Tackling one of musical theatre’s greatests well, greatest, can often prove a double-edged razor.

Pull it off, and the plaudit of ‘masterpiece’ is yours. Misfire – or even worse, miscast – and you risk a stagey hindenburg from audience expectation alone.

Of course, reviving Sondheim has never really been out of vogue. In recent years, the likes of Marianne Elliott’s gender-flipped Company, or Jordan Fein’s more sinister Into the Woods at the Bridge Theatre have scooped up audiences, critical acclaim and Oliviers alike.

Yet by any metric, a decadent, bombastic staging of one of his most ubiquitous hits, Sweeney Todd, is an ambitious undertaking as an in-house piece for the Birmingham Rep.

The first sign that Artistic Director Joe Murphy was onto a good thing came with the announcement of West End and Broadway favourite Ramin Karimloo as the titular antihero. Throw in an inspired but slightly out of left field choice for Mrs Lovett in international cabaret artist, Meow Meow, and multi-Olivier winner David Bedella poached as Judge Turpin, and if nothing else, audiences knew they were going to get vocals.

Perhaps the biggest and most welcome surprise then, is the grandiosity and sheer scale with which Murphy and his creative team have forged this Sweeney to meet the wattage of talent on stage.

Elin Steele’s imposing staging is a thing of stark, harsh monochrome majesty. A tapestry of Lucifer’s fall gives way to the ever-looming presence of a colossal Lady Justice, sitting centre in the Rep’s already sizeable stage. Here is a London akin to a grand, unyielding courtroom, with justice, revenge and judgement all bloodily intertwined. Morality is, naturally, various permeations of grey. And much of Rory Beaton’s haunting work underlights proceedings – not least of all the almost Brechtian chorus who intermittently chant Sondheim’s tale to the audience.

This is sweeping, operatic musical theatre of a scale and quality scarcely seen even in such established and excellent spaces as the Rep. The likes of which would not feel out of place in the likes of the London Coliseum.

“This is sweeping, operatic musical theatre of a scale and quality scarcely seen even in such established and excellent spaces as the Rep.”

For those unfamiliar with the broad strokes of Sweeney Todd’s tale, it is a ‘musical thriller’ following the thirst for revenge from a wrongly convicted barber (Ramin Karimloo), who returns to London in the hopes of reuniting with his family and righting those who wronged him. Unsurprisingly, things have changed during his fifteen years in the penal colonies, and the down-on-his-luck Todd ends up lodging, and later co-conspiring, with the eccentric Mrs Lovett (Meow Meow), proprietor of a shop selling ‘The Worst Pies in London’. Together, they settle upon a nefarious fusion of their purposes, as Todd begins providing customers with a barber’s visit so sharp they end up spiking the sales of Lovett’s baked horrors.

Widely regarded as one of Sondheim’s finest accomplishments – itself no faint praise – whilst many may be familiar with the 2007 Tim Burton film adaptation featuring Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter, it is on the stage where Sweeney truly soars. Almost entirely musically underscored and featuring a bloody, funny lashing of complex characters, intricate storytelling and, naturally, fantastic songs, there’s no understating how good a quality production of Sweeney Todd can be.

The extra character beats afforded on stage (such as a truly repulsive solo number from Judge Turpin) are so viscerally leant into here by Murphy and the cast that it makes this iteration both lighter and darker at once. It is frequently funny, not least owing to some of the perfectly realised supporting turns such as Julius D’Silva’s scene-stealing, odious bootlick, Beadle Bamford, or Silas Wyatt-Barke as a venal rival barber. Jack Gibson delivers a beautiful renditon of young ‘Toby’s’ ‘Not Whilst I’m Around’, whilst Meow Meow is having tremendous fun throughout with a kaleidoscopic, whirlwind Mrs Lovett who runs the full gamut from eccentric to haunting and every shade in between. A quiet moment where she offers a glimpse at her true, pathetic self, hunched over and untangling her hairpiece, is masterful and unnerving in its simplicity and rawness; this opportunistic, manipulative devil exposed as just another broken shell pushed to ever more desperate measures.

At just shy of 3 hours, it’s a testimony to Murphy’s taut direction and the cast’s chemistry that the time flies by. For certain, there are places where sub-plots such as young sailor Anthony’s (a spirited Shem Omari Jones, in fine voice) longing for Todd’s stolen daughter Johanna (Jo Stephenson, also delivering beautiful vocals) can languish, or it serves up a reprise or incidental number that could probably be cut (pun intended) without the show suffering for it. But Murphy and company keep things moving (quite literally), with the excellent use of levels on Steele’s monolithic staging coupled, with the tremendous performances, meaning it all rarely lulls.

“His utterly roof-raising ‘Epiphany’ is a blistering reminder of just how good he is…”

Which leaves the tale of Sweeney Todd himself. Already a firm musical theatre favourite, Karimloo boasts the likes of Phantom, Miss Saigon and multiple roles in Les Mis on his MT rap sheet. He unsurprisingly takes to the conflicted rage and reserve, and booming baritone of Todd like a silver blade to the jugular. There is a stillness and dignity here, too, even a charm, to his murderous barber, one that makes the eventual eruptions of hatred and venom all the more shaking. His utterly roof-raising ‘Epiphany’ is a blistering reminder of just how good he is, and is one of many peaks of a titanic central turn.

So get Sondheim right and you have a surefire hit on your hands.

It’s a credo that Murphy and his team have ran with, serving up an epic, uncompromising, raw and full-throated Sweeney. Karimloo and Meow Meow more than earn their (mouldy, dry) crust, delivering a pair of knockout performances as fantastic as they are so perfectly, complementarily different, all encapsulated in a grand, grim playground of theatrical stagecraft.

If it’s a sumptuous evening of musical theatre you are after in Birmingham this Summer, you’ll find few better options, and no closer a shave, than this razor-sharp, funny and thrilling Sweeney Todd, the gleaming showstopper off Broad Street.

It almost feels rude to wrest any sort of sociopolitical commentary into a review of The Choir of Man.

Nic Doodson and Andrew Kay’s Fringe favourite-turned-global phenomenon is such an unpatronising, nuanced beast, one that deftly avoids any overt commentary or gender politics even when they’re right there for the plucking, that it feels clunky to go there.

But there’s no shying away from it.

