Fantastically mischievous tale gets sharp satirical teeth
FANTASTIC MR FOX Lyric Hammersmith, W6
THERE have been adaptations of Roald Dahl’s slim and perennially popular novel before — David Wood’s play for children, Tobias Picker’s eclectic opera with its bristling Gerald Scarfe design, and Wes Anderson’s quirky stop-motion film. Here it’s reimagined as a mischievous musical, by playwright Sam Holcroft and composer
Arthur Darvill.
This fleet-footed show premiered in November at Southampton’s Nuffield Theatre — a co-production between them, the Lyric and Leicester’s Curve. The credits identify a total of four lyricists, prompting fears that the writing could be uneven and unfocused. But while it’s in need of a few more killer jokes, this is a crowd-pleaser that delivers jaunty entertainment. Adult theatregoers will also appreciate its darts of topical wit — including one inspired gag about solitary pleasure that I’d prefer not to have to explain to a child.
As the ingenious Mr Fox does his best impression of Robin Hood, farmers Boggis, Bunce and Bean complain that they can’t recognise the land they’ve grown up on. It’s a lament undercut by their greed and loathsomeness. After they fail to shoot Mr Fox dead, managing only to deprive him of his splendidly bushy tail, they besiege his family’s burrow. Their rhetoric about taking back their valley inevitably calls to mind more than one recent political campaign, and there’s a keen satirical bite throughout.
Director Maria Aberg creates an air of subversive freshness. Typical of this is Tom Scutt’s emphatically blue design, which makes the war-torn countryside look like an old-school arcade game — Sonic the Hedgehog meets Super Mario. It’s jarring, yet apt in its sense of rural life’s potential for bilious competitiveness.
The performances are a goofy delight. At the heart of the action is Greg Barnett’s tracksuited Mr Fox, wirily energetic and blinded by his own ego. Sandy Foster is a hyperactive and scatty Rabbit, while Raphael Bushay’s pedantic Badger comes across as her slow and earnest opposite. Most accomplished of all is Richard Atwill, who doubles as a sozzled Rat and the smug, sinister, shotgun-hugging Bean.
Until February 19 (020 8741 6850, lyric.co.uk)