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Maria Friedman in The King and I
Can you hear me at the back? ... Maria Friedman in The King and I. Photograph: Tristram Kenton
Can you hear me at the back? ... Maria Friedman in The King and I. Photograph: Tristram Kenton

The King and I

This article is more than 14 years old
Royal Albert Hall, London

Big spectacles are all the rage in Kensington. At one end of the park we have a hi-tech Peter Pan. Now comes a lavish staging of The King and I in the circular arena of the Albert Hall. But although the musical values of Jeremy Sams's production are high, the scale seems wrong. Even from a good seat, the characters are distant, and in the more intimate moments one feels as if one were watching table-tennis in the Colosseum.

Of all Rodgers and Hammerstein's musicals, this one seems the most dated. The attempt by Mrs Anna Leonowens to impose Victorian values on the household of the feudal Siamese King smacks of imperial condescension. And the governess's lack of curiosity about Siamese life is paralleled by that of the show's creators. In a telltale remark, Richard Rodgers wrote: "Western audiences are not attuned to the sounds of tinkling bells, high nasal strings and percussive gongs." Maybe not; but Benjamin Britten in The Prince of the Pagodas and Stephen Sondheim in Pacific Overtures proved that the true artist can explore and incorporate eastern musical idioms.

Admittedly, audiences know most of the songs by heart, which is just as well given the arena's acoustic variability. But the evening's strength lies in the quality of the singing. Maria Friedman - kitted out in a crinolined ballgown that looks like a golden tent - sings immaculately and suggests a growing affection for Daniel Dae Kim's admirably burly, intransigent monarch. The young renegade lovers are beautifully played by Ethan Le Phong and Yanle Zhong; I just wish their two big numbers, We Kiss in a Shadow and I Have Dreamed, could have been delivered in a friendlier space.

People think of The King and I as a "big" show, but the best numbers are solos or duets. And the arena only comes into its own for The March of the Siamese Children and the second-act ballet based on Uncle Tom's Cabin. The former is blessedly staged without the usual cuteness, and the latter is well choreographed by Susan Kikuchi, who reminds us that the dance interlude possesses a strong political charge with its civil war story of desperate lovers fleeing a despotic slave owner. Robert Jones's set and costumes, and Gareth Valentine's conducting of the Royal Philharmonic Concert Orchestra add to the atmosphere of visual and aural opulence. But, while the audience seemed happy enough, I felt that inside Sams's epic production was a smaller show signally furiously to be let out.

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