Hell: The Musical

My hands are up. There are many things I’ll never understand. Like, for example, how to cycle. Readers, do you have even the slightest idea how humiliating it when people scoff blithely “It’s as easy as riding a bike” when you can’t? Well? They might as well be convivially chirruping, “It’s as simple as… assembling rifles in the dark.”

Similarly, I’ve never enjoyed musicals. The release of the film version of Mamma Mia has reinforced my feeling that they’re like a party that I haven’t been invited to - possibly because of my glaring lack of cycling or rifle-assembly skills. Doubtless there are countless situations in life that would be improved by the main protagonists spontaneously erupting into song – checking your bank balance to discover that you have been accidentally overpaid or an STI all-clear result, for example – but I’m not altogether convinced the death of Eva Peron is one of them. Seriously, I was once dragged to Rent starring cultural titan Adam Rickitt and ended up rooting for the landlord.

Still, the news that sanity-showhome Britney Spears is considering treading the boards in Grease (apparently she’s playing the grease) would be enough to coax even my philistine-shaped ass out of its seat to a theatre. The reason is simple: it will imbue stale, serotonin musicals and their painstakingly rehearsed insouciance with something they’ve been sorely lacking – a kinetic sense that anything could, and probably will, happen. Call it sick ambulance chasing, but how many more of us would flock to The Sound Of Music if there was even the faintest sliver of a chance that the deathlessly dull Connie Fisher would have a smash and grab at the pharmacists, flick fag-ash over the Von Trapp children, before dissolving into a breakdown and shaving all her hair off while belting out “The hills are alive”, as a waterfall of kohl cascades down her plaid smock?

Pop musicals are big business. Generally, these fall into two categories; those that you take your mother to simply so you’ll remain in the family will (Mamma Mia!) or those like Never Forget, based on the oeuvre of Take That, which if you were to attend on a date, you’d leave concluding, “you know, it might actually be less degrading to just pay for sex”. Though you might quail at criticising the movie choices of a national treasure, the trailer for the Mamma Mia film makes it look like the kind of flick that would tempt you to remove the batteries from Julie Walters’ smoke detector.

Certainly, the majority seemed aimed at HRTeenyboppers desperately trying to relive their mortgage and bingo-wing free youth, through a combination of nostalgia-tunes and pink bunny ears. If a bomb exploded during a matinee performance of Daddy Cool (retreading Boney M’s greatest hits), the aftermath would resemble Watership Down as styled by Claire’s Accessories.

Things reached a bizarre nadir with Desperately Seeking Susan where the ‘cult’ film starring Madonna (whose own videos have been resembling Death In Venice: The Musical of late) was retold (ridiculously) through the songs of Blondie. Destined-to-outlive-styrofoam star Deborah Harry even contributed a specially-penned track to it, perhaps commenting “I’ve been a fan of the movie Desperately Seeking Susan and could see creative potential in the project from the moment I laid eyes on… my larger than expected tax bill.”

But the $64,000 question is: which bands are ripe for having showtune extravaganzas based upon them? Personally, I’m campaigning for Arts Council funding to stage R Kelly: The Musical, which would be similar to Bugsy Malone, except with myriad product placements for camcorders. Failing that, my back-up plans are Westlifeside Story (“Katona, Katona! I just met a girl called Katona!”) which leads up to the cataclysmic denouement where the cast… stand up off their stools, and a Broadway version of The Picture Of Dorian Gray featuring the music of Kim Wilde (ahem, picture the poster: ‘One Night, One Stage, Two Wildes!’).

Also bubbling under are Cats (”Atomic Kitten as you’ve never seen them before – older and flea-ridden!”), Les Miserables: Radiohead (“The most depressing, devoid-of-fun night of your life….OR YOUR MONEY BACK!”) and one telling the story of pious windbag Bono – simply titled Jesus Christ Superstar’s Dad.

Then there’s The Sound Of Scott-Lee, a remake of The Sound Of Music starring the jinxed Scott Lee clan: including former Steps star and P45-made-flesh Lisa, brothers Steve and Ant (3SL), plus sibling Andy (3SL, Pop Idol) and wife Michelle Heaton (Liberty X). The twist here is that by the end of act one, the audience will be supporting the Nazis.

And what of casting decisions? Forget Keira Knightly, Kate Nash was born to play Eliza Doolittle. La Cage Aux Folles is about a bunch of singing men who pretend to be women and, in terms of method acting, few could rival The Pussycat Dolls for the part.

Do you have any better suggestions, faithful blog-hounds? Are you reading this thinking “My ideas seem prolific, insightful and dammit, plain sober in comparison?”

Gary Ryan