Gurpreet Kaur Bhatti “Choir”, Chichester Festival Minerva Theatre

Singing is one of the most affirmative acts people can enjoy together. Bhatti’s play with music addresses how those who’ve rarely or hesitantly sung, can be nurtured by those who have, or do; and very nearly made it their careers. It’s a play not just of second chances but second lives. It is though both wryly truthful and  even when big breaks occur, there’s a price that may, or may not, be worth paying. The media, notably here the BBC, aren’t spared: the merciless exposure of their ‘creatives’ you feel is grounded in truth.

Laura Checkley leads as Morgan, who dreamed of song-writing and formed a duo with huge singing talent Paul (James Gillan) at university. After a period writing where their protest songs never struck many chords, Paul went on to the West End. However, as Laura said “we were not chosen” and now Paul does voiceovers. Laura went to FE. Her choir might give everyone a first or second shot. Outrageously diva-ish Paul, flash-dance-witted, viper-tongued but also warm-hearted is realised by Gillan so marvellously you feel it’s outrageous he isn’t topping the bill. Even if his boyfriend would still prove elusive.

Checkley’s Morgan is conflicted another way; brought out as Morgan moves from calming everyone’s insecurities, to blowing her top; and concealing perilous compromises she’s had visited on her in pre-emptory texts. The BBC’s One Show have offered them a slot because the choir’s trying to raise enough money for newbie talent Freddie (Keenan Munn-Francis) to go to music college.

This speaks to a condition unthinkable 30 years ago, where a grant would have ensured it. Now it’s a TV-worthy cause. Munn-Francis’ finely shaded Freddie is also on the spectrum: “People… are too much for me” he confides to sympathetic Anna.  But he also can’t understand why telling the blunt truth about pathological liar Sheila or indeed reading off a text message of Anna’s, can prove such a devastating faux pas.

Bhatti ensures each of the eight-strong cast is strongly realised, each with their signing spotlight; yet shrewdly only lets as much of their lives into the room as a choir would. Everything else is tethered outside, except with the lead couple where one late throw-away ”I love you” is answered after a beat in Morgan’s “Not the kind that matters.”

Alison Fitzjohn’s Joy with her superbly off-kilter pronouncements is outstanding. Forever yoked with neighbour and lifetime frenemy Esther (Danielle Henry) who only wants affection but is prone to self-sabotage, Fitzjohn’s eruptions and phrasings are a demotic delight. Henry bounces off Fitzjohn like a puppy and yet forges a path as peacemaker to Joy’s rampant disruptions, all the while offering ‘helpful’ critiques. It all centres round a “symbolic” Frida Kahlo backdrop and the shortest poem.

With this crew brewing, it’s hardly surprising one of the greatest laughs erupts when when one simile drops on a senior royal. Or subtler moments when Anna gently ripostes a remark of Freddie’s.

Indeed nowhere is Bhatti’s skill in characterising choir members in half-lights and full glare more in evidence when with Sheila (sparkling Annie Wensak, self-deluding sprite incarnate).  Sheila first enters on roller-skates though she can’t skate; and on a bicycle she’s locked herself onto. Sheila’s continuing fantasias and (like Joy) inappropriate remarks detonate throughout. Yet Bhatti’s laid a groundwork with each character noting where they’ve seen a flyer. Sheila’s “at the police station” for instance is left hanging.