Threadbare, but it will keep you grinning
Released in 1951, the Ealing comedy The Man in the White Suit came fast on the heels of Whisky Galore!, Passport to Pimlico and Kind Hearts and Coronets, which together conspired to put a smile on the face of austerity Britain.
I’m not sure that it quite qualifies as an outright comedy classic, though. That’s partly down to the premise, partly down to the central performance. Alec Guinness was severe and intense as geek protagonist Sidney Stratton, a Cambridge-educated chemistry nut who returns north and hits on a formula for a dirt-resistant, indestructible fabric that could change the world – the only snags being that, a) initially, there’s just one colour, and b) the manufacturers and millworkers turn on him on realising they’ll all be done out of work.
Director Alexander Mackendrick accentuated the murk and gloom in the northern town through which the idealistic boffin winds up running, chased by an indignant mob. With its satirical swipes at the unconsidered side effects of progress, the power of vested interests and the value and cost of monomania, it’s more Ibsen’s An Enemy of the People than that northern comedy Hobson’s Choice (to which it bears some resemblance).
There were high hopes for Sean Foley’s premiere stage adaptation given the director’s big success with The Ladykillers in the West End in 2011. But the source material isn’t of matching quality and there’s less theatrical sophistication on offer as Foley and co try to up the laugh-count.
This is an evening that takes puerile delight in flatulent eruptions from lab phials, cartoonish explosions leaving shredded clothing, and horsing around with pretend-heavy swords. It trades in sight-gags: exaggerated running on the spot, say, or dinky cut-outs jerking across a Lowry-esque mural of the town to denote the climactic fugitive escapade. The most glaring innovation is the introduction of live skiffle music (courtesy of Charlie Fink): a little skiffle goes a long way, a lot threatens to throw pleasure into reverse.
The padding serves to expose the dramatically threadbare nature of the original, rather than conceal or correct it. Yet, it would take a curmudgeon to resist the production’s puppyish and tireless resolve to keep you grinning. That’s abetted by the surprisespringing design concoctions of Michael Taylor (Ladykillers’ secret weapon).
And Stephen Mangan – such a hoot as Bertie in the Foley-directed hit Jeeves and Wooster in Perfect Nonsense
– gives us affable Technicolor personableness that contrasts well with Guinness’s monochrome eccentricity. Working his socks off, he has just the right air of single-minded concentration, scatterbrained abstraction and casual oafishness. He’s ably supported by Kara Tointon as the purring Rp-accented daughter to Richard Cordery’s enjoyably selfimportant mill-owner.
It’s a pity that Sue Johnston is so underused as Sid’s landlady – she barely has the chance to shine. Overall, none of it seems calculated to leave an indelible impression. Yet for those in need of diverting fluff, it should suit well enough.
Until Jan 11. Tickets: 0844 871 2118; tickets.telegraph.co.uk