THE DROWSY CHAPERONE

THE DROWSY CHAPERONE

Leigh Operatic and Dramatic Society

at the Palace Theatre, Westcliff

11.05.13

for Sardines Magazine

We begin with a prayer offered in the darkness. "Oh dear God, let it be a good show; and let it be short …"

The hundred-year-old darkness of the Palace was a superb starting point for LODS' Drowsy Chaperone, which was both very good, and quite short. It's a musical within a comedy, a hymn of praise to Broadway's Golden Years, hosted by the nerdy, knowledgeable Man in the Chair. He doesn't get out much, is clearly widely read [Salman Rushdie and The Greek Myths on his bookshelf] but his pride and joy is his collection of original cast LPs. And tonight he has picked out a treat – Gable and Stein's The Drowsy Chaperone of 1928.

As he lowers his stylus, the crackly static is replaced by the excellent pit band [Stuart Woolmer conducting], and his little apartment fills with that original cast of stock characters, pouring in from the wings and his Tardis kitchen cupboards.

Not a weak performance, or a dull moment, in an impressive staging of this cult show, which started life at a stag night in Canada in 1997. David Shipman is Robert Martin, with his wooden acting, his roller-skates and his All-Brite smile, whose wedding to Oops Girl Janet van de Graaff [Kathy Clarke], with her priceless Show-Off encore, is at the heart of the cheesy plot. Both excellently done, as is Samantha Gourley's Chaperone of the title, belting out her rousing anthem and rootling for bootleg in her ample corsage. Youngsters Matthew Ford and Lily-May Byfield are outstanding as the Best Man [a stunning tap routine with Shipman] and the Aviatrix ["what we now call a lesbian..."], a brilliantly bold and brassy performance. And I mustn't forget LODS' chairman, Andrew Seal, "chewing the scenery" as Latin Lothario Adolpho.

And then there's The Man In The Chair. Anonymous, agoraphobic, living every moment of his favourite musical, torn between sharing trivia, footnotes and tittle-tattle and retaining the integrity of the work, his intermission limited to a power bar and a quick pee. A memorable character from Peter Brown; a genial companion in his cardigan and carpet slippers, he can't resist joining in the production numbers, crashing his sauce-pan-lid cymbals after a reviving drink …

The dance routines, choreographed by Sarah Robb, are polished and touchingly true to the spirit of the show, and Helen Sharpe's direction, with Rachael Plunkett as her MD, ensures a slick, professional feel to this unique entertainment. I shall long remember the big I Do In The Sky number at the end, with Trix's biplane assembled before our eyes from the white goods in the kitchen.

The production values are spectacularly high: cloche hats and loads of authentic-looking frocks, detailed props – even The Enchanted Nightingale has its own LP sleeve – and the glossy programme boasts not only a plethora of professional production shots but even a pull-out facsimile of the programme from the Morosco première.

Let's leave the last word to the Man in the Chair: "So, that was the Drowsy Chaperone. Oh, I love it so much! I know it is not a perfect show, the spit-take scene is lame and the monkey motif is laboured... but it does what a musical is supposed to do! It takes you to another world and it gives you a little tune to carry in your head for when you're feeling blue, you know? As we stumble along on life's funny journey. As we stumble along into the blue..."

THE DROWSY CHAPERONE

THE DROWSY CHAPERONE

Brentwood Operatic Society at Brentwood Theatre

20.10.12

Follies, of course, Forbidden Broadway, and, my favourite, Songbook, by Monty Norman [the "record" is on my shelves, man in the armchair, is it on yours ?}. They're all more or less affectionate spoofs of the great American musical. But none is as clever, or as spiritedly witty, as The Drowsy Chaperone.

The unique feature of this glorious pastiche is the framing device of a Broadway anorak – a very recognizable type, I'm sure I used to know this guy – sitting in his lonely apartment with his spider plant and his record player. In Jacob Allan's cheerfully camp production for Brentwood Operatic we have Ian Southgate, scarcely middle-aged, but otherwise perfect as the apologist for this 1920s froth. He helps with the plot, gives footnotes on the stars, mouths the words, and gets more and more involved in the cheesy routines. And along the way reveals a little of his own life.

The show – his first love, though he's never seen it live, is this delicious confection, whipped up to a traditional recipe. You'll recognize the ingredients: mistaken identities, dream sequences, spit takes, a Broadway impresario and his Follies, a suave British butler, comic gangsters, an airhead chorus girl. He plays the LP, a gift from his mother, and the performance comes to life before our eyes, right there in his room.

The performers successfully recreated the feel and the falseness of the genre. The Chaperone herself, glass in hand, wearing the second worst wig, was perfectly embodied by Nina Jerram – her rousing anthem to alcoholism a highlight of a constantly delightful production. The bride and groom were Juliet Thomas and Samuel Cousins – his dance duo with Best Man Dan Glock was impressively done. Amongst many other memorable creations, space only to mention the unlikely pairing of Mandi Threadgold-Smith and Jordon Cox as the gangster pastrycooks, Martin Harris as the Latin Lover, and Rebecca Toft outstanding in the relatively small role of the Aviatrix. The MD was Jonathan Sands.

We never quite forget that this is a show in one geek's mind. His kitchen cupboard conceals props, his bed is pressed into service, his LP skips a groove and a power cut spoils the climax. "I should start again from the beginning …" he muses. And such was the feel-good magic of the piece and the production [the absence of a tap routine the only disappointment], we'd have been quite happy for him to do just that...