You’ll soon drip precious rubies

Ages ago I had an email from Dawn, asking whether Mirinda and I would like to accompany them to Chichester to see Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street. Seeing as Sweeney is my favourite musical, it wasn’t a tough decision. As I said, this was quite a while ago and it’s been a wait but tonight it was finally time to go.

Ignoring any remarks by Mirinda, as soon as I discovered that Michael Ball was cast as Sweeney I thought he was terribly miscast. I’m not saying he’s not a great musical performer, just that he’s not what I’d consider, Sweeney material. Not that this affected whether I’d go or not.

Well, I was right. The star of this production of Sweeney Todd was Imelda Staunton as Mrs Lovett. She was extraordinary. I would go so far as to say she gave one of my top five performances in a musical. And I’ve seen a few! Her performance was completely and utterly flawless, believable and delightful.

While this is wonderful for Ms Staunton, it’s an awfully big hill to climb for Michael Ball. And it was a hill he never managed to climb. He sang the right notes and managed to deliver the dialogue, he didn’t bump into the furniture and found the spots but he wasn’t Sweeney. No malevolence, no brooding violence, no coiled spring. And his accent grated.

It occurs to me that this production should be renamed Nellie Lovett, the Pie Shop Owner Who Knew Sweeney Todd.

It’s a shame because the rest of the production was fantastic though why the designer decided to set it in the 1930s rather than Victorian London is a bit odd. I can understand transporting plays of the human condition back and forth through time in order to show that human beings change little over time but Sweeney is really all about that period. He is a victim of the iniquities of the vast gaps in the Victorian classes.

Still, that’s a minor quibble and one of artistic difference. The beauty of Sondheim’s music and lyrics is all pervasive. From the shock of the short, sharp phrasing to the constant thrum of the bass strings, it reached into you and tweaked your emotions with ease. From the initial staccato “…swing your razor high, Sweeney…” which springs unexpectedly from the opening smoothness to the shrill blasts on the steam whistle, it was all perfect.

I’m glad to say that Nicktor stayed awake and Dawn enjoyed it. Mirinda wasn’t so keen on all the blood. In the car she said “Give me Oklahoma!” Still, I think we all had a good time although it would be remiss of me not to mention the appalling auditorium at the theatre. What an architectural horror! Clearly the designer didn’t have the comfort of the audience in mind.

From the theatre it was off to the wonderful Earl of March for dinner.

All up, a lovely day spent with the Cansfields. We really should do it more often.