David Woodhead

Titanic the Musical

21/06/23

Festival Theatre, Edinburgh

The tragic story of The Titanic has exerted a powerful hold on the public imagination ever since its doomed maiden voyage in 1912. It seems horribly ironic that, as we take our seats in The Festival Theatre, the vessel (or at least an ill-fated attempt to visit what remains of it) is once again dominating the news channels. Still, whatever you think about the subject, this stately musical by Maury Weston and Peter Stone offers an assured account of the events that led to one of the biggest disasters in maritime history.

In the first half, we’re introduced to the players as the ship prepares for departure. There’s Captain Edward Smith (Graham Bickley), looking forward to what he believes (rightly as it turns out) will be his final voyage. There’s the ship’s designer, Thomas Andrews (Ian McClarnon), proud of his own ingenuity and convinced that the ship he has built is ‘unsinkable.’ And there’s J. Bruce Ismay (Martin Allanson), the managing director of the White Star Line, presented here as the villain of the piece, a man whose rampant hubris is held largely responsible for the disaster. The truth is rather more complicated than that, but every story needs a villain, I suppose.

Around this triumvirate flock the passengers: the privileged toffs in first class, the hopeful emigrants looking forward to a brand new start in second, and the poor and the dispossessed down in third. There’s also the many members of staff who wait on more than two thousand passengers. The twenty-five members of the cast certainly have their work cut out to represent so many doomed travellers and, it has to be said, with umpteen speedy costume changes, they do a pretty good job of it.

Yeston’s sombre score avoids the cheesy power ballads so often associated with this kind of production, opting instead for a kind of operetta approach. In the jollier moments (and yes, there are a few in the first half), there’s even a hint of Gilbert and Sullivan in the delivery, as members of the cast waltz merrily across the deck.

But of course, the second half can’t be anything but mournful as the ship, having kept its rendezvous with that iceberg, begins (spoiler alert!) to sink beneath the waves.

It’s here, to be honest, that the production struggles to recreate the ensuing chaos. David Woodhead’s set design is impressive but stolid, and I find myself longing for some state-of-the-art special effects to contribute more Sturm und Drang to the closing moments. What’s more, it’s impossible to be surprised when the story I’m watching is so ingrained into my memory that I find myself picking up on its occasional deviations from the truth.

Still, there are some strong moments here. I particularly enjoy the duet between Frederick Barrett (Adam Filipe), sending a marriage proposal to his sweetheart back in England, and Harold Bride (Alistair Hill), the Marconi radio operator who enables him to do so. And anybody who can keep a dry eye through the final duet of elderly couple, Isador Straus (David Delve) and his wife, Ida (Valda Aviks), as they decide to face their fate together, is certainly made of sterner stuff than me.

The production closes with a tribute to the 1,500 people who lost their lives on that fateful night – and, after the enthusiastic applause has died away, Bickley steps forward to deliver the cast’s heartfelt hope that the passengers aboard the missing Titan submersible might be found safe and well.

That of course – like the Titanic itself – will soon become a matter of historical record.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

The Da Vinci Code

05/04/22

King’s Theatre, Edinburgh

Ah, The Da Vinci Code. That preposterous juggernaut of a 2003 novel: badly written, controversially researched, ludicrously convoluted – and yet, somehow, as popular as can be, selling more than eighty million copies worldwide. 

Dan Brown’s tale leans on other people’s cleverness: his protagonist, Robert Langdon, is a Harvard professor, whose sidekick, Sophie Neveu, is a brainy cryptographer. Their enemies are equally learned, and the murder at the heart of this high-octane mystery takes place in the highbrow setting of the Louvre. Indeed, the whole plot is reliant on the duo’s impressive understanding of theology, symbology and Renaissance art. All of this, of course, is just smoke and mirrors, obscuring what is – essentially – a cryptic crossword given legs. Nevertheless, it’s undeniably engaging; there’s a reason the novel was a runaway hit. 

This stage adaptation (written by Rachel Wagstaff and Duncan Abel) doesn’t shy away from the schlocky nature of the source material. Instead, director Luke Sheppard uses more smoke and mirrors, this time in the form of impressive technical effects and slick production values. If touring shows can sometimes seem a little lazy, this is anything but, and Brown’s silly story is elevated by some damn fine theatrics. 

The plot is pared back, so that there’s less obfuscation and greater clarity. There are fewer chases (thank goodness). Nigel Harman imbues Langdon with a credible seriousness: it’s an unshowy, subtle piece of characterisation that serves the production well. In many ways, he’s the still centre of it all: bemused at finding himself involved, but quietly determined to sort things out. Hannah Rose Caton’s Sophie is somewhat livelier, as suits the role, but neither she nor Harman dominate the stage. That’s not what this is about, after all. 

The focus here is on the clues, on the elaborate treasure hunt that sees the pair wielding guns and crossing continents, challenging religious doctrines and theorising about everything from the Mona Lisa to the Holy Grail. David Woodhead’s bold set – all gauze panels and moments of revelation – is complemented by Andrzej Goulding’s stunning video design, with luscious projections filling every wall. It’s a dazzling spectacle (and, naturally, there’s an extra frisson for us as an Edinburgh audience, when the depiction is of nearby Rosslyn Chapel).  

I like the chorus too: the company sits, blank-faced and hooded at the side of the stage, rising occasionally in sporadic chants and rituals, all precisely choreographed by Tom Jackson Greaves. 

So – admittedly somewhat to my surprise – watching this production is a real pleasure. And not even a guilty one. 

4 stars

Susan Singfield