Divorced. Beheaded. Died. Divorced. Beheaded. Survived.

Six the Musical can comfortably afford to do pretty much any and all of the above to any theatre reviewer that may dare to come for it. Toby Marlow and Lucy Moss’ rampaging, seventy-five minute cultural juggernaut is a thing of such surefire demand and adoration that it’s one of the few surefire bets in musical theatre you can safely call ‘critic proof’. It’s hard to recall a show with such a fervent, dedicated fanbase. Wicked? Or do we have to go back as far as Rocky Horror, perhaps? Of course, it’s helped immeasurably by its instant earworm of a soundtrack, one that has rippled out beyond the usual stagey crowds.

The elusive secret of the Six formula lies, it seems, in its comparative simplicity, with a smattering of almost Spice Girls–ian ‘girl power’ thrown in for good measure. The short, single-act blitz through the six wives of Henry VIII as they set their stories and struggles to pop tributes is light on story, big on character and simple yet effective in staging. It wears its streamlined, focused Fringe origins as a sparkling, rhinestoned badge of honour, and admirably none of the creatives have allowed its success to seduce them into stuffing and padding it out beyond recognition or efficiency.

Six is a smart, lean, and whippet-fast jaunt of a show. A funny, charismatic and infectious hybrid of pop concert and musical theatre that laces itself with just enough pathos and even historical insight – not to mention a crowd-pleasing undercurrent of feminine empowerment and positivity throughout – to make those bangers of songs just further icing on an already royally pleasing cake.

“…to suggest the music is somehow an afterthought would surely warrant a beheading.”

Though to suggest the music is somehow an afterthought would surely warrant a beheading. Marlow and Moss demonstrate an uncanny ear for a breadth of genre and style, not to mention setting that to witty wordplay and storytelling through song. From the hip-hop stylings of Anna of Cleve’s (Jodie Knight) ‘Get Down’ as she bombastically flaunts her freewheeling royal lifestyle, the power ballad majesty of Jane Seymour’s (Emily Dawson) wrenching, bittersweet ‘Heart of Stone’ through to the Euro-electro pulse of ‘Haus of Holbein’, each Queen gets their own signature number, perfectly attuned to the tale they have to tell.

See, for instance, the gradual degradation of Katherine Howard’s (Abi Atchison) sultry ‘All You Wanna Do’. Initially starting out as a seductive anthem in the vein of a Britney or Ariana Grande A-side, over the course of the number the spectre of predatory impulses and objectification creep in to the staging, lyrics and performance all, until eventually Howard, shaking and dehumanised, is quite literally being pulled and grasped at from every corner.

It’s just one of many masterclasses Six delivers in doing an awful lot with evidentially quite little.

Between the solo pieces and peppy ensemble numbers, the sextet engage in zippy banter and jovial oneupmanship, with the meta-narrative of a fictional contest to determine who was worse done by old Henry VIII ratcheting up toward conclusion. Lucia Valentina’s hilariously brattish Anne Boleyn habitually reminds her competitors that, despite their woes, she has this thing all sewn up by dint of, you know, losing her head. 

Lasasha Aldridge’s commanding Catherine of Aragon comes out victorious in a game of maternity misery top trumps, whilst Emily Dawson’s Jane Seymour is quick to remind the other ladies that she was the only one the infamous monarch ever truly loved and that she was robbed of seeing her child grow up. Whilst it may all sound frightfully dour and grim, it’s written with such verve and delivered with such mischievous buoyancy – tongues planted firmly in cheeks – that it all proves great, tireless fun. Jodie Knight‘s utterly infectious and audacious Anna of Cleves is the outlier, but the sheer relish and ass-shaking, fist-pumping bombacity with which she sings about how she landed on her feet is an absolute gem, with Knight giving one of the most charismatic and irrepressible Cleves’ to date.

“…it’s written with such verve and delivered with such mischievous buoyancy – tongues planted firmly in cheeks – that it all proves great, tireless fun.”

And ultimately, it leaves things to Eve Kitchingman’s freethinking survivor (and bonafide vocal powerhouse), Catherine Parr, to take a step back from her own heartbreak and appraise all the misery and schadenfreude so that Six can partake in its final, wonderfully cathartic about-turn.

Emma Bailey’s staging and Gabriella Slade’s costumes have certainly been leant some extra sparkle and pizazz since the show’s earlier outings, but once again the core essence of their simple yet showy pop concert vibes haven’t been lost. The illusion is merely amplified, and in no small part thanks to Tim Deiling’s dynamic, dramatic lighting. It looks, sounds and feels like something akin to a bottled arena spectacle, with some ruffles and threading of Tudor flavouring punched in for good measure.

