Tuesday, October 14, 2003

LIKE 'MOOSE MURDERS', ONLY WITHOUT THE ANTLERS: The new London musical Money To Burn is closing after just two days. Why? And why should we care?

Let's see what the critics had to say about it. From the Guardian U.K.:
[A] show, written and directed by Daniel Abineri, that describes itself as a "musical comedy thriller" and that manages to miss all three of its chosen targets. . .

Faced with such dross as this, one's first inclination is to flee screaming into the night. But, having stayed the course, one starts to wonder what on earth is happening to the West End. . . . [T]his is a woefully misbegotten enterprise that seems to have been written by someone lately sojourning on Mars. At the end Mr Blake begs us not to reveal the plot twist. I can assure him the show's secret is safe with me.

From the Telegraph:
You remember the plot of The Producers? A down-at-heel impresario massively overcapitalises a show, raking in millions of dollars from sweet little old ladies, then stages a production specifically designed to flop so that he won't have to pay them back a penny.

Watching this jaw-droppingly dreadful new musical, there are moments when one can't help wondering whether a similar scam is in operation. In the Mel Brooks movie, of course, Springtime for Hitler proved so insanely terrible that it became a smash hit. Unfortunately, Money to Burn (and how prophetic that title is likely to prove) doesn't even make it into the cherished so-bad-it's-good category. . . .

The dialogue is lifeless, the plotting pathetically predictable, the characterisation a compendium of cliches, the jokes abysmal. Poor Abineri (no, I've never heard of him either) seems to believe that a script is bound to be funky if you use the f-word a lot. He also has a fatal addiction to fourth-form humour. When a character breaks wind after drinking absinthe, he can't resist pointing out that "absinthe makes the fart blow stronger". . .

[Lead actor Peter] Blake heroically gives the impression that he believes in a show that he must secretly know to be the nadir of his career. Everyone else in the eight-strong strong cast seems merely desperate, with ample reason, and it would be uncharitable to name them.

Collectors of dud musicals should hurry. Unless the show's backers really do have money to burn, its run is likely to prove nasty, brutish and short.

My only regret is that Frank Rich probably didn't have a chance to see it.

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