BWW Reviews: TAP DOGS, Novello Theatre, June 15 2010

Ariane Buteux

As a Londoner, you'd easily be forgiven for conjuring up an image of Michael Flatley when asked to picture a sell-out tap production, but Tap Dogs with its rallying cries and Aussie brawn successfully moves the discipline away from the regimented and bang up to date.

First seen in the UK in 1995, the international show has just rolled into the West End on its first London stop in nearly a decade, and judging by the whoops in the audience it'll go down a storm with the Dirty Dancing crowd - conveniently located next door to its new Aldwych home.

Set in a stark industrial-scape, the six dancers (or workers - the action takes place in Aussie mining territory) physically mould the set around them like an outsized cat's cradle. Steel panelling and ropes are hoisted, music is broKen Down to simplistic beats and little else appears to distract from the hypnotic percussion of the tap shoes.

Adam Garcia, the only real 'name' in the show, is evidently the leader from the moment he steps on stage. Bathed in shadowy strip of light as the Foreman, Olivier Award-winning creator Dein Perry's choreography allows him to take the reins from the get-go and he subsequently spends the show half-corralling, half-mentoring his motley crew.

The rest of the cast, who do a good job of playing up to the laid-back Antipodean stereotype, are by no means lacking in the talent department though. Careful never to outshine (but doing a good job of measuring up) they each shadow their boss, matching him move for move with Richie Miller's Question & Answer duet a high point. Fancy footwork and spins turn into tricks to aerobatics, with synchronised metal grinders sending a waterfall of sparks over an energetic Garcia before the cast regroup for a soaking wet finale.

The dancing itself focuses largely on battles and rolling tag ins, with an overt sense of camaraderie. In fact, it's pretty clear from the grins on their faces that the cast are genuinely enjoying themselves, with all the gusto a group of young men mucking about on a building site. A cheeky Jesse Rasmussen offers up a blisteringly-paced staccato and a mischievous turn with the mop (much to the delight of the front few, now drenched, rows) while Brit Douglas Mills' yellow-socked antics add a touch of the clown.

It's this overtly masculine and occasionally slapstick japery that makes the show work well. Indeed Garcia was probably rather grateful of this when he took a slippery tumble off one of the more precarious parts of the stage. Rather than gasping or tutting, the audience seemed to relish the fluff, perhaps mistakenly assuming it was all part of the show, and the cast exited to a standing ovation.

Other than a brief interlude which goes against the grain of the rough-around-the-edges narrative, comedy is used as a cornerstone to hold the audience's attention, something which can quickly wane without an interval. Introducing dry ice, water and muscle vests to a dance concept which already boasts pyrotechnics, two glamorous blondes on the drums and a vast helping of casual nudity is a brave, and most definitely clichéd, move, though luckily for Perry et al never does the splashing around feel too Chippendale - perhaps most succinctly demonstrated by the final toast, the most stereotypically Aussie of the lot.

 

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