The Stage

Frank and Dolly

Published Friday 17 August 2007 at 12:15 by Nick Awde

It was Dolly’s bad kedgeree the night before last, you see. Frank has just projectile-vomited around the ballroom and that’s got him and Dolly disqualified from the dance competition. He’s now taken shame-faced refuge in a broom cupboard with only a bucket for company. Dolly, whose magnificent ball gown has taken the brunt of the emission, sits resignedly outside the locked door. The fact that she can’t cook and he can’t dance seems to be the point at which we’ve joined them in the argument. Oh, and Frank would also appear to be a woman under the soiled top hat and tails.

This is Blackpool, it’s the International Ballroom Dancing Competition and this is - correction - was the amateur couple’s chance at the big one. It’s a dream come true - for Dolly at least - but Frank’s now wondering whether he’s just along for the ride. Cue a reappraisal of their relationship, both on and off the dance floor, via lovers’ tiffs, Dolly’s mum’s fat arse and who dances better on the ceiling, Fred or Gene - all of which provides some achingly funny-sad exchanges.

As Dolly, Dillie Keane pleads and wheedles in gruff Lancs tones, hiding her hurt, as Lizzie Hopley’s Frank, aggressively vulnerable, vents howls of frustration from the other side of the door. Sarah Chew’s skilful direction runs with the chemistry generated by the duo, who are compelling and an utter pleasure to watch, as when their characters remember the first time they danced, creating a sympathetic lump in your throat.

You have to keep reminding yourself that these are two actors who cannot see each other the whole time they are onstage, even though we can see every facial tic and fleck of vomit on each. Hopley’s script is also a delight - predictable to be sure, but funny-sad, bitter-sweet, touching all the way and laced with lashings of northern soul - a TV special surely beckons.