In the two decades plus since its release, Tina Fey’s breakout teen comedy has garnished us all with a healthy supply of now staples memes and cultural fodder.

We know that it’s pink on Wednesdays. Always ask the date on October 3rd.

And for heaven’s sake, Gretchen, stop trying to make ‘fetch’ happen.

Given its lasting power, and once its spiritual predecessor (and, whisper it – superior) Heathers got the musical treatment, it was perhaps inevitable that Mean Girls would receive its time in the stagey sun.

With Fey returning for book duties, alongside hubby (and long-time 30 Rock collaborator) Jeff Richmond taking on the tunes, with a splash of Olivier-winning flair from lyricist Nell Benjamin, the most pressing question of all is; does Mean Girls as a musical smash the limits, or elicit little more than a ‘Boo, you whore’?

Following a fairly short-lived run in the West End, Casey Nicholaw’s spirited, bubblegum pop production is currently touring, arriving at the Wolverhampton Grand this week.

And it has to be said from the outset, as the UK swelters under a record-breaking heatwave, kudos to the phenomenally talented and spritely ensemble for the tireless energy and hutzpah with which they performed the show’s demanding, hyper-kinetic choreography throughout. Beads of sweat flung out across the stage, and ‘Damian’, Max Gill, even gave a cheeky characterful nod to the oppressive hit during the curtain call, but no ‘burn book’ needed – these consummate professionals put on one hell of a show.

Stamina and professional admiration aside, there’s a fun time to be had with Mean Girls on stage. Sure, much like its filmic forebear, it’s fairly tame when compared with the nihilism and black comedy of, say, Heathers, and it wears its teen-friendly vibes proudly on its fuchsia sleeves. Homeschooled, socially-awkward Cady (Emily Lane) arrives from Kenya into the scariest habitat this side of the Serengeti – the American High School.

“…fairly atypical teen movie fare, but it’s punctured by Fey’s witty and characterful writing and barbed dialogue.”

In attempting to find her footing and crowd, she befriends two fellow outcasts, Damian (Max Gill) and Janis (Georgie Buckland) whilst also catching the eye of the trio of fearsome ‘Plastics’ – neurotic Gretchen (Kiara Dario), delightfully ditzy Karen (Sophie Pourret) and ultimate ‘It’ girl and alpha female (there’s literally a track about her called ‘Apex Predator’), Regina George (Vivian Panka).

The ‘cautionary tale’ that follows – intermittently narrated by Damian and Janis – is fairly atypical teen movie fare, but it’s punctured by Fey’s witty and characterful writing and barbed dialogue. As Cady ventures into the Plastics’ sphere of influence to sabotage them from within, she finds the allure of their power, position and privilege irresistible to resist.

And, naturally, she develops a thing for class heartthrob – and Regina’s ex – Aaron (Ben Oatley).

Anyone familiar with the film will be pleased to know all the fan favourite lines and quips are present and accounted for. Benjamin and Richmond do a solid job repurposing it as a musical, with some fun pop tracks peppered throughout. It doesn’t succeed in its transition to the extent that the likes of Benjamin’s work on Legally Blonde did (adapting similar material), but there are enough bangers, winningly performed, and Nicholaw keeps it all moving at a punchy enough pace that it never lags.

“Anyone familiar with the film will be pleased to know all the fan favourite lines and quips are present and accounted for.”

Helping the touring production immeasurably is a terrific cast assembled for the year book. Sure, Faye Tozer (of Steps fame) feels horribly underutilised despite playing three roles, but she at least gets to have fun as Regina’s ersatz, gin-swigging wannabe influencer mom. Gill whips up loads of laughs and characterful hijinks, too, as a suitably flamboyant Damian – his ‘Where Do You Belong’ song and dance number an early highlight.

But perhaps unsurprisingly, it is Cady and the ladies who command the stage and really deliver on the promise of Mean Girls as a musical outing. Emily Lane is a confident and engaging leading lady, and tackles some of the big sings with real relish. Kiara Dario and Sophie Pourret are a scream as Regina’s doting disciples; Dario bringing nuance to her paranoid, needy Gretchen, and Pourret absolutely hilarious as the somehow knowingly clueless Karen.

Vivian Panka, meanwhile, knows the assignment only too well when it comes to playing such an iconic role as Regina George, devouring the stage as the ruthless, conniving leader of the pack. She belts for the back rows and beyond, but is just as intoxicating in George’s quieter or more sultry moments. And she is perfectly met by former bestie and complete yin to her yang, Janis – a quite sensational Georgie Buckland, who continues to prove herself a formidable musical theatre talent to watch with a soaring, powerhouse and giddily punk take on the scorned outsider.

