One of the most pleasant theatre surprises of the past year was Mark Ravenhill’s Ben & Imo, a touching and illuminating two-hander about a musical genius and their young protégé. Ravenhill’s depiction of Benjamin Britten’s determination to pen a new opera in time for the Queen Elizabeth II’s coronation hung on an exploration of the tortured, mercurial auteur.

George Brant’s Marie & Rosetta, running at the Wolverhampton Grand theatre this week, may be a little kinder to its muses, but offers up some parallels nonetheless, and is equally quite the treat. Centring on the relationship between the ‘godmother of Rock ’n Roll’, Sister Rosetta Tharpe (Beverley Knight) and young tour recruit, Marie Knight (Ntombizodwa Ndlovu), in a single act, no-interval run through we find these two very different yet complementary women learn about one another and mine the kismet of their musical souls.

It’s a coronation of a homecoming for Wolverhampton born-and-bred Beverley Knight, who has carved out an (Olivier-nominated) name for herself as one of the most dependable leading ladies of musical theatre. Although Marie & Rosetta takes its time in getting to the singing, once Knight’s powerhouse vocals are unleashed, her transformation into Tharpe is not only complete, but is routinely show-stopping. Roll out the superlatives; Knight once again proves herself both a tour-de-force both technically and in terms of her soulful, searing evocation of the late, great Rosetta. And as stunning as her musicality is, equally impressive is her characterisation of Tharpe as a funny, feisty, no-nonsense, flawed grande dame.

But a two-hander would be nothing if partially amputated, and more than holding her own against Knight’s gigawatt presence is a tremendous Ntombizodwa Ndlovu as Marie Knight. In many ways, Ndlovu gets the more complete and transformative arc of the two, as the initially nervy, almost sycophantic gospel girl slowly begins to cast off her insecurities and hesitance and give herself over to the humanity and nuances of their music. Ndlovu is endearing, sweet and relatable, and packs a hefty emotional punch come the show’s coda in particular.

“Both ladies are formidable vocalists. When they come together… it is something truly electric.”

Both ladies are formidable vocalists. When they come together, in rousing renditions of ‘Strange Things Happening Every Day’, ‘Didn’t It Rain’ and ‘I Want a Tall Skinny Papa’ it is something truly electric.

As a showcase for its two exquisite performances, Marie & Rosetta is a thrill. As a piece of theatre exploring some important socio-political messages and themes, it can at times feel a little more pedestrian. Whilst Knight and Ndlovu both give beautiful, sincere performances, and Knight’s portrayal of Tharpe recalling performing at a venue when her friends and loved ones would not be even allowed in is particularly moving, Marie & Rosetta can occasionally lean a little too heavily on its exposition. And whilst it is a joy to hear these two ladies share their stories, and the growing chemistry and sass-backing between the two is great fun, there’s an awful lot of telling rather than showing.

Monique Touko’s direction, coupled with Lily Arnold’s set design, keeps things intimate and uncomplicated. The ladies’ playground is a 1940s funeral parlour, festooned with symbolism yet deftly staged to offer up some levels and podiums to highlight the musical moments. It’s all given just enough grandeur and flashes of glitz – right down to hidden neon signs and curtains peeling back to reveal the wonderful supporting band – to feel worthy of housing such storming performances. Whilst neither Knight nor Ndlovu play their respective instruments of choice, Touko and movement director Kloé Dean find an elegant and organic way of weaving this into the movement on stage.

As another delight of a two-hander, casting a light on often overlooked or even forgotten musical excellence, Marie & Rosetta proves itself a must-see. Whilst its book is a little uneven, and a touch too didactic where it could be more demonstrative, the sheer quality, power and irrepressible joy of its central performances simply cannot be denied. Searing, soulful and enlightening, Marie & Rosetta is a beautiful testimony to the legacy of two pioneering women who, like the show itself, should absolutely not be forgotten.

There’s been something of a game of cultural ‘hot potato’ happening in recent years when it comes to bringing a slew of old favourites back to the stage for modern audiences and sensibilities. Like them or loathe them, the heavy hitters of yesteryear, particularly the back catalogue of offerings from the ‘golden’ age of the Hollywood musical back in the forties and fifties, are products of their time. In some cases, presenting these to 21st Century audiences offers little challenge or much needed by way of modification. Elsewhere, productions such as the Young Vic’s recent, audaciously modern take on Oklahoma, can inject invention and sharp focus to hitherto glossed over moments of potentially problematic origin.

South Pacific lends itself as something of a curio in this regard. Upon its opening in 1949, it was already deemed progressive and as ‘woke’ as forties Broadway would perhaps allow; the show’s most starkly knowing number, ‘You’ve Got To Be Carefully Taught’ receiving rage and protestation from Southern States, and was heavily lobbied to be removed. 

And still, yesterday’s progression can seem like the pontificating of, well, yesterday.

The ever dependable Daniel Evans brings every ounce of his considerable flair and clout to bear upon this vibrant, energised and dazzling revisit. It’s a sumptuous, sizeable beast, and Peter McKintosh’s towering, pivoting set goes hand in hand with Evans’ bombast and Ann Yee’s zippy choreography to drive movement and purpose into a show which can easily dovetail into navel gazing and passivity. More than perhaps ever before, this South Pacific feels like a musical production, a big, colourful slice of theatrical entertainment, as opposed to many past incarnations which register as something more akin to a play with occasional musical interludes.

