First of all, let’s declare a moratorium on the ironic use of exclamation marks in the titles of new musicals. It was only just still funny when Keating! did it, but now the joke is wearing thin. Unless that’s part of the joke. It probably is. With this show, it can be difficult to tell when something is lame because it’s actually trying to be lame in order to be funny, or whether the joke’s fallen flat and come full circle, becoming genuinely lame.
Which in essence is the problem with this show that, quite frankly, is a turkey. Unfortunately, it is a show about a show that is obviously supposed to be bad, which leaves one in the rather subjective position of judging the humour value of jokes that are purposely not funny.
Well, not exactly.
The whole show is predicated on cringe humour, whereby the intended mirth is supposed to derive from the stupidity, tastelessness and naiveté of the characters involved, and their mutual obliviousness to their own shortcomings. Thus, almost by definition, very few of the jokes are actually witty or well-conceived rather than eliciting an “I can’t believe they just said that” eyeroll of embarrassment from the audience. Although this is a comedy format that certainly can work, as devotees of the mockumentary genre will attest, it requires a deft hand to carry off, something clearly lacking from this endeavour.
Vaguely reminiscent of Mel Brooks’ The Producers, the premise here is that Americans Doug and Bud, two enthusiastic amateurs, have written and composed an elaborate but rather dreadful musical. They have decided to stage a reading for an audience (you) of “big-time producers” in the hopes of getting their show on Broadway. Choosing as their unlikely subject the life of Johannes Gutenberg, inventor of the printing press, and using the lack of known historical facts about his life - according to their perfunctory Google search - as justification for making it a work of “historical fiction”, they create a preposterously stereotyped and anachronistic tale to suit a musical formula.
This pair of (supposedly) lovable losers sing and act out all the parts themselves, as denoted by swapping between a large number of trucker-style baseball caps labelled with the relevant characters’ names. Inadvertently condescending to their audience of would-be industry heavyweights, the performance is interspersed with a gratuitous running commentary, expositing on the scene breaks and their motivations behind each song’s narrative intent.
Of course, it’s all completely terrible, and that’s the point. Except, the problem is… it really is pretty dire stuff. The largely one-note joke of their gormlessness in so enthusiastically crafting this overblown yet profoundly banal material wears thin after about ten minutes. While this works with the Mechanicals’ Pyramus and Thisbe for example, if one is going to milk the idea for over an hour, it desperately needs to be supplemented by some clever gags. Which, I’m sorry to say, never really materialised. It is genuinely hard to fathom how this insipid dross has reportedly met with some measure of success in London and New York, because if so they were clearly seeing a different manifestation to what was on offer here at the Seymour Centre.
Granted, there are a few smatterings of passable giggle-fodder here and there. For example, while the conceit of using the multitude of hats isn’t exactly original, it is at least temporarily amusing, and some of the incidental characters they portray are initially funny if only for being so ridiculous, such as Gutenberg’s love interest Helvetica the grape-squasher, the Beef-fat Trimmer, or the Anti-Semitic Flower Girl, and especially the inexplicably asian Monk, the contrived villain of the piece. Whether this is a joke on their use of outmoded “Oriental Villain” stereotypes or merely a further example of the clueless authors' ahistorical pastiche (are the only monks they are familiar with of the Shaolin variety?) it is risibly inappropriate. But like everything else, it gets old fast.
Probably the most noteworthy, although not necessarily most entertaining element of this whole shambolic affair was the way these characters quite explicitly state how they have designed each song to mimic the medium’s (hackneyed) narrative devices, such as the obligatory love ballad, comedic interlude or, to paraphrase, “the big end of Act One rock number”. Via their naïve characters, the real authors Scott Brown and Anthony King do manage to make a few amusing observations about the formulaic tendencies of commercially successful Lloyd Webber/Sondheim-type musicals, but that said, it’s hardly withering satire.
Perhaps worst of all, this show has the egregious failing of not providing us with any memorable songs. Of course, they are intentionally bad songs, but surely the aim would be for them to be memorably bad, and thus ascend to a certain camp value? Sadly, this isn’t pulled off.
Yet again, I can’t help but scratch my head a bit over the talented people involved in this substandard offering. Producer Ian Stenlake evidently has far better taste in choosing the roles he plays over the plays he chooses to produce, as this one is just barely short of an outright stinker. One can’t really level too much blame at actors David Harris and James Millar who are both very capable, energetic performers. Conceivably, someone else might have had more success breathing extra life into this dud of a show, but frankly, even the very best would have had precious little to work with here.
Inoffensive and well-intended, it’s a shame to see a cute idea go to waste.
Gutenberg! The Musical!
Venue: Seymour Centre | cnr Cleveland Street and City Road, Chippendale
Premiere Season: 17 – 21 February
Return Season: 14 – 25 July
Performances: Tuesday 6.30pm; Wednesday to Saturday 8pm; Saturday matinee 2pm
Prices: Adults $39; Concession $32
Bookings: www.seymourcentre.com.au or 02 9351 7940