So, come for the quotes about heavy menstruation and sizeable vaginas, stay for the electric performances, terrific ensemble, a bus load of pop bangers and overall a zesty, high-energy musical that is even more fetch than Spring Fling.

Sorry, we’ll stop trying to make that happen.

Anyway… get in, loser, we’re going touring.

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.

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…

“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.

It’s a universal truth in the ebbing, organic flow of theatre making.

Just because one production is good, doesn’t mean they all will be.

Perhaps the reigning example of this creed is the wildly variable Ghost the Musical. The original West End production and subsequent tour remains one of the most technically dazzling and ambitious musicals ever put to stage. The barely watchable Bill Kenwright homunculus of it that followed a few years later, starring the late Sarah Harding, was a disaster. Its most recent reincarnation landed somewhere in between.

Of course, the reverse can be true, as well. One would rather pluck one’s own teeth than revisit the 2017 tour of Grease, whilst Nikolai Foster’s recent revisit gave it a much-needed MOT into a really exciting and vibrant piece of musical theatre.

Which brings us to Bat Out Of Hell, a show which, back in 2022 this very outlet called ‘one of the most gorgeous, vibrantly and innovatively realised productions you will see in any theatre.’

No prizes for guessing where this is going…

First, the good. This new, non-replica production at least gets its casting on point. Bringing back former cast members Glenn Adamson, Rob Fowler and Sharon Sexton alone makes for a compelling argument to see them do their thing. Katie Tonkinson, so great last year in the ill-fated Bonnie & Clyde, is equally impressive, and rounds out the central cast with gusto.

Bat continues to boast some of the best vocals you could wish for in a musical production, with Adamson and co routinely knocking raising the roofs with killer riffs and belts to what are, after all, seriously demanding sings in the discography or Meatloaf and Jim Steinman.

They’re enveloped by more excellence, too. Georgia Bradshaw, Luke Street and Ryan Carter are all seriously impressive, and a special shout out must go to local Wolverhampton talent Sophie-Rose Emery, who delivered a powerhouse understudy Valkyrie in the performance reviewed.

“The stage is almost literally set aflame with talent, and when you can just allow yourself to be swept along in the rock ’n roll of it all, there are moments of pure electricity.”

The stage is almost literally set aflame with talent, and when you can just allow yourself to be swept along in the rock ’n roll of it all, there are moments of pure electricity.

So give this company all their deserved plaudits; they give it their all and present some seriously commanding and soaring numbers masterfully.

The issue is, frankly, everything else. And the calibre of talent assembled for this production only makes its waste of them all the more glaring.

This is Bat Out Of Hell – the Ozempic years. Whilst never the most intricate or groundbreaking of narratives, Steinman’s original book presented a dystopian slant on Peter Pan, all drenched in lashings of punk rock anarchy. The bones of its story are just about intact: a powerful, corporate overlord (Rob Fowler) tries to prevent his ingenue daughter, Raven (Katie Tonkinson) from becoming entangled with Start (Glenn Adamson), the spunky leader of a group of rebellious youths who will never grow old.

For those familiar with the previous production, it’s impossible to not feel disappointed that so much of the plot and substance is either blitzed through or chopped out altogether. And yet, despite taking out entire numbers (three in total), it doesn’t seem to have any time for world or character-building, either. Spare a thought for those who are new to it all; interval murmurings had several people completely lost as to what on earth was supposed to be going on.

As well as being inexcusably rushed, rendering some of it almost incomprehensible, there’s precious little sense of character or motivation. The central love interest and Raven’s parents seem to separate and reunite every ten minutes. Good luck decoding why; there seems to be more time given to the reasons behind the will they, won’t they of Bradshaw and Carter’s Zahara and Jagwire. Someone says something about underground tunnels and ‘deep ends’ at some point. Answers on a postcard for the uninitiated.

Without context or breathing space, moments of humour fall flat or, in the case of what was formerly a raucous, show-stopping duet between Fowler and Sexton, feel uncomfortable and jarring here. 

“As well as being inexcusably rushed…. there’s precious little sense of character or motivation.”

And the choreography. It’s serviceable for some of the bigger set pieces – the company briefly bringing ‘Dead Ringer for Love’ to life as a song and dance interlude – but for the most part it’s bizarre, distracting and borderline parodic. Whenever our two leads are together they awkwardly bound about each other like a pair of agitated rabbits. It feels laden, awkward and at times even amateur.