In a world of Incel culture horrors, heinous social media algorithms and the sobering lessons born of the likes of Adolescence, The Choir of Man is the ultimate tonic (no gin required).

Set in a microcosmic boozer (‘The Jungle’… yes, the Guns’ N’ Roses classic features) the likes of which the show opines as being something of a vanishing creed, Choir is a buoyant, irrepressible celebration and reclamation of so many things that seem to have otherwise collectedly given modern society the ick.

“…a buoyant, irrepressible celebration and reclamation of so many things that seem to have otherwise collectedly given modern society the ick.”

It is distinctly, unabashedly British with nary a trace of jingoism. It is a kaleidoscope of healthy, positive, relatable masculinity, without any lingering shadow of misogyny or toxicity.

But more than any and all of that, it’s a bloody good time with the lads.

A jukebox affair that musically bounces through everything from The Proclaimers to Sia and even Toy Story, if you strip Choir back to its brawny bones then it is, essentially, a series of vignettes brilliantly performed and winningly staged by a loveable troupe of nine very talented actor-musos.

Think of it as Six, gender-flipped, period-jumped, and plonked into your local.

From the outset, Choir of Man is an almost folksy piece, more interested in being contemplative and evoking a sense of place, or state of mind, than telling a story, per se. What inference of a narrative there is is mainly scene-setting, framing the eponymous musical troupe who take residence at ‘The Jungle’ (We didn’t know pub choirs were a thing, but on the merit seen here, sign us up!).

The Jungle’s resident poet-cum-narrator, Oluwalonimi (Nimi) Owoyemi is the warm, engaging centre of the piece, incrementally introducing us to what are the pub’s archetypal finds. There’s the ‘romantic’ who soulfully belts to Adele, the ‘hard man’ who roars John Farnham’s ‘You’re the Voice’, and even the ‘bore’, who delivers some Andy Williams, even as an audience member pulled onto the stage sits building a house of cards beside him.

Yet as the show jaunts through colourful musical numbers and a lock-in’s load of audience participation, it’s the blending of fiction and reality that truly sings. Owoyemi’s poignant, touching monologues infuse the IRL backstories, trials and dreams of the cast into the show, lending all the spirited bravura real heart and pathos. Credit to Doodson and monologues writer, Ben Norris, for the affecting work done here.

“For a show that speaks so much of community and a sense of welcome, it’s a credo that carries through to every minute of this infectious theatregoing experience.”

But if that all sounds like it’s threatening to get a little morose or self-indulgent, fear not – The Choir of Man is relentlessly cheery, upbeat and fist-pumpingly enjoyable throughout. Even before the show begins, audience members are invited to purchase a pint on stage. In the interval, the bar opens once again, with members of the cast jaunting about to chat and take selfies. For a show that speaks so much of community and a sense of welcome, it’s a credo that carries through to every minute of this infectious theatregoing experience.

A truly ensemble piece, to single out any of the remarkable lineup of principles assembled for the tour would definitely be a disservice. In the performance reviewed, all but one of the principles took to the stage, with swing member Niall Woodson on – and doing a terrific, toe-tapping job – as the ‘Handyman’. But genuinely, every single one of the company – Sam Walter, Joshua Lloyd, Gustav Melbardis, Levi Tyrell Johnson, Rob Godfrey, Aaron Pottenger, Ben Mabberley and the aforementioned Owoyemi – are tremendous. The vocals are knockout, the harmonies pitch-perfect, the character work is funny in crowd-pleasing, inoffensive fashion, the energy levels never falter and the multiple uproarious, well-earned standing ovations were amongst the most fervent and impassioned this particular reviewer has experienced in the past fifteen years. Sure, it probably could do without an extended urinal sequence but, hey, it still got the laughs.

And that’s all without going anywhere near one of the highlights of the evening, where the local, 200-strong Got2Sing choir were invited to stand and join in with the lads for a rousing reprise of ‘Chandelier’ which left nary a dry eye in the house.

In all (the gaffer just called last orders), The Choir of Man is, like any good night down the pub or simply shared with friends, a joyous remedy for whatever ails you. Brilliantly and immersively staged, boldly and tirelessly performed, it is, measure for measure, one of the most irrepressible and rhapsodic evenings of theatre you could ask for.

And at a lean, perfectly-judged 2 hours (including interval), pulsing with bonhomie and feel good to spare, it is a vibrant, energetic and rollicking good night out and, in difficult and divisive times, exactly the kind of show the world needs right now.

Note: TWE reviewed  ‘The Rocky Horror Show’ earlier in its current tour. Given that this is the same touring production, what follows is a revised version of that same review, updated for its current visit to the Alexandra Theatre.

If there was ever to be a case made for there being such a thing as a review-proof show, surely Richard O’Brien’s The Rocky Horror Show would be it.

Recent cultural juggernauts, such as Toby Marlow and Lucy Moss’ Six may nip at its (8 inch, blood-red stilettoed) heels, but those queens have almost half a Century of catching up to crack on with before they’re challenging Rocky.

The cult classic wheels back into town with its now practically annual stop at the Alexandra, Birmingham, and the usual fan fervour, audience dress up and participation shows no signs of waning. And why would they? Crowds have been donning their suspenders, singing along and lovingly heckling all things Rocky since the seventies.

The current touring production is for all intents and purposes a re-wheeling of the same slick, technicolor iteration that has been doing the rounds for the past decade or so. Hugh Durrant’s inspired fusion of gothic-lite hunting lodge fused with lashings of fifties B-movie flavouring and sci-fi provide a playground for Sue Blane’s rhinestoned costumes and Nick Richings’ decadently unsubtle and disco-infused lighting to shine.

You’ve likely seen it all before, but that is no bad thing.

What Rocky‘s latest visit boasts, however, is what is arguably one of its strongest, if not the strongest, casts in the 12 plus years that this particular reviewer has been doing a jump to the left, a step to the right… and the whole timewarp shebang. 

For its most revent visit – a pitstop at the Wolverhampton Grand back in April – an assemblage of covers and understudies were praised for putting on a great show, so be assured you’ll be getting a high voltage, sassy, sexy ride whoever dons the stage for this current production.

“Previously, Carter-Wilson impressed when understudying the role, but it is this full realisation, the role being his, where he’s really crammed it full of nervous, quirky little beats and measures all of his own.”

