Hello, Dolly! review – Imelda Staunton leads London Palladium revival

Calling Hello, Dolly! ‘beloved’ is a bit like calling Santa Claus ‘that guy the kids are pretty fond of’. The turn-of-the-century-set tale of professional meddler Dolly Levi is as enduringly popular and critically lauded as they come. Its premiere on Broadway over 50 years ago won ten Tonys, the 1969 Barbra Streisand-led film bagged three Oscars, and its many revivals since on both sides of the pond have been met with hordes of ecstatic fans and torrents of awards.

So, there’s no small amount of pressure resting on the taffeta-puff shoulders of this production – London’s first major revival since 2009. (That one won three Oliviers, by the by). Could now be the dreaded moment that modern audiences, jaded and skint, finally tire of this frothy romp? Of its ballsy widow heroine playing matchmaker for miserly “half-a-millionaire” Horace Vandergelder, while manoeuvring herself neatly into position? Is the love for Dolly about to run out?

Don’t be daft. Producer Michael Harrison is far too clever for that. Because he’s paired this institution of musical theatre with an institution of, well, Britain: Imelda Staunton. And she is everything you want in a Dolly. Hilarious, thanks to her veteran comedy chops and Dominic Cooke’s incisive direction. And a fast-talking chancer, puppeteering the action with such charm and such deftness that those left reeling in her wake all but thank her for her breezy manipulation.

But there’s depth to her dealings. She’s not after Vandergelder for his money, but to have “someone’s life mixed up” in her own again, after the death of her beloved husband Ephraim. As she asks him for a sign that he’s happy for her to marry again, a painful chink in her brassy armour glimmers. And Staunton lets it reappear regularly, through the tiniest of gestures, and in the most unexpected of moments – a pained twitch of the mouth amidst a riotous street parade, or a longing look amongst chorus members dancing full-tilt.

Without this grounding humanity, the production might be in danger of floating off in a bubble of its own razzle-dazzle. Because “wow, wow, wow, fellas” there’s a lot of razzle-dazzle. No whacky modern retellings or modest sets here. This is giddy, Golden-age glitz.

Designer Rae Smith orchestrates a blistering run of costume changes, and a set that at times beggars belief. Buildings and train stations fly in, shops whizz slickly into place on a conveyor belt, which also allows the cast to walk for mile after imaginary mile, as New York’s buildings and skies move past them on a video backdrop. The world feels expansive. Not to mention expensive. An opulent restaurant with a sweeping staircase appears. A steam train rolls onto stage (really) as if the Palladium’s wings are one great Mary Poppins carpet bag. It’s the kind of set that could upstage a lesser cast.

But this cast seems plucked from the Golden Age, too. To a faultless orchestra, the 36-strong ensemble raises roofs and goosebumps with exceptional renditions of Jerry Herman’s songs. They polka and pirouette like an army of Fred and Gingers to Bill Deamer’s buoyant choreography. And almost all of them hold their own against Staunton’s undeniable star power.

There are a number of pawns in Dolly’s sub-schemes, all of whom add fun and heart. But best of all is Harry Hepple as Vandergelder’s adventure-hungry clerk, Cornelius Hackl, who falls for his boss’s intended fiancée. Hepple has not only the sweetest voice of the night but gives us comic timing to rival Staunton’s, and a winning dose of believable romance.

Andy Nyman has a tough gig as Vandergelder – the only grump in a sea of grins and glitter. And at times, his grouchiness feels like it’s sapping his energy. But he soon rallies, and his final transformation feels all the more satisfying for his sullen start.

If Dolly’s story is about throwing yourself into your life with your whole heart, then the team behind this staggering spectacle of a show have certainly followed in their heroine’s footsteps.