Review: Dorian: The Musical at Southwark Playhouse Borough

Rock star. Overdose. Murder. Scandal. Who comes to mind? Kurt Cobain? Sid Vicious? Or Axl Rose?

It’s Dorian, Oscar Wilde’s Dorian. As an eternal emblem of youth, love, and death, Dorian has inspired numerous theatrical productions exploring themes from middle-age crisis (Gob Squad’s Creation) to toxic narcissism (The Picture of Dorian Gray in the West End).

Written and directed by Linnie Reedman, with melodies by Joe Evans, Dorian attempts to recreate a Dorian easily reminding you of any stereotypical rock name but barely Dorian per se. Set in contemporary times with references to selfies and social media, Dorian (Alfie Friedman) is depicted as a rock star made by music producer “Lord Henry”, Harry Wotton (George Renshaw) and his wife, stylist Victoria Wotton (Gabrielle Lewis-Dodson). While he falls in love with soprano Sibyl Vane (Megan Hill) at the Royal Opera House, his famous painting is now a filtered photo by photographer “Baz” (Leeroy Boone), Dorian’s passionate admirer.

While there is a robust revelation embedded between Wilde’s original writing and the glitzy modern showbiz, this potential is utterly eclipsed by overly formalised playwriting, unthoughtful directing, perfunctory design, and shallow character portrayals.

Reedman’s rewrite loses the simple, intrinsic beauty of Wilde’s story, instead rendering it a soap opera unlikely to be renewed. The show often makes the audience feel as if they are being told what to feel, rather than genuinely feeling something from the bottom of their hearts. For instance, when “Baz” confesses his love to Dorian, he admits a sense of horror at Dorian’s beauty, but is unable to resist his affection. Despite Elliot Pritchard’s neat choreography embodying Boone’s elegant movements, this moment feels forced rather than empathetic. Lacking narrative foreshadowing and chemistry between the actors, it’s difficult to enkindle genuine emotions.

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While such moments are scattered throughout the show, the direction worsens the situation, failing to add any critical reflection or contemporary relevance. Its directorial hand appears crude and unimaginative, literal in detail yet bewildering in general, much like drama school assignments no more sophisticated than the mechanicals from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. This scattershot approach is also reflected in Isabelle Van Braeckel’s design. With records and guitars on a balcony’s back wall, as well as glittering, chaotically referenced costumes, the design creates a haphazard and incohesive aesthetic.

Joe Evans’ composition is one of the few highlights, melodic and pleasing, compensating for the repetitive and prosaic lyrics. However, many of his melodies are challenging, often in triple metre or featuring dotted rhythms and syncopations. While most of the cast are professionally trained, their singing sometimes exhibits a sense of dissonance, as if stumbling over their own feet.

Friedman portrays a passionate, innocent musician, but his passion for music is given neither explanation nor further exploration. It is abruptly converted to his love for Sibyl, and mysteriously disappears later in the show. Though Dorian features queer love among the three men (with a faint indication of lesbian attraction between Victoria and Fabian, Sibyl’s sister), his portrayal of Dorian, and the production as a whole, appear as bizarrely and innately heteronormative.