It's Not Easy Being God

He should try writing a musical. As Mathilda man of the moment, Tim Minchin, points out in the Evening Standard magazine (p.42):

“Bad musical theatre seems to be the vast majority – but good musical theatre is transcendent”

Transcendent indeed. Even more interesting is his description of Jesus Christ Superstar as a “radical atheist musical”. This seems worthy of some head-scratching. Here’s how the argument might go:

ATHEIST: Crikey, did you see that JCS? Really stuck it to you theists, eh?

THEIST: Not really.

ATHEIST: But it’s hardly gospel truth.

THEIST: Certainly not. It’s a secular take on a religious story. Whilst each scene has its origin in the New Testament, the interpretation is distinctly non-Christian. But that doesn’t make it atheist.

ATHEIST: Yes, but it doesn’t make any claims about Jesus’ divinity.

THEIST: No, but Jesus does address God directly in “Gethsemane”, usually as if He’s sitting front and centre of the lower balcony (His favourite seat, apparently):

“Why should I die?
Would I be more noticed than I ever was before?
Would the things I’ve said and done matter any more?”

Then at the climax of the song, Jesus submits to His fate with typical Tim Rice contratemporaneity:

“God, thy will is hard
But you hold ev’ry card”

ATHEIST: Contra what? You made up that.

THEIST: Yes, I think I did. But my point remains.

ATHEIST: Surely the whole point of that song is the one-way nature of the conversation. Jesus cries out for help but there’s no god to help him. The god he calls upon is the product of his mind. On this reading Jesus is the ultimate celebrity: gripped by the “superstar” delusion right to the end: “My God, why have you forsaken me?”. There is no answer; he dies alone.

THEIST: That’s true. On the other hand, if God isn’t merely a delusion and is actually on the other end of that cry for help, the drama still makes sense. Jesus must submit to His will, however desperate, afraid or alone he acts or feels. In other words, the authors are playing a very straight bat: we can’t infer either atheism or theism from the way it is written.

ATHEIST: So it’s stalemate?

THEIST: Not quite. I think we also have to ask where the audience’s sympathies lie. The drama (incidentally, just like Joseph and Evita) revolves around two characters – one with ideas of grandeur, the other acting as a cynical counterpoint. In JCS this climaxes with Jesus being nailed to a cross whilst Judas mocks and sneers at him with a smugly catchy refrain: “Jesus Christ Superstar/Do you think you’re who they say you are?”. At this point I think the audience’s sympathies lie with the victim and, as such, tips the balance in favour of theism. If there no God then Jesus is clearly being presented as a madman and would we really sympathize with a madman? Genuine madness excludes genuine sympathy. Jesus isn’t mad; he’s terribly sane and that’s his tragedy. And, if he isn’t mad, then there is a God.

ATHEIST: Hm, I don’t know. Sounds like over-interpretation to me. To be honest, I just like the funny song about Herod...


Now I’m not quite as bold as my theistic friend but I do maintain that JCS can’t really be considered an atheist musical.

My verdict: transcendently agnostic (with a very funny song about Herod).

Phantom Rides Again (and Again)

I caught Love Never Dies in the original London production. Since then there have been a lot of changes. According to my calculations by the time it closed in the West End it was on version 3.1 with Aussie-compatible Bill Kenwright plugins.

So this is a bit out of date but here’s a review.

**SPOILER ALERT**

One common misconception about Lord Lloyd Webber is that he’s a commercially-motivated writer. In truth he’s more Boheme than businessman. This is nowhere more evident than with Love Never Dies, a sequel to Phantom of the Opera, the most commercially successful entertainment in the history of the word ever. It’s taken 18 years. If it was all about the money, money (ch-ching, ch-ching) then, by this time, we would surely be on Phantom XII: Return to the Sewers.

