Jeremy Corbyn the Musical: The Motorcycle Diaries

This shameless but even-handed musical comedy is just far too long
  • Theatre, Musicals
Dave Calhoun
Advertising

Time Out says

It's an eye-catching idea. But does anyone really want to watch a musical about Jeremy Corbyn, a man whose stated aim is to kill the drama in modern UK politics?

Yes they do, judging by the sold-out run for this broad re-imagining of the Labour leader’s past and future life that comes with songs about Islington, Soviet Russia and Diane Abbott sending her kid to a private school. Also, judging by the deep-voiced guffaws in audience, its laddish public-school revue vibe hits home with that constituency. But at almost two-and-half hours, you need to be a seriously committed political nerd to stay engaged with this slapdash romp. And if you’re looking for sharp satire or political insight, look elsewhere: it’s too broad to be taken seriously – most of it plays as saucy farce, like the weakest bits of Private Eye made live.

The story flips between two time periods. In the near future, we’re on the verge of nuclear apocalypse as Prime Minister Corbyn (a likeable Martin Neely) faces off against Russia. At his side are Diane Abbott (Natasha Lewis, equally game) and Boris Johnson (David Muscat, even broader than the rest of the show), who is now Leader of the Opposition. Meanwhile, back in the 1970s, Corbyn and Abbott head to East Germany on their infamous motorbike tour. En route they meet a young Putin (also played by Muscat), but while a naïve Corbyn wants to defect to the East, Putin's desires on the long-haired young radical are purely sexual. Oo-er, comrade.

It's all fairly non-partisan and the writers, Rupert Myers and Bobby Friedman (both political journalists), spread their muck equally: they paint Corbyn as deluded and ineffective, but they also give us Tony Blair (James Dinsmore) as a warmongering lunatic, Boris as an unprincipled sex maniac thudding around the stage in boxer shorts and a dreadful wig and Trump supporters sporting swastikas. Some of the songs are fun – especially Putin’s love letter to Laika the space dog – but the whole thing is far too long and you wish the knockabout vibe came with some solid new observations rather than rehashing all the stereotypes and headlines we already know. It’s not mean, but it’s not meaty either, and its toe-tapping energy runs out of steam well before the end.

Details

Address
Price:
£18, £16 concs. Runs 2hr 30min
Advertising
You may also like
You may also like
London for less