Entering the Spiegeltent for Meow Meow’s Little Mermaid is an experience in itself- on opening night there was an anticipatory queue even half an hour before the show started. We were ushered into an intimate in-the-round theatre with a thrust stage- my elbows were basically digging into my friend’s side for the whole show- yet this seemed to add to the hazy, sultry atmosphere that most of us hope for when attending a cabaret.

Entering the Spiegeltent for Meow Meow’s Little Mermaid is an experience in itself- on opening night there was an anticipatory queue even half an hour before the show started. We were ushered into an intimate in-the-round theatre with a thrust stage- my elbows were basically digging into my friend’s side for the whole show- yet this seemed to add to the hazy, sultry atmosphere that most of us hope for when attending a cabaret.

Little Mermaid is described as a “decidedly un-Disney cabaret, where sexy spectacle drips into a bittersweet take on what constitutes a ‘happy ending’”. Meow Meow turns to Hans Christian Andersen’s 1836 original, darker version of The Little Mermaid and plunges us into her subconscious. [More][More]

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Comedy cabaret diva extraordinaire Meow Meow harks from Australia, tours festivals internationally and is particularly active in the UK, as indicated by her throaty received-pronunciation accent.  With her unruly black hair, saucy black-and-gold bodice and fishnets, plus a host of extravagant props and other wondrous devices, her original interpretation of the titular classic Danish fairy-tale tragedy is a striking spectacle of chimeric proportions. 

This is no exaggeration: she is consistently hilarious on a number of levels. She specialises in cynical innuendo; she has a tremendous vocal range to rival Nina Hagen (accompanied by a band more multi-stylistic than the Mars Volta); she is a total diva, in the sense of both self-indulgent petulance and genuine star quality. Of the many adjectives one might use to describe her, ‘ordinary’ will never be one of them.

The centre ring stage of the three-quarter-round layout is initially set up as one would expect: a central rock formation surrounded by scallop-shell footlights, with a fly-wire hanging promisingly above from the centre of the parachute ceiling.  In a flash of thunder and strobe lightning our heroine enters, crying inconsolably in the rain, to tell us that this is a show about happiness. 

The opening auto-harp strains of her inaugural wistful song about laughter, tears and “wonderful wonderful life” are soon joined by her aforementioned 5-piece backing group, the Siren Effect Orchestra, on traditional marching-band instruments, subsequently taking their places at the more modern equipment set up upstage, in their little white sailors hats and stripy shirts. 

Having composed herself well enough to declare that she feels as though she’s travelled for three hundred years in the search for true love, it becomes apparent that the real purpose of this production is to hopefully find herself some of that magical but frustratingly elusive true love that the old folktales are always banging on about.  To this end she selects a few potential contenders out of the audience, based on not entirely flattering criteria, to undergo her unique method of examination to determine their true eligibility. 

This is just the beginning of a stupendous, multi-media odyssey that simply has to be seen to be comprehended. A range of inflatable props and ingenious special effects, such as the mobile dancing sea-rock, complement Meow Meow’s audacious act without ever upstaging her – as if that were even possible.

A couple of unfortunate technical failures don’t detract from the entertainment for very long … far from it in fact.  There are numerous levels to her mind-bendingly meta-performance, between gentle storytelling, almost-classical pantomime, introspective philosophising and frank realism, often switching between each other so quickly it’ll make your head swim, no pun intended.

Not to give any more away than necessary, the emergence of her eventual masculine love-interest (Chris Ryan) has to be disclosed in order to commend his excellent semi-majestic contribution to the ensuing extravaganza. 

Meanwhile, the eclectic range of the band’s phenomenal live soundtrack is a worthy match for Meow Meow’s capricious (read: schizoid) performance, as together they belt out ballad after anthem after woeful lament, each as rich, musically layered and crescendous as the last.

For all its humour and irreverent shock-value, at the end of it all as we wander into the Festival Garden twilight, my friend and I both find ourselves seriously pondering the question of ‘true love’ in relation to our own lives.  And did our plucky little fish-lady find hers?  Only one way to find out… 

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