Writer: Richard Cameron
Director: Kate Wasserberg
There’s a healthy tradition in British culture of telling surprising, heart-warming working-class tales against a backdrop of poverty. Think Billy Elliot, Brassed Off or The Full Monty. The stories may differ, but we’re well versed in the tropes: a smattering of setbacks leading to a feelgood finale. Richard Cameron’s The Glee Club might tread familiar ground, but it ultimately does something altogether different.
The year is 1962. It’s the 60s, but not as modern audiences know or misremember them. Change is in the air, but it hasn’t yet blown into this south Yorkshire village overshadowed by the pits. Overshadowed both figuratively, and literally in the form of a giant mining wheel looming large behind Mark Bailey’s deceptively simple brick and tile set.
Colin Wrigglesworth (Linford Johnson) dreams big. Bigger than the pit that pays his wages and bigger than the Glee Club he is a member of. The five miners and a local church organist rehearse and perform light operatic and romantic songs of the 1950s at the local welfare club with an annual gala performance the highlight of the year.
The club might still be basking in the glory of the 1961 gala, but attention has turned to their next big performance. Colin’s attention meanwhile has turned from pianoforte lessons to the radio under the sheets sex appeal of the guitar. A guitar, though, that will never be played. The promises 60s pop music made didn’t come true for everyone.
It’s a true ensemble and all the performances are outstanding. You know the acting is good when you pay as much attention to the listening and reacting as you do to the pathos-laden speeches. The writing is outstanding, but it’s lifted to an even higher level by each and every cast member. From the first second to the last, every second of dialogue feels heartbreakingly believable. The cross talk is a testament to the rehearsal process and the understanding the company has developed.
As Bantam, Jack Lord almost steals the show. Perfect comic timing, a glorious Elvis impression, donning drag, baring his soul. He can clearly do it all. Eamonn Riley delivers something a lot more understated but no less powerful. All the cast tread that fine line between drama and comedy though. Perfectly representing the masculine desire to mask tragedy with humour.
The musical interludes and comic set pieces are as good as one would hope. Maybe better. Vignettes of the characters jumping into mock plays portraying the ups and downs of their friends’ lives are as pitch-perfect as every cast member’s singing voice.
This isn’t just an easy-going evening though. Divorce, abortion, homophobia, the class divide, regret, shame, depression, grief, blackmail. Our heroes have to handle a whole host of difficult topics.
Kate Wasserberg’s direction feels brave and visceral. She’s not afraid to shock. These characters are stripped bare. For real on a couple of occasions. It works though – representing their willingness to have their souls totally exposed to their friends in their darkest moments. One particular scene would not feel out of place in a horror movie and was rewarded with a shaken silence from the audience.
That’s not to say The Glee Club is perfect. The blocking feels a little flat in the first half with actors stood in a row more often than not. The staging depth improves after the interval although it maybe drags a little as the tone shifts.
The cast’s musical performances are so outstanding one is always desperate for more. A version of Rawhide rivalling The Blues Brothers will live long in the memory. But as the final number in full barbershop costumes begins the sadness of the song choice confirms this isn’t The Full Monty or Billy Elliott. It is, though, a lot more in tune with the prejudices and reality of the communities portrayed. And it is all the better for it.
Runs until 12 March 2022