Pushing aside the obvious (cynical?) financial incentive of putting bums in seats, it’s often curious to ponder the thought process behind why certain shows are resurrected whilst others whinny off into yesteryear.

Nikolai Foster and Nick Winston, two of the central creatives behind this new production of Calamity Jane, certainly have a respectable track record of vibrant and exciting revivals. Heck, their collaborative re-interpretation of Annie was superlative enough to become pretty much definitive for a whole generation of theatregoers.

Calamity, however, is cut from far thinner and more weathered cloth than even Annie. And whilst the original Doris Day classic is undoubtedly exactly that, as a stage musical in 2025 it tugs in awkward, even unwelcome places.

How strong a prescription for rose-tinted spectacles is it possible to get? And can the nostalgia goggles muddy out some of the more problematic edges of a story decidedly of its time in regards to its language and attitudes toward women in particular?

But let’s not get too carried away to begin with. For the most part, Calamity Jane is a faithful (and thus fairly atypical) retread of a slice of good old ‘golden age’ Hollywood musical. Tough-talking, wise-cracking sharp-shooter Calamity Jane (Carrie Hope Fletcher – an inspired choice) becomes responsible for a pesky case of mistaken identities when attempting to help out her friend, saloon owner Henry (Peter Peverley). Her gung ho determination sees her bring a talented young ingenue (Seren Sandham-Davies) to her backwater town of Deadwood, Dakota, which only throws further wrinkles into an existing love triangle Jane may or may not have posited herself into.

Those not sat to watch Calamity out of fandom for its fantastic leading lady will likely be there for a hearty nostalgia hit. And a solid cast and company bring all the film’s favourite numbers – ‘The Deadwood Stage’, ‘The Black Hills of Dakota’ etc – to life with game aplomb. Whilst it’s surprising that Foster and Winston don’t make more of the actor-muso vibe injected into the production, it’s still full of spritely, game performances and there’s talent to spare on the stage.

“…even as a product of its time, the narrative and structural tendencies of Calamity Jane seem to groan and buckle under their age.”

It’s just that, even as a product of its time, the narrative and structural tendencies of Calamity Jane seem to groan and buckle under their age. Some of its more interesting moments are fleeting sub-plots; the aforementioned mistaken identity is resolved almost as quickly as it is introduced, and for a fleeting scene or two it appears a kindly supporting character may be going full villain, but alas they’re back to being sickly sweet the next time we see them. An early spot of drag amid another case of confused identities offer up some early laughs courtesy of Samuel Holmes’ delightful Francis.

But the core thrust of Calamity Jane is a wearily rote trot through two central romances that are as antiquated as it is perhaps possible to feel to a contemporary audience. Those with any fondness and familiarity for the original likely wouldn’t have it any other way, but some of how the second act in particular discusses and represents women feels almost achingly outdated to the point of verging on being problematic.

So your mileage will likely vary considerably on how familiar you are with the tale and tunes of Calamity Jane. It lands awkwardly as a contemporary revival, though that doesn’t stop a very game cast from giving it their all and doing great work with the clunky text they’re at times laden with.

Carrie Hope Fletcher is pitch perfect as the titular heroine, and whilst she can of course always be relied on to belt for the back rows, she’s equally impressive infusing her take on the tough talker with quieter, even broken moments. She’s in many ways the show’s saving grace, though it’s difficult to sometimes not wish her always-dependable talent wasn’t in service to a slightly more interesting or exciting character and story.

Vinny Coyle is a confident, suave presence as the cocksure Wild Bill Hicock, his rendition of ‘Higher Than a Hawk’ a real vocal standout. Luke Wilson is noticably underserved by the book as the object of Jane’s affections, Danny, though he makes the most of what few moments he gets. Seren Sandham-Davies fares better and gets more light and shade as excitable new arrival, Katie, and she sings and dances up a treat in both her flirty saloon turns as well as an almost diet coke version of Mary Poppins when giving Calamity’s cabin a ‘makeover’ (see: some pink patchwork curtains and a wonky table cloth).

“Carrie Hope Fletcher is pitch perfect as the titular heroine…”

Matthew Wright’s multi-storeyed set is suitably impressive and transportive as saloon-cum-theatre hybrid, though it is occasionally flattened by some uncharacteristically basic floods of lighting from Tim Mitchell. Much like the actor musos flittering about the stage, it seems like the full visual, aesthetic and creative juices of this revival aren’t quite flowing to their full potential. A late-game ball and a jubilant curtain call are the only times it really seems to kick into gear and make good on its promise to be a toe-tapping, do-si-do-ing musical jamboree.

Whether or not this pleasant and well-performed revisit to Calamity Jane justifies its existence will, again, probably be dependent on what you go in expecting. As a mostly faithful jaunt back to Deadwood, it’s a lively, serviceable outing that is carried by excellent performances. But even then, it feels strangely languid and uninventive given the calibre of its assembled creative team.

For everyone else, you may need to strap in for in particular its second act choices and dialogue having a head-on collision with modern sensibilities.

Thankfully, whichever camp you find yourself in, some spirited and joyful performances keep things ticking and enjoyable. And the talented cast do go a long way in mitigating the sepia stains and lumpy, often-awkward second act. 

Whilst this is by no means a calamity, it’s still difficult not to shake the feeling that, all things considered, and as a slice of musical theatre in 2025, it’s a disappointingly plain and undeniably outdated Jane indeed.

