I Can’t Sing! is a parody of The X Factor, which already parodies itself at every turn. Quite a tough call. The heroine is an oppressed no-hoper stuck in a tiny caravan under the Westway with her crippled dad who lives in an iron lung. She longs for a chance to win stardom and wealth on a TV talent show. So this is the Cinderella story with a lot of grotesque and absurd modern detailing. Is it good? No. It’s spectacularly brilliant.
A hit musical needs to get everything right and this one does just that. The sets are lavish and sumptuous. The costumes are razor-sharp parodies of underclass loser-wear. The title song has a soaring climax that tugs at the heart-strings and fills the spirit with strange and unexpected yearnings. Some reviewers have found the show cruel. I disagree. One of the wannabe singers is a hunchback, whose distended vertebrae have hardened into a ridge as large as a pedal bin. This exaggeration prevents the viewer from accusing himself of mocking invalidity. And the hunchback’s character is believable and enjoyable. He’s playful, cocky and slightly malicious but he’s also supremely self-assured. Manifestly he is not a victim.
Touches like this suggest that the show has been shaped with great discretion and sensitivity. At the same time it’s joyously crass and exuberant. The writer, Harry Hill, crams the script full of zany, wise-child gags. One example. Our heroine learns by phone that’s she’s been accepted for Boot Camp. ‘I’m going to London!’ she screams. ‘You’re in London,’ deadpans her boyfriend. Hill knows just how to target a family audience and the script is free of swearing or sexual innuendo. This will vastly increase its customer base. Kids of five would love it.
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