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.

“It will be a magnificent, opulent, tremendous, stupendous, gargantuan, bedazzlement. A sensual ravishment…”

So opines Jim Broadbent’s gloriously animated impresario, Harold Zidler, in Baz Luhrmann’s Oscar-winning Moulin Rouge!

As mission statements go, it’s one that all things ‘Rouge’ have played by. The celebrated, multi award-winning Broadway and West End runs kept things suitably spectacular, and its inaugural world tour certainly doesn’t skimp on the ‘spectacular, spectacular’.

For a start, it certainly makes good on the ‘opulent’. Whilst perhaps inevitably, the nature of touring means Derek McLane’s set and staging can’t spill out and transform the auditorium to quite the extent it does in London, it’s still a stunning beast. The shows’ trademark ‘pink elephant’ and windmills are not only here, they’re rather enormous. The Birmingham Hippodrome auditorium is a particularly splendid fit, its existing crimson and gold hues blending beautifully with McLane’s ambitious work, all cast under Justin Townsend’s roaming spotlights, moody ambience and eye-popping razzmatazz.

Luhrmann’s OG cinematic whirlwind is, of course, the blueprint here. It’s central through line – a yarn of two young lovers, aspiring writer Christian (Nate Landskroner) and courtesan Satine (Verity Thompson) who begin a love affair at the iconic Parisian landmark with tragic consequence – is mostly intact.

“What made the original film such a bricolage of post modern sensibilities (not least of all in its celebration and application of music) gets carried over, too.”

But what made the original film such a bricolage of post-modern sensibilities (not least of all in its celebration and application of music) gets carried over, too. Purists might bemoan some fan favourite songs for not only being cut, but in many instances replaced with a jukebox of eclectic hits new and old alike. But from Whitney to Adele and Gaga and even some Talking Heads and Dead or Alive, Justin Levine and John Logan have summoned up a monster tracklist that, like before, somehow just works, and created a show that feels just as playful, freewheeling and musically madcap as the film did some – whisper it – twenty-four years ago.

Director Alex Timbers and choreographer Sonya Tayeh don’t just let the rapid fire succession of classic rock and pop hits do all the heavy lifting, either. Timbers keeps the playful, fourth-wall breaking of Christian’s narration light and unladen. The show moves at a terrific pace, and Timbers and company mine plenty of levity throughout, too – sometimes even using the choice of song as a brief moment of humour, affording the audience time to giggle for a few moments before the set pieces really swing into gear. Tayeh’s choreography is as showy and theatrical as it needs to be, yet moments such as a breathtaking Act II opener to Gaga’s ‘Bad Romance’ are passionate, virile, rhythmic and intoxicating. It can’t be easy finding a language to the movement of such a tonally erratic piece as Moulin Rouge!, but complemented in no small way by Catherine Zuber’s wonderful costume work, Timbers and Tayeh pull it off to regularly gobsmacking effect.

One of the real areas where this stage adaptation actively improves on the film has to be in some of its character work. Perhaps the biggest beneficiary is Satine herself. It’s only with comparative hindsight that Nicole Kidman’s (admittedly excellent) character in the original film is a little plagued with passivity and victimhood. Here, she is festooned with agency. Whereas in the original, Satine unconvincingly shows no comprehension of a mysterious affliction that seems to be affecting her, here she independently takes action. Where the film depicts her as a victim of manhandling and attempted assault, needing to be saved by a towering man, on stage in the very same scene Satine once again is the one making the decisions, calling the sots and controlling the narrative.

And ultimately, when it all looks to come crashing down about her, our heroine doesn’t simply go along with it all because there’s little point doing otherwise (…sorry, Nicole), instead she not only insists that ‘the show will go on’, but does so selflessly to ensure her lover’s work is showcased.

