“Francisco Hidalgo, the flamenco choreographer, does outstanding work with the company of dancers”
House of Flamenka brings together a wealth of talent in the form of music, singing and dancing, all under the direction of Arlene Phillips. Phillips co-created this show with singer and dancer Karen Ruimy. Together these celebrated artists have produced a show that is best described as a fusion of flamenco and contemporary dance styles accompanied by an upbeat and updated medley of songs. The music includes everything from classics such as Bésame Mucho and Dance Me To The End Of Love (sung by Ruimy) to a more contemporary pop and hip hop vibe for the dancers. Ruimy does the singing to great effect, and the dancers are energetic and versatile. The show is sexy, and alluring.
There is a story to House of Flamenka, but audiences could be forgiven for not noticing. It is the most minimal of narratives, designed to bring together a singer, some dancers, and a set and costumes that would seem improbable under any other circumstances. It is a Broadway fantasy taken to extremes that will remind audiences, frankly, of the darker side of Los Angeles, rather than New York. But for what it’s worth, the narrative involves “a goddess of music and dance whose passion is collecting beautiful objects.” The programme note warns us that hubris is about to visit, but we never really get to find out how or why, unless it’s the disappearance of most of the set in the second half. At any rate, the goddess (Ruimy) presides over a show by her beautiful objects, and often participates. The whole event takes place in her extravagantly designed house, and is, indeed, an appropriate setting for the kind of entertainment that House of Flamenka provides.
There are many strong elements in House of Flamenka, and the footwork in the flamenco influenced numbers is particularly notable. Francisco Hidalgo, the flamenco choreographer, does outstanding work with the company of dancers, many of whom have distinguished careers in the flamenco world. Other dancers are from the world of contemporary dance and dance of the African diaspora — with equally distinguished experience. One of the great challenges of a show like this, then, is how to bring it all together. James Cousins does a brilliant job with the choreography of the numbers that feature contemporary dance. But it has to be said that flamenco, danced only by men (with the exception of Ruimy) feels incomplete, no matter how skillful the artists. Jasmine Swan who designed both set and costumes, manages a functional set despite its extravagance, but the costumes bring more attention to themselves, rather than to the dancers. The exception here are Ruimy’s costumes, which she changes for every number. They are both brilliantly designed and very flattering. But the point of fusion is to bring a variety of diverse styles and traditions together in a satisfying way. Sadly, House of Flamenka doesn’t really manage this in a way that feels organically whole.
If you go to House of Flamenka in search of art house flamenco rather than Broadway, you might be disappointed. Given the extraordinary abilities of the assembled company, you might also feel that House of Flamenka does not quite manage the diversity of its material to best effect. It is missing something that would turn this show from simply a good evening in the theatre, to something truly memorable.
“if the onstage passion isn’t quite ‘electrifying’, the overall presentation is.”
Picture the scene in a cold, forbidding producers’ office. You’re pitching a musical. “What’s the plot?” they ask. Well; it’s boy meets girl, boy and girl indulge in a bit of ‘summer loving’ on holiday, boy spurns girl in the face of peer pressure back at school. Girl sees him for the shallow guy he is, so loses interest anyway. For some inexplicable reason she then decides that she wants him after all (teenagers, eh?). So, she changes her image, trashes what’s left of her endearing and intelligent personality, and dresses provocatively to entice this somewhat dumb and superficial guy. And – Hey Presto! They go together like rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong.
If you haven’t already been shown the door, you might just get to throw in that you think a two-thousand-seater West End theatre is the perfect venue. Preposterous. So maybe you should start the pitch with the title. When “Grease” was released for the cinema in 1978 it became the highest grossing musical film ever at the time. “Grease” was, and still is, the word, as the title song informs us. The New York Times called it “terrific fun”. Four and a half decades later that description still applies.
The current revival at London’s Dominion Theatre harks back more to the original musical which preceded the John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John blockbuster, and which ran on Broadway for eight years until 1980. It’s London debut starred Richard Gere. But the familiarity is still there, and everything we simultaneously love and lambast is bursting at the seams in Nikolai Foster’s sumptuous production. There is a glorious mix of silliness and surreality, bubble-gum and bravado. No matter that the storyline is imperceptible to the point that the opening bars heralding each song are a welcome respite from the banality of the dialogue.
It is within the musical numbers that the heart of the show beats fiercely. There are a couple of additions to the set list, and a couple restored from the original, though these feel inconsequential when up against the wealth of crowd pleasers. Foster bravely doesn’t always play to the crowd, however, but instead injects a freshness that puts a new slant on some of Jim Jacobs’ and Warren Casey’s compositions. Highlights include Jocasta Almgill’s biting rendition of “There Are Worse Things I Could Do” or Olivia Moore’s poignant ”Hopelessly Devoted to You” during which she decides she no longer belongs on the side-lines.
Moore’s Sandy does flirt with feistiness, but the character cannot escape the constraints of the script. Even in the seventies one must have wondered why she submits to such gender stereotypical peer pressure; and the question certainly looms larger today. In fact, there are so many wrong messages bouncing off the walls of the auditorium. For the most part they are drowned out by the infectious rhythms of the music and the gusto of the performances, driven by the sheer power of Arlene Phillips’ choreography.
There is little to be gained from looking for nuance or, indeed, emotional punch. We don’t feel the ‘multiplying chills’ about which Dan Partridge, as Danny Zuko, faultlessly sings. But if the onstage passion isn’t quite ‘electrifying’, the overall presentation is. As the closing number suggests: “that’s the way it should be”. Or rather “shoo-bop sha wadda wadda yippity boom de boom”.
