McQueen is a creative review of the life of tragic fashion
designer Alexander (Lee) McQueen (Stephen Wight), as told to Dahlia (Dianna
Agron), a fictional girl who apparently breaks into his house (or does she?)
because she needs a dress. Like Lee, Dahlia is directionless and clinically
depressed. He takes her on an adventure through his life story, in one night, during
which time he makes her a dress which brings out her unique beauty – helps her
see who she really is. There are various hints, but we are never actually told
this.
The story is a vehicle, perhaps an allegory for McQueen’s artistic
principle that fashion is the purest form of self-expression – how you dress (or
in Lee’s case, the dresses he designs) expresses what you are. When Lee doesn’t
have creative inspiration, he loses his way.
In a series of scenarios from his life, Lee effectively turns
himself inside out to his mysterious intruder and they help each other through
the night.
Why is this review appearing on Terpsichore, a blog about
dance? Well, many of the scenes include dreamlike sequences where a group of dancers
depict mannequins, wearing McQueen’s stylishly eccentric creations. The
mannequins are his muses and Terpsichore is the muse of dance. David Farley’s
production design and Christopher Marney’s choreography were striking from the first
scene. I loved the opening sequence, where at some points it was hard to
differentiate between dancers and mannequins. The dancers were all well cast,
as they looked like living mannequins and they moved together beautifully as a
group, with points of choreographic interest – posing and turning with lifts
and exquisite silhouettes at different parts of the stage. Their skill belied
the challenge of working with a relatively small space and a busy, changing
set. In a later, party scene, the mannequins appear again, now representing
beautiful party people – models perhaps – dancing and swaying around the stage in
couples and formations, drawing Lee and Dahlia deeper in to the night.
The staging was perfect, and the lighting created and
intensified the atmosphere, which was dark, but somehow optimistic. I found a
balcony scene overlooking London particularly striking. Another fabulous
creative device was when Lee fits a beautiful dress onto Dahlia on stage,
transforming her from an obsessive fan to a late night muse who helps Lee find
the inspiration that keeps him alive. This was so impressive – a nice detail
was that he left one pin in the shoulder strap.
A lively, exquisitely designed production with fantastic set
and production design, beautiful dancing and choreography and some excellent
acting including a great Isabella Blow cameo from Tracy-Ann Oberman is let down
by a plot full of holes. Here are just a few. Who is Dahlia? Is she real, or
imaginary? Is she his alter ego? There are many references to her being already
there, a doppelganger etc. Well if she is, it’s a bit bizarre that she’s an ‘I
want, I want’ person, when Lee himself was obviously an ‘I get, I get’ person. Also
if she is part of him, how come he has to tell her his life story? She’d
already know all of that!
Dahlia makes a lot of suggestions that she is part of Lee,
or his alter ego, but a lost American girl seems a strange alter ego for a
talented, tortured designer at the height of his fame.
The reason the plot holes are so easy to spot is that the
play is set between Isabella Blow’s suicide and Lee’s own. By this time his
talent was globally recognised and he was at the pinnacle of his career. The
programme included a useful timeline of his life, so when you read the
programme, you wonder about the inaccuracies in the play. For example, Lee
wasn’t ‘made’ by Isabella – he was a successful tailor before he was accepted
to study on the MA course at St Martin’s and she bought everything in his graduate
show. While in this play Isabella claims to be his Svengali, in reality she was
a catalyst for his second career.
The play makes no reference to Lee's time at St Martin’s or
his widespread recognition - including as British designer of the year – and
only touches lightly on his serious issues with drugs.
The theme of self-harm and suicide – Dahlia gives no reason
why she is so troubled – is treated lightly given
Lee’s actual demise. The play ends on a possibly optimistic note, which is a
plus point. Dahlia says she has had the best night of her life, which suggests
that she is an individual in her own right. If she signifies part of Lee’s
character, surely wandering around London reminiscing about his past to an
imaginary friend is unlikely to be the best ever night for an internationally acclaimed
fashion designer.
Even if you excuse the plot holes as artistic license, the
wordy script made several scenes feel unnecessarily long. I would pick out in
particular the scene in Lee’s dying mother’s house which could have been cut to
less than half the length to get the message across. This was towards the end
of the play and there was a distinct shuffling among audience members – the
seats are not particularly comfortable.
Overall it was an entertaining show. The staging was
beautiful and Stephen Wight was genuinely convincing as Lee McQueen. It helps
that he really does look like him. He delivered his lines well – even the clunky
ones – and he was on stage for the entire 1 hour and 40 minutes. Dianna Agron,
however, was less impressive. At first I tended to agree with some critics who
wrote that her acting seemed wooden, but her obvious professionalism throughout
made me think that this is how she had been asked to portray the character
Dahlia who would have fitted nicely into Twin Peaks.
And there was indeed a David Lynch quality about McQueen.
The acting was generally pretty good, and I liked Tracy-Ann Oberman’s excellent
take on Isabella Blow, though again half the number of words would have got the
message across. I particularly liked her wafting around elegantly in the
background of the dance sequences and other scenes.
I also have to declare a personal interest in McQueen, the
play. My friend Amber Doyle is the dance captain, and I go to her ballet
classes, so I was anticipating some excellent dancing. And I was certainly not
disappointed. The perfect stylish dancing and choreography was one of the very
best things about this show. I also felt that some reviewers were a bit harsh
about the actors, particularly Stephen Wight, who I thought did a good job with
an unwieldy script.
McQueen’s problem is that it is a hybrid – it’s not a musical,
and a contingent in the audience who had come to see Agron based on her performance
in Glee must have been disappointed that her only bit of singing is a few
snatches of Billy Joel’s ‘Always a woman to me’, a song which I unfortunately
associate with the John Lewis ad a few years ago.
McQueen is not a biography either, because it’s highly
selective – it misses out important facts about McQueen’s life and influences
and half the story is about an imaginary character, or doppleganger. Nor is it a
ballet, either although much of the story is told in the dance sequences. All
this means reviewers struggle to place it.
McQueen is an entertaining, beautifully staged tribute to a
tortured and sadly missed talent and it successfully captures the strange and
wonderful world of fashion – its creativity and its cruelty. It’s been
described as self-indulgent, but what is fashion – and indeed much art too – if
it is not self-indulgent? That’s the beauty of it! If you like fashion and
dance, you’ll like McQueen. I did.
NB, The image, by photographer Sam Mardon, shows the theatre’s
special McQueen cocktails. This is because I had asked a contact at the theatre
whether it was ok to take photos at any point and was told roundly that anyone
with a camera would be escorted out. Having read some mainstream reviews I had
considered putting a camera in my bag to facilitate an early exit! I’m glad I
didn’t. The photo was taken on an iPhone before the show.
McQueen is at St James Theatre, London until 27 June. https://www.stjamestheatre.co.uk/theatre/mcqueen/
