Lee Mead in Joseph and the
Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat
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The return of the late Steven Pimlott’s 1991 production of
Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat to the West End’s Adelphi Theatre was preceded by a reality TV contest to find an actor to play the title role. Did the public vote well when they chose Lee Mead? Did critics find the revival dreamy?
Here’s a sampling of what they had to say:
Mark Shenton in his Theatre.com Review: “Joseph essentially has to look pretty and sing sweetly. On both counts, this Joseph turns out to be appropriately dreamy. With his lean, buffed-up torso and an unruly mop of dark curly hair that makes it look as if he’s been plugged into an electrical socket, he’s picture-perfect. And with a resonant voice that’s reminiscent of a young Michael Ball, he’s pitch-perfect, too. He may have somehow missed the boy band boat, but he’s a pop poppet with a bright, instantly engaging stage personality... Truth to tell, some of the show’s jaunty charm is drowned in the lavish parade of Mark Thompson’s sets and props that strenuously introduce some jokes of their own, like multi-coloured sheep, talking camels and Egyptian landmarks that include the Sphinx and the London Eye. And then there’s the mega-mix finale, which reprises (yet again) some of the songs as all-singing, all-dancing karaoke. But the unbridled joy and naive delights of the score cannot be suppressed, and—as led by an irrepressibly chirpy (if rather too glamorous) narrator from Preeya Kalidas—sha la la Joseph—it’ll do just fine.”
Benedict Nightingale of The London Times: “[Lee Mead] turns out to be both talented and enthusiastic. Not much is asked of him as an actor. He needs to be melancholy when he’s thrown into prison, imperious when he greets the brothers who sold him into slavery, kindly when he forgives them, happy when he’s reconciled with that glum old dodderer, his grieving dad. All this Mead manages well enough; but what distinguishes him is an attractive singing voice and, coming from beneath hair that owes more to Uncle Esau than father Jacob, lots of affable charisma. He certainly makes a stronger star than Jason Donovan, whose underpowered, blonde-wigged Joseph in 1991 came across as the Goldilocks of Genesis… And I must say, I enjoyed it more last night than I did 16 years ago, even though I’d have liked more rough-theatre simplicity, less ostentatious ado.”
Dean Collinson in Joseph and the
Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat
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Michael Billington of The Guardian: “Even by the self-parodic standards of a West End first night, this was a pretty bizarre occasion… Everything about [it] seemed disproportionate to the show itself. That is my main charge against this recreation of the late Steven Pimlott's 1991 Palladium production. Admittedly that was on a large scale but it had a heart and soul whereas everything about this revival seems either cutesy, camp or calculated. A classic example is Pharaoh's big Elvis-style number, which is delivered by Dean Collinson with so much exaggerated hip swivelling, finger pointing and head tossing as to lose its original wit… Somewhere inside this big, fat show there is a small, delightful musical struggling to get out… In this version everything is covered with the synthetic gloss of show business. Lee Mead, fresh-faced and chubby-thighed in his white loin cloth, is a perfectly decent Joseph; but you feel it didn't need the ludicrous rigmarole of a TV reality show to discover him since he'd already played Pharaoh in the West End. He also misses the faint element of self-satisfaction in Joseph's character just as Preeya Kalidas's leggy Narrator lacks the necessary vocal crispness… A musical which once possessed its own buoyancy has been turned into a piece of gaudy, chocolate-box commercialism.”
Charles Spencer of The Daily Telegraph: “I suppose one ought to be sternly disapproving about this revival of Joseph. The West End is already too full of musicals, the show only recently ended its last run in London, and the BBC has generously given the enterprise many million pounds worth of free publicity with its talent show Any Dream Will Do. And stone me, who won that contest? The seasoned pro, Lee Mead. Yet I have to admit to voting for Lee myself and to experiencing a sugar rush of pure pleasure at last night's exuberant premiere when I found myself in the same row as the losing contestants on Any Dream Will Do. The generous enthusiasm with which they whooped and applauded Lee at the end was touching to behold. It was a night of high drama. Half an hour in, proceedings had to be halted when a stage revolve got stuck. Fortunately, it was fixed within minutes, and as Lee was hoisted high into the air on a terrifying piece of machinery to wild ovations during the grand finale, there was no doubt that the former understudy had proved himself a West End star… Nichola Treherne has revived the late and sorely missed Steven Pimlott's 1991 Palladium production with terrific brio and the energy level never flags. With a chorus of cute kiddies dressed in all the colours of the rainbow, dance routines that move from the sexily energetic to the physically daring by Anthony Van Laast, and a stunning turn from Dean Collinson as the Elvis-like Pharaoh, Joseph looks like being a sure-fire hit all over again.”
