Tell Me on a Sunday By Michael Billington for Th Guardian
Twenty years ago, Andrew Lloyd Webber's song-cycle about a Muswell Hill singleton adrift in Manhattan was presented as part
of a double bill called Song and Dance. Now, somewhat expanded, it stands alone as a 75-minute event; and, although it has
some good songs, it seems a slight piece that is scarcely rendered more plausible by the presence of the sassy, sexy Denise
Van Outen.
The first problem is that we never learn much about the heroine. In the new version she's an Ilford girl, keeps in touch with
her mum and has a lot of man-trouble: in a short space of time, she has abortive flings with a bumptious agent, a callow
photographer and a married Casanova.
To lose one man might be a misfortune: to mislay three looks like recklessness. But what is never explained is how, at a time
when renting a broom-cupboard in Manhattan costs a small fortune, she manages to survive without work or visible means of
support.
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The tough cookie grumbles By Benedict Nightingale for The Times
THE critic who back in 1982 felt he had dined on a tasty starter and a classic dessert but somehow missed out on the main
course will have left Tuesday night’s performance of Tell Me on a Sunday feeling even hungrier. Twenty-one years ago, Andrew
Lloyd Webber’s song cycle was accompanied by a dance number in which Wayne Sleep twirled and whirled in a headband to the
same composer’s variations on a theme by Paganini. In fact, the whole show was called Song and Dance, and it ran in a larger
theatre than the Gielgud for three years.
I don’t know whether to call Denise Van Outen a starter or a dessert, a piece of marinated shark or a lime-and-lemon sorbet
but, whatever my feelings about her tough-girl charisma, I had to admire her pluck.
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