This Bat Out Of Hell is directed in a fashion that seems, if anything, annoyingly burdened by the whole musical theatre inconvenience, when it really just wants to be a staged rock concert. For most shows of this ilk, that would acceptable (enjoyable, even). Yet there’s no denying this Bat has had its wings, logic and much of its compelling uniqueness clipped altogether. So much of what made it a fun, quirky and original piece of musical theatre storytelling has been binned in favour of a rushed, confusing mess.

The legitimately superb cast do their absolute best to salvage it, and the vocals and performances remain arguably worth the price of admission alone, but as the pendulum of production quality swings, the former great version of this show is All Coming Back to Me Now.

And I guess, with that in mind, Two out of Five Stars ain’t bad…

Note: TWE recently reviewed  ‘Chicago’ earlier in its tour. Given that this is the same touring production, what follows is a revised version of that same review, updated for its visit to the Wolverhampton Grand.

As we appraise a show already reviewed earlier in its run, let Chicago the Musical’s most overriding swipe at celebrity culture and infamy linger for a second.

Namely; flavour of the month can change on a dime.

It’s a truth that transposes itself onto this new production of Ebb, Kander and Fosse’s fan favourite in a curiously meta fashion.

Take a glance at the show’s current tour schedule and it appears to almost be a dice roll of who will be appearing where. Head on down to Norwich next month and 80s legend Sinitta will be temporarily reclaiming the reins of Matron ‘Mama’ Morton. Strictly favourite Kevin Clifton recently capped off his appearance in the tour for a handful of venues, fand X Factor and Loose Women alumni swings back in for the show’s last stop in Salford.

In our review of the current touring production at the Alexandra earlier this year, this writer made a point of clearly establishing that glitzy five star rating was for the assemblage of leads that Brum was treated to. Heck, we even prefaced it all with: We can’t be held responsible if you are reading this further down the line and your Billy Flynn proves a damp squib, or your Matron ‘Mama’ Morton can’t riff for the back rows.

Which brings us to Wolverhampton, as Chicago fosses it way into the City for a week-long engagement at the Grand. You’ve likely already glanced at that star rating, but we’ll get to the whys of that shortly.

Those familiar with the show will be pleased to know that this is very much the tale of ‘greed, corruption, violence, exploitation, adultery and treachery’ you know and love, staged with real Fosse-worthy pizzaz and zest. It’s a sexy, funny, silly romp through the misadventures and opportunism of jailbirds Roxie Hart (Janette Manrara) and Velma Kelly (Djalenga Scott) who find themselves banged up for murder.

And, as the tagline for Rob Marshall’s Oscar-gobbling 2002 film adaptation shrewdly chimed – if you can’t be famous, be infamous.

“Somehow both more heightened and stripped back at once on stage when compared to Marshall’s film adaptation, the current touring production really leans into the zanier, freewheeling hijinks of Ebb and Fosse’s book.”

Somehow both more heightened and stripped back at once on stage when compared to Marshall’s film adaptation, the current touring production really leans into the zanier, freewheeling hijinks of Ebb and Fosse’s book. As the two warring murderesses attempt to outdo one another, abetted by their slick operator of a lawyer (Darren Day) and equally self-serving prison matron (Victoria Anderson), whole numbers omitted from the film are present and accounted for here, such as Roxie’s wonderfully goofy ‘Me and My Baby’ and Velma’s accompanying ‘I Know A Girl’.

Naturally, all the iconic favourites – from seminal opener ‘All That Jazz‘ onwards – are here, too, and in the hands of such a strong company, and with a splash of extra sexiness and fun injected into Fosse’s classic choreo courtesy of Ann Reinking and Gary Chryst, it’s quite possibly the best that Chicago has looked, moved and sounded in its several decades of existence. The show’s iconic tiered, minimalist staging, very much evocative of the cabaret joints of the era, remains distinctive and effective in its simplicity. Tour director Tânia Nardini makes great use of it, not least of all with resident MD Neil MacDonald a show-stopping tenant – leading a truly impressive ten-strong orchestra on-stage, who prove to be a star attraction in and of themselves.

Before, about and even between them, a seriously impressive company strut, split and sidle their way through this exciting, sultry revisit. They are excellent across the board, though particular plaudits must go to Annabelle Lang, Victoria Anderson, Ria Tanaka, Lucy-Anne Stacey and Bethany Adamson who, in addition to being on multi-role ensemble duty, help solidify ‘The Cell Block Tango’ as one of musical theatre’s great numbers. Similarly, whilst Josh Crowther makes for a physically imposing and dashing Fred Casely, it’s actually in his later quirkier, caricature beats where he really impresses with some terrific physical comedy and character work.

