Surely the obesity police will soon be summoned to the stalls. London now has two Roald Dahl shows in praise of sweets. At the Little Angel, Dip Dabs, gummy eggs and Jujubes circle above the stage like mini-planets, fulfilling a boy’s dream. Yet Peter O’Rourke’s production of The Giraffe and the Pelly and Me is at the far end of the theatrical spectrum from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Low-tech, brightly scripted, fuelled by beautiful handicraft and individual voices, it will never drown in goo.
Three puppet animals set up as window cleaners: “glazing is amazing”. A sweet-loving schoolboy is their business manager. A practical pelican seems to swim across the stage. His beak serves as a bucket. A squawking, excitable monkey has bendy blue limbs, which are good for wiping. A socially lofty, creamy voiced giraffe hoists her companions upwards. Her neck is supremely expressive. It stretches out horizontally like a Hoover when she is feeling low.
Recommended for ages four to 11, the show is set against a wonky cardboard set. It is light on plot but enticingly voiced, with songs accompanied by banjo strummings. It is rich in visual ingenuity. The villain has a starring role. A thief known as the Cobra because of his flexible body and very short legs, he is a tubular creature in a striped garment who can scuttle across the boards like a caterpillar and bend himself into a perfect croquet hoop. He has a very funny song explaining that he is bad because he had an unfortunate upbringing: the marionette equivalent of West Side Story’s Gee, Officer Krupke.
Always you see these creatures being manipulated and given voice by their black-clad puppeteers. The effect is oddly to expand the imagination. When a searchlight swings around the small theatre, it seems to have a palpable presence, as if someone is scampering around the seats.
