Tag Archives: Johan Persson

STILETTO

★★★★

Charing Cross Theatre

STILETTO

Charing Cross Theatre

★★★★

“a luscious musical that intrigues and teases with, rather than pulls, our heartstring”

The first thing you notice about the new musical, “Stiletto”, is the opulence of Ceci Calf’s set. Dimly lit in the pre-show, it depicts not so much a Venetian palazzo but something more subterranean. You almost expect ripples of light, cast from the canal waters, to dapple from above. It is moody, portentous and atmospheric. The musical itself follows suit. Consistently soul-stirring, grandiose and lush, it looks and sounds exceptional. A balcony circles the stage behind its proscenium arch, like a minstrel’s gallery. In the shadows we can make out the silhouettes of the fifteen-piece orchestra. A cast of seventeen grace the stage, yet Chris Baldock’s musical staging never makes it appear crowded. From the opening dramatic bars of music, we know we are in for something grand. There is a danger that the show might take itself too seriously. A feeling, however, which soon dissipates under David Gilmore’s pacey and fresh direction.

We are in Venice in the early part of the eighteenth century. Marco Borroni (Jack Chambers) is on the cusp of stardom. He is a ‘castrato’, which means he was castrated before puberty to preserve his soprano voice. Apparently, the process not only keeps the vocals skills intact, but it also in no way diminishes his pleasure-giving prowess – as his siren-like patron, the Contessa Azurra (Kelly Hampson), seductively points out. Meanwhile Marco meets feisty Gioia (Jewelle Hutchinson), a slave’s daughter, in the market square. His lust is turned into sheer wonder when he hears her sing, and he vows to sweep her up from the gutter into his own impending rise to fame and fortune. Of course, there are snags. In this case an accidental death, an ensuing scapegoat bound for the hangman’s noose (i.e. Gioia – that’s no spoiler by the way), a corrupt judicial system, and the predictable battle between good and bad – the underdog and the powerful. Tim Luscombe’s book follows a formulaic narrative, but there is a quirkiness and modernism to the dialogue, much of which swings effortlessly in time to the musical preludes.

The plot may be a touch thin, but Matthew Wilder’s score is as ripe and succulent as they come. Wilder generously gives each major character a solo moment in the spotlight, but he also allows the full ensemble to shine throughout. This could almost be a sung-through musical and often has that feel – the underscore subtly echoing the songs. Simon Nathan’s orchestrations highlight the variations; from a quiet harp-accompanied ballad through to the full pageantry of sweeping ensemble numbers. There are many musical highlights and just as many performance highlights. Chambers, as Marco, has a natural flair, mixing innocence with passion, carnality with self-righteousness. And a voice to match – particularly when standing alone, closing the first act with a gorgeously delivered ‘The Wanting’, or lamenting the tragic figure of his tutor Faustino (a rich-toned Greg Barnett). Jennie Jacobs stands in as a masked mezzo soprano whenever Marco is called upon to demonstrate the ‘castrato’ voice. Kelly Hampson’s Contessa Azurra is a force to be reckoned with, standing up to her corrupt yet camp husband, Pietro (a wonderful Douglas Hansell). Hampson’s solo number, ‘Amore Mio’ has a bond-theme quality, but with more interesting time signatures and shifts in tone.

There are surprises, too. When Connor Wood, as the mute Niccolo, finds his voice at a crucial moment in the story we are quite taken aback by his singing voice during ‘No Words’; and Sam Barrett’s down-trodden Luigi blossoms as he turns saviour and vocal raconteur extraordinaire with his solo number ‘Go Along’. But the one to watch out for is Jewelle Hutchinson, stealing the show whenever she walks on stage as Gioia. Spirited and ballsy (ironic given her paramour’s deficiency in that department), Hutchinson lets Gioia’s vulnerability cut through as well. And all the while her rich, wide-ranged vocals pierce our hearts.

The performances bring a heightened energy to the stage that befits the setting and the storyline. Cementing the sense of period are Anna Kelsey’s glorious and flamboyant costumes. Passion is the key word for this show. And drama. Sometimes melodrama slips in which, if you’re not paying attention, can hide the flaws in the narrative. It does feel as though a trick or two is missed, and certain themes are underexplored while the finale comes a little too quickly and too forced. That frustration aside, this is a luscious musical that intrigues and teases with, rather than pulls, our heartstrings. Full of light and shade, musically as well as visually, it might not penetrate quite as deeply or cleanly as a stiletto, but it certainly gets under your skin.



