Singin’ in the Rain at Mirvish Productions
Photo by Johan Persson
Even if you haven’t seen the 1952 film Singin’ in the Rain, you know the iconic sequence: after a late night of brainstorming with his best chums, Gene Kelly protagonist Don Lockwood deliriously stumbles out into the rainy Los Angeles streets and dances a dance of cathartic, unbridled joy.
The number is legendary for a reason. So it’s not surprising that the Mirvish stage production of Singin’ in the Rain, which is here for a month from the UK, is entirely structured around its version of it. Since the show excitingly uses over 14000 liters of real water to create its theatrical rain, and this water must be mopped up before anything else can happen, the number is placed right before the show’s twenty minute intermission.
If it wasn’t for the rain practicalities, though, I’m not sure Singin’ in the Rain would even need an intermission. After all, the film runs just 1h 40m. But somehow, intermission in tow, this production of Singin’ in the Rain runs 2h 40m — a whole hour more than the film.
I’m not quite sure where this extra hour comes from, because the show follows the endearingly convoluted script of the film very closely. There’s only one major song addition. It does the same things, but slower.
Still, there’s something interesting about the way the production approaches its Old Hollywood setting. It’s set in 1927, and follows a silent film studio struggling to pivot to talking pictures. But this isn’t a realistic 1927: it’s a highly stylized one, dripping with love for the era’s smarminess. While the photogenic Kelly charmed his way around Don’s occasional creepiness, Sam Lips — who plays him here — leans into it, caricaturizing his misogyny instead of ignoring it. The whole cast breezes around like this, shoulders pushed back and Transatlantic accents at max, blowing the comedy up so large that it verges on parody.
Approaching the scenes this way makes sense. If they’re larger than life, than the musical numbers have the capacity to be larger than larger than life. And they sometimes are — the long “Broadway Melody” dance sequence, for instance, is visually resplendent; dancers in candy-cane coloured tuxedos fill the space, and Simon Higlett’s set becomes an equally colourful wall of overwhelming light. It’s exciting, and theatrical.
But some numbers feel smaller than even the scenes. “Make ‘Em Laugh”, especially, just seems like a simpler version of what’s in the film. There are some stunts, but they aren’t particularly impressive. This is justifiable, of course: the number needs to be safe enough to perform every day. But then the number needs something else to elevate it. Almost every solo could more productively end as a group number.
When it comes to classic musical comedies, I question the choice to do a Singin’ in the Rain adaptation over something well-tested like Guys and Dolls. But now that Singin’ in the Rain is here, it does most of what’s expected of it: it’s a slick, professional production, and includes all the classic moments.
And while it often feels quite distant, when it rains, it pours. Once it’s time for the number we’ve been waiting for, Lips sings, spins and jumps through the tempest, spraying water into the first two rows of the audience. These splashes bring the show charging into the here and now, send ripples of nervous laughter through all three levels of the audience, and justify the need for the show to be in a theatre at all.