I hadn’t heard of Dark of the Moon until we came across a ticket offer for tonight. Charing Cross Theatre is turning into a great spot for new (to us) musicals—we’ve seen Mythic, Violet, and Stiletto there over the past few years.
I don’t know the play Dark of the Moon is based on, but apparently it’s reasonably well regarded, according to The Internet. But I have to get this out of the way right at the start: the plot is preposterous. A witch boy falls for a human girl, strikes a deal to become mortal, and everything unravels when small-town prejudice and temptation intervene. It is a supernatural folk story, and I guess there is no rule that says it needs to be plausible. But it takes a bit of time to flip the switch that allows it to seem normal.
Richardson and Berney wrote this in 1945, and yet it doesn’t feel like a period story. Sure, the setting of a tight-knit Appalachian community closing ranks against what it doesn’t understand is not familiar (perhaps with the exception of some country music songs), but the dynamic is not. Intolerance doesn’t need a small town; it just needs enough people convinced they’re protecting something worth protecting. And that seems like a very contemporary theme to me.
What impressed me almost immediately was the staging. For what I believe is still an early-stage production, Libby Todd’s set is simple, but cleverly used. The village opens up to reveal its houses and shops, then closes back in to create a village square — or clears itself entirely to give the witches their performance space. Better still, the building rooftops serve as the witch world’s domain, a neat metaphor for the coven’s life high in the Smoky Mountains above the town.
The music and lyrics come from Grammy Award-winning, multi-platinum-selling songwriters Lindy Robbins, Dave Bassett and Steve Robson, and you can hear the quality in it. Ordinary Life, one of the opening numbers and recurring themes, sounds right out of the bluegrass country that I imagine when somebody says Smoky Mountains, yet it is also contemporary. Where some reviewers have found the blend of country, bluegrass and rock uneasy, I thought the rockier numbers integrated well. They bring a burst of energy at times. Certified Rockstar, in particular, is a genuine stand-out, a song that could hold its own in a much bigger show.
Much of the credit for that goes to Glenn Adamson as John, the Witch Boy. He is, possibly, best known for playing Strat in Jim Steinman’s Bat Out of Hell, and those echoes can be heard in the production. Adamson, in full rock-god mode, is captivating, and he brings to life John’s bewilderment at everything it means to be human, with the full spectrum of emotions, which keeps the character interesting even when the plot strains credibility.
One dramatic device did wear on me, however. A character from the past — a former witch, a kind of predecessor whose fate shadows the whole story — is sign-posted rather too heavily from early on. The telegraphing is so persistent that the eventual revelation lands with a “d’oh” rather than a gasp. I can’t remember the name you should be listening out for.
The ending. I won’t spoil it, but I left the theatre wishing the writers had taken the other path — the one I’d hoped for — even if that might have strayed too far from the source material. Perhaps my preference for the alternative ending means the show has done its job of making me care.
Nominated for thirteen Fringe Theatre Awards, and not without reason. A flawed but genuinely interesting piece of new musical theatre, with several star performances at its centre: I didn’t mention Barbara Allen (Lauren Jones), who is also fantastic. Go and fill the theatre.
