The
Rat Pack
Live from Las Vegas
I am turning into my dad - it's
official! The compulsion to covertly scour Woolworths bargain bin and HMV's
previously avoided-like-the-plague 'Easy Listening' shelf in quest of Dean Martin
CDs has begun to overwhelm.
Dean Martin! What next - tartan slippers? Plaid slacks and Wallace Arnold
coach trips?
I am, it appears, beyond help - and it's all due to this show.
I'd long hankered to see the lavish touring production of The Rat Pack Live
From Las Vegas, which swept into Brum recently. Starring a trio of spot-on
Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Junior impersonators, it revisits
the glitzy reign of The Rat Pack, the 20th century's best-known, suavest and
certainly hardest-partying showbiz clique.
In 1960, the gang went to Vegas to make probably their biggest movie, Ocean's
Eleven. By day, the Sands Hotel was their film set; by night, it was the
venue for some sell-out concerts. This musical recreates one such concert.
I have to admit my initial draw was the gorgeous music of Frank Sinatra, and
I knew little about his two buddies. Along with Elvis Presley and Freddie Mercury,
I rank Frank in my top three all-time vocalists. It's not that I'm a fully certified
fogey - whatever you may think - but rather a girl of diverse musical tastes.
In my CD collection, for instance, 'Old Blue Eyes'
comfortably nestles next to Shania Twain, Steps, Joss Stone, Brian May and Eva
Cassidy.
Cooler than a JD on the rocks, he boasted a unique, deceptively effortless voice
and a timeless class that has made him endure as an icon, not to mention an
inspiration to the likes of Jamie Cullum and Robbie Williams.
In this show he is played with staggering accuracy by the equally debonair Chris
Mann. His rendition of My Way is guaranteed to give you goosebumps that
stand to attention like porcupine quills.
The diminutive E. Clayton Cornelious captures the wiry energy of Sammy Davis
Junior, dancing and clowning irrepressibly, very much the 'boy' of the three,
but with a mighty voice that soars out of his little body.
Dean Martin, as portrayed by Timothy Sell, was a revelation - to me, at any
rate, as I had no idea what an entertainer he was. With his big, jocular face
and amiable drunk persona, he came across as a fun character. He crooned numbers
I knew but didn't know were his - including Sway, revived in the 1990s
as an Ibiza club anthem - and surprised me by becoming my favourite amongst
the soundalike trio.
The guys sing separately and together, quaff Jack Daniel's, spark up ciggie
after ciggie and banter away like the wisecracking comrades they immortalise.
This camaraderie lends an intimate, spontaneous feel to the proceedings. You
could almost be eavesdropping on a private sing-a-long - albeit one with a fabulous
14-piece orchestra and a trio of glamorous backing singers, the velvet-gowned
'Berelli Sisters.'
New York New York, Volare, Mr Bojangles, Luck Be a Lady
Tonight, That's Amore, Strangers in the Night, Memories Are Made
of This, That Old Black Magic, What Kind of Fool, Me and My Shadow,
That's Life and Mack the Knife are just a few highlights of their
chock-a-block setlist.
A packed and supportive Birmingham Hippodrome rewarded the performers with a
long standing ovation on this muggy July night.
Pass the plaid, Dad - I'm off to Woolies...
© Leigh Rowley, 2004