Birmingham’s press night boasted the full cast of principles, meaning Daisy Steere with a giddy, hyperactive and delightful Columbia, and Ryan Carter-Wilson‘s twitchy, idiosyncratic and fantastic take on the iconic Riff-Raff. Previously, Carter-Wilson impressed when understudying the role, but it is this full realisation, the role being his, where he’s really crammed it full of nervous, quirky little beats and measures all of his own. Of course, he still belts for the stratosphere when needed, but it’s in the quieter, even sillier, moments of the character that he really commands a role that has been so indelibly performed by others in the past.

Familiar faces abound as Haley Flaherty and Stephen Webb return to the roles of naive, hapless and repressed Janet, and the maniacal, freewheeling Dr. Frank ‘n Furter, respectively. Flaherty and Webb are both amongst the finest Janets and ‘Franks’ that the production has boasted over the past decade or so, and it’s a joy to have them back in these roles that fit them like taut, snapping rubber gloves. They each have plenty of fun alongside a perfectly cast James Bisp, who proves an inspired choice for Brad, and gives character to spare to the nervy, awkward yet occasionally soulful dweeb.

Morgan Jackson, similarly, stands comfortably amongst the best incarnations of the titular ‘Rocky’ creation to date. As well as acing the Charles Atlas’ seal of approval in terms of a mightily impressive physique, he also showcases killer vocals during his ‘Sword of Damocles’ solo and his portion of ‘Rose Tint My World’. And if his Rocky belts and poses for the gods, Laura Bird is equally perfect as the enigmatic and sultry Magenta.

Moments of invention and surprise are littered elsewhere, too. Jackie Clune’s female narrator does a great job with the usual schtick of injecting plenty of topical meta humour throughout (and three guesses as to which Farrage-stamped President and political party bear the brunt of these). But it is when Clune goes off on distinctly female tangents to some of the show’s trademark heckling and audience participation that we get yet newer wrinkles and spins on formula.

“…it’s particlarly impressive to see Webb still having fun and trying new things out with his Frank ‘n Furter (…leave it).”

On a similar note, it’s impressive to see such an expansive, ongoing tour and production still playing with new beats and ideas – little moments popping up that weren’t even in the show a few months ago, such as some notable playabout with panties. And the leads are still giving it their all; it’s particlarly impressive to see Webb still having fun and trying new things out with his Frank ‘n Furter (…leave it), not to mention the sheer heft he throws into the character’s mercurial bouts of passion, rage and even despair.

In all though, whether playing it safe or flirting with surprise like this current production, it’s generally very difficult to go wrong with The Rocky Horror Show. It is the same colourful, postmodern melange of mayhem and naughtiness that audiences have flocked to in cinemas and theatres alike for over fifty years.

O’Brien’s now-iconic numbers are as irresistible and entertaining as ever, and few shows can boast a toe-tapping, off-your-seat doublet as infectious as ‘Time Warp’ and ‘Sweet Transvestite’.

Whether it is your first trip over to the Frankenstein place, or your feather boas and fishnets are already weathered from their service to the pelvic thrusting of it all, The Rocky Horror Show remains a firm audience favourite, and deservedly so. This latest tour peppers itself with some fresh twists, faces new and old alike, but it’s still essentially the same beloved time warp that you’ll be having a ball of a time doing all over again.

Altogether now; it’s just a jump to the left…

 Ihave to say something exciting-

–quiet, Maggots, when I’m writing!

…Something, I’m scarcely wont to do.

Even the finest shows don’t get it,

but I give when its due,

It is the odour of exception,

It’s the rare, six star review!

And you may bet for sure,

This review-er,

Finds nothing de rigeuer,

Giving such a great score willy nilly.

And so stop the cries of scorn,

A fuller review has been born,

To show six stars for ‘Tildy isn’t silly…

Attempting to come within even a country mile of mimicking the lyrical gymnastics, rhythmic playfulness and boundless whimsy of Tim Minchin’s music for Matilda only makes you appreciate its brilliance even more. It underpins just how much lightning-in-a-bottle genius he and the other creatives behind the show captured.

The RSC‘s Olivier-gobbling smash hit, Matilda the Musical returns to the Birmingham Hippodrome for a Summer engagement this week, and it has lost precisely none of its magic, charm and potency.

On the contrary, the fizzing, boundless imagination that continues to be on display in this gorgeous, spirited touring production not only honours the seminal Roald Dahl classic off which it is based, but in many ways surpasses it. And, in delightfully Dahl fashion, it is suitably nasty, unsanitised, mean and joyful all at once. These ‘revolting’, ‘naughty’ children have it rough, and the real villains (clue: most of the adults) are despicable, and even dangerous. It’s what Dahl always managed to capture in his writings (IRL red flags aside) – to care for your protagonist and their plight, there have to be stakes.

For the remarkably talented – possibly even gifted – bookish, sweet-natured but determined Matilda, the ‘stakes’ come in the form of truly horrible, neglectful and abusive parents and the tyrannical Olympian headmistress of her new school, Agatha Trunchbull (truly a musical theatre creation for the ages). Thankfully, amidst the hardships and abuse, she has friends in the form of an encouraging librarian (Esther Niles), her newfound school friends, and her kindly, supportive teacher, Miss Honey (Tessa Kadler).

“…in delightfully Dahl fashion, it is suitably nasty, unsanitised, mean and joyful all at once.”

Those familiar with the book (or even the transatlantic 1996 Danny DeVito film adaptation) will know the broad strokes of Matilda’s tale. But on stage, Dennis Kelly’s witty, heartfelt book gives it new places to go and things to say. Matilda’s library visits as she gradually recounts a new story about an Escapologist and Gymnast ties in to both her burgeoning abilities and another major character, all the while reflecting this little girl’s own desire to be seen, wanted and loved. The villainous Trunchbull’s backstory as a hammer-throwing medalist isn’t just exposition, it informs everything from her hilarious, intimidating, top-heavy character design through to her idiosyncratic musical numbers.

