BWW Reviews: OUR HOUSE, Union Theatre, August 21 2015

It may have an Olivier (from 2002) to its name, but Our House (at the Union Theatre until 12 September) is no North West 1 Side Story - but that doesn't mean that you won't have a lot of fun in this nostalgia-fest South of the River.

The paper-thin story concerns Joe, a Camden Town lad whose father went off the rails, but whose salt-of-the-earth mother is keen for her Golden Boy to grow up well away from the dealers and the gangsters who infest her beloved neighbourhood. Things don't work out that way, as Joe takes his girl into one of the new flats being built on the tidal wave of Thatcherism's early 80s property boom and ends up in a Young Offenders Institute when he gives himself up to the Old Bill. Or does he? Because, in a set-up reminiscent of Blood Brothers, another Joe cuts and runs and joins the dodgy developers keen to demolish his mum's very own Casey Street.

There's some particularly slick work from director Michael Burgen that allows Steven France to play both Joes, but we do need to keep our wits about us as to which Joe is which as they live out their parallel lives. France, though looking like the oldest teenager since John Travolta in Grease, does some good work as our hero and there's some excellent stuff too from Ailsa Davidson as his sweetheart Sarah. That said, the real stars of the show are the tremendously energetic ensemble, who sing and dance like the Kids from Fame on the hot, tight, crowded stage brilliantly used by choreographer William Whelton.

Then, of course, there's the music. The songs of Madness, with their narrative drive, catchy tunes and settings in the estates and bog-standard comprehensives of North London, were always suited to dramatic adaptation, as their innovative, much-loved videos proved. Here we get plenty of the old favourites: My Girl; Baggy Trousers; Embarrassment; Night Boat to Cairo; and, of course, Our House and a few more besides. There's no room to dance in the aisles, but it's clear that many of us would, given the chance. You come away whistling those timeless tunes as you wander down the street... and with the memory of lipstick and cigarettes in your mouth from those teenage parties of so long ago.

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