Me and My Girl short on charm
The thing with Shaw Festival seems to be the slimmer the musical they choose, the weaker the production they put on stage.
Pieces like “Mack and Mabel,” Sunday in the Park With George,” Floyd Collins” and last season’s superb “Sweeney Todd” were fine examples of musical theatre that made you shiver with excitement. Lesser musicals such as “High Society,” “Wonderful Town” and “Drood” suffered because the shows themselves demanded song and dance that could transcend the material. Often such musicals were given productions short on imagination, were underpowered with so-so singers and dancers, and had visual components that just didn’t work.
Unfortunately, that’s what has happened again with a perfectly serviceable, but old hat musical from England called “Me and My Girl.”
The show, directed without much imagination or inspiration, by Ashlie Corcoran, is a bit of a muddle. For one thing, Drew Facey’s set has been pared down to something that looks like a big, black birdcage. Oh yes, it’s functional. It avoids massive set changes and provides for a few add-ons in key moments. But alas, it hasn’t much atmosphere to anchor “Me and My Girl” to what should be a realistic 1930s landscape.
Then there are the costumes by Sue LePage. Normally she’s a good designer, but here she’s been encouraged to supply clothing that is peculiar for the period. What, for instance, are those Pearlies doing without appropriate traditional outfits? They look like characters who just escaped from a carnival show somewhere.
It’s good to have the music here resemble a traditional 1930s sound, but when the show is visually out of sync and filled with anachronistic imagery, we are dislocated somehow. Then there’s Parker Esse’s dance routines that aren’t very 1930s either. All this cuts us adrift from what ought to make this oldfashioned jewel of a show lots of fun.
This “Me and My Girl” can’t quite make its mind up how it wants to look.
There’s a short supply of charm here that isn’t helped by Corcoran’s direction so we have a show that doesn’t know if it wants to be — oldfashioned or up-to-date.
The star of this musical, Michael Therriault, who plays that cocky Cockney lad, Bill Snibson, hasn’t a feel for the character. He works way too hard, forcing the silliness of the comedy and being relentlessly madcap. He sings and dances just fine but where is the chemistry between his Bill and reedy little Kristi Frank’s Sally? She isn’t rough and tumble enough. She doesn’t sing with sufficient Lambeth spunk and she’s only convincing in the show’s last few minutes when you will be stunned by her sensational transformation. We desperately want Bill and Sally to get together, to take over Hareford Hall, the family’s Hampshire seat. We want them to put all the snobby upper crust Toffs to rights, then prance down the Festival Theatre aisle doing “The Lambeth Walk.”
If it works for you, I’m glad. Trouble is I’ve seen much better productions of this hoary old British musical with book and lyrics by L. Arthur Rose and Douglas Furber and music by Noel Gay. (Along with some tinkering assistance by the late Broadway director Mike Ockrent and British writer-actor Stephen Fry.)
There are some good performances from some of the supporting cast. Elodie Gillett and Kyle Blair are fun as a couple of British twits. Sharry Flett and Ric Reid are superb as Maria, Duchess of Dene and Sir John Tremayne. And in the chorus the wonderful Patty Jamieson stands out in every little role she plays.
Sadly, all this just doesn’t amount to enough. With this kind of musical it needs to be all in the froth. If that’s not bubbling over the show just doesn’t come to a boil.
Call this one a near miss.