Djalenga Scott triumphantly returns to the role of Velma Kelly, singing and sassing up a veritable storm as the feisty ‘OG’ merry murderess. Joshua Lloyd proves an endearing and boyish Amos, whilst many eyes will doubtless be on Strictly Come Dancing pro Janette Manrara to see whether she has the chops to take on the deceptively demanding role of Roxie Hart. Thankfully, she does not disappoint. Like much of the show, Roxie on stage is a far more manic, goofy and even brattish creation than on screen, and Manrara brings an excitable physicality to the role that is utterly infectious. She infuses so much vitality and nervous, hyperactive electricity into her Roxie that you can’t take your eyes off of this delicious interpretation of the character. And yes, her dance skills are put to terrific use, perhaps most notably in the puppetry hijinks of ‘We Both Reached For The Gun’ and the comic freewheeling of ‘Me and My Baby’.

“Manrara brings an excitable physicality to the role that is utterly infectious… and yes, her dance skills are put to terrific use.”

Darren Day steps into the sauve, cocksure shoes of defence lawyer Billy Flynn, and whilst he certainly looks the part, a lot of the character’s higher register and bigger belts elude Day. He’s a perfectly serviceable Billy, but when compared to other Billy’s on this very tour, it hard to shake that it feels like a downgrade. The production has also lost the riffing, belting prowess of Brenda Edwards as Mama Morton, though it has to be said, ensemble member Victoria Anderson who stepped in for Edwards can belt for the heavens, too, even if the characterisation felt a little thin.

Much like we said earlier in the year, if this current touring production is indeed a changing, evolving beast with a variable lineup at practically every stop of the way, then, as mentioned, you may need to adjust your mileage accordingly. Chicago lives and breathes on its casting, and you only need to glance at previous reviews by this very outlet to know that some of the alternate casting choices are something of a mixed bag.

So if Wolverhampton isn’t quite getting to experience Chicago at its absolute sexiest and best (curiously in the performance reviewed, Manrara’s opening number was grounded from its ladder-scaling heights to being plonked on stage), it’s still a sizzling, relentlessly entertaining spectacle of Vaudevillian delights and iconic numbers. It’s directed and choreographed to absolute perfection, and high-kicked and jazz-handed to the stage by a cast and company who are (mostly) so good you’d almost think it should be illegal.

Come on babe, why don’t you paint the town, and see what all the Fosse’s about.

The theatre colossus that is Andrew Lloyd Webber committed a giggle-worthy gaff earlier this year, when accepting a WhatsOnStage award for his recent revival of Starlight Express in the West End.

“We’re bringing in new, young people to see a show and… okay, it’s not necessarily the greatest musical you’ll ever see.”

The room – not to mention swathes of TikTok – took it in good humour and relished in the Lord (not that one) offering up a splash of self-deprecation toward one of his earlier offerings.

It’s the kind of deadpan that could be levied at Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. The debut collaboration between Lloyd Webber and Sir Tim Rice is a simple but pleasant thing. It has graced more school, amateur and professional stages than quite possibly any other musical that springs to mind and as such is peppy, family-friendly fun with catchy tunes that you’ll likely be humming long after the curtain falls.

But as a simplistic, sung-through piece it’s… well, not necessarily the greatest musical you’ll ever see.

Enter: Michael Harrison, Laurence Connor and team.

Stretching, pulling, rethreading and revitalising every nook, cranny and beat of Joseph, imbibing it with spectacle and a flurry of big-budget, song-and-dance embellishments, they serve up what is perhaps the biggest surprise of the theatre season so far.

Bursting with invention and joy, this is a rousing, technicolor marvel of a revival that truly sings.

“…a rousing, technicolor marvel of a revival that truly sings.”

For those who have somehow avoided the Joseph engine to date, its follows its titular character as he goes on his biblical adventure through slavery, imprisonment and beyond. Given its roots, Lloyd Webber and Rice’s book is refreshingly scarce on religiosity, with nary a mention of the big man upstairs. Instead, it is a decidedly child-friendly ode to fortitude, perseverance and decency.

‘Given the fact that any substance here is paper thin (at best), Connor, along with set designer Morgan Large and choreographer Joanne M. Hunter decide to go full throttle on the spectacle. Particular credit to MD John Rigby and the dance arrangements from Sam Davis, too. A cynic may call it padding, but the full-throated way in which the creatives here take the likes of ‘One More Angel in Heaven’ and explode into a full honkey-tonk hoedown of almost Rodgers and Hammerstein proportions is nothing short of genius. ‘Those Canaan Days‘ becoming ‘Can Can days? Inspired. This feels like Joseph the musical as it always ought to have been.

