Zorro, Garrick Theatre, London
Thursday, 17 July 2008
There doesn't seem to be such a thing as a quiet Gypsy – at least not in Zorro. The Gypsies cry, they clap, they howl. They smack crates, pound chairs on the floor, and bang on metal buckets. And, of course, they dance – they stamp so often and so viciously, it seems a shame no one has brought a handful of nuts. With this carry-on, and over-miked performers who are louder than they are lucid (I wasn't sure if some numbers were in Spanish or English), Zorro is no show for anyone who wants a bit of kip.
Zorro Inc, it seems, has lost faith in its raison d'être, a state reflected in the decision to hand over much of the show and all the up-tempo numbers to the Gypsies, who fling the old hit "Bamboleo" and other music by the Gipsy Kings at us with the vehemence and charm of an assault. This leaves Don Diego, aka Zorro, and his sweetheart Luisa to moo at each other or, with postmodern self-doubt, examine their motives and question their feelings.
The want of confidence is also apparent in Stephen Clark's book, with its Californians of 1805 who speak of being stressed or wanting it all, or who parrot adventure-story clichés. This Zorro is so smirky when he's not moping or agonising that one can't believe he wants to free the peasants: he's too much a child of our ironic, self-centred time.
Uncertainty also seeps into Clark's lyrics, the type that lend themselves to either anguished blaring or wistful blaring. Luisa wonders, "Is it true that words mean nothing when they're spoken?/Can one trust in vows when promises are broken?". She has realised too late that a lady's motto should be "Get it in writing".
Matthew Rawle is pleasant enough as Zorro, but innocuous; Emma Williams as Luisa is "feisty", ie a pushy nag. Lesli Margherita, as Inez, is even pushier. Tom Piper's set makes much use of a slashed, stained black curtain, which looks like a ladette's frock at the end of a long night. The only pleasure in this cynical corporate product is the Captain Ramon of Adam Levy, who brings to his sadistic character both creepiness and sex appeal.
To 10 January (0844 412 4662)
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