Who would have thought it? The French have fallen in love with the American musical. After the success of An American in Paris, which recently moved from the Châtelet to Broadway, this same theatre now brings us a stylish re-imagining of the 1952 MGM movie. Sung in English and staged by a predominantly British team, it brought the Paris audience to its feet. Clearly we’re all Americans now.
Where this production differs from previous versions is in the decision by director Robert Carsen (a Canadian), designer Tim Hatley and costume designer Anthony Powell to stage the show in monochrome. This makes sense, since the story is set in 1927 Hollywood at the time of transition from silents to talkies. The production, framed by movie credits, contains some stunning film inserts, including a sequence in the hall of mirrors at Versailles.
In a show that bears a strong visual resemblance to the movie The Artist, the cast also sport an array of black, white and silver costumes until the finale. They then don yellow macs and twirl multicoloured umbrellas for a reprise of the title number that drives the audience wild.
In the past I’ve always had doubts about Singin’ in the Rain as a stage show. But, instead of trying to replicate a perfect movie, Carsen and his team provide an intelligent re-creation of it. If any one element lifts the show on to an exalted plane, it’s the choreography of Stephen Mear. The moment of ecstasy one craves in a musical comes during Moses Supposes when the show’s three leads break out of the confines of a dressing-room set to launch into a whirling tap dance. Mear also excels himself in a fantasy sequence where the stage foams with ostrich-plumed showgirls and, in anticipation of A Chorus Line, gold-hatted male hoofers.
Only one thing strikes me as odd. Lina Lamont, the squawky star whose career is doomed by the talkies, is clearly the story’s most intriguing character: she is also endowed, by Emma Kate Nelson, with a radiant sexiness – not least when she sings What’s Wrong With Me? – that suggests she would have triumphed over her Brooklyn twang. The other stand-out performer is Daniel Crossley, who lends the hero’s sidekick an innocent physical exuberance that evokes Donald O’Connor in the movie.
The two leads, Dan Burton and Clare Halse, are perfectly pleasant without knocking you sideways but, under Gareth Valentine’s musical direction, the show constitutes an undoubted Parisian victory for what you might call the away team.
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