Review: TONY! [THE TONY BLAIR ROCK OPERA], Leicester Square Theatre

Close your eyes. Imagine a rock opera based on the life of prime minister Tony Blair and his ten years at number 10. Throw in some generic rock ballads and there you go. You have TONY! (The Tony Blair Rock Opera), as predictable as it is self-aware as it is schmaltzy.

Doing what it says on the tin (or on the poster) is no bad thing. It's just that this is penned by Harry Hill, the sovereign of Saturday night surrealism, with countless TV shows under his belt. Is this all he can muster?

On the surface it's a whistle stop tour of the Blair years with the cast galivanting around like living breathing Spitting Image puppets. Performances fizzle across the board. Some seem to even emulate Hill himself with their rubber-like physicality and seemingly infinite reserves of energy. Beneath the surface it's a relentless barrage of cartoonish cameos each tackier than the last.

Caricatures hit the mark when they channel Hill's irreverent charm. Some are just obvious. In a singular flash of brilliance, Saddam Hussein, the Iraqi dictator guilty of countless war crimes, is reimaged as an all singing all dancing Groucho Marx complete with thick moustache and cigar: "Oy, Allah!" he mutters to himself as he breaks into a Broadway Blues-infused ballad.

But then we have to trudge through Alistair Campbell in a kilt (ah because he's Scottish!) and Dick Cheney as a cloyingly adolescent warmonger jumping up and down on a sugar rush. A lumbering Noel Gallagher (or was it Liam?) in his green raincoat. It feels uninspired and dare I say disappointing knowing what Hill is capable of.

The music is also a mixed bag. A foxtrot for Cherrie Blair to woo her future husband with sizzles with Spanish flare and Saddam's aforementioned moment in the limelight are the most memorable numbers. The rest is generic rock opera pleasantries. Fun, frivolous, forgettable.

Most who watch this will be able to recall the Blair years. As someone born in 1999 my memories are second hand. All I really know of the time is the nostalgia-tinted romanticism of Cool Britannia handed down to me from others. But even so, Tony! misses an opportunity to shred that image apart and throw the true nature of its legacy out into the cold light of day.

The fundamental questions about the time when politics rubbed shoulders with pop stars go answered. Instead we get lightweight lampooning and self-aware kitsch. The final sequence sees Tony on his deathbed. Has he lived a good life? Don't come here looking for answers.

Tony! [The Tony Blair Rock Opera] plays at Leicester Square theatre until 21 May

Photo Credit: Mark Senior

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