Look, I know musicals don’t have to be all sweetness and light, but it’s hard to think of a piece of intellectual property less suited to the form than this bleak tale of a dimwit male prostitute and his sidekick sliding into penury and degradation in 1960s New York.
The rickety stage adaptation by Bryony Lavery (book) and Francis ‘Eg’ White (music and lyrics), pointedly claims to be based on James Leo Herlihy’s 1965 novel – i.e., not on John Schlesinger’s better-known, Oscar-winning 1969 film with Jon Voight and Dustin Hoffman. Yet the musical follows the film’s narrative closely and coarsely, slapping largely indifferent songs over the action seemingly at random.
In the lead roles of titular himbo Joe Buck and his runty chum Rico ‘Ratzo’ Rizzo, Paul Jacob French and Max Bowden are two-dimensional and charmless, while the supporting characters are cartoonish grotesques. The singing and the dancing in director-choreographer Nick Winston’s production are an unfortunate mix of the portentous and the ragged.
A belated handful of catchy, lyrically sophisticated numbers enliven White’s hitherto tedious pop-rock score, played by a four-strong band. But by then it’s too late. The tragic ending is ruthlessly milked for emotional effect. I saw the show on its last preview but doubt it could have changed substantially by opening night.
Like the film, the musical largely ditches the first half of the novel about Joe’s loveless childhood and warped sexual education in Houston, Texas. We just see a few ghosts yammering behind the projection screen that dominates Andrew Exeter’s set as Joe, in a flash-forward, strips off his bloodied shirt in a Manhattan washroom.
Calming himself after a crisis, the full extent of which we witness later, he begins to sing along to Harry Nilsson’s Everybody’s Talkin’, the movie’s title song. The sweetness of this number underlines the paucity of those that trundle after it.
White, once the bassist in Brother Beyond, has written excellent songs for a host of artists, from Adele to Will Young, but inspiration eludes him for much of the running time here. There’s a generic road-trip song as Joe takes the bus to the Big Apple (“Noo Yawk, head in the clouds, you’re gonna love me…”). Then a breathy Donna Summer pastiche from Tori Allen-Martin as Cass, the first woman he services then ends up paying, instead of vice versa. And an almost comically torrid number as he reacts to his initial betrayal by his new friend Ratso, while members of the ensemble writhe and self-harm around him. Lavery’s dialogue is given a phony, declamatory ring throughout and Joe seems to greet good or bad fortune with an ambivalent “shee-it”..
French tends to mutter both lines and lyrics throughout the first half, while Bowden delivers everything in an exasperated growl. But his first-act closer Don’t Give Up On Me Now – reprised by Joe at the very end – is heartfelt and pleasing. Blue is the Colour and the simple Good Morning Joe are good songs too, simple and delicate. Still one smashes repeatedly up against the incongruity of score and subject matter, as Joe descends to turning gay tricks in movie theatres and fleapit hotels, Ratso gradually collapses, and Winston treats it all as a gaudy, carnivalesque entertainment.
I know, I know: there are countless examples of musicals with challenging subject matter, from Les Mis to Rent. But I’ve rarely come across an adaptation as jarring as this. Shee-it indeed.
Until 17 May, southwarkplayhouse.co.uk.
