Musicals adapted from movies are usually a safe bet. But of the many screen-to-stage shows, using John Schlesinger’s 1969 film is surely a surprise. None other than Bryony Lavery has taken on the task but, unfortunately, the level of effort needed shows. It would be nice to award marks for originality, for taking a risk, but it turns out the idea is a bad one.
It is stressed that this is an adaptation of the book, by James Leo Herlihy, as much as the film. In which case, dropping the snatches of music associated with the movie might have been better, because the show relies on the audience knowing the premise of young misfit Joe Buck coming to New York to work as a gigolo. True, there’s an element of fever dream in Midnight Cowboy, with poverty and drugs fuelling chaos. But the descent to hell is confused as well as relentless.
It’s probably best to leave aside the morals in the story. Are we really OK with having a violent sex worker and his pimp as any kind of hero? The latter is his only friend in New York, a desperate conman called Ratso with a troubled past. The story is bleak to the point of misery porn. The whole show has the puzzling move of inserting humour into the situation: yes, Joe is the world’s worst hustler, and Ratso is oddly endearing, but are laughs appropriate here?
The performances are best described as brave. Tori Allen-Martin does well as two very different women, Matthew White and Rohan Tickell have intense roles as two male clients that they make memorable. Max Bowden’s Ratso is admirably complex, he is the only fleshed out character. Paul Jacob French certainly looks the part of Joe, and has the moves, but this is a very tricky role; we can see Joe is clueless, oddly blank, and the depiction follows this. Joe’s job makes him a figure people project onto, so a connection to him is difficult. This problem is complicated by the flashbacks that are supposed to fill Joe out (many of which are hard to hear). Despite all this, Bowden and French make their chemistry clear – no small achievement.
As for the music, written by Francis “Eg” White, the songs are good (the main number is a fantastic, emotional ear worm) but there aren’t enough of them, and they don’t build to anything significant. The delivery is sometimes timid. Again, it’s easy to commend how brave a lot of this is – sex and murder during musical numbers is bold – but the courage doesn’t make it work.
If I had to guess what’s gone wrong, it might be the stress on dreams: Joe’s ambitions, Ratso’s hopes, and various sexual fantasies. But there might be tension here too. Oddly, with little sense of place or time, we miss addressing that big old theme of the American Dream. Thankfully, some of the staging is impressive, the scene changes are good, likewise the projections and lighting. Director Nick Winston’s skills as a choreographer are clear and could have been showcased more. But none of this is enough to save the show from its morbid streak. If I didn’t know better, I’d think we’ve finally found a movie that doesn’t work as a musical.
Until 17 May 2025
Photos by Pamela Raith