What’s perhaps most remarkable about Matilda the Musical is, for all of its flights of fancy and genuinely amazing set pieces (see: an early exquisite and dextrous number revolving around the alphabet, or any time the full classroom of kids are allowed to go full throttle), it’s also a genuinely excellent piece of musical theatre. Minchin’s music has wit, wordplay and character to spare, with the soundtrack stuffed with everything from the hilarious, up-tempo samba stylings of ‘Loud’ to the instantly hummable earworm of ‘When I Grow Up’ right through to thumping, anthematic triumph of ‘Revolting Children’. Even the more conventional musical theatre fare, such as the I Want of Miss Honey’s ‘My House’, is beautiful and searing.

Front and centre of leading the charge of all this revolting excellence are a core company of incredibly talented young performers. The central role of Matilda herself is shared across the tour by Madison Davis, Mollie Hutton, Olivia Ironmonger and Sanna Kurihara, with the latter putting on a beautiful, confident leading turn in the performance reviewed. The irrepressible Bruce Bogtrotter, meanwhile, is played by one of Oison-Luca Pegg, Carter-J Murphy, Brodie Robson and Takunda Khumalo. Pegg sung, danced and sassed up an absolute storm as Bruce for press night, giving some brilliant vocals and joyous character beats.

Of the grown-ups, Tessa Kadler is the perfect Miss Honey, embodying the gentle timidity, but unleashing one hell of a belt when needed. It’s a beautiful supporting turn, perfectly contrasted by the broader, comedic strokes of Rebecca Thornhill and Samuel Leon as Matilda’s odious, yet undeniably funny, parents.

And standing padded shoulders, pleated skirts and knee-high socks over them all is the indomitable presence of Richard Hurst’s looming, almost Frankenstein-esque Agatha Trunchbull. At once both terrifying and ridiculous, towering and snivelling, Hurst’s booming, idiosyncratic turn as the Headmistress from Hell is worth the admission alone. Like Matilda’s parents, this Trunchbull is truly awful, hurling children around by their pigtails (in one – of several – of the show’s extraordinary bits of visual trickery) and it pulls no punches in her cruelty and malice. And yet, as with all great villains, there’s no denying how utterly infectious and hilarious she is to watch.

“At once both terrifying and ridiculous, towering and snivelling, Hurst’s booming, idiosyncratic turn as the Headmistress from Hell is worth the admission alone.”

As mentioned, this touring production is a stunning piece of craftsmanship. Very little, if anything, from the decorated West End production, is dialled down here, and the show’s realisation of Peter Darling’s choreography seamlessly weaving in, out of, and even swinging from, Rob Howell’s gorgeous, rich staging, feels as authentic (and even occasionally shocking – are they really swinging that far?) as ever. This feels like rich, immediate and boundless theatre.

So what more do you little squits need to be told before you convince yourselves to go and catch Matilda the Musical? Don’t make this reviewer do a riff on more of Minchin’s music… it is too damned clever to try. I’ll end up in the chokey for sure.

But thematic flourishes aside, here is a gorgeous, funny, witty and endlessly charming tale about righting wrongs, being true to yourself and the virtues of even sometimes being a little bit naughty. It’s a deliciously individual musical, with performances, songs and characters for the ages and enough flights of imagination to keep even the biggest kids enthralled.

So hopscotch, scooter or swing your way along to the Hippodrome this month for what is, measure for measure, newt for newt, one of the greatest musicals of the 21st Century.

Either that, or spend the Summer in the Chokey.

The choice is yours, Maggots.

Within the few gaps left by a rampaging horde of musicals, the good old fashioned thriller on stage still gets a relatively fair crack of the whip when it comes to the UK touring scene.

The quality, as ever, proves variable. For every prestige Christie (Murder on the Orient Express) or satisfying new chill (Paranormal Activity) there are the campy, screaming duds (Picture You Dead, anyone?).

And with pulpier churners such as Harlan Coben and Peter James doing more than their fair share of monopolising stage and screen with their conveyer belt ‘thrills’, it ironically sees the likes of a sturdy, old-fashioned John le Carré arrive feeling somehow fresh and inviting.

Based on le Carré’s breakthrough 1963 Cold War hit, The Spy Who Came in from the Cold comes to the stage courtesy of this handsome and polished David Eldridge and Jeremy Herrin adaptation. It follows weary intelligence officer, Alec Leamas (Ralf Little) as he embarks on one risky, final operation; a fake defection that hopes to ensnare a sinister German counterpart, responsible for the death of one of Leamas’ best and closest agents.

For starters, it certainly looks the part – Max Jones’ sets and costumes and Azusa Ono’s pulsing, foreboding lighting casting a gloomy, almost discomforting environ that is quite literally overshadowed by an effigy of the Berlin Wall. It’s visually arresting, for sure, perfectly striking the cold, oppressive reality of espionage of the era.

Perhaps owing to a combination of le Carré having been himself an operative for the security and intelligence forces, coupled with its age, Spy certainly carries some trappings for mordern audiences to be aware of. For one, it’s very talky, with an exposition-heavy first half in particular occasionally languishing. Similarly, with its abundance of characters, agencies, titles, pseudonyms and subterfuges, it can occasionally be thick on information and a little light on any sort of kinetic incident.

“…eye-watering (quite literally) interrogation scenes and high-stakes tribunals giving Herrin the opportunity to inject some palpable danger and propulsion to the production.”

A tighter, tenser second Act alleviates things considerably, with eye-watering (quite literally) interrogation scenes and high-stakes tribunals giving Herrin the opportunity to inject some palpable danger and propulsion to the production. And simmering beneath it all, threads of uncertainty and accusation will leave those unfamiliar with the source material likely second-guessing themselves right up to the powerful, poignant finale.

TV favourite Ralf Little is a strong centre around which the paranoia and danger can pulse. His Leamas is world-weary and suitably sardonic, yet still displays flashes of former youthful vigour and cheekiness. If it isn’t as gnarly or uncompromising a portrayal as some have gone for in the past, the odd beats of levity or comedic frankness that Little injects throughout being a welcome, sporadic puncture to a rather bleak whole.

Little is bolstered by an impressive supporting company about him, too. Peter Losasso is suitably odious as the enigmatic target of Leamas’ operation, whilst Eddie Toll commands much of the second half with an engrossing and impassioned turn as the communist deputy willing to take on his sinister superior. Tony Turner and Nicholas Murchie, meanwhile, give dignified and grounded turns as Leamas’ British seniors, never quite escaping the encroaching shadow of suspicion and uncertainty themselves.

