What is it with musicals? Paper-thin characters, ludicrous plots, over-emphasised, repetitive (and overloud) musical numbers, and what do you get in the end? A thoroughly good night out.
Anyone who knows me knows of my resistance to sentimentality of any kind, not to mention the kind of manipulation creators of musical theatre impose on audience members in their constant efforts to get us to laugh and cry. Those are two of the many reasons why I don’t go to musicals. I don’t see why they should be allowed to get away with the kind of puerile plotting and banal characterisation that you’d never see in a straight play. I don’t see why they expect us to leave our brains behind and blast what’s left of us with childish versions of history or artificially hyped songs about lurv, delivered with relentlessly overstated passion. Or what passes for passion in musical theatre.
The trouble is that more than once in recent times I’ve found myself sitting in the auditorium and watching a musical that, yes, has made me both laugh and cry. And it’s often not until later that I’ve begun to think – hang on, that was a clunky piece, that made no sense at all, why would he/she do such a thing? – in other words to pick holes in the plot, and the characterisation, and in pretty well everything else. But not at the time, and this is the crux of the matter.
Mrs Henderson Presents is a case in point. It tells the story of the 70-year-old wealthy widow who, on a whim, bought the Windmill Theatre and turned it from a struggling space showing non-stop revue to the now all-famous ‘We Never Closed’ theatre featuring naked motionless ladies in tableaux vivants. (The motionlessness in order to get past the Lord Chamberlain’s censorship.)
The show, based on the 2005 film starring Judi Dench, isn’t anything like as multi-layered or thought-provoking as it might have been. Nor does it set out to be. It is a slickly-written, cleverly directed piece – direction and book by Terry Johnson – that knows exactly how to press the right buttons to get the audience cheering and whooping. The tea girl becomes the star. The show goes on despite bombs dropping. Mrs H and her producer Vivian Van Damm show the kind of stubborn stoicism you only ever associate with the theatre and the plucky, defiant souls who keep it going against all the odds.
The obligatory clapping-along-with-the-music, not to mention the get-the-audience-on-its-feet-dancing that’s now a common feature at the end of a musical is enough to bring out the curmudgeon in anyone. But maybe that’s the whole point. What many serious, not to say snobbish theatregoers (I include myself) are at risk of forgetting these days is that there is nothing wrong with an enjoyable night out. It’s a case of adjusting expectations and temporarily stifling your inner critic.
For my full review of the show click on londontheatre1.com