The curtain is about to go up for a Vaudeville performance at the Empire Theatre, but the proprietor Charlie lies dead by an unknown hand – and everyone on the bill is a suspect. So begins Oliver Lansley and Tomas Gisby’s “macabre musical of murder and music hall,” The Vaudevillains, kicking off a fast-moving, frenetic, and wickedly entertaining evening.
In a series of comic vignettes, we look back at the dark history of this motley crew of performers and how they became part of Charlie’s theatrical family – and how each hides a secret they would be more than willing to kill for. From the knife thrower with the dodgy aim to the magician with the knack of making unfaithful lovers disappear, no one is quite what they seem, and that’s even before we get to schizophrenic ventriloquist, the mysterious mime and the murderous conjoined Cerberus Sisters, whose burlesque act as the world’s first “Siamese striplets” is threatened by a pioneering surgeon who ends up on the wrong end of a scalpel. Then there’s the show’s Compere (Lansley himself, all sinister smarm), who of course has some secrets of his own”¦
The tales unfold quickly and slickly, keeping the show rattling along at a gallop with twist piling upon twist. Some are funnier than others: the best being the story of the mime, Gaston Gasteau – cleverly narrated by a silent film back-drop – and that of the casually lethal sisters. The tragicomic back-story of the increasingly demented ventriloquist – a schizophrenic who only finds peace through his dummy, only for the dummy to finally turn on him – is also a standout.
Each role is brought vividly to life, colourfully if broadly painted, by a talented, engaging and energetic cast, many of whom take on multiple roles. Special mention should go to Philip Oakland for managing the almost impossible task of making a mime amusing (I’m with Terry Pratchett when it comes to the subject of mimes) and Anthony Spargo’s haunted and terrifying ventriloquist, while Keith Hill’s Charlie is suitably shady, the kind of man inevitably fated to end up face down dead surrounded by potential murderers. The musical numbers are entertaining and well performed (here the Cerberus sisters, Alice Anthony, Rachel Dawson and Robine Landi, in particular shone), if ultimately not that memorable. Sam Wyer’s design is beautiful and a real boost to the production: imaginative and evocative sets, stylish costumes and smart staging recall both the heyday of music hall and also its decline, while cleverly tapping into its inherent creepiness, and having the performers restlessly milling about the theatre before curtain up adds a pleasing veracity of atmosphere.
At a brisk 90 minutes, The Vaudevillains barely pauses for breath, and directors Elgiva Field and James Seager keep the pace tight and the tension high, but the disjointed nature of the show means at times it feels like a series of sketches, and it never packs any emotional punch. You don’t really care about either Charlie or the performers, so the production never gets beyond its admittedly impressive surface. It’s the difference between watching a stage magician and actually gambling – in the former, you’re never that engaged in the outcome, and here all you’re doing is admiring some diverting sleight of hand. It’s all good fun – dark, funny and clever – but ultimately feels fairly slight.