Godfather Death is a hair-raising Grimm fairy tale, bristling with brutal realism and un-negotiable moral absolutes. The desperate parent of a famishingly large family gifts their thirteenth child with an unusual baptismal sponsor, whose support makes his protégé a great physician, but whose grim obligations cannot bend to accommodate the young man’s self-serving hankering after ever-greater social advancement.
The main problem with this version of the tale from Warhorse Theatreworks is that it’s woefully under-paced. At present, the show’s about twice as long as the material demands, and the devised dialogue lacks decision and clarity. Verbal infelicities and wobbles of tone (including a Death who’s having trouble – am stood? am standing? – with his tenses) litter the piece, and someone seems to have mistaken dimming the lights for the development of convincing dramatic structure.
There are some spirited performances from a hardworking ensemble cast: Wendy Windle is an engaging red-haired urchin, Chand Martinez makes an awfully jolly King and Lizzie Wort shines as the awkwardly radiant Princess Gladys. Bek Palmer’s ingenious costumes, in shades of drab and gold, are striking, as are some clever bits of design, including a long row of dingy baby-clothes used to represent an incessantly-increasingly brood of children. The evening’s highlight is a splendid scarlet devil which, like a spindle-shanked, button-eyed baby, is sadly underused – but none of this makes up for the naive scramble of the show’s underwhelmingly piecemeal storytelling.
The company’s tinkering with the Grimms’ plot blunts the moral force of the fairy tale, in which egalitarian Death declines to be turned from his purpose by the blandishments of the stricken wealthy. The production also misses the essential grimness of the all-too-real backdrop against which the story develops: a chorus of well-spoken moppets chirruping “mummy” is scarcely a compelling evocation of grinding poverty.
This is a shame, as the company are obviously talented and brimming with ideas and energy. But this patchy adaptation lacks both pathos and pace, and more than a few stifled yawns accompanied the dawdling fable to its gloomy and overdue ending.
