Theatre / Reviews
Review: The Book of Mormon, Bristol Hippodrome – ‘The gold standard of sheer silliness’
Race. Religion. Colonialism. Sexuality. Disease.
You name it, it’s being ridiculed here. No one and nothing is safe. I suppose that’s the irony that underpins the whole side-splitting affair…
A play about well-meaning missionaries spreading the good word over in Uganda to pitch community, benevolence, and all the rest of it. What could go wrong?
The Book of Mormon is no-holds-barred ridiculousness from start to finish – an enduring beacon of deliberate offence in the era of cancel culture. Nothing less than you’d expect from South Park creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone.
The duo’s incessant irreverence is matched by the songwriting genius of Robert Lopez – composer of Avenue Q and Frozen, and garlanded with EGOT status.
Since opening on Broadway 14 years ago, this show has raked in heaps of awards and played to sold-out audiences the world over. It takes no time at all to figure out why.
For this show, understudy Daniel George-Wright steps up as Elder Price to great effect, capturing the character’s arc from hubris to humility via wavering faith. His lingering obsession with Orlando shows the creators’ willingness to level ridicule at America. Historical flashbacks spliced into the narrative do the same – never more so than the ‘celebration’ of Joseph Smith, the “All-American Prophet”.
But if Elder Price is the idealist, it’s really Elder Cunningham who steals the show. Sam Glen’s every inflection, expression, and stance hits the mark. His infectious stage presence never wavers, and Glen’s performances of Man Up and Making Things Up Again perfectly capture the character’s depth.
The entire cast is exemplary, to be fair, and never better on show than the Hello! numbers that bookend the performance.
That said, not everything lands perfectly. Some lyrics are obscured in the noisier all-ensemble songs, and the speed of the back-and-forth in the layered compositions is such that some of the wisecracks go unnoticed.
But make no mistake: this fine-tuned roar of a musical tackles its rough-and-ready themes with tongue planted firmly in cheek. There’s something oddly hopeful in the idea of laughter as our last defence against despair.
Take “Hasa Diga Eebowai” – a phrase to fling out in the wake of hardship – a bold, blasphemous, and brilliant set piece that sets the tone for the Ugandan ensemble’s side of the story.
Then there’s Tom Bales, sublime as the sassy Elder McKinley, ushering in Turn It Off – a spectacular show of misguided defiance in the era of mass therapy.
If that weren’t enough absurdity, Spooky Mormon Hell Dream has to be the gold standard of sheer silliness. Where else on Earth are Hitler, Dahmer, and Genghis Khan sharing a satirical spotlight?
Top-notch stage and costume design add to the spectacle at every turn, matched by flamboyant, captivating choreography.
Props to Nyah Nish – because Nabulungi’s vocals are among the most powerful on display. Some of the acting lacks subtlety and tact, but then again – subtlety is hardly the play’s modus operandi.
Even the supporting roles are charged with chaotic energy. General Butt Fucking Naked’s narrative role is more his title than his tyranny – a joke stretched to its limit, yet it still lands.
And as to the theatrical flourishes? Someone give Señor Shakespeare a wiggle. Tell him the whole ‘play within a play’ thing really has legs. Tell him it’s perhaps reached its inevitable apex with the extended soiree of these Ugandan villagers, complete with frogs, huge strap-on appendages, dysentery, and the amalgamation of religious history with Star Wars lore.
I Am Africa feels like the story’s culmination – a scathing critique of missionary projects that fall short of their benign intent.
The Book of Mormon skewers everyone – believers, cynics, the ‘woke’, and the ‘ignorant’ too. So by the end, the question lingers: is there an uplifting angle? Some message on storytelling, faith, or connection to take away? Lines like “we can work together to make a paradise planet” never feel entirely earnest, but nuance and emotional depth do threaten – at times – to emerge from the chaos.
Then again, perhaps the relentless subversion is an end in and of itself – and that’s ok. This show is a riotous reminder that in a world desperate to be taken seriously, laughing at ourselves might just be the purest act of faith left.
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The Book of Mormon is at Bristol Hippodrome on October 21-November 8 at 7.30pm, with additional 2.30pm matinee shows on Friday and Saturday (no shows Sunday). Tickets are available at www.atgtickets.com.
All photos: Bristol Hippodrome
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