It certainly helps that Verity Thompson, recently memorable and hilarious as an uber Heath in Heathers the Musical, is a remarkable Satine. Commanding and vocally resplendent (the roof utterly obliterated by her rendition of Katy Perry’s ‘Firework’), she further brings an almost indefinable sense of old Hollywood grace and charisma to the role. Fitting for the characters aspirations and quasi-tragic trappings. But Thompson is met beautifully by a similarly impressive Nate Landskroner, who is soulful, earnest and captures the boyish passion and naivety of the role brilliant. He can also sing up a storm, too, and the chemistry and passion between he and Thompson palpable (which curiously was a mild criticism of the London production when first seeing it back in 2022).

The ever-dependable Cameron Blakely is fantastic as the flamboyant and wonderful Zidler. He even manages to get a few moments of his own ad libbing and character beats in. Generally, it’s a rather perfect marrying of performer and role. Kurt Kansley is great fun throughout, too, as Toulouse-Lautrec.

“In truth, though, wherever you throw your glance, there is excellence on show…”

In truth, though, wherever you throw your glance, there is excellence on show. Good luck peeling your attention away from the scintillation and talents of Kahlia Davis, Summer Priest, Scott Sutcliffe and Ellie Jane Grant, even after they’ve finished knocking your socks off with a truly bombastic and crowd-pleasing ‘Lady Marmalade’ opener.

So is this visit to the Moulin Rouge the ‘sensual ravishment’ we were hoping and promised?

It is, and then some. One of the most visually arresting and high-kicking touring productions that sacrifices none of the spectacle and bombast of the fantastic London production, and with this stellar cast arguably even betters it.

For sure, it isn’t exactly high art, but nor does it claim to be.

But it is, undoubtedly, with a fire in its belly and a passionate, sexy zeal to its step, a ‘tremendous, gargantuan, bedazzlement’.

Yes, Harold, at the Moulin Rouge, you most certainly will have fun.

One of the most regrettable recent casualties of the rising challenges facing the theatre industry was Nick Winston’s 2024 tour of Bonnie & Clyde. The run was cut short just a handful of venues in, despite strong reviews and positive word of mouth, with producers citing disappointing ticket sales as the main culprit for the wheels coming off.

Having seen Winston’s big, audacious and technically dazzling offering, it’s easy to see why it was no doubt a costly piece of theatre to stage, and thus needed significants bums on seats to be sustainable. Major projection work, staging and audiovisual bombast doesn’t come cheap these days.

It’s precisely what made the announcement of the Old Joint Stock Theatre’s revival such a compelling one. The Birmingham venue has been developing a reputation for high-quality yet comparatively intimate in-house productions of late. Could the team learn from the misfortunes of Winston and co, and put on a smaller scale, less ostentatious revival of Bonnie & Clyde that still did Wildhorn, Black and Menchell’s piece justice?

For whilst this is, with a sixteen-strong cast, in many ways the venue’s biggest outing to date, it is still all housed within the Old Joint Stock’s bijou upstairs theatre, where the flanking audience are literally within touching distance of all the action.

Credit to the cast and company alike, then, for not only pulling off a slick, exciting piece of musical theatre in and of itself, but indeed a revival that fires off with just as much talent, energy and emotional clout as its doomed forebear.

“a slick, exciting piece of musical theatre in and of itself… that fires off with just as much talent, energy and emotional clout.”

Depicting the coming together and eventual short-lived but long-lasting infamy of its titular outlaws, taken at surface value, Bonnie & Clyde is a fairly procedural biopic. Young Bonnie Parker (India Lily Cooper) is an ingenue abandoned in a loveless marriage, with aspirations of Hollywood and adoration, with dreams of being the next Clara Bow. She catches the eye of charismatic troublemaker Clyde Barrow (Samuel Murray), who has frequent run ins with the law, alongside younger brother, Buck (Killian Thomas Lefevre).