The cast assembled for this latest touring are a royally scintillating and talented troupe. The performance reviewed featured a number of alternates and swings, but you’d sooner find a forgery in the Haus of Holbein before spotting a weak link in this royal chain. They’re all genuinely great, and just know whichever member of the royal court of twenty-twenty-SIX you get to experience, you’re in fantastic hands… and heels.

All six – not to mention their always-on-stage ‘ladies in waiting’ band – keep the energy levels high from the off, and practically never falter.

But we’re not about to commit the ultimate Six taboo of pitting any of these fierce, fabulous ladies against one another. Not only would it go against the entire vibe and raison d’être of this joyous, affirming ode to individuality and sisterhood both, but it would also be utterly pointless.

After all, I could say this was a theatrical atrocity beyond measure or comprehension, and it would still do precisely nothing to dampen the box office and love for brand Six. And thank Henry…. sorry, thank Catherine, Anne, Jane, Anna, Katherine and Catherine (again) for that, because Six is not only here to stay, not only is it pretty much a perfectly-formed package of poppy musical theatre brilliance, but it’s also fundamentally an empowering, vibrant and utterly original showcase of theatrical magic that wears its well-deserved crown with vim, sass, pride and utterly regal fabulousness.

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.

Note: TWE reviewed  ‘Dear Evan Hansen’ 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 most recent visit to Birmingham.

 Given its enviable trophy cabinet, stuffed with Tonys, Oliviers and even a Grammy, it had been a wobbly few years for Steven Levenson, Benj Pasek and Justin Paul’s Dear Even Hansen.

The 2021 Amy Adams Hollywood adaptation, starring OG ‘Evan’, Ben Platt, was widely considered a clumsy misfire at best, and seemed to compete with the lingering remains of COVID for being the most vilified thing of the year. The West End production closed shortly after, followed – perhaps inevitably – by those esteemed scholars that are the TikTok revisionists jumping on board and starting to ask if perhaps the whole thing hadn’t always been a bit problematic and morally dubious from the start.

Cue Adam Penford and the Nottingham Playhouse.

Reviving Evan in this slick, confident new non-replica touring production, Penford and team have distilled this story of a sensitive, reclusive American teen whose lies get more than a little out of hand back into the disarming, moving and powerful piece of musical theatre it was formerly most celebrated as.

Young Evan Hansen (an astonishing Ryan Kopel) is a nervy, isolated loner, barely scraping through therapy sessions and medication refills, let alone navigating the social jungle of high school. With Dad long since painting himself out of the picture, mum Heidi (musical theatre royalty Alice Fearn) burns the candle at both ends trying to keep a roof over their heads and studying towards a paralegal degree.

When an unexpected tragedy strikes, pulling Evan into its orbit courtesy of an errant letter penned to himself (hence the title), the young teen finds himself absorbed in a growing maelstrom of dishonesty and initially well-meaning fantasy. What starts out as a fairly harmless collection of white lies to comfort a grieving family soon balloons into something far greater, though by drawing him closer to the object of his affections, young Zoe (Lauren Conroy), Evan finds the allure of his deception impossible to detach from.

Dear Evan Hansen certainly courts some heady topics and themes. Modern flourishes such as going ‘viral’, coupled with the capricious nature of online commentary become important subthreads. And issues of suicide, drug abuse, trauma and mental health disorders underpin much of the show’s narrative weight. There are even a handful of moments where these are used to punctuate comedic beats.

Some may venture into Act II hearing some of those TikTok naysayers echoing faintly in the back of their minds. Is this all, in fact, a bit distasteful?

Thankfully, a stellar cast and Penford’s considered direction all finish the hat sensitively, rounding off a frequently moving and stirring piece of musical storytelling. Evan Hansen doesn’t shy away from acknowledging its protagonists’ wrongdoing, and the eventual emotional fallout feels blisteringly authentic. There are powerful, tearjerking performances at practically every turn, and Pasek and Paul’s decorated songs and music are consistently top drawer. There’s a reason the likes of ‘Waving Thorough a Window’, ‘For Forever’ and ‘You Will Be Found’ are already comfortably established as musical theatre tentpoles.

