FUN AT THE BEACH ROMP-BOMP-A-LOMP!! at Southwark Playhouse Borough

★★★

“If at times the show feels like it might sink beneath the waves, the performers are on hand to rescue it”

It’s hard to believe that we are barely three weeks away from the longest day of the year. The first day of summer. The clouds over London are grey, and a chill wind cuts through concrete avenues peopled by grim figures hiding under umbrellas. Not a Hawaiian shirt in sight, and thoughts of romping on a beach are… well – just thoughts. Vague dreams or distant memories.

Until, that is, you pass through the doors of Southwark Playhouse into the surreal world that is “Fun at the Beach Romp-Bomp-A-Lomp!!”. A world where the sun shines, albeit still only metaphorically, and where you’d have to be a real grouch to stop your mouth twitching into the shape of a smile. You have to admire the show’s creators, and their candid confession about the inspiration behind this romp through musical theatre. Having witnessed a jukebox musical that was (in their words) ‘staggeringly painful’ to watch, Martin Landry (book) and Brandon Lambert (music and lyrics) set themselves the task of writing a musical that was even worse.

And there you have it. Every step of the way Landry and Lambert expected the axe to fall, the plug to be pulled and test audiences to walk away. However, judging by the gathering at Southwark, they can happily bathe in, and surf on, the waves of laughter that come crashing down on their gag-riddled shores. It is not quite a jukebox musical. The musical numbers are all parodies and pastiches of well-known originals. The show is itself a parody. You begin by thinking it is making fun of the genre, but all it is really doing is making fun of itself. The butt of its own joke.

A simple premise. Each song title is a synonym. ‘It’s In His Kiss’ becomes ‘It’s In His Peck’ and makes great fun of the banal question and answer lyrical format. ‘Locomotion’ is now ‘The Ocean Motion’, The Beach Boys ‘Surfin’ U.S.A.’ morphs into ‘Surf America’ (genius, eh?), ‘Big Boys Don’t Cry’ is repackaged as ‘Mature Women Don’t Whine’… you get the drift. ‘Such fun’ – as Patricia Hodge would say in joyful desperation in a certain television sitcom. Which is the point. Don’t even try to make sense of the book onto which the songs are dolloped like an over-generous scoop of ice-cream onto a soggy, wafer-thin cone.

A motley crew of drifters skim onto the sun-drenched seaside to enter a bizarre ‘King – or Queen – of the beach’ competition. The challenges start out innocently enough before descending into a bit of a bloodbath. Meanwhile, virginal love matches swiftly nosedive into scandalous sagas of submarine adultery, and the supernatural is occasionally thrown onto the sand like twisted pieces of flotsam. A lot of the humour relies on repetition and stretching the gag to breaking point, but there are gems to be picked up if you’re in the right mood to detect them.

If at times the show feels like it might sink beneath the waves, the performers are on hand to rescue it, like breezy, Westcoast lifeguards relishing the fact they have the best job in the world. Their tongue-in-cheek sense of fun is infectious as they splash on the factor fifty cliché’s. Yet there is little protection to be had from the relentless cheesiness and silliness, so all that’s left is to just let go, ignore your bewilderment, and join in the fun. We are powerless. Even the privilege of making fun of it is taken away from us – they are doing such a good job of it themselves. Therein lies its genius, exemplified by some artfully and brilliantly timed lines of dialogue. “Even the stupidest musical can survive if it has one decent song”. Quad erat demonstradum. What more can I say!