Given the abundance of different genres that Joseph’s score riffs through – jazz, country, rock, calypso to name but a few – the decision to have lots of freewheeling, expansive fun here pays off in abundance. Formerly pleasant toe-tappers turn into full scale song and dance show-stoppers, and Connor has a deft eye for injecting character throughout, to boot.

Of course, it helps to be working with such a strong company. Not least of all a selection of very winning child performers who have been integrated into the show far beyond the usual token pop-ups, which is a joy to watch. Even key roles such as Potiphar and the good-nature Benjamin are portrayed by some of the talented kids on stage.

In a similar vein, the irrepressible bundle of joy that is Christina Bianco takes her cheeky, fourth wall-breaking narrator and dips it in and out with bit parts such as Joseph’s father and Potiphar’s villainous, seductive wife. Bianco injects the role with a ton of energy and charm to spare, and her innate comedic skills are put to great use throughout. And if it that weren’t enough natural comedic talent to appreciate, the triumphant return of Birmingham Hippodrome favourite Matt Slack proves an utterly scene-stealing strike of casting gold.

“Hippodrome favourite Matt Slack proves an utterly scene-stealing strike of casting gold.”

By dint of his role as Pharaoh, Slack isn’t afforded a tremendous of stage time, but he mines it for every laugh, strut and cheeky reference to his panto staples as he can. It’s a gift of an extended cameo, and a surefire reason why audiences should check out the tour in Birmingham.

But arguably this production’s greatest ace is in it’s leading man; rising musical theatre star Adam Filipe. Recently impressing with knockout vocals in Titanic the Musical and Sideshow in Concert last April, Filipe steps into big sandals – not to mention a certain sizeable coat – and more than rises to the occasion, serving up an absolute dream of a Joseph. Injecting the admittedly rather one-dimensional lead with a likability, exuberance and even athleticism throughout, Filipe is tremendous. And yes, he absolutely raises the roof with a blistering rendition of ‘Close Every Door’.

To say this is a production that exceeds expectations would be an understatement. It may well be amongst the most inventive, characterful and exciting examples of injecting a whole new scale and life into an old favourite to date. It is a glittering, joyful manifesto of how to stage a revival with vision and purpose, and if it is a case of dazzling with style over substance, then colour me dazzled, then slap on some more.

Lloyd Webber best get practising the next iteration of that speech…

Midway through & Juliet, meta narrator William Shakespeare (Jay McGuinness) complains to an also-on-stage Anne Hathaway (Lara Denning) that their revisionist semi-sequel is feeling a bit ‘slim’.

Low on conflict. In need of some added bite.

As an audience member, it’s difficult to disagree.

Luke Sheppard’s vibrant, hyperactive romp through the hits of Max Martin (and ‘friends) is a pop-infused ‘what if’ – using hits from the likes of Britney Spears, Backstreet Boys and Bon Jovi to explore what could have transpired if the ‘Juliet’ (Gerardine Sacdalan) of Shakespeare’s iconic tragedy never actually ended it all.

It plays out much akin to throwing Mamma Mia and a hefty dose of panto into a blender, sprinkled with a liberal helping of Six’s revisionist wit. Shakespeare and Hathaway act as both narrators of the piece (with their own marital woes underpinning much of the show’s raison d’être), but also revel in taking parts in the revamped, ongoing adventures of the Capulet heroine.

“The first act in particular blitzes through big, loud and dazzling numbers at an almost breathless pace…”

Where Lucy Moss and Toby Marlow were able to frame their revised take on the wives of Henry VIII in the vein of a pop concert, with a slew of carefully crafted and characterful original numbers doing the storytelling, we’re firmly in jukebox territory here. The first act in particular blitzes through big, loud and dazzling numbers at an almost breathless pace, leaving the sense that the show is itching to get all this pesky storytelling out of the way in order to get to the next Katy Perry or Britney set piece.

There are certainly crowdpleasers to spare, and if nothing else, & Juliet is a toe-tapping, fist-pumping celebration of Martin’s impressive pop discography. It just feels like the first half in particular could occasionally do with slowing down, catching its breath and investing in a touch more structure and purpose.

A major about-turn at the halfway point does inject some much-needed conflict and bite into proceedings. And it certainly has plenty of fun with its fourth-wall breaking, too. McGuiness as the Bard gets a running gag acknowledging how many famous phrases were of his penning, whilst Denning has some deadpan fun with that famous name.

