Promises, Promises

By Mark Kearney

There are some musicals which are performed with such regularity that their recurrence is enough to make even the most enthusiastic of theatregoers groan (just hearing about the most recent Australian production of ‘Annie’ drove me to thoughts of self-harm). But let’s give credit where credit is due: these shows are generally tried-and-true successes, not only pulling in the big bucks, but audience approval as well.

On the other hand, there is an ever-expanding bevy of lesser known and rarely performed musicals waiting in the wings ready for someone to give them a shot at the big time. Why then don’t these shows get a run on our cities’ main stages? Well, usually it’s lack of profitability, or even a hangover from a particularly disastrous last season. Other times it just comes down to the fact that the show ain’t very good!

Sadly, Promises, Promises – performed here by Jeanne Pratt’s The Production Company (TPC) – fits neatly into the latter category. With one of the most middle-of-the-road, meandering scores to be found in Broadway’s back catalogue, it’s a sluggish  two-and-a-half hour-plus affair which left me very lethargic, despite the best efforts of the cast and production team.

The plot follows Chuck ‘CC’ Baxter (Matt Hetherington), a spineless yes-man, who bids to win a promotion by lending his apartment to company executives so they can carry out their infidelities where their wives won’t find out. The arrangement begins to sour when the object of Baxter’s affections, Fran (Marina Prior), is found to be among the philandering folk frequently Casa del Chuck.
 
The problem begins with Neil Simon’s script. Although his dialogue is sometimes acutely funny, he’s also responsible for a very odd central plot development (a suicide attempt, no less) early in Act II which seems desperately out of place in an otherwise comedic show. Naturally, this show is a product of it’s time and place, but the deeply misogynist overtones whereby adultery is just another day in the office, an almost expected foray for white, middle-aged companymen, is also a tad unsettling in 2012.

But it’s Burt Bacharach’s score that really stymies any chance of this show getting noticed. With each musical number as unremarkable as the last (‘Turkey Lurkey Time’ and ‘I Say A Little Prayer’ excluded) the score runs together into one blur of muddled melodies and lyrics. The show could easily function or even be improved upon without Bacharach’s cumbersome additions. (And yes, before you rush to tell me, I know I’m going to some sort of Music Hell of Fame for making such a blasphemous judgment.)     

None of this is the fault of the TPC cast and creatives, though. Of the lead performers, Hetherington shines despite being miscast. A handsome bulk of a man, no one was believing for an instant that Hetherington could be as unlucky in love as the snivelling Baxter (Sean Hayes of Will & Grace fame revived the role on Broadway in 2010, a far more suitable choice.) Nonetheless, he really exploits the comedic potential here, squeezing every inch of laughter out of a willing Opening Night crowd. His voice is also undeniably good, much better suited to musical theatre than the pop rock he performed for Team Delta on TV show The Voice earlier this year.

The eyebrow-raising casting continues with Prior in the role of Fran. Her light operatic soprano voice never really meshes with the Bacharach score. But she redeems herself with a splendid acting performance, really capturing the wide-eyed vulnerability and gentle humour of her character.

The title Performance of The Night is reserved for the hysterical stylings of Chelsea Plumley who reincarnates herself as husky drunk Marge McDougall in a cameo I hope the Helpmanns remember come nomination time in 2013. Her character’s entry at the beginning of Act II, bedraggled owl-feather bolero in tow, was a timely injection of interest after a lacklustre first half.

In addition, the entire cast were costumed and ‘wigged out’ delightfully by Isaac Lummis and Corinne Day respectively. TPC have really made an effort to impress in the wardrobe department this year and it’s not without notice.    
 
Pratt’s mantra of bringing to Melbourne shows which we might not otherwise see is honourable and often successful (think Chess and Grey Gardens to name but two.) But it can also be disappointing. While Promises, Promises promised us, promised us so much, it is most definitely more miss than hit.