Theatre Review: Bakkhai

This may come as a surprise to you but I am not a cool person.

I know how shocking this revelation is so I’ll give you a moment to recover.

…

Ok? Good. 

Not being a cool person makes me very suspicious of places like Islington, where I believe that at least one type of cool person tribe lives. Consequently I’d never been to The Almeida theatre before this week.

The Almeida is definitely a cool person’s theatre. Teeny tiny and with the apparently currently cool aversion to armrests (seriously, I'm getting so sick of the War on Armrests that some London theatres seem to be intent on waging. What did the poor armrest ever do to us except make sitting down more comfortable?), The Almeida is currently home to a season of ancient Greek plays, the latest of which is Bakkhai.

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For reasons, well a reason, that shall become apparent I desperately wanted to love Bakkhai. But I just couldn't. Not all of it, anyway.

You see, there’s a really good piece of theatre trapped within this production that just isn't given the chance to escape. And the thing trapping it is the interminable sung Chorus, done in traditional ancient Greek style as a group who speak and sing all of their lines in unison. 

Whilst technically impressive - and there should be no question that getting a reasonably sized group of diverse voiced women to sing in complete unison without a conductor is impressive - there’s just too much Chorus in what is a very short play by modern standards. Like, way too much Chorus. I would say at least 70% too much Chorus. The songs they sing are instantly forgettable (there was one about nets I think? Possibly I'm making that up but I'm running with it for the rest of this post), excessively long and frustratingly impenetrable - a particular shame given how clear this updated version of the classic text is otherwise. There are also far too many songs. They become boring very quickly, to the extent that I realised reasonably early on that I would happily give up Dionysus’ best invention (wine; lovely, lovely wine) forever if it meant that the Chorus would shut the fuck up. The man sitting next to me fell asleep whilst they were singing. Twice. Seems I wasn't the only one who wasn't a fan.

It’s a real shame that the Chorus kill this show so quickly and entirely because there is something quite special going on at the heart of it, and it’s called Bertie Carvel. 

Now look, I fucking LOVE Bertie Carvel, the latest recipient of my obsessive affections (see also: Kenneth Branagh, Michael Ball, Dominic West), and so I recognise that I’m biased. But, man, he is extraordinary in Bakkhai. I use the word extraordinary in both senses: 1) very, very good and 2) very, very weird. Doing double duty as shrewd politician Pentheus (both in and out of drag, and my personal thanks to the costume person who bought the slightly too tight shirt that Pentheus wears initially because WOW) and his unhinged, Dionysus-following mother Agave, he is quietly electrifying whenever he is on stage. His performance is a masterclass in understatement. His Pentheus is so still and controlled, at least at first, that he is instantly much more frightening than anything more bombastic would be. Even the drag sequence (where once again I come face to face with a man who walks in heels better than me) is played quietly and with some incredibly well attuned interaction with the audience. His Agave is heart rending, and again so subtly - and unexpectedly - played. There must be a serious temptation to play Agave, who *spoiler alert* has just brutally murdered Pentheus in a fit of Dionysian madness, as a raging screaming madwoman but this temptation is neatly side stepped in favour of a quiet but consuming grief and despair which is surprisingly beautiful. Almost as beautiful infact as Bertie Carvel’s shoulders which are displayed to great effect in Agave’s silk slip. But that’s by the by. This is great performance (performances?) that is definitely worth the ticket price and, more importantly, sitting through many lengthy songs about nets. And frankly I think any actor who is prepared to go on stage every night and murder himself deserves our support. Imagine the existential crises this must induce. 

For my money Bertie Carvel’s performance is far more interesting than top billed star Ben Whishaw’s, who plays more parts but with less variation. His Dionysus is great, with a creepy sensuality that’s a great foil for straight laced Pentheus and that dissolves to reveal a frightening fury in the final scenes, but his other parts (he also has old seer Tiresias and Pentheus’ slave who reports his death, Basil Exposition in Austin Powers style) are more forgettable. To put it another way, I was still thinking about Pentheus/Agave two days after seeing the show (and not just because of Bertie Carvel’s shoulders and too tight shirt) whereas I don’t think I've given Dionysus a second thought.