But the core narrative through-line – Juliet flees from fair Verona with her nurse (Sandra Marvin) and two besties (Jordan Broatch and Denning again) only to become embroiled in all-new romantic shenanigans – is wafer thin at best. There’s real muddling back-and-forth with the central character, too. Whilst Sacdalan is an absolute powerhouse in the role, exuding plenty of crowd-pleasing female empowerment and independence, this Juliet seems to reclaim her agency fairly early on, meaning a lot of the subsequent conflict and actualisation feels a little… repetitive?

“…Sacdalan is an absolute powerhouse in the role, exuding plenty of crowd-pleasing female empowerment and independence…”

So it’s mostly nonsense and fluff, and if David West Read aimed for the likes of Six with his book (it’s impossible to shake the influence), he seems to land somewhere closer to big budget karaoke party. Occasionally, it strikes gold – using Britney Spears‘ ‘I’m Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman’ to underpin May’s gender identity journey is truly inspired, and Broatch does a beautiful job with it. Similarly, a late-game cycle through Backstreet Boys hits manages to wheel between being hilarious, ridiculous, pathetic and touching in rapid succession.

Elevating things, the company deserve their flowers. Sacdalan, as mentioned, is a real force to be reckoned with. She’s given a heavy stack of big sings and demanding dance numbers and crackles with the poppy star power the role demands. The ever-dependable Sandra Marvin is great fun as Juliet’s loyal nurse, and if her subplot of reigniting passions with an old flame (in the form of Ranj Singh’s hilarious French aristocrat) has been seen and done a million times before, Marvin and Singh still mine plenty of laughs and joy from it all. Marvin, as is to be expected, rips, riffs and belts her way through her numbers, too, a late-game assurance proving particularly stirring.

Broadway’s OG ‘Romeo’, Ben Jackson Walker, is a real hoot as a douchey revisit to the Montague heir, and The Wanted and Strictly’s Jay McGuiness has a lot of fun as William Shakespeare.

But it’s Denning as Hathaway who really threatens to steal the whole thing. Denning proves a formidable comedienne throughout, passing biting commentary and relishing the show’s revisionist bent. But she’s musical theatre through and through, and her blistering rendition of ‘That’s The Way It Is’ utterly glorious.

Go in to & Juliet anticipating the next iteration of witty, revisionist empowerment and you will likely come out a touch disappointed. Whilst it’s impossible to shake the Moss and Marlow inspirations, screaming as they are, it’s an altogether sillier, looser affair. It’s crowd-pleasing, bubblegum fun, landing on the shoulders of a strong cast who give it their all. Soutra Gilmour’s neon set, Howard Hudson’s no holds barred lighting and Andrzej Goulding’s enormous video backdrops ensure it has all the spectacle and sparkle of a VMA opener or Coachella set piece, which is completely fitting.

As an inconsequential, poptastic spot of what-if-ery and a colourful ride through some of the nineties and noughties biggest hits, & Juliet may not reinvent the wheel, and may even at times feel like it is speaking ‘an infinite wheel of nothing’, but you’ll doubtless be on your feet, fist pumping the air and singing along by the time the curtain call rolls around.

After all, if music be the food of love…

Before you allow yourself to be too razzle dazzled by that star rating, let Chicago the Musical’s most overriding swipe at celebrity culture and infamy linger for a second.

Namely; flavour of the month can change on a dime.

It’s a truth that transposes itself onto this new production of Ebb, Kander and Fosse’s fan favourite in a curiously meta fashion.

Take a glance at the show’s current tour schedule and it appears to almost be a dice roll of who will be appearing where. Head on down to Cornwall next week and 80s legend Sinitta will be temporarily reclaiming the reins of Matron ‘Mama’ Morton from Brenda Edwards. Pop along to Chicago by way of, say, Bristol or Canterbury and you get yourselves a different dose of Strictly goodness as Kevin Clifton dips in for a handful of venues, followed soon after by Darren Day.

So it behooves this reviewer to reiterate that, as a show that has always been heavily dependent on the quality of its cast – not to mention occasionally waylaid by clumsy stunt casting – those five stars are strictly (no pun intended) laid at the lineup Birmingham audiences have been treated to at the Alexandra this week.

We can’t be held responsible if you are reading this further down the line and your Billy Flynn proves a damp squib, or your Matron ‘Mama’ Morton can’t riff for the back rows.

But back to Brum, and although the bins may be piling high and the local council looks like something that could actually have been plucked directly from the great depression, the city can at the very least boast a truly glittering ensemble for its turn on the Chicago cast tombola.

Those familiar with the show will be pleased to know that this is very much the tale of ‘greed, corruption, violence, exploitation, adultery and treachery’ you know and love, staged with real Fosse-worthy pizzaz and zest. It’s a sexy, funny, silly romp through the misadventures and opportunism of jailbirds Roxie Hart (Janette Manrara) and Velma Kelly (Djalenga Scott) who find themselves banged up for murder.

