The singing plant that will put a smile on your face
Musical theatre
Little Shop of Horrors
Open Air Theatre, Regent’s Park
Barely has the last drop of stage blood been mopped from the stage of the RSC Swan in Stratford, scene of the goriest Duchess of Malfi in recent memory, than up pops another show from steadily ascendant Swedish-born director Maria Aberg that’s also ostensibly not for the squeamish.
Little Shop of Horrors is the tonguein-cheek 1982 Alan Menken stage musical (derived from the cult 1960 comedy B-movie of the same name) that eagerly feeds off familiar genres (early rock’n’roll, Motown, doo-wop) and features as its dastardly antagonist a rampantly carnivorous plant. This mysterious – nay, extraterrestrial – entity is introduced to a down-atheel New York florists by a dorkish assistant called Seymour, who names it “Audrey II” after the sweet-natured Skid Row colleague he pines after. At first, the outlandish organism entices new customers, boosting the shop’s fortunes and Seymour’s prospects with Audrey (I), but the more it grows, the deadlier it gets, guzzling more victims, intent on world domination.
An accidental finger-prick is what alerts the soon ethically compromised – some say Faust-like – Seymour to Audrey II’S dietary requirements (he becomes its stooge). While we don’t need gallons of the red stuff to bring home the bloodlust that motors the evening’s amoral mirth, what’s surprising about Aberg’s approach is her relatively tasteful restraint.
The ever more extravagant fleur du mal is usually conjured by means of grotesque puppetry (the apotheosis of which was found in the Frank Oz-directed film version of 1986). In the original script (book and lyrics by Howard Ashman), the expectation was that its voice would be supplied by an actor offstage. Instead, Aberg has – primarily – opted to plant a fabulous American drag queen centre stage. While theatre debutant Vicky Vox warbles to perfection and excels at an aura of diva-ish danger, with much trowelled-on make-up, growling that insatiable command “Feed me!”, there’s something a little cosy about this interpretation.
Vox acts as a commentator, outside the macabre action, not directly orchestrating it. The plant is further incarnated by means of sundry plasticky flora. When the neurotic store-owner (Forbes Masson’s Mr Mushnik) is swallowed in its maw, greenery-swamped stagehands enlarge the aperture and the victim steps to his fate as if into a glorified car wash.
I wondered, who is this for? Won’t children find it a little safe – adults, too? “I’ve given you sunshine, I’ve given you rain / Looks like you’re not happy till I open a vein,” runs one typically droll line, but shouldn’t we feel a perturbing subtext on the pulse? Audrey II is the antithesis of the meek, accepting Audrey (battered by her sadist-dentist boyfriend – Matt Willis’s snarling biker boy, Orin). The fleshier, the stickier this mantrap is, the more it can obliquely thrill as a hystericalsatirical vision of liberated female appetite. Despite the coherence of Tom Scutt’s design with its newsprint rendering of a derelict New York, it’s all borderline anodyne.
I realise this makes me sound unusually grumpy, and the woman sitting next to me demanded I point out that most of the audience had smiles on their faces. Taken on its own schlocky terms, there are worse ways to spend a few hours outdoors. The leads (Marc Antolin and Jemima Rooper) are equally commendable, combining sincerity with spoofiness, while the ensemble lends much physical zip and vocal prowess. The big finale – a preposterously costumed rendition of the film’s Mean Green Mother from Outer Space – is a bonkers delight. Last of the summer froth, then. Fun enough. But couldn’t it have a bit more bite? Until Sept 22. Tickets: 0844 826 4242; openairtheatre.com