Beautiful Little Fool at Southwark Playhouse

“I hope she’ll be a fool. That’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool,” was the wish Daisy Buchanan had for her daughter in Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby. A moment of self-awareness that speaks about a society where women were reduced to one thing and one thing only, certainly not praised for their intelligence. All these years later, the endless fascination with the book might only be surpassed by the fascination with its author and his wife, Zelda, who was a talented writer herself.

Directed by Michael Greif, with music and lyrics by Hannah Corneau and book by Mona Mansour, Beautiful Little Fool has an intriguing premise: to put Scottie, Scott and Zelda’s daughter, centre stage, allowing her to tell her story and that of her famous parents, about whom much has already been said. The musical, unfortunately, fails to add anything new or original to the conversation. Its beating heart is difficult to locate, mostly because the writing merely scratches the surface, with desires and intentions often explained rather than shown.

Some of the best moments are owed to the cast, particularly Lauren Ward’s subtle acting: her expressions, reverie and grief, as she stands behind and watches her parents party, fall in love and, later, argue and grow apart –all the love, compassion and regret. Amy Parker, who replaced Hannah Corneau, is also convincing as Zelda, and her interactions with Ward offer some of the most poignant scenes, with one thing gradually becoming clear: the mother/daughter relationship could have been the emotional thread of the musical. Perhaps it was meant to be, but it is hard to tell. The complex bond is not explored nearly as deeply as it deserves.

Characterisation is frustratingly poor. From the beginning, it is unclear who the protagonist actually is and what the play wants to be. By the end, the audience does not really know Scottie or her parents any better. When, before walking out, a teary-eyed Scottie admits to the audience that she now sees the truth, that her parents loved her, one might wonder: was this the point, the culmination of her arc? Was Scottie, who we still know little about, truly feeling this way about them?

The songs, on the other hand, do not contribute much. For a play set in the “Roaring Twenties”, the music neither seduces nor moves. Factual and unimaginative, most of the numbers are forgettable at best. For example, Scottie’s fascinating explanation of the origins of the Lost Generation, where the name came from, is followed by a song, The Lost Generation, that consists of more or less one repeated line.

There are occasional glimpses of what it could have been: a tender moment with Scottie visiting her mother at the institution where she was living, Zelda teaching her daughter how to curl her hair. More scenes like that, of genuine interaction rather than overexplaining, would have added depth to the story and allowed the character to come to life.