Great music, great cast – shame about the story
Bagdad Cafe Old Vic, London SE1
Bagdad is a ghost town. Stranded in California’s Mojave desert, it once served mine workers, then travellers on Route 66, but was subsequently abandoned and its buildings razed. When German film director Percy Adlon visited, all he found were trees and a dilapidated truck stop. That arresting location was immortalised in his 1987 movie, Bagdad Cafe, in which quirky misfits gather at the edge of civilisation.
It’s easy to understand why adaptor Emma Rice is a fan: throughout her career, the 53-year-old – who famously parted ways with Shakespeare’s Globe after just two seasons as artistic director – has earned a reputation for adapting quirky films and fiction, first at her pioneering company Kneehigh, and latterly at her new outfit, Wise Children.
However, Rice’s version of Bagdad Cafe – which she’d originally planned as an immersive drive-in show at a real petrol station – loses that crucial sense of place, and her adherence to the atmospheric, dialogue-light film gives us a tale that’s more bewildering than enigmatic, with underdeveloped characters and undercooked drama. It’s a muted reopening for the Old Vic, which officially welcomes back live audiences (albeit socially distanced) with this 90-minute production.
The meandering story sees Bavarian tourist Jasmin, abandoned by her unpleasant husband, seeking refuge in the truck stop’s motel. Shortly after, owner Brenda is left by her husband, Sal. Jasmin gradually becomes part of the community, and introduces whimsical fun to the morose cafe via a box of magic tricks. But the central odd-couple friendship feels baldly schematic (Jasmin is a neat freak, Brenda’s a mess; Jasmin is reserved, Brenda outspoken), and the conflicts vanish like desert mirages.
The musical sections are enjoyable, particularly Brenda’s daughter Salomé practising her Bach preludes, accompanied by Jasmin on the violin, a burst of reggae, and a surprise folk dance. But the film’s Oscar-nominated song, Bob Telson’s Calling You, is overused, and a community choir element (you can film yourself singing the song and be added to a post-show video montage) is well-intentioned rather than truly impactful. And who wants to watch something on a screen when we’re finally back in a theatre?
The talented cast deserve more. Patrycja Kujawska does fill in some gaps for the inscrutable Jasmin, but her story is confusingly conveyed. As Brenda, Sandra Marvin is stuck in two modes – angry, and exposition machine. You want to see more of Kandaka Moore’s thrill-seeking teenager and Ewan Wardrop’s yoga-loving Australian traveller, who gets a clever boomerang trick. And the great cabaret artist Le Gateau Chocolat is particularly wasted as Sal: he mainly sulks in his car, and the brief snatches of his mighty baritone feel like a cruel tease.
The vivid design includes witty miniature vehicles conveying the roadside action and a banged-up trailer that swings round to reveal Brenda’s office, while Malcolm Rippeth’s lighting dyes the sky backdrop burnt orange and dusky pink.
But Rice’s expressed desire to celebrate post-pandemic togetherness and the return of theatrical magic is borne out more by the reunion of audience and performers than by the actual show on offer.