Is a thing worth doing just because it can be done well? How about two things, simultaneously – does double the talent equate to twice the viewing pleasure? On the evidence of Jumpboard Productions’ embellishment of the 1960 film, Little Shop of Horrors, the answer to both questions is “no”.
Billed as “Live Live Cinema” – an exciting new concept ‘where a movie is screened with a new live soundtrack’ – the production, in layman’s terms, requires the audience in the expansive Festival Theatre to divide their attention between a muted black and white film projected high onto the backcloth, and a chaotic and colourful four-strong ensemble of physical comedians-stroke-actors-stroke-musicians downstage centre. The movie in question is a cult classic which tells the tongue-in-cheek story of a florist’s assistant whose only success – an unusual hybrid plant he has grown himself – thrives on drinking human blood. The film was shot on a miniscule budget over two days, on sets discarded from another production: no frills or froth – or even Technicolor – here. By contrast, the live performers, with the help of balloons, bells, buckets and business, provide all the voices, music and Foley sound effects for the entire 75 minutes, and they do so loudly, flamboyantly, and to the detriment of the film.
There is little doubt that this troupe is talented, and the drummer in particular should be singled out for praise of his physical comedy, were there any way of telling the performers apart from their bios in the programme. The timing and teamwork of each is impeccable, and the whole group proves themselves to be far more than the standard “triple threat”, for all there is no singing or dancing (a factor many fans of the later Little Shop musical might legitimately bemoan). Oliver Driver’s direction is also excellent; it is not easy to do slapstick well, and this is clever, fast-paced and tightly-choreographed slapstick which is frequently funny – if, that is, you are not too busy watching the film to notice.
For, despite the (literal) bells and whistles, this whole event is, in theory, a celebration of the film, which is brought to Edinburgh audiences as part of the City’s International Film Festival. It is hard, though, not to see it as a concept vehicle at best, and a derisory lampoon at worst. Perhaps if the film itself were not any good, then the farcical send-up of its pivotal scenes would make more sense, but Little Shop is an exceptionally witty and darkly comedic movie that sells itself quite ably by dint of a dark and quiet room and a flickering projector. Five minutes in a variety show would be thoroughly entertaining; in a full-length piece with no interval, all this “concept” stuff is pure hyperbole.
Tellingly, the programme notes quote the Creator/Musical Director (and undoubtedly accomplished composer), Leon Radojkovic, with the following description of his production: ‘[We] have made the beautiful chaos we always hoped for… not even we know where to look.’ Perhaps if the creative team had thought a bit more about the dichotomy between live and recorded performance, and less about concocting an unusual hybrid plant – sorry, show – for the sake of it, they might have chosen one form or the other, and then everybody would know where to look.