The Distance You Have Come – Apollo Theatre

Andy Coxon and Adrian Hansel in The Distance You Have Come at the Apollo Theatre, London. Picture: Danny Kaan

The Distance You Have Come continues at the Apollo Theatre, London on 28 June 2021.

Star rating: four stars ★ ★ ★ ★ ✩

It’s the second time around for this song cycle by US composer-lyricist Scott Alan. From its premiere at London’s Cockpit Theatre in 2018, this two-act exploration of the vicissitudes of modern life has now transferred to the West End – albeit for just two performances (the second being filmed for streaming, presumably).

The Distance You Have Come is curated from Alan’s back catalogue of songs, and the composer himself has woven them into a simple narrative following the intertwined lives of six twentysomethings. A spare but effective plot – more a series of loosely connected sketches or vignettes – explores the unfolding of their lives as they venture into more mature stages of adulthood.

As one relationship falters, another is irredeemably derailed; a new romantic partnership blossoms for a third couple, while the bonds of friendship are formed between a new pairing. There are no lead characters, no need for names. We’re content to piece together their relationships and connections only when these contrapuntal lives touch, when we hear the merest of conversational snippets.

In the absence of the US-based Alan, the directorial reins are in the hands of Kirk Jameson (recently of the Barn Theatre’s Marry Me a Little), whose touch is reassuringly light. The ‘set’ is merely an arc of six stools and four tripod floor lamps, although Andrew Ellis works wonders with his evocative lighting design.

Behind the stools at the back of the stage sits MD and arranger Scott Hayes at the keys, flanked by a cellist and violinist (whose names I didn’t catch – sadly, no programmes). Other than some forgivable sound balance issues, no complaints with this talented trio.

Four of the original Cockpit cast have returned – Andy Coxon, Adrian Hansel, Emma Hatton and Dean John-Wilson – and are joined by Alice Fearn and Maiya Quansah-Breed. This is a phenomenally good line-up for a two-night-only show – surely a testament to Alan’s popularity among performers in the UK. He spoils them, too, giving them all a serious vocal workout with his writing. Depths are plumbed, occasions are risen too… and then some!

John-Wilson and Fearn belt out particularly impressive performances in this regard, both being given what I suspect are the more challenging parts. But it would be only fair to say that there is no weak link in this chain – all six truly deliver as singers and actors, elevating The Distance You Have Come to something more akin to a musical than a cabaret set.

What then of the songs? The show has an autobiographic, singer-songwriter pop-music sensibility, given a softer, rounder edge thanks to the mellow strings and piano. Most numbers are solos, and introspective and/or heart-wrenching. Alan is never one to sacrifice the emotional intent of a song for a natty rhyme, so there’s a rawness and honesty to the songs. As I said, it skirts with musical theatricality but only occasionally, and it’s at its most powerful in its richly textured chorale-like ensemble numbers.

I was expecting an emotional rollercoaster but if I had to plot Alan’s show on a graph, I’d call it more of an emotional hockey stick. The title hints at – no spoilers – a more optimistic or at least sanguine recounting of these knotty tales. He’s asking us all to review our lives to this point. ‘How did you get to be here?’ as Sondheim asks in Merrily We Roll Along. He reminds us that we’re all survivors – a particularly poignant reminder after the last 15 months we’ve all lived through (and especially germane for those in the live arts).

That said, until that hockey stick starts curving upwards, as it does joyously throughout the second half, the show tends to drag, and you down with it. John-Wilson’s depressive character, reeling from a vicious break-up, leaves a dark fug over at least half of the show. As phenomenal as he is as a performer, there’s a lack of variety to his and other of the earlier numbers, perhaps the result of Alan being limited by his singer-songwriter piano technique, I wonder.

In the first act, only Coxon and Hansel’s burgeoning relationship offers a glimmer of hope, as two smitten boys take the first steps on a romantic partnership (they’re sooo cute). That and a much-appreciated song about Santa Claus delivered by ‘bad girl’ Fearn to the most rapturous applause of the night. But then I suppose it’s darkest before dawn, and all that.

The second half is a far brighter and musically more varied affair. The moody cello and plaintive violin give way to perky pizzicatos and – oh joy – a major key or two! Alan masterfully lifts us out of the funk and shows that there is light at the end of the tunnel (and it’s not an on-coming train). I mean, the audience was even clapping along at the end, that’s how happy they were.

The Distance You Have Come is Alan at his psychobiographical best. He’s dealing with weighty concerns that have never been so acutely front of mind – depression, alcoholism, loneliness, failure, hope – and if you’re a fan of his introspective navel-gazing style, you’ll relish this evening of live theatre… and maybe even surprisingly buoyed by his optimism. But if you’re not aware of his work, I’d still recommend you pay it a visit, as long as you’re not after jazz hands and kick steps. Come on, you can’t knock a night out with top-notch performers giving it their all in the West End. And it’s sure to lift your mood… eventually!

Craig Glenday