It takes courage to adapt a classic film noir for the stage, especially one with a screenplay by Graham Greene, exquisite black and white cinematography and Orson Welles’ radiant charisma. Some might call it hubristic, even foolish, to add music to the mix.
The surprise is that this musical version of the 1949 film, directed by Trevor Nunn, does not fall on its face. While the songs pass muster, its triumph is in its monochrome design, which seems like a black and white film come to life. Paul Farnworth’s set encapsulates the look and feel of a noir together with Emma Chapman’s lighting, which throws out an elegant welter of lamplight, long shadows and thrillerish effects.
The story, of American hack writer, Holly Martins (Sam Underwood), arriving in the city to be given the news that this friend, Harry Lime (Simon Bailey), is dead, and following a trail to his suspected murder via Harry’s melancholy lover, Anna Schmidt (Natalie Dunne), unravels in the same broken Vienna of 1947. Postwar rubble is strewn around the edges of this city, which swarms with poverty, illness and black market racketeers like Harry.
George Fenton’s music, with Don Black and Christopher Hampton’s lyrics, has a few strong numbers – Café Mozart by Baron Kurtz, sung by Gary Milner, Paul and Claus, by Dunne – but many more anodyne ones. None can compare to the zither music of the film either. The incidental sound (designed by Gregory Clarke) is more effective in conjuring tension, but on the whole, the story does not have the speed and grip it requires.
The drama hinges on a big reveal around the fate of Harry and the sight of him does not bring the same intake of breath as Welles in the film, although Bailey has a similar rascally charm.
Underwood, as Holly, seems to be in a permanent state of unravelling, with a large repertoire of facial tics and a wobbly singing voice, though he is lovable. Dunne is a formidable singer and belts out some catchy numbers, although Paul and Claus is too cheerfully out of keeping for the morose character of Anna.
Black and Hampton’s book keeps the film’s eccentricities (although the maniacal cockatiel does not quite pay off) and capitalises on humour. There are witty lines and Greene’s riff on hack writers like Holly, and satirical take-downs of literature snobs, works well here.
Ultimately, the production is let down by pace, which feels oddly sleepy but there are gorgeous aesthetics and plenty of atmosphere to see us through.
The Third Man: A Musical Thriller is at Menier Chocolate Factory, London, until 9 September
