Review of ‘North by Northwest’: “39 steps down in comedy”

Following its national tour, the stage adaptation of Alfred Hitchcock’s classic arrives on the London scene — reviving one of his most popular works by turning mystery into chuckles. Guillermo Nazara shares his views on the show — to let us know if they granted care to its treatment or if, instead, it is in more trouble than Harry.

It might have been the heat. It might have been I hadn’t slept much that day. Or it might have been just that it wasn’t that funny — or funny at all. But the thing is that last Friday’s performance of the spoof-filtered stage adaptation of Alfred Hitchcock’s timeless classic didn’t land for me — even when replicating the iconic plane chase scene.

You don’t need to be a fan of the Master of Suspense to enjoy any of these theatrical shenanigans — where there’s no more element of shock other than its humourously twisted reinterpretation of the plot. They did it with The 39 Steps, and it conquered the West End for a good nine years — and very understandably so. The show was an utmost triumph of comical craftsmanship, where every moment topped the last one through its surprising absurdity and deliciously satirical overtone.

There’s no shadow of doubt that writer Patrick Barlowe had been visited by his Muse when penning his murderous baby. It could also be that the man knew too much. But when it comes to inspiration, it seems like the lady vanishes in North by Northwest‘s latest excursion under the spotlight, which opened last weekend within the withered allure of Alexandra Palace’s walls.

Written and directed by Emma Rice, the show employs the same tools to deliver a farcical rehash of the revered film. It features every trick in the book — from hyperbolic performances to ridiculously cheap staging solutions to boost the idiocy of the piece. There’s just one tiny difference in comparison to its elder brother — for this one may be following its footsteps, but it’s tripping all the way through.

If you’re looking for a good laugh, you might as well keep it stored in your arsenal — there’s no point in sparing any of them for this one. It is nothing but dull. A sabotage of a play that throws the experience off the lifeboat — tearing the curtain through its absence of originality and ongoing predictability, forcing us to think how amusing they are instead of proving it to us.

Its core issue relies on substituting instinct with formula. What’s supposed to be hilarious on paper doesn’t necessarily translate to reality. And in this case, that notion is continuously certified scene by scene. Flaunting barely any wit, the script repeatedly brings the same sluggish gimmicks — many of which never had a chance in the first place.

The characters break into lip-synced 1950s songs (to be performed in full length), whose lyrics boast very little irony or entertaining quality. Antique leather briefcases labelled with location names serve as the ongoing mechanism to contextualize the whole act, sometimes opening to reveal some flat joke. An easy choice, perhaps — but by no means one of virtue.

The design also fails to trigger enough enticement. A group of revolving door-like props concoct the majority of the staging. It enhances the rendition’s dynamism, but its lack of abstraction compromises its versatility. It doesn’t give it enough rope to morph from one ambience to another — once we see the door, that’s the sole thing we see. And apart from its elegant, intricate lighting, the sense of evocativeness is notoriously missing.

The cast makes some laudable efforts to keep the piece afloat. However, several portrayals come across as rather insipid and monotonous, with Ewan Wardrop disappointing through his lethargic, uncharismatic delivery in the title role. Some other members do leave a much more favourable impression, though — as both Katy Owen and Karl Queensborough excel through their infectious energy and refreshing adaptability in their multiple characters.

It would be too big an exaggeration to scream “Murder!” upon watching Rice’s in-jest revision of Hitchcock’s masterwork. But it would be a greater overstatement to say it will leave audiences in a state of frenzy — let alone, spellbound. Comically vacuous and with most of its appeal going downhill, this droll retake of North by Northwest stands closer to a stage fright than a Marnie-ficent endeavour.

Had it been executed with more deftness and originality, it could have taken audiences on a vertiginous ride of boisterous foolishness. So far, nonetheless, it’s harder to keep up with than to catch a thief — and consequently, we can only dial M for muddled.

All pictures credit to Steve Tanner.

North by Northwest plays at London’s Alexandra Palace until 22 June. Tickets are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara