Michel Legrand’s Marguerite could be the Mack and Mabel de nos jours with its fabulous score, yet problematic book. Loosely based on Alexandre Dumas’s much-adapted La dame aux camélias, which in turn inspired Verdi’s La traviata, this version of the tale of the aging courtesan who discovers true love with a younger man centres around the mistress of a Nazi general in occupied France, who instantaneously falls in love with a part-Jewish jazz musician in an air raid. Making a Nazi collaborator sympathetic is a real challenge and the show’s structure has been considerably re-configured with many new lyrics and a new book (co-written by director Guy Unsworth with Alain Boublil) since its premiere at Theatre Royal Haymarket in 2008. These revisions provide much more coherent ensemble work, but the core characterisation still requires more showing and less telling.
Boasting impressive production values, the Tabard’s intimacy lends itself beautifully to the ambiance of a bombed-out Parisian café or smoky jazz club, with peeling posters plastered onto the exposed brickwork and a sliver of stage (superb work by designer Max Dorey and lighting designer Howard Hudson, and the hairstyles by Annie Russell are also particularly good). The way in which Marguerite in this version is still performing, rather than having retired from the stage years ago to enjoy a life of luxury as a kept woman, suggests a kind of a dark backstage musical, venturing into Cabaret territory when black market dealer Pierrot (Alistair Knights) is beaten up by vengeful showgirls.
The lyrics engage a running motif about a woman trapped in a gilded cage who puts up an artificial front to conceal her suffering. The suitably glamorous Yvette Robinson doesn’t have the most supple voice in the world (she’s better suited to the kittenish cabaret numbers than Marguerite’s big solos) and her ladylike façade never cracks. She comes across as being almost implausibly naïve and oblivious to the political situation and the way in which her ‘friends’ are merely using her for the silk stockings and champagne her lover Otto (Michael Onslow) can provide. The ingénue Annette (the sweet-voiced Zoe Doano), originally Armand’s sister, becomes his smitten devotee willing to risk her life for him, and the two women curiously come across as being rather too similar.
As Armand, Nadim Naaman has a lovely light tenor voice and matinee idol looks. It’s a pity that the Resistance subplot is so underdeveloped, making his commitments to the cause seem disconcertingly casual and his Jewish-ness also isn’t taken seriously. The Big Sacrifice that transforms the tart with a heart into a tragic heroine (traditionally, the older woman gives up her lover so he can marry a pure young girl – it would make sense if Marguerite was to sacrifice herself to save Annette) is also still missing and the ending is considerably softened: Marguerite dies of unspecified natural causes in Armand’s arms, rather than being publicly shamed as a traitor and battered to death by the mob.
In years to come, I expect that directors will continue to tinker around with this show, hoping that their version will be ‘the one’. This might not be it, but it’s still a classy and ambitious slice of fringe theatre that makes it very easy to fall in love with Legrand’s rapturous score, which can be taken as proof that sheer romanticism still has its place.
