Stark, unsettling and wholly contemporary reimagining of the classic musical
Less a revival than a dark and unsettling reimagining of the well-loved Western-themed musical, Daniel Fish’s audacious deconstruction – a hit on Broadway, which received its UK premiere at the Young Vic last year and now transfers to the West End – is captivating, offbeat and pulsing with sexual tension. Barely-contained lust throbs under just about every line and shudders through every thump and jolt of John Heginbotham’s bouncy choreography.
Approaching the text with uncompromising clarity, director Fish intentionally excises much of the lightness from the show, excavating unspoken themes of sexual violence and criminal complicity along the way. Here, the unsettling number Pore Jud is Daid becomes a coercive act of emotional abuse. The closing wedding sequence has distinct echoes of Tarantino with its blood-splattered bridal party and deadpan dialogue.
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The second act kicks off with the extended dream ballet sequence, performed with consummate precision and ferocious energy by lead dancer Marie-Astrid Mence. Full of heavily symbolic images that subtly echo key moments from the first act, the dance is by turns earthy and airy, and is accompanied by a heart-jolting score of shrieking strings and a howling electric guitar: Rodgers and Hammerstein by way of Hendrix.
This thematic starkness is reflected, too, in Scott Zielinski’s all-or-nothing approach to the lighting design. Some sequences unfold in absolute darkness, others in blazing light that fills the auditorium with warmth. Occasionally, scenes start out under soft, natural light, but are then suddenly plunged into hyper-saturated washes of emerald green or lurid magenta.
The set, by Lael Jellinek and Grace Laubacher features walls of gleamingly polished plywood that support racks of rifles. Glittery foil bunting hangs overhead, matching the show’s off-kilter tone of frivolity and danger. Simple, subtle scenic paintings place the action on a flat prairie landscape under wispy strips of smoky cloud.
Anoushka Lucas reprises her role as lovelorn Laurey. Serious and stand-offish, she’s a tough and tense protagonist, always on guard against the predatory men who surround her. Lucas sings with a soaring, sweet voice, which drops away into a plaintive but bell-clear whisper in the closing moments of the production’s standout tune, Out of My Dreams. Opposite her, Arthur Darvill’s Curly is anything but a traditional romantic lead. Swaggering, sleazy, and infuriatingly insouciant, he presents a gripping study in cruelty and toxic overconfidence.
Patrick Vaill gives a fascinating, horribly magnetic performance as disturbed drifter Jud Fry. His eyes pink and shining with tears, his lower lip constantly trembling, he is horribly believable as an obsessive creep about to snap. Meanwhile Liza Sadovy’s Aunt Eller deploys a smokescreen of seen-it-all nonchalance, but remains fiercely protective – a hardy, steadying presence in this febrile, all-but-lawless frontier town.
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