Twenty-five years ago, Whoopi Goldberg became an international sensation because of a low-budget-feel-good film called Sister Act. The story followed the adventures of a lounge singer, who unintentionally, becomes a witness to a murder by her gangster boyfriend.

The plot twist? To keep their star witness alive, the police stow the diva in the least likely of places: a rundown convent on the verge of closure. There she finds another calling, working with the tone-deaf choir (now as new recruit Sister Mary Clarence) to bring about some revelation in how they can musically share God’s message to their dwindling congregation. [More]  

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer

This affectionate, infectious tribute to the platform-shoe, well souled seventies is a plenary indulgence, perfect to celebrate the year’s end with fulsome, fabulous and frolicking harmonies, as disco lighting spangles the runway for an escape flight from reality. Despite a few self-conscious moments, this show is a helter-skelter, high energy hit.

The cleverly LED- and projection-enhanced set from lighting designer David Spark allows the physical space to remain uncluttered, creating dimension with smoky beams of light and leaving heaps of room for the dance and song numbers. Trolleys slide smoothly from the wings or from upstage and built pieces fly in effortlessly on cue. Take a bow, set designer John Harding and the stage team under technical manager Nik Janiurek, all directed capably by David Adkins.

The Sister Act movie was a take-off booster rocket for Whoopi Goldberg, who was the stage musical’s original producer. She was conscious that the recreation of her role as Deloris Van Cartier, the night club singer transplanted reluctantly into a convent for asylum, would be different in a stage musical than it was in the $230m film. This is largely because the musical form relies on removal from realty, while the movie needed true characters that could take a close-up and engage our empathy.

There’s no better example of this difference than role of Mother Superior, delivered rather deadpan in the movie by Maggie Smith, but oh, so ‘showbiz’ on stage by Helen Medlyn. Justifiably praised by the producers as a ‘national treasure’, she brings an almost panto energy to her portrayal and we can roll with it because this is not realism. Few New Zealand performers have her breadth of skills; at her disposal is every trick in the book, every technique, all topped with dazzling vocal dexterity. She delivers stand-up comedy one moment and sublime, full-voice high notes the next. Her heartfelt ‘Here Within These Walls’ is genuinely moving.

Of course the starring role is Deloris, sung by a newly discovered treasure (for this reviewer), Miss Keshia Tunks.  Her battery sparks on high voltage from lights on to lights off. Sultry, sexy and with a perfect sense of comic timing, she also energises the nuns’ chorus. Their harmonies and balance are heavenly.

At this point it is appropriate to acknowledge the wizardry of youthful musical director Zac Johns. A talented composer, as well as confident keyboard player (you may have marvelled at his ardour in The Phantom of the Opera at The Civic), he generates and coordinates the assembly of computer click-tracks and live keyboard, bass and drums to resurrect the Tavares sound of the mid-seventies, the slick soul side of the Tamla Motown machine.

Playing up to this seventies Detroit immersion, with more than a touch of Philly, are ‘The Gang’ of incompetent thugs: Sean McFarlane (TJ), Gerard-Luke Malgas (Pablo) and David Mackie (Joey). Just into Act 2, ‘Lady in The Long Black Dress’ gives them a chance to play with the period feel. Sean McFarlane has a mean falsetto in the Frankie Valli style, Mackie has the perfectly slick, slightly seedy moves, while Malgas is on an even higher level in personality, voice and sass.

Other stand-outs include Steve King who excels as the Monsignor – even sustaining a convincing Irish accent. Sr M. Patrick (Emma Leon) is irrepressible, postulant Sr M. Robert (Sammie Campbell) has a wonderful command of the Cameron Macintosh-favoured nasal style, and Lynn Webster invests considerable stagecraft and experience into Sr M. Lazarus.

Baby, there’s no shortage of ‘the three g’s: glitter, glamour and gay boys’ and certainly no lack of sequins as the nuns’ costumes get more and more outlandish. However, after the sequins, struts and spins, Deloris’ question, “What are you left with when the lights go out?” hangs hauntingly enough to imbue the zany plot with humanity. So, too, the Rev. Mother’s snide comment: “People have amused themselves to death.”

There are omissions and just a few opening night faults are apparent; radio mics are a minefield. An early comment by Deloris entering the convent, “What is it with all that smoke?” is a great chance to introduce some incense, or at least some of the smoke. The bar scene is short on atmosphere, and an old-fashioned slo-mo chaos sequence near the end is disappointingly uninventive.

Some of the acting is not up to the standard of the singing, perhaps due to the mix of paid and unpaid talent. However it really is about the music and the comedy, and in this the show excels.

The tight choreography that is so much part of the disco and Motown eras is superb, and Rhonda Daverne has drawn authentic and characterful moves from talented ensemble, for it is a group effort. With minor exceptions, the sound richness and balance is maintained – not easy with all those voices. Even with so few live players, the wall of sound, as the iconic Phil Spectre might have said, has very few bricks missing and this is again proof that this auditorium has been so well designed for so many formats.

If your reality has been ‘a bit of a downer’ this year, sit beneath the balcony Christmas tree at the ASB Waterfront Theatre, relive this Christmas 1977, and see the ‘sis’ put back into Genesis. Melt into carol mode, redeem your spirits and raise yourself to the rafters with the Sisters of Our Mother of Perpetual Faith. For an end-of year tonic, there could be nun better.

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer