Indecent Proposal at the Southwark is a must-see I can’t stop yelling about

It’s Theatre Thursday! Today’s show is the musical Violet, playing at London’s Charing Cross Theatre until April 6.
 
Violet, the 1997 musical by Jeanine Tesori and Brian Crawley, is pretty different as far as stories go: there kind of isn’t one. It’s more of a character study of our titular gal and two supporting men. The score is completely mixed, with some incredible songs and some that should have been cut, or at least cut in half, so the show depends entirely on a superstrong production in order to succeed. When I first saw Violet, it was the 2014 Broadway production with Sutton Foster and Joshua Henry, and it was so shiny and bright and impressive that I barely noticed that a compelling story was missing. With smaller productions, like the current one at the Charing Cross theatre, it’s harder to hide the show’s flaws. Although it’s a pretty nice production with some great talent, it’s clear that Violet is a rather mediocre show – decent and sweet, but mediocre – and there’s nothing anyone can do to hide it without the distraction of Broadway excess.

Based on a short story called “The Ugliest Pilgrim” by Doris Betts, which is a terribly sad title for anything, especially when pilgrim was one of my nicknames growing up so like ahh don’t call me that and really don’t call anyone that, Violet tells the story of a woman named Violet who was horribly disfigured as a young girl in an ax accident. An ax-ident! Oh fun! I mean not fun that she or anyone was disfigured by an ax but I mean come on, ax-ident, wonderful. Violet has grown up with everyone staring and shuddering at her horrible face, and all she wants is to be beautiful or to at least get through a day without some stranger looking at her and convulsing in horror. The actress playing Violet never has any prosthetics or makeup or anything to show her injury; it’s just the actress unadorned, which I love. You have to use your imagination and also it’s probably saying something super deep about how all our problems are inside our minds although Violet’s really weren’t, she had like a cheek split in two. Violet decides to get help from the one man in America who can help her – the big television preacher man. Obviously he’s full of shit but Violet needs to believe that someone out there can help her, and just it’s a shame that she puts all her faith in a swindler megachurch pastor kind of guy.
 
So the plot is, Violet leaves her farm in North Carolina and gets on a long bus journey to Oklahoma to find the preacher at his next big television extravaganza where he will swindle more poor stupid people out of their hard-earned cash and give them false hope. She boards the bus with two army dudes, Flick and Monty, as well as a nosy old lady, lots of people who shudder at her face as per usual, and if they were going to Tulsa I’m guessing Chandler? As everyone boards the bus and begins their own journeys, they sing the first big ensemble number, “On My Way”, which is truly excellent in this production. All the voices swelled together and the movement was right on, and it doesn’t hurt that it’s one of the better, catchier songs in the show. It’s the kind of big joyous full company song in a show that makes your heart swell. It’s right in the beginning, so I was like ‘oh wow this is going to be amazing’, but this was the best moment of the show. After they all board and eat their best snacks, I guess, they just like…sit on the bus and play cards and get to know each other and then they get to Oklahoma. We watch people suffer on a long bus journey where I bet they don’t get to pee very often and it was probably so stuffy and everyone smelled bad and you’re surviving on like gas station packaged snacks and all you want is a salad and for the love of god a bathroom. At certain points in the play the bus driver will be like ‘okay that’s five minutes for your rest stop!’ and SOME PEOPLE DON’T GO TO THE BATHROOM like I get that it wouldn’t be a great show to be realistic like that but thinking about long buses and NOT going to the bathroom when you need to made me super anxious. 

While Violet (Kaisa Hammarlund) rides the bus and writes in her mama’s old bible, she thinks about how she’s gonna be beautiful and remembers her 14-year-old self, which is when the ax-ident happened. Violet and Young Violet (a maybe 11-year-old looking girl who did not look 14 and whose attempt at an American accent, I’m sorry, was literally this) sing and swirl around the stage (in the round for kind of no reason) together as Violet remembers her younger self, the poor girl she’s trying to save from a lifetime of misery. Meanwhile, both Monty (Matthew Harvey) and Flick (Jay Marsh) for some reason fall for Violet, Flick in what we’re to assume is a deeper, real love kind of way and Monty, because he’s more of a playboy, in a less real way. And here’s the problem. This horribly disfigured girl has two eligible men fall in love with her like immediately? Um. Our Violet, Hammarlund, was remarkable in the Young Vic’s production of Fun Home last summer, and she’s very talented and always enjoyable, but here she didn’t feel like a good fit. Her Violet is kind of/super annoying. And maybe Violet just is annoying always, but then why are these two random guys falling for her? It sort of worked when Violet was Sutton Foster because she is so gosh darn charming and disarming and adorable but I just didn’t feel any reason for the romances here. It doesn’t help that Hammarlund is tortured with a horrendous wig that like someone should be fired for so you’re extra curious why these men are obsessed with her. 

