Review: Salad Days (Riverside Studios)

In some ways, it’s quite difficult to believe that Julian Slade and Dorothy Reynolds’s musical Salad Days is set in the present day of 1954 as there’s something about the perpetual sunshine that feels so Edwardian. The balmy summer in which our protagonists learn how to dance and fall in love is enchantingly brought to life in this revival of a production originally presented by contemporary opera company Tête à Tête and directed by Bill Bankes-Jones last autumn.

It’s no wonder that Salad Days was the longest running musical in grim and grey post war Britain (prior to My Fair Lady) with its abundance of charm and sunbeams, combined with utterly glorious music, erudite lyrics and skilfully bonkers yet emotionally truthful book. 

This is the silliest of silly musicals and the real magic comes from the way in which it is so cleverly done that the audience is more than happy to be swept away in a sea (or even a saucer) of whimsy. By the end, the songs and characters all feel like old friends.

 Bright young things Timothy and Jane are graduating from the idyllic bubble of university after three years of avoiding lectures and enjoying picnics on the quad and finding the real world rather more difficult to navigate. Jane’s mother wants her safely married off to an eligible young man (preferably a Lord) and Timothy finds himself with a degree but no qualifications to do anything useful (that’s certainly still resonant today) without the help of his assorted high-flying uncles. While mulling over their options, the pair are unexpectedly given the guardianship of a magical piano named Minnie who makes everyone who hears her want to dance, be it Charleston, foxtrot or tango (showcased by Quinny Sacks’s sprightly choreography). And why on earth wouldn’t they?

In many ways, this is the 1950s successor to Gilbert and Sullivan, but it very much has its own character and it’s a true delight to hear such clear unamplified voices fill the air. While a small concert hall isn’t really the ideal space for what’s essentially a chamber piece and some of the transitions between scenes are a little muddy, it is prevented from feeling cavernous by the traverse staging and the non-threatening audience-cast involvement. The cast dressed as university dons escort the audience to their seats and at the height of the celebrations, members of the front row are invited to dance. Despite usually being audience participation phobic, I rather envied the ones who were chosen.

Earnest young Timothy is charmingly portrayed by Sam Harrison as a thoroughly decent sort with lots of wide-eyed charm. He is beautifully matched by professional theatre debutante Katie Moore who makes an enchanting ingénue as Jane, with that particular kind of English Rose vocal purity reminiscent of Julie Andrews and lots of brisk common sense. The entire cast are on tip-top form, including Les Miserables’s original Cosette Rebecca Caine as Jane’s glamorous and glacial mother (a pity she doesn’t have more to sing) and Tony Timberlake as the twinkle-toed police inspector.

This is feel good theatre at its purest and a period piece that fully embraces the sweetness rather than trying to put an ironic spin on it. A real heartwarmer that sends one wanting to Charleston out into the snow.

Written for musicOMH