A Spoonful of Sherman

Review by Michelle Olley

I always used to wonder what was my Proust’s madeleine - what trigger would cause an unexpected flood of multi-sensory memory? Robert J Sherman’s A Spoonful Of Sherman sets out its stall as both a trip down memory lane and a peek behind the wizard’s curtain from the get go. Not quite a musical, nor a concert, this show tells the tale of the Sherman showbusinessdynasty. It begins with songwriting father Al, beavering away in the 1920s hit factories of Tin Pan Alley. His sons, known in the trade as The Sherman Brothers, go on to create some of the most iconic music of the 20th century for Walt Disney studios and many more.
And by chim chimminy, are those tunes memorable. Fully anticipating a bit of the old recherché du temps perdu, I went with my musicals-loving sister, who thanks to distance/work/family realness I almost never get to myself these days. We spent that rare and precious evening nudging and side-eyeing each other as ‘our’ songs came tumbling from the stage. Alison was always more of a Mary Poppins girl, while I was obsessed with Jungle Book (though she reminded me my biggest Disney Songbook obsession was with Feed the Birds, which apparently, was Walt’s favourite too).

ASpoonfulofSherman.com - info & tour dates

Author and songwriter Robert J Sherman (Son of Sherman brother Robert B) created this show - on the road in various forms since 2014 - as a definitive telling of his family story. In its current incarnation, the five performers do a stand up job of bringing this incredible songbook to life, with two pianos, high energy performances fizzing with good old fashioned razzamatazz and ingenious arrangements. They’re a finely cast balance of youth, talent and experience. In a non-stop, high energy production, Sophie-Louise Dann’s West End chops shine out, particularly in her solo spots, while Jenna Innes’ voice adds something very special, pure and ‘Disney’ to proceedings. Seriously, someone give this kid a cartoon princess to trill over, pronto. The boys each bring something special to the yard too - Glen Facey has the nimble energy of a young Fred Astaire, Ben Stock brings oodles of musicianship, showcraft and a disarmingly old-school, goofy charm, while Mark Read’s A1 boyband origin story is soon forgotten as he transforms into a young Dean Martin-esque, swoonsome crooner (or cheeky chimney sweep. It’s theatre. Take your pick). 

Jenna Innes was responsible for my madeleine moment. You forget some things on purpose, don’t you? My Own Home comes at the end of the Jungle Book, when Mowgli is lured away from his animal adventures by a singing girl fetching water for her mother in the village. I felt all those kids’ feels again - that haunting, immaculate melody, coupled with a sinking realisation that your blameless childhood shenanigans aren’t forever, and that eventually the ‘real world’ of gender, work, responsibility takes us all. (And also that song came with the knowledge that the movie’s nearly finished). That’s what the best songs do - connect. Go get yourself a spoonful of childhood fuzzies - the real world can wait for one evening…

A Spoonful of Sherman is touring the UK and Ireland until June. Go - and take your sibling/s or your inner child along too. 

Michelle Olley x

The show has work from all three generations - glad to say the show’s author and youngest Sherman’s original compositions also fill those big boots with moxy and aplomb - look out for Ben Stock’s kookytastic rendition of the Crunchy Crackers song. There’s plenty of other top drawer, rarely heard gems, but it’s hard for them to compete with the Oscar winning childhood classics on show here. It’s an artfully threaded together story, without too much embroidery on the ins and outs of the Sherman family (for a more detailed biography, Robert J also edited his father’s autobiography Moose). In places, it felt like the audience at the packed out Greenwich Theatre weren’t sure if they should be singing along or passively taking in the historical narrative (it wasn’t Press Night, or a typically frosty London crowd), which was possibly more on them/us than the show, because everyone was singing and swaying by the end - and the cheers and standing ovation suggest we all got over ourselves by the end.