The Umbrellas of Cherbourg
Kneehigh serves up an elegant if often curious adaptation of Jacques Demy's popular film musical.
It begins inauspiciously with an introductory sequence in which the cabaret artist Meow Meow clambers over seatbacks, puffing on a cigarette. She is the evening's narrator and translator, here to give the audience a brief French lesson before informing them that Cherbourg is the French equivalent of Hull.
While this device seems awkward and grafted-on, it does serve to establish the production's heightened faux French aesthetic, a world of red neon and corrugated steel populated by men in striped sailors' jerseys who lift and manipulate the characters as if they were dolls. This is France in a kind of ironic shorthand that flirts frequently with kitsch and pokes fun at the expectations of English audiences as much as anything else.
Teenage Genevieve (Carly Bawden) is hopelessly in love with Guy (Andrew Durand), a handsome mechanic. She's consumed by him in that fierce adolescent way, but when he's called away to serve in the Algerian war, the distance proves too much, the years too long, and she succumbs to the attentions of a wealthy jeweller. While the plot is a delicate thing, the poignancy is real; Young love often fizzles and fades. Time passes; people grow and change.
The lyrics can at times feel flat and banal, and Legrand's score, intended for the screen, does begin to feel repetitious as its love theme is returned to again and again.