I suppose my overall feeling on this production of Bakkhai is that there’s a great play, fantastically acted, trapped within a mediocre musical. If you want a musical about Dionysus, check out Stephen Sondheim’s The Frogs which is all kinds of awesome. It you want to see some top class acting (and shoulders) and don’t mind sitting through some songs about nets, then this Bakkhai is for you. But you’ll have to move quickly as it's almost sold out and finishes next week. Sorry about that.

Bakkhai is on at The Almeida until 19th September.

Theatre Review: Our Country's Good

Timberlake Wertenbaker must be the best name in the world.

I think I like it mostly because it sounds like it could be the name of a particularly difficult technical challenge on Great British Bake Off. Like, a 28 tier meringue construction topped with caramel and spun sugar or something. Which I would totally eat by the way. But I digress.

Wertenbaker’s (it’s even fun to type!) most famous play is Our Country’s Good. Telling the story of a group of transported convicts and the soldiers who are forced to accompany them, Our Country’s Good is a celebration of the importance and redemptive potential of the arts, and of rehabilitative justice more generally. In the current economic and political climate it feels like an extremely timely and relevant piece to be occupying one of the stages of the National Theatre. Plus as a fully paid up member of the bleeding heart liberal club on both crime and arts funding it’s a piece which very much speaks to my confirmation bias.

Central to the plot is a planned performance of George Farquhar's The Recruiting Officer (intertextuality and a play within a play - you can tell this is an A Level set text!) put on by a cast of convicts under the direction of ambitious Second Lieutenant Ralph Clark at the suggestion of the new and (relatively speaking) progressive Governor of New South Wales. The Governor sees his role as helping the convicts’ rehabilitation so that one day they will be able to form a functioning community in his territory and believes that encouraging their education is a key part of that. On the other side of the coin is the cruel and authoritarian Major Ross who cares not a jot for any kind of education or rehabilitation of the convicts in his charge; they are there to be punished and control, and the only way to achieve that is through fear, violence and hangings galore.

Whilst Ross and the Governor could arguably be better described as personifications of particular points of view rather than fully developed characters - although both Peter Forbes and Cyril Nri respectively are great with the material they’re given, Forbes especially as a frighteningly brutal Ross - Ralph Clark is more interesting. Clark takes the job of directing the play purely to advance his own career, having been overlooked by the Governor for a long time having failed to carve out a niche for himself amongst the soldiers. He is emotionally closed, deeply (entertainingly) sexually repressed and a fairly unremarkable, shy, priggish soldier. Seeing the changes that working on the play together as a community bring to his company of largely illiterate criminals, though, he starts to change too. He becomes more humane and outspoken, challenging Ross’ brutality and standing up for his play and his cast to anyone who tries to do it down. He also becomes more open, caring about his cast as human beings and, ultimately (predictably), falling in love with one of them.

Jason Hughes, AKA Sergeant Jones off of Midsomer Murders, the best of Tom Barnaby’s sidekicks and anyone who disagrees has bad opinions, is a decent Ralph too. Although his ‘love story’ scenes feel a bit stilted (not entirely his fault, this part of the main plot was for me by far its weakest), he is an excellent increasingly-less-reluctant director, especially in the rehearsal scenes in act one which are undoubtedly the highlight of the play, and his growing empathy and spine in the latter scenes is deeply compelling. He also gets some fantastic lines which he has a lot of fun with, the passionate proclamation that “anyone who can’t pay attention shouldn’t go to the theatre” being a particular highlight for fairly obvious reasons.

Although this story is fairly simple and predictable it still makes for a compelling and coherent piece of drama. The same cannot be said of the subplot about one of the working class officers, Harry Brewer (Paul Kaye adding to his CV of long haired madmen with this very well realised but ultimately pretty pointless entry), and another convict, Duckling, the point of which I fail to really understand (something about freedom, I guess?) I could've quite happily lived with this largely unrelated and not especially fulfilling, until its bitter end, diversion being cut altogether. Maybe the subplot wouldn't have felt so out of place had this production not dispensed with the play’s usual casting principle of having the majority of the actors play both a convict and a soldier to emphasise how trapped both groups were. Giving the production a greater emphasis on the idea of freedom in this way would probably have helped tie the various strands together more neatly, I think.