Another big issue in that regard is, the audience is clearly supposed to want her to choose Flick, a solid, steady man who gets the biggest bestest song in the show, “Let it Sing”, and our Flick did a fine job with it. Monty is supposed to be this womanizer who only wants to sleep with her, so we are supposed to root for Violet to turn him down. But…Monty shows no signs of not being serious about her. He seems fine. Since he’s fine, there’s no drama at all in her choice. Maybe that makes more sense because that’s how real life is, with decisions that could easily go in either direction – you’d rarely have trouble deciding between two options where one is clearly great and one is clearly bad. But then to make this supposed drama of her love triangle one of the driving forces of the show means it all falls flat. The show is all ‘Monty’s a cad he’s going to desert you he just wants a piece of ass’ but then everything Monty does contradicts that. Sure Flick is probably the better choice overall but still, there’s no obvious reason for it, at least not in this production. You’re supposed to feel that theirs is real love, I guess, but there’s no evidence of it. And with the focus of the show being on the relationships between these characters, to find it not fully fleshed out enough to suffice as the only real story is disappointing.
 
Aside from the barely-there plot and the score that seemed unedited (why does the preacher’s big show rehearsal need to be so g-d long? He’s not important!), it’s still a sweet, good-natured show and a nice time. The three main characters are likable and relatively interesting, and there are enough great songs to keep this moving. Two ladies in the supporting cast, who get to show off as night club singers and actors in the preacher’s show, are incredible vocalists and it’s a real treat to hear them sing, even though the night club was repeated over and over to be a jazz club and none of the music was jazz. It’s a solid production, but I don’t think there’s any way to cover up the flaws.
 
INFORMATION
Violet is playing at the Charing Cross Theatre (under the arches by Embankment) until April 6. They said it was 90 minutes, one act, but it was an hour 50 minutes!!! Were they trying to make us feel like we were on the bus and couldn’t stop for a bathroom?! It says now that it’s 100 minutes but like still that is inaccurate. 

“Someone tell the story, someone sing the song. Every now and then the country goes a little wrong. Every now and then a madman’s bound to come along! Doesn’t stop the story – story’s pretty strong. Doesn’t change the song.” Stephen Sondheim’s brilliant, dark, and often funny look at what drives certain people to commit atrocities, “Assassins” is an exceptional and provocative show. Its current production at London’s Menier Chocolate Factory is one of the most well-done shows I have yet seen in London. If you are a frequent reader, you may be thinking, well that doesn’t say much. However, I could say right now that I found not a single fault with it…but then you’d have little reason to keep reading, so I won’t. 

These above-quoted opening lines of the show (the true opening of the story, after a crazy sort-of prologue) reflect what our main characters seek: for their story to be added to history, to become part of the main story, be sung of. To gain fame as part of history’s need to always mention them in the same breath as the great men they assassinated. And that’s what this story brilliantly tells – how Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley, Reagan, Ford, all these important presidents, were killed or almost killed, but by barely mentioning their names. The names that matter here are the assassins – Booth, Guiteau, Czolgosz, Hinckley, Fromme – as we see things from their perspectives. To make things even more twisted and frightening, this is staged in a sort of abandoned carnival, with each assassination attempt treated as a carnival game and lit-up “Hit!” or “Miss!” signs accompanying each gunshot. Like carnivals weren’t scary before.

First, the central character: “Johnny Booth was a handsome devil!” These lyrics are hella true in this production. Broadway’s Aaron Tveit is adoooorable. More importantly, he handles the vital role of John Wilkes Booth sublimely, being a charming and debonair Southerner who clearly conveys a base desire for ill-gained notoriety. Although his main action (killing Abraham Lincoln, obviously) is done early on, he hangs around to support the others, because, as the Balladeer sings early on, “Damn you, Johnny! You paved the way for other madmen to make us pay!” Booth pretty much started a trend in America, and so his presence is required throughout the show. 

Despite his inherent evil, Booth seems the most stable of all the characters, and probably is. The most unstable is also my favorite. “Look on the bright side, not on the sad side…I am going to the Lordy”, sings Charles J. Guiteau, the most weirdly likable character in this production, probably because the actor, Andy Nyman, is so damn good in this role, petrifying but kind of lovable. Guiteau was executed for killing President Garfield, after being denied the ambassadorship to France, which he had long assumed would be given him when he requested it. Some of the lyrics to his big song actually came from the poem he wrote the day of his execution and recited on the gallows as he laughed and danced, before hanging. The poem was called “I am going to the Lordy”. Sondheim turned this into the most catchy, horrifyingly optimistic song that captures Guiteau’s, well, gallows humor and clear insanity. Here, Guiteau also sings and dances on the gallows, performing a cakewalk and an ever-intensifying song before swinging from the noose in front of us. It’s so disturbing and so powerful. Also, Nyman does the best American accent by a Brit that I’ve heard so far in London theatre. 

