Spamalot

Marmite and Spam

Monty Python’s Spamalot

by John Du Prez and Eric Idle, lyrics and book by Eric Idle

Teddington Theatre Club at the Hampton Hill Theatre until 9^th December

Review by Mark Aspen

Spamalot is anachronistic, it is puerile, it is scatological.  It is has schoolboy humour, bad taste, and weak jokes.

But this is the whole point. It is meant to be all these things.  It doesn’t take itself seriously, and there is not much danger that we should either.  What it is meant to be is pure unadulterated fun … … well, actually fairly impure and adulterated fun.

To make everything work favourably requires great acting, spot-on comic timing and lively physicality.  TTC’s high-energy Spamalot, in the capable hands of Director Nigel Cole, has this all.  Plus more; it is a musical, and the singing zings, the dancing is electric.  It is a brilliant show that is a must-see and a must-see again (in case you missed anything during this high-energy production).

And there is a lot to miss if you don’t keep up.  In the opening few minutes we have fish-slapping Finns, group-flagellating monks and singing corpses.  Yes, this is quite surreal.  Later there are airborne cows, killer rabbits and Trojans.  Don’t worry, this isn’t a spoiler, it forms the health warning in the publicity material, where we are also alerted to the very rude Français(es) and the bevies of beautiful showgirls.

So what on earth is Spamalot all about?  Ostensibly, it is about tells of King Arthur, legendary King of the Britons, and his quest for the Holy Grail.  However, there are lots of tangents. 

Fittingly, Fiona Auty’s set design of a multi-level mediaeval castle flexibly allows for these tangential excursions, including the Excalibur rock and a Camelot nightclub.  Stage props, some quite bulky, abound, and all is busy; so it is well that she handles the stage management too.  Perhaps even more super busy are the costume quick changes.  Some characters seem to have a different costume for every entrance, and there’s a lot of doubling.  Gillian Parsons and her highly creative wardrobe team have pulled out all the stops with loads of lamé and fab-u-lous designs, ranging from nuns’ habits to leather posing pouches.  (Not to worry, it is all family friendly … ish.)   With lively lighting and sterling sound, by Gary Stevenson and Harry Jacobs, it is all quite a spectacle. 

Our King Arthur is a monarch of mediocre means.  He lacks a trusty steed, but he does have his loyal manservant-factotum-skivvy, Patsy, who is willing to oblige with a pair of coconut half-shells at a trot, canter, gallop or even dressage.  Nick Moorhead’s King Arthur is, however, undaunted.  He remains haughty, self-assured, authoritarian under all circumstances, regal one might say.  The kingliness, or would-be kingliness, is clearly signalled by Moorhead’s tall stature and commanding singing voice. 

Ian Nethersell plays the hapless and much put-upon Patsy, and, my, he acts his gambadoes off!  He is the picture of abject obeisance in every gesture and posture.  Nethersell’s fine bass-baritone is used to effect and shows deep pathos, particularly in I’m All Alone. 

The famous Knights of the Round Table are recruited by happenstance one by one.  Robin is first seen as the undertaker’s man collecting plague victims, including the aforementioned singing corpses, the most vociferous of whom is Not Dead Fred, so called because of his “last” words, his death being deferred, in spite of the best efforts of the gunpowder-tempered Lancelot.  When Robin and Lancelot are knighted, Sir Robin vows to sing and dance and Fred to become his lowly musician (both with useful skills in a musical), while the macho Sir Lancelot wants to go to battle.  

Julian Briscoe plays the timid Sir Robin, his burnished copper locks and darting eyes adding a mercurial lightness to the character.  Callum Akehurst-Ryan has all the bold self-assurance of the gung-ho Sir Lancelot, whose first resort is violent action.  Always wanting to be the star, Lancelot’s vainglorious nature is pricked when we discover that he is a star who comes out at knight.

The peasant Dennis Galahad is discovered with his anarchistic mother Mrs Galahad, doing menial tasks in their “autonomous collective” where they ferment, being mediaeval “activists”, JSO-XR-BLM all rolled into one.   But, when he encounters the BBS (bevies of beautiful showgirls) he immediately flips his political wings.  After the BBS’s makeover, he becomes a suave and urbane ladies’ man.  As Sir Galahad, he now has an heraldic tunic, shining armour and egotistical vanity.  The be-maned Guillaume Borkhataria’s smooth singing underlines the part of Galahad as a slick and silky charmer. He gets a great duet with the Lady of the Lake.

The Knights of the Round Table are completed by Sir Bedevere, “the Strangely Flatulent”, who is the ideas man of the court.  September Taliana-Carey acts with aplomb in this part and also, one might suspect, in the uncredited role of the fierce Mrs Galahad, Dennis’ belligerent mother. 

Another versatile performer with multiple roles is Mathew Madeley, who takes on diverse and well-differentiated characters, including the Historian, the academic who narrates the key “facts”; Fred, the “Not Dead” minstrel; and Prince Herbert, the effete son of the music-adverse King of Swamp Castle, whom Sir Launcelot rescues (and more!).  Madeley in fact has a superb singing voice that has a remarkable range, effortlessly right into a treble register for Herbert.

There are stacks of characters in this show, and the top-class ensemble, many of whom have been seen in principal roles, are first-class; as are all the credited performers.  However, a stand-out performance is that of Heather Stockwell as the Lady of the Lake.  She almost steals the show, and would if it were not for the all-round high standard.  The Lady of the Lake’s first entrance is wow-inducing, rising through the stage, gorgeous, glamorous and glittersome.  The Lady of the Lake is part charismatic mystical figure, part vampish cabaret singer, part love interest.  Plus the meta-character in the show within the musical is an image-conscious diva … quite a complex part to act then.  Heather Stockwell is consummate in acting all these facets, but moreover, she sings beautifully in umpteen different singing styles, each impeccably.  Come with Me is her lyrical opening; The Song that Goes Like This parodies songs in musicals; Knights of the Round Table hits on different cabaret songs; Find Your Grail is triumphal and inspiring; and that’s only Act One.  Yet, later the meta-theatrical diva complains that she hasn’t enough numbers, a virtuoso song-list in The Diva’s Lament.

Spamalot certainly is a busy show, involving a myriad of characters, and of special effects, as King Arthur makes his distracted crusade for the (possibly metaphorical) Holy Grail.  He has to deal with the tergiversations of the fearsome Knights of Ni and the ultimate determination of the Black Knight, who ends up (h)armless and soberly legless, still fighting.

All this action takes place on a relatively small stage, but to advantage.  It is possible to see cinematic detail, there is lots of eyebrow (and eyelash) acting.  As in the staple Christmas offering of a panto, it is not possible to over-act here.

What is a real tour-de-force on the small stage, however, is the choreography.  There is rarely a time in the whole show when the cast is not involved in dancing, ranging from high-kicking lines of showgirls (the BBS) to galumphing knights; or is engaged in intricately choreographed stage movement.  Gita Singham-Willis, the show’s choreographer, has created an exhaustingly intricate indulgence of movement, with faultless and masterly skill.

The execution of the show comes together under the steely detailed conducting of musical director, Lizzie Lattimore, working from an apron pit and using a pre-recorded score.  It has a cracking pace, and is faultless.

Monty Python is a Marmite taste.  I’ve swapped to being lover of this marmite, after seeing this Spamalot.  Nigel Cole and his TTC company have served up Marmite and Spam … a lot!  It is a feast fit for a (an Arthurian) king. 

Mark Aspen, December 2023

Photography by Sarah J Carter