<!–
<!–
<!– <!–
<!–
<!–
<!–
Opening night (Gielgud Theatre)
What an extraordinary theatrical mix Opening Night is! It’s almost as if this studiously obtuse new musical that opened last night in the West End was designed to sabotage its fabulous leading lady, Sheridan Smith.
And yet, if you can’t hold back a good woman, you won’t stand a chance against Smith’s unstoppable charisma.
Based on a long-forgotten 1977 John Cassavetes film of the same title, it follows a Broadway actress, Myrtle, who suffers a nervous breakdown after witnessing the death of a young fan outside the theater. Yet it’s almost as if Ivo Van Hove’s musical resurrection was seeking to give Smith her own real-life nervous breakdown – a dangerous game for a woman who has spoken of her own mental health nightmares after breaking down in the musical Funny Girl. 2016.
The disorder on the set of a documentary film crew recording rehearsals for the play’s story within the play, ‘The Second Woman,’ locks her into a state of feverish isolation and encourages the actors to ignore the audience. and act in front of the cameras.
So when Smith finally records us throwing a tiara to the front row, the effect is electric.
Benjamin Walker as Myrtle’s current actor husband has fits of rage in rehearsals
The disorder on the set of a documentary film crew recording rehearsals for the story play within the play, ‘The Second Woman’, locks her into a state of feverish isolation.
As she navigates this psychological armageddon, Sheridan has a sass and vulnerability that is as dangerous as it is fascinating.
Thank goodness for Rufus Wainwright’s music, too. It is true that it sometimes diminishes to a semitonal burble. But it also explodes with the singer-songwriter’s gift for doomed glory. A spectacular duet with Nicola Hughes as an exasperated writer character even brought to mind the brazen arrogance of All That Jazz, the 1979 film starring Roy Scheider.
More than anything, though, it’s thanks to the emotional power of Smith’s voice that the show really soars. To quote the lyrics of one of her early songs, she makes “tragic magic.”
There are also times when I was simply amazed by his acting. She alternates between playing herself, her actress character, and the actress character in the play within the play, variously pestered by an ex-husband, a current husband, the writer, the director, and the ghost of the dead fan.
As she navigates this psychological armageddon, she has a sass and vulnerability that is as dangerous as it is fascinating. Plus, there’s his famous knockout smile and the ability to tell us four seasons in a single sentence.
All the other characters, except Shira Haas as the ghost of the dead girl who embodies Myrtle’s death wish, are cardboard cutouts by comparison. Hadley Fraser, as the cocky director, does little more than bark orders.
Smith is filmed drunkenly crawling down the street at one point in the play.
Jos Slovick, as an ex-husband, tells us that “big living rooms turn me on.” Benjamin Walker, as Myrtle’s current husband and actor, has fits of rage in rehearsals. And John Marquez, as a sycophantic producer, takes the cake of the nonsensical dialogue with his line: “I love you.” We all love you. Do you want a cup of tea?’
There are many reasons to be dismayed by this spectacle, but Smith, who at one point is filmed drunkenly dragging herself down the street, somehow defies Van Hove’s attempt to derail her.
For his magnificent climactic number, The World Is Broken, he even attempts to bury her within a crowd of actors behind a sheer curtain. Here she sings movingly about falling apart, about recovering and about now being ready for battle.
And what a battle it is for us too. It may be a pyrrhic victory, but one I wouldn’t want to miss.