Niggles aside the production is technically very clever - making excellent yet subtle use of the Olivier’s drum stage - great to look at (I loved the painted backdrop; so beautiful) and benefits from a great atmospheric rootsy/folksy/bluesy soundtrack by Cerys Matthews of Catatonia fame who I fucking LOVE. It’s hard to believe it’s her first foray into writing for the stage and I really hope it’s not her last. The ensemble cast is really strong and the inclusion of bona fide folk musicians to get the most from Matthews’ songs is an act of minor genius.

Despite my reservations, then, I really enjoyed Our Country’s Good and still think it’s an important piece to be staged and seen right now. And I feel like I have another loyalty stamp on my bleeding heart liberal membership card for having seen it. Definitely worth a look.

Our Country’s Good plays in the Olivier theatre at the NT until 17th October.


   

Theatre Review: Mack and Mabel

As previously noted elsewhere on this blog, my love for Michael Ball is difficult to overstate.

He was the first name on My List of Celebrity Obsessions and has held his place there since I discovered the original London cast recording of Les Miserables about sixteen (SIXTEEN!) years ago. I go and see him in any and every show he does. I even saw the achingly blah The Woman in White twice because of him. I am that dedicated.

This summer sees my main man playing the lead in Chichester Festival Theatre’s production of Mack and Mabel. The show tells the true (to an extent) story of the rise and fall of silent film director Mack Sennett and his muse/lover Mabel Normand. It’s quite a sad story without the happy ending or the big finish and, honestly, is not an obvious topic for a musical. Not that that matters of course - unlikelier shows have been written. As, sadly, have better shows. Many, many, better shows.

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Mack and Mabel is not a good musical. The music isn't especially memorable for one thing - by the morning after our trip to see this production I had almost entirely forgotten all but one of the songs. The bigger problem is the book though, which runs out of steam somewhere in the middle of Act 1 so that what we’re left with for the rest of the show is long bouts of exposition, usually in the form of a Mack monologue (Mackalogue?), that try to move the plot along sandwiched in between production numbers that stop it dead. The second act suffers in particular from this and the attempts to build up to a tragic finale are as a result completely neutered. As Paul Hollywood would say, it’s got some issues.

I found the characterisation problematic too - Mack and Mabel are both obvious caricatures and both very hard to like (he’s a shit, she’s annoying). The portrayal of Mabel is pretty depressing too; a trailblazing early pioneer of female film-making in real life, in the show she becomes a lovestruck, talentless airhead with no agency of her own (one man makes her a star, another makes her a drug addict), only a couple of solos and probably a third of the lines that Mack has. There’s an essay about how kick ass the real Mabel was in the programme that is far more interesting than anything she does on stage. It’s a thankless role for an actress, one that wasn't helped in this production on the night I saw it by the fact that its Mabel (Rebecca LaChance), whilst pleasingly spunky, had some pretty obvious tuning issues. Hashtag pitchy.

Luckily, there are a lot of redeeming features that ensure that this production is still a lot of fun. A lot of the credit here has to go to choreographer Stephen Mear (of the current Chichester/West End Gypsy fame) whose routines are as spectacular as they are innovative, particularly in the really big production numbers. Big Time and Bathing Beauties in the first act and Tap Your Troubles Away in the second are particular highlights and the slapstick sequences, the Keystone Cops one especially, whilst not really my cup of tea are really well executed. The excitement that these routines produce makes the two hour run time fly by and dazzle enough to make sure that by the time you realise that the plot is dying on its arse you no longer care because ‘look, more dancing’.

