Theatre
Spread a Little Happiness (King's Head) Sophisticated Ladies ((lobe)
Innocent charm
Christopher Edwards
Few songwriters can have been victims of as many shifts in popular taste as Vivian Ellis. Born in 1904, he first contributed to a London show around 1922. By the second world war there seemed to be no call for his brand of innocent charm, but he enjoyed a surprising return to popularity in 1947 with his long-running Bless the Bride. After this he must, surely, have given up hope. Then, some nine years ago, the King's Head revived his 1929 hit, Mr Cin- ders. It was a great success and transferred to the West End. Now the King's Head is testing the waters again with this artful compilation of his work, which has been put together by Sheridan Morley. It is a delight. And the author, aged 88, was there to take a bow on the first night.
So what is the appeal of this survivor of the Coward/Novello/Wodehouse genera- tion of songwriter? It is of course refresh- ing to listen to songs that stand or fall by themselves, without having to rely on the slick and costly apparatus of the modern blockbuster musical. Many of Ellis's songs are idealised romances sublimely unruffled by passion or despair. Others revel in witti- ly strung-together nonsense — take, for instance, the utterly daft 'The Flies Crawled Up The Window' which brings down the curtain on the first half. It is very funny, utterly meaningless and perfectly beguiling: my ideal conditions for a musi- cal, in fact.
But there are other, subtler numbers where melody and lyric combine to amuse, as well as to dramatise an emotion or two. 'Me And My Dog' seems to peddle Ellis's usual innocent charm (I've got a dog/He's lost in the fog') before shifting to a more charged atmosphere when we realise that it is about a forlorn streetwalker in Soho. Rachel Robertson gives this number (and several others) a smart edge. She is clearly a talented newcomer of whom we shall hear more.
Then again, a song like 'My Little Abode', with its period detail of a resi- dence in the Finchley Road, manages to be both amusing and a cleverly condensed miniature of social history. Thelma Ruby delivers this song, and the genuinely point- ed 'Other People's Babies', with great feel- ing.
Ellis could 'do' ribaldry too when required. 'Hengist and Horsa' — where Frank Thornton and Ray C. Davies per- form as doleful Vikings — is very funny. There are one or two dud numbers, but the cast of six is splendid, the costumes lavish and the two pianists first-rate. As ever, there is something appealing about the squash of this minuscule Islington theatre, but if you miss it here the odds are that you will find the production in the West End before too long.
Sophisticated Ladies, an assembly of 'We prefer to call it culling.' some of Duke Ellington's best-loved jazz numbers, is altogether a more glitzy affair. Although I admire Ellington's music from a distance, admittedly — I found this production oddly cold and impersonal. The big band sound, the tap-dancing (brilliantly executed by Horace Oliver), the bright lights — all the components for some sort of entertainment are there, but the atmo- sphere is non-existent. It is almost as if you are expected to be doing something else while the show goes on — gambling, for instance. This is a slick and skilful produc- tion but it fails to bring the great man to life.
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