CLOSER TO HEAVEN | TURBINE THEATRE, LONDON
★★★
Throbbing beats, scantily clad East End boys, the odd West End girl and all the drugs money can buy, welcome to Vic’s Nightclub where you have a decision to make should you find yourself sitting at one of the cabaret tables by the catwalk stage; leave the ‘beer mat’ on your table red face up and you’ll be left alone, flip it over to green and the cast know you’re up for some light audience participation, nothing too extreme mind, “just a touch on the shoulder or maybe a feather in the face”.
Closer To Heaven, with an emotionally provocative score from Pet Shop Boys and a sharp, witty book by Jonathan Harvey is back in a brand new production for the Turbine Theatre that, despite there being much to love, never quite fulfils its promise.
Newly arrived in London from Ireland, Straight Dave is working as a barman in a gay club while all the time dreaming of being a pop star. It’s there that he meets and falls in love with Shell, estranged daughter of the nightclub’s gay owner, Vic Christian, and so begins a tempestuous voyage of self discovery. As Dave finds himself drawn ever further into London’s underworld, he finds a place amongst larger than life characters like ageing club hostess Billie Trix, local drug dealer and product of the care system, Mile End Lee, and sleazy, millionaire boy band manager, Bob Saunders.
Played out on David Shields’ somewhat bizarre yet strangely effective set design (scenery is built from giant glowing ‘ice cubes’ while the set itself resembles an incongruous glittery sewer culvert), the talented cast give an up close and personal performance, as the nominally immersive nature of the piece leaves them nowhere to hide. Leading the company, Frances Ruffelle as Billie Trix has moments of quixotic brilliance alongside others of pure pantomime. Stomping around the stage, high-kicking as she flits from spaced out pixie one second to evil Absinthe fairy the next, she is at her finest when sharing tender exchanges with Shell, a dignified, empowering and valiant performance from Courtney Bowman who anchors the entire production.
If Bowman ensures Shell is real, Glenn Adamson, swapping Straight Dave’s usual Belfast accent for a Southern burr, is a quirky creation. Likeable and with incredible vocals, he never quite gets to explore the vulnerability and confusion that should lie at the heart of his character. When he comes close, in a heart-wrenching performance of the ballad, For All Of Us, there are tears all round. Similarly, Connor Carson’s Mile End Lee is not allowed the space to show just how damaged the drug dealer is, consequently the inherent innocence and emotional fragility of both is eschewed in favour of an unlikely bravado.
Some of this may be to do with the casting, both appear just too old for the roles casting director Will Burton has assigned them, while the lack of nuance in Simon Hardwick’s muddled direction also doesn’t do them any favours. In fact, aligned with Christopher Tendai’s clunky choreography, which at times is laughable without ever capturing any intended irony, the impact of Tennant and Lowe’s score is frequently lost in the melee of flashing light, frenetic movement and muddy acoustics.
There are some exceptions to that, Tendai’s movement for the high energy, Shameless, drives the narrative forcefully, while Ruffelle’s distraught rendition of Friendly Fire is as beautiful as it is heartfelt, and Kurt Kansley, who puts in an impressive shift as Vic, delivers a visceral rendition of Vampires that is laced with anger, futility and self-loathing.
Another strong turn comes from David Muscat who makes Bob Saunders a deliciously lascivious creature. With a knowing nod to the audience and his tongue firmly in cheek, perversely it’s almost impossible not to be charmed by his sleazy, repellent predator.
In all, some great performers are let down by the production’s reluctance to commit fully to the dark heart and tragedy of Harvey’s acute social commentary, choosing instead to play up lighter moments, which remain laugh out loud funny.
However, closing the production with For Every Moment, a number originally written for Closer To Heaven’s ‘sequel’, the one-woman Billie Trix cabaret musical Musik, is a stroke of genius and ensures this iteration of the show ends with a joyous, uplifting energy and welcome message of hope. If only that degree of energy had been present throughout.
Runs until 30 June. Tickets here.