Turner also gets to grandstand up a storm as a bloviating German defence attorney. Gráinne Dromgoole, meanwhile, is earnest and likeable as potential love interest, Liz, though her ties to the communist party and parallels with Alec’s recently-deceased agent hover ominously over her, too.

“…administers a dose of gnawing, biting cold war tension and paranoia that culminates in a devilishly tangled net of double and triple crosses, surprises and tragedy.”

As opposed to being a breakneck, rollicking thrill-ride, The Spy Who Came In From the Cold administers a dose of gnawing, biting cold war tension and paranoia that culminates in a devilishly tangled net of double and triple crosses, surprises and tragedy.

A classy, sophisticated and supremely polished piece of theatre, if it may be a little too talky or expository in places for some, stay at the very least for the finely observed performances and rich, intricate drama that leaves no great mystery as to why this is a story that remains as popular – and welcome – as ever some six decades on.

As we hunker down for another season of (somewhat controversial) Eurovision madness, Birmingham welcomes back the enduring stamp of one of its most notable and beloved alumni. Don your sunhats and snorkels, dust off those Super Trouper stomps and poses, and dig out a fresh pair of flares – the sun, sea and songs of Mamma Mia! are back.

A consummate crowd-pleaser, here is a show that audiences continue to flock to, on brand and name recognition along. Of course, a certain 2008 Meryl Streep-led Hollywood adaptation can’t have hurt.

It’s enduring popularity is no real mystery – here is a gloriously sunny, funny and uplifting tonic of a show, a story and stage experience built on good ‘bones’ and winning ideas, even before you throw Benny and Björn’s instantly recognisable earworms in. Landing in grim times of fractious politics, international conflict and such delights as cost of living crises, its unapologetic escapism and buoyancy are more welcome and infectious than perhaps ever.

For those unfamiliar with its premise, Mamma Mia! deftly weaves some of the biggest pop hits of ABBA into a fun jukebox romp that sees young Sophie (Lydia Hunt), on the eve of her wedding, attempting to discover who her father is, out of three potential candidates from mom Donna’s (Jenn Griffin) past. When all three turn up to the idyll that Donna has made for her and Sophie on a remote Greek Island, shenanigans ensue and a cluster bomb of old feelings explodes.

“…a breezy, effortlessly entertaining evening of crossed purposes, lost loves and burgeoning attractions, all hanging off of the ABBA bangers we all know and (most of us) adore.

It’s a breezy, effortlessly entertaining evening of crossed purposes, lost loves and burgeoning attractions, all hanging off of the ABBA bangers we all know and (most of us) adore. Sure, there’s the odd bit of mental gymnastics required to reframe, say, ‘The Name of the Game’ into something other than a romantic challenge, but even where the songs are almost entirely ancillary or something of a reach, they are always fun and wittily staged.

Sequences such as ‘Does Your Mother Know’ and ‘Dancing Queen’, for instance, technically do very little to advance the plot, amounting to little more than a battle of sexual wits and free spirited nostalgia, respectively. Yet they’re so energetically performed and characterfully staged, they end up being some of the best sequences of the night. It’s in the moments of unabashed fun with its colourful cadre of characters that the infectious joy of the show truly sings.

Full disclosure, though – on the basis of the performance reviewed, this isn’t quite Mamma Mia! fully firing on all cylinders. That isn’t to say it is bad, not by any stretch of the imagination (you’re practically guaranteed a fun night with any incarnation of this show). But for a production that has always delivered megawatt energy and talent, some of the key numbers and performances felt a little underwhelming. The toe-tapping titular ditty, for instance, came across a little too plodding and hesitant, whilst a later rendition of ‘SOS’ sadly felt a little too close to actually being one itself.

Similarly, some pitchy sound and even tempo issues, with members of the company momentarily lagging behind the score, leant a slight flabbiness to what has always previously been such a slick and polished evening of musical theatre.

With that all being said, there is still plenty of incredible talent on stage who more than smooth over the rough edges. Lydia Hunt is a sensational Sophie, comfortably one of the best to date, and is superb in terms of vocals and performance throughout. Rosie Glossop and Sarah Earnshaw, meanwhile, threaten to steal the whole thing as Donna’s good time gals, Rosie and Tanya, singing and dancing up a storm and imbibing their numbers with so much of the vocal oomph and character chops that other parts of the show occasionally lack. Elsewhere, Richard Meek, Mark Goldthorp and Joseph Vella all keep the energy and charisma high with great, spirited supporting turns.

Ultimately, niggles and shortfalls aside , the irrepressible bonhomie and delights of Mamma Mia! still make it an easy recommendation. Mark Thompson’s wheeling, transforming taverna set, bathed in Howard Harrison’s scene-setting, tranquil lighting still scream Aegean summer escapism in all the best ways.

“Lydia Hunt is a sensational Sophie, comfortably one of the best to date.”

Sure, if you have a vehement distaste for anything ABBA then it may not be for you, but even then, the original story and beats that Mamma Mia! brings to the stage – not to mention its innate joie de vivre – may be enough to convert even the most cynical Europop naysayer.

It’s been over thirty years since Stephan Elliot’s The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert charted its outback road trip into cinematic history. Likewise, this year marks the 20th anniversary since its perhaps-inevitable stage musical adaptation (also co-helmed by Elliot) first debuted in Sydney.

And times, they be most certainly a-changing.

Bringing Priscilla the musical back to the stage in 2026 sees its central narrative – depicting a comedic cross-country journey for two drag queens and a trans woman – landing in a very different socio-political climate to even fairly recent productions of the same show. Mishandle its misrepresentation or fail to modernise some of its messaging and attitudes towards homophobia, trans awareness etc. and this is one particular show bus that could easily crash and burn.

Fortunately, whilst some of the axels and rivets do occasionally creak and groan under their age, for the most part director Ian Talbot steers the good ship (see: bus) Priscilla confidently with this energised, vibrant reimagined take that, for those keenly looking, does indeed do some deft and sensitive repurposing of its central character in particular.

“…director Ian Talbot steers the good ship Priscilla confidently with this energised, vibrant reimagined take…”

Nowhere is this more evident than in the casting of Adèle Anderson as Bernadette. Prior productions have seen cis male performers such as Richard Grieve and Simon Green take on the role made famous by Terrence Stamp in the OG film. And whilst Grieve and Green each gave perfectly enjoyable and characterful turns, it feels egregious to even consider anything other than a trans woman in the role now.