And, as the tagline for Rob Marshall’s Oscar-gobbling 2002 film adaptation shrewdly chimed – if you can’t be famous, be infamous.

“Somehow both more heightened and stripped back at once on stage when compared to Marshall’s film adaptation, the current touring production really leans into the zanier, freewheeling hijinks of Ebb and Fosse’s book.”

Somehow both more heightened and stripped back at once on stage when compared to Marshall’s film adaptation, the current touring production really leans into the zanier, freewheeling hijinks of Ebb and Fosse’s book. As the two warring murderesses attempt to outdo one another, abetted by their slick operator of a lawyer (Dan Burton) and equally self-serving prison matron (Brenda Edwards), whole numbers omitted from the film are present and accounted for here, such as Roxie’s wonderfully goofy ‘Me and My Baby’ and Velma’s accompanying ‘I Know A Girl’.

Naturally, all the iconic favourites – from seminal opener ‘All That Jazz‘ onwards – are here, too, and in the hands of such a strong company, and with a splash of extra sexiness and fun injected into Fosse’s classic choreo courtesy of Ann Reinking and Gary Chryst, it’s quite possibly the best that Chicago has looked, moved and sounded in its several decades of existence. The show’s iconic tiered, minimalist staging, very much evocative of the cabaret joints of the era, remains distinctive and effective in its simplicity. Tour director Tânia Nardini makes great use of it, not least of all with resident MD Neil MacDonald a show-stopping tenant – leading a truly impressive ten-strong orchestra on-stage, who prove to be a star attraction in and of themselves.

Before, about and even between them, a seriously impressive company strut, split and sidle their way through this exciting, sultry revisit. They are excellent across the board, though particular plaudits must go to Annabelle Lang, Victoria Anderson, Ria Tanaka, Lucy-Anne Stacey and Bethany Adamson who, in addition to being on multi-role ensemble duty, help solidify ‘The Cell Block Tango’ as one of musical theatre’s great numbers. Similarly, whilst Josh Crowther makes for a physically imposing and dashing Fred Casely, it’s actually in his later quirkier, caricature beats where he really impresses with some terrific physical comedy and character work.

Of its leads, for what is the first time in over fifteen years of watching and reviewing this show, the Birmingham lineup at least doesn’t falter. There’s not a weak link to be found. Djalenga Scott triumphantly returns to the role of Velma Kelly, singing and sassing up a veritable storm as the feisty ‘OG’ merry murderess. Scott is perfectly cast in the role, which can also be said of the aforementioned Dan Burton, whose musical theatre credentials means we finally can enjoy a Billy Flynn who doesn’t crumble under the disappointment of stunt casting. Burton is suave, commanding and debonair as the morally dubious Flynn and, as is to be expected from the Olivier nominee, can sing and dance up a treat. Joshua Lloyd proves an endearing and boyish Amos, whilst Brenda Edwards truly goes to town riffing, growling and playing with her opening standard ‘When You’re Good To Mama’, delivering one of, if not the best version of the track to date.

“Manrara brings an excitable physicality to the role that is utterly infectious… and yes, her dance skills are put to terrific use.”

Many eyes will doubtless be on Strictly Come Dancing pro Janette Manrara to see whether she has the chops to take on the deceptively demanding role of Roxie Hart. Thankfully, she does not disappoint. Like much of the show, Roxie on stage is a far more manic, goofier and even brattish creation than on screen, and Manrara brings an excitable physicality to the role that is utterly infectious. Whilst she doesn’t quite deliver up the same belts and booming vocals of, say, Scott or Edwards, she infuses so much vitality and nervous, hyperactive electricity into her Roxie that you can’t take your eyes off of this delicious interpretation of the character. And yes, her dance skills are put to terrific use, perhaps most notably in the puppetry hijinks of ‘We Both Reached For The Gun’ and the comic freewheeling of ‘Me and My Baby’.

If this current touring production is indeed a changing, evolving beast with a variable lineup at practically every stop of the way, then, as mentioned, you may need to adjust your mileage accordingly. Chicago lives and breathes on its casting, and you only need to glance at previous reviews by this very outlet to know that some of the alternate casting choices are something of a mixed bag.

But Birmingham is certainly getting to witness Chicago at its sexiest and best; a sizzling, relentlessly entertaining spectacle of Vaudevillian delights and iconic numbers, directed and choreographed to absolute perfection, and high-kicked and jazz-handed to the stage by a cast and company so good you’d almost think it should be illegal.

