As an ageing film producer plans to resurrect his past cinematic successes, an audience are invited to share his memories and triumphs as he flicks through his back catalogue of work: and sometime friends.
A wonderfully layered piece brought to life with love and understanding
James Nicholas’ new play uses prolific producer Peter Rogers as its central character and - aptly as the man behind some of their most enduring roles - a prism through which to meet some of the most outrageous and loved British performers of the twentieth century.
The Carry On franchise that Rogers and his director Gerald Thomas presided over was one of the most successful of the twentieth century, and brought laughter to millions: then and now. Facile, puerile and banal they may have been; but as anyone who has ever seen Jim Dale bongling down a set of stairs on a hospital trolley can attest, also rip-roaringly funny.
There are, of course, problematic elements liberally sprinkled throughout the films when glimpsed from the lofty distance of a new millennia. But there are also dazzling examples of word play, physical comedy and delivery which more than stand the test of time. Whilst we can understand why a younger audience might be left cold by the series: to those of us of a certain age, they are just a cosy, funny, naughty old pair of slippers that seem to do the rounds at Bank Holidays and remind us of a simpler - but by no means necessarily kinder - comedic landscape.
Nicholas’ script fizzles with details and references designed to delight all of us Carry On nerds and educate those less familiar with the behind the scenes shenanigans. But it is also a piece fundamentally about the indefatigability of the human spirit and the sadness of becoming irrelevant.
As Rogers contemplates how he might relaunch his brand of saucy seaside humour, double entendre and cheeky sexual innuendo to a millennial audience; he is visited by the ghosts of his big stars.
Darren Haywood gives a sensitive performance as Rogers, but what will particularly delight an audience are the Carry On stars he brings to life in rapid-fire succession. We are treated to the sneering Kenneth Williams, throaty Sid James, flamboyant Charlie Hawtrey, airy Hattie Jacques, blunt Joan Sims, and mellifluous vocal stylings of Leslie Phillips that we all know and love. A Bernard Bresslaw cameo is quite delightful; and a bubbly Barbara Windsor is especially joyous. Haywood embodies each of these beloved actors with a love and empathy which is tangible in each of the realisations: their voices now permitted more three-dimensionality than in any of the films which secured their legendary status.
This is a wonderfully layered piece brought to life with love and understanding by director Simon Ravenhill: and a tribute to that legion of clowns who gifted laughter to generations whilst grappling with their own sadnesses.
