It might sound callous, but there are obvious advantages to telling the life story of someone who died young. Gone is the usual problem of squeezing too much into too little a space. Thus runs Janis Joplin’s life: she was a shy, plain girl who grew up as a bullied outsider in small-town Texas. By the age of 14, she was seeking solace in beer. In 1965 she fled to San Francisco, and discovered counterculture, drugs and music. A few bands, records and years of fame later, she was dead from a heroin overdose.
Peter Arnott’s script reveals little more than this: he keeps the storytelling light in favour of letting Angie Darcy’s performance as Joplin do all the dramatic heavy lifting. This is a wise move. For about five seconds after Darcy’s walked on to the stage, you might question the casting of someone a few years beyond the ‘27 Club’. Then she opens her mouth. From the ‘fuck it, myaaan’-strewn monologues, to those rasping upper notes in the songs, the mimesis is uncanny. It emotionally gears us into what, ultimately, is a desperately sad story of someone brilliant and talented who was unable to outrun the traumas of early life.
Cora Bissett’s production has rolled into town having gathered a number of awards and accolades during its run at last year’s Edinburgh Fringe. Its biggest problem is one common to jukebox musicals. During the songs, Darcy performs with all the wild abandon of Joplin. But we’re not in a sticky-floored dive in ’60s California; we’re in a theatre in east London. So it’s pretty frustrating to be stuck on a seat. Although, by the encore of ‘Piece of My Heart’, not many people’s bums were still on them.