The romantic folie à deux that follows charts the duo’s rise from petty criminality to quasi celebrity status. Menchell does a decent job at giving the pair some shade and nuance, bleakly depicting the realities of Great Depression era Texas. Clyde’s argument that the law will never leave him be even if he goes ‘straight’ gets some credence, and there is even some hauntingly resonant commentary about justified criminality in America that feels more prescient than ever.

Ultimately, though, Bonnie & Clyde is a character study, and one elevated considerably by Wildhorn and Black’s music. From the infectious, jaunty earworms of ‘This World Will Remember Us’ and ‘You’re Going Back To Jail’ to the hefty character belts of ‘Dying Ain’t So Bad’ or ‘Raise A Little Hell’, it’s a great soundtrack, and cast and company alike bring it to life with real talent and gusto.

Director Emily Susanne Lloyd and movement director Ellie Begley deftly balance the confines of the space they have, whilst still serving up full bodied musical numbers in the likes of a hilarious hair salon back-and-forth or a spirit gospel invocation. Bonnie & Clyde doesn’t boast a huge number of big set pieces or song and dance moments, but Lloyd and Begley do a great job with what moments they can, offering spirited, characterful and vigorous choreography that stomps and sings a storm in the immediacy of the small theatre.

Despite consisting heavily of two-handers and quieter moments, Lloyd keeps things moving and fluid. Rapid fire transitions and intercuts between action are smooth and clearly defined, and there’s a steady, rhythmic pulse to the busier second Act in particular.

Sure, it can occasionally get a little too busy in the limited area, with sightline occasionally at jeapordy and even a threat of impending whiplash for some of the audience as they dart heads from left to right to keep up, but for the most part this is once again an impressive achievement within the space it is all housed. George P Martin’s wooden, fractured set is littered with enough detail to convey a sense of time and place, and is bathed in Joanne Marshall’s moody, atmospheric hues of orange and occasional cold, harsh blue.

Where it is less showy, though, this smaller productions equally sings, with its impressive company showcased up close and personal. Faye Campbell is feisty, likeable and frequently funny as Buck’s despairing, god-fearing, voice of reason wife, Blanche. She is heartbreaking in later scenes, and harmonises beautifully with Cooper on the stirring ‘You Love Who You Love’. Davis Weaver serves up strong vocals and sensitivity as the Sheriff determined to both take down Clyde and also win over childhood sweetheart, Bonnie. Charlotte Dixon proves an impressive and chameleonic character actress, whilst Charlotte Neale and Steven Rostance similarly impressive in a number of minor supporting roles.

“…there’s little doubt the evening belongs to its eponymous anti-heroes.”

But there’s little doubt the evening belongs to its eponymous anti-heroes. India Lily Cooper and Samuel Murray are both seriously impressive in the title roles; no feint praise given the demanding sings and performances asked of them. Murray embodies the cocksure charisma and barely repressed disdain of Clyde perfectly, giving a physically and vocally commanding turn throughout. He riffs through the big, high belts with confidence, but also displays a soulful, tender side with a beautiful rendition of lovelorn ode, ‘Bonnie’ . Cooper, similarly, proves herself a serious talent to watch. She not only does a searing, powerful job of the character’s big numbers, such as a rending ‘Dying Ain’t So Bad’, but so too does she chart Bonnie’s journey from impressionable dreamer to fiery criminal with complete authenticity and undeniable stage presence.

Individually, they are wonderful. Together – quite fittingly – they’re intoxicating.

So Bonnie & Clyde at the Old Joint Stock Theatre gets its Bonnie and Clyde – and practically everything else – right. It’s a vibrant, kinetic demonstration of not needing the biggest budget or most expansive of staging to present memorable musical theatre. And, if anything, the immediacy of the action only makes it all the more thrilling.

Very minor quibbles aside, the characterful and unique Birmingham venue once again defies conventional wisdom and modest confinements to stage a revival that is so individual, aspirational and entertaining that it should almost surely be criminal.

There’s certainly some bittersweet irony percolating about when you’re reviewing The Last Laugh, a show about the passing of legendary performers, in Birmingham, and finding out that Ozzy Osbourne has passed away.

