I was born too late for Dr Feelgood, though I have fond memories of seeing their original guitarist Wilko Johnson perform his one and only set at Glastonbury in 2015. Gurning aplenty while playing the guitar with his trademark performance style, the rock and roll legend – who was diagnosed with terminal cancer in 2012 but went on to live for another decade – is honoured in a play which very much commemorates his unashamed immaturity, but struggles to strike a chord when it comes to his profound spirituality.
Appearing first with a halo above his head, and his hands splayed out by his side, Johnson Willis (Amélie) is presented like a preacher from the play’s opening under Dugald Bruce-Lockhart’s direction, and he leans into this persona well. He swoons over his love of astronomy (not astrology) and the universe, and hails the liberation that comes with the certainty of death. He’s enlightened, erudite, and blessed with a new perspective (even though Johnson would reject the religious imagery as a man of science), with his childish humour intact. So what led to such a rebellious individual to make a decision as rebellious as to decline treatment for his cancer, and embrace death so enthusiastically?
After all, Jonathan Maitland’s (The Interview) biography teases a moment at which Wilko acquires a new perspective on existentialism – an intellectual awakening, if you will – which explains this choice, yet even at university, he’s given dialogue which carries the indignation of a five-year-old as he storms out of his teaching job. He reveals his interest in another woman to his wife because he thinks it would please her, he falls to the floor several times in a tantrum when his emotions get the better of him, and we are led to believe this is the same individual who can later grapple with the overwhelming idea that his days are numbered.
Indeed, rather than offer up a logical answer to the aforementioned question – that the passing of his childhood sweetheart Irene could have been a key influence on his embrace of death – Maitland relies on bizarre dream sequences (one induced under anaesthesia of Irene, and the other unprompted of his band mate Lee Brilleaux, with whom he didn’t have the smoothest of relationships) as exposition and to have Wilko make peace with outstanding conflicts and anguish in his life. A joke about the scenes coming across as “A Christmas Carol but with guitars and cancer” gets a laugh, but tragically it can also serve as a criticism of this very plot point. It’s completely incongruous to deploy this fantastical device in a story about a man who regularly professes his love for the contemporaneous and the factual.
And it’s particularly frustrating when Bruce-Lockhart’s vision otherwise succeeds in displaying a number of pleasing creative juxtapositions. While Willis dons the classic black suit and trousers, he fawns over the orange glow of the local oil refinery and golden snow in Japan. When Dr Feelgood give their first performance on stage together, against Nicolai Hart-Hansen’s part surgery room, part swishy stage backdrop – starting from a catchy guitar riff to a full-blown song, in a rare case of smooth narrative progression – it lights up in slick technicolour. Contrasts such as these complement the real-life instances of Wilko breaking away from tradition, such as studying English Literature but rejecting the elitism and formalities that surround such a degree.
Perhaps the biggest contradiction, though, comes with Wilko rejecting the notion that Maitland’s script is a “jukebox musical” – he insists it’s a “play with music”. Except, after an abrupt ending in which our protagonist underscores once again the ecstasy of life, without sufficiently signposting us to the lessons he learned which brought him to such an epiphany, we’re given a number of Dr Feelgood tracks to bring the show to a close. And although Jon House is brilliant as the frantic harmonica-playing Brilleaux, and Willis perfectly embodies Wilko’s sophistication while playing the guitar, it does fall into tribute act territory in its final moments.
Ultimately, I am mindful of the fact that I am not of the age to have been brought up on Wilko’s discography, and therefore I suspect those more familiar with his work and music will enjoy the nostalgia trip. It is an admirable tribute, but when Maitland’s previous works have sparked new questions around old faces, it’s disappointing Wilko does not go far enough to unearth interesting ideas on mortality that are sparked by Wilko’s extraordinary life.
★★★
Wilko is now playing at Queen’s Theatre Hornchurch until 24 February.
Audio description is available for all remaining performances, with a dementia friendly performance taking place on 15 February.
Production Images: Mark Sepple.
Disclaimer: I was invited to watch ‘Wilko’ for free in exchange for a review of the performance as a member of the press. I did not receive payment for this article, and all opinions stated above are honest and my own.
Liam O'Dell 