Cry-Baby, The Musical at Arcola Theatre – review

Based on the 1990 John Waters film that starred a young Johnny Depp (which I haven’t seen), Cry-Baby, The Musical is a 1950s-set frippery about romance across the class divide that never takes itself at all seriously. No, it’s no Hairspray (or Grease, to which it’s clearly paying homage), but Arcola Theatre artistic director Mehmet Ergen provides a bouncy, colourful UK professional premiere in which the audience is generally happy to be carried along for the ride, however contrived the plotting and paper-thin the characterisation may be.

Still, if it was performed on Broadway today (it played there in 2008 for 113 performances), Robert F Kennedy Jr would probably try to have it banned, considering it opens with a celebratory “Anti-Polio Picnic” during a mass vaccination roll-out in Baltimore. The credible and catchy doo-wop and hillbilly-inspired songs by David Javerbaum and Adam Schlesinger keep things jiving along swiftly, going some way to covering up the shortcomings in the book.

Wade “Cry-Baby” Walker (Adam Davidson) is the ‘sensation on probation’ who was orphaned as an infant when his parents were sent to the electric chair on trumped-up charges. Rich girl Allison Vernon-Williams (Lulu-Mae Pears) is similarly parentless following a freak croquet accident and finds herself stifled by her sheltered existence. Cry-Baby isn’t really that dangerous, being less of a delinquent than a romantic loner who dreams of a fairer world and understands consent, serenading Allison with “Girl, Can I Kiss You with Tongue?”. Together, Davidson and Pears make a sincere pair of young lovers filled with whirling hormones.

The goody-goody “Squares” prove more entertaining than the wrong-side-of-the-tracks “Drapes”, who tend to give the impression of playing at being bad (Chad Saint Louis’s vocal power is the highlight). The clean-cut and oh-so “straight” country club boy band the Whiffles, led by the ingratiating Baldwin (Elliot Allinson, wonderfully smarmy) and his cronies (JR Ballantyne, Joe Grundy and Ryan Heenan), deliver their cringingly earnest four-part harmonies in their sweater vests and fixed grins that practically squeak with insincerity.

Chris Whittaker’s choreography is where much of the real storytelling lies. Allison is beguiled by the Drapes’ earthy energy that pays tribute to the gangs in West Side Story, as well as featuring a fair amount of suggestive writhing. The jail break dance showcases terrific energy and resourcefulness in such a small space. Robert Innes Hopkins’s design, filled with full skirts and preppy varsity sweaters, is a kitschy delight, and Ashton Moore ably leads the boisterous three-piece band.

The biggest problem is the way in which the book by Mark O’Donnell and Thomas Meehan is too nice and the satirical elements are ultimately rather limp, displaying baby teeth rather than fangs. Cry-Baby is remarkably sanguine about Allison’s grandmother Mrs Vernon-Williams’s (Shirley Jameson) big confession and is content to let bygones be bygones. According to the bubbly finale “Nothing Bad is Ever Gonna Happen Again”, all social problems have been solved – it sends the audience out with a spring in their step but could do with a sharper sting in the tail.

At a time when fringe musicals are much rarer than they were a decade or so ago, seeing a young cast able to go full-out in an intimate space is a pleasure. Despite the shortcomings in the material, the Arcola ought to have a crowd-pleaser on its hands.