My Mixed Day at MTFest: The Assassination of Katie Hopkins & Soapdish

Musical theatre composers always say the test for what songs make the final score is rigorous and specific: They have to serve the story. The story comes first and the music needs to help tell it, whether by driving plot or developing characters. If the best song you’ve ever written doesn’t serve a purpose in the story, or just doesn’t fit the rest of the show, it needs to be cut. (That’s how we got the Hamilton Mixtape.) (Also how we got the incredible song “Come Down From That Tree” which we only know from Audra McDonald’s own recording of it because they wisely cut it from Once on this Island because it didn’t fit, even though it is a Best Song Ever.) I feel like most new musicals forget this test. Despite having so many productions in so many cities over the past four years, the London production of Amelie is full, packed, of songs that don’t pass the test. And the ones that do serve a purpose don’t fit the rest of the show, as the inconsistent tone only becomes more and more chaotic as the night goes on. It’s overall a poorly constructed show (funny since the actual physical construction/set design is the strongest part) with a confused purpose.

I don’t remember much about Amelie the movie, except that of course it was beyond whimsical and is probably responsible for the onslaught of manic-pixie-dreamgirls in the culture, or at least pale brunettes whose main personality trait is ‘quirky’. (PSA: Quirky/weird is not a personality.) A lot of my criticism of the ridiculous, messy story is likely taken straight from the movie. You might argue then that my problem is with the movie writers, not the creative team of the musical. And to that I’d say, what is this, Pretty Woman? Your job in adapting a film for the stage is not to copy and paste, failing to fix what needs to be fixed in order to work onstage. Whether this jumbled story worked in the film is completely irrelevant for stage purposes. They may have nailed the proper whimsical, eccentric tone in the movie, but trying the same things to achieve the same things in a different medium is bonkers and has resulted in an almost incoherent musical, with no discernible tone, objective, meaning, or intention.

With music by Daniel Messe (who wrote the music for the movie…and that score is excellent…so like…ah) and Nathan Tysen, and a book by Craig Lucas (who wrote one of my faves The Light in the Piazza which is also about a young girl who is, shall we say, not entirely there (so we were like…is that the only character he likes to write about because that’s problematic)), Amelie tells of a young French girl who lives through her imagination after a childhood of seclusion because her parents forking sucked. (Her mom gets killed by a man who jumps off Notre Dame, but he ALSO FIRST SHOOTS HIMSELF? Why? To make sure? What an asshole.) She decides to do a nice thing that makes someone else happy, so then she decides to do more nice things for other people and try to break out of her shell and maybe one day live in the real world. It sounds adorable! Except the things she does FORKING SUCK. Amelie the character is GODDAMN ASSHOLE. Is she supposed to be adorable? Is the whimsy supposed to make up for her assholiness? To quote Chidi-Janet: It does not. Makes it way worse.

The good deeds Amelie does include: finding a box under her floorboards and deciding to find its owner, which she does remarkably easily. To mark this occasion and her decision to do more good things, she…no, she doesn’t sing a song, her neighbor does, about being the old French man version of Samuel L. Jackson’s Mr Glass character.

Then, in the café where she works, there’s a really terrifying man stalking one of her coworkers because they went on a date a year ago. Instead of calling the police and filing for a restraining order, and maybe alerting the French version of the FBI that this is for sure a future incel/supremacist who is going to murder women, Amelie…sets him up with her other friend. For this there is no excuse.

Then there’s the mean old grocer who is mean to the boy who works for him because he…loves figs? This kid gets a little song about figs. Amelie doesn’t get a solo in the entirety of Act I. In Act II, she feeds the old man fig tart and it somehow makes him nice. I don’t know.

At some point, she bumps into a man named Nino, who spends his time going through public photo booths, like the kind where you get a strip of 4 photos in black and white. He collects the discarded ones; it’s his art. It’s love at first sight and Amelie sings about how striking this unexpected feeling is…no, Nino sings a song about the photo booth light. One day he loses his collection of photos, and Amelie finds it. Instead of returning it to him, she plays infuriating games with him and keeps his prized possession from him for literally weeks, but I guess he finds that adorable. I was fuming. Give people their shit back. One of the games she plays includes…going to the sex shop where he works, disguising herself as a nun, and then running away scared when she realizes he’s going to come out and see her?? WHAT DID SHE THINK WAS GOING TO HAPPEN? What is this white nonsense.

Amid all of this is a weird and tacky obsession with the death of Princess Diana. It’s in poor taste. I get that that’s a big thing in the movie but man alive it felt gross. Amelie imagines a big mega funeral for herself, with Elton John performing…and Act I ends with a HUGE rocking Elton John number that again, did not fit the show AT ALL.

I’m going to repeat that Elton John gets a big Act I number but in a musical named after her, Amelie does not have a solo in the entirety of the first act (except for a mini reprise). She doesn’t even seem like the main character at any point. The tone of the show is inconsistent and even contradictory, just all over the place, with big ridiculous silly numbers performed by giant garden gnomes and Elton Johns along with offbeat, artsy introspective songs. I guess with the contrast of styles they wanted to capture some whimsy? But it just feels like nonsense. There’s no magic. There’s one or two great songs in Act II, one with Amelie at the piano, that shows how good this show could have been with more work, and more editing. Or any editing.

Fortunately, along with the wonderful set design, the cast is doing a great job trying to keep this material afloat. Audrey Brisson’s Amelie looks exactly right and gives a great performance. The show takes a memo from the John Doyle playbook and has the actors doubling as the orchestra, which is impressive, and everyone is pretty uniformly good to great. With the solid cast and design, the production is definitely decent, but unlike the Guardian I can’t get past the material.

INFORMATION

Amelie is playing at The Other Palace in London until February 1.

