He was the world’s greatest shonk, its most famous flimflam man, the original master of the alternative fact; when one character tells him he doesn’t belong in politics because “politics is no place for humbug”, the audience audibly gasps. We don’t need to imagine what PT Barnum would have been like if his run for office had been successful; he’s already in the White House. Which gives this new production – by Storeyboard Entertainment in collaboration with NICA – a veneer of relevance that the show can’t quite fulfil. It’s entertaining as hell, but it’s hard to shake the feeling that, where it counts, it’s having us on.
The real Barnum, who was famous in his time for his dubious taste as much as his knack for drawing a crowd, is almost impossible to separate from the ludicrous self promotion of his legend. He made his name with a garish, and incredibly popular, museum in New York, but perhaps his greatest claim to fame was his collaboration with James Bailey that became “Barnum and Bailey’s Circus”. He’s been a recurring figure in popular culture pretty much from his death, most recently as the subject of the Hugh Jackman film The Greatest Showman. Every age interprets him through a different lens, but he’s mostly seen as a loveable rogue, a dreamer who dared to dream big.
This is pretty much the way Barnum: The Circus Musical (how awkward is that official subtitle?) wants to see him too. The program notes talk a big game about the character’s darker side – and with a legacy that includes the gross exploitation of people with a disability, not to mention the industrialisation of animal cruelty, there’s more than enough material to draw on – but there’s so little of this in Mark Bramble’s book or Michael Stewart’s lyrics, that it seems little more than lip service.
The good news is that almost everything else in this production is a delight. Todd McKenney shines in a role that seems utterly tailored for him; he breaks the fourth-wall a lot early on, but his natural charm and winning presence could easily do without this scramble for likability. Given that he juggles, tumbles and, in one extraordinary moment, walks the tightrope, he could be forgiven for slacking off in quieter moments, but his commitment and vitality never waver. He has a couple of fiendish patter songs that he pulls off with ease and, while he’s not a natural singer, makes the most of the central number, ‘The Colours of My Life’. Rachel Beck is lovely in support as his long-harried wife, Charity, and together they build a touching portrait of a marriage of endurance.
The most startling, and seamlessly effective, innovation in this production is the use of the Ringmaster, who not only takes on every character of historical significance in the show but is here played by a woman, the incomparably talented Kirby Burgess. She has loads of brass and bite – there’s more than a touch of Joel Grey’s emcee from Cabaret in her – but her greatest skill is in the rapidity and sharpness of her multiple transformations. It’s also a salient reminder that gender-blind casting has its own rewards, the boosted female presence acting as a counterweight to Barnum’s tendency to proverbially swing his dick around. Suzie Mathers’ vocal heft in the role of Swedish soprano Jenny Lind helps too.
The design is absolutely first rate. Dann Barber’s set and costumes are sumptuous and spectacular, drawing on the kooky, exaggerated aesthetic of Tim Burton, with a touch of Edward Gorey thrown in, notably in the song ‘Black and White’ – a stunning sequence that pushes the entire creative team to the limit of its talents. Director Tyran Parke synthesises the show’s often competing elements into a seamless whole, the circus acts beautifully integrated into the musical numbers as something not merely decorative but vital. Sometimes, I wished he’d just get on with things – the fourth-wall shenanigans and especially the clowning that opens the second act drag the pacing – but the overall vision is undeniably inspired.
It’s probably the best production of Barnum you are likely to see, and if it doesn’t quite soar, it isn’t for lack of trying. The original Broadway production was hardly a critical darling, even if it ran for more than 800 performances, and it isn’t difficult to see where the trouble lies. Cy Coleman’s music is often lovely, but it never hits the brassy heights of his Sweet Charity or the sustained musical sophistication of his City Of Angels. Barnum is a character who never changes or grows, and the book and lyrics tend to reiterate his flaws in the hope that will magically transform them into assets. The age of the huckster, the empty showman, is well and truly the age we live in, and two hours championing him in the theatre is maybe not what we need right now. On the other hand, as Barnum’s original audience must have felt coming out of his freak shows, this production certainly gives you plenty of bang for your buck.