Come on babe, why don’t you paint the town, and see what all the Fosse’s about.

There’s something strangely poetic (ironic?) about a production of Ghost being itself haunted from beyond the grave.

And no, we don’t callously mean the late, great Bill Kenwright.

Rather, the shadow of the past that is the original, celebrated run of the show looms large over this revived incarnation of Kenwright and co’s 2016 production, just as it did then.

Debuting back in 2011, first in Manchester, later in London and then finally on tour across the UK, Ballard, Rubin and Stewart’s stage adaptation of the Oscar-winning 1990s box office smash was fairly unanimously praised for its stunning stagecraft and effects work. To this date, although it was frequently beset with technical faults because of the sheer scope and ambition of what it took on the road, the OG run of Ghost the Musical remains quite possibly the most visually arresting and impressive touring production the UK has seen.

The core narrative remains the same as the movie and former runs. Doe-eyed lovebirds Molly (Rebekah Lowings) and Sam (Josh St. Clair) move in together in their new Brooklyn apartment, pottery wheel and all. But when tragedy strikes and Sam is killed by a mugger, Molly’s world is turned upside down. Sam’s spirit meanwhile, seemingly trapped on Earth, must unravel the mystery behind his murder and protect his beloved Molly, enlisting the help of fraudulent psychic Oda Mae Brown (Jacqui Dubois), who turns out to be the only one who can hear him from beyond the grave.

“…much of the criticism that was laid at the door of the show almost a decade ago sadly rings true here.”

Being a marginally revamped take on Kenwright’s more stripped-back affair of 2016, much of the criticism that was laid at the door of the show almost a decade ago sadly rings true here. By contrast to what has come before, so much of the staging and illusion work here – crucial to sell the ethereal and otherworldly elements that are so integral to the show – feel underwhelming, or at times even amateur, when compared with the original, dazzling production.

And whilst, yes, audiences going in with no experience of the original production will perhaps fare slightly better, nonetheless uninspired, hokey choreography, pitchy sound and what are at times quite literally wobbly set pieces all contribute to the feeling of a show that isn’t quite up to snuff.

Thankfully, the major death knell last time round – namely, casting – is markedly improved for 2025.

“Lowings is a veritable powerhouse… her searing rendition of fan favourite ‘With You’ is truly goose pimple inducing stuff…”

Whereas previously the late Sarah Harding (of Girls Aloud fame) sadly struggled with the big vocal asks (and acts) of Molly, Lowings is a veritable powerhouse with them. Her searing rendition of fan favourite ‘With You’ is truly goose pimple inducing stuff, and she tugs on the heartstrings with a moving, authentic turn throughout, even if Rubin’s book leaves her with rather little to do during the middle third of the show. Josh St. Clair, as Sam, is suitably frustrated and anguished, and is quite the belter in the higher registers himself. He unenviably inherits much of the production’s low-key approach to illusions and effects work, but gives it his all trying to sell the kind of rudimentary newspaper trickery you’d expect of early Paul Daniels or Blue Peter.

Jacqui Dubois navigated some initial mic dips to give a fun, spirited turn as the feisty Oda Mae (a role which won Whoopi Goldberg the Oscar), though this reviewer would loved to have seen more of her sisters, too, with Tanisha Butterfield and Krishna Jackson-Jones singing up a sassy storm for their introductory two-hander.

Elsewhere, understudy Jamie Pritchard was smooth yet slippery, and similarly in fine voice, as shady broker and bestie, Carl. And Garry Lee infuses palpable rage and intimidating frustration into his imposing subway spectre.

In all, Ghost the Musical remains a pleasant, occasionally funny and ultimately quite moving piece of musical theatre. If its central romance doesn’t always entirely convince – with early scenes feeling a touch too gawky – by the end you’ll likely be won over. Dave Stewart and Glen Ballard’s music bandies between stirring power ballads and less memorable character pieces, and it’s all applied a liberal dose of cheddar. It probably says something that the most memorable musical moment is arguably the only one it inherits from the film – The Righteous Brothers’ ‘Unchained Melody’ being put to liberal use here.

But there’s little shying away from the fact that, for all of the evident talent on stage, and some knockout vocals throughout, it feels like something of a shadow of its former self. And if it may seem unfair to judge a production against its past versions, even on its own merits there is a lot here that feels undercooked or pedestrian.

If you’re a fan of the original film you will likely find plenty to enjoy, and there are certainly performances worth catching, with a couple of the numbers in particular delivered to a stunning standard this time round.

And yet, indeed, here is one Ghost the Musical that, for want of a better analogy, feels haunted by the spectre of its own former grandeur and glory.