In Dominic Cooke’s superb production of Hello, Dolly! At the London Palladium, Dolly returns from Yonkers to New York, her hometown, and visits Harmonia Gardens, her favorite restaurant. Dancing waiters in burgundy skirts, each carrying a silver platter as if it were a trophy, go wild with excitement when they hear she’s coming. Like Jerry Herman and Michael Stewart’s musical itself, they’re light on their feet, and this ecstatic scene reinforces the show’s bracing fantasy that anyone can become anyone through sheer force of personality, that a little old—or middle-aged—lady can become a dynamo, a fixer, a star. Far from age making a woman invisible, Hello Dolly!based on Thornton Wilder’s 1938 farce, revolves around the mastery of wearing brightly colored glasses, and Imelda Staunton plays Dolly to perfection.
Staunton’s star quality – she sparkles in her emerald ball gown like a queen descending the restaurant’s appropriately golden staircase – depends on her prodigious ability to remain sincere and determined, no matter how far-fetched the events around her. Her naturalness and charm make her a joy to watch. She gives us a Dolly who delights in being herself, but whose eyes well with tears as she consults her beloved, deceased philanthropist husband (she’s a matchmaker, secretly arranging her own second marriage). Dolly’s prey is the grumpy millionaire Horace Vandergelder – amusingly played by Andy Nyman. But Staunton ensures that the intrigue never overwhelms the sentiment, and at the end of the first half gives a stunning – melancholy but determined – performance of Before the Parade Passes By, about catching happiness while you can.
Rae Smith’s set is lush with vistas of late 19th-century New York, flower-laden wagons and even a steam train. An escalator, when applicable, whisks the cast across the stage (the divine choreography is by Bill Deamer), but there are also thrilling moments when Dolly literal in a showstopper and everyone stands still as a statue as she sings. Jenna Russell is a flirtatiously poised Irene Molloy, another cheerful widow – a fashion designer who hates hats but is not above getting picked up by a lanky, impecunious younger man (the beautifully melodic Harry Hepple).
The comic triumph of the show has to be the number It Takes a Woman. The men gather en masse and energetically sing the lazy anthem about leaving the housework to a woman, unclogging drains, and so on. But the unsung implication in this production is clear: Dolly has no intention of becoming one of the graceful, elbow-greased women of the number. She is no Cinderella. She is more likely to arrange her own transportation to the ball after skipping the dishes.
Washing dishes is to the point in Katori Hall’s 2021 Pulitzer Prize-winning comedy The Hot Wing King. It’s always satisfying to see a kitchen on stage. Think of Arnold Wesker’s The kitchenJohn Osbornes Look back angrily or the fried eggs at the end of the National Theatre’s 2016 production of Terence Rattigan The deep blue sea. But The Hot Wing King marks a new generation of kitchen-sink drama. The kitchen has been upgraded: the sink is understated, the dressers are marble, the stove is hi-spec (designer Rajha Shakiry). In this cosmetically updated space, a team of five gay black men prepare a sauce for the chicken wing (AKA “hot wangs”) competition held annually in Memphis, Tennessee.
This is an entertaining but sensitive exploration of the challenges of gay masculinity. It raises questions about how to be a good father, uncle, lover, son. It takes its time, running nearly three hours, but allows for a playfulness that enhances the illusion that the action is happening in real time. There is tenderness, sparring, good-natured indecent mischief, bursts of dance and – a highlight – a harmonious rendition, in relay, of Luther Vandross’s “Never Too Much.”
Cordell, the chef (unemployed, unlike his significant other), is earnest, charismatic but unsure of himself. He is played beautifully by Kadiff Kirwan, dressed in a short blue-and-white chef’s apron (cheeky in every sentence). He has left his wife and two sons and fallen hopelessly in love with the handsome Dwayne (a fine Simon-Anthony Rhoden, who sings like a dream).
No spoilers for what happens with the sauce, but the plot thickens with the arrival of Dwayne’s teenage nephew, Everett, whose mother has tragically passed away (Kaireece Denton plays him with a touching mix of innocence and street smarts). Dwayne feels responsible for his nephew, but fails to consult with Cordell before offering him a room in their house. There’s hilarious support from sous chef Isom (Olisa Odele) and seasoned wisdom from Big Charles (Jason Barnett). Meanwhile, Dwayne’s drug-dealing father, TJ (a terrific performance by Dwayne Walcott), gives us a straight-talking version of struggling masculinity. This is a heartwarming, refreshing and original show, flamboyantly stoked by director Roy Alexander Weise, in which simmering emotions come to a head. Stay in the kitchen — as long as you can stand the heat.
Considering the ecstatic reception of Fangirls on press night, I’ll probably be in the minority if I don’t describe myself as a fan. The Australian hit musical (2019) is now in a UK version by its original director, Paige Rattray. Writer (also lyricist and composer) Yve Blake’s aim is to explore how fandom helps girls find – and lose – themselves. While the idea is valid, it’s a big ask to expect it to support an entire show full of bland pop and a screeching vocal performance by the girls themselves.
It does have a great cast, though. Thomas Grant is a perfect fit for Harry (inspired, one might assume, by Harry Styles), with a shallow stare, floppy bangs and puppy-dog eyes. His image keeps appearing on the pillowcases – the closest his fans get to sleeping with him. Jasmine Elcock makes a remarkable, heartfelt debut as Edna, the 14-year-old trying to turn her fantasies into reality (be careful what you wish for – importing your hero into your schoolgirl bedroom might not go to plan). But in its attempt to understand teenage girls, the show tends to be patronizing. I couldn’t help but notice that it’s the incorrigible middle-aged mother (Debbie Kurup) who saves the day – as if Blake had been on her side all along.
Star Ratings (out of five)
Hello, Dolly! ★★★★★
The Hot Wing King ★★★★
Fangirls ★★