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In this series of monologues by Joanna Murray-Smith, five apparently unremarkable women — the nobodies of the title — relate their brushes with musical celebrities.
Bernadette Robinson plays them all, and each piece concludes with the Australian performer, whom director Simon Phillips first heard at a dinner during a corporate event, magically transforming into the legendary vocalist whose presence has been so intoxicating.
First she captures the yearning voice of Judy Garland, before revelling in Patsy Cline’s smoky candour. The most intriguing sketch, though, involves Edith Piaf. It’s here that Murray-Smith’s script is strongest, hinging on an unlikely link between the French singer and a librarian from a small town in Nottinghamshire. This character, Edie Delamotte, has a vitality and sadness that make her a more rounded figure than the other nobodies, and Robinson skillfully conveys the range of Piaf’s emotions.
After three numbers that evoke Billie Holiday’s mysterious sound, the final section proves less successful. Supposedly about Maria Callas, it’s more concerned with Aristotle Onassis. Robinson’s talent for impersonation remains impressive, yet Callas is the star she least fully inhabits.
The show, transferring to the West End after a run at Wilton’s Music Hall, allows her to exhibit her talents with a tasteful degree of restraint. But it feels a bit schematic, even if it’s shrewd about the ways in which celebrity is melancholy rather than blissful.
Until February 23
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