Review: THE SPONGEBOB MUSICAL, The Southbank Centre

If asked “who lives in a pineapple under the sea?” chances are you know the answer. SpongeBob Squarepants, the humanoid sea sponge and nasal-voiced nebbish, remains a cultural phenomenon. As inescapable as he is interminable.

Still porous after twenty-three years of antics, countless episodes, films, theme park rides, video games, more merch than you can shake a krabby patty at; a stage adaptation was an inevitability. But will this 2016 musical adaption sink or swim as it makes its premiere on British shores?

Tara Overfield Wilkinson’s production certainly looks the part. Neon garnished fluorescence will no doubt keep children’s attention occupied and eyeballs melted. Glistening costumes are delightfully faithful winks to characters’ cartoon counterparts and the sets, decorated with recycled bottles and plastic bags, are wonderfully bombastic. 

The plot is just about believably SpongeBob-esque. A volcanic eruption promises armageddon for the aquatic residents of Bikini Bottom. Our eponymous hero, played by a dynamo-like Lewis Cornay, is suffering from an uncharacteristic existential crisis after his avaricious boss Mr Krabbs tells him that he will achieve nothing more than being a lowly fry cook. He steps up to the plate, a campy spongey Seigfried, to save the day.

Despite being written seven years ago the musical has an oddly prophetic tone. Bikini Bottom is sent into a lockdown. Krabbs and his villainous counterpart Plankton hatch plans to take advantage of ensuing mass hysteria. A xenophobic mob turns on SpongeBob’s friend Sandy Cheeks, the Texan squirrel-cum-scientist who has invented a device to prevent the eruption. Parents will raise an eyebrow at the unexpectedly dark pandemic parallels. 

The attempts at expanding the depths of this plastic fantastic fever dream feel stunted by a generic soundtrack. No less than thirteen original songwriters, curiously including John Legend and The Flaming Lips, are credited. Each number feels like cookie cutter replicants piled one on top of the other.

Admittedly some much needed variety adds dashes of charm. Squidward, a gorgeously glum Gareth Gates, has a suitably self-conscious Broadway tap dance number that intelligently incorporates all four of his tenacled feet. But for the most part the amalgamation of power ballads sadly goes in one ear and out the other, even if they are wonderfully performed by an effervescent cast with all the electricity powering the Southbank.

What I wouldn’t have given for one of those tranquil Hawaiian tiki guitar jangles that garnishes the cartoon. As someone young enough to have enjoyed the show in his younger and more vulnerable years, I tell you from personal experience that some of SpongeBob’s whimsically weird aura feels lost in translation from screen to stage.

Despite its good intentions the musical is an eaten-all-the-candy-floss sugar rush that comes at the opportunity cost of the cartoon’s idiosyncratic surreal serenity. Whether kids will care is another question. There’s more than enough to keep them giggling for two hours of summer escapism. 

The SpongeBob Musical plays at the Southbank Centre until 27 August

Photo credit: Mark Senior

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