The making of a musical, within a musical, with all its nuts and bolts, traumas, tears and cheers is catnip to musical comedy fans. There are cheers from the audience within the first few minutes.
“What do you go to see a show for?” It might be “beautiful dames” for some, but for musical theatre lovers it’s the whole caboodle: songs, dancing feet (and what dancing feet!), witty repartee, sets, costumes, live orchestra and masses of talent spilling across the footlights. And dazzling teeth—not just the all-singing, all-dancing, all-smiling ‘dames’...
And was 1933 any different from today (depression, breadlines, living on the edge in one of the world’s richest cities)? A bit of warm-heated escapism, if only for a few hours (two and a half), is what the doctor ordered. Written in 1932 by Bradford Ropes, a Hollywood film in 1933, a stage musical in 1980 and numerous stage revivals since, its songs classics, 42nd Street is critic proof. My companion promises to tell everyone she knows to go and see it.
I last saw a revival in 2017 at the vast Drury Lane theatre when Sheena Easton was the star catch as Dorothy Brock. Jonathan Church’s classy touring revival plays in the much smaller Sadler’s Wells, and possibly is all the better for its involving intimacy.
Tonight we have Ruthie Henshall as Brock, the bitter, aging star who inevitably gets replaced by a first-timer, Peggy Sawyer, an ingénue from out of town—a typical Hollywood tale. The storyline is slight, but it’s only there to hang the songs on. And what glorious songs and highly drilled tap-dance routines. I leave the theatre reliving my youthful tap dance classes. And making my companion smile through her tears—don't ask.
Smile is what 42nd Street does—remember those teeth. Smile is what we do at the corny tale of success snatched from the edge of failure. Tonight’s new star has to eclipse Henshall’s warm rich voice with her eager higher pitch. Listen to their different renderings of “42nd Street”, and you can hear their age and experience. Now that is thoughtful direction.
The whole production is full of such fine touches. “Shuffle Off To Buffalo” seems to be referencing the train car in Some Like It Hot. And at times, in sleazy gangster New York, the syncopated music and cabaret lighting (Ben Cracknell) reminds me of Kurt Weil’s Weimar Berlin. Same period.
The orchestra makes a great sound in the pit—there’s a joke as to why the musicians are in a pit. Horns and reeds, a jazz trumpet, lift the energy sky high in dialogue with those dancing feet. And the chorus responds in kind. These are individuals, too. Sarah-Marie Maxwell as Annie Reilly (Anytime Annie) and Alyn Hawke as Andy Lee stand out.
Nicole-Lily Baisden’s Peggy is exceptional, her acting, dancing and singing know no bounds. Is this the same demure person I saw in Anything Goes? Surely this is her breakout to big time, mirroring Peggy’s. It’s Peggy’s innocence coupled with a determination to succeed that gets her to the top.
Adam Garcia is the fierce but ultimately kindly director, Julian Marsh, putting them through their paces of The Pretty Lady production he intends to get to Broadway. Though you long for some love interest between him and Peggy, all is correct. Sam Lips as tenor Billy Lawlor turns my and her head a little. Talk about song and dance man—he is dynamite.
Josefina Gabrielle as writer-producer Maggie Jones, the obligatory wise-cracking supporting actress, reminds me of Eve Arden in her Hollywood heyday. She also started out on Broadway in 1933. Les Dennis is seedy Bert Barry, her working partner.
Michael Praed takes the small role of Brock’s secret lover Pat Denning, and Anthony Ofoegbu is her caricature sugar daddy, the rich cowboy they must all keep sweet, as he is funding her and the production to a pretty sum.
Rob Jones’s set and costume designs are art deco fabulous, fedoras in colours of the rainbow, glitter gowns and headdresses. Jon Driscoll’s black and white projection images set the period nicely in context, giving the sugary script some gravitas.
All in all a great revival. And we get an encore. Don’t they want a rest? High energy in this hot weather must be admired—a talented bunch all round, cast, crew and creatives, not least choreographer Bill Deamer. I didn't expect to be so captivated by such familiar fare. The dancing, like torrential rain, sweeps me away.