STILETTO

Charing Cross Theatre

Reviewed on 31st March 2025

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Johan Persson

 

 


 

 

 

Previously reviewed at this venue:

JACK AND THE BEANSTALK: WHAT A WHOPPER! | ★★★ | November 2024
TATTOOER | ★★★ | October 2024
ONE SMALL STEP | ★★ | October 2024
MARIE CURIE | ★★★ | June 2024
BRONCO BILLY – THE MUSICAL | ★★★ | January 2024
SLEEPING BEAUTY TAKES A PRICK! | ★★★★ | November 2023
REBECCA | ★★★★ | September 2023
GEORGE TAKEI’S ALLEGIANCE | ★★★★ | January 2023
FROM HERE TO ETERNITY | ★★★★ | November 2022
THE MILK TRAIN DOESN’T STOP HERE ANYMORE | ★★★ | October 2022

STILETTO

STILETTO

STILETTO

BACKSTROKE

★★★

Donmar Warehouse

BACKSTROKE

Donmar Warehouse

★★★

“Greig’s encapsulation of the sandwich generation – elderly parent to care for and young children too – is a masterclass in empathy and subtlety”

There’s a sign on the wall on the way into the Donmar theatre warning patrons about the use of herbal cigarettes in the production. There is no sign pre-figuring the far greater traumas the audience is about to experience: the indignity of death, the intrusions of humiliating healthcare, the cruel tricks of a failing brain.

Little wonder then that daughter Bo is keen on a swift departure for Beth, her mother, who has suffered dementia of late, and debilitating strokes.

Bo frets about everything, always has done, so she’s extra keen to convey to the nurses that her actions are merciful and not, as they occasionally hint, cruel and self-serving. Indeed, this was her mother’s repeated wish – pills, pillow over the face, nil by mouth etc.

She was a firecracker in her day, indomitable and difficult, full of life – not this half-inhabited skeleton.

Writer-director Anna Mackmin mines her own experiences to inform a difficult piece that leaps back and forth through time to capture scenes from a fractious mother-daughter relationship.

There are significant problems with the play, but the casting decisions mitigate many. Tamsin Greig as everywoman Bo and Celia Imrie as the feckless bohemian Beth paper over many a structural flaw. They are superb. Funny and touching and bracing. Greig’s encapsulation of the sandwich generation – elderly parent to care for and young children too – is a masterclass in empathy and subtlety.

Bo is dowdy, unkempt and frazzled, scratching out a life in the grout between vast slabs of thankless obligation. Her mother – a peacock in her day – has spent years pointing out her daughter’s shortcomings to the point where Bo has seemly embraced the criticisms in a grim homage. And yet, occasionally Beth (never “mum”) is an inspiration too, a source of joy and laughter.

Fittingly, designer Lez Brotherston’s stage has the operatic hospital bed on a raised stage, surrounded by medical paraphernalia and appearing more like a courtly throne. A step down and we’re in Beth’s ramshackle cottage, firmly frozen in the free-loving 1960s. Here she keeps her loom and her woven artworks. A vast black backdrop fills in some gaps with scratchy projections.

Unfortunately, the play – as baggy as Bo’s “Greenham Common” cardigan – has nowhere particularly to go with this set-up and offers few revelations beyond the Ab-Fab dynamic of selfish mother and attendant child.

There’s a certain shocking delight watching Celia Imrie swear like a trooper or provide a play-by-play recitation of her sexual antics, but this is always going to offer a diminishing return.

Director Anna Mackmin has failed to press writer Anna Mackmin on some key questions. Is it worth two hours? What do we learn? Does the play need another few minutes in the oven to be truly ready?

Her script captures scenes from their life when Bo is six, 18 and off to university (needy mum is desperate not to be left behind), in her 30s, 40s and so on, as though Beth’s failing brain is compiling a highlights reel. But once we have seen one flashback, we have seen them all, and the absence of progress ramps up the need for mawkish sentimentality as filler.

The saving grace is experiencing Tasmin Greig close up in the Donmar’s intimate space. She manages to find grandeur in the gruelling mundane and it is compensation enough.



BACKSTROKE

Donmar Warehouse

Reviewed on 21st February 2025

by Giles Broadbent

Photography by Johan Persson

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

Previously reviewed at this venue:

NATASHA, PIERRE & THE GREAT COMET OF 1812 | ★★★★★ | December 2024
SKELETON CREW | ★★★★ | July 2024
THE HUMAN BODY | ★★★ | February 2024
LOVE AND OTHER ACTS OF VIOLENCE | ★★★★ | October 2021

BACKSTROKE

BACKSTROKE

BACKSTROKE