A folk-musical Woyzeck that stumbles through its first act before finding its voice in the second
When Georg Büchner died in 1837, he left Woyzeck unfinished. It survives as a loose, unordered bundle of scenes about a poor soldier who is experimented on, humiliated by his superiors and finally driven to kill the woman he loves. Its fragmentary nature has invited numerous adaptations over the past century, and Franz & Marie at the Charing Cross Theatre is the latest attempt to give it a shape. Here it becomes a folk musical: Teresa Howard’s reworking of Chris Broderick’s earlier show, with music by Rob Shepherd and Broderick, performed by a company of actor-musicians.
Bringing in folk music makes sense, as Büchner’s text is scattered with references to Hessian folk songs. Shepherd and Broderick’s score is at its best when the whole company sings together. The Dance, which opens the second act, brings every voice into harmony and puts an instrument in every pair of hands. The arrangement is well rehearsed, warm and full of atmosphere, and it was one of my favourite moments of the evening. The songs that come before it are another story. The first-act lyrics are humdrum, and I’d forgotten most tunes only minutes after hearing them.
In fact, the second half is so much better than the first that the two could have been written by different people. Franz and Marie’s duet, Nothing and Everything, is full of heart and offers a rare glimpse of chemistry between the two leads, played by Brenock O’Connor and Jade Oswald. Paula James, as Marie’s friend Zella, sings Inconsolable Boy beautifully. Both demonstrate what the show can do when the writing gives its performers something to latch onto. Because we know where the story is heading, these songs are laced with dramatic irony, and the question of fate and choice that the opening raised and then abandoned finally starts to matter.
The first act’s bigger problem is the book. For much of the first half, it isn’t clear why anything is happening or why anyone behaves the way they do. Franz’s part in an unexplained experiment stays baffling until the end of act one. Marie’s friend Kat (Elaine Hua Jones) is inexplicably vicious towards Marie, then flips just as quickly. Most damagingly, it’s unclear why Marie loves Franz so much. Retitling the play promises a love story, but the relationship the title puts front and centre never quite convinces.
Under Michael Oakley’s direction, the production is tonally uncertain. It’s not funny enough to be a black comedy, not thought-provoking enough to be political commentary, and not dark or moving enough to be a tragedy. The men in charge are annoying rather than despicable or absurd. The Captain playing with his toy soldiers is a one-note caricature, with nothing nuanced to say about how inept the powerful can be. Drum Major Varg, who should be a peacock in uniform, is written as a pantomime braggart, leaving Matthew Heywood little room to find the charm that would seduce the women in the barracks. The fair scenes should be enticing, seductive and a little creepy, but the song Funfair and its accompanying mise en scène are grating: actors staring wide-eyed, outlandish circus costumes, palm readers and horror-film sound effects.
There are hints of something better, and the design is behind some of them. Bretta Gerecke’s set design is textured and lived-in. Brown, tea-stained cloth is draped across the wings, and sections of it are drawn back and gathered to create new spaces as the play moves along, which is a simple, effective device. Christopher Nairne’s lighting gives the evening its most striking moment. When Franz shaves the Captain, his murderous fantasy plays out in flashes of green light and looming shadows as he imagines slitting the Captain’s throat. For a minute, the play feels dangerous. That makes Marie’s murder all the more anticlimactic. It isn’t a bad scene, but after the frenzied mania of the shaving scene, it’s strangely subdued and gentle.
At the centre of it all, Jade Oswald is a standout as Marie, which is all the more impressive given how little she has to work with. Büchner gives Marie almost no inner life, but here Oswald finds defiance, depth and real pain in her. O’Connor is a convincing Franz, a man consumed by his station, and his voice is suited to the show’s folk arrangements. The whole company grows stronger and more self-assured as the evening goes on.
Franz & Marie is a little like its own early songs. There’s a decent tune in there – it just takes until the second act to find it.
This show runs at Charing Cross Theatre until 14th November. Tickets here.