I have fond memories of watching the 1953 film version of Calamity Jane when I was a child, and this is largely due to its brisk pacing (the whole thing is over in under 100 minutes), a clutch of memorable songs, and some magnetic performances, particularly from Doris Day in the title role. This new touring production—which revives Nikolai Foster's 2014–5 staging of the musical—contains much of the original’s charm and likability, but falls slightly short in other respects.
Calamity Jane (Carrie Hope Fletcher)—a tough-talking, sharp-shooting peace officer—is one of Deadwood City’s biggest personalities, loved for her kind heart and mocked for her tall tales. When the local saloon owner accidentally hires a male performer to sing and dance—much to the chagrin of Deadwood’s love-starved miners—Calamity agrees to bring back a famous actress from Chicago. Unfortunately, rather than bringing back the much-admired Adelaid Adams (a scene-stealing turn from Molly-Grace Cutler), accident-prone Calamity returns with her maid, Katie (Seren Sandham-Davies), instead.
In terms of narrative incident, Calamity Jane feels rather thin. In the film version, the love-hate relationship between Calamity and Wild Bill Hickok—memorably played by Howard Keel—emerges organically, whereas this felt less true of the stage version. Similarly, Calamity’s passion for Danny (Luke Gilmartin) seemed less fleshed out in this production, meaning that his decision to court Katie—climaxing in a kiss at the town ball—felt less explosive than it did in the film.
Despite these caveats, this production has many pleasing qualities, not least in its choice of lead performer. Since she made her West End debut in Les Misérables in 2001, Carrie Hope Fletcher has gained a reputation as one of the UK’s most exciting musical talents, as evidenced by the crowd of young people who gathered at the stage door after the show. Doris Day is a tough act to follow, but Fletcher brings the right amount of warmth and exuberance to the role, skilfully capturing the character’s irresistible mixture of vulnerability and braggadocio.
While I found the romance between Calamity and Will Bill Hickok less convincing here than in the film, there is no denying Vinny Coyle’s talents as a singer, dancer and musician. Indeed, his lovely rendition of “Higher than a Hawk”—by no means my favourite number—was an unexpected highlight.
Seren Sandham-Davies is particularly impressive in the show’s first half, conveying Katie’s nervous excitement about posing as a professional singer. Her performance is so strong, in fact, that it’s a shame the character becomes considerably blander in the second half, after succumbing to Danny’s advances.
All of the talented actor-musicians who swell the stage as the denizens of Deadwood deserve recognition, but I would like to highlight Samuel Holmes in particular for his hilarious turn as the hapless stage performer Francis Fryer. Furthermore, in a lovely departure from the original film, I thoroughly enjoyed the romance that blossomed between him and Susan (Hollie Cassar).
Matthew Wright’s beautifully detailed set lovingly recreates the Deadwood saloon, including a proscenium arch for Katie’s cabaret performances. The problem with the fixed set, however, is that it also has to double for other locations (such as Calamity’s shack), but some ingenious touches—such as a steaming pie emerging from the back panel of a piano—help to mitigate this issue.
Musically, Calamity Jane pales in comparison to other Western-themed musicals from the 1940s and 1950s, such as Oklahoma! and Annie Get Your Gun, but there is no denying the hummability of songs like “I Can Do Without You” (which resembles “Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better”) and “Just Blew in from the Windy City”, and Fletcher delivers a beautiful rendition of the Oscar-winning standard “Secret Love”.
I enjoyed Calamity Jane for its lively central performance, catchy tunes and energetic choreography (courtesy of Nick Winston), even if I found its old-fashioned plot—which sees a woman being pressurised to behave and dress in a more traditionally feminine way—somewhat creaky.