The Barbican's production of High Society is a smooth musical that hardly misbehaves, but its songs are heavenly. Impeccable vocals and slick staging make for dazzling set pieces in a tame production that's missing the emotional centre of the 1956 film.
A Mechanical Carousel of Set Pieces
Five years ago, the Barbican staged the first of three Cole Porter musicals in quick succession. A sublime revival of Anything Goes was fun, frothy and polished to perfection. Kiss Me, Kate followed, and now this show, about the romantic shenanigans of the American east coast gentry.
Immaculate in its song and dance, it is smoothly staged from the minute the (doomed) multitiered cake is wheeled on for the upcoming wedding in Long Island. But something is missing from the love triangle between socialite Tracy Lord (Helen George), her pining ex-husband Dexter (Julian Ovenden) and square fiance George (David Seadon-Young) – with undercover journalist Mike (Freddie Fox) thrown into the romantic pot for good measure.
That missing something makes it a mechanical carousel of set pieces without the human drama, despite characterful but accompanying parts in Felicity Kendal's wry Mother Lord and Nigel Lindsay's charmingly roguish Uncle Willie. It bears the same pastel-coloured floatiness as the 1956 film on which it is partly based (along with Philip Barry's 1939 play The Philadelphia Story). But it lacks that source material's gorgeous languorousness and emotional centre.
Lack of Romance and Character Depth
There is too little sense of romance between the central parties, and a lack of full-bodied characters as a whole. You barely get a sense of who these people are, what and who they desire. George's Tracy does not seem enough of an east coast princess despite the (too nasal?) Long Island accent. Ovenden is benign as Dexter and Fox's character also lacks hard edges so there is just not the necessary conflict in this wonky love story to give it any stakes. It just swims along singingly, in the most literal sense.
There is also no sense of glancing askance at these rich folk either, so wittily captured in the film with Frank Sinatra's chippy reporter – first disapproving of this milieu, then melting in the face of Grace Kelly's gorgeous ice queen. Here, Mike announces his 'Bolshevism' on entering the conspicuously opulent household (good work by set designer Tom Rogers), and declares 'money rots the soul', but then seems to lose himself in chirpy song and dance. Fellow photographer Liz (Carly Mercedes Dyer), at least, seems to keep her eyebrows subtly raised at these ridiculous rich people.
Book and Direction
The book by Arthur Kopit remains rather wooden. Directed by Rachel Kavanaugh, the show seems so preoccupied with dazzling us musically and visually – with lovely choreography by Anthony Van Laast – that it forgets the importance of story, character, emotion.
The songs are heavenly though – how could they not be? – with the perky Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, the romantic True Love and the divinely infectious Now You Have Jazz. It does dazzle with impeccable vocal performances all round and some big vivid voices. But, despite an extended version of Let's Misbehave, it seems too tame, nostalgic and well behaved.
So, plenty of theatrical fizz but like Tracy's drunkenness on the eve of her wedding to George, there is no genuine, joyful giddiness. At Barbican theatre, London, until 11 July. Then touring until 14 November.
