If you’re anything like me, one thought probably leapt to mind when you heard that The Cher Show was hitting the New Theatre: “Wait, didn’t Drag Race do this already?” And you’d be right. Apparently, by complete coincidence, the same year that the Drag Race cast of Cher: The Unauthorised Rusical performed a whistle stop tour of the diva’s life and times (“when the end approaches/two things will be left/Cher and cockroaches”), Cher and Rick Elice were gearing up to do the whole thing sincerely with two hours and a Broadway budget.
And hoo boy, does that budget show. Visually speaking, The Cher Show dazzles from tip to toe. Bob Mackie’s iconic designs of course take centre stage - effervescent hippie sequins graduating to rhinestone, leather and mesh as the decades progress - but the ensemble benefits from his brilliance too, orchestrated by costume designer Gabriella Slade (Six). Think a BDSM reboot of On the Town and you’ve got the general vibe; take it as the highest praise when I say I want every garment on this stage in my wardrobe.
Add to this direction and choreography from Strictly alums Arlene Philips and Oti Mabuse and in terms of spectacle, you’re set. I saw the crowd getting visible hits of nostalgia out of the show’s faithful recreations of The Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour’s duet numbers. The ensemble’s choreography is tighter than their bell bottoms and slicker than Vaseline - it’s an absolute feast.
“But enough about the bells and whistles!”, I hear you cry. “What about the plot?”. Well, this is where I might have to disappoint you because, in all honesty, there isn’t one; or, more accurately, there’s way too much of it. Cher has undoubtedly led one of the most thrilling and eventful lives in show business, and obviously, so much of it is transferable to the stage, having lived more or less her entire adult life on one. The Cher Show’s problem is that it tries to do it all at once without any time to let the big events settle. At least Drag Race had the excuse that they only had 10 minutes.
‘Ain’t Nobody’s Business if I Do’, imagined here as a jaunty tap number featuring an irrepressible Jake Mitchell as Bob Mackie, centres on Cher and Mackie’s sartorial middle finger to the censors. But this is immediately followed by the run up to Sonny and Cher’s divorce, a jolt that practically makes your neck ache from the tonal whiplash. It’s a shame because Lucas Rush’s Sonny really nails the balance of endearing onscreen jester and overbearing behind-the-scenes hustler. And Cher’s subsequent relationships rise and fall at a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it rate - Sam Ferriday oozes sex appeal in the dual roles of Greg Allman and Rob Camilletti, but you never really get the chance to enjoy it before you’re ushered on to the next big life event.
We’re led through the musical’s events via a Greek Chorus of the archetypes Cher has embodied throughout her decade-spanning career; the naive bohemian Babe (Millie O’Connell), the wiser and warier Lady (played on opening night by Ingrid Olivia, understudying for Danielle Steers), and finally Star (Debbie Kurup), the culmination of Cher’s hard work and heartbreak.
The conceit is a fun one, and the trio have great chemistry when they share the stage, trading quips back and forth with Cher’s trademark sultry contralto drawl and belting harmonies that will blow your hair back (any show that actually gets me to like that one Best Song nomination-bait number from Burlesque deserves some kudos). In the show’s take on ‘Strong Enough’, where a hurt Lady tells Star “you need time to move on,”, the youthful and optimistic Babe counters with “you need love to feel strong,”; playing these lines opposite each other is a genuinely clever way to flesh out how Cher’s attitude is informed by her past.
But because of the show’s strange approach to its pacing, the Cher Holy Trinity doesn’t feel very even-handed. In terms of front-and-centre stage time, Lady barely gets a look in in comparison to her younger and older counterparts, and Star dominates the second act, causing you to question the utility of the device beyond ‘Strong Enough’s moment of brilliance.
As for the individual performances, while all three are clearly incredibly technically skilled, there are some disjuncts. Olivia fills the shoes of Steers with gusto, and can belt like hell, but her accent often becomes lost in moments of particular vocal intensity. O’Connell’s Babe keeps the voice consistent, but plays it far more exaggerated than her counterparts, which deflates a lot of the comedy in The Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour segments. It’s a silly show for sure, but Cher’s comedic appeal on it was always as the savvy, understated straight man to Sonny’s clown, and that dynamic is lost a little in O’Connell’s girlish head tilts and slightly cartoonish delivery. Debbie Kurup as Star feels the most fully realised in her characterisation, able to move beyond impression to embodiment. If you see this production for anything, see it for the winking glamour of her ‘Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves’ and the stripped-back, raw emotion of her ‘The Way of Love’; all I can say is ‘Star’ is right.
I do want to give all three, and indeed the whole cast, due credit for doing their very best to sell what is ultimately a pretty weak book from Rick Elice. I’ve mentioned the spotty pacing, which reads like a Cliffnotes entry of Cher’s life and times. But there are also some absolute clunkers of gags in here, from laboured meta-humour to already dated riffs on Cher’s tweets to Babe’s bizarrely unfunny stoner pals (“you wanna get high?” “Does Wonder Woman wanna fight crime?” - the best actor in the world couldn’t get blood from that stone). Tori Scott as Cher’s mother Georgia Holt marks herself as a standout for many reasons, really making Cher’s songs her own with a beautiful theatrical depth. But the biggest indicator of her talent is that she’s able to distract me from the fact that her cover of ‘Half-Breed’ makes no sense in the context of the script - “I told you never to use those words! Now let me in the same breath encourage you to sing it as loud as possible!”
I think an apt metaphor for the show lies in its set design, the bones of which are a monolithic dressing room festooned with wigs and hanging garment bags. The Cher Show is a mannequin for the glitter and sequins to hang on, the events of Cher’s life a series of quick changes that shine briefly before being thrown off for the next costume. My advice? Treat it like a tribute concert. Cher doesn’t need to turn back time because her hits are timeless, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t on my feet bopping to the closing number with the best of them. But if you’re looking for substance, you can count this one out just yet.