Lucky Stiff - St Andrews Players (Toddington)

 

Lucky Stiff

***

 Haven’t done a blog for almost a year. Been too busy being doubled and trebled jabbed and avoiding human contact like the plague. Literally. But one has to get out occasionally and, quadrupled jabbed and ridiculously bullish, I ventured along to Toddington for Luton St Andrews latest. Lucky Stiff. Postponed more times than a certain infamous Scottish football match that got ditched twenty nine times. I exaggerate, but then I often do. But, exaggerations apart, I wasn’t the only one catching up on long lost and forgotten interaction with old theatrical friends. Loads in the night I went and all in full volume anticipatory voices. Simple pleasures long deprived. Noisy audience harbingered noisy show. Seemed appropriate, and the warmth of post covid meetings enhanced the mood. But, what about the show? say the two or three who read these ramblings. I mean, let’s face it, not a single soul is interested in the incipient musings of an ageing theatrical codger. Cut to chase, was it any good?

Well, yes and no. Lucky Stiff is a quick fire mad zany musical with songs easily forgotten and a plot so ludicrous you could not make it up. Except it was. Based, loosely or otherwise, I have no idea, on the tale of The Man who Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, a corpse is trailed through a variety of scenes to win some hapless individual a $6,000,000 dollar inheritance. Pursued avidly by a neurotically inclined dog lover and a gun toting blind bimbo with her equally hapless brother. It is a convoluted plot, there is much more which I will not relate, based on a pretty thin joke that gets increasingly thinner and desperate, so all brownie points rest on how well the production zings and how well those actors do. Forgive me, but I did say that this was a yes and no review and brains should not be engaged for the ride.

Audiences roared, or some of them, and actors on stage thoroughly enjoyed themselves. Why not? It is a fun show, much needed in these desperate times. Along with covid I now throw in Ukraine, the cost of living, energy prices, and that big fancy at Newbury that let me down in the final furlong. I and everyone else at Toddington needed a lift. It has been a rotten two years. I got one, as did all, and for that I thank the actors. Not my sort of show, it is my age, and director Dee Lovelock needed a bit more zing in her scene changes but some of the performers warmed the cockles of an old heart. And for that, in barren and bleak times, I will forgive almost anything.

Sarah Albert was superb as the dipsy Rita La Porta. Her performance as the myopic gun slinging sister had a genius touch of Lucille Ball, and I cannot give her more praise than that. Absolutely watchable throughout. She was well matched by the completely opposite Jo Yirrell as the straight laced dog loving Annabel Glick. Her song about loving dogs more than folks touched like few others. These were without doubt the outstandingly two best performances in a show loud on punch but a little short on imagination.

 Barry Hyde was presentable as hapless Harry Witherspoon, the central character of ludicrous inheritance, even if his acting convinced more than his singing, Ben Jaggers an impressive and assured optical sidekick to his zany sister, and Jo Wells, superb singing, a most engaging and sinuous Dominique. I would also single out Richard Alexander for an affecting Luigi, even if expecting the Go Compare Tenor reprise at any moment, Michelle Arnold for an unnervingly convincing, raucous Blackpool voiced landlady. And the admirable Stacey Peck for a totally convincing Lucky Stiff. Title role, constantly talked about, and hardly a line to learn. A part to die for. Literally. And he did it so well.

Director Dee Lovelock worked her actors well but the disparate scenes needed to zing a bit more to capture the full flavour of a show rich in persaz and narrative  but short on emotional depth. I did say I was an ageing curmudgeon. The hotel bed, so important for the unlikely coupling of Witherspoon and the doggy lady, created staging problems and the casino scene, small table and small wheel, poor in imagination and execution, diluted the necessary impact. Given the skilled cast, especially the ladies, we needed everything to zing. What we got was a half zing. A three star. But enjoyable all the same. Richard Cowling crooned and controlled it all, Martin Hart did a sterling job on the piano accompaniment, and a full theatre continued the highly vocal chatting long after it was all over. A post covid evening, much needed and much welcomed. So thanks Toddington and St Andrews. Not my sort of show, sniffy sod that I am, but in these strange times uplifting. As some would undoubtedly say I am getting soft. Infinitely preferable to being the enigmatic Lucky Stiff. When I go to my own personal Monte Carlo (Royal Ascot, Cheltenham, or wherever) I would prefer to be alive.

 

Roy Hall