It was a moment not lost on the company. In the show’s pleasant (but ultimately superfluous) second Act, which serves as a semi-scripted Q&A session with the cast, the session’s compere, cover Richard Hodder dedicated the evening’s final spot of singalong bonhomie to the great Prince of Darkness.

Death and the weight of being remembered or forgotten hangs heavy in the air of the otherwise charming and frequently funny Last Laugh.

It imagines a hypothetical gathering of comedy legends Tommy Cooper (Damian Williams), Eric Morecambe (Bob Golding) and Bob Monkhouse (Simon Cartwright) in a drab but ambiguous dressing room ahead of a nondescript ‘charity’ gig. The reveal of how and why these giants have gathered is not so much a twist as a journey to realisation (it’s practically given away in the title alone).

Extrapolated from Paul Hendy’s award-winning short, which itself was born from the three leads each doing their own respective shows in tribute to the legends they portray here, Last Laugh is nothing if not a love letter. The depictions of Cooper, Morecambe and Monkhouse are not only uncannily accurate and idiosyncratically on point, but there’s also a clear reverence to capturing the essence of these individuals beyond just the quips and (admittedly hilarious) gags.

“consummately charming, effortlessly entertaining fare that serves up enough of the classics to be worth a watch alone.”

Unsurprisingly, it’s still very funny. Many of the trio’s gags and familiar favourites are wheeled out, often with the audience giggling in anticipation of the punchline or from familiarity alone. A recurring visit from Cooper’s malfunctioning duck and a later sojourn with a wooden gate are a delight. It’s consummately charming, effortlessly entertaining fare that serves up enough of the classics to be worth a watch alone, particularly for anyone who is a fan of one or more of the gentlemen.

With an expanded runtime from the twenty-minute short, Hendy probes a little deeper here, too. Monkhouse’s more analytical bent towards comedy, and fixation on crediting writers, sheds a light on whether he was a more constructed and less natural comedian than his counterparts. The rogues’ gallery of past comics gives chance to ruminate on the likes of Tony Hancock, Max Miller and more (even if poor Sid James gets relegated to a lone haemorrhoid joke). The laughs are great, but it’s when Last Laugh seems to poke a little deeper that it serves up its more human and intriguing moments.

But there’s no denying that, bandying between a glorious, rich tribute act and a more sombre treatise on legacy and comedy as art or science, it’s a show very much all about its triad of glorious performances. Damian Williams is a powerhouse from the off as Cooper, bringing an Earthy warmth to his larger-than-life bravura and booming presence. Some of his more muted, sardonic asides are the funniest moments of the whole thing. Golding bottles Morecambe’s irrepressible energy and exuberance perfectly, and peppers the show with some lovely vocals and musicality. And Cartwright, with perhaps the hardest task of the three as the more composed and even stilted Monkhouse, not only channels his voice meticulously, but lends a real gravitas and dignity to his ponderances.

It all feels tremndously sincere and authentic. Particular credit to Hendy for being able to so believably not only write but also direct these three very different yet familiar icons. There’s no sense of base mimicry or, worse, caricature. It’s a charming, eminently watchable and routinely funny case of three very talented performers evoking what we come to learn are their genuine inspirations.

Poignant, charming and laugh out loud funny throughout, if The Last Laugh asks whether great artists will truly be remembered, it is a soulful, funny and dignified proof of precisely that.

 It’s probably not a great sign when a journey home after a supposed crime thriller has you compounding the plot holes and logical inconsistencies in your mind. Rather than piecing together and remembering all the clever foreshadowing and subtle hints you realise you were being fed over the course of the piece, you instead ruminate on some variant of well hang on, what was the point of that?

