Nick Clegg is the unlikely hero of Nicked, a new musical that’s unfashionably sympathetic to the Lib Dem leader
This article titled “Anyone for Nicked: the Clegg musical?” was written by Euan Ferguson, for The Observer on Saturday 23rd April 2011 23.05 UTCLeast likely contender for Spring Hit in Theatre-World, I think it’s safe to say, is going to be Nicked. It’s basically a musical about Nick Clegg, written by a performance poet: that’s when it’s not being a play about the alternative vote.
Not, on paper, I think you’ll agree, the most urgently prepossessing of dramatic ideas. And although political theatre does have a proud tradition, and the TV/film adaptations of aspects of the Blair years were enthralling, there’s also a particular recent history of turkeys, especially when “satire” is advertised within. Also… well, Cleggy. Isn’t he a bit obvious? Isn’t this what we call a laughably soft target?
Fears totally unfounded. Preconceptions proved damnably and delightfully wrong. Watching early rehearsals for Nicked, one of the productions showcased in this year’s HighTide festival in Suffolk, it’s clear this could be a thing of brilliance. And, actually, something Mr Clegg might want to travel to Halesworth to see – festival director Steven Atkinson estimates about 70% of visitors come from London – because it manages the seemingly impossible at the moment: it humanises the Lib-Dem leader, and makes you think again.
Among the scenes I saw, in a small, busy rehearsal room, piano in one corner, cast leaning casually against the walls as they waited to become Samantha Cameron, or Miriam Clegg, or Vince Cable, or David Laws (remember him?) or the Queen, was the crucial one that had Jason Langley and Sam Hodges, as Clegg and Cameron, meeting in an underground car park to warily woo. It’s done as a tango, perhaps the perfect form, the tango having originated in Buenos Aires as a dark celebration of the ever-changing dance of power/need/compromise, both physical and figurative, between sailors and whores.
So Dave and Nick tango, head leaning against head as the music builds, and I won’t spoil it but they’re given some pretty good lines, and sing them grandly, and twirl and stamp. It’s great dramatic fun and makes you think, and I realise fairly quickly that this is not a Clegg-knocking exercise.
“Absolutely not,” says the writer, Richard Marsh, as far from my idea of “performance poet” as you could imagine – self-effacing and engaging, if a little unslept. He’s been teasing and tweaking the script nightly, to give it greatest relevance when the show opens, because so much has happened to Clegg since “Cleggmania” after those election debates; and continues to happen.
Marsh, and director Pia Furtado, will be changing it right up until the week of the AV vote. The script focuses, yes, on those early negotiations, our extraordinary coalition and aspects of the fallout, but it is not yet finished.
“Whatever happens, this is just a human story,” continues Marsh, who has in a previous short play, among other things successfully fused Guantánamo Bay with Harry Potter. As you do. “What I wanted was to tell a story about someone whose job is politics. And humanise them, try to get people to relate to him from the view of his own set of circumstances. Everyone is the hero of his own story. But the more I’ve looked into Nick Clegg” – Marsh even read David Laws’s book. All of it – “and those extraordinary days while the coalition was being founded, a handful of very, very tired white men deciding the future of our country, the more I realised the drama of those days.”
Steven Atkinson, the festival director, pulled a string or two to arrange a visit to Downing Street, to allow Marsh a glimpse into the physicality of how it all worked – men in rooms, bartering and phoning and sweating and swearing and worrying and wooing, as was happening half a mile away that sunny May in other dark corridors in and around Smith Square – but the outcome wasn’t just a power-play or a point won. It was, as we know, the car ride to Buckingham Palace, here done as another song, this time of joyous comradeship at a deal successfully done. “Just give me PR and then/ we’ll share the keys to Number 10!” Queen Liz looks on, even sings, in wonderfully sardonic fashion; Sam Cam dances with sly exuberant delight.
“It’s been quite hard to hold on to my original thoughts of Nick as a person while he’s been getting stuck whack in the middle of decisions I don’t personally agree with,” says Marsh, who, when he first conceived this production, could not have foreseen the storm of opprobrium to land on Clegg of late. The team’s job, and I think rightly so, is essentially to question the knee-jerk reaction of much of this, remind us there is a person at the centre of it, fraught with his own dilemmas, and to do so in verse, with dance; it’s a little miracle it seems to be working so well thus far. As Atkinson says: “Does anyone who’s jumping on him now ever ask themselves: what would you do in the same position? What was the alternative?”
The fast-changing nature of the coalition and the way it’s perceived has led to problems or, as politicians would doubtless have it, challenges and opportunities. Marsh is keen to apologise to his director. “Pia’s very patient. We’ve had to cut whole songs. Cut things that didn’t happen, insert things that did or had more impact than we’d first imagined.”
Furtado smiles, patiently, itching to get back to rehearsals. She’s spent a while with them earlier just working on character, real character: “The last thing any of us wanted was some Rory Bremner-style caricature.”
In one strangely touching scene, Jason Langley’s Clegg pleads with David Laws, a strong friend and fine financial mind caught in that early expenses/gay row, not to resign. Laws, a pitch-perfect Peter Caulfield, but with, I suspect, a better singing voice, breaks from song to solemn dialogue, after Clegg insists: “Most normal people won’t care.” “No, Nick,” he replies. “Most normal people will get political this year.”
And they did. Which is better, surely, than apathy. But along the way, some may have forgotten the humans involved at the middle. Quite bizarrely, a sharp little musical – 70% splendid fun, 30% insights wiser than our own leader columns – could just start redressing the balance. Steven Atkinson is even talking about a West End transfer.
Nicked premieres on 30 April, as part of the HighTide Festival, at the Main House, The Cut, Halesworth. hightide.org.uk
guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010
Published via the Guardian News Feed plugin for WordPress.
