This revival of No Way to Treat a Lady, based on a novel by Oscar-winning writer William Goldman, takes us back to 1960s New York, an era of clunky, fixed-line telephones and frilled collars.
The show’s narrative origins clearly lie in the American fascination with serial killers in popular culture, but the casual depiction of murder in this production failed to tackle deeper moral questions raised by such misogynistic violence. That's no way to treat a lady.
A musical with a murderous twist, the show is seen through the eyes of an NYPD officer on the hunt for a serial killer stalking the city in a series of different guises – a sinister Irish priest and pizza delivery man, to name but two.
The two characters, hunter and hunted, have a surprising amount in common: both suffer from loneliness and mid-life identity crises, borne of worries over their scant achievements in life. The lead character, Morris Brummell, played by Graham Mackay-Bruce, is not your average homicide detective, however: he lives with his mother (Judith Paris). Meanwhile, fame has eluded Kit Gill, an unemployed actor who can’t get arrested, and will stop at nothing to get his name in the New York Times.
The vintage phones were an ever-present fixture on stage, and they never stopped ringing as the pair strike up an unlikely relationship: the suspected killer repeatedly calls the cop and they begin sharing their innermost secrets to one another.
Another consistent feature was the high standard of musical performance; the small cast switched between speaking and singing with ease, although none of the songs stayed with me afterwards. Despite the intimacy of the 60-seater auditorium, effective staging techniques such as projected newspaper headlines on the rear wall helped depict a city in fear of a maniac on the loose.
Billed as a ‘theatrically charged musical comedy thriller’, the show is an interesting cocktail of genres. Perhaps director Robert McWhir was aiming for a theatrical Margarita: dazzling and strong with a bitter after-taste. Ultimately, though, the show is more like a cup of Gold Blend: a smooth, steady mixture that’s satisfying rather than heady, with enough foot-stomping music to keep the audience awake throughout.
Costume designer Esther Rouah did deliver some wonderfully colourful outfits, especially those belonging to the socialite, Sarah Stone. By contrast, Mackay-Bruce stomped around in the same, crumpled brown suit for the whole performance, underlining the ‘married to the job’ complications featuring heavily in the storyline.
Some dashing performances proved a hit with the audience. Kelly Burke demonstrated a diverse range of emotions and eye-catching stage presence as Stone, who falls in love with the detective. Taking advantage of a lively script, she delivered all the memorable one-liners that came her way with perfection.
Paris got plenty of laughs with a plausible Noo Yawk accent in her role as the over-bearing Jewish mother, while Simon Loughton had fun as Kit Gill, the master of disguise who callously selected and strangled his female victims. However, the light-hearted touch employed during these moments sometimes jarred. The show’s narrative origins clearly lie in the American fascination with serial killers in popular culture, but the casual depiction of murder in this production failed to tackle deeper moral questions raised by such misogynistic violence. That's no way to treat a lady.