Peter James is back in Birmingham, as another of his popular, pulpy crime novels gets a stage adaptation, complete with the usual slew of vaguely familiar TV faces propping up the marketing. Where The Perfect Murder saw Eastenders favourites Shane Richie and Jessie Wallace reunite, 2021’s Looking Good Dead pulled a similar soapy feat with Adam Woodyatt and Laurie Brett (also of ‘Enders fame) teaming up.

For 2025’s offering, Picture You Dead, a veritable smorgasbord from the likes of Emmerdale, Casualty and even Strictly Come Dancing stuff out the line up.

The premise alone is quintessential, high-concept James, as a young couple find themselves embroiled in sinister goings-on after they inadvertently stumble upon what may be a long-lost masterpiece at a local car boot sale. Forgeries, murder and the dark underbelly of the art world come to envelop the pair, all as James’ DSI Roy Grace (a returning George Rainsford) races to solve an historic, unsolved murder that may or may not be connected.

The initial flourishes of Dead prove intriguing enough. The concept of forgeries and fakery puts an audience weened on Netflix true crime and golden age television on high alert from the off. It’s likely that alarm bells will ring early on when a seemingly charming ‘copyist’ offers to look after this prized painting for a few days.

And yet, for all of its attempt to slowly ratchet up the tension and uncertainty, the ultimate realisation is that Picture You Dead is, frankly, nowhere near as smart as it seems to think it is.

It certainly doesn’t help that, as mentioned earlier, the sheer abundance of plot holes and chasms of logic seem to only refresh with each passing scene. Sure, you may have managed to get a very impressive copy of your painting made, but do you really want to hang it on your living room wall for any visitor or passing burglar to see?

Why exactly is this villain engaging in some elaborate, Kevin McAllister-esque scheme involving donuts and insulin jabs when they are already brandishing a pistol and could just threaten to shoot their target instead?

Surely this other scallywag’s threat to set a captive aflame in the middle of his collection of priceless paintings is a little… hollow?

It doesn’t help that the direction feels similarly hokey, too. Picture You Dead whips about like a tonal hurricane, with moments that should feel intimidating and fraught with peril coming across as hammy and camp. Elsewhere, scenes are awkwardly lingered on for so long after their conclusion that one begins to suspect an about turn that never comes. And let’s not even get started on some of the questionable choices of LGBT representation and performance.

“Picture You Dead whips about like a tonal hurricane, with moments that should feel intimidating and fraught with peril coming across as hammy and camp.”

Some of the cast do their best with the wobbly material they’re served. Mark Oxtoby and Sean Jones both give good loveable rogue, and Gemma Stroyan is at least earnest as Grace’s sidekick and second in command. Rainsford feels like a walking cypher of your de facto superintendent, with precious little to do except sternly pontificate and spout exposition on autopilot. Ben Cutler shows moments of promise as one half of the genuinely overwhelmed young couple whose find kicks off the dangerous series of events, but Fiona Wade is more wooden than most of the picture frames on the set.

If Strictly fave Ore Oduba seems to at least be having fun as a machiavellian art collector, and is good for the odd titter, the character is still so jarringly camp and unthreatening that the whole subplot regularly feels pulled from a production of Carry On Criminal. Spare a thought for the talented Jodie Steele, who does her absolute best and gives arguably the best performance of the night as a ruthless contractor, but inherents most of the silliest beats to try and pass off.

If you can disengage your critical faculties and don’t mind some acting that can bandy from hammy to downright mahogany, Picture You Dead is an evening of watchable nonsense. At the very least, it looks handsome enough, with Adrian Linford’s set a surprisingly versatile beast.

But James churns out his thrillers with conveyor belt efficiency, and in Picture You Dead it truly shows. Pluck too hard on any of its threads, or let yourself get carried away with too many theories or expectations and it rapidly untangles into a contradictory, jarring mess, which for many will be a death knell in the current climate of sophisticated, intelligent thrillers.

There are glimmers of an interesting picture occasionally being painted here, and a couple of brushstrokes and performances to admire, but on appraisal it’d be fairly criminal to go anywhere near calling Picture You Dead a masterpiece.