“There are powerful, tearjerking performances at practically every turn, and Pasek and Paul’s decorated songs and music are consistently top drawer…”

For despite the fact that the core through line of Evan Hansen is built on a bed of dishonesty and cowardice, so too does it ultimately end up feeling rather hopeful and healing.

Stepping out of the shadow of the likes of Ben Platt and Sam Tutty is no easy task, but Ryan Kopel takes hold of the titular role and does stunning things with it. His Evan is an altogether more tremulous, timid beast even than we’ve seen before, but Kopel plays it to utter perfection. It’s a soulful, delicate, idiosyncratic and at times devastating central turn, completely earnest, and the fact Kopel is able to match the quality of his acting with equally jaw-dropping vocals only amplifies what is an already captivating performance.

Around him, Alice Fearn gets great material to showcase her formidable acting chops as Evan’s imperfect, hard-working and frustrated mum. She unsurprisingly tears up her handful of big musical moments, the sheer emotion and strength of her ‘So Big/So Small’ one of the highlights of what is a very packed evening of great vocals. Tom Dickerson is great fun and brings some much-needed levity as ‘family friend’ and co-conspirator, Jared, recruited into helping maintain Evan’s deceit. Will Forgrave put in a great and poignant turn understudying troubled teen Connor in the performance reviewed, whilst Lauren Conroy remains a fascinating and wonderfully naturalistic on-stage presence as potential love interest and grieving sister, Zoe.

“…a soulful, delicate, idiosyncratic and at times devastating central turn.”

In truth, though, the whole company impresses, all neatly housed in a visually arresting, high-tech playground of Morgan Large, Matt Daw and Ravi Deepres’ design. Deepres’ video work accents things often, from a melange of social media activity through to the almost blinding light of Evan’s recollections and fantasies. Much like the bustling, metropolitan, chronically online world that its characters find themselves swept up by, this is a production that is bustling, interlocking, modern and polished. Penford keeps things moving and punchy, though isn’t averse to ‘slamming on the brakes’ and letting his characters bathe in little more than a simple spotlight when the moment calls for it, such as a pivotal school assembly address.

Come its bittersweet coda, there may still be some theatregoers pondering whether or not Dear Evan Hansen has let its protagonist off lightly. It’ll doubtless fuel fan debate and those tireless TikTok and Youtube commentators for many years to come.

But to delve too deeply into such atavistic weeds would threaten to miss the point altogether. It would also dull the mature, warts-and-all frankness of the show’s ultimate message. Namely, that we’re all flawed, broken people, and even the best of us can do the wrong things for the right reason.

With a stunning, deservedly acclaimed soundtrack, masterfully reignited and invigorated by Penford and team, and boasting what should be a star-making turn for Kopel, Dear Evan Hansen is a poignant, heartfelt love letter to the foibles and frailties of the human condition.

A moving, pensive story and beautifully crafted production both, that deftly silences the critics and the naysayers. It’s a heartfelt reminder that it is often in our most glaring imperfections and unforgivable mistakes where the most unexpected beauty, and perhaps even faintest glimmer of hope, can be found.

Given its enviable trophy cabinet, stuffed with Tonys, Oliviers and even a Grammy, it’s been a wobbly couple of years for Steven Levenson, Benj Pasek and Justin Paul’s Dear Even Hansen.

The 2021 Amy Adams Hollywood adaptation, starring OG ‘Evan’, Ben Platt, was widely considered a clumsy misfire at best, and seemed to compete with the lingering remains of COVID for being the most vilified thing of the year. The West End production closed shortly after, followed – perhaps inevitably – by those esteemed scholars that are the TikTok revisionists jumping on board and starting to ask if perhaps the whole thing hadn’t always been a bit problematic and morally dubious from the start.

Cue Adam Penford and the Nottingham Playhouse.

Reviving Evan in this slick, confident new touring production, Penford and team have distilled this story of a sensitive, reclusive American teen whose lies get more than a little out of hand back into the disarming, moving and powerful piece of musical theatre it was formerly most celebrated as.

Young Evan Hansen (an astonishing Ryan Kopel) is a nervy, isolated loner, barely scraping through therapy sessions and medication refills, let alone navigating the social jungle of high school. With Dad long since painting himself out of the picture, mum Heidi (musical theatre royalty Alice Fearn) burns the candle at both ends trying to keep a roof over their heads and studying towards a paralegal degree.

