Riptide – The Slasher Musical – Rosemary Branch Theatre

Riptide – The Slasher Musical at the Rosemary Branch Theatre, London. Picture: Bill Knight

Riptide – The Slasher Musical continues at the Rosemary Branch Theatre, London until 2 March.

Back in 2007, during a business trip to Toronto, I feigned illness in order to avoid a boring business dinner and instead took a punt on Evil Dead The Musical, probably the best sickie I’ve ever pulled. Then recently, I was lucky enough to catch the musical adaptation of American Psycho at the Almeida Theatre. So when the chance came to make it an unholy trinity with Riptide – The Slasher Musical, I leapt at the chance.

This slick, sick show is the twisted love-child of Chazz Redhead (book) and Simon and Mark Nathan (music/lyrics), and is the latest offering from Atomicus Productions, a multi-media company founded in 2012 by Alexander Parker. Debuting at the Rosemary Branch pub theatre in north London, it’s an affectionate, tongue-in-cheek homage to – and parody of – every schlock B-movie slasher you can name, from Friday the 13th and Little Shop of Horrors to My Bloody Valentine and Cheerleader Camp.

Set on Innocent Beach, it recounts the end days of a carload of students on spring break who encounter the legend of Shelley the drowned surfer, who returns from the dead to seek revenge for… something or other. It doesn’t really matter. All you need to know is that the usual line of teen victims are paraded before us, each with a song to sing, before being picked off one by one by a mysterious killer. It’s all done in the worst possible taste, and it’s a joy to experience – a gory cross between straight-to-video horror and a spunky episode of Scooby-Doo.

No archetype is left unspoofed, no trope unparodied. We have Brad the jock (Joe Leather), Naomi the virgin (Sandra Mackenzie), Tiffany the cheerleader (Charlotte Debattista), Chad the closet gay (Philip Raymond), Gideon the geek (Julian Silverman), Tina the gangly outsider (Seánna O’Neill) and of course the hillbilly gas-station attendant (Ian Angus Wilkie). In true slasher-movie tradition, teenagers are left alone at various points, giving the murderer ample opportunity to strike, and one gets the distinct feeling that only the virginal will remain alive at the end.

In this sense, as lampooning as it is, the one-act storyline is necessarily predictable, and although director Redhead does a decent job with the shocks, there’s little in the set-’em-up-knock-’em-down plot that surprises. (Okay, the ending was a surprise, I grant you that, but the rest of it almost writes itself.)

It’s a wonderful script, though, ripe with comic dialogue, and the talented cast delivers it all with gusto. The songs – accompanied by Michael Cannon’s five-piece band – are equally as inventive and musically interesting. Every time I visit a pub musical, I’m anxious to hear that first number to get a sense of what’s to follow, and thankfully the first song (‘Riptide’) set my mind at ease.

The rest of the music, toying with American pop genres but throwing in some patter (bordering on rap) and even what sounds like a bit of Goran Bregovic (‘My Evil Plan Explained’), are just as accomplished and suit the show perfectly. Of particular note is Wilkie’s impish ‘Give Me Something’ and Raymond and Silverman’s tender ‘Shower Room Politics’.

A nod should also be given to Victoria Liscombe for her lively, tight choreography – an impressive job given the confines of the Rosemary Branch.

My only complaint is the sound quality. I suspect my position in the front row, behind the speakers, did me no favours, but whatever the case, the band overwhelmed the singers throughout the show, and many of the lyrics – and even some of the under-scored dialogue – were lost. (And the wobbly set could’ve done with a few more quid thrown at it, but that’s a minor gripe.) I was also spattered – nay, soaked – in stage blood that I’m trusting will wash out in the morning.

That, combined with my perspiring rush to get to the show before it started, and my post-show pint of Doom Bar, added up to a glorious night of blood, sweat and beers. Recommended… but don’t wear white if you’re seated in the front row spatter zone!

Craig Glenday