Leave it at the car boot, where it belongs.

For such a formula-defying trailblazer, the very idea of a Tina Turner jukebox musical feels – at a conceptual level at least – like a surprisingly typical play.

Whilst 1993’s What’s Love Got To Do With It?, complete with Oscar-nominated evocation of Tina by Angela Bassett, was naturally somewhat clipped (arriving pre-‘Private Dancer’ as it did), it still holds up as a compelling, and some would say definitive, biopic. What more can Tina – the Tina Turner musical bring to audiences?

The answer lies, perhaps unsurprisingly, in its immediacy and in channeling the real magic of the lady herself; live performance. Shrewdly, Phyllida Lloyd’s production jumps straight into those iconic opening beats of ‘The Best’, as we see early-nineties Tina poised and meditative before a performance, before quite literally peeling back the curtain and returning to her childhood.

The bones of Tina are a familiar beast. Frank Ketelaar, Kees Prins and Katori Hall’s book has an awful lot of backstory to get through, and it zips through the star’s early years at fairly breakneck pace. There are fleeting glimpses of racism, parental abandonment and manipulation, but the first act in particular hinges heavily on her new infamous marriage to manager, musician and producer, Ike (David King-Yombo). Turner’s checkered past and the horrors she endured here are already well documented, but particularly visceral and shocking when depicted so unflinchingly on stage. Lloyd, along with choreography Anthony Van Laast and fight director Kate Waters quite literally pull no punches in shining a light on the physical assaults that accompanied Turner’s financial coercion and control.

It makes for a show of distinctly two halves. Post-interval, we find a resolute Tina having broken free from the cycle of abuse, determined to revivify her career and reinvent herself in her own image. It seems callous to suggest that the most fascinating and powerful parts of Tina Turner’s story are amidst her darkest days, but between the deep darkness of the Ike years and the eventual, triumphant reinvention, there’s a lot of treading water, with cookie cutter clashes with record labels and studio sessions that almost feel like Tina is coasting on musical biopic autopilot.

“MacCarthy embodies Turner completely, yet gives a rounded, heartbreaking and ultimately empowering performance in and of itself.”

Still, by the time the wigs are reaching for the ceiling and we’re hitting the likes of ‘What’s Love Got To Do With It?’ and ‘We Don’t Need Another Hero’, all is forgiven and we are back in the commanding, electrifying presence of music royalty.

Steering the ship is a phenomenal, transformative embodiment from Jochebel Ohene MacCarthy. From her humble Nutbush early days, right through to the towering, fist-pumping war cry of ‘The Best’, MacCarthy is simply electric. Her voice crackles with soul and anguish, and she channels the tireless physicality of Tina’s idiosyncratic moves and stage presence faultlessly. The death knell for any biopic is when a performer seems to simply be imitating or mimicking their muse. MacCarthy embodies Turner completely, yet gives a rounded, heartbreaking and ultimately empowering performance in and of itself.

She’s surrounded by a lot of impressive talent and supporting artists, including a company who absolutely go to town with Van Laast’s high-octane choreography. And particularly for a touring production, it looks sensational. Mark Thompson’s sets and costumes are a blend of period accurate and heightened character; regularly dazzling, with some of the transitions particularly snazzy and slick. The segue into the first chorus of ‘The Best’, for instance, is one of the most show-stopping, eye-popping moments you’ll catch on stage.

Ultimately, Tina – the Tina Turner Musical is a touching and fitting tribute to the late Queen of Rock’n’ Roll. It’s a powerful, at-times shocking account of her hardships and journey, even if some of the later chapters coast through formula. But replete with some of the most iconic rock and pop numbers in music history, and buoyed by a truly scintillating lead turn from Jochebel Ohene MacCarthy, whilst it may not exactly reinvent the wheel, it makes sure it’s an awful showy and big wheel at that, and more than keeps it turning.