CLOSER TO HEAVEN at the Turbine Theatre

★★★★

“unashamed fun, energised performances and a true, light-hearted celebration of decadence”

Nearly a quarter of a century on from its premiere at The Arts Theatre, Jonathan Harvey’s “Closer to Heaven”, with music from the Pet Shop Boys, is having another stab at getting closer to its goal. Although we’re still not quite sure what that is. So, for the time being it is best to take it at its superficial face value and plump for the sheer entertainment value it provides. It has that in abundance. Simon Hardwick’s revival splashes it over the gossamer-thin text in sexy swathes of flamboyance and camp panache. Designer David Shields has transformed the Turbine Theatre’s space into Vic’s club (surely soon to become a landmark as celebrated as ‘Rick’s Café’), complete with cabaret tables, haze, ultraviolet neon and dancing boys. We are closer to Heaven – the nightclub – than ever before.

Mistress of ceremonies is Billie Trix; a washed-up former icon, afraid to look in the mirror. Although we don’t quite understand why – Frances Ruffelle looks pretty damn good, and sounds sensational when she sings. The purity and emotion shines through, particularly in her solo numbers such as the evocative ‘Friendly Fire’ that opens the second act. She loses a touch of her command when she dips into dialogue, with a voice ravaged by years of abuse and an accent that has clearly lost its way. The owner of the club has a similarly tenuous hold on the proceedings. Filled with as many regrets, Kurt Kansley’s Vic is a bruiser with a heart of gold; a gay man trapped in a divorced father’s body, trying to make amends with a daughter who yearns for somebody to call Dad. His estranged daughter, Shell, is remarkably familiar with Vic’s entourage for someone who has just walked into his life after fifteen years, but we can overlook these discrepancies. Courtney Bowman’s standout performance lifts her character from the shallow text like the pages of a technicolour pop-up book that fold out into three dimensions.

A love story trickles away as a sub plot. Shell falls for newcomer Dave (Glenn Adamson). Or rather ‘Straight Dave’ as he is known – a nickname that is plainly in breach of the Sale of Goods Act. Dave falls for local drug dealer, Mile End Lee (Connor Carson). A sticky end all round is unavoidable. Adamson’s Dave is a wannabe singer and dancer whose integrity is as ill-fitting as a tight pair of shorts, while Carson’s angelic looks fail to betray any notion of his lifestyle. Of course, they ‘get it on’, to the chagrin of Shell, but the sparks don’t quite fly. And the repercussions trigger shoulder-shrugs rather than shockwaves of emotion.

There are moments of humour, with choice one-liners shared among the cast. David Muscat’s slippery music mogul, Bob Saunders, devours the clichés with relish and it’s difficult to tell whether he is choking on the words or his tongue in his cheek. But the whole company are having a ball. Especially Ruffelle, whose gleeful, natural exuberance shines brighter, warmer and more dazzling than the cool neon and swinging LED beams of light.

The music is everything you would expect of the Pet Shop Boys, but with more theatricality and a refreshing dynamic that is absent from their chart toppers. The score carries the show, along with the impeccable vocal performances. It is a beautifully dressed show, and slickly choreographed by Christopher Tendai. The ensemble are as integral as the leads, and just as watchable. If the performers are the stars, the costumes are the superstars.

We feel uplifted by the time we reach curtain call, which is surprising given the schmaltzy, message-heavy finale that wants to pull us under like a bed of quicksand. Yet we feel high. Not quite as high as the ketamine-fuelled characters onstage, mind, but at least we’ve remained this side of the law. Vic’s club is a place we’d like to frequent when looking for unashamed fun, energised performances and a true, light-hearted celebration of decadence. Well worth getting close to.