Tom Jones’s lusty tale of woah (woah, woah)
TEMPTED as I was to bring along a pair of lacy knickers to toss at the stage, the real Tom Jones plays no part in this deliciously kitsch new musical, which gleefully raids his back catalogue.
Instead, it’s a brassy, Sixtiesstyle pastiche of Henry Fielding’s 18th-century comic novel about a handsome foundling seeking fame and fortune in the big bad city of London — a youth who goes by the name of . . . Tom Jones.
Whoever’s idea it was to put these two Toms together should take a bow: it was a stroke of impertinent genius.
Instead of a bovine jukebox bio, the show combines the Welsh crooner’s (rejected) reputation as a ladies’ man with the larkiness of a Carry On film.
It means keeping up with the Joneses, in more ways than one. The Tom on stage here is a hunky himbo who’s in love with his childhood sweetheart in Somerset (a designer of ‘miniature skirts’). Her mother, alas, is not enamoured of him, so off he goes to the city . . . and into the arms of a sexually ravenous fashion designer on Carnaby Street.
Musically, it is as big and colourful as a summer meadow. Not only are all the hits here, from It’s Not Unusual to I Who Have Nothing, Sex Bomb and the title number.
But Dominic Andersen’s Tom also has the body of a Chippendale stripper — fitting, since he is universally admired for being ‘like a ripe peach for a woman to bite into’.
Bronte Barbe, as his hometown beloved — the sweet, driven and ever-cheerful Mary — gets to bellow a few tunes of her own, including the yearning Without Love.
And leggy Kelly Price, as the Cruella De Vil-ish fashion designer Lady Bellaston, has a blast with Sir Tom’s raunchy 1965 Bond theme, Thunderball.
All the songs are distributed with great wit, so when our hero is thrown in jail, the inmates sing a mournful chorus of Green, Green Grass Of Home.
Meanwhile, Lemuel Knights, as the prison’s resident psycho, reveals a positively Tom Joneslike boom for a raucous rendition of Delilah.
Joe DiPietro’s dialogue might, at times, struggle to make the cut at an end-of-pier Christmas show (Mary: ‘Mother was right about everything — love is useless!’).
But more often than not, there are flashes of Wildean wit, such as ‘women always grow disappointed in their husbands, but never in their money’.
And my favourite, Lady Bellaston’s line to Tom as she lolls about in her negligee: ‘Take me upstairs — use the tricks you learned in prison.’
There is a freedom and gay abandon to the production, directed by the young Luke Sheppard, whose big West End break came in 2019 with & Juliet. Here again, he shows he has a knack for camp, brash and crowdpleasing entertainment.
The scenes move with carefree pace as the cast of 18 fling aside floppy hats, paisley shirts, striped trousers and Cuban-heeled boots to strike flamboyant poses.
It all looks great, too, thanks to Jon Bausor’s set design, featuring Sixties flower-power, albumcover art and screenprint scenery highlighted in blocks of primary colour.
Dame Arlene Phillips (she of Strictly and all the rest) lays on splashy period choreography with nifty sidesteps, hip shuffles and shoulder shimmies.
And even Howard Hudson’s lighting design adds playful touches, with Pink Panther-esque coloured spotlights tracing over the walls.
The Rep’s Artistic Director Sean Foley, who was installed just before lockdown, promised Brummies top-class popular entertainment. And now we know he’s a man of his word.