That isn’t to be reductive about Anderson (a highly experienced singer and stage performer herself) nor pigeonhole her; on the contrary, her sardonic, dry, slightly world-weary turn as Bernadette is the classy, dignified core around which all the glitter and camp can swirl. It’s perhaps little surprise that Anderson’s Bernadette feels more grounded and authentic than the broader strokes of past takes on the role.

That’s not to say this is in any way a subdued or pared back Priscilla, though. Andrew Exeter’s set and lighting, Talbot’s punchy direction and some really high-kicking and kinetic choreo from Olivier Award-winner Matt Cole make for a supremely vibrant, rhinestoned and eye-popping trip across the outback. Exter’s use of an almost War Horse-esque wraparound projection is particularly snazzy; accentuating many of the set pieces and big dance numbers with splashes of colourful, or helping create a sense of place for the quieter character beats.

The only (slightly surprising) misfire here are with some of Vicky Gill’s costumes. When sticking closer to the wheelhouse of Tim Chappel’s original, iconic, Oscar-winning creations, Gill does a great job, but some of the more minimalist frocks the three leads get decked in occasionally come across as drab, boxy or uninspiring compared to their more show-stopping pink paint, polka-dot or pluming peers. Thankfully, most of the looks also have Craig Forrest-Thomas’ fantastic wigs and inventive make-up applications to help further elevate the spectacle.

“…Leah Vassell, Bernadette Bangura and Jessie May sass, strut and sing up an absolute storm throughout as the three ‘divas’.”

Credit also have to go to the impressive cast and company who infuse the production with so much of its charisma, uniqueness… well, you know the rest. Peter Duncan, Isabella Glanznig Santos and Billie Hardy all offer up great supporting turns, and Leah Vassell, Bernadette Bangura and Jessie May sass, strut and sing up an absolute storm throughout as the three ‘divas’. Gone are the days of the red-headed songstresses flying about above stage; here, they stomp and shimmy their way upstage from the off, looking like gloriously realised incarnations of Jennifer Saunders’ similarly disco-belting fairy godmother from Shrek 2. It’s a choice that absolutely works – not only do they go to town vocally with a whole host of disco classics from Donna Summer, The Weather Girls to Cyndi Lauper, here they are shaking their groove thing on down to Cole’s spunky choreography with gusto, too.

Adèle Anderson, as mentioned, proves a great choice for Bernadette, and is handsomely met by Strictly favourite Kevin Clifton as Tick/‘Mitzi’ and musical theatre pro Nick Hayes returning to the role of Adam/‘Felicia’. Clifton is in great voice and proves an earnest, likeable Tick, and of course he’s delivered some fun chances to show off his fancy footwork – not least of all in a bonkers, giddily fun take on ‘MacArthur Park’.

“Clifton is in great voice and proves an earnest, likeable Tick, and of course he’s delivered some fun chances to show off his fancy footwork…”

But it’s perhaps Hayes, as the feisty, seemingly fearless Felicia who routinely threatens to steal the whole show. Hayes’ commanding physicality, vocals and muscularity serve up a real tour-de-force Adam/Felicia, but he’s equally affecting when the bravura and barriers break down, too. It’s a terrific performance that only solidifies this as one of the strongest central line-ups brand Priscilla has had to date.

Decadent, dazzling and still fizzing with the heart and humour of Elliot’s original outing, Priscilla the Queen of the Desert the Musical returns for 2026 in glitzy, larger-than-life style. Sure, some of its sartorial choices are, well, choices, and there are occasional moments where the storytelling gives flashes of its age (do we really need to be having conversations about ‘toning it down’ in 2026?), but in other places Talbot and co have clearly, sensitively given her a bit of work. One big laugh from previous productions, for instance, where a character gives another the middle finger after comments about how well they pass as their gender, has been shrewdly excised altogether.

In all, with a bursting jukebox of disco classics and some truly show-stopping staging, choreography and performances, this latest journey with Priscilla is a joyful, rhinestoned, feathered, funny and utterly fabulous road trip well worth taking all over again.

Next stop – Ayers Rock.

Don’t forget the Kylie.

At the close of Robin Hood – this year’s festive offering from the Birmingham Hippodrome – fan favourite Matt Slack informs the crowd of a genuinely impressive benchmark. It just so happens to be bonafide legend – and ‘special guest’ star – Christopher Biggins’ sixtieth panto outing.

It’s a crowd-pleasing denouement to what has been a legitimately inspired and hilarious running gag throughout, as Biggins is repeatedly wheeled out (sometimes literally) throughout the show for a brief few moments, only to be chastised and kicked straight back off stage, as it isn’t yet time for his King Richard’s return. It’s just one of many wrinkles that makes this production so fresh, fun and gleefully silly, and just you wait to see what they do with him in ‘If I Were Not Upon the Stage’.

Back to panto Top Trumps though, and it isn’t as though Slack himself is, well… slacking. Hood marks his own twenty-third pantomime production, and an impressive twelfth consecutive year in Brum. It’s clear from the moment he first comically struts onto the stage that the audiences clearly still eat him up, and from this red letter outing, it isn’t difficult to see why. Nipping at his heels with an eye-popping assemblage of utterly genius frocks and get ups is the wonderful Andrew Ryan, chalking up his ninth consecutive visit to the Hippodrome and once again proving there really is nothing like a great dame (yes, I said dame).

“It’s clear from the moment he first comically struts onto the stage that the audiences clearly still eat him up…”

The highly successful model of QDOS migrating last year’s London Palladium offering to the Hippodrome continues this year with Hood. If you paid a visit to Julian Clary and Jane McDonald’s iteration in 2024 you’ll already be familiar with the lavish production values, stunning costumes and general narrative bent (hint: it’s utter nonsense, but joyfully so), and yet there’s undoubtedly more than enough here that is fresh and new to make it a comfortable must-see.

