Here Comes J. Edgar - Review

King's Head, London

*****

Music by Peter Matz

Lyrics & book by Harry Shearer and Tom Leopold

Directed by Josh Seymour

Marc Elliott and Bryan Batt

Here Comes J. Edgar makes its world premiere at London’s King’s Head Theatre this week, some 30 years after it was written. This sparkling satire has a remarkable pedigree with book and lyrics penned by LA’s masters of comedy Harry Shearer and Tom Leopold and a stunning score composed by the equally gifted Peter Matz who was to tragically pass away in 2002.

The titular J. Edgar is of course the USA’s J. Edgar Hoover who served as the director of that nation’s Bureau of Investigation for 11 years from 1924, before changing its name to the Federal Bureau of Investigation (the FBI) and remaining in post for a remarkable 37 further years. It has been recognised that the vast amount of surveillance information that Hoover had amassed over the years, including compromising information on all of the Presidents that he served under, went a long way to assist him in corruptly keeping his job for such an inordinately long period of time.

Hoover’s alleged corruption went much further than just holding onto his job for 48 years. The vast extent of the secrets held in his files enabled him to abuse his powers, largely at whim, enabling him to persecute and manipulate politicians, celebrities, activists and ordinary citizens. Tasked with tackling the spread of communism, his association with Senator Joe McCarthy was frightening.

It was however in his approach to matters sexual that Hoover’s hypocrisy was most apparent and Shearer, Leopold and Matz mercilessly mine this rich seam of his life to deliver the sharpest historical satire around.

Hoover never married and was widely believed to be gay – developing over the years a very close association with his assistant Clyde Tolson.  The show opens (and closes) with the dying Hoover on his hospital bed, before delivering a whistle-stop tour through Hoover’s life touching upon a handful of the eight presidents that he was to serve under, from Coolidge through to Nixon.

Mad Men’s Bryan Batt makes a terrific London stage debut in the title role. Capturing the vain, egomaniacal Hoover, Batt’s presence is convincing – and boy can he hold a note too. Wickedly exploring his character’s sexual proclivities, including an inspired dalliance with transvestism, Batt’s performance cuts through the evening like a hoover at a glitter convention.

The King’s Head maybe one of the capital’s fringe venues, but the production values that underscore this show are breathtaking. Alongside Batt, the key principal players include Hugo Bolton as Tolson and Marc Elliott as Walter Winchell, a fading Entertainments Journalist who forges a symbiotic relationship with Hoover, both feeding each other the titbits of scandal they need to survive.

Laura Medforth plays Helen, Hoover’s devoted secretary at the Bureau, while Lucy O’Byrne plays the ghost of Hoover’s long departed mother. Medforth’s and O’Byrne’s vocal work is simply sensational. Equally sharp, albeit in a very brief cameo, is Judith Owen as the Madam of a brothel, tasked with the entrapment of Public Enemy Number One, gangster John Dillinger.

Josh Seymour directs his glorious company at a pace while leading choreographer Bill Deamer, a man more accustomed to the West End’s more glamorous stages, arranges routines that are stunningly executed within the venue’s compact space. And in the show’s closing act, the routine that has a quartet of Presidents ( chronologically FDR, Ike, JFK and LBJ) regretting that they had never acted more decisively to remove Hoover from his post is theatrical magic. 

The genius underlying the construction of this show is breathtaking. Matz’s music deliberately pastiches some Broadway greats – listen out for the nods to Guys & Dolls and West Side Story – with his tunes, often in musical snatches lasting barely a few seconds, covering a wide spectrum of genres. Perched high above the stage, Luke Holman deftly directs the show's small band. 

This is musical theatre at its best. Sharply, hilariously written and faultlessly performed. For those not easily offended, it’s unmissable.

Runs until 16th August

Photo credit: Mark Douet

Daytona - Theatre Review

Park Theatre, London

****

Written by Oliver Cotton
Directed by David Grindley

John Bowe and Harry Shearer

Daytona is a cleverly crafted tale of love amidst denial and despair. A play that never leaves the 1986 Brooklyn apartment of Joe and Elli, married septuagenarians with a passion for ballroom dancing, lives lived almost to the full, with happinesses and tragedies amassed over the years. Theirs is a childless marriage and for all the polite warmth and fondness they show each other in the opening act, there is a pervading sense of sadness and "getting-by" that seems to be being papered over. When Elli leaves to visit a friend who is working on her ball gown, no sooner has she departed then the doorbell sounds and Billy, Joe's brother who has been self-estranged for thirty years arrives bedraggled. The tale that then unfolds is remarkable, gripping and above all, sensational yet still remaining credible.We learn that the all three characters are Holocaust survivors and that Billy whilst holidaying in Florida the previous week, had recognised an elderly concentration camp guard and war criminal whom he thought had long since been executed. 

The plot unfolds but never unravels and to reveal too much would be to spoil. Suffice to say that Oliver Cotton has written a piece of remarkable sensitivity, throwing complex family dynamics into the harshest of spotlights, whilst also laying bare the damage that the Holocaust caused to the minds of so many who survived its horrors.

Harry Shearer is Joe, who for the most part plays a weary Brooklynese accountant, getting by in managing his demons. Initially little more than a dramatic foil to his wife and brother, it is in the final act, when his demons run amok, that his performance as a man who admits to a lifetime of domestic denial is delicately fleshed out. 

Maureen Lipman is Elli. Her journey since the War is perhaps the most painful to hear of. Emotionally vulnerable in her youth and clearly scarred from enduring so much pain, hers has been the journey back from mental illness. Lipman's dialogs with both brothers, that start mundanely but which crescendo to agonising accusations and revelations, are heart breaking.

Maureen Lipman

The tour de force performance of the night though rests with John Bowe’s Billy. A man who has built the last 30 years of his life around a framework of lies and of a total denial of his past, yet who ultimately finds within himself a resolve of massive strength, that leads him to commit a crime of honourable recklessness. The role is draining, with monologues recounting Billy's life that are relentless, yet Bowe marches through both acts of the play with an admirable defiance. His is surely one of the finest performances to be found on a London stage this year.

David Grindley's pinpoint direction picks apart the subtleties of the human condition, whilst Cotton's writing at times echoes the scalpel like incisiveness of Arthur Miller. Daytona is a fine study on love, self-discovery, and above all, a glorious albeit damaged sense of survival that emerged from the ashes of the Holocaust. A play that should not be missed.

Runs until August 18th and then on tour