I missed the press night of this new play about comedian Marty Feldman so I booked a ticket for the next night. Then I made a fatal error. I read the reviews. This play had received such bad notices that I thought about checking with the venue to see if the run had already closed. I thought of that scene in The Producers where they have a sign saying Opening Night that switches to Closing Night as soon as the first disappointed audience leaves the theatre.
Anyway, the play was still on in the theatre's small studio space and maybe the reviews actually did me a favour. They lowered my expectations and this 90-minute piece (including interval) wasn’t as bad as I expected. The main action is set in Feldman’s Hollywood bedroom as he discusses his career with his wife Lauretta. Can he crack America? Will they understand his references to Max Miller? Why does he keep lying about growing up poor when he was actually born in Hampstead?
It helps if a) you know a bit about the famously goggle-eyed Feldman, who was a BBC star before working with Mel Brooks and coming to prominence as Igor – or should that be Eyegor? – in Young Frankenstein and b) you are interested in the particular period of history. Showbiz names are tossed into the script (by Feldman's biographer Robert Ross) like rice at a wedding – Graham Chapman, Barry Took and Tim Brooke-Taylor are among those that get a hat-tip.
What this play does not do is get under the skin of the talented, quirky star, who presumably like most comedians, was a complex soul. We see him drinking and smoking heavily and we hear about his womanising, but we are no wiser about what made him tick when at the end he – spoiler alert – dies aged 48 during the making of Yellowbeard.
There is nothing wrong with the performances. David Boyle is suitably manic with a hint of Anthony Newley and Tommy Cooper in the arm-waving and gag-cracking - though no make-up can capture that 'one eye looking at you, one eye looking for you' appearance. And Rebecca Vaughan is sympathetic as his long-suffering, supportive if pushy wife who keeps willing him to succeed.
The result is a bit of a curiosity rather than a potential smash. The failure to get inside Feldman is all the more odd given that the play, subtitled Through the Eyes of Marty Feldman, is directed by Monty Python’s Terry Jones, who presumably knew the subject pretty well. It is not for everyone but comedy nerds should get something out of this – that’s not a line you can put on the poster but it’s more than a lot of critics have said.
Until February 20. Tickets here.
Picture by Steve Ullathorne