Slack is, as mentioned, one of the major draws. It almost goes without saying now, but he is effortlessly entertaining and wheels out a host of materials, gags and routines old and new. We get the human jukebox hijinks and aforementioned ‘Not Upon the Stage’, in addition to new flourishes such as a spirited acrobatic interlude with The Acromaniacs and a genuinely jaw-dropping and side-splitting about-turn in one of his late show staples (hint: it involves younger members of the audiences). It’s a joy, and seriously impressive, to consider he’s been gracing the Hippodrome stage for over a decade and he feels as spritely, animated and irrepressible as ever.

Ryan is once again a delicious panto dame, this time as Robin’s mother, Henrietta, and although past years have offered stiff competition and set an astronomically high and elaborate bar, Teresa Nalton’s costumes and concoctions this time round have to surely be the best to date. From a mushroom masterpiece to practically an entire gazebo – trimmed bush and all – the invention and whimsy is off the scale.

But, as is par for the course with the Hippodrome, the wider cast and production fire on plenty of cylinders of their own, too. TV favourite Gok Wan returns and is an ebullient gem, with the genuine rapport he shares with Slack completely palpable and utterly infectious. They somehow even manage to make the frequent planned corpsing feel completely naturalistic and quite the hoot, when it can so easily feel grating. The two make a formidable comic pairing, as Gok Scarlett and the titular hero dabble about in heroics, slapstick and even a spot of bedroom mischief.

“TV favourite Gok Wan returns and is an ebullient gem, with the genuine rapport he shares with Slack completely palpable and utterly infectious.”

The X Factor champion Matt Cardle is suitably boo-hiss-able as a wolf-corralling Sheriff of Nottingham, whilst Steps’ Faye Tozer is a feisty and no-nonsense Maid Marian. Naturally, she riffs off a bit of ‘Tragedy’ and ‘Afraid of the Dark’, too, and sounds damn good doing so, to boot. And if that weren’t enough belting and heavy hitting for you, Robin Hood rounds out its vocal artillery with musical theatre veteran and powerhouse Sandra Marvin as the Spirit of Sherwood Forest.

Transmogrifying the already acclaimed spectacle and bombast of the Palladium’s serving last year (gigantic animatronic wolf and all) and infusing it with a great new cast, local favourites and a host of original ideas and unrelenting silliness has proven a recipe success at the Hippodrome for several years now. But even by that metric and expectation, Robin Hood is an especially joyful and colourful beast.

Grab your ‘old longbow’ and steal from the rich to nab yourself a ticket if you must. In over a decade of anticipating and reviewing the Hippodrome’s annual pantomime offering, Slack and his band of merry men and women may have just conjured up their finest hour to date, and the funniest, most glamorous pantomime this side of Gilly Gilly Ossenfegger Katzenellen Bogen by the Sea.

It’s highly unlikely this review will break new ground by drawing reference to just how timely and resonant this production of Fiddler on the Roof is, landing in the current socio-political climate that it does.

The much-lauded, Olivier-hauling Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre outing, that sold out the Barbican this Summer, arrives in Birmingham for Christmas, and there’s no shying away from its poignancy.

The ugly creep of antisemitism and the displacement of Jewish communities. Pogroms from a Russian aggressor. The parallels are myriad, and practically write themselves.

And yet, although this handsome and striking revival feels more prescient and necessary than ever, it never feels laden or dour. Rather, Jordan Fein and Julia Cheng infuse it with a hearty dose of joy, bonhomie and levity, cutting a deeply funny thread through the ninety-minute first act in particular.

Following the strifes and toils of well-meaning milkman Tevye (Matthew Woodyatt) in pre-revolutionary Russia, Fiddler is fundamentally a family affair. Tevye has been ‘blessed’ with five daughters, and although the odd intrusion from Tsarist police or whispers in the local community hint at worrying goings-on in the wider world, for the time being he’s mainly preoccupied with his spirited offspring. Naturally, they’re falling in love with all the wrong suitors, all as Tevye’s long-suffering wife Golde (Jodie Jacobs) is taking heed from a local matchmaker (Beverley Klein) whose approach to love and marriage is more than a trifle transactional.

Well, it is ‘tradition’, after all.

As Tevye struggles with the expectations and demands of convention, a lame horse and his wilful children all, the small-town ebb and flow of his Anatevka swells about him. It’s a beautiful, authentic and utterly infectious depiction, too, as even bit parts and minor supporting characters help weave the tapestry of this wholly convincing village ensemble.

“…a terrific, grounding central turn, one that bristles with comedic energy and relatability.

Undoubtedly, Woodyatt is the anchor pin, though. It’s a terrific, grounding central turn, one that bristles with comedic energy and relatability. Whether engaging in sardonic banter with the almighty or wringing his hands at the thought of having to cook up yet another pantomime to get his wife on side, Woodyatt is both bombastic and tender at once, and his command of character and the ease with which he mines laughs from almost every beat of dialogue and incident is tremendous. He’s ably met by Jodie Jacobs as Golde, with the pair’s marital frisson and friction a giddy joy to watch throughout.

They’re surrounded by excellence, too. One of the hardest-working companies you will see on stage this Christmas help transform sequences such as a wedding celebration, a bar free-for-all and a spot of not-so-supernatural subterfuge into some of the slickest, most impressive musical theatre you could hope for. As mentioned, Fein and Cheng direct and choreograph it all to polished, propulsive perfection. That ninety minute first half flies by.

Within a collective of standouts, Natasha Jules Bernard is particularly great as eldest daughter Tzeitel, and showcases some almost literally otherworldly vocals when she gets her ‘Fruma-Sarah’ on. Dan Wolff puts in a great comedic turn as well-meaning but slightly feeble tailor, Motel as does Beverley Klein as the village’s melodramatic matchmaker, Yente. Roman Lytwyniw impressed in the performance reviewed as alternative fiddler, his eventual pairing up with Hannah Bristow on clarinet being a pause of raw tenderness and aching beauty. Greg Bernstein is earnest and likeable as free-thinking student, Perchik, commanding the stage with some astonishing moves and pulling off a lot of demanding choreo and physicality with real gusto and aplomb.

If the performances, direction and movement are all top notch, it certainly helps that this is such a visually arresting piece, too. Tom Scutt’s distinctive set design is slightly repurposed here, yet no less affecting. Like so much of this production, it feels both traditional, Earthy yet modern and stylised all at once.

“Like so much of this production, it feels both traditional, Earthy yet modern and stylised all at once.”

