Review: GRIT, GLITTER & GASLIGHT - THE SARAH MCGUINNESS STORY at Blacks Club

Titled GRIT, GLITTER AND GASLIGHT - THE SARAH MCGUINNESS STORY, one has to wonder when someone in Sarah’s intimate circle will have the courage to point out to her that she is not a household name worthy of a biopic — and certainly not a cabaret version performed by herself to half a dozen people each night at an intimate Soho venue, albeit one which is staffed by a wonderfully patient team of indulging hospitality professionals.

Sarah McGuinness is a former everything. Uprooted as a child by her unthinking parents to (London)Derry, she feels out of place and picked upon. The decades-held resentment and festering sense of blame and injustice which permeates every facet of the intimate, one-woman show, is palpable from the outset. Bullying and cruelty can do that to a person. As an audience member you will be required to endure the self-indulgent therapy session from the get-go… for it is exactly that. A barely disguised rant against the cruelties of life over which so few of us have control. Later it becomes a passive aggressive rant about those elements about which we wish we had been better prepared, or wish we had more influence, or during which we wish we had exhibited greater confidence, been funnier, more engaging, more talented, more natural, more inspired, prettier… take your pick. The list for most mere mortals is infinite.

Life is filled with regrets. We all harbour them. The difference is we don’t all feel compelled to go on and on and on about them in a shared cathartic cabaret exorcism, because we either realise the sense in not doing so (because of how it makes us appear), or we seek help to put those matters into perspective for ourselves.

A therapist, sixteen NHS-sponsored sessions of CBT (or an expensive LA shrink) should do the trick. Here, seemingly everybody but Ms McGuinness is responsible for the awful life she has had. What a pity it is to have clung so steadfastly to such a delusional outlook. She even manages during the course of the show, to (semi-jokingly) warn us not to give a bad review of proceedings otherwise she will haunt us (not in the Casper friendly ghost kinda way you understand, but in the claws and hissing way). I felt like shouting out “Get a f**king grip” but my sensitive side prevented me from exacerbating the obvious victim complex (which on press night, Ms McGuinness mis-attributed to Stockholm Syndrome).

Sarah McGuinness may be pissed-off with her lot. She may feel she deserved to be a star. She ain’t alone. Eddie Izzard may have been a former beau. I’m happy for them if they have managed to remain friends and colleagues since parting ways. What I am less happy about, is feeling the urge to give a huge supportive hug to a performer when they have finished their show, simply because I fear they want to top themselves or they haven’t managed to get to grips with the fact that for the overwhelming majority of us, life can be a bit shit. McGuinness is far from a GenZ/GenAlpha snowflake and frankly should know better and be setting an example. She certainly needs to grow-up if she believes creating a cabaret show heavily peppered with hard done-by anecdotes is a good format for entertainment.

Sarah McGuinness (repetition of her name is absolutely intentional because she craves publicity and recognition and in part deserves it) can sing. She can more than carry a tune. She can even pen a tune (indeed some excerpts of her abilities as a songwriter appear in the show where she sings accompanied by a click backing track). She delivers standards, from Weill to Bowie to Bush as well as her own Bond-esque effort, and in doing so, breathes life and emphasis into places you hadn’t previously considered. These bits are terrific. It’s fringe worth attending because she expresses why these pieces mean something to her. She name drops Sean Connery and then sings the absolute bejeezus out of an Irish ballad which nearly brought me to tears with its lilt and pathos. She has gumption and is a worthwhile human being for all manner of reasons — none of which any of us actually want or need to know about, because we have come to be entertained by a talented performer, not serve as therapist or priest.

Is Sarah McGuinness a star? No, not in my opinion. Could she be? Probably not now, if only because of the time and energy she has invested in the wrong emotional outlook. Does that matter? Not really. Should she carry on? Hell yes. Do I wish her well? Absolutely. Do I hope she finds peace, optimism, love and happiness? You bet your life I do. With all my heart. To not feel that level of empathy when presented with a troubled soul would just be wrong.

While watching the show, I was reminded of Frances Barber’s irreverent turn as Billie Trix in Musik during which a fictitious globetrotting performer of yesteryear regales the audience with expletive-laden anecdotes of the wild characters she has met (and usually slept with). The audience becomes her collective fellow traveller on that journey and the show avoids demanding sympathy precisely because we believe we’ve been illicitly and complicitly secreted into the zany escapade. If Ms McGuinness could find a way to fine-tune the current show into something less personally wallowing, the telling of it would improve immeasurably. Just a suggestion. I would certainly be far more inclined to rave about it as a piece of insightful entertainment.