But something finally drew His Lordship back to the characters of the original. So it’s 10 years on and the Phantom has donned his mask once again, skipped the Atlantic and become a mysterious genius who lords over a mini-empire of circus freaks and showgirls in Coney Island, New York. The star turn is Meg, a dancer from the days of the Paris opera house and the old ballet mistress, Madame Giry, has become Head of Light Entertainment. The Phantom hatches a plan to lure his old flame Christine, now an internationally-renowned singer, to perform in New York. She arrives along with hubby, Raoul, who, having gambled away the fortunes of his more successful wife, has turned into grouchy embittered drunk. So the gang’s all here.

Ah, but there’s also the boy. Yes, Christine has a 10-year-old (hint!) and it soon becomes clear that this fella is, in fact, the product of an illicit rendezvous between the Phantom and Christine on the night before her wedding. Well, I say “soon”. That’s truer for the audience than most of the characters. For Raoul the penny doesn’t drop until this exquisite exchange in the Act II:

PHANTOM: Such a child, strange to see, different, musical?
RAOUL:Huh?

That was pretty much my first reaction to the little tinker too. But, in fact, the boy is a necessity. The Phantom needs to be unmasked and that requires a character to react to the unmasking. In the original, it’s Christine. On the first occasion, she faints with shock; on the second, she accepts him, warts and all. The story revolves around these two points and the same points occur in Love Never Dies. Only this time it’s the boy, not Christine, who’s on the other end of the Phantom’s mug.

All well and good. But it does change things. The show begins with the Phantom still obsessed with his desire – romantic, artistic, erotic - for Christine. But as soon as he is revealed as daddy dearest then his focus shifts from her to the boy. This would be fine if his obsessive desire was enlarged too. Instead it seems to diminish. The Phantom has spent 10 years patiently building an empire and amassing a fortune half way across the world so that he can bring Christine to him. That’s obsessive. When he learns about the boy, what does he do? He tries to bond with him by showing him some freaky Phantasma inventions (“The Beauty Underneath”); he challenges Raoul during an early morning sing-off (“Devil Take the Hindmost”); and he forces Christine to sing a song (“Love Never Dies”). None of this really ramps up the obsession factor.

It also makes the Phantom far less dangerous. What is the Phantom story about? Essentially it’s a monster story with a twist of romance. In the original the monster isn’t slain by the swashbuckling hero, Raoul. Instead it’s the heroine, Christine, who does so with a sign of affection, a kiss. But the point is that the Phantom is a genuine (although pitiable) monster. He frightens, humiliates and murders. His obsession pervades the entire show as he manipulates events like a villainous puppeteer. By comparison the Phantom of Love Never Dies might as well be changing nappies. Not only is he a monster who’s less monstrous, his final “slaying” (being accepted by his son) is trumped by the actual and accidental slaying of the heroine. The result is a more domesticated and less fulfilling kind of drama . Where the original Phantom was a rock opera, Love Never Dies is closer to soap opera.

And yet and yet, despite the plot problems, it’s still worth the effort. There is one wonderful musical theatre moment. Christine is caught between Raoul and the Phantom. Her decision whether or not to perform the Phantom’s song becomes an ultimatum. The build-up is slow and methodical as the stage revolves and the characters wait backstage. Suddenly the lights are on her and she sings:

“Love never dies
Love will continue
Love keeps on beating when
you’re gone
Love never dies
Once it is in you
Life may be fleeting,
love lives on”

Now, like much of the show, the lyrics by Glenn Slater may be a little purple. But they are very singable and allow the swooping rangy tune to do its work. At the climax the lighting on Christine switches to theatrical footlights and it’s clear that Christine has made her choice and, once again, succumbed to the lure of the Phantom’s music. As the audience applauds it becomes the Christine’s audience of the play itself. We, too, have been lured into the drama.

The two leads, Sierra Boggess and Ramin Karimloo, are star turns and have the kind of voices that it’s a privelege to hear. The direction by Broadway veteran Jack O’Brien is slick and the designs are suitably romantic and outlandish. But this is Lloyd Webber’s baby. Something about this story brings out an open-throated, heart-on-the-sleeve honesty in his music and, when it comes to emotional truth, sincerity is a powerful thing. Phantom made him a fortune; a more poorly plotted Love Never Dies may lose him one. But it wouldn’t matter: it was never about the money.

