Review of ‘Franz & Marie’: “Tuneless musical misses the key in every aspect”

Shun everyone who tells you this is a good musical — or anything other than horrendously bad. After hundreds and hundreds of press nights I’ve taken a friend to, this is the first time he’s politely asked to leave during the interval. For the record, he’s the kind of person that tries to see the positive in everything, never thinks things are that terrible, and always tries (unsuccessfully) to sway my reviews for a higher rating. In some way, Franz & Marie can take questionable pride in scaring even the most benevolent viewers away, and I have a feeling that will extend to general audiences throughout their run.

Call me harsh, but I’ve never attended a musical where literally nobody applauded after the numbers. That’s how much of a debacle Act One was. Not that the second half did any better, but I assume the creative team and their guests had a little chat. And so, there were cheers after the intermission — but nobody else joined in, apart from the five individuals so vehemently (and hopelessly) trying to raise the temperature.

What’s wrong with this piece? Same as the production. The answer is: EVERYTHING. This could be considered the worst show of the year. If I were making a list of the most abhorrent things I’ve witnessed as a critic, it would stay near the top (nothing can beat A Man and a Washing Machine). From a shallow, messy, and ultimately boring plot to dreadful lyrics and the company’s overall ineptitude, this Frankenstein of a musical is even more monstrous than it sounds — and just as much of a crime against the nature of art.

Based on Georg Büchner’s 19th-century German play, Woyzeck, the story revolves around a young couple raising a baby born out of wedlock. Struggling to get by, Franz decides to take part in a medical experiment to raise some extra money. A desperate solution to a desperate situation, which will spawn more problems than it solves. As their relationship withers, Marie is sexually assaulted by an officer from Franz’s army. Far from defending her honour, Franz’s paranoia will lead him to do the unthinkable. Suffice it to say, it’s not a happy ending — for anyone.

It’s an excellent premise, but its incompetent writing turns it into an excruciatingly dull narrative. The characters are so sketchy you can barely make them out. To call them archetypal would be delusionally generous. There’s nothing in them. No defining traits, no compelling motivations, and no conflicting emotions. They are just puppets in a tediously long sequence of events, who come and go without leaving the slightest mark.

The approach is just as confusing as it is ridiculous. The recount intends to be taken seriously, but its inconsistent tone makes that goal impossible. Either deliberate or accidental, the piece comes across as camp on the camp. Consequently, its hypothetically poignant conflict becomes a laughing stock. It doesn’t touch our hearts, let alone stir us. In the end, the only sane way to react is by not reacting at all.

Forgive me if I’m being redundant, but I feel obliged to go back to the personages. Because these villains deserve a mention of their own. They are preposterously childish. Instead of contempt (or any usual response associated with this type of character), all they instigate is secondhand embarrassment, coming off as pathetically cartoonish caricatures: Franz’s boss, Captain Peccary, feels like a spoofy knockoff of Captain Hook, while the sadistic physician jeopardising Franz’s mental health has as much gravitas as Donald Duck.

The score suffers from the same problems. Although some melodies are moderately catchy, their underdevelopment ultimately takes over. In addition, most motifs are either too common or directly borrowed from well-known tunes such as Elton John’s Your Song or Lionel Bart’s I’m Reviewing the Situation. They also fail on an emotional level. For the most part, they can’t convey the right sentiment. And despite some decent nods to Eastern European folk, its eclectic style feels unjustified and chaotic.

The lyrics are the most shameful element of them all. The examples are countless, just like the times you feel the urge to facepalm. The sins are multiple: superficiality (“there’s more to weaving, if you keep believing”), metaphoric clunkiness (“this bundle of feelings”, while handling a bundle of hay), philosophical emptiness (“nothing lasts forever — except for death”), and, of course, ludicrous rhyming (“this machete killed a yeti”).

We could try to find solace in the cast, but sadly that isn’t an option either. Besides Matthew Heywood, Paula James, and Elaine Hua Jones, the singing is painful. Nobody is in tune, and their vocal technique is so poor it feels like you’re watching an amateur production. The same applies to the acting, particularly Mark Meadows (Peccary) and Richard Emerson Gould (Simian), who honour the material by being just as bad.

Perhaps my standards are too high. Then again, I doubt anyone would set theirs so low. There are no redeeming features in Franz & Marie other than the company members are also multi-instrumentalists. But that’s something we’ve seen before and in a much better state. By the middle of Act Two, the vile doctor pats himself on the back as he proclaims himself a genius. We’re supposed to scoff at his self-deception. And I wonder if that line served as a projection mechanism for the author.

All pictures credit to Danny Kaan.

Franz & Marie plays at London’s Charing Cross Theatre until 14 November. Tickets are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara