If the 1990 movie of love and
crime-fighting from beyond the grave were a song, it would be a
127-minute power ballad, so songwriters Dave Stewart and Glen Ballard’s
first priority here has surely been to take every opportunity to break
with that genre. They are fairly successful: with the duplicitous
character of Carl and the banking/scam business they can use more
driving rock, reluctant medium Oda Mae Brown occasions blaring soul
numbers, and so on. But the principal theme, Sam and Molly’s
inextinguishable love, keeps pulling them back towards AOR at the very
least, and often right into that territory in which people express
their yearning in a disproportionately full-throated manner.
Bruce
Joel Rubin’s big task in adapting his own screenplay has been how to
deal with That Scene: you know the one, potter’s wheel, “Unchained
Melody” and tempests of passion. This has been dealt with astutely by
all concerned. Clearance has been obtained to use the song itself (the
show would have been unthinkable without it), but it never appears
straight: first, Sam delivers a ludicrous late-period-Elvis parody,
wooing Molly through laughter; when the potter’s wheel scene belatedly
appears in Act Two, the song is interrupted by the arrival of Carl. It
also appears as counterpoint in a couple of the original numbers.
This is emblematic of the overall approach: where, say,
Dirty Dancing
across the West End is pitched as a live re-creation of the movie, this
is more of a tribute. Director Matthew Warchus is diligent in
fashioning a primarily theatrical experience, albeit with three
coarse-grained video walls and a number of ideas that seem to have been
inspired by the show
Enron.
Paul Kieve creates some fine illusions of incorporeality, aided by Hugh
Vanstone’s lighting design. Richard Fleeshman and Caiisie Levy feel
more humanly personable and less airbrushed as Sam and Molly compared
to their originals, Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore. Sharon D Clarke is a
blowsier Oda Mae than Whoopi Goldberg, but with all the comic skills
and a rightly admired powerful singing voice. Curiously, the show’s
moderate success is grounded in setting out
not
to hit particular targets: not to reproduce the sensations of the film,
not to be a massive spectacle in its own right, but to be efficiently
evocative of both. In some ways the most surprising moment of all is
when awareness of mood overrides stage-musical conventions by eschewing
an encore.
Written for the Financial
Times.