[title of show], Southwark Playhouse review - two guys and two girls write about writing, delightfully

Not just a backstage musical, a backroom musical!

In the 70s, Follies and A Chorus Line took us into the rehearsal room giving us a chance to look under the bonnet to see the cogs of the Musical Theatre machine bump and grind as a show gets on its feet. But what of the other room, the writers’ room, where the ideas emerge mistily and the egos clang in conflict? [title of show] pulls back the curtain behind the curtain, behind the curtain.

“More meta?” I hear you ask, a little wince in the voice. But, rather than an exercise in smartypants critiquing of cultural production from the inside-out (though I suspect there might be a Ph.D. or two that cites this work - all yours if you can find it), Jeff Bowen and Hunter Bell’s 20 year old show is light, funny and warm. Two guys and two gals are dazzled by minor success then dazzled again by bigger success, before… Well, if you can get through the difficult second album unscathed, you’re probably going to be okay.

We open on two gay guys tooling around trying to write songs in New York, but mainly watching trash TV and procrastinating. Hunter and Jeff (of course, Hunter and Jeff) decide to write a musical together for a festival - on a three week deadline. They co-opt two friends and then… they’re stuck. 

Better at wisecracks than wisdom, they hit MT’s traditional buffer - the book. With no story on which to hang their hooks, the songs look set for scrapping, until they hit on the idea to write about what they’re doing, what they’re saying, what they’re singing. It’s taking the old adage of ‘write about what you know’ to the max, but, the occasional arched eyebrow aside, it works.

That’s largely because our quartet is vividly drawn, each personality vulnerable, but confident and funny, with a hinterland that shows that life is never merely a barrel of laughs. These are three-dimensional characters who pass a crucial test at the end of any 90 minutes all-through show - I definitely did want to know what happens next.

Jacob Fowler (pictured above with Thomas Oxley) is the vituperative Hunter, clever and ambitious, the mustard that adds tang to one of those deli sandwiches we don’t really have over here (this is a very NYC piece). Thomas Oxley’s Jeff is more self-deprecating, patient and considered, but the two guys like and respect each other and, sure enough, we do too.

Abbie Budden and Mary Moore as the girls, Heidi and Susan, also present as complementary characters, sparking off each other and the writers. Heidi is auditioning for ensemble cover on Broadway and always has an eye on what might be on The Great White Way, whereas Susan is nine-to-fiving it in a call centre, paying a mortgage and not sure if she belongs in the writing room at all - turns out she does. They’re a bit catty with each other at first, but settle into a nice equilibrium.

If the much-mentioned minimalism of the set (four chairs) and the single keyboard (Tom Chippendale) makes the show a little small and the equally much-mentioned references to 90s MT stars dates it, the songs make up in razor-sharp observations what they lack in '11 O’Clock Number' grandeur. 

All four singers are technically excellent, individually and in harmony, with no straining of ears even as worn out as mine to catch every witticism and aperçus in the lyrics - and there are many. “Monkeys and Playbills” is a roll call of old Broadway classics and, if you’re a fan of Playbill front covers (if you’re not, frankly, you’re at the wrong show), sit near the front for a nostalgia rush as the magazines flash by. “Die Vampire, Die!”, is delivered with verve and a “We’ve all been there” empathy by Mary Moore, ticking off the ways energy can be sucked out of creative people by those who will drain it with those oh so familiar passive aggressive remarks. “Nine People's Favorite Thing” captures the dilemma between pursuing vanilla medium-level popular success and going for the the sugar-rush of cult status amongst those who really, really love your work.

Without a romantic subplot, relationships largely platonic, there’s no narrative space for that one big number a great musical needs, but what we do get is delightful, a shaft of sunlight as winter draws on, a reminder that putting on a show can be agony, but, more often than not, it can be fun too.  

• [title of show] at Southwark Playhouse until 30 November
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