Telegraph - Mixed to Negative
My wife as good as swooned at the news that I was going to see The Thorn Birds: a musical which Wales Theatre Company are touring this Spring. Every teenage girl watched the TV mini-series in the Eighties, she assured me, murmuring the name of Richard Chamberlain with an ecstasy I found almost disquieting. Hands up, it passed me by, totally. I can't think where I could have been. Probably worrying about impending Cold War Armageddon.
There's actually something faintly apocalyptic about the hot, arid, comfortless New South Wales landscape evoked in Colleen McCullough's family saga - which started out as a best-selling novel in 1977. The struggle to survive on an outback sheep-station in the early part of the 20th-century was harsh and unrelenting - a recipe for marital misery, too.
At the outset here, we see disappointment etched on the face of Llinos Daniel's Fee, wife of impoverished farmer Paddy Cleary - always toiling, often pregnant, and determined that her only daughter, Meggie, will enjoy a better life when she hits maturity. But Meggie has eyes only for the kindly, handsome young Catholic Priest in their midst - Father Ralph de Bricassart - and as childhood gives way to beautiful womanhood, her obstinate obsession - squared against his celibate devotion to the Lord - provides the cue for much anguish, conflict, simmering romance and soapy heartbreak.
And the cue, in this version - with book and lyrics by McCullough herself, and music by Gloria Bruni - for many, many songs. Far too many: 36 in total, with apparently enough extraneous material waiting in the wings to furnish yet another musical, heaven help us. Some of the ballads are almost memorable in their syrupy excess but many other numbers, often backed by flavourless rock gyrations, are as soon forgotten as chirruped.
The chief failing lies in the lyrics. Although McCullough used to be a neurophysiologist, her rhyming schemes are surprisingly bird-brained. When Ralph rails against the manipulation of Paddy's rich, decrepit sister, who openly lusts after him, with the line 'I am Mary Carson's thing / A puppet on a string', forgive me, Father, but I couldn't help groaning.
That said, what begins by feeling interminable gradually becomes palatable and even enjoyable. That's partly down to the tightening narrative grip and the indomitable momentum of Michael Bogdanov's slick production. Mainly, though, it's thanks to the two leads. As Ralph, Matthew Goodgame's soaring singing voice, heart-throb good-looks and opportunely flashed torso hold his audience's attention and maintain its affection for a character who often acts like a pompous prig. And Helen Anker is equally appealing as Meggie, growing from girlish innocence into disillusioned resilience. When the pair clinch, in a release of pent-up yearning, it's like watching rain fall on a parched plain.
With committed performances from the rest of the 21-strong company, the show certainly deserves the attention of The Thorn Birds vast flock of fans; whether it should ever land in the West End, though, I sorely doubt.
Namo i love u but we get it already....you don't like Madonna
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