Tag Archives: Steve Brown

Tony! [The Tony Blair Rock Opera] at the Park Theatre

You might remember our former Prime Minister’s appeal for Cool Britannia pop stars, or that the man himself was once in a band. But a musical about Tony Blair is still a crazy idea. Which is partly the point of this gloriously mad show from Harry Hill and Steve Brown. Tony! must be seen to be believed.

This trip through Blair’s life and career is crammed with jokes, from simply awful puns to references and catchphrases. But note that you need be a specific age to appreciate the show. The interval saw some frantic Googling and puzzled under-40s.

As a history of New Labour as much as one man, Hill and Brown are so keen not to eulogise their subject that they end up a touch fanatical. The show isn’t scared of offending anyone – which a lot of people commend – and some of the jokes are jaw-droppingly tasteless.

Tony is presented as a grinning idiot. Charlie Baker does well in the lead role. Howard Samuels’ Peter Mandelson is predictably Mephistophelean, but drives the action effectively and gets to do a trick with a balloon. Just how much Holly Sumpton’s Cherie gets out of a Liverpudlian twang is a constant surprise. There are so many cameos I lost count, but I won’t forget Madison Swan’s perfect Princess Diana in a hurry. The joke is that the production is rough, ready and self-referential – I’ve never seen so many bad wigs – and the technique is effective if you have a good memory.

Unfortunately, the musical performances are underwhelming. As for the songs themselves, your toe might tap and the mix of pop pastiche is enlivened by ballroom variations that could be made more of with a bigger band. Tony! is more a revue than a musical, which is fine, but some of the singing is just poor.

It’s Hill and Brown who end up the stars. As well as their comedy careers, they produced the underrated I Can’t Sing and their distinctive sense of humour has a great surreal touch. Combining satire with silliness, you can never quite guess what’s coming next. A lot of it is crazy, some of it cheap and nasty, but I did laugh a lot.

It’s a shame the production doesn’t end happily. But then neither does any career in politics. How to handle the war in Iraq is a concern literally voiced by characters. Inspired by music hall, numbers for Osama bin Laden, Colonel Gaddafi and George Bush aren’t a bad idea. Director Peter Rowe’s efforts to speed up the pace are wise, but the laughs dry up. It’s a shame, really. There’s plenty of talent and clear intention, but it all goes a bit wrong. Now what does that remind me of?

Until 9 July 2022

www.parktheatre.co.uk

Photo by Mark Douet

“I Can’t Sing!” at the London Palladium

I Can’t Sing! The X Factor Musical, which opened this week at the Palladium, is a logical fit for the theatre. It might be TV, but it’s live, essentially a variety show, with large personalities that can fill a stage. The show’s creators, Harry Hill and Steve Brown, exploit the backstories of the characters and possibilities for songs mercilessly for comedy. At once sincere and surreal, the show might just have that indefinable quality that makes a hit musical – it’s very own X factor.

But first a confession from your reviewer. I’ve never watched The X Factor. Forgive me – I’m at the theatre a lot. As well as making me akin to an alien, this created a concern that I might not have a clue what was going on. As it happens I found lots of it funny. There are a surprising number of theatre jokes and, as most do know the show (like the row behind me), I can report that you’ll be laughing like the proverbial drain. I am qualified at least to say that Sean Foley’s direction is assured and that reports of troubled previews don’t seem to have rattled the fine performers.

Simon Lipkin, Cynthia Erivo and Alan Morrissey

The leads of the show provide a plot, a neat little love story between two contestants. Cynthia Erivo plays Chenice, whose backstory – take a deep breath – of life in a caravan under the Westway with a grandfather in an iron lung and not enough money to study UFOs at Golders Green University, is so tragic that it’s envied by other contestants. With a knock-out voice that brings out the irony in the show’s hummable title song, Erivo is joined by Alan Morrissey, who has an appealing stage presence as a plumber with a ukulele who wants to change the world with his songs. The other contestants do well, too, but it’s the ever excellent Simon Lipkin who gets my vote, using the puppetry skills that made Avenue Q such a success to play Chenice’s dog, Barlow.

There are strong comic turns from the judges: the geriatric Louis (Ashley Knight) and Geordie Jordy (Victoria Elliott), headed of course by Simon Cowell, a role energetically taken by Nigel Harman. Like his television creation, Cowell seems self-consciously ripe for satire. Being lampooned so successfully must delight him (as a backer for the show) and the sheer silly scale of the satire, much of it literally messianic, keeps coming. The show contains no subtlety, surely that would be inappropriate – just a lot of laughs.

It’s a musical, so let’s not forget the songs. Brown’s compositions are efficient, and varied, but the music is very much subservient to the comedy. Several numbers are disappointing and only get along by being very loud. But, as well as the title song, there’s another great number for Morrissey, a moment of stillness among too many mock anthems that really stands out.

You could take a guess that there will be choreography with sofas. Tick the box for dancing leprechauns. I am even sure I’ve seen break-dancing monks before and, as with Jerry Springer The Opera, there are Valkyrie on call. And there are still surprises, mostly theatrical I am pleased to say, and bizarre enough to really delight in their eccentricity, with touches of George Formby, postcard-style humour and plain silliness.

There’s a strong sense of weird and wonderful minds behind I Can’t Sing! that avoids any sense of attempting to cash in on a successful formula. It’s mad but also clever stuff. And it works. Combining the prosaic and clichéd with extravagant dreams, there’s a satisfying circularity in what Hill and Brown have achieved – a show so ridiculous that it becomes inspiring.

Until 25 October 2014

Photos by Tristram Kenton

Written 28 March 2014 for The London Magazine