image: Theatre Group

There’s nothing quite like a farce to lift your spirits on a damp, miserable November evening, so TG’s adaptation of Alan Ayckbourn’s play could not have come at a better time. In that essay stress, mid-term lull, what you really need is a story about an incompetent and deceitful amateur operatic society’s belaboured attempt to put on a production of The Beggar’s Opera. And a stiff drink afterwards.

The production is glorious, joyful chaos. The cast refuse to let the fact that they’re obviously a little underprepared impede their full-throttle enthusiasm. Billy Grace as director Daffyd Llwelyn charges through the production like a frenetic Welsh juggernaut, roaring and dashing about at an exhausting pace, his affected accent impeccable. Each role is exceptionally cast; the actors know their characters inside out, and are just there to have fun with them. Emily Clarke and Joshua Ling as Enid and Ted Washbrook could have a 90 minute performance all to themselves, their moments of improvisation and quiet interaction relentlessly entertaining.

It is questionable whether life is intended to imitate art so closely, for just like the operatic society’s Beggar’s Opera, Chorus also feels a little rough around the edges. Yet one is inclined to suspect that this is less to do with deceit and adultery within the cast, and more to do with the tight production period for TG’s plays. One would also hope that the furious outbursts from Daffyd aren’t inspired by the play’s own eccentric Welsh director, Ben Meagher.

The play’s metatheatrical moments are the most enjoyable, such as the scene in which Daffyd obliviously shouts at the incompetent lighting designer while his wife Hannah (Flora Tiley) and leading man Guy (David Ley) discuss their affair, variously lit by increasingly ridiculous lighting states. The Beggar’s Opera dance sequences were awful, and by that I mean brilliant. For when the fictional operatic society’s play is at it’s nadir is when the real production shone the brightest.

Altogether you’re left feeling elevated by the sheer silliness of it, exhausted by the enthusiasm of the performances, and curious of what could have been achieved had they had more time, had a bit more cash to splash on props and set. Yet Chorus of Disapproval didn’t let any of that, nor an impromptu fireworks display from people right outside who don’t own a calendar, deter it from being a thrilling, hilarious and triumphant performance.

Jennie Pritchard