When an unexpected tragedy strikes, pulling Evan into its orbit courtesy of an errant letter penned to himself (hence the title), the young teen finds himself absorbed in a growing maelstrom of dishonesty and initially well-meaning fantasies. What starts out as a fairly harmless collection of white lies to comfort a grieving family soon balloons into something far greater, though by drawing him closer to the object of his affections, young Zoe (Lauren Conroy), Evan finds the allure of his deception impossible to detach from.

Dear Evan Hansen certainly courts some heady topics and themes. Modern flourishes such as going ‘viral’, coupled with the capricious nature of online commentary become important subthreads. And issues of suicide, drug abuse, trauma and mental health disorders underpin much of the show’s narrative weight. There are even a handful of moments where these are used to punctuate comedic beats.

Some may venture into Act II hearing some of those TikTok naysayers echoing faintly in the back of their minds. Is this all, in fact, a bit distasteful?

Thankfully, a stellar cast and Penford’s considered direction all finish the hat sensitively, rounding off a frequently moving and stirring piece of musical storytelling. Evan Hansen doesn’t shy away from acknowledging its protagonists’ wrongdoing, and the eventual emotional fallout feels blisteringly authentic. There are powerful, tearjerking performances at practically every turn, and Pasek and Paul’s decorated songs and music are consistently top drawer. There’s a reason the likes of ‘Waving Thorough a Window’, ‘For Forever’ and ‘You Will Be Found’ are already comfortably established as musical theatre tentpoles.

“There are powerful, tearjerking performances at practically every turn, and Pasek and Paul’s decorated songs and music are consistently top drawer…”

For despite the fact that the core through line of Evan Hansen is built on a bed of dishonesty and cowardice, so too does it ultimately end up feeling rather hopeful and healing.

Stepping out of the shadow of the likes of Ben Platt and Sam Tutty is no easy task, but Ryan Kopel takes hold of the titular role and does stunning things with it. His Evan is an altogether more tremulous, timid beast even than we’ve seen before, but Kopel plays it to utter perfection. It’s a soulful, delicate, idiosyncratic and at times devastating central turn, completely earnest, and the fact Kopel is able to match the quality of his acting with equally jaw-dropping vocals only amplifies what is an already captivating performance.

Around him, Alice Fearn gets great material to showcase her formidable acting chops as Evan’s imperfect, hard-working and frustrated mum. She unsurprisingly tears up her handful of big musical moments, the sheer emotion and strength of her ‘So Big/So Small’ one of the highlights of what is a very packed evening of great vocals. Tom Dickerson is great fun and brings some much-needed levity as ‘family friend’ and co-conspirator, Jared, recruited into helping maintain Evan’s deceit. Vivian Panka is memorable as ambitious fellow outcast, Alana, who begins to realise some of Evan’s tales aren’t quite stacking up, whilst Lauren Conroy is a fascinating and naturalistic on-stage presence as potential love interest and grieving sister, Zoe.

“…a soulful, delicate, idiosyncratic and at times devastating central turn.”

In truth, though, the whole company impresses, all neatly housed in a visually arresting, high-tech playground of Morgan Large, Matt Daw and Ravi Deepres’ design. Deepres’ video work accents things often, from a melange of social media activity through to the almost blinding light of Evan’s recollections and fantasies. Much like the bustling, metropolitan, chronically online world that its characters find themselves swept up by, this is a production that is bustling, interlocking, modern and polished. Penford keeps things moving and punchy, though isn’t averse to ‘slamming on the brakes’ and letting his characters bathe in little more than a simple spotlight when the moment calls for it, such as a pivotal school assembly address.

Come its bittersweet coda, there may still be some theatregoers pondering whether or not Dear Evan Hansen has let its protagonist off lightly. It’ll doubtless fuel fan debate and those tireless TikTok and Youtube commentators for many years to come.

But to delve too deeply into such atavistic weeds would threaten to miss the point altogether. It would also dull the mature, warts-and-all frankness of the show’s ultimate message. Namely, that we’re all flawed, broken people, and even the best of us can do the wrong things for the right reason.

With a stunning, deservedly acclaimed soundtrack, masterfully reignited and invigorated by Penford and team, and boasting what should be a star-making turn for Kopel, Dear Evan Hansen is a poignant, heartfelt love letter to the foibles and frailties of the human condition.

A moving, pensive story and beautifully crafted production both, that deftly silences the critics and the naysayers. It’s a heartfelt reminder that it is often in our most glaring imperfections and unforgivable mistakes where the most unexpected beauty, and perhaps even faintest glimmer of hope, can be found.