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.

As the dread spectre of the jukebox musical once again threatened to rear its derivative, biopic-leaning head with the announcement of another stage show set to the tunes of the Queen of Country (Beyoncé fans, don’t try it…), the saving grace for newbie Here You Come Again was, in many ways, good old Dolly herself.

The legendary singer-songwriter has such a pantheon of genuine classics and audience favourites, no matter what dullard of a plot or formulaic autobiography of hers they got plonked in, there’d still mercifully be some toe-tapping treats to bop along to.

Imagine the surprise then, when what is delivered in Here You Come Again lands as a complete curio. A soul-searching two-hander. A time capsule of, of all the periods to choose, those otherworldly pandemic days, complete with audio of Chris Whitty’s daily briefings, the banging of pots and pans for NHS workers, ‘Happy Birthday’ handwashing and, naturally, the customary jab at a partygate-ing Boris Johnson.

What plot there is is somehow both neatly grounded yet unabashedly bonkers at once. Single, forty-something Kevin (Aidan Cutler) is spending his lockdown days in the attic of his parents’ home. They send him snacks, medication and essentials up on a makeshift dumb waiter to maintain social distancing, and he flounders about trying to find a sense of purpose. He’s a self professed ‘has been that never was’ stand-up comic, and in a fickle relationship that presents as more than a little unhealthy.

“What plot there is is somehow both neatly grounded yet unabashedly bonkers at once.”

When his capricious boyfriend unceremoniously dumps him via text, a depressed, Diazepam-gobbling Kevin calls out to the divine powers that be. And not the Almighty; nay, as his treasure trove of Eighties memorabilia and Dolly Parton posters and merchandise clearly shine – none but ‘DP’ herself can handle this mid-life crisis.

Enter Tricia Paoluccio’s staggering convincing take on Dolly. Every cadence, lilt and idiosyncrasy is bang on the money, and impressively it carries through from the physical to the vocal. It’s a stellar performance that somehow manages to escape feeling like a gimmick or an impersonation and rather a rounded (in every sense!) avatar of the lady herself. It isn’t difficult to suspend belief and see the singer herself right up there on stage, right down to heartwarming little tics like addressing the home crowd directly, to that infectious half giggle.

“Tricia Paoluccio’s staggering convincing take on Dolly… a stellar performance that somehow manages to escape feeling like a gimmick or an impersonation.”

Acting as a rhinestoned, buxom-bosomed fairy godmother and an extension of his own psyche at once, ‘Dolly’ sets about steering Kevin on a journey of self-discovery and appreciation, all set to her enviable roster of country and disco hits. The big crowd-pleasers are here and accounted for – ‘9 to 5’, ‘Jolene’ and ‘Islands in the Stream’ to name just a few, and there’s certainly a bit of jimmying some of them in for little reason other than audience expectation demanding so.

Mostly confined to Kevin’s attic getaway, Come Again does occasionally lapse into a spot of naval-gazing and indulgence, and by the interval there’s a lingering question mark over where it’s all headed. After all, there’s only so many times you can flog the ‘love yourself’ message before you need to move on, Dolly or no.

Thankfully, the second half gets a touch more footloose and fancy free as it treads a little closer to Parton herself, with a handful of fan favourite anecdotes (a true story of how she lost a lookalike competition, for starters), and some more interesting play such as an extended sequence where attention is drawn to how surprisingly morbid so many of her songs are, and why. A conversation of motherhood and parenting is perfectly pitched and authentic.

If the book by Bruce Vilanch, Gabriel Barre and Paoluccio herself takes lots of broad, sweeping strokes, and occasionally feels a little too on-the-nose, it should at least be admired for some of the heady and unexpected themes and messages it touches upon. Kevin himself feels like a believable soul, and the bond between the two leads is endearing. You can often see the sugary-coated life lessons and morals of the story coming a mile off, but it’s a sweet time nonetheless.

“You can often see the sugary-coated life lessons and morals of the story coming a mile off, but it’s a sweet time nonetheless.”

Aidan Cutler, stepping in as cover Kevin, proves himself an energised and highly entertaining physical comedian. The appreciation of the audience for his camp, sweet-natured protagonist was audible, and so much of the success and joy of the show is down to his and Paoluccio’s winning turns.

Here You Come Again ultimately proves itself a surprise, but a welcome one. This isn’t by any stretch a biopic, yet is infused with enough of the charm, story and irrepressible wisdom of Dolly that it feels as much about her as the wayward soul she’s helping. There’s a sprinkle of magic and showmanship dotted throughout, courtesy of Richard Pinner’s illusion work, and given its prominence, Paul Wills’ set is positively stuffed with character and life. And Parton’s strength as a songwriter shines through some of the more tender moments in particular.

It all makes for a rhinestoned, glimmering, double d of a delight of a show. It’s colourful, campy, affirming good fun, and whilst it doesn’t exactly reinvent the wheel, it is, much like Parton herself, a confident and unapologetical original.

Here You Come Again, looking better than it really has a right to…