Review of ‘Beautiful Little Fool’: “Valley-of-ashes show isn’t worth greenlighting”

London’s Southwark Playhouse presents this new musical biopic of F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald’s tumultuous relationship, narrated through their daughter’s eyes. Guillermo Nazara shares his views on the show to let us know if this theatrical reunion between the old sports comes off as haughty.

“Show me a hero, and I’ll write you a tragedy.” For the kind of self-entitled prick this musical portrays F. Scott Fitzgerald as (and maybe was), it surely takes a few pages from his book — not that conceptualising one of his most famous quotes (thanks, Reddit) secures any quality standards. We may have a blurred hero, a questionable villain, and loads of drama involving a dysfunctional marriage. Yet, all that we should cry about is the absence of a story well told — and of a play worth watching.

There’s barely anything beautiful about this piece, and there’s too much foolishness involved in its writing. It’s a mess from start to finish, with absolutely no redeeming features other than its devoted cast — but not even they can escape the blemishing touch of such unworthy material.

It’s common knowledge that Scott and Zelda’s relationship was far from idyllic — they were horrible for each other yet extremely codependent. Their vicissitudes would serve as inspiration for some of Scott’s most reputed works. Allegedly, so would her comments, letters, and diary entries. She’s been accused of doing the same to him, nonetheless.

What really happened isn’t relevant, however. In fact, no event pictured in this show matters — not because they’re not important, but because we couldn’t care less due to how they are depicted.

Nothing in it feels remotely compelling. Overall, it is a vapid amalgamation of events with no sense of depth or resonance. The characters are painfully sketchy, and their arcs are virtually nonexistent. They start as clichés, and they remain as clichés. Their only growth comes from their soap-operatic traits, all of which are prominent except for, perhaps, the only one that may have come in handy: grip.

It’s surprising how a plot involving an abusive marriage from both parties, neglectful parenting, mutual plagiarism, and one of the spouses being committed to a mental institution can be so boring — but it is. The reason why is simple: everything is treated like a passing anecdote that deserves no more than 5 minutes under the spotlight. Consequently, none of those topics is properly explored — not even on the most superficial level.

On the whole, its writing comes off coarse, underdeveloped, and even childish at some points. The dialogue is excruciatingly artificial, melodramatic, and empty. There’s no insightfulness, and its attempts to sound witty produce the exact opposite effect, especially when they do it in Italian — twice.

The Fitzgeralds’ daughter, Scottie, is employed as a Greek chorus device. On the paper, we can see why. On the stage, we can only wonder. Despite her implications in the story, the character has no significance. All these events were supposed to have a huge impact on her — and very understandably so. As the show begins, we learn how she’s haunted by the fact that, now that she’s turned 48, she’s lived longer than both her parents. Yet, that promising emotional connection never materialises into something prominent or tangible. And if anyone, even the most unrelated person, replaced her as the raconteur, nobody would mind.

The score doesn’t make things any better. In a time when light pop-rock has become the norm for almost every new musical, regardless of themes or setting, this one refuses to step away from the herd — and that extends to its annoyingly derivative sound, which comes across as an amalgamation of thousands of songs we already heard before, only duller and with a worse, often incomplete structure.

The lyrics are terribly prosaic and superfluous. There is no subtext, and when they try to get philosophical, they just feel like an assortment of random words put together to give the false impression of profundity. “Is it love or is it fate? Is it truth or is it hate?” It is as bad as it reads. And like this one, the libretto is plagued with hollow verses that push rhyme for convenience without attention to meaning. Just like its melodies, no line is memorable, except for “he came to Montgomery, Alabama”, but only because it’s repeated ad nauseam.

The staging is moderately intricate, but its approach is wrong. A figurative library set serves as the centre-piece, with a few props helping create scene changes. Suffice it to say, it doesn’t work. It’s an appreciation of the protagonists’ vocation, but the story takes place in too many different locations for the set to be reduced to a bunch of shelves, stairs, and desks. There are nightclubs, the countryside, and cities abroad. None of them is properly referenced, and the plot’s dynamism is compromised by a design with very little abstraction and too many distractions.

The cast is the only part of the production that remains untarnished. In general, their renditions display rapport and adequate role internalisation, despite the scarce tools that the writing supplies. Both David Hunter and Lauren Ward give satisfying performances, particularly through their delightful vocals, as well as achieving a certain degree of poignancy.

“I just realised how writing takes patience”, says a recovering Zelda as she begins to overcome her personal demons. If only the author had had the same epiphany. Calling it a severely undercooked piece feels like a gross understatement. To some, these remarks might be too crude. Yet, nothing compares to the insipid evening we were put through.

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All pictures credit to Pamela Raith.

Beautiful Little Fool plays at London’s Southwark Playhouse Borough until 28 February. Tickets are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara