★★★★★

“plenty of humour is accessible to the most casual West End attendee”

I Wish My Life Were Like a Musical takes you on a whistlestop musical tour behind the scenes of the West End. Written by Alexander S. Bermange, who also performs the piano accompaniments live on stage, it is catharsis for every (wannabe) performer.

Wilton’s Music Hall is one of my favourite venues in London for its dilapidated glamour, and it is the perfect location for I Wish My Life Were Like a Musical. Even traipsing up the Victorian staircases puts a spring in your box step.

The audience enters the performance hall with the curtain up, a black baby grand piano to stage right, three large be-glittered stars across centre stage, and a curtain rail hung with sequinned jackets. Even before the lights went down I was expecting a strong dose of camp. This is delivered in delightful abundance.

The musical opens with a pitch-perfect prologue ‘The Opening Number’ that stays just the right side of copyright law. It introduces the audience to the format of the show which could be summarised as a ‘How-to Guide’ to surviving in musical theatre – but as the show makes clear, probably not thriving.

There are plenty of references in Bermange’s lyrics that are like easter eggs for the most avid musical lover, from the deification of the now mononymous Idina to referencing the poor cast of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Cinderella who were (allegedly) dismissed with a tweet. However, plenty of humour is accessible to the most casual West End attendee, with excellent direction from Matthew Parker. I have never seen anyone get quite as intimate with a steamer, as did Sev Keoshgerian in a particularly hilarious number.

Songs make fun of key milestones within a musical performer’s career, as well as the characters met along the way. Once agent showcases were sent up, I sank into my seat, fully expecting critics to get eviscerated. When that moment inevitably came, I was barely prepared for its deadly accuracy.

(Top) hats off go to designer Sorcha Corcoran, who cleverly uses costumes and props to add to the production. The cast don hats in a song about musical superfans, and this simple addition immediately places them as characters from four well known musicals. This headgear is paired with primary coloured raincoats which fondly emphasises the trainspotter-like zeal of the most enthusiastic obsessives.

The stellar cast of Jennifer Caldwell, Sev Keoshgerian, Rhidian Marc and Julie Yammanee do the excellent songs justice. Highlights include Yammanee delivering I Love to Sing that has shades of Glenn Close for all the right reasons. Each song is enunciated perfectly, and every actor hits their vocal jokes. Choreography is on the simple side, but remains high energy throughout, even through the inevitable encore. Of course there is an encore!

In an era where audiences at the largest musicals are hitting the press with notoriously bad behaviour and performance rates insulate even less against a cost of living crisis, I Wish My Life Were Like a Musical serves as an especially pertinent reminder to humanise the triple threats amongst us. However, it never gets too glum. I leave humming the tunes, and tapping my feet in the toilet queue. To bastardise Oklahoma! Oh, what a beautiful evening.

THE WETSUITMAN at the Arcola Theatre

★★★

“Without fanfare, it delivers a sensitive, real portrayal of grief, anger and loss.”

The Wetsuitman begins as a farce. The three actors metatheatrically ponder who their characters are to be, settling on caricatures from a send up of a Nordic Noir. In this, The Wetsuitman begins as one thing we think we know, so long as you religiously watched The Killing a decade ago. But by the final scene 80 minutes later, we are a world away from a comforting murder mystery and are forced to face the stark, human consequences of the alienation of refugees across Europe.

This is a true and extraordinary story, translated to stage with some brave directorial choices. The four scenes are almost better understood as vignettes, and while occasionally confusing, telling a story this vast with just three actors and three orange chairs on an otherwise bare stage is certainly an achievement.

The play, written by Freek Mariën and translated by David McKay, borrows heavily from an article by journalist Anders Fjellberg, published in Norwegian paper Dagbladet. Reading that piece this morning, I recognised many of the lines from the stage. These verbatim quotes give the play heart, with idiosyncratic comments and unfiltered observations that can be profound, prejudiced and humourous in turn.

Each scene, from bumbling detectives on a Norwegian coastline, to a mourning family in Syria, has a significantly different theatrical direction (Trine Garrett). The piece lends itself to this patchwork style, with no single character serving as an anchor throughout. However, this sometimes meant I had to keep checking my notes and the cast list to keep up. For example, in the second scene, the cast switches between fourteen different talking heads, many of which are simply credited as ‘another salesperson’. It’s not a surprise that some of these are more distinct than others.

The tone changes again in the third scene which is set in the Calais Jungle refugee camp and for the only time in the piece, the actors are amplified with microphones. Only their voices are used to guide the audience through the Jungle, as Nikiforos Fintzos’ sound and Amy Daniel’s lighting throughout is kept minimal. Bringing out the microphones felt like an unnecessary and fussy addition; I half expected they would augment singing, or some other vocal effects that never came.

All stagey conventions and tech fall away by the final scene, which features excellent naturalistic acting from the cast of three – David Djemal, Eugenia Low and Youness Bouzinab. Without fanfare, it delivers a sensitive, real portrayal of grief, anger and loss.

Throughout the piece, significance is given to the role of the press in homage to investigative journalists behind the The Wetsuitman article. It was journalists who managed to solve this missing persons case when the authorities in Norway, the Netherlands, France and the UK could not recognise a person who ‘officially was not even here’. This point is for the most part subtly made, as the play keeps journalists off-stage, with their interviewees and sources only portrayed. Only a couple of times does the writing lean towards a larger conspiracy of ‘threats’ hanging over characters who speak to the press. This feels like a detraction from otherwise fair criticism of the inadequacies and apathy within the official investigative forces.

The Wetsuitman is a piece that lends itself to reflection and concentration. Though it was hard to pick out all the details live, after going back to the source material I was struck by how much was faithfully packed into the play. It might not have needed all of this, but I am glad they tried.

I WISH MY LIFE WERE LIKE A MUSICAL at Wilton’s Music Hall

★★★★★

“plenty of humour is accessible to the most casual West End attendee”

I WISH MY LIFE WERE LIKE A MUSICAL at Wilton’s Music Hall

Reviewed on 30th August 2023

by Rosie Thomas

Photography by Rod Penn

Previously reviewed at this venue:

I Wish My Life Were Like A Musical

I Wish My Life Were Like A Musical

THE WETSUITMAN at the Arcola Theatre

★★★

“Without fanfare, it delivers a sensitive, real portrayal of grief, anger and loss.”