Ben Fitzgerald shares his thoughts on the stage adaptation of Roddy Doyle’s The Commitments - now showing at the New Theatre Oxford.
It was confusing. I have had fevered cheese-dreams that made more sense.
I got off to a bad start. I was lacking sleep, nursing an injured Achilles tendon and the traffic along the dizzle slick A420 was as tedious as nudging a slug along a road, with your nose… in the drizzle.
By the time I slumped down in my theatre seat at the New Theatre, Oxford, I was acting like a spoilt toddler - determined not to enjoy myself, muttering darkly about ‘feel-good’ musicals.
But… there’s something about the redemptive quality of soul music. The characters on stage kept saying as much to each other. And it said so in the programme. There was no way you could miss the redemptive power, it was everywhere you looked - and listened - slapped on with a large serving spoon before you could say “oh yes please, just a little drizzle on the side of the plate…” Wallop, a big glob of redemptive soul right there for you sir, madam.
The broadly drawn characters sketched out the misery of 80s depressed Dublin - all Parker jackets - rain - red bricks and rapid fire ‘feck’ this and ‘feck that’.. but no amount of fisticuffs and stained sofas could convince me that the characters were locked into a meaningless cycle of work, aggression and breeding - they were all too bloody happy - apart from Curly (actor Kevin Kennedy) who did a splendid job of channelling ‘ambition-shot’ dad.
And I didn’t mind one bit.
If I wanted to chew off a bit of gritty reality from 30 years ago I could easily drive to Corby - the reason why the New Theatre was playing to a hugely appreciative full house was because of the music. That sweet soul music.
They fairly ripped the roof off with blistering hammond organ drenched stone cold classics spiked with a shot of brass. Some speaking and a bit of incidental story (whatever) then, boom, another cracking Detroit masterpiece driven on by a piston-like rhythm section.
By the end of the show I found myself rising to my feet - essentially because the person in front of me was now standing up - and slapping my ‘working class’ hands together and agreeing that I did indeed like sweet soul music. I loved it. The cast were loving it. The crowd were loving it. I loved that the cast and the crowd were loving it.
There is still time to witness this wonderful feel-good (there I said it) celebration of what really matters in life.
Call the box office on : 0844 871 3020 or buy tickets on-line here