It's a problem that has never been satisfactorily resolved: how to present a retrospective of someone whose life was lived through music, seamlessly integrating the hits with the biographical basics.
It's something at which the admirable King's Head has long worried, having more or less successfully undertaken productions about two of the greatest lyricists of the last century, Dorothy Fields and Johnny Mercer. But Ethel Merman, that formidable grande dame of American musical theatre, is an altogether higher wattage proposition.
The framework that writer John Kane has chosen sees, ingeniously, Merman and two colleagues rehearsing, in New York in 1961, for a piece detailing Merman's life in showbiz that is to be performed in Las Vegas. This format allows the characters to muse craftily "Should we include the bit about ...?" and ultimately decide against it; in such a fashion are Merman's exhusbands brought up only to be dismissed summarily.
Yet pitfalls are not avoided, as excess time is spent with Ethel, Kitty and Arty telling each other things they surely ought to know already, or peddling tired anecdotes.
Merman boomed and bloomed through, indeed defined, the golden age of Broadway, premiering the likes of Anything Goes, Annie Get Your Gun and Call Me Madam. We duly receive tasters of all the hits interspersed with unrevealing through-sung narrative, although with a running list of 33 songs, the gems tend to be somewhat mired in mediocrity.
Angela Richards, who gave such a fine eponymous performance in Dorothy Fields Forever, returns as another salty old trooper. She casts a pleasingly sardonic eye over her achievements, even if she fails to convey the appropriate epoch-defining quality. She's not aided though, in David Kernan's pizzazz-lacking production, by underpowered performances from Susannah Fellows and Mark White, or by some uninspired choreography.
Nevertheless, there are moments to cherish, such as Richards and White's precision-honed duetting on An Old-Fashioned Wedding and, above all, Merman's anthem There's No Business Like Show Business, which is presented as a rousing closing number. As the lady herself would have said, the show must go on, even if her legendary status deserves more than Call Me Merman can ultimately offer.
Until 1 February. Box office: 020 7226 1916.
Call Me Merman
