Review of Top Hat: “New revival of Berlin’s classic is caught in the rain, and it isn’t lovely”

Following its world premiere at the Chichester Festival and subsequent national tour, the show arrives on the London scene for the festive season. Guillermo Nazara shares his views on the show to let us know if this latest incarnation can be brushed off.

I’m not sure if they put all their eggs in one basket. What I can tell you is that most of them cracked. I’ve never considered the stage adaptation of Irvin’s 30s classic a great musical, but there is a reason why it did moderately well in its original form. This production is not one of them. And the weakness that Matthew White and Howard Jacques’s book exhibits, page after page, gives this show barely any chances to stay afloat.

Anyone familiar with the film should be aware of the plot’s thinness. Yet, that was hardly a problem in a time when America and the rest of the world needed a getaway from reality. Hollywood provided that escapism, and it did it beautifully through the glitz and glamour that defined old Tinseltown. It also stars Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire in one of the most endearing performances, and that is a strong enough argument to revere the movie.

This is nothing of the sort, most sadly. If you’re looking for chemistry, that ingredient is severely missing in this revival’s menu, alongside many others. As I’m writing this review, I’m playing Rogers and Astaire’s iconic Cheek To Cheek scene. His gentle grip and warming smirk conquer the screen, while her purity and naivete conquer our hearts. It literally takes one second to notice the rapport they both exude, something that can’t be found throughout the vapid over 2-hour rendition audiences dealt with last Tuesday.

It’s a mixture of unresourceful acting and obtuse direction. The entire cast appears to be detached from each other. There’s no back-and-forth energy, no sense of togetherness, and no soulfulness permeating the interpretation. That’s all the piece needs, and also all it has when its story can’t offer anything else. Instead, this new production leaves us void and unfulfilled. Rarely are we entertained, and at no point can we feel any emotion.

White and Jacques’s script makes the material problematic. Its humour is excruciatingly unfunny and predictable. It thinks of it as sharp, but that’s a delusional observation. Overall, the structure is also flawed. There is no proper buildup for the characters to break into song. Consequently, the start to most numbers comes across as shoehorned and often unwelcome — hardly the feeling one would like to convey in a musical.

The show could still have come through well enough if it weren’t for the company’s complete lack of comedic skills. Amara Okereke’s bedroom solo, when she tries to pull off an act of playful seduction, fails to capture anything of what that moment is all about. There’s no sass, no charm, no drollery, and absolutely no naturalness. The whole thing comes off forced and uninviting. As a result, our investment as viewers decreases, and the sensations we are left with can’t rise from apathy.

The same goes for Phillip Atmore as protagonist Jerry Travers, who, despite his competent singing and fine dancing, struggles to bring nuance, subtext, and organicness to his character. Similarly, Clive Carter’s portrayal of Horace is comically clueless, relying on tired formulaic devices with no timing or instinct. Sally Ann Triplett makes the sole exception as Madge Hardwick, giving a powerhouse performance that brims with presence, charisma, and assertiveness. Wistfully, her energy doesn’t benefit from any others’ in return. And as a result, her effectiveness can only go so far.

Peter McKintosh’s design is visually arresting but limited. Conceived as a 1930s jazz club, the set relies on a revolving platform for the addition of props. It’s a pretty sight, but wrong, nonetheless. The explosion of gold and silver Art Deco is overwhelming and, for the most part, distracting. It feels out of place on too many occasions. And inevitably, the sense of intimacy, which bits like the meet-cute park scene requires, is totally lost.

If there’s one redeeming feature to mention, that should be Chris Walkers’s excellent orchestrations, brilliantly delivered by Stephen Ridley’s compelling conducting. Rich, sumptuous, and evocative, Berlin’s colourful score soars through a vivid palette of brass, string, and brass that perfectly encapsulate the piece’s old-Broadway spirit.

There are decent dance excerpts, but none of them flaunts spectacularity. The singing is, on the whole, satisfactory, but no voice is capable of wowing us. Top Hat is an average musical in many ways. And that’s not necessarily a problem if you’re off for an uncomplicated, feel-good night at the theatre. The issue arises when none of those elements is in the equation anymore. And even if they are, they come off extremely vacuous. There may be feathery choreographies, a sparkling repertoire, and loads of delicious misunderstandings. Yet, despite its title, this show looks flatter than a French beret.

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All pictures credit to Johan Persson.

Top Hat plays at London’s Southbank Centre until 17 January. Tickets are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara