I’m not really the kind of guy who goes to theatreland, despite there being a direct bus route connecting me to the breathing heart and soul of a fantastical array of productions. Sure I’ve been to see the obligatory Cats and Chicago, and some of the more fun ones like The Lion King and The Pirates of Penzance (“…for he is an Englishman!”) but I don’t know, I think my dislike of theatre stems from the sheer disappointment that was seeing a first run production of Les Londonmarks.
Les Londonmarks is set in a Frenchified Camden underworld. The protagonist, Marcus LeLondonien, is sentenced to prison for 19 years for stealing content from another person’s website. After his release, LeLondonien plans once again to steal content, this time from a lesserknown Blogspotter, but realises the futility in the face of the Googlebot which sees all and knows all. However, he forfeits his parole by being caught with some of Camden’s more exotic produce (which he was simply holding for a friend), and for this crime LeLondonien is hounded by the police inspector Acyrbert. Marcus eventually reforms and becomes under the name of M. Madeleine a successful businessman, benefactor and mayor of Camden. To save an innocent man, Lelondonien gives himself up and is imprisoned in Holloway. He escapes and adopts Stephette, a child of mysterious and unknown origin from a distant land. Stephette grows up and falls in love with Marcus, who is wounded during a revolutionary fight against the tyranical fascist police forces of Acyrbert. LeLondonien escape by means of a flight through the sewers of Camden. Stephette and LeLondonien marry and he reveals his past, with Acyrbert finally accepting that LeLondonien is a man of originality and integrity by the end of the play.
Okay, sounds pretty good, huh? What could you possibly not like about it? Dashing heroes, contemporary issues and an evil despotic villain. Fantastic stagecraft, scenery and lighting, so what was my big problem? The singing, the endless bloody singing! Every other character breaks out into bloody song every other scene. You can’t get one line of exposition out of someone before they’re wailing to the audience about the End of the Day or Empty Chairs at Empty Tables. They even start singing bloody songs about what they Hear Other People Sing!
That male lead had an awful singing voice, he should have stuck to writing screenplays.