White Christmas at the Mill at Sonning – review

For anyone over the age of 50, White Christmas is probably the ultimate festive movie and it was surely only a matter of time before it made its way to the stage. This version, adapted from the Krasna, Panama and Frank screenplay by David Ives and Paul Blake, retaining the beloved Irving Berlin numbers while adding several more, has been a Yuletide mainstay on both sides of the Atlantic since its 2009 premiere, but I doubt it’s ever been as charming as it is here.

The Christmas musical at the Mill at Sonning has become an eagerly awaited annual tradition and Jonathan O’Boyle’s delightful staging of this tale of backstage romance and misunderstanding, set in the aftermath of World War II, doesn’t disappoint. Dressed up with scintillating tap-heavy choreography by Gary Lloyd, top-flight production values, a bit of audience singalong, and a band, led by Jae Alexander, that sounds way larger than its seven pieces, it’s a thoroughly lovely time, punchy enough to entertain youngsters but faithful enough to the original to induce nostalgic tears in senior theatregoers.

The casting of the central quartet – the army veteran buddies turned song and dance entertainers and the performing sisters who fall for them – is younger than one might expect, but the leads are so good that it scarcely matters. The fresh-faced youth of Connor Hughes as Phil Davis (the Danny Kaye role in the film) mitigates against the character’s careless womanising. In a beautifully judged performance, Hughes invests him with authentic warmth and a slight air of goofy bewilderment, and he’s a fabulous hoofer with a surprisingly powerful voice. As his more serious chum, Jason Kajdi brings an appealing kindness and gravitas to a less showy role. His version of the much-covered title song has an unforced emotional undercurrent that’s really affecting.

Nic Myers and Gabriella Williams are terrific as the Haynes sisters, the former irresistibly sweet but ambitious, with a satisfying bonkers edge, the latter more reserved and sophisticated. Myers is a wonderful dancer, and her duets with Hughes are blissful, while Williams delivers a flawless, nuanced torch song with the sultry “Love, You Didn’t Do Right By Me” in the second half. The chemistry between the four stars is palpable.

The rest of the cast is similarly sparkling. Shirley Jameson is a show-stealing, wise-cracking joy as Martha, the former Broadway star reduced to managing a guest house in rural Vermont, and her “Let Me Sing and I’m Happy” is an object lesson in how to sell a big number with brass, attack and good old school charm. Mark Curry is very touching as a retired army general although he seems a bit too much of a sweetie to instil fear into countless soldiers as the script suggests.

The smaller roles are admirably filled but there’s not much that even this talented company can do to disguise the fact that some of the character tropes (the shrill pair of chorines pursuing Phil, the camply indignant stage manager) aren’t terribly funny these days. Nor can O’Boyle’s fluid, inventive direction mask that the show itself is a little baggy and convoluted plotwise.

There’s so much to enjoy here that few will care, especially when happily full of the buffet Christmas dinner that comes with every ticket at the Mill at Sonning. Irving Berlin’s exquisitely crafted songs still sound remarkably fresh, and the whole show looks a pristine treat from Jason Denvir’s ruched curtained set that transforms into army billet, TV studio, New York nightclub, train carriage, even a giant piano, with help from David Howe’s versatile lighting, to Natalie Tichener’s elegant costumes and immaculate period-specific wigs.

As with earlier musical offerings at this venue, the sense of a grand tuner being scaled down with infinite love, care and artistry is all over this heartwarming enterprise. By the time this White Christmas gets to its snow-drenched finale, the cast clad in Santa outfits on a stage aglow with festive green and crimson, you’d have to be a bit of a Grinch not to be sat there with a big soppy grin plastered on your face.