AN OVEN-READY MUSICAL, NEVER MUFFIN A MOMENT
As summer heats the merciless city, good to know that five minutes’ south of London Bridge station is La France Profonde, a village square below faded shutters and 1930’s posters, where men in berets play petanque and concertina, Claude le patron in his big apron greets the front row as they settle down, and Denise sings about her village day. Not that the Provençal village is always happy: the old baker died and they’ve been weeks without bread, which aggravates the usual short-tempered quarrels – Curé, Mayor, Teacher, quarrelsome boules-players – as illustrated in a spirited ensemble. The arrival of M. Aimable Castangniet the new baker is met with delight and a Bread chorus; the presence of his gorgeous new wife some twenty years younger arouses curiosity. Baguettes, Croissants, Tartes aux Pommes and sexual tension: vive la France! But if she is tempted away by a local lad and the despairing baker can’t bake, a village emergency will be declared. The trolley which first was laden with glorious bakery suddenly appears equally brilliantly laden with exploded dough, split flour and cremated loaves (Paul Farnsworth, take a bow for design: stage crew for prop-bread management 8 shows a week).
Joseph Stein’s book is inspired by a 1938 film, Stephen Schwartz wrote music and lyrics. The show never made Broadway , but is one of those small unsung musicals the Menier does better than anyone and sometimes exports back to its native land. Maybe it just felt too good-hearted, too Clochemerle-whimsical for some; for others actually rather shocking: Genevieve does run off to a seedy hotel with Dominique the errand-boy, and there’s a bed involved, but after a lovely number when she reflects that with him it’s all fire and no warmth, she returns to minimal condemnation (only old Therese gets stern, the priest too keen on forgiveness and reliable bread). In a cheerful chorus the ladies of the village (except Therese) agree that you can either be “a virgin, or a realist” about these matters.
Its strength – apart from some good numbers – is that the process of Genevieve’s escape and return is as solid in its truthfulness as Stein’s more famous Fiddler on the Roof. The final scene with the couple is stunning. Clive Rowe as the baker is tremendous: moving from naive delight in his new wife and home to stunned shock at her flight, leading a drunken chorus as he tries not to care. Then he’s poignantly alone, but a proper gent as he gallantly hands over his savings to the Mayor to compensate for the fugitives have nicked his Peugeot. Vocally and emotionally it’s a five-star performance. Lucie Jones’ Genevieve is fine too, girlishly grateful, tempted, resisting then succumbing; she tackles with belting energy Schwartz’s really difficult big numbers , each one an emotional journey. The rascally Dominique, Joaquin Pedro Valdes, is a fine voice and good fun, but then conveys beautifully a seducer’s yawning boredom.
But essential to its tare-aux-fraises charm is an ensemble warmly immersed in their various identities, however jokily sketched at first sight. And this Gordon Greenberg achieves in his cast: never a reaction, grimace or glance amiss, the group choreographed with some wonderful scuttling unities and chaotic confusions. Some are pure fun: Michael Matus’ mayor smoothly Leslie-Phillips with a trio of dubious nieces , and Matthew Seadon-Young’s M le Curé properly indignant at the insouciantly sinful attitudes of his flock. Josefina Gabrielle as Denise, butt of her husband’s jokes, has the voice of a lark and a valiant workaday hopefulness, and Finty Williams, bullied wife, is sweetly wistful: kindly and nervous. Her eventual desertion, leaving a baffled husband circling partnerless roumd the final dance, offers a lemon zest of reality after the touching central reunion . Altogether well worth it: crisply baked, stuffed with feeling and iced with a ten-piece band. Not a bad seat in the house, tickets hovering round fifty quid. Why go up West for a musical?
menierchocolatefactory.com. to 14 Sept.
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