Applauding the Nazis? …really?

“Whose side are you guys on?”

It’s a cheeky, fourth-wall breaking dig that Operation Mincemeat throws at the audience early into its second act. A wry example of a musical that has a great deal of fun playing with the medium of theatre to tell its irreverent – yet often deeply human – account of a titular, real life intelligence operation toward the end of World War II.

“Well at least it’s not a musical” follows a little later. The nudge, nudge, wink winkery on full display.

In truth, Mincemeat barnstorms its way through a whirlwind of characters, set pieces, exposition and about-turns with such kinetic vim and theatrical invention that it brings to mind great, madcap British capers like One Man, Two Guv’nors, The Play That Goes Wrong and Noises Off. Throw on top a dizzyingly eclectic score that cycles through rap, dance, more conventional musical theatre fare and even some Minchin and Miranda-esque sing-speak, and surely it’s a briefing for an absolute cluster bomb of a misfire?

Miraculously, Operation Mincemeat not only succeeds in spinning so many disparate plates, but it positively soars in doing so. David Cumming, Felix Hagan, Natasha Hodgson and Zoë Roberts’ bayonet-sharp book and lyrics not only keep things moving at a relentless pace, but also launch a veritable artillery of physical comedy, slapstick, farce, satire, historical illumination, song and dance and somehow, just somehow, underpin the whole thing with real poignancy and emotional clout.

“Despite the excellent humour, the stakes feel real, and there’s plenty of pathos tucked away throughout.”

As mentioned, it tells the story of the ‘you couldn’t write it’ (James Bond scribe Ian Fleming is in there, don’t you know) IRL mission undertaken by British intelligence to deceive Hitler into moving troops out of Sicily for the subsequent invasion by the Allied Forces.

Despite the excellent humour, the stakes feel real, and there’s plenty of pathos tucked away throughout. It takes time to highlight the unsung contribution of the secretaries and women of the era. It asks questions of the dehumanising choices made out of wartime necessity.

And, in what is one of the show’s standout and celebrated sequences, gradually ripples back the deception and artifice to shine a light on those left behind when their loved ones go to war.

But it never feels laden or heavy-handed. For every sombre, singular spotlight of ‘Dear Bill’ there is the europop, clubland silliness of ‘Das Übermensch’ (“goose-step to the left, jump to the far right”). It’s no minor miracle in and of itself that the show avoids feeling like a complete tonal haywire, and serves up its silly and funny just as effortlessly as it does its history and heart.

It is in no small part thanks to a terrific company on multi-role, gender-flipping duty throughout that the current tour of Mincemeat is such a resoundingly successful operation. Five talented performers carry the entirety of this frenetic beast on their backs, sometimes switching out characters live on stage with a yank of a suit or a drop of a pair of glasses. Resident director David Firas-Robles keeps the transitions and movement slick and punchy, and again his cast come up aces here.

All five are fantastic, though Jamie-Rose Monk and Christian Andrews get some of the meatiest chameleonic work. Monk tackles some of the toughest, rapid-fire wordplay with gusto as the no-nonsense Colonel overseeing the whole affair, and elsewhere is hilarious as our slightly hapless, profusely sweaty man in Spain. Andrews is side-splitting in a number of terrifically colourful supporting parts, including a ridiculously odious pathologist (a personal favourite) and a dim-witted American pilot who unwittingly threatens to upend the whole affair.

“…it’s in his measured, gradually disarming turn as administrative matron Hester that Andrews threatens to steal the whole show.”

But it’s in his measured, gradually disarming turn as administrative matron Hester that Andrews threatens to steal the whole show and delivers a real show-stopper of a supporting turn. The aforementioned ‘Dear Bill’ will surely become a seminal example of character study and storytelling through song, and the uniqueness with which musical theatre can run the full gamut of exposition and emotion all at once.

Visually and technically, this touring production is a showy beast. There are flashier set pieces and stagecraft littered throughout, but designer Ben Stones and lighting chief Mark Henderson truly go to town in a show-stopping finale that features one of the single best set design gags of recent memory. The only slight quibble in the performance reviewed was some occasionally inconsistent sound, including at a fairly pivotal plot point involving a submarine where key chunks of dialogue dipped in and out of audibility.

As a live combat exercise in utilising the unique strengths and opportunities of musical theatre to tell a wholly original take on a very real story, Operation Mincemeat is a triumph and deserves all the medals, statues and plaques. Marketing for the show proudly boasts is as being ‘the best reviewed show in West End history’, and it isn’t difficult to see why. Regularly hilarious, crammed with witty, cutting, satirical and honest storytelling that shines a light on its history and humanity both, your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to take some shore leave to catch Operation Mincemeat, post-haste.