Review: SINEMATIC, Emerald Theatre

It appears Tosca Rivola is back for a sequel of sorts. After last year’s debacle that was Diamonds and Dust - a production she co-created with Dita Von Teese that promised the moon, delivered a pebble, was "paused" shortly after its press night and then, two months later, quietly cancelled - the American cabaret producer has returned to Aaron Mellor’s Emerald Theatre with her long running concept show Sinematic. 

The pitch is simple: a burlesque love letter to the silver screen, with the odd speciality act thrown in for good measure. Themed shows are not as common here as they are in the US where they regularly hold nights dedicated to sci-fi (popular choices include Star Trek, Star Wars and that quintessentially British show Doctor Who), stars like Keanu Reeves and off-kilter options like Spongebob Squarepants. Over here, such specificity is rarer. The Time Lord has his own variety vehicle in Gallifrey Cabaret, while The Empire Strips Back wowed London last summer and heads to Manchester in March. 

It all begins promisingly. A sizeable cast joins the statuesque drag diva Charity Case for a rousing take on The Rocky Horror Picture Show’s “Sweet Transvestite”. In a magnificent all-black costume which sports a tall feathered headpiece and ass tassels, he sings out a rewritten version with lyrics that serve as a mission statement for Sinematic; even if they do not quite scan and Case swallows more than a few consonants, it is a glittering curtain raiser. Sadly, barring a handful of speciality turns, what follows is resolutely average in both conception and execution.

A decade ago, compère Lolo Brow was one-third of the celebrated burlesque supergroup LADS alongside Lilly Snatchdragon (seen earlier this month starring in Phelim McDermott's effervescent Così fan tutte for the ENO). Back then, Brow effortlessly turned stunning moves, eye-catching costuming and savage political commentary into an electric stage presence. As Sinematic's host, she is competent but creatively muted and appears to be still searching for a distinctive voice. A contrived moment sees her pluck Mellor from the audience, feigning ignorance as to his identity as he tamely sits with a rose between his teeth for a whip cracking Catwoman to flick it away. It demonstrates that the boss is game. It also raises awkward questions, though, about how many other “random” audience members are anything but.

The set list is bloated and tonally erratic. A puerile Jurassic Park routine gives those who have ignored the first rule of cabaret the opportunity to manhandle some brown, sticky “dinosaur droppings”. A sapphic spin on Wuthering Heights is ethereal in nature but feels like a hand me down from Diamonds And Dust. The boylesque troupe styling themselves “The Magic Michaels” are a pallid echo of the slick operators currently flexing at the Hippodrome Casino, even when bumping and grinding onto three allegedly impromptu female volunteers.

There are sins committed here but perhaps not the ones Rivola has in mind. Sloth is uppermost: despite Mellor apparently having poured millions into the venue, Sinematic’s stage design is little more than a lit backdrop with a barely used pair of staircases on either side. Her choreography is precise but stylistically lazier than a Sunday morning. Some of the moves looked so tired I was tempted to throw over a duvet, a pillow and a hot cup of cocoa.  

Then there's gluttony. Does this show really need to stretch to over two hours? There are too many filler acts and far too few of the watercooler moments that make cabaret one of the most exciting forms of entertainment around. After nods to Pulp Fiction, Austin Powers and Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, a drawn-out three-song detour though Chicago is the nail in the night's coffin even if it is followed by a scintillating closing act: aided by a bare-chested dancer, a perfectly poised hair-hanging routine sees the performer suspended high above the stage in little more than star shaped pasties and a C-string, a skilful feat that gives even Bella Diosa a run for her money.

Finally, there's wrath. It’s hard not to be a tiny bit angry about what seems to be a criminally underpowered waste of everyone's time, not least that of the audience. It is at heart a confused mess that can't decide whether it wants to pay homage to Tarantino in particular or Hollywood in general. The stage talent is for the main part distinctly average; would it have killed the budget to hire someone from the industry’s Top 50?

There are worse cabaret shows out there (no names, no packdrill) but there are many examples better than Sinematic that would be more than happy to commit at least one or two cardinal sins to perform at the Emerald. Rivola’s cinematic fantasia feels less like a blockbuster and more like a straight to streaming misfire but hopefully this may lead Mellor to staging shows in his riverside nightclub which showcase the UK’s finest acts. With Chaz Royal’s London Burlesque Festival seemingly defunct, the current national centre for ecdysiasts is Yorkshire’s Hebden Bridge and Lady Wildflower's excellent annual weekender. Bringing a festival of that quality to the capital could be the beginning of a beautiful thing.

Sinematic continues at Emerald Theatre until 19 March.