Club Tropicana is an explosion of 80s camperie that does, superbly, exactly what it says on the tin. I have to admit that I was dancing in front of my seat by the end, and I am someone who curls her lip, and rolls her eyes, when invited to anything billed as "feel-good" or "uplifting."When any of us who lived through the 80s looks back at our hair or clothes from that era, we cringe, and we snicker about the rubbish music, but looking at that fashion so very faithfully recreated on the stage last night, and singing again those actually very good tunes, we were forced to admit our love of the most maligned of decades.
Joe McElderry broke the fourth wall at the top of the show, a bold move, directly inviting the audience into a silly bit of participation, but it worked a treat to break our last reserve and from there we were in a gallop through a classic story of boy loses then finds girl, complete with mirroring subplot. You see, a young couple get the jitters on their wedding day and fly off on holiday where they become accidentally reunited, and their love reignited, the hotel owners whilst attempting to thwart a rival business's sabotage realise that they are actually in love, and all around this a lot of singing and tightly choreographed dancing goes on in fine 80s style.
But, to be honest, most of the audience weren't really there for the stories, sweet and acted with sincerity though they were, we were there for the gorgeous ensemble (like energetic little sprites in their pastel coloured outfits) the panto standard jokes and slapstick tumbles, and the belted out songs of our youth.
The impressive vocal range of Cellen Chugg Jones, as Olly, caused myself and my guest to gasp in admiration, though it has to be said there were no weak links on that front. The physical comedy was particularly impressive from the villainous Christine (Emily Tierney) and jealous gal pal Tracey (Rebecca Mendoza), but the stand out buffoonery came from the multiple personalities of Consuela the cleaner, Kate Robbins on prime comic form. The audience howled at the multiple fart jokes and knowing innuendos, but their biggest guffaws were for her and the prancing camp pony that was Joe McElderry's head of entertainment, Garry.
A little poignant note at the end, a wistful quip that perhaps the future might be a world in which gay couples can marry, was a chiming reminder that though we mock the 80s camp, perhaps we shouldn't underestimate the effect it had in paving the way to today's growing acceptance of more fluid gender identities.
All in all, my evening at Club Tropicana was fantastic, silly fun, and if that is what you require from your night out, I would suggest you need to go.
If you’re looking for a postmodern, energetic tale of America’s dark past, Jay Miller’s production of The Crucible may be just for you, though some staging does detract from the tremendous power of the piece.