A glamorous blonde dies tragically young, her country plunges into inconsolable grief whilst her husband watches on seeming more concerned with the loss of personal popularity her passing will cost him. Not that insane month when half of Britain seemed to put on a hair shirt and beat its collective chest after the untimely death of Diana, Princess of Wales and self-styled Queen of Hearts, but turn the clock back more than half a century to a world having barely emerged blinking from six years of hell and slaughter. Argentina 1952 and the woman known to the poor impoverished, working classes as “Santa Evita” and to the rich, powerful elite that have run this country as a whore and slut, sleeping her way from the gutter to the stars, who has stripped them of the industries they controlled, succumbs at 33 to cancer amid a cacophony of caterwauling and muted celebration. Add to this a Hitler-worshipping husband who has made strange bedfellows of unions and the military to take control of the Argentine, and you have unlikely basis for one of the most successful musicals of all time, now returning to the London stage for the first time in more than twenty years.
From the Gods, one realises what a compact theatre the Adelphi is and waiting for the curtain to rise the thought goes through the mind of how the production might bring to mind the massive political rallies that a so much a part of Evita. Pictures of the 1978 original staring Elaine Paige and David Essex show crowds of extras unfurling banners as the crowds of Evita’s loyal descamisadoes storm Buenos Aires. Likewise the Alan Parker’s big screen version starring Madonna is still fresh in the mind, the limitations of the stage little consideration when Hollywood provides the backdrop. As the lights dim and the orchestra begins the powerfully moving lament that is “Requiem for Evita”, director Michael Grandage gets round the problem with the simple expedient of projecting original footage of Eva funeral footage against the curtain, which then rises to the funeral possession of the illegitimate, and invisible, Eva Duerte’s middle-class father. It is the rejection by her father’s true family that was said to stoke Eva’s life-long hatred for the middle-class and her determination to rise above them. First step on her horizontal rise through the ranks of the Argentinean class system is the second-rate tango singer Augutin Magaldi. Petite and brunette, the precocious Eva snares Magaldi as a meal ticket from her backwoods home to the bright lights of Buenos Aires. Once there Elena Roger, the first Argentinean to play Evita (remember this play was banned at the time of opening and has NEVER been performed there) comes into her own in the role. Diminutive of height, this sassy, sexy Latin, all flashing wide smile, more teeth than a photo finish at the Derby, and sparkling eyes, brings it all into the performance of “Goodnight and Thank You”, as she sees a succession of ever-more influential lovers in and out of her apartment, making full use of the magnificent set as she flounces across the balcony in a succession of flimsy nightgowns. A slight discordance in the higher notes the only minus point.
Credit to the choreographers, particularly for their interpretation of Juan Peron’s simultaneous political rise. Circulating each other warily, one by one the plotting army officers engage each other in a deadly tango with their opponent, the numbers diminishing as each is sent scuttling. Philip Quast, a bull of a man much in the mould of Peron himself, triumphs at the last, waving a white handkerchief before claiming victory with a surreptitious knee to the groin.
The Perons plot their way to the top, “If I hadn't thought, if I hadn't known. We would take the country?”, the fascist Juan Peron’s constant removal of his suit jacket as a sign of his solidarity with the downtrodden workers scarily reminiscent of our own St Tony’s habit of doing something similar. Elsewhere there a knowing references such as during the elections when the ensemble march past a ballot box, the men stuffing their slips in as they pass whilst the women, disenfranchised in this macho land, look on longingly. For all her faults, Evita could at least be credited with inaugurating Women’s Suffrage in Argentina.
Of course there is one tune in this play that all await and as Act II opens, the monumental, triple-sided set now depicting the Casa Rosada, though a cloud of dry ice a vision in white appears, the people’s saviour giving a heartfelt plea to still be thought of as one of their own. The incongruity of this, the Christian Dior clad and diamond draped Evita, still part of that stepped upon lower strata of society is as much part of this for the ambiguity of Evita, still adored and abhorred in equal measure by many in Argentina, is key to a true understanding of her legacy.
The politics are never far away and never more so in "And the Money Kept Rolling In (and Out)" set piece. From a plethora of trunk huge wads of banknotes are distributed willy-nilly to the poor, dreaming like lottery participants of an easy escape from their poverty. Flinging the money left, right and centre Eva, however, is not presented as Robin Hood, taking from their rich and giving to the poor. As she gazing on watching her people celebrating her largesse she looks radiant, but not because her works have freed these people from their drudgery, but at the magnificent of herself. Disconcertingly she brings to mind Margaret Thatcher, smiling benignly, even clutching her hands in the same manner as the Iron Lady. Amidst the dancers whirling around her, she stands aloft before depositing her jewellery and a few surplus notes in one of the trunks.
Her impeding death hangs over the final proceedings and like all good actresses Evita takes her time in dying, but at the moment of passing rather than the maudlin exit, one has grown used to we have a full blown montage with full company in a reprise of all that has gone before, Eva’s bed spun round at breakneck pace. At last it comes to rest and the audience realises Eva has gone, the bed draped with the Argentinean flag as it becomes Evita’s coffin and the cast trudge past as if it were a lying in state. Not for Evita an easy farewell, for ghostlike she reappears on the balcony for one last swansong.
Last word though belongs to Matt Rawle’s Che, a character who throughout has added comment, criticism and question to Eva’s inexorable transformation into Evita, at times appalled and enthralled by the heroine. Too often productions have equated this character with Che Guevara, though here he returns to his intended position as Argentinean Everyman but, call me pedantic, is it really necessary to explain what became of Evita’s body after her death. That is best left for another story, perhaps Santa Evita by Tomas Eloy Martinez.

Pedancy aside this is a cracking production, the critics may have been fawning over Elena Roger in the title role and rightfully so, but this is a true team victory, each member of the company fully deserving of the long ovation at the curtain call. Add an inspired choreographer, music to a Latin rather than rock beat, Christopher Oram’s evocative set and of course Michael Grandage’s direction and this production should be due a long run on word of mouth alone. Word of caution, do not go in thinking you are getting a straight reprise of the Madonna film version, this is something different altogether.