With a world tour already under its belt and a UK-wide jaunt soon to follow, Choir of Man’s West End run resides at the Arts Theatre only until January. Andrew Kay and Nic Doodson’s ode to male friendship will surely win fans thanks to its infectious musicality, even if it falters in the playwriting.
Choir of Man brings us into The Jungle, a fictional stand-in for countless British watering holes. The patrons who frequent the pub find community, friendship and solace in a men’s choir, and it’s this loose plot conceit that allows us to indulge in 90 minutes of foot-stamping pop and rock covers.
Is Choir of Man entertaining? Sure! How could it not be? The problem with a typical jukebox musical is how to shoehorn in the artist’s weaker tracks, a conundrum Choir of Man neatly sidesteps by cherry-picking hits from all your favourite party playlists. You’d have to be pretty curmudgeonly not to enjoy the talented cast’s rendition of singalong classics like ‘Somebody to Love’ or ‘500 Miles’. Audience interaction is not just permitted but actively encouraged – punters are regularly invited on stage and pints and crisps are gladly handed out.
It’s certainly a lot of fun, thanks to the surfeit of musical talent in the cast. To name just a few, Alex Mallalieu is an incredible pianist and Ben Goffe kills his trumpet solo (as well as being a cracking tap dancer). The a cappella songs are beautiful. Add in some fantastic gags (the harmonising at the urinal is a highlight) and it’s a solid night’s entertainment.
Where Choir of Man loses its momentum is in the forced narrative structure that surrounds the toe-tapping tunes. Delivered pretty much exclusively by Paul McArthur as a character known simply as the ‘Poet’, the rhyming monologues that carry the thin story require a high tolerance for sentiment. There’s a beautiful idea behind Choir of Man: that pubs (and community spaces in general, sadly disappearing) offer unique opportunities for human connection, especially for men. But because the music and gag-heavy set-up doesn’t leave room for considered storytelling, this core message is relayed to us in pretty literal terms.
The little characterisation given to each choir member is relayed solely through the narration of the Poet, with very few getting the chance to speak for themselves. The praise of pub culture is clunkily and unsubtly delivered through overwrought monologues. It’s all very sweet and earnest, but at times unbearably so. Nuance is left at the door.
Ultimately, Choir of Man is a brilliant concert intermittently interrupted by a lacklustre play. One is left wishing the Poet would just quiet down and let us hear from the brilliant band again.
