The 27 club is pretty exclusive. It includes the likes of
Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Kurt Cobain and most recently Amy Winehouse – all
musicians who died at the age of 27 from substance abuse or violence. For most,
the age is just a coincidence, but it’s also led to plenty of conspiracy
theories.
27 attempts to create its own theory. It’s an homage
to these artists but based around a fictional rock band – The Argonauts – whose
lead singer Orpheus makes a pact with the devil in return for fame and fortune.
Of course, that devil is a music exec with a demonic team of
assistants who drive Orpheus – already addicted to drugs – to self-destruction.
If the musical is meant as a comment on the music industry, it’s a lazy one.
It’s all too easy to blame record labels for not supporting their artists. Yet
here the band are also given an outdated sense of style: their ‘makeover’
transforms them from everyday lads to an 80s hair metal pastiche, complete with
Guns and Roses t-shirt, long hair and skin-tight jeans. And that’s after the
band bicker about trying too hard to be cool. The industry moved on from this
shtick years ago.
That sense of cool is just one of many problems with 27.
Another fundamental flaw is the lack of stage time for the band. We’re meant to
believe they’re the greatest band of their generation off the back of dialogue
rather than actually witnessing their performances first hand - there's a drummer who never drums, a guitarist who never strums, and a singer who's forever glum. The plot whips
through a four year career in a matter of seconds and expects us to jump with
them, but writer Sam Cassidy has set himself up to fail.
Then there’s the utterly contrived and predictable nature of
the plot. And that’s not just from the title and its conspiracies, but from the
abysmal Greek myth parallels shoe-horned in. What starts off as simply
character names in the first act turns into a full fantasy in the second as
Orpheus must travel through the Underworld to literally face his demons
(demonic versions of the first act’s characters) and save his girlfriend, defying the witchy diva fates (led by Jodie Jacobs) and a charismatic Hades (Ryan Molloy). We knew Orpheus would die from before we even entered the theatre. Incidentally, the girlfriend's death by substance abuse is also easily predicted considering her name is Amy. It’s
all utterly contrite.
At times, though, it’s actually quite enjoyable. In these
fantastical moments, the show becomes tongue in cheek and the often dire script
amuses for the right reasons. What’s more, the highly energetic choreography
from Arlene Phillips is exciting to watch and the blinding, strobing lights make
us all feel like we’re part of a music video. Matt Wills’s score also has its moments,
offering catchy (if derivative) pop songs accompanied by screaming guitars.
Yet the show is on the whole stylistically confused. Amongst all
this fantastical rubbish, it’s actually trying to tell a touching and emotional
story of drug abuse and psychological demons. At times it even succeeds: Greg
Oliver delivers a powerful song at the start of the second act as Orpheus’s
life slips through his fingers. And Cassie Compton rises above the material
with her performance as Amy, offering a stunning vocal even if her reasons for
loving Orpheus are nowhere to be seen. But these moments cannot coexist
alongside the fantasy without being laughably undermined.
What’s more, with its attempts at poignancy in the finale, 27
seems to suggest that the real-life artists are remembered, celebrated and
eulogised because of their deaths rather than their music. It wallows in tragedy and misery whilst ignoring the
spectacular talent these artists brought to the world. In the process, it spectacularly misses the point.
2/5
Watch: 27 runs at the Cockpit Theatre until October
22nd.
Photos: Nick Ross