There are some great performances too. Let’s not deny that this show could accurately title itself as ‘Mack and Mabel: The Michael Ball Show’ and, even without any particular depth of character to work with, he is an ace Mack. Slimy, vulnerable, wryly funny and, ultimately, sadly knowing he does his best with the material he has and certainly imbues Mack with more personality than he should have on paper. Vocally it goes without saying he owns the room and there’s always something illicitly thrilling about seeing someone who in my mind is amongst the nicest men in the world playing someone fundamentally dislikable (see also: 2012’s Sweeney Todd with which I am fucking obsessed). Pretty decent American accent too - who knew?

He’s backed up by an impressively versatile ensemble and some great supporting performances, particularly Anna-Jane Casey who’s fantastic fun as Lottie, and utterly owns her Tap Your Troubles Away routine to the extent that I sort of wanted to rush the stage and give her a high five, and Gunnar Cauthery who provides a much needed dose of heart and sincerity as sensitive writer Frank. I also enjoyed Mark Inscoe’s William Desmond Taylor who I think we’re supposed to regard as the villain but is actually one of the more charismatically likeable characters for my money, even if he is a major sleaze.

Overall, then, a really strong production of a really weak show. Worth a look, especially if you’re a Michael Ball fan - and if you’re not a Michael Ball fan then you have bad opinions. The Chichester Festival Theatre is lovely too - modern, roomy, efficient - and is a great bet for catching West End quality shows at non-West End prices (we paid £26 each for an off-centre third row of the stalls, difficult to argue with that).

Mack and Mabel is at the Chichester Festival Theatre until September 5th, after which it tours (and transfers to the West End?).

Theatre Review: High Society

One of the things I love about the theatre is you never know how you’re going to react to a production.

Regardless of how well you know the show, the cast, the creative team, the theatre or anything else, what happens when the curtain rises always has the potential to completely defy your expectations - good or bad.

Case in point: the Old Vic’s High Society. On paper, this is a production that I should love - Cole Porter, a big old fashioned musical, big band-ish music, set in the 1950s, lots of stuff that ticks my boxes. But, to coin a phrase, shows aren't staged on paper and on the stage, this production didn't quite reach all of my boxes. (That sounds weird. You know what I mean.)

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It did reach some though and, for me, the undisputed star of this production is Nathan Wright’s dazzling choreography, particularly in the set piece production numbers. The absolute highlight of the show by some margin is the sequence built around ‘Let’s Misbehave’ in which the combination of some of the most energetic choreography I've seen in London, ever, with a dazzling piano duel between the show’s top drawer musical director Theo Jamieson and jazz pianist Joe Stilgoe (huge kudos to whoever made space for him in the production - he’s mindblowingly good in this sequence) and a virtuoso piano-top tap routine from the nauseatingly-talented-yet-somehow-fresh-out-of-drama-school Omari Douglas is amongst the most thrilling ten minutes of a musical I've seen. Worth the price of a ticket alone? Not quite, not at Old Vic prices, but damn close.

The cast, too, is uniformly good. The stand out, again by some margin, is Kate Fleetwood who is a sparkling Tracy Lord, perfectly capturing the many contradictions and layers of what is a very complex character (especially in a show where most of the other characters are more or less one dimensional). She has a gorgeous voice and a natural flair for comedy which elevate some of the key sequences hugely. And she’s a very convincing drunk. Rupert Young - voice as smooth as a very smooth thing - is similarly good as Tracy’s love match Dexter, positively dripping coolness and heart in equal measure. Barbara Flynn draws every ounce of comedy from her pretty unsubstantial role as Tracy’s long suffering mother and Jamie Parker is typically charismatic (though a resoundingly unconvincing drunk) as frustrated writer Mike Connor, hoovering up most of the best one liners and delivering them with an enjoyable swagger. And the ensemble cast of miscellaneous servants/posh people are fantastic, carrying off much of the heavy lifting where the choreography is concerned without putting a foot wrong, literally or figuratively.

For all that, though, I struggled to get particularly excited about the show as a whole. At the most fundamental level I don’t like the plot, or many of the characters, which is obviously a problem that no production would be able to overcome. This production in particular deals with the plot in a slightly uneven way. Directed by musical superstar Maria Friedman - which explains why the musical sequences of the show are so much its strongest suit - the entire first act feels like the set-up for a punchline that the second act doesn't quite deliver on. To put it another way, the first act starts to set up a farce but doesn't actually contain any farce, the second act then drops said promised farce (I really like the word farce) and carries on down a different, more serious, path.

