I’ve been very excited while waiting for Close Up: The Twiggy Musical to open. Excited because this new production and Dear England are just two of a handful of shows that I feel I can really relate to this year because they both have stories I have a true working-class attachment to, writes Michael Holland.
Close Up opens with Twiggy(Elena Skye) in front of a flashing lens with dancers wearing Twiggy masks surrounding her, portraying that Twiggy was everywhere – And for a time she was. Every magazine had the wide-eyed wonderful face that I first saw as an 11-year-old on its front cover.
Skye narrates the story of her life from the 1950s to the 1980s when Close Up ends. She narrates with hindsight, which means mentions of #metoo, fat-shaming, coercive behaviour, toxic masculinity… Explaining it all away with, ‘It was a different time back then.’
Leslie Hornby was born to Nell and Norman in 1949, a surprise baby that arrived when mum was 42 and not in the best of health: she had ‘funny turns’, so Lesley was mainly brought up by her dad and two elder sisters whenever mum was taken into hospital.
Jump forward to the teenager who had learnt how to design and make her own clothes and is spotted by East End spiv Nigel Davies who tried his hand at boxing, hairdressing and street market trader while turning himself into Justin De Villeneuve (Matt Corner) before Twiggy came into his life while she was still at school. It sounded like extra, last-minute dialogue was added to account for the current Russell Brand allegations: ‘It was the 60s so it was okay…’ And our narrator smothered up Twiggy mocked for being so thin, both in school and in the press as, ‘Now it would be called body-shaming.’
It doesn’t take long before Twiggy is a famous model and a major star of the screen and stage and realises that De Villeneuve has been robbing her blind and grossly exaggerating his part in her success. Close Up is here used as corrective surgery for Twiggy to right all the wrongs and put any distorted records straight, hence her lover and manager is firmly mugged off as the two-faced narcissist he is.
Act 1 closes as The Sixties comes to an end and we are warned that the Seventies are worse for Ms Hornby…
The following decade covers Twiggy’s time making films in the States and falling in love with actor Michael Witney (Darren Day), a time that she says she felt ‘first love’ for the first time. Alas, this was another bad relationship because Witney became an alcoholic.
Close Up doesn’t continue much further than Witney’s death at an early age, but the main parts of Twiggy’s achievements are flashed past us on the video backdrop; perhaps there will be a Part 2.
There is a lot good about this production, but also a lot that is not so good. With Skye narrating in front of the screen backdrop, it sometimes feels like a Ted Talk; the constant reminders that ‘this would not happen today’ eventually jar, and perhaps a record for every instance of her life is not necessary when more dialogue would work.
And why so much comedy? This is a story that sets Twiggy in her place as a cultural icon and not just a pretty face and doesn’t need jokes. But perhaps writer-director Ben Elton can’t help himself. And there are some good lines. Talking about the early death of her husband, Twiggy says that she cannot abide vodka now – ‘It smells of misery’; Nellie Hornby tells the world about an advertising campaign: ‘My daughter saved Marks & Spencer!
But I still enjoyed it, as did just about all the audience. But that might be because I, like others of my age and class, feel like Twiggy belongs to us and we all still want to see her get on and do well.
Elena Skye nails her role in the lead and Hannah-Jane Fox as Nell Hornby stands out, but it was Steven Serlin as Norman Hornby, with cameos as Melvin Bragg and David Frost who brought me the most enjoyment.
Menier Chocolate Factory, 53 Southwark Street, London, SE1 1RU until 18th November. Admission: £45 – £55
Booking: 020 7378 1713 (£2.50 transaction fee per booking) www.menierchocolatefactory.com (£1.50 transaction fee per booking)
