Pot Noodle: The Musical

It is a truth not always universally acknowledged that it is possible for a musical to be drivel even if it is based on a work of Shakespeare. Pot Noodle—read Hamlet—The Musical ensures that no one can be left in any doubt of such a possibility.

Much hype has surrounded the launch of what has to be said is one of the more competently acted of the sundry musicals on offer at the Fringe. But it is not an innovative storyline drawing press attention here, nor is there a West-End star to lure the crowds to fair generic Northern-English industrial town, where we lay our scene. No, Pot Noodle: The Musical has acquired its notoriety by being the first production at the Fringe to have been commissioned, bought, paid for—call it what you will—not by a single man in possession of a good fortune, but by a honking great corporation.

I am not one for spreading conspiracy theories; I tend to always think the best of people – even Tesco. While laying out my stall, it is perhaps important to note here that I am not even in the habit of reading The Guardian. But this is disgusting.

Without wishing to go off on a self-indulgent tangent about what the Fringe means to me, suffice it to say, a high budget, over-publicised advert paid for by Unilever does not fit into my Edinburgh idyll.

Discussing this musical in too much depth is certainly perpetuating a pointlessness: it merely effects Pot Noodle’s desired outcome. However, the trite and hackneyed script, which flits between the absurd and the illogical, reassures reason.

This is Reeves and Mortimer surrealism without originality or context. It is an exposition piece for a cast of aspiring actors who are using the production solely as a passage to greater things – the lengthy biographies in the programme say as much.

With such personal interest and wholesale commercialism at its heart, Pot Noodle is a selfish piece that fails either to intrigue or amuse the palate but certainly manages to leave a nasty taste in the mouth.