Before deciding to kill the president, Guiteau writes books that don’t sell and he convinces himself and others that he’s the future Ambassador to France. By seeing our characters’ failures and blown ambitions, you start to feel for them. You think, this poor guy couldn’t catch a break, and yes obviously needs mental healthcare that no one is going to provide. The music and the stories lead you on a path to almost commiseration, and then hopefully you snap out of it and realize how f-ed up you have to be to consider making this turn. But that’s the genius of “Assassins”, showing history from their perspectives and forcing you to recognize their humanity.

Personal failures as well as professional failures take blame for coaxing some down this path. “I am unworthy of your love” is a duet between two strangers, Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme (Carly Bawden) and John Hinckley Jr. (Harry Morrison), the failed assassins of Gerald Ford and Ronald Reagan, respectively. The memorable and pretty lovely song shows how some are led towards awful deeds in trying to impress others. The show’s Hinckley is an odd man who can’t find love, in the all-too-familiar sense of men like the Santa Barbara killer who get angry and frustrated when women, whom they were told their whole lives that they as men were entitled to, rebuffed them. Our society’s continued view of women as playthings and pretty things that men should have a say over is creepily reflected in this character, as he decides to kill a president in order to impress a movie star enough that she’d actually know he existed (as opposed to, say, the modern version of men killing the women who threaten their world view).

Fromme, on the other hand, tries to assassinate Ford in order to impress her lover, Charles Manson, whom she believed was Jesus reincarnated. And if Jesus wishes for you to kill the president, you do that! (No, seriously, don’t, even if it’s really Jesus.) Luckily, she and Hinckley failed. In this production, Fromme’s failure is shown as mostly due to her ridiculosity of a partner in crime, played by British favorite Catherine Tate as Sara Jane Moore. It’s a smallish role but she’s hilarious. A lot of people think Tate plays it too over the top, but I found her antics necessary to brighten up all the dark psychology of the show. (Except when she accidentally shoots her dog. Not funny. Luckily a stuffed dog was used, so sort of funny.) Her best bits include her shooting practice on a bucket of KFC, after which she eats the chicken. But nothing is funnier than when Moore and Squeaky botch their assassination attempt so freaking badly that, in their mad rush to complete it in a crazy moving crowd, they are unable to reload and instead throw bullets at Ford while shouting ‘Bang!’ Amaaaazing.

The real brilliance of the show is demonstrating how a person’s disappointment in living a small life can lead to such a path, just to make some kind of name for himself. And we know this so well. Mental instability of all sorts leads many to commit mass atrocities because, as we know, our media will make perpetrators famous. Whenever the awful story of a school shooting or of President Lincoln’s final days is told, so too will the name of the murderers, or of Booth. 

No one explains this better than Booth himself, who uses it as a selling point when trying to persuade our narrator, the Balladeer, whose identity becomes a beyond genius twist (that was added in the revival, and I can’t see the musical being as poignant without it).  In the recording I know best, my balladeer was Neil Patrick Harris, so my favorite songs had a pop-star clarity and zest to them. Here, the Balladeer is sung like a twangy country singer by Jamie Parker, but it totally works and won me over. So the Balladeer has been on the sidelines all night, telling the tales of others most judgmentally – in the above-quoted “Ballad of Booth”, he reinforces that those madmen who have made us pay “have had their say, but only for a day….Angry men don’t write the rules and guns don’t right the wrongs. Hurts a while but soon the country’s back where it belongs.” But as things come to an end, the Balladeer is not so convinced that the country bounces back so easily, if ever, and he’s more open to discussion about leaving his moral high ground, not wanting to end things as a simple narrator strumming his guitar, but as someone who, like his subjects, will live forever in infamy as long as his target lives forever in fame. Booth tells him that their names will always go hand in hand, that just as Lincoln’s great life and deeds will never be studied without Booth’s being studied and remembered as well, so too will the next great Assassin in this way share the triumphs of his victim. It’s incredibly disturbing and true, that a killer can so easily usurp the greatness of his victim. (I wish so strongly for the media should stop reporting the names of people who commit mass shootings and the like, somehow, if it would make sense. Gaining such immediate fame is often the only goal, and I wish there was a way to not give these awful people the satisfaction of being remembered. (It would also be great if we had legit mental healthcare systems but that’s maybe more farfetched.))

All of this is demonstrated pretty remarkably by The Proprietor, the gun salesman and carnival runner, played hauntingly by Simon Lipkin, who represents a sort of universal id. He lures our characters into the darkness by reminding them of the show’s eerie twisted theme, that “Everybody’s got the right to be happy”. He opens the show with lines like, “Hey kid, failed your test? Dream girl unimpressed? Show her you’re the best – if you can shoot a president”, chillingly blunt lyrics that immediately set the disturbing and blackly humorous tone for the show.

That Sondheim makes you think all of this, makes you laugh and feel heartbroken at the world, all in a 100 or so minute musical is a testament to his genius. That this extremely difficult show is such a rousing success is a testament to the Menier, to this spectacular cast, and to this faultless production, which is now completely sold out, and rightly so. With any luck, it’ll transfer to mainstem West End so more people can appreciate how freaking great this show is.