Brighton Rock, Almeida, London

Dutiful and dull musical not worth the price of a deck-chair

Paul Taylor
Tuesday 05 October 2004 19:00 EDT
Comments

Your support helps us to tell the story

From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.

At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.

The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.

Your support makes all the difference.

Richard Attenborough created an indelibly chilling impression as Pinkie, the 17-year-old psychotic gang leader who refuses salvation, in the 1947 movie of Graham Greene's novel Brighton Rock. Now his son Michael, artistic chief of the Almeida, directs a musical version of the story.

Richard Attenborough created an indelibly chilling impression as Pinkie, the 17-year-old psychotic gang leader who refuses salvation, in the 1947 movie of Graham Greene's novel Brighton Rock. Now his son Michael, artistic chief of the Almeida, directs a musical version of the story.

It would be an understatement to say that the Pinkie we've known heretofore does not have a song in his heart. Desolation, yes; defensive contempt for the world he yearns to dominate; acute sexual revulsion and a morbid belief in the certainty of Hell - these feelings crowd his cramped, Catholic-indoctrinated soul. But in the book and the film, it would be as easy to picture Pinkie breaking into a Maori fertility dance as imagine him launching into a ditty. There are, after all, more romantic reasons for marrying a young heroine than the desire to purchase her silence - wives not being required to give evidence against their husbands in murder trials.

The creators of this show try to get round that difficulty by using song as a way into Pinkie's disturbed consciousness. This tactic works best in numbers like "Some Things Never Leave You" where his awkward dance with Rose, the girl who knows the falsity of his alibi, is freeze-framed while Pinkie recalls the trauma of witnessing his parents' Saturday night sex sessions.

There are snags, though. One is that while Michael Jibson gives a fair performance, he never manages to communicate the hypnotic menace of this ruthless juvenile.

Then again, these inner monologue songs - also the preserve of Sophia Ragavelas's Rose - contribute to the musical's fatal deficiency in the mesmeric momentum towards disaster that is such a strong feature of the darkly driven novel and movie spin-off. A brilliant but repellent novel has been turned into a dutiful but dull musical. Not worth the price of a deck-chair.

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged inPlease refresh your browser to be logged in