Midnight at the Never Get: Polished if schmaltzy gay lounge singer musical

A thread of martyred schmaltz runs through Mark Sonnenblick’s polished, cabaret-style musical about a gay lounge duo in 1960s Manhattan, which sees the Menier transformed into a nightclub. Singer Trevor (Broadway star Ben Platt) and songwriter Arthur (Gregor Milne) are simultaneously old-fashioned and quietly radical. They sing openly about their love in the style of the Great American Songbook and are disdainful of both rock music and the growing politicisation of their peers. Anchored by Platt’s melodious, heartfelt, somewhat indulgent rendering of Sonnenblick’s blithe songs, accompanied by Milne on piano and an excellent band, this covers a lot of ground.It’s about whether art is a more effective means of bringing about change than protest. It’s about being emotionally true to yourself and devoted to your craft, and the way those twin poles can pull apart. And it’s about finding your own voice, a plot strand that reaches fruition with a final-scene coup de theatre, involving actor Barry James, that I won’t spoil. Mostly, though, David Cromer’s production is a portrait, in music and between-the-songs patter, of a singular slice of American life. Trevor came from Idaho (its small-town values wittily itemised in the song Wallace Falls) to find the fullest expression of his voice and his sexual identity in Greenwich Village. In 1963 gay clubs were “technically illegal in New York, but there were technically a lot of them”. He meets dry, driven Arthur and they become partners on and off stage. Dreaming of stardom (there’s a running gag about Carnegie Hall, and a more attainable nightspot called The Blue Angel) they end up securing the midnight slot at a dive called the Never Get, so named because things never get fixed and no one ever gets paid. Gregor Milne and Ben Platt Johan Persson It’s run by a “cross-dresser” called Sister Etcetera. Compared to the more fabulous fringes of the growing gay scene, Trevor’s bronze tuxedo and Arthur’s rumpled suit look staid. And while others grow angrier about oppression – a groundswell that breaks out in the 1969 Stonewall riots - the two stay focused on crafting perfect songs, and performances of “rare taste and exquisite arrangements”.For them, police raids hark back to serio-comic depictions of the Prohibition era, with the forewarned piling out of the back doors. Some of their songs, like Bells Keep Ringin’ – complete with its cute glockenspiel signature – could also come from the 1930s. Torchy or mournful numbers like Mercy of Love and When It’s Spring Again have more of a 1950s feel. Sure enough, we’re told that these are eventually recorded, with the pronouns changed, by Peggy Lee and Connie Francis, singers soon to be sidelined by the musical revolution of the later 60s.There’s a fascinating but not entirely new thesis voiced here, that gay culture had to be cloaked in camp or self-aware irony, that outrageousness was less shocking than sincerity. More interesting still is the suggestion that Arthur’s commitment to his art leads him to sacrifice his emotional life and betray Trevor. I wonder with which character Sonnenblick, who wrote the music and the witty book and lyrics, most sympathises?Actually, I think I know. While Arthur bangs on about being an artist, he’s a sketchy, background character, apart from one ill-advised dance routine. This show is all about Trevor and therefore all about Platt. Read MoreThe actor made his name and won a Tony in Dear Evan Hansen, one of the more emotionally manipulative musicals of the last 20 years, going on to become a Broadway and big screen staple and a recording artist. He’s well cast as the wry, fragile, needy crooner and his upper register and tremelo are deployed to good effect. But it’s a performance that demands our empathy rather than wins it.Cromer’s 100-minute staging sags a little before the end but taken as a song cycle describing the arc of a relationship against an evocative urban backdrop, it’s great fun. As I said, the band, with a drummer and bassist behind the main duo and a brass section concealed behind glass, is fabulous. And it turns out the Menier, a superb theatre, also makes a splendidly seedy, old-school nightclub.