ajhlovestheatre

SWEENEY TODD THE DEMON BARBER OF FLEET STREET

Music and lyrics by Stephen Sondheim

Book by Hugh Wheeler, from an adaptation by Christopher Bond

Directed by Graham Hubbard

Produced by Adrian Jeckells for London School of Musical Theatre

Bridewell Theatre, London – until 3 May 2024

https://www.lsmt.co.uk/tickets

It’s pretty unexpected to go and see a drama school production of a beloved musical and to discover that it’s more satisfying, and possibly more coherent, than the version of that same show which is currently on Broadway (until the end of next week when the starry Thomas Kail revival closes). Of course, one thing that Graham Hubbard’s fascinating new Sweeney Todd for London School of Musical Theatre has going for it is that the cast (split into two performing teams, wittily entitled Steak and Kidney…I saw the Kidney company) can actually do the accents. Another special frisson to this iteration is that it’s being performed at the Bridewell, literally steps away from actual Fleet Street. Stephen Sondheim and Hugh Wheeler’s musical thriller may have been conceived and created in Manhattan, but its spirit and soul are inextricably rooted in Grand Guignol and the Victorian stews of London’s Square Mile.

Most importantly and persuasively, Hubbard’s vision for this endlessly malleable musical masterpiece demonstrates a total and utter understanding of the material, and a rock solid faith in it, while also having the courage and imagination to take certain liberties that illuminate rather than detract from what is one of the greatest American tuners of all time. Ravishingly melodic then jarringly dissonant, operatic in structure and ambition, Sweeney still, over forty years after its premiere, takes the breath away with its juxtaposition of the macabre and the comic, and a score that owes as much to British Music Hall and Britten’s Peter Grimes as it does to its Broadway antecedents.

Like most meticulously crafted pieces, Sweeney Todd is able to withstand a robust concept. The acclaimed Bill Buckhurst staging that played both sides of the Atlantic placed the show in an actual pie factory, John Doyle’s actor-musician version had the action unfold in the fevered mind of the already incarcerated Tobias. Even the Harold Prince original had a central conceit, setting the entire show in a giant factory where all the workers were making the story happen, with a genuine 19th century Rhode Island iron foundry transplanted onto the stage of Broadway’s Uris (now Gershwin) Theatre, subsequently recreated for Theatre Royal Drury Lane. Hubbard’s takes place in an abattoir, a place of clinical killing and abject despair, with parts of human-shaped mannequins hanging overheard like carcasses of meat, and phantom whispers of “I will have vengeance” come over the sound system as the audience files in. It’s an environment that feels recognisable but hermetically sealed off from the rational, light-filled outside world.

The ensemble wear the shiny, white, wipe-clean boiler suits of slaughterhouse workers and sit observing on the sidelines when not fixing the front rows with threatening stares and screaming ‘Attend the tale…’ at us with considerable power. If some of the older roles are perhaps too complex to be full fleshed out by youthful performers at this stage in their careers, the cast deliver with commendable commitment and generally superb voices. Alex Maxwell finds a frightening intensity in the titular character and frequently soars vocally.

The principals are in modern dress – for instance, Lydia Duval’s Mrs Lovett, with scruffy top knot, strappy top and filthy apron over baggy jeans in act one, then with immaculate coiffure and scarlet cocktail dress for her more affluent act two, could have come straight out of Eastenders. I also particularly liked gender-swapped Beadle Bamford (Alanagh Murray) as a hard-as-nails, flick knife-toting Scouse glamazon, listening to the ‘Parlour Songs’ on her iPhone. As with the John Doyle version, the scheming Pirelli is also female here. The Beggar Woman (Aaliya Mai, rivetingly tragic) is a recognisably contemporary vagrant, trawling around with her Lidl and Tesco bags and, most heartbreakingly if you know the story, a baby doll on a string.

Bob Sterrett’s set consists of little more than a raised platform, clear PVC curtains through which shadows of characters appear like ghosts, some sterile tiling, a trapdoor, a few stepladders, and buckets of blood, and it’s hugely effective, especially in the disused Victorian swimming pool that is the Bridewell and lit in harsh whites and brutal reds by Ric Mountjoy. Huw Evans’s six piece band playing a pared down version of Jonathan Tunick’s still-stunning orchestrations make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and David Beckham’s crystal clear sound design ensure that every lyric and harmony is heard.

Sondheim aficionados will appreciate Hubbard putting in Sweeney’s chilling door slam at the very last moment of the show, in an homage to Prince’s iconic original, but will hopefully be equally pleased with some of the innovations (some spoilers to follow). The infamous factory whistle, notably absent from the current Broadway version, has been replaced by a scream of outrage from Lucy, Benjamin Barker (later Sweeney Todd)’s young wife, when her husband is shipped off to the Australian penal colony on a trumped-up charge in an intelligently rethought prologue. Lucy reappears after the Beggar Woman is murdered and the bereft Sweeney sings his final, heartbroken farewell to her rather than the corpse he has just despatched. It’s a smart, moving adjustment.

At the conclusion, Sweeney offers himself up to Tobias for death, actively handing him the razor, a powerful moment foreshadowed right at the beginning where Todd is revealed to have self-mutilating tendencies. Having Lucy reappear spectrally, like a figure from a horror film, when Sweeney murders Judge Turpin, as if to put a definitive end to the killing spree, is another inspired touch. Mrs Lovett doesn’t die by being tossed into her own oven but by being frenziedly slashed to death with the same razor that claimed all the other victims. The ambitious, almost cinematic ‘City on Fire’ section that sees the lunatics literally taking over the asylum while major plot points are kept spinning, is staged with notable clarity and dynamism.

All in all, this is a tremendous Sweeney Todd, not as humorous as it could be perhaps, but giving full rein to the uncomfortable bedfellows of revulsion and lyricism that characterise this glorious piece. It puts an interesting spin on a familiar piece, that feels fresh but never detracting from the original, magnificent work by the peerless creatives. The legend is reminted but not at the expense of its integrity or power.