“Brown’s book and lyrics is crammed full to the brim with questions, hence the title presumably. Although curiosity is startlingly absent”
There’s a weekly feature in The Guardian’s Saturday magazine titled ‘Across the Divide’, in which two mismatched people are thrown together on a date to see if they can enjoy each other’s company. Their differences may be political, philosophical or cultural. It is sometimes entertaining, sometimes downright dull; but a pleasant diversion to accompany a cup of coffee. Imagine stretching out the general concept into a two-hour musical and you might come up with something resembling “Killing the Cat’, Warner Brown and Joshua Schmidt’s new musical, premiering at the Riverside Studios.
Maggie (Madalena Alberto) is a world-weary, successful scientific author wanting to escape fame for a while, so decides to let her care-free sister-in-law Sheila (Kluane Saunders) whisk her off to the Italian countryside. Meanwhile, hippy-dippy Heather (Molly Lynch), who talks to dead poets in her head, inexplicably decides to drag along near-total-stranger Connor (Joaquin Pedro Valdes) to the same destination. Heather is chasing culture while Connor is seeking certainty, but in a very uncertain manner. In Italy, Maggie swoons over cabbage-vending Luke (Tim Rogers) who sounds like he’s from Sydney but hankers after Hackney. Luke is a born-again spiritualist living with his sister Paula (Kluane Saunders again) who dresses for ‘Oklahoma’ but has the artful cheeky chatter from ‘Oliver’.
Brown’s book and lyrics is crammed full to the brim with questions, hence the title presumably. Although curiosity is startlingly absent. Instead, we are delivered banality and cliché. Songs about molecular science, although with sub-molecular depth, compete with love ballads and debates that turn into arguments – at times resembling those countless conversations in student digs after closing time.
There is no denying the talent and vocal power of the performers. Even if their characters are not in harmony, as an ensemble the cast are perfectly in tune. Whilst each has their own moment to shine (such as Lynch’s delicate ‘All the Dead Poets’ or Alberto’s touching ‘I Think I Want to Go Home’), collectively they discover much needed dynamism in what is essentially a cycle of synonymous songs. The ‘big’ questions in life have been thrown into a thesaurus, the overly long index of which informs the script. The characters suffer from the subsequent shallowness. There is heightened emotion in the delivery, but nothing touches the heart. But then again, too much time is spent discussing whether the heart is just a blob of muscle and chemicals or whether it is the gateway to the soul.
Jenny Eastop’s staging makes good use of Lee Newby’s evocative, white-washed set: a mix of M. C. Escher and Tuscan villa, bathed in Mediterranean warmth by Jamie Platt’s lighting. Schmidt’s score is enlivened by the onstage trio of percussion, keys and cello. There are, indeed, moments of beauty to be found. The musicianship is faultless, particularly cellist Georgia Morse whose presence and musicality is a highlight throughout.
There are leitmotifs and false endings, and plenty of existential angst in the second act. And although the immovable opinions of the characters seem to melt ever so slightly under the weight of the sugary conclusion, there is still little to care about. The two pairs of lovers are not even certain whether they disagree or merely agree to disagree. The questions remain. But the curiosity? Whilst it may rub the fur the wrong way, it is not going to trouble the cat – let alone kill it.
“a skilled and entertaining, if rather undramatic, evening”
The intriguingly named The Sorrows of Satan is not a musical, but a “play with music.” That definition is one of the running gags in this elegant four hander by Luke Bateman (music) and Michael Conley (lyrics), directed by Adam Lenson, and filmed at the impressive Brocket Hall for online presentation. Another running gag is that no matter where we are in the plot, any time a new song is introduced, the tune is always the same, unless the devil has substituted his own music. Audiences won’t be surprised, therefore, to learn that this show is a new adaptation of the Faust story — and a very loose adaptation at that. More interestingly, The Sorrows of Satan takes more of its source material from Marie Corelli’s 1895 best selling novel of the same title. But as is sometimes the case when novels are adapted for the stage, there’s a lot of attention paid to the characters, but not really enough on the complex story that surrounds them. The result is a drama that is rich in delicious dialogue and clever song lyrics, but a bit thin on plot and a satisfying denouément.
No one reads Corelli any more, which is a pity, since her novels are well written descriptions of the excesses of the Gilded Age, with the perspective of a writer who knew how poverty could challenge the artist in search of a muse, and who also knew at first hand the circus that follows fame and fortune. Now that we are living through a new Gilded Age, it’s easy to see why Bateman and Conley picked this novel to adapt for the stage. Kudos to them and their producers, Aisling Tara and Alfred Taylor-Gaunt, for presenting it now. The pandemic has made it even harder for struggling artists to make a living, let alone find recognition for their work.
This adaptation of The Sorrows of Satan does make references to the social consciousness that Corelli was famous for, but Bateman and Conley prefer a lighter tone full of repartee and bon mots, which is more appropriate, given the setting for this production. They begin by introducing us to Geoffrey Tempest, a writer on the verge of destitution, who has been invited, rather improbably, to present his new “play with music” The Sorrows of Satan, to a specially invited aristocratic audience at a stately home. Once we learn that the devil, aka Prince Lucio Rimanez, is behind this invitation, hoping to win Tempest’s soul, the improbable becomes acceptable, and the theme of temptation and soul selling for fame and fortune finds its well worn groove.
The lion’s share of the action in The Sorrows of Satan go to Bateman, playing author Geoffrey Tempest, and Conley, as Prince Lucio. These two are likeable foils for one another, with good singing voices. Conley in particular is a charming, if rather languid devil, who can, at times, be roused to push people out of windows when they step out of line. It is left to Molly Lynch, playing a variety of women who step out of line by refusing to fall in love with Tempest, to provide some dramatic, and sexual, tension. She is suitably aristocratic as Lady Sybil, aggressively feminist as (successful) playwright Mavis Clare, and finally, sweet and vulnerable as the fresh young Irish actress Molly, who provides a way out of the tempting dilemma the devil and his eager victim find themselves. All three actors, together with musical director Stefan Bednarczyk, present on stage at the piano, and playing the (mostly) silent Amiel, Prince Lucio’s factotum, provide a skilled and entertaining, if rather undramatic, evening.