This theatre has one of those horrible no-center-aisle situations so be sure to book seats on or near the aisles if you want to avoid being the last person out. Bathrooms are outside in the bar area but ALSO down in the secrets bowels of the building, accessed via a door directly at the bottom of the stage on the house left side. It took me several visits to learn about these secret and much better bathrooms down in the hallways between the main house and the studio that no one would usually get to explore. So now I like to sit on the house left/stage right aisle.

There is a lot of unnecessary smoking, and whatever herbal cigarettes they are using almost made me pass out. I get that ‘it’s Paris’, but you’ve shown that in myriad other ways. I dare anyone involved in theatre to defend well the use of cigarettes in a show. It’s never really necessary and instead is a health hazard to all and I don’t understand how it’s legal.

There’s also a super loud gunshot that shocked the shirt out of me. There was a small sign with all the trigger warnings on the door to the theatre but the ticket takers were blocking it when we entered, so, great work.

The first act ended at 20:43 and the show ended at 22:15. I felt every minute of it.

It’s Theatre Thursday! Today’s show is Tree, at the Young Vic until August 24.

In a post-theatre conversation this week, we established that the number of professional stage productions I’ve seen is in the thousands. I can say with all the certainty of someone who is pretty tired and should have taken her contacts out 5 hours ago and has a hard time remembering many of the 1000s of shows (as one would) that I have never been more frustrated by any show than I was with Tree, the creation of (as it says in all the program and marketing material, it was ‘created by’ them, not written by) Idris Elba (yes that one) and Kwame Kwei-Armah, the latter of whom also directed. It’s maddening beyond belief, because there’s so much potential in the story – if you can find the story underneath the noise. Tree shows glimpses of deep, provocative drama, but the creators obscure those little captivating buds with tons (and tons) (and tons) of bells and whistles that are beyond unnecessary, to the point where the entire experience is extraneous.

The most well-known of said bells and/or whistles is the immersive nature of the show. As we saw with the recent productions of A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Bridge Theatre and, in smaller part, with Barber Shop Chronicles at the Roundhouse (at least to start the show), immersive style theatre is this summer’s trend. I’m all for immersion if it works. It works like a dream at Midsummer (I didn’t mean to make that so corny but alas) because the story remains the focal point. Sure the crowd is ushered hither and thither but never in a way that distracts from the actors or the words. This is a lesson in restraint that Tree did not learn. I don’t think Tree even knows the word restraint. The immersion exists here simply for its own sake, simply to make audiences feel like it’s all about them – and it is.

Beginning with most of the crowd in the middle of the stage dancing with the cast to super loud (like too loud) club music (literally my nightmare), the show is ostensibly about a young Londoner who goes to South Africa for the first time to confront his family’s history and learn about the strife that led to his existence and is in his blood. Now that story could be great, and like I said there are moments of almost-greatness. But instead of letting those moments breathe and grow, the play continues to rely on tricks like these dance parties to convince the audience that this was fun. And most of the audience did have fun, because of course they did if it’s a huge dance party. Londoners love clubbing!

The first half hour drags, with little happening to propel a story but LOTS happening to distract you from it – more super loud dance breaks apropos of nothing, staff repeatedly handing out placards to hold up, staff moving you around to set up another effect, staff making you hold sticks (staff have never worked harder in a theatre; they did not stop for a second, which was distracting). There was an inane release of either glitter or dirt – I honestly couldn’t tell the difference, quite the metaphor – over most of the crowd, and lots of Alfred moving through the crowd unnecessarily. (This last one seems just to give everyone the rush of a famous actor walking right by you, because that’s what everyone wants – to feel like they’re a part of whatever is happening, regardless of whether it makes sense. Everyone wanting to be a part of things is already the downfall of theatre, with the rampant videos and snapchatting during it, but more on that at the end.) There was a character we met for less than a minute who performed handstand pushups for no reason other than to show off and have the crowd cheer. There were loud gunshots. There was a character introduction via hip hop performance. And sure she’s a good performer, but WHY? Every inch of this production had me asking why. Nothing was in service of the story, so everything felt exasperating.

As Alfred’s character Kaelo delves deeper into his family’s past, there is a good ten minute chunk that felt like a completely different, compelling play: when modern day demonstrations gave way to a memory play of the protests in 1985, when Kaelo’s parents got together. There were fewer distractions here, fewer dance parties, and it worked. Those ten minutes or so worked. I wish I could see the rest of that play.

But I couldn’t because it was then time for another dance partayyyyyyyy! Wooooooooot!

Without any real commitment to telling this story, the overly dramatic direction – so much melodramatic music, so much slow motion – felt unearned, since any drama took a backseat to the audience’s constant outward enjoyment. There’s a good story (potentially a great story) under all that noise somewhere, and that’s what makes it so infuriating. The issues brought up could be challenging in a novel way, but instead of developing them, they’re tossed in the air like beach balls that you throw out into a crowd, one crowd-loving trick I was shocked that they didn’t use. I couldn’t even watch the climax because the staff was having us set up yet another effect. All of the bells and whistles quickly grew wearisome, and it’s a shame that they took over to become the experience. I have never seen such reliance on spectacle at the expense of storytelling when there is such a good story desperately trying to be heard.

INFORMATION

Tree is at the Young Vic until August 24. You can get discounted tickets to some performances on the TodayTix app.

Beware – or enjoy, I guess, if you’re a monster – that they allow photography and filming of the entire show. People were filming the entire show right in the very front row, standing next to ushers, throughout the entire theatre. People were taking FLASH photography during big moments! People were taking live video and putting it on snapchat or whatever they do! The ENTIRE TIME. And it was fine with the staff, so if you are not a fan of that kind of thing, take a valium, and if you are, wtf is wrong with you.