Hairspray, in all its incarnations, is an atypical concoction: a seemingly lightweight, energetically camp celebration of retro-kitsch fashion and music surrounding an earnest anti-racism message integral to its Baltimore roots.
It’s an incisive exploration of what happens when two unstable personalities, each just holding it together on their own combine; what happens when Nitro meets Glycerine or when one piranha meets his flesh-eating soulmate.
Much like most great scientific breakthroughs, with this kind of thing there’s always the equal chance of discovering something that will change the world as there is of creating a monster. And, so it is here.
This production most certainly is good. Better than good. Much much better than good. But it is also not really as straightforward an appeal to nostalgia as you might expect.
Lawrence Leung describes himself as a “whimsical, sensitive” comedian. He threatens would-be hecklers with tears and an asthma inhaler. It’s a telling moment.
While Bonachela’s work is, as always, dreamily lovely, for me the highlights were absolutely the three commissioned choreographers: Azzam Mohamed, Jenni Large and Raghav Handa.
While Bonachela’s work is, as always, dreamily lovely, for me the highlights were absolutely the three commissioned choreographers: Azzam Mohamed, Jenni Large and Raghav Handa.