It was always going to be difficult to reimagine one of the best loved British comedy films of all time, but Father Ted creator Graham Linehan made an excellent fist of it when his Ladykillers emerged for the first time on the London stage in 2011.
Now, two years later the revival, complete with brand new cast, satisfies the old comedy appetite admirably. Lineham’s trademark absurdity abounds, as do his killer one liners. The piece does have its niggling problems but nothing that will spoil the enjoyment of a laughter-filled night out at the theatre.
Mrs Wilberforce (Angela Thorne), a widow who lives alone in a large and rickety old house next to the railway line at King’s Cross, puts an advert up to take in lodgers. What seems to be the perfect hide-out for a gang of robbers intent on a large rail heist, turns out to be a more complicated set-up than they imagined.
Fooling the old lady into thinking they’re musicians, things start to go downhill straight after the heist when they start squabbling amongst themselves and when Mrs W discovers their real purpose.
The ingenious revolving set is really the star of this show, showing us the inside and outside of the house (with a surprise pulled off at the end), and split vertically into Mrs W’s downstairs domain and the boys’ upstairs room. Looking like it might fall to rubble at any minute so wonky are the angles and rickety the stairs, the house seems to have a personality of its own and its heights reach right up to the top of the Vaudeville stage as it peters out in a structure that reminds one of an elaborate birdcage. Pots and pans rattle and shake as the trains run past and the lights flicker on and off as Mrs W clonks the pipes forcefully for no good reason.
Undoubtedly it’s John Gordon Sinclair who has the biggest boots to fill – Alec Guinness’s no less – as head heistman, the wily and refined Professor Marcus, but once you’ve put aside comparisons his subtle and understated performance shines through and anchors the piece well.
The rest of the gang are a bit more patchy. Ralph Little as wide boy Harry is a chronic pill-popper with an OCD cleaning mania. Channelling Carry On’s Alf Ippititimus, he spasms and twitches his way through the first half and should either tone it down or ditch it completely as there’s enough nicely played physical humour from the ensemble and his hamming it up just distracts.
Louis, played by Con O’Neill, is a Romanian hard man in menacing pinstripes who hates “little oiled ladies”, while Chris McCalphy as the dim and dozy One-Round is the nearest in voice and presence to his filmic counterpart.
Simon Day (him off The Fast Show) is a revelation, bringing fantastic comedy timing to his cowardly Major Courtney. As the only character with more than one dimension (he has one and a half), Day sketches him well, especially when it comes to his penchant for a nice lilac dress. He’s the con man you find your heart reaching out to.
An unseen presence is Mrs W’s parrot General Gordon who sits in a cage at the side of the stage. We hear him, we see his tablecloth-covering move and we get fantastic descriptions of him (“It looked like a starving baby in a sock” and “He looks like a diseased washing up glove”) but see him we don’t.
We do, surprisingly, get to see the heist itself, albeit played out with toy trains and cars on the side of the house. An ingenious idea, it doesn’t quite work in practice being a bit on the clunky side but perhaps it’ll get slicker as the production continues.
The most glorious scene overlaps the interval and involves a gaggle of Mrs W’s old lady mates who’ve turned up to tea to hear the gang’s special recital. I say old ladies, but there are a couple of Pepperpots not-so-hidden amongst them, and I’m sure I heard half the audience mutter to ther other half “Is that David Walliams? It can’t be!” and it wasn’t, but one Pepperpot, sitting on stage with a gleeful smile and ear trumpet, was the Little Britain’s spit.
Mrs W’s posse sit ‘oohing’ and ‘aahing’ and bursting into sharp little glove-muffled bouts of clapping while listening to what Marcus describes as ‘an experimental piece’ (“Being fooled by art is one of the primary pleasures afforded the middle class,” deadpans Marcus, a remark which went down very well on press night).
After the interval, the serious business of killing begins when the gang turn on each other as they decide who’s going to do away with “the little oiled lady”. Some of this comedy violence works well, but some (impalement by bannister anyone?) seems to be there just to show they can do it.
As the death count grows, the darkness descends until the stage is in virtual blackout and we hear Marcus taunting Louis (the only two still alive) about his childish fears before dispatching him in a very nasty way. But even then Sinclair plays it for laughs, giving the audience a knowing look as he slips the body out of the window as if it’s as light as a feather (which, of course, it is, being a prop).
Although not quite matching the calibre of cast this play was afforded on its first London run, this revival makes for an enjoyable and smile-filled night out. In my eyes, Graham Linehan can do very little wrong (I loved Count Arthur the other night and if you didn’t then there’s something wrong with you!) and in tackling such an iconic British film and coming up smelling of roses, he proves once again that he’s a writer who can both invent and reinvent marvellously.
What: The Ladykillers
Where: Vaudeville Theatre, The Strand, London
When: various times, see website
Tickets: £20-£85
For more information: CLICK HERE:
Would I see it again?: YES
Four stars
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