The consequence of this is that I never felt that the plot really got going, something that wasn't helped by the fact there are just too many songs in this show. Right, now I'm aware how batshit mental that sounds as a complaint about a musical. But there were so many musical numbers in this production - which, if my understanding is correct, is a choice made by Arthur Kopit who adapted the film of High Society for the stage and not the way Cole Porter originally wrote it - that even though they were all very well done I just got bored of them. It’s almost like the decision had been taken (whether by Kopit, Porter or someone else doesn't really matter) to just cram in as many Cole Porter songs as possible - I'm amazed that Anything Goes didn't crop up, frankly - and just squish the narrative in around them. I found it intensely frustrating as by the end of the two and a half hours I had had enough of the best part of the show - the music.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I think High Society is a bad show because it demonstrably isn't. I just didn't think it was a great one either, even if it does have some great moments. Worth a look, but not a must see.

Oh, and if you do go get in your seats early as Joe Stilgoe’s pre-show warm up is fab.

High Society is at the Old Vic until 22nd August.

Theatre Review: The Motherfucker with the Hat

Sometimes the weirdest things motivate you to see a show.

Case in point: I decided I wanted to see The Motherfucker with the Hat the moment that the National Theatre released the rehearsal photos and I noticed that Carlos Solis from Desperate Housewives was playing the lead. Not because I fancy him (although…), not because I thought he was a great actor but just because he was from Desperate Housewives and that show WAS MY LIFE when I was at university. Also I like plays with funny names. And swearing; I love swearing. So this one was an all round win for me, all things considered.

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Motherfucker, as I shall henceforth refer to it (because yay swearing!), tells the story of Jackie, ex-con recovering alcoholic, who discovers that his girl Veronica is having an affair when he comes home one day to find a stranger’s hat in their apartment. Sent into a spiral of jealousy, he enlists the help of his AA Sponsor Ralph and sexually ambiguous Cousin Julio to help him deal with the emotional chaos that ensues.

Provocative title aside, this is actually a play about honour. Everyone in Motherfucker is flawed but everyone has their own deeply held moral code. Despite the fact that Jackie is a bit of a shit by all accounts including his own, he respects the bro code. Cheating on his own girlfriend with a former sponsor? Allowed. Fooling around with his current sponsor/best friend’s wife? Not allowed. Hashtag bro code. Similarly, despite being summarily abused and mocked by Jackie for most of his life, Cousin Julio stands by him whenever Jackie needs help - be that hiding the gun Jackie’s recklessly borrowed from a maniacal friend or offering his “Van Damme” skills to beat up Ralph when *spoiler alert!* it transpires that he is in fact the motherfucker with the hat who’s sleeping with Veronica - because they’re family and Jackie was once kind to Julio when they were children. Ralph for his part also has a moral code, albeit a somewhat more nihilistic one that allows sleeping around and telling people that his wife has just died. Whatever floats your boat I guess.

It’s the contradiction between these characters’ massive flaws and their professed morality that provides both the funniest and most touching moments in this really enjoyable show. Stephen Adly Guirgis’ writing is quick-fire, very funny and deeply touching. There are some straight up fantastic lines - Jackie to Ralph’s wife Victoria as he rebuffs her advances: “What are we, Europeans or some shit?!” - that deliver both huge laughs and deep silences, often in quick succession. I loved the play’s ability to sandwich a joke in the middle of a really serious piece of dialogue (and vice versa) as a way of keeping the audience on their toes and making the action feel authentic and genuine.

