THEATRE REVIEW: The Rat Pack, Live from Las Vegas

Dave Doyle gets in the finger-clicking mood at the Lyceum. Find out what he thought of the Rat Pack.

The Rat Pack, Live from Las Vegas 

Sheffield Lyceum

Until Saturday, May 5

SWING is timeless. There’s just something about its toe-tapping, finger-clicking, synchopated groove that appeals to people of all ages.

So much so that the world’s biggest Rat Pack tribute is going stronger than ever, with a new addition to its "celebrity" cast.

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

Ella Fitzgerald joins the boys on tour — although she spends all too much time in the wings for her talent.

Live from Las Vegas aims for authenticity, this isn’t jazzy karaoke - each performer gets marvellously close to embodying their alter ego.

Close your eyes and Stephen Triffitt’s voice is indistinguishable from that of Ol' Blue Eyes, Frank Sinatra.

Nigel Casey does a solid impression of Dean Martin’s whisky-fuelled slapstick, including a very convincing pratfall which draws gasps all around.

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

And David Hayes sounds as soulfully smooth as Sammy Davis Jr, though his dancing doesn’t quite measure up.

In fact ex-footballer, Jim Whitley shows fancier footwork in the Rat Pack-inspired Crooners, though he doesn’t capture Davis’ charisma like Hayes.

Bursting onstage in act two, Nicola Emmanuelle embodies Ella Fitzgerald perfectly with a soft, powerful vocal and superb scatting skills.

The four gel fabulously well, sparring verbally between solos, duets and trio performances.

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

Sixties razzamatazz comes from chorus girls the Burelli sisters, played by the graceful Amelia Adams-Pierce, Joanna Walters and Laura Darton.

Backing them is a sensational band, from which it would have been nice to hear even more.

But, with the spotlight firmly on the leading men and ladies, there was little time for instrumental solos.

It might have been the interval glass of wine, but there were moments when I felt a surge of privilege at being able to see these swing titans live.

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

More than once I had to remind myself that these were not the real thing, but very convincing tributes.

The humour is also authentic to its time, with jabs like “Jew-jitsu” and “Wop-sicle” traded amongst the men.

Sinatra even makes one gag about Davis being invisible in the dark — a line which recently landed a comedian in hot water.

But the barbs are mostly self-inflicted, and thus it’s hard to be offended by them. (Says the white, non-Jewish, English man...)

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

In fact, my only real objection was the criminal underuse of Ella, who sang only three or four numbers.

All of the songs one might hope to hear were rolled out, including New York, New York, Mr Bojangles, That’s Amore and S’Wonderful.

Sinatra closes the show with My Way, saying: “Apparently there’s another song I have to sing, before I’m allowed to leave.”

The cast and musicians received two standing ovations, which were well they deserved.

If only I could have enjoyed the show from a dimly-lit table, with dinner and cocktails...

 

Related topics: