it drags on for too long and becomes over-sentimentalised. It's a shame, because the rest of the show adeptly balances poignancy with stark reality and humour, avoiding anything too syrupy: despite the importance of the theme it explores, it is almost a relief, therefore, when the powerful and moving tones of Victoria Hamilton-Barritt finally signal the end to this particular interlude.

In fact, Hamilton-Barritt shines throughout the show, with her rendition of 'Nothing' displaying the combination of frustration, humour and pathos which epitomises these accounts. At this matinée, poster girl for the show Scarlett Strallen was absent, but no matter: this isn't the kind of production you go to see for a single star performance, and Lucy Jane Adcock more than delivered. 'The Music and the Mirror' is a showcase for the passion and skill of the dancers in this production, and Adcock throws herself around the stage, somehow both graceful and frenzied. The band can really show off here too: low and pulsating one minute, electric and vibrant the next, while the set of shifting mirrors adds to the sense of swirling unbalance.

Elsewhere, newcomer Rebecca Herszenhorn and veteran Leigh Zimmerman both have the audience in stitches in their turns as Val and Sheila respectively: it's hard to believe that this is Herszenhorn's West End debut, such is her verve and assurance as she captures the full brazen hilarity of her solo number 'Dance: Ten, Looks: Three'. At the more serious end of the scale, Paul's story is both the most haunting – his apparent grim acceptance of sexual abuse by strangers as a child is an uncomfortable jolt in the show – and the most triumphant, as the expected censure from his parents for performing in a drag show does not materialise. Gary Wood displays sensitivity in his portrayal without overdoing it, and his awkward and understated delivery in fact makes his moment in the spotlight glow.

In the end, though, this is an ensemble piece, and it is strongest when the full group of dancers take to the stage together, interweaving their particular strains of song and dance. As the whole concept of the production goes to show, they are all accomplished individuals making up a powerful cohort – nowhere is this more obvious than in the fifteen-minute-long extravaganza montage of 'Hello Twelve, Hello Thirteen, Hello Love'. After getting to know, and to feel for, these characters throughout the production, it is easy to forget that they are not auditioning for parts that will show off their sparkling humour or forceful passions, but will become members of the titular chorus line – they will all end up the same. This begins to be made clear as the climax of the show nears, as the individuality of Cassie's dancing is stamped out: "dance like everyone else!", yells Zach. The finale is triumphant: yet it is tinged with sadness as these figures have become almost indistinguishable from one another, as their success also brings a certain loss of identity. They are not the stars: they are singing about the unseen star, providing her backdrop.

Yet this cast certainly goes out on a high, making the auditorium sizzle in this glorious revival which has most definitely proved to be worth the wait.

Responses to 'Sunken Garden': elitism, a generation gap or just a matter of taste?

Last Friday I made my first visit to the warren that is the Barbican to review the ENO's world première of Sunken Garden on behalf of A Younger Theatre. Marketed as an "enthralling multimedia 'occult mystery'", it was always going to be a little off-the-wall, combining 2D and 3D film, live performance, sung and spoken dialogue and a blend of musical styles - as well as a pretty zany storyline. Librettist David Mitchell himself described the project as "a bit bonkers" in an interview with Sameer Rahim - but hey, what's wrong with a bit of bonkers every now and then?

In fact, in the end I thought the whole thing was rather wonderful. Ok, so the plot was a little baffling and I wouldn't have always been able to follow it without the aid of the programme. Yet the way in which technology was used to create a new kind of operatic experience was thrilling to witness. The emphasis was no doubt on production rather than plot, but in this respect it certainly had the wow-factor and was an exciting vision of a road that opera and theatre could go down, with all this new wizardry to play with. So, I wrote my mostly positive review, revelling in the fascinating evening I'd just had. If you'd like to read my thoughts in full, have a look here. You may disagree - please do, and please tell me why! Anyway, it was therefore a bit of a surprise to see sweeping - and sometimes pretty vitriolic - negativity from other critics. Michael Church at The Independent (here) accused van der Aa of "remarkable arrogance" - mainly, it seems, for the lack of interval, which quite honestly seems a little trivial - while at The Telegraph Rupert Christiansen was positively fuming at having been put through such torture, as he saw it (the full rant can be found here). Phrases such as "dismal", "toxically flatulent", "this thing - I hesitate to grant it the honorific label of opera" and "unmitigated piffle" made the one-star rating unsurprising, and demonstrated a pretty hefty objection to what I saw as an imperfect but still impressive work of creativity.

