When Showstopper! The Improvised Musical opened in the West End the publicists invited critics to come to two performances. Because the show is made up by the cast on the hoof based on audience suggestions the producers wanted to prove that a successful performance was no fluke, that they could do it every time. And also, maybe, that there was no cheating, that there were no rehearsed routines that could be slotted in to keep things moving. I didn't need to see two performances to know the former or the latter. I've seen the show a number of times over the years and it has never been a disappointment. It's always fun, always different and really deserves to be a big hit. Just buy a ticket and see for yourselves. This review first appeared in the Evening Standard. Showstopper! The Improvised Musical runs until November 29. Tickets here.
Seven years ago I watched a gaggle of comedians and actors perform an improvised musical at the Hen & Chickens Theatre in Islington. The venue had 54 seats and was not even full. Last night the same core group filled the Apollo and received a standing ovation. Not bad for a show that at curtain-up did not have a script.
Every night six performers plus onstage director Dylan Emery and three-piece band create a spectacular from scratch based on audience suggestions. Last night they almost premiered Jeremy Corbyn The Musical, but instead opted for The Lying King, a song-and-dance romance set in the Daily Mail office.
Ruth Bratt excelled as tough-as-boots editor Denise, while Pippa Evans neatly conjured up innocent intern Lydia. Around them sub-editor Gideon (Adam Meggido) had a crush on Denise while rapper Toni (Justin Brett) and journalist Michael (Andrew Pugsley) jostled for Lydia’s affections and Sarah-Louise Young tottered in as a Julie Walters-ish tea lady.
The plot was moved along by exuberant production numbers full of theatreland in-jokes. Bratt and Evans duetted on a Dreamgirls-like ballad, Brett and Pugsley competed for Lydia as if they were rivals in West Side Story, albeit relocated to London's East End outside the Cereal Killer cafe.
There was plenty of snap, crackle and pop and a telepathic rapport between the performers. Tweeted interval suggestions prompted new set-ups, including an opening verbal montage of fake headlines, “Oxygen Gives You Cancer…Montages Give You Cancer”, sung in the style of Fiddler on the Roof.
The only slip during the seamless high-wire act came as the team searched for a big finish, trying hip hop before a more fitting Mamma Mia singalong. This was a small hiccup, however, in a success story that could run and run and never repeat itself.
