A little over four years ago, in an eighty-seater black box near Regents Park, there was a workshop presentation of a new musical about an obscure World War II intelligence mission centring around a homeless corpse. The joint collaborators were all in agreement that it was a bit of a crackpot idea, but the foursome ran with it. They called themselves ‘SpitLip’ and described themselves as ‘makers of big, dumb musicals’. Of the four (David Cummings, Felix Hagan, Natasha Hodgson and Zoë Roberts), Hagan was the only one not to take to the stage. Instead, Claire-Marie Hall and Jak Malone were pressganged into the cast for the show’s first outing.
And they are there still. They are the first to admit that they never thought ‘it would go as far as this’. Along the way, though, the backers and the audiences have begged to differ. From the New Diorama, to Southwark Playhouse, to Riverside Studios and finally washing ashore in the West End. In retrospect, its transfer was inevitable for this “unmissable, irresistible, audacious and adorable; intelligent and invigorating” show. The quotation is from my review at Southwark two years ago – and it still applies. In fact, I could take the lazy option and copy and paste chunks of the original review (I won’t). Little has changed. Director Rob Hastie has been brought in to smooth the transfer to the figurative ‘bigger stage’. In essence, the playing space itself is no larger than either Southwark or Riverside. Ben Stones’ set and costume design adds gloss, right through to the ‘Glitzy Finale’ and Mark Henderson’s lighting releases the show from its budgetary shackles, but let’s face it – the show was already beyond improvement.
By its very nature it appears to be constantly on the edge of falling apart; an intended shambolic veneer that reflects the ‘fact-is-stranger-than-fiction’ story it tells. The real-life plot is too far-fetched to have worked, carried out by the brash and privileged but inept MI5 agents. Hitler needed convincing that the allies were not going to invade Sicily. “Act as if you do when you don’t… act as if you will when you won’t”. The lyrics from just one of the overwhelmingly catchy numbers epitomise the double bluffs that cram the book and the songs. To achieve this, Charles Cholmondeley (Cumming) hatches the idea to dump a corpse off the coast Spain, dressed as an Air Force Officer and bearing false documents that outline British plans to advance on Sardinia. Ewen Montagu (Hodgson) latches on to the absurd plan convincing Colonel ‘Johnny’ Bevan (Roberts) of its unfailing potential. Or rather of the lack of alternative strategies. The Germans were fooled completely. That’s not a spoiler – it is historical fact. Ewen Montagu even wrote a film about it years later – ‘The Man Who Never Was’. Throwaway snippets like these are scattered throughout the show, delivered with the flawless eye for satire by the company. Each cast member multi-role the numerous and outlandish characters and, irrespective of gender, always convincing in their attention to detail. It is ludicrous, scandalous, overblown and absurd; occasionally bordering on tasteless (all compliments).
“Operation Mincemeat” is a delight – hilarious from start to finish. But ingenious too. The comedy conceals its hidden depths. Beneath the Pythonesque book and beguilingly eclectic score lies a profundity that breaks through if you let it. “Dear Bill” (sung by Malone as the secretary Hester Leggett) is a ripple of pure poignancy. A simple, aching moment of personal expression that veils a global anti-war poem.
SpitLip never thought ‘it would go as far as this’. They have all stayed on board though, and it’s now going to be a long operation. The West End run keeps extending. At some point they might have to hand over the reins. The unmistakable chemistry that burns through the company is part of the attraction. The bar is set high for prospective cast changes. It is intriguing; not just to see where “Operation Mincemeat” (still their debut show) goes from here, but to see what else is up their sleeves. But for now, they have conquered the West End. Mission accomplished. Success!
“Each moment is a highlight, each step a carefully chosen phrase. An organic amalgam of light, sound, choreography.”
“Message In A Bottle” is the latest extravaganza from Kate Prince and her ZooNation company. The queen of hip-hop, Prince has made her mark already with the hits ‘Some Like it Hip Hop’, ‘Into the Hoods’ and ‘Everybody’s Talking About Jamie’. Drawing on Sting’s extensive back catalogue she has woven together a story of a refugee family in crisis. The more Juke Box Musicals proliferate in the West End, the more it becomes apparent that story tellers have problems fitting existing songs to a pre-conceived narrative. Whether Juke Box Dance (if such a term exists) is an easier option, I wouldn’t know, but the skill and virtuosity of the dancers make the story crystal clear and, for the most part, nothing jars with the choice of music.
Sting has often gone with the flow of the zeitgeist of socio-political opinion which, in turn, has shaped his lyrics. So it is no surprise that they lend themselves to the themes of displacement and civil war. Set in an unnamed country, we witness the plight of a community torn apart as their homes are destroyed, and we follow one family in particular on their journey to a new, initially hostile land. The music can’t tell this story on its own, yet the choreography can. Prince is a master of the art, ZooNation an inspiration, mixing street dance and ballet with ease. It is almost impossible to identify the individual dancers with the characters on stage, but no one needs to be singled out here. The whole company is exceptional; at times moving as one, breaking apart and coming together again with pops and pirouettes, break-dance moves and a gymnastic flair that is breath-taking.
We are swept along by the dual currents of the choreography and the music. “King of Pain” pinpoints the explosion of unrest, a black sun hanging over Ben Stones’ minimalist set. “Shape of my Heart” is a beautiful moment, a loving oasis amidst the chaos. “The Bed’s Too Big Without You” is a stunning combination of the dance, moving in perfect time to Andrzej Goulding’s projections and Natasha Chivers’ lighting. Each moment is a highlight, each step a carefully chosen phrase. An organic amalgam of light, sound, choreography. And the music. However, there are occasional jarring moments. “Don’t Stand So Close To Me”, for example, sat uncomfortably with the vision of black-hooded oppressors manhandling the refugees. It was impossible to divorce the original meaning of the lyrics from the scene being played out onstage. Elsewhere it worked better. The undertones of menace and stalking inherent in “Every Breath You Take” were well emphasised.
It’s not all doom and gloom. “Love is the Seventh Wave” opened up the skies to a dawn of hope, the black sun now a bright star. But the real stars of the show are the dancers. You’ll be singing Sting’s songs directly to them; “Every move you make, every step you take, I’ll be watching you…”
