★★★
THAT Alan Cumming is more showman than singer was obvious from his shaky rendition of Annie Lennox’s Why and Keane’s Somewhere Only We Know, with which he launched his critically-acclaimed show.
As the second “sappy song” died away, an air of expectancy swept across the space. Dazzle us, it seemed to say. So did he? Well… yes and no. He was not at his finest when telling dour tales such as the one about his grandfather who died playing Russian Roulette in Malaysia, nor during the many “puffs” for his book (available in the foyer).
However, there were flashes of brilliance where he got into his comic stride and engaged with the audience – like the hilarious jingle he and pianist/musical director Lance Horne composed for Trojan condoms; his description of a gruesome groin tattoo lasering incident; the performance of a fantastic Steven Sondheim mashup; and a smattering of satisfying showbiz anecdotes.
But the fact that you couldn’t hear the entire Brighton Gay Men’s chorus (who accompanied a few of the songs) above Cumming’s voice, plus his tendency to self-promote left the overriding impression that we were there to satisfy him, rather than the other way round.
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