Bye Bye Betty

So Betty Blue Eyes has come to close. I blame the bankers:

“It seems that the prevailing economic uncertainties nationally are leading audiences to take less risks on spending their money on new and unknown work and to seek refuge in safe and familiar titles and material”

But deep down it's still a mystery:

“It is very curious — after such amazing reviews and positive word of mouth, no one knows the real reason why Betty couldn't find a bigger audience”

So says Super Mac and that’s a worry. If he doesn’t know, then nobody knows. For a good couple of decades Sir Cameron seemed to know exactly what made a musical a hit: “safe and familiar” material like people pretending to be cats, a lengthy French novel and a weirdo in a sewer. By comparison adapting a well-loved Alan Bennett film should have been a doddle.

Now I claim no knowledge of the show: haven’t seen it, haven’t heard it. So speaking from the twin authorities of ignorance and prejudice, I can only agree with the assessment of the Guardian’s Alistair Smith:

“Stylistically, it feels like it could have been written at any point over the last half-century”

This is generally true of Styles and Drewe shows. They’re new shows but they feel like old ones.

“In the golden age of musical theatre, it was the popular music of its day. Today, the traditional musical is, like opera, more of a niche pursuit. It needs
to reinvent itself if it is to have a vibrant, popular future. You might even argue that plundering the back catalogues of pop groups such as Abba and the Spice Girls are one way forward (TV casting is another), and the best of these have no problems attracting large audiences.”

Firstly, traditional musicals are not a “niche” like opera. Revivals are playing in commercial theatres all across the land. Opera is almost entirely non-commercial. Secondly, jukebox musicals and TV casting are terrific but can’t offer a way forward. By definition these are old shows. Stiles and Drewe songs may sound as if they could have been written at any point over the last half-century but the songs from Jersey Boys actually were written half a century ago. Abba, Queen, even the Spice Girls; this is the popular music of yesterday, not today.

“But if new musicals are to find the large, popular audience required for a sustained West End run, they need to engage with popular forms of music, not
sounds and forms that hark back to a long-distant golden era”

Now I’m not in total disagreement with the analysis. I’m just not convinced that modern pop is the cure.

The problem is in our ears. Just for fun, let’s invent a theory and call it the Problem of the Audience and Stylistic Associative Preconditioning (PASAP). Stiles And Drewe sound old-fashioned. Why do they sound old-fashioned? Because their songs sound a bit like the kind of songs we associate with a certain period from the past. The clever lyrics, the exact and intricate rhymes, the lack of electric guitars and a heavy backbeat; there’s a gentility to their songs that speaks of a different time. By associative preconditioning the style points the listener to the pre-rock era.

Does this matter? Yes and no. On the Yes side:

1. Old-fashioned songs make it difficult to tell modern stories. It limits the potential.

2. Even old-fashioned songs in a period setting can be distracting. An old-fashioned song may be appropriate to the style of the show’s setting but that doesn’t necessarily make it an integrated musical. Oklahoma sounds folksy but it ain’t folk music. Period music is no substitute for drama.
(Incidentally the PASAP theory may explain why Stiles and Drewe have fared better with children’s musicals. Children are less preconditioned and therefore less likely to perceive a song as being “old-fashioned”)

On the No side:

1. Being old-fashioned doesn’t preclude success. The soundtrack to the Sound of Music beat the Beatles to become the biggest-selling album of the 1960s.

2. Modern pop music, despite the self-appointed title, isn’t that popular. At least not as popular as it once was. (In fact, it’s probably better to call it chart music in order to avoid confusion). “Memory” has never in the charts but it’s a far more popular song than most that have been.

3. Chart music faces the PASAP theory in just the same way as old-fashioned music. When you hear chart music, you think top ten, Radio 1, hippity hop, Beyonce, whatever. The point is that you don't necessarily think character, situation, drama. So how useful is it for musical theatre?

Alistair Smith points to the Divine Comedy, Lily Allen and Tim Minchin as songwriters bringing modern pop into musical theatre. It'll be interesting to see the results.

And if it doesn’t work, we can always blame the bankers.