I Can't Sing review, Palladium

Can a parody parody a parody? And if yes, is that a paradox? The success of X Factor is the ultimate paradox for some: how can a product so patently manufactured at every level, be called reality TV? Harry Hill's homage to the show, I Can't Sing, explores just that and decides, as does half the nation, that even if it's mostly fake, it's still a great watch. I Can't Sing is the lightest of entertainments, but like the show, it does entertain - joyously, madly, relentlessly. It has stupendous sets. There are crowd scenes featuring rows of individual, life-size, cutouts that rise up the stage, and an Arum Lily staircase with a central spike that grows and grows until it hangs over proceedings like a giant penis. When Cowell, the closest the musical gets to a real giant penis, makes his early entrances, it's always with a false pair of legs: hard to explain, but hilarious.

So, what's the story?  Well, it's basically boy meets girl.  Chenice - beautifully played and sung by Cynthia Erivo - lives in a caravan under the flyover with her Rastafarian grandad. When she meets Max the plumber, it's love at first sight, but his attempt at fixing the shower fuses the electrics, and grandad dies when his iron lung switches off. It's the perfect, tragic, backstory for a reality TV star. When the wind literally blows Chenice to the X Factor auditions, the stage is set for success and Director, Sean Foley, can move us away from the early storyline which is too cringily about Cowell's might and which, despite my companion laughing her socks off, I found too long and silly.

It's in the second half that the brilliance shines through. Everything powers up a notch from the blokey asides and visual gags to the set, which has had technical problems and when you see what it pulls off, you'll know why. Steve Brown's songs, which have been okay but broadly unexceptional, become rather good. Nigel Harman gets Cowell to a tee, and Simon Bailey is perfect as the host, Liam O'Deary. We have a spoof Jedward and Wagner, and Ashley Knight's, Louis, is spot-on. Victoria Elliott as Jordy is more Geordie Shore than Cheryl Cole, which is a shame but not a deal-breaker.

In conclusion: The bonus is Simon Lipkin, the actor/puppeteer for Barlow the dog, who's sexy, funny and dry. The terrific ensemble, including dancers, come in all shapes and sizes: the casting is an exemplary example of egalitarian excellence. It's hard to know if I Can't Sing makes sense for someone who doesn't know X Factor, but for those who do, it's a treat.

References
The Palladium, Tickets
Photograph: Dave Bennet