Remarkably, and shockingly, it was only in 1980 that being gay was decriminalised in New York. Against the backdrop of a small cabaret club’s back room, the pressure to conform to social, creative and romantic expectations all come to the fore in this immaculately staged, devastatingly moving work.
Midnight at the Never Get, penned by Mark Sonnenblick, focuses upon cabaret singer Trevor Copeland, whom we find, as the show opens, performing a very special version of his regular cabaret show Midnight, as this one is in honour of Arthur Brightman (Ben Platt), acclaimed songwriter and, it becomes clear, Trevor’s lover (Gregor Milne). Over 100 minutes, the piece then weaves, through music, the story of the pair’s relationship, and how it becomes eroded as a result of Arthur’s creative aspirations, and the struggle to reconcile with their place as two marginalised gay men singing about gay love at a time when to do so was a crime.
What this version of ‘Midnight’ slowly becomes is a cathartic piece, a vessel for Trevor to unpack and explore the beauty of his romance with Arthur, before it seemingly collapses. Yet the beauty of this production is not just in the richness of its storytelling of their relationship, but in the execution of its long-lasting impact upon Trevor too. As Sonnenblick’s book unfolds, under David Cromer’s accomplished direction, Platt provides subtle hints that this is not the performance Trevor initially claims it is; where interactions with the past and present collide with such chaotic force, the stability of Trevor’s character and his mind is called into question.
As Trevor, Platt is extraordinary, initially as the flamboyant showman, holding the completely engrossed audience’s attention as he, decked out in a strikingly plush copper tuxedo, navigates his past with Arthur. In this gorgeously intimate setting designed by Scott Pask, with the theatre transformed into a cabaret club, with small tables and chairs, and plush bench seating, it is the proximity to Platt’s Trevor, and his pain, that makes the production so captivating. Platt’s musical performances are, as expected, outstanding, but it is the richness of the emotion which pours out of these works which makes the piece so powerful.
Alongside Platt, Gregor Milne thrives as the piano-playing songwriter Arthur. Arthur is at pains to make it clear that his sexuality, at a time when it defines him legally, does not define him personally, with his desire to keep his sexuality ‘in the bedroom’ one that puts him at odds, on occasions, with Trevor. Arthur’s fury bleeds into his piano playing, and this shines through in Milne’s extraordinary performance, clearly an accomplished pianist but also a superb actor, capturing the fury that deflects his internal conflict with aplomb. It is Arthur’s creative and personal decisions that leave Trevor so desperate and pained, with Milne’s depiction supported by Heather Gilbert’s lighting design, gorgeous throughout but particularly striking as Arthur finds himself more isolated and estranged from Trevor, fading into the dim light as he sits at his piano.
Largely, Midnight at the Never Get hovers around the ‘great’ mark, yet it is the arrival of Barry James (though with no spoilers here) which catapults the production into perfection. It is through this moment, in the piece’s stunning final 15 minutes, that it becomes clear just how much care and attention has been woven into every performance and design choice, building to a devastating and empowering conclusion.
Midnight at the Never Get is an extraordinary triumph of theatre, combining the rich entertainment of cabaret with the close intimacy of theatre to produce a terrifically powerful and memorable outcome. While the production never shies away from exploring abruptly and brutally the painful, dangerous oppression for LGBTQ+ individuals at the time, the production combines this with telling a beautiful, devastating love story which is both blossomed and doomed by music.
