I wrote this review sixteen years ago when I was living and working in London, UK. Cynthia Erivo (Wicked, Harriet, Dracula…) is a household name these days, but back then she was only an exceedingly talented young performer. So I’m rather proud of the prescience of my first paragraph in this article! From the front row of the audience at the Menier Chocolate Factory Theatre, I had the immense privilege of hearing Cynthia sing her heart out from a mere few feet away. How lucky was I?
Originally published on Diva Magazine, 19 July 2013.
Cynthia Erivo. Remember that name. Because you are going to want to see this extraordinary performer in absolutely everything she does.
At the moment she’s playing Celie in the European premiere of The Colour Purple the Musical that had a full-house at the Menier Chocolate Factory Theatre jump to its feet with applause following the final ‘Amen’.
For those of you unfamiliar with the book and the film, the former was written by Alice Walker, a black feminist (or, ‘womanist’) icon, and tells a coming-of-age story that spans thirty years in the Deep South.
Shy and simple Celie is the subject of abuse from an early age: her father impregnates her twice, and then she is married off to Mister who calls her ugly and beats her regularly. She eventually finds strength in her relationships with women, particularly her absent sister Nettie (Abiona Omonua) and seductive jazz singer Shug Avery (Nicola Hughes).
Directed by John Doyle, this is one production you’ll feel in your thighs: dancing slow, grinding to jazz with knees bent and legs hot; or playing musical chairs to gospel music, led by The Muses in the guise of church women. The whole thing is sexy, sensual, and exhilarating, despite its poignantly dark subject matter.
Thanks in part to phenomenal musical direction from Tom Deering, Celie’s cries of pain reveal themselves as bellowing notes, soaring and vibrating through the theatre. Erivo’s voice is powerful, precious and deep. When she sings her show-stopping, self-defining “I’m here”, nothing else matters in the whole world.
Contrary to the popular convention of adults playing children onstage, in this case Erivo – a child-like actor with primarily RADA credits to her name – plays the main character through to her forties, without any obvious attempt at aging. This works to represent her infatalised state throughout, restricted from growing into herself by the abusive men in her life. But when she does finally make a stand and starts – literally – wearing the pants (or, trousers, rather), it’s all the more empowering to see that conquering grin on someone so young and young-looking.
Now I was curious to see how the musical would approach the love story between Celie and Shug that plays a central role in the novel and is all but forgotten in the film (thanks for that one, Steven “I just wanted to direct a PG-13 movie” Spielberg). The good news is, it exists. The bad news is, in this production, it’s a little washed up.
Erivo does her very best as star-struck Celie helps weakened Shug to a bath, singing “I wash her body and it feel like I’m prayin’ / Try not to look, but my eyes ain’t obeyin’”. But Hughes, despite her Samantha Jones charm, isn’t terribly generous in return: their few stolen kisses are the most chaste I’ve ever seen, and their ongoing love affair doesn’t convince.
Still, I’m happy to toss in a few more superlatives about this sensational production. There’s a stand-out performance from Sophia Nomvete as the no-nonsense, smart-tongued Sofia, especially alongside her sweet-as-sugar hubbie Harpo, played by Adebayo Bolaji. Christopher Colquhoun is disturbingly persuasive as the vicious yet ungainly Mister. And the whole chorus is committed and spectacular and vibrant.
If you’re looking for the embodiment of black-female empowerment, this musical pretty much covers it. And it’s hard to find anything more gratifying than a chorus of women singing ‘Hell no!’ to spousal abuse.
The Colour Purple plays at the Menier Chocolate Factory Theatre until 14th September. For full details: menierchocolatefactory.com
Jessica Ruano 