The Singing Mermaid at the Underground Studio, Royal & Derogate Theatre, Northampton. Picture: Graeme Braidwood
The Singing Mermaid continues at the Underground Studio, Royal & Derngate Theatre, Northampton until 13 January 2018.
Star rating: four stars ★ ★ ★ ★ ✩
As entertainment for very young children, musical shows don’t get much better than this. A three-man cast, plus vivid lighting, well-delivered sound, catchy melodies, props and a host of deliciously designed puppets, it makes for top grade daytime entertainment.
I sat through The Singing Mermaid with a gaggle of five year olds. Their reactions are always interesting. The few longer passages of monologue or three-part singing foxed them – partly concentration, partly their inability fully to grasp. A group of six or seven year olds would have spotted more ironies and witticisms.
What these enthusiastic little ones did get was the gorgeous visual imagery, all effected by puppets (created by the inspired, hugely in-demand Lyndie Wright, controlled on elongated sticks by the three adept performers.
In a shell-like cave, entrancingly designed (Laura McEwen), we meet the swimming Mermaid herself, with vulnerable, expressive eyes, her tune (‘How I Love to Sing…’) gorgeously intoned by Lizzie Wort, who supplies the gorgeous top line of Barb Jungr’s exquisitely simple, elegant songs.
Some (witness a delicious lullaby at the start) are like a subtle variant of a five-finger exercise – it recalls the uniquely pure melodies in the opera Hansel and Gretel – all perfectly conceived for the younger viewers.
There is lots to enjoy. The skyborne seagull, who ends up the key (literally) to the Princess’ escape from the mean, imprisoning circus ringmaster (Gilbert Taylor, endlessly inventive, in the time-hallowed tradition of selfish rotters).
Then there is the sea life: swirling fishes of exotic colours, half a dozen amiable jellyfish, eight voraciously chanting mussels, and in the song, ‘cod and hake…lobster, turtle and flying fish’.
Enter the circus, a cruel set-up, into which the Mermaid is effectively dragooned. There are Tommy Cooper-like witty tricks, to music reminiscent of an East London barrel organ. We meet two friendly yapping dogs, plus a cat. One of the biggest hits is a puppet clown who keeps getting his arm, bottom, and finally head stuck in a bucket.
There is also Annie the pink acrobat, ingeniously managed by two performers (Taylor, and Jess Mabel Jones – great at producing animal squawks and singing encouraging songs) who effects a tightrope walk; and a bovver boy fire-breather (the climax to that act needs improving, perhaps moving centre-stage), and much more fun.
The nasty boss, who worships money (a moral there), has a penchant for rhyming slang: ‘frog and toad’ = road; Bo Peep = sheep. His song is part Kurt Weill, part Oliver!: catchy but slimy. The song that follows, using just piano and double bass, is poignant and perfect.
At some points The Singing Mermaid (based on the book by Julia Donaldson, illustrated by Lydia Monks, and adapted for the stage by composer Jungr and director Samantha Lane) feels like sophisticated Gilbert and Sullivan for children. It’s a great show, and younger viewers should queue to see it.
Roderic Dunnett
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