A dream come true! Les Mis is back where it belongs – on stage
AT the final curtain call, Michael Ball said it was the ‘most amazing’ first night of his career and let me tell you that the audience at the Sondheim Theatre felt very much the same way.
On Saturday night Les Miserables returned in triumph to London’s West End, where the theatres have been shuttered and dark since the pandemic began in March.
Ravenous for live entertainment, parched of culture in the raw, we fell upon this staged concert version of Claude-Michel Schonberg and Alain Boublil’s much-loved musical (with English lyrics by former Daily Mail journalist Herbert Kretzmer) like, well, like starving, pre-revolutionary French peasants.
After months of isolation and distancing, it felt joyous to be part of a communal human experience again; sheer magic to once more nestle in the cosy darkness of a beautiful theatre, with the sound of a live orchestra luxuriously washing over us and an all-star, lung-bursting cast of Les Mis veterans relishing being back in the day job.
Ball was in the thick of it as despotic policeman Javert (‘Who is this man, what sort of devil is he?’ he sings, thun-der-ously), starring alongside Alfie Boe as the hero Jean Valjean, Matt Lucas as the innkeeper Thenardier, Katy Secombe as his wife, Rob Houchen as Marius, and Carrie Hope Fletcher as poor, doomed Fantine.
Thirty-five years to the day that Les Mis first opened in London and went on to become the world’s favourite musical, here it was; buffed and streamlined, oiled and primed to thrill all over again.
And we needed it more than ever. With its eternal themes of love and compassion, penance and redemption, Les Mis is a fitting choice for these onerous times, with its central promise that ‘even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise’.
It proved to be just the tonic; the kind of hags in rags tearjerker that could soak up the strains of a battle-weary Covid audience and give us the respite we craved. There was a standing ovation before the interval and by the end, everyone, including producer Sir Cameron Mackintosh, was delirious.
‘The whole thing has been emotional. For all of us. I cried when we first thought we could do it and tonight I cried with relief when we actually did it,’ he said.
Yet as fans of musical theatre know, Les Mis is not for the faint hearted. After only 15 bleak minutes Fantine has turned to prostitution, had her hair chopped off and is dreaming a dream of a better life.
Dream denied. Next! Little Cosette (Amara Okereke) is lost and scared in the forest, Eponine (Shan Ako) loses her love and her life while ex- convict Valjean continues to crash about staring ‘into the void and the whirlpool of my sin’. Crikey.
LIGHT relief comes as Matt Lucas milks some topical laughs about not being able to open his inn as ‘there is a plague out there’ and I grew very fond of the man bun sported by hunky Bradley Jaden as revolutionary student Enjolras. It stayed put even yea verily as he fought on the barricades, suggesting he must be an Elnett Max Strength man at the very least.
Then after the fusillade of jokes it was straight back to the banquet of death, suicide and social unrest, which is meat and drink to the loyal Les Mis fan.
How did the cast and crew manage to put on the show while following Government health guidelines? By pouring a great deal of energy, creative ingenuity and generosity into the project, with the big stars working for a fraction of their usual fees. ‘I didn’t ask them to do that, they volunteered. It was their idea,’ said Sir Cameron.
The performers were distanced on stage and sang at stand microphones, straight out into the audience rather than to each other. Oddly enough, I thought it added to the drama, rather than diluted it.
The orchestra was visible high above the stage, rather than being stuck in the grimy
germinations of the pit. Our tickets had staged arrival times to avoid queueing or crushes, while drinks and snacks had to be pre-ordered online, collected in paper bags and consumed in the auditorium.
Upon arrival, theatregoers were temperature tested and shepherded through a oneway system to their socially distanced seats by staff who were cheerful and helpful behind their plastic visors.
Through some mathematical miracle, you could book tickets in your family bubble and arrive to find empty places on either side of your party. ‘Stay Safe. Reserved for Cosette,’ read the signs on the excluded seats.
Yes, it was slightly unsettling to look around and see everyone in their masks in this gilt-edged enclosed space, but all was forgotten in the grand emotional sweep of the evening.
Every fan of the show has their Les Mis blub and mine is when Valjean sings Bring Him Home, a prayer and lament for the safety of others – which again has added resonance at the moment. Alfie Boe gave it full throttle in a tonsil-rattling, rafter-creaking performance that brought the house down.
At the end of the tearful night, he waved when he left the stage – and I foolishly found myself waving back. It was that kind of night. It is that kind of show. How marvellous to see it back in the West End, where it belongs.