The cast, too, are great. Leading a tiny ensemble of just five Ricardo Chavira (GUYS, CARLOS SOLIS!) is a pleasingly baffled Jackie, all good intentions and gentle physicality conflated with righteous indignation at being betrayed by two of the most important people in his life. For someone who, by National Theatre standards, has done a pretty small amount of theatre (this is his London début, hopefully the start of a long and happy relationship with the British stage) he is really impressive. (Also, he is ageing well y’know? Book a front stalls seat and enjoy the view in the opening almost-sex scene.) Alec Newman and Nathalie Armin (who is rapidly becoming one of my favourite NT company actors) are fantastic as slimy Ralph and bitter Victoria whose marriage seems to be based entirely on mutual hatred. Victoria in particular gets some of the plays best ‘serious’ dialogue and is really effective delivering it. Flor De Liz Perez is frankly kind of terrifying most of the time as cokehead Veronica, until her barriers are breached and she is revealed to be hurt and fragile. Rounding out an A+ ensemble, Yul Vazquez is perfect as the ambiguous and deadpan Cousin Julio, doing his best to steal every scene he’s in and usually succeeding.

The show’s production is sprightly (100odd minutes, no interval) and so evocative of New York in such a subtle way - it’s amazing how much they achieve with a few floating fire escapes, a gentle backing track of traffic noise and three moving micro-sets. With different apartment sets that move on and off the stage as the scene dictates, the contrasts and similarities between the characters - as well as the NY boroughs they live in - is highlighted very effectively without interrupting the action for more than seconds at a time. It’s technically and dramatically impressive.

Overall, then, Motherfucker is a great play on all fronts and yet another thing I highly recommend (I promise I’ll try and see something I don’t like soon, honest). Brilliant writing, brilliant cast AND CARLOS SOLIS.

The Motherfucker with the Hat is playing in the Lyttleton at the National Theatre until 20th August.

Theatre Review: Gypsy

I've wanted to see a production of Gypsy ever since, about 15 years ago, I first heard some of the songs on an episode of Ball Over Broadway on BBC Radio 2.

(Anyone else remember that show? No? Just me?)

Subsequently, I must have heard bits of the score about a billion times courtesy of myriad episodes of Elaine Paige on Sunday (‘IT’S ME, EEEE PEEE’) and, mostly, Anton and Erin tours which borrow from it so heavily that I think Jule Styne and Stephen Sondheim should get some kind of credit in A&E’s tour programme. And to be honest, even if you don’t think you do, everyone almost certainly knows at least one song or tune from Gypsy. It’s kind of everywhere, musically speaking.

There’s always a risk when you've been wanting to see a show for ages that, having built it up so much in your mind, any production no matter how good is an automatic let down. I was fortunate, then, that the production I got to see was the current West End one which is one of the best - if not the actual best - productions of any musical I've ever seen.

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I mean this show has superlative laden five star reviews coming out of its ears at this point, all of which are entirely justified. I would actually go so far as to say it’s perfect; I can’t think of a single thing, even a tiny one, that I didn't like about it.

The major thing to like about Gypsy - any production of it - is the incredible music. I can’t think of another show that has so many instantly recognisable songs in it. It’s absolutely incredible to me that amazing songs like Everything’s Coming Up Roses, Some People, Together Wherever We Go, You Gotta Get a Gimmick and All I Need is the Girl are in one show. Hell, even the Overture is famous (and so, so beautiful) which is not something that many shows can boast. The music is, I would argue, the best ever written for a show and the superb orchestrations (and orchestra) in this production really make the most of it.

Of course the other major thing to like about Gypsy is that, if a production is in any way worth its salt, then you have a Major Star playing the lead character, Rose. In this case it’s National Treasure Imelda Staunton (I believe that’s her full name) who is un-fucking-believable. I'm aware this is going to sound gushy and over the top, but there really aren't the words to do justice to her performance.  Her voice is just incredible - so powerful and emotive - which is something I always forget for some reason, despite having seen her in a few musicals now. It goes without saying that she’s an incredible actress (her ‘Rose accent’ alone deserves some awards it feels so natural) too and her performance in this show must be one of her best to date.

Rose is a difficult character to love for most of the show and only really gets her redemption in the big finish of the second act, leaving a lot riding on what is a huge and difficult song. Staunton takes that huge and difficult song and wipes the floor with it. It’s a genuinely extraordinary few minutes of theatre which is thrilling to watch. I'm not sure I've seen anything like it in a musical before - it’s worth the price of a ticket alone.

