Amy Hodge’s reimagining of Little Shop of Horrors is brutal but inspired at Sheffield’s Crucible Theatre
“Why this whole thing strikes me funny I don’t know”
What if you staged Little Shop of Horrors but took away much of the tongue-in-cheek frivolity that has made it such an evergreen success of a musical? The festive cheer at Sheffield Theatres this year is definitely coming from Snow White in the Lyceum as next door in the Crucible, things are considerably darker. Taking skid row as a concept, director Amy Hodge has transplanted it to a loosely contemporary UK setting and though it is initially unsettling for those familiar with the show, the end result is a fascinating reimagining of the show, brilliantly designed by Georgia Lowe.
Adapting Charles B Griffith’s 1960 film The Little Shop of Horrors, Howard Ashman (book and lyrics) and Alan Menken (music) embraced its B-movie charm and reaffirmed its pulpy status with a doo-wop-inspired score. So even as the plot embraces domestic violence, murder, drug abuse and more in its depiction of a flower shop assistant and his crush trapped in a Mephistophelean nightmare by a mysterious plant and his own dodgy decision-making, its rock’n’roll charm and wayward humour often carries the day with chirpy lightheartedness.
Hodge’s production is overflowing with wonderful detail – surprises aplenty springing from wheelie bins, the ding dong every time someone enters or exits the shop, the shadow play of the prologue hinting at what is to come, the video screens and their constantly amusing content. There’s also some gruesome touches like pet-icide and a wood chipper put to good use (the production comes with an age guidance of 11+). Musically, it soars under Chris Poon’s musical direction – ‘Skid Row (Downtown)’ – already one of my all time favourite songs from a musical – is elevated by a gorgeous arrangement (new orchestrations by Matthew Jackson), the searching emotion of its climax enhanced by contemporary choreography (Jade Hackett) and stripped back harmonies rather than punchy chords.
By the time Georgina Onuorah’s Audrey delivers an utterly sincere, spine-tingling-in-a-way-that-ought-to-be-career-defining ‘Somewhere That’s Green’, you pretty much forget any mismatch of setting and lyrical content due to the sheer depth of feeling onstage, made all the more stark in natural accents – Birmingham-born Colin Ryan’s richly-voiced Seymour is a Brummie and it just works. That lack of campiness does hit hard though, there’s a starkness to the depressed lives being lived here on the rough side of town, nowhere to hide (as if there ever should be) in the abusive relationship between Audrey and her sadistic dentist lover Orin.
Ironically, it is Orin’s arrival that starts to tips the tone into something of a fever dream, lest things get too downbeat. Wilf Scolding is phenomenal, his wonderfully awful yuppie persona accompanied by day-go dancing teeth as he huffs his gas, leading to Mushnik (Michael Matus being so much fun) and son going full Argentine tango with bonus toreadors, all building up a brilliantly creepy reveal of Sam Buttery’s full-throated Audrey II, the plant come to life, and a full embrace of the riotous fun of this truly iconic score.
Post-interval, it becomes clearer that Hodge is actually giving us Little Shop… as psychological horror. These fantastical sequences give way to some striking imagery – the juddering clock screens, Buttery’s Audrey II in a Hannibal Lecter-esque cage, the truly disturbing sight of [redacted] writhing in the belly of the plant, actual deals with actual devils (Scolding again), the shimmering glitterball touches of Jessica Hung Han Yun’s lighting leaving us in no doubt that as heartfelt ‘Suddenly Seymour’ is, Seymour and Audrey’s moment together is but an ephemeral dream.
It’s brutal but inspired, a shock to the system of what you might expect and all the more refreshing for it. Lizzy Rose Esin Kelly, Paige Fenlon and Charlotte Jaconelli are great as a more streetwise take on the girl-group Greek chorus, the reconceptualisation of Audrey II as a growing plant is superb through puppet designers Daisy Beattie and Seb Mayer and the inventive ensemble work, the authenticity of Ryan and Onuorah’s emotional connection rooting the production in true pathos. A bold statement from Sheffield Theatres that ought to grow and grow (and get repotted in a London theatre too?!).
