Calamity Jane just blew into New Wimbledon Theatre, bringing a gust of Western whimsy rootin’-tootin’ hilarity to South West London.
All fringed jackets, firearms and foolery, this touring production is a hearty homage to the Old West, which brings a dash of (potentially) feminist subtext to a bar full of western folk who certainly needed it.
The ever-engrossing Grammy nominated Carrie Hope Fletcher leads the charge as the irrepressible Calamity Jane, delivering a performance that is both feisty and sincerely endearing.
Her believable charm anchors a show that otherwise leans heavily on style over substance.
She’s joined by a tight-knit, talent-rich ensemble of actor-musicians, whose live instrumental work – particularly the rustic twang of their banjos – adds texture and authenticity to the frontier-town atmosphere.
Based on the real-life Martha Jane Canary, a hard-drinking, gun-slinging frontierswoman who defied 19th century norms of femininity, this Calamity Jane reimagines the legend of a woman who lived far outside the constraints of her time.
Fletcher’s performance hints at this subversion, though the script never fully explores the complexities of Calamity’s historical legacy.
Fans of the 1953 film starring Doris Day will be pleased: this revival leans into nostalgia, and several moments invite audience singalongs, including a rousing chorus of “The Deadwood Stage” that filled the theatre with joy.
The musical numbers are where the show does best, particularly Molly-Grace Cutler’s delightfully sultry turn as stage star Adelaid Adams, whose rendition of “’Tis Harry I’m Planning to Marry” is a highlight.
But strip away the toe-tapping tunes and Western costuming, and the narrative begins to languish.
Character arcs feel undercooked, with relationships that develop abruptly or lack emotional payoff.
By the time the final scene wraps with a neat double (potentially triple?) wedding, I couldn’t help but feel the show has missed a trick – particularly in the case of Calamity and Katie Brown (Seren Sandham-Davies), whose connection and shared domesticity suggest a far more compelling pairing than their designated male partners.
Katie’s mistaken-identity plot – she’s actually Adelaid Adams’ maid – sets the stage for some classic musical theatre farce.
But when she and Calamity decide to live together and sing about “a woman’s touch,” the subtext practically screams.
A subsequent number, “Secret Love,” sung by Calamity, only deepens the sense that the show flirts with queer themes but it isn’t willing to fully embrace them.
In the end, the men win out, despite their often juvenile or incel-adjacent attitudes, condemning the women’s clothing choices and undermining their supposedly “female thinking”.
Calamity herself isn’t much better when it comes to gender stereotypes, singing “mule-headed men who act like they’re ten” – though in fairness, is she wrong?
Calamity Jane is a fun-filled gallop through the Wild West, with catchy tunes and charismatic performances.
But as a two-act musical, it occasionally feels stretched, and you can’t help but wish it had the courage to explore the radical potential of its legendary leading lady.
Picture credit: Mark Senior
Join the discussion