‘Treading the glamorous but dangerous path of memory lane’
I am a super fan of Hersh Dagmarr’s blend of cabaret and campy vampire (like a singing queer Dracula) which is going to make this review a tricky one to get down.
The setting is flawless, the doldrums of Sunday flung aside in the hustle to get tarted up and head subterranean, into the cruise ship luxe of Zedel/Crazy Coqs. Martinis are ordered and this gay couple stuff themselves into one of the best ringside seats in preparation for an evening of cabaret classics. All is right in central London I think, perhaps a touch prematurely.
Dagmarr glides on, hair combed up to god, vest peaking out from blazer yet still twinkling, heavily encrusted with sequins. Think David Bowie meets later years Joan Collins. Appropriately accented (French) he introduces us to his pianist Karen Newby, and his favourite day of the week, Dimanche, the perpetual underdog. Then we are off into Edith Piaf territory with rousing characterisation and perfect pronunciation.
Blending the above-mentioned singer’s ‘Padam, padam…’, with Kylie’s ‘Padam Padam’ is a zippy sacrifice to the gods of cabaret. Despite sometimes struggling with the higher notes, his chanson shine out as masterclasses in passion and verve. Also we get a nice medley of Cole Porter, showing that Dagmarr can cope in English/American excellently also.
Then we veer off a little bit. From Cole to c**t. Yes, that’s right folks, from some blue-tinged humour and sass we graduate with special guest Molly Beth Morossa: starting with a lip-sync to Chicago’s ‘Mr Cellophane’, then blending into Maara/My Hot Ex’s song ‘Serving C**t’.
Shaven-headed, tottering on Pleasers, and stripping down to leather pants, this is an eye-opening performance considering what has come before and what follows. “On a Sunday?” I ask my partner while clutching at my metaphorical pearls. The routine though spirited feels unconnected to the vibe put out by Dagmarr, as it is to the almost genteel venue it sits within. Bethnal Green Working Men’s Club would be more fitting, not a French brasserie in the centre of Theatreland. Mercurial flashing between lighting states helps neither performer either.
Trouble just keeps on brewing. Dagmarr takes a stroll down the “glamorous but dangerous path of memory lane”. By this I mean he trundles through songs from his last show. We get wonderful renditions of compositions associated with Marlene Dietrich, Bertolt Brecht/Kurt Weill and Cabaret. Impressive though they are, they seem clumsily peppered into the show.
Between the aimlessness and eruption of guest performances Dagmarr’s immortal don vivant image crumbles a little. The same jokes are thrown between him and Newby, the same inflection, costume and shtick. His upcoming show in July hopefully will prove to the contrary and that there is life, sorry I mean blood, in the old girl yet.
Keep a glinting eye on Dagmarr’s next creative outpouring, click HERE!