Of course, that's the nature of criticism - and the nature of theatre. Audiences have opinions, instinctive responses; they disagree, we have debates. The violent negativity and apparent refusal to see any positives in the work do make me slightly uneasy (Although the wickeder side of me enjoyed reading it. I did laugh.) but I'd never be against a critic - indeed, an experienced expert - putting forward their opinion. What seems most disquieting about Christiansen's piece (and I'm sure he's not alone in these notions: this is a perfect example but certainly not a personal attack) are its more subtle implications: of what 'Opera' is, or should be, and of the value of a young audience's opinions - and, more worryingly, those of young creatives.

The reluctance to even call Sunken Garden by the "honorific label of opera" implies a definition of the genre as something of a certain standard; something elite, deserving of honour, respect and homage. On a basic level, an opera is actually defined as "A dramatic work in one or more acts, set to music for singers and instrumentalists". Well, unless Christiansen got lost in the Barbican and ended up in the wrong room, I'm pretty sure that's what we were both watching... Maybe I'm sounding petty and being over-literal with this review. Yet my point still stands. The implication is that Sunken Garden is a young new breed who isn't allowed to join this 'gentlemen's club' of opera; that this grandiose and magical thing called 'opera' has to be elite, to have rigorously high quality control, to earn respect and honour. Even the phrase "I hesitate to grant it" implies privilege and prestige. But why? There's an awful lot of experimental theatre out there - and some of it really is awful - but I don't think many people would stop calling it 'theatre' just because it doesn't succeed. Then again, some of it is truly spectacular; and the only way that writers, directors, performers, composers and indeed audiences can discover what works and what doesn't, is by experimenting and risk-taking. Van der Aa is doing just that, by creating a new vision: this does not divide it from the world of opera, but tests and stretches what opera can be. By all means productions should be judged critically, but whole genres and their potential should not be stifled or boxed up in the process.

Then we come to the question of age. I too "sensed a youngish first-night audience" - and at twenty-one I guess I'm included in that - who, it is suggested, are attracted by the "trendiness" (do I detect a shudder behind that word?) of technology. This may be true, but it would be patronising of me to suggest that an older generation than me didn't 'get' this opera because they don't understand or appreciate technology; it thus seems just as patronising to imply that the young don't 'get' opera and are blinded by some fancy 3D films which prevent them from having supposed 'good taste' or true appreciation for this genre. I can handle a computer and smartphone, but I wouldn't call myself a techie whiz-kid: the eleven-year-olds I look after in my job are much more technologically up-to-date than I am, so it's not my devoted love for hi-tech science that inspired my review; rather my admiration for creativity and talent. One commenter on the Telegraph certainly seemed to think that we young'uns are too naive for this kind of thing, recounting how "One youngish chap next to me said 'Wow, fantastic!'' when this torturous think [sic] finished and I suspect he has never been to an opera where the music and singing carry everything without resorting to gimmicks". Why is a "youngish" (not even young...) person who likes this opera automatically assumed to carry an opinion that is uninformed and worthless? This attitude is patronising, ridiculous and - for a 21-year-old budding critic - pretty worrying.

The same ideas seem to be applied to the creator of the project. The accusations of "arrogance" levelled at van der Aa by Michael Church, which stem from the length of the show and its lack of interval, seem partly (if not primarily) inspired by his youthfulness: "For this young experimentalist to think he could get away with it bespeaks quite remarkable arrogance". Now I don't want to be rude, but firstly van der Aa is 43 - and he's still classed as a "young" composer? He's hardly a naive little babe in arms is he, considering he's been composing since the mid-nineties. However, my argument would be the same if he were an eighteen-year-old premièring his first piece. The claim that he should make life as easy as possible for the audience - that he should not take risks, that he should stick to the norms (whatever they are - it's a creative industry after all...) - purely out of youth, is quite frankly ridiculous. A blend of works that stand the test of time and eclectic new creations is what makes the world of theatre - including opera - such a vivid, ever-evolving, thrilling, surprising and wonderful thing.

New work is often divisive; but I'd like to think that this is because, as human beings, we have such a variety of loves and hates, of tastes and impulses and attractions and emotions - the very thing that gives us such a variety of performing arts in the first place. I don't mind that other critics didn't feel the same as I did. In fact, it makes me all the more interested in the work, and it's also one of the reasons that student reviewing sites Online Theatre Ltd. send two reviewers to every show - to produce debate. I just hope the reasoning behind negative reviews is sensible. In other genres of theatre there doesn't appear to be anti-youth criticism or elitist 'rules', and hopefully opera is granted the same freedom of experimentation without blanket censure. For me, Sunken Garden was a window into possibilities: it may not be perfect, but this window should not be closed on principle.