Rhoda Koenig of
The Independent: “Has Andrew Lloyd Webber managed, once again, to use a TV talent contest to make an unknown a star? Commercially, yes indeed, going by the hyperactive box office and an audience that reaches beyond the usual patrons of the West End - such as the woman who, entering the theatre behind an actress, asked her date, ‘Is she in the show?’ It seems less likely that Lee Mead will join the immortals. Lacking in character and with a tendency to give out towards the end of a line, his voice is not the world's greatest, or even the greatest in the show. That honour belongs to Dean Collinson, whose Elvis-imitating Pharaoh matches the original with every dirty growl, falsetto flutter, and sudden, heart-stopping intimacy. But Mead more than fulfils the requirements, with a mop of dark curls, a wholesome, sweet manner, and a way of filling a pleated loincloth that will appeal to all sexes. His fresh-faced appeal is accentuated by the presence, as the narrator, of Preeya Kalidas, whose singing is breathy and screechy, and whose cautious steps, on her five-inch heels, replicate, from the ankles down, the picky disdain she exudes from the neck up. A Joseph virgin, I enjoyed myself far more than I thought possible at a Lloyd Webber show, the first I have seen which could pair the composer's name with the word ‘unpretentious.’”
Nicholas de Jongh of The Evening Standard: “For those of us, aged 10 and over, who do not take musicals too seriously, this earliest of Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice's shows, still does the comic-satirical business with amusing gusto. It offers a seductive blend of camp, kitsch, and cool mockery of a few Old Testament dreamers and tough-boys, not to mention the sound of Lloyd Webber in first romantic and triumphal form. This gaudy, hand-clapping, seductive revival, based upon the popular 1991 production by Steven Pimlott who died in February, jubilantly keeps a satirical tongue in its cheek as it unfolds on a stage that does not need to bother with multi-million-pound, scenic sensations… The final image—of Lee Mead's redeemed Joseph elevated high above the stage on a tiny, personal platform - might almost be sending up the current craze for amazing us with brave, new theatrical technology, if he were not, perhaps, joyfully ascending to heaven. Mead himself, who emerged as the hero of the BBC series Any Dream Will Do, flaunts quite the smallest ego of any Joseph I have seen. He sports the long, curly hair of a Seventies footballer and a powerful, melodious voice that makes the best of ‘Close Every Door,’ the show's single, genuinely sad song to Tim Rice's despairing, masochistic lyrics. Mead delivers it in the cells, to Lloyd Webber's plangent, heartfelt music, with pathos. Yet his Joseph looms small, faint and insignificant when not singing. His acting lacks energy. His Joseph does not suffer. The charisma of Phillip Schofield or Jason Donovan, Mead's most recent predecessors, passes him by. Preeya Kalidas's Narrator makes her pretty presence felt but the voice sounds shrill. These limitations do not much reduce the special pleasures of the occasion.”
Paul Callan of The Daily Express: “[Joseph] has achieved a certain vintage status, so much so that its easy storyline and lively music is a favourite with amateur groups and schools. And last night it burst back on to the London stage with immense energy, gaudy colour and a just reminder of how talented Lloyd Webber and Rice are… [Lee Mead] has a great talent and will go far. His voice is clear, firm and convincing. And there were moments when the women in the audience went into sensual overdrive when almost all of his clothes fell away to reveal a beefy physique. The squeals could have been greeting a member of the Chippendales…. Mr. Mead has a fine musical voice—although some of his phrasing would benefit from some more polish but this will come with experience. There were, however, problems with the widely varying intonation. Various singers—including Preeya Kalidas as the Narrator—often went wildly off key. One could not help but observe that the mechanised singing camel managed to stay in tune, unlike some members of the cast. But, for me, the show was really stolen by Dean Collinson as Pharaoh—which he did in the memorable form of Elvis Presley.”
Quentin Letts of The Daily Mail: “Book of Genesis this ain’t. Nor is it classic musical theatre or high art. But the Joseph which opened in the West End last night, with TV find Lee Mead in the lead, is cheery, let-your-hair-down fun. Trivial? You bet. Goosed to within an inch of its life? Undeniably. But it is amusing and agreeable and perfect for ten-year-olds, as well as grown-ups who have had a couple of sharp ones in the bar beforehand. Lee—he is one of those actors for whom the Mr. Mead bit seems arch—is a handsome hit… He has stage presence and a winning way… [He] is not a natural comedian. He does not move particularly well. But he hurls himself into the honking cacophony and is almost as gorgeous to behold as Joseph’s multi-coloured coat. With his cascading black curls and a strong jaw he could be a cross between Donny Osmond and Sir Tom Stoppard. His chest and back seem to have been waxed by french polishers, they are so shiny. A little rivulet of sweat formed on his chest and I was worried he might fuse his hidden microphone, giving himself an electric shock. He spends much of the evening flexing his pecs and flashing yards of (hairy, rugger playerish) inside leg. There were wolf whistles and a lot of whooping from the audience, not all of it from women… Preeya Kalidas, who plays the narrator, almost dislodged a couple of my fillings, so tunelessly did she screech one or two notes.”