Evans has assembled an enviable cast for the task of reappraising Pacific, too. Injecting charm to spare in a fairly atypical R&H love story, Julian Ovenden and Gina Beck elevate a lot of the formula and familiarity that they oscillate around. Beck’s Nellie is a quirky, zesty spirit, whilst Ovenden brings a measured gravitas and dignity to his exiled Emile. Both are in fine voice, and if their smattering of ballads are a little rote, they are, at least, bonafide classics. Seeing and hearing such delights as ‘Some Enchanted Evening’ and ‘This Nearly Was Mine’ in the hands (and lungs) of such excellent performers is always a treat, and a reminder of why shows such as this remain so popular.

Joanna Ampil is excellent early comedic relief as Bloody Mary, who the show does give a little more agency and dimension to (though still not perhaps quite enough) as it progresses. Also, witness the ascension of Rob Houchen, who continues to be one of the most exciting and impressive rising stars of the stage today. He imbues his young Lieutenant Cable with a sense of both due properness and cautious earnestness, and does terrific work exploring his enchantment and burgeoning relationship with young local Liat (Sera Maehara). Both Houchen and Maehara’s characters remain a trifle underserved by the story, but the talented performers captivate whenever they are on stage. Be it one of Maehara’s balletic accompaniments, hypnotically dancing on stage even as arrival of the US forces bear down about her, or Houchen commanding the stage and audience alike with vocals and stage presence alone, in one of several moments where Evans welcomely strips everything back to little more than performer, stage and spotlight.

The excellent, expansive ensemble also smash the bigger crowdpleasers such as ‘There Is Nothin’ Like A Dame’ and ‘I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outa My Hair’. Again, the MO here is ‘go big and go showy’; set pieces that could easily end up twee or dated instead realised as rousing showstoppers.

It’s all a delightful, sunny, kinetic dose of Rodgers and Hammerstein goodness… until we arrive at the interval. Landing like a lead balloon amidst the giggles and spectacle comes an about-turn from Beck’s Nellie that, at the time of South Pacific’s original release would have perhaps been seen by some as understandable and sympathetic, but in 2022 registers as a complete tonal cluster bomb.

“It’s all a delightful, sunny, kinetic dose of Rodgers and Hammerstein goodness… until we arrive at the interval.”

It is likely here that trains of thought on the show, and its handling of such weighty, serious issues as racial prejudice, may diverge. The continued inclusion of the aforementioned ‘You’ve Got To Be Carefully Taught’, itself a musical rumination on how racism is not natural, but rather conditioned into people, goes some way in ameliorating the discomfort. Our ‘knuckleheaded’, slightly giddy heroine has gone from slightly clownish to full-blown bigot, and there’s no clear cut answer as to whether what follows in the second, more sombre Act, does enough to explore or resolve such a heady, consequential interruption.

For this particular writer, the resolution of Nellie’s ignorance is at least wrapped up in a fairly immediate acknowledgment that she can’t articulate why she feels the way she does, and understands it isn’t rooted in logic, but rather sentiment. South Pacific does got at least some way in establishing this as being a woman of her time conditioned into her bigotry by those around her. That, coupled with ‘Carefully Taught’, could offer enough exploration and illustration for many theatregoers. There’s definitely a sense that, given the solemnity of the second half – see, for instance, as the formerly chipper ‘Happy Talk’ is refashioned here as a somewhat bittersweet ‘I want’ number for Bloody Mary) – that everyone involved is acknowledging that things have taken a turn for the worse, and that the rosier, sunlit hues of Act I are in the past. 

And yet, in much the same way that the show still regrettably somewhat marginalises its Polynesian characters, there’s still a slight pall of flippancy and lightness to what little soul searching we do bear witness to. Not to mention that it is mostly in service of wanting to be in a romantic relationship, boiling down to little more than Nellie regarding herself as having been a bit of a ‘pinhead’.

It’s a sharp injection of reality, a palpable stopping point that some will, perhaps fairly, argue at least jolts the audience out of its gooey daze and into heavier headwinds. For others, it will be a jarring spectre that, once introduced, and within the confines of a decidedly slower second half, lingers over proceedings like a gloomy, dispiriting cloud. Does ‘Carefully Taught’ carefully teach its audience, or offer a bit of musical shoulder-shrugging? For some it will resonate as timely. For others yet, it may amount to trivialising a major socio-historical problem.

“…a South Pacific that it as sumptuous and exciting as one could hope for.”

Ultimately, it is up to those watching to decide, and judging by the rapturous response at the performance reviewed, Evans’ gorgeous production kept its audience on side. For many of its target demographic, the nostalgia factor alone, gorgeously realised and impeccably performed as it is throughout, will carry the day. And at least in this current revival, they have a South Pacific that it as sumptuous and exciting as one could hope for. Whether some of the potentially problematic fringes, bi-products of its age though they may be, are satisfactorily addressed and resolved will likely be a matter of personal experience and perspective, but there will be few who will likely deny that this is as handsome and opulent and, yes, ‘classic’ (for better or worse), as musical theatre gets.