The ensemble often sit about at the edges, the orchestra perpetually upstage behind rows of wheat, as beams of Aideen Malone’s evocative lighting spill in from the wings. And that’s before we even get to the levitating monolith of the show’s ‘roof’, an almost ominous cast of stone and crop looming over proceedings throughout. It’s altogether a gorgeous piece of musical theatre.

For certain, Fiddler is peppered with hummable Bock and Harnick favourites such as ‘Matchmaker’, ‘Tradition’ and the irrepressible ear worm of ‘If I Were A Rich Man’. And yes, particularly come the shorter, zippier second act, things do get notably more solemn and timely.

But ultimately, it’s the heart and humour that carry the day here, in a genuinely inspired revisit that alchemises stunning design work, inspired casting and truly electric direction and choreography. Woodyatt is a soulful and lovable Tevye, and in the hands of fantastic creatives and buoyed by a kinetic, show-stopping ensemble, offer up one of the most perfect fusions of revival and, yes, tradition, in recent musical theatre history.

If I were a rich man, I’d be catching it daily, it’s that good…

Despite not, one must assume, being an actual subtitle of this lavish new touring production of Miss Saigon, good luck finding any materials associated with it not having ‘The Legend Reborn’ slapped all over it (go on, take a look at that poster).

Part pitch, part invitation, it’s a nifty (and suitably theatrical) call to action for audiences to be summoned to what has always been the less ubiquitous of the Boublil and Schönberg big two (the other being, of course, the inescapable Les Misérables).

And as mission statements go, it’s pretty on-point. Here, Michael Harrison and team have rebuilt, redesigned and in parts even rewritten Saigon into a recognisable yet confidently reimagined beast. Yes, it’s still saddled with some of the show’s inherent lopsidedness and mawkish cul-de-sacs, but a tremendous cast and some truly stellar design work give it a whole new lease of eye (and ear) popping life.

Fans and purists trembling at the mention of rewrites can be assuaged, too; this is still the Miss Saigon you know and love. Much of the tinkering, courtesy of the National Theatre’s Rob Hastie, brings some of the more dated or coarse sung-spoke dialogue to a more contemporary place. ‘Half-breeds’ becomes ‘little ones’ when referring to the left behind children of ‘Bui Doi’. Completely agreeable things like that.

“Fans and purists trembling at the mention of rewrites can be assuaged, too; this is still the Miss Saigon you know and love.”

But broadly, the story still follows the same, Puccini-inspired tale of an ill-fated romance between a disenfranchised US marine (Jack Kane) and Vietnamese girl (Julianne Pundan) who has been enveloped into the underbelly of Saigon’s nightlife, during the closing of the Vietnam conflict. Orbiting the two is Seann Miley Moore’s swindling ‘Engineer’, a larger-than-life wheeler-dealer scheming and exploiting where he can in the hopes of getting a visa to pursue his ‘American Dream’.

Given its wider geo-political context, Saigon remains a surprisingly focused and even simple affair. Yes, there’s still the thrilling evacuation sequence (also repurposed here, yet no less effective as members of the company zip up and down into the beyond), and fleeting ruminations on the wider consequences of war, such as the stirring ‘Bui Doi’ Act II opener. But it remains ultimately a show about a love torn asunder and a mother’s determination to better the life of her child.

In a week where Jon M Chu’s second Wicked movie is reviving conversations about just how many musical’s suffer from wobblier second halves, Miss Saigon proves itself a high profile reminder. Cramming Madama Butterfly’s three act structure into two is felt, making for a meaty, sweeping and romantic first half, followed by a decidedly flatter and thinner second. There’s good stuff in that last hour, for certain – that helicopter moment, and this production’s heightened, Drag Race-esque ‘American Dream’ set piece keeps it being comfortably one of the best parts of the whole show – but it’s undeniably front-loaded.

Thankfully, even as some of its second Act wheels into soap opera or Lifetime territory, a genuinely stunning company keep us invested. Julianne Pundan is an exceptional Kim, delivering both powerhouse vocals and a blistering turn as a defiant young woman who refuses to be victim or damsel, despite the horrors about her. She gets a lot of big sings – ‘The Movie In My Mind’ (pairing up beautifully with a similarly impressive Ace as Gigi), ‘I’d Give My Life For You’ and ‘I Still Believe’ to name but a few, and Pundan goes to town with each of them. A seriously impressive performance. Jack Kane imbues his Chris with a sensitivity and later flashes of trauma that bounce nicely off of Pundan’s steelier Kim.

“Julianne Pundan is an exceptional Kim, delivering both powerhouse vocals and a blistering turn as a defiant young woman who refuses to be victim or damsel…”

Dominic Hartley-Harris, Emily Langham and Mikko Juan all get moments to impress in supporting roles, but it’s Seann Miley Moore as the Engineer who threatens to steal the whole thing from beneath the lovebirds. Landing in an era of Me Too and Epstein files, some of the more problematic edges of the role are softened a little here, with Moore dialling the mercurial flamboyance and opportunism of the character up to eleven. Sexy, sleazy, comedic, villainous and anti-hero all rolled into one, it’s a kinetic, dazzling and chameleonic turn, utterly infectious to watch and arguably worth the ticket price alone.

Were the performances not enough, Andrew D Edwards and Bruno Poet’s design and lighting work muster up a similar feast for the senses. Peeling back some of the glitz and neon of the original production in favour of something grittier and earthy, Edwards sets are tremendous labyrinths of levels, layers, depth and verticality. From the seedy back alleys of Saigon to the red swathes and pillars of later Ho Chi Minh City in ‘The Morning of the Dragon’, this is a scale and quality of touring production rarely seen. Bathed gloriously in Poet’s spotlights and side-spilling waves of light, it’s likely the prettiest and most visually arresting tour you’ll see this year.

It’s just a shame that, in the performance reviewed, some of the sound mixing and mics felt off at times, with the excellent vocalists drowned out by the orchestra or otherwise barely audible in key moments. Something of a crime, given their obvious skills.

But yes, the legend has indeed been reborn. Sure, this phoenix Saigon still carries some of the original production’s narrative baggage and wonkiness, and that three act curvature remains as glaring as ever. But inspired casting from a company giving it their all on a truly gorgeous playground makes for one of the most impressive touring productions of the year, and an evening of theatre that you certainly won’t be screaming to get airlifted out of.