The rest of the cast is great, if somewhat overshadowed. Peter Davison in particular is extremely touching as Rose’s would-be husband Herbie and Lara Pulver is a great, wounded-but-feisty Louise. A fantastic ensemble - and a really strong kids’ ensemble too - has lots to do and does it well. The dance routines are particularly slick, especially Dan Burton’s (Tulsa) sweeping ballroom All I Need is the Girl routine which would definitely get a ten from Len were he to participate in Strictly Come Dancing for some reason.

The production is astutely directed by Jonathan Kent and the clever design - the use of projection is so effective as is the ‘circusy’ lighting - makes the show look as well as sound great.

I think Gypsy is the best thing I've seen this year (nicking the top spot from Clarence Darrow) and urge you to go and see it too. You could not possibly regret it.

Gypsy plays at the (stunning) Savoy Theatre until 28th November.

Theatre Review: An American in Paris

There’s something special about seeing a musical on Broadway.

For reasons I can’t entirely explain, they just seem more at home amongst the bright lights and the bustle of the Great White Way. Big, glamorous, glitzy ‘traditional’ musicals were born on Broadway and there’s just something unique about seeing them in their natural environment.

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An American in Paris is very much the sort of big, glitzy musical that is just made for Broadway. Based on the 1950s Gene Kelly film of the same name, the show features the extraordinary music of the Gershwins and tells the story of Jerry, an American-GI-turned-painter, who decides to stay in Paris after his stint in the second world war where he falls in love with beautiful dancer Lise - a love which famously culminates in an almost 20 minute long ballet sequence.

Films, even musical films, don’t always make great stage shows - and putting a 20 minute ballet on a Broadway stage is certainly a daring move! - but An American in Paris does work; it works like a particularly glorious dream.

First of all the music - my god the music! - is by the Gershwins and therefore perfect. It’s almost worth calling An American in Paris a jukebox musical based on the number of Gershwin greatest hits it includes - I Got Rhythm and ‘S Wonderful are my personal highlights. They’re surrounded by a stunning score, particularly for the dance sequences and particularly particularly the famous ballet. The whole thing just sounds so gorgeous. The music alone makes the show worth seeing.

Second of all, the wonderful music is performed by a wonderful cast. It’s incredibly hard to believe that both Robert Fairchild (Jerry) and Leanne Cope (Lise) are ballet dancers making their Broadway débuts. I mean don’t get me wrong their dancing is phe-fucking-nominal (quoth my mum: “I never wanted that ballet bit to end”) but their singing and their acting is too. Fairchild in particular is a revelation; so charming and so charismatic that you (I) just want to eat him on a sandwich. He’s a force of nature in this show and I hope more Broadway - and West End, pleaseandthankyou - roles are to follow.

A more established supporting cast back them up with Max von Essen’s lovelorn Henri - who absolutely nails his tour de force solo, I’ll Build a Stairway to Paradise; the most sublime, elegant production number I've ever seen - and Brandon Uranowitz’s dry, sardonic Adam being my favourites. The whole cast is great though, just dripping with incredible dancers, and I actually feel a bit guilty about singling anyone out. Not guilty enough not to do it, obviously.

Third of all, the whole show just looks beautiful. From the stunning choreography - the big ballet sequence in particular is out of this world, but all of the routines are on point (pun intended) - to the incredible projected scenery to the beautiful 50s costumes everything is an utter delight. It’s so elegant, so glitzy, so smooth and so glamorous that it’s impossible not to get completely swept up in the entire production unless you’re, like, dead inside.

An American in Paris is a joyous production from top to bottom and start to finish. I'm aware that New York might be a bit of a stretch for some of my UK based readers, but for anyone local or who happens to find themselves in the New York area any time soon then this is a must see. And for everyone else, well, you can get a transatlantic flight for well below most people’s credit card limits these days. Just saying.

An American in Paris is playing at the Palace Theatre New York until November 22nd.