This is no mere matter of colour-blind casting but the most successful relocation of its kind since the townspeople of Titipu were transported to the Caribbean in The Black Mikado.
It is remarkable how seamlessly Damon Runyon’s cast of gamblers, gangsters, showgirls and Salvationists adapts to the Harlem setting.
Simon Hale’s orchestrations add blues, jazz and gospel rhythms to the classic Broadway score. So, Miss Adelaide’s Hot Box numbers have a ring of the Cotton Club and Nicely-Nicely Johnson’s Sit Down, You’re Rockin’ The Boat would fit neatly into the repertoire of the Harlem Gospel Choir.
Michael Buffong’s smart production on Soutra Gilmour’s spare set lacks the neon-lit exuberance of other recent revivals but scores in its depiction of romantic heartache.
Although Adelaide’s jaunty A Bushel And A Peck has been replaced by the lacklustre Pet Me Poppa, written for the film, is a mystery.
Kenrick Sandy’s choreography, while curiously humdrum in the street scenes, sizzles in the Havana interlude and the descent into the sewers.
In a talented cast, Ray Fearon brings rare depth to Nathan Detroit, shamefaced at his neglect of Miss Adelaide. Chelsey Emery, standing in for an indisposed Lucy Vandi, is charming and poignant as that “well-known fiancée”.
Ako Mitchell not only stops but steals the show as an unusually suave Nicely-Nicely.
Pinocchio, the wooden puppet who longs to be real, makes a similarly successful transition at the National Theatre.
Walt Disney smoothed the edges of the (literally) heartless little boy in the celebrated cartoon; Dennis Kelly goes still further in translating the cartoon – with its glorious songs intact – to the stage.
Kelly updates the sharp moralizing of the original to include an attack on celebrity culture. Having exposed the universal desire for fame, pleasure and money he declares that what truly unites us is pain.
This surprisingly dark message for a show aimed at children (although equally enjoyable for adults) is married, in John Tiffany’s ingenious production, to some remarkable special effects, ranging from a flamelike Blue Fairy to a spectacular sequence in the belly of a whale.
Particularly inspired is the reversal, whereby the human adults are portrayed by actors manipulating giant puppets and Pinocchio by an actor alone (the endearingly boyish Joe Idris-Roberts).
His final reconciliation with his toy-maker father (the splendid Mark Hadfield) is deeply affecting.
Cell Mates is Simon Gray’s contribution to the extensive literature about British traitors.
Gray focuses on the relationship between George Blake and Sean Bourke, the ex-prisoner who “sprung” Blake from Wormwood Scrubs, only to find himself a de facto captive when he visited him later in Moscow.
Despite occasional shafts of wit, the play is flaccid. The characterisation is shallow and it remains unclear why Bourke should risk so much for a man who is as unsympathetic as his cause. Edward Hall’s deft production is well-acted, especially by Danny Lee Wynter, doubling a gauche fellow traveller with a dour KGB agent.