There’s always the looming hazard of that pesky moralistic tripwire cutting through any biopic – even musical ones – that depict the infamous. Namely, can this be seen to be glorifying or, perhaps worse, even justifying the actions of the deplorable and deranged?

Musical theatre, after all, isn’t exactly shy of championing the anti-hero or even the outright murderous (American Psycho, Sweeney Todd). Heck, the likes of Chicago even satirise the very concept of infamy as celebrity, crime as commodity.

But when slapped on the framework of a true story plucked from history, sensitivities can understandably prickle.

For the most part, Ivan Menchell, Don Black and Frank Wildhorn’s musical retelling of the rise and fall of notorious bandits Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow manages to steer clear of trying to outwardly excuse their thieving, gunslinging ways. Barrow (Alex James-Hatton) is framed as a wrong ‘un roughneck from the off, impervious to common sense and decent suggestion, habitually hopping in and out of prison, and bubbling away in his own mire of anger and frustration. And, when the darkness descends, the show doesn’t shy away from commenting on the character’s descent from petty burglar to murderer. Parker (Katie Tonkinson) is introduced as a sassy waitress with dreams of Hollywood and a penchant for poetry. Her downward spiral feels a touch less defined.

“…two commanding central performances and some jaunty, memorable tunes hold together the slightly unsure, meandering book.”

Bonnie & Clyde is, for the most part, a love story about its titular crooks, and even if it never quite digs deep enough for us to really engage with what makes the duo tick, or indeed quite why they are so inexorably drawn to one another, two commanding central performances and some jaunty, memorable tunes hold together the slightly unsure, meandering book.

And transferred from its recent West End iteration, Nick Winston’s tour is certainly a looker. Its muted greys and blacks, heavy, layered use of Nina Dunn‘s projections and stark casts of Zoe Spurr’s lighting spilling through bullet hole-ridden walls or casting out harshly from the wings certainly makes for an impression. It’s a handsome piece, with more than a flair of the cinematic in its bold, stylised execution. Few touring productions play with quite so much on-stage depth and dimension, nor look quite so striking, so kudos to Winston and designer Philip Witcomb for successfully transplanting this on the road with such visceral impact.

Given the aforementioned quality of its soundtrack, it’s perhaps surprising the show has been relatively untouched here in the UK up until last year. There’s a decided (and understandable) country lilt to it all, but Wildhorn and Black’s soundtrack is littered with ear-worms and a good mix of characterful toe-tappers and some surprisingly heartrending belters, too. Who’d have thought a number about dying together could somehow be affecting, profound, fatalistic and yearning all at once?

Of the cast, the only supporting characters who make any sort of dent or impression are Clyde’s brother, ‘Buck’ (Sam Ferriday) and god-fearing, law-abiding wife Blanche (Coronation Street’s Catherine Tyldesley). Tyldesley is particularly fun and fiesty, in many ways serving as the moral compass of the piece, getting a terrific and stirring duet with Tonkinson about loving who you will, and despairing as her ‘daddy’ keeps finding himself embroiled in his brother’s problematic ways. And though the show doesn’t do a tremendous amount with him, Ferriday is in fine voice, and makes the most of what moments he gets as the conflicted Buck.

“Tyldesley is particularly fun and fiesty, in many ways serving as the moral compass of the piece.”

Elsewhere, a nifty gospel number deftly intercuts preaching and proselytising with Clyde’s increasingly dangerous larceny, and makes good use of singer Jaz Ellington’s soulful vocals, and Winston’s flair as director-choreographer keeps the show spritely and kinetic throughout, even in its talkier moments.

But really, much of the impact of Bonnie & Clyde rests, unsurprisingly, on the shoulders (and lungs) of its two leads, and they are quite criminally good. Tonkinson as Bonnie makes for the perfect aspiring ingenue, naive and distracted enough to the point that she’s giddy at the thought of a hostage asking for her autograph, and still clinging to hopes and dreams of Hollywood even as the bodies pile up. With undeniable charm and appeal, it’s easy to imagine this Parker actually having what it takes to have become a bonafide star (albeit less claret-stained). And whilst the book doesn’t afford Bonnie quite as much introspection or perspective as her beau, she gets some great sings, with Tonkinson delivering an impressive blend of both the powerful and the delicate, complete with signature Texan lilt.

“…it’s easy to imagine this Parker actually having what it takes to have become a bonafide star.”

In what deserves to be a star-making turn, Alex James-Hatton is all fire, rage and truly stellar vocals as Clyde. Lending the bandit the perfect, intoxicating mix of dashing, cocksure allure and fringes of something far more sinister, it’s a barnstorming performance. James-Hatton doesn’t shy away from the lighter, even sillier moments, too, rounding out a seriously impressive outing. And in case it hasn’t been clear, the boy can sing.

Whilst it does fumble about a bit trying to find its perspective, message and purpose (brace yourself for the most perfunctory, cookie-cutter law enforcement you’ve ever known), there’s a lot to enjoy in this sexy, showy retelling of Bonnie & Clyde. Mercifully, it doesn’t seek to glorify or excuse its subjects (though in fairness, it doesn’t probe too deep beneath the surface, anyway). On paper, there’s precious little here that will blow your mind or break the mould, but when it is this strikingly staged, and carried by two absolute powerhouse, tour-de-force performances that inject the enjoyable score with range and heart to spare, it makes for a guns-blazing, roof-raising spark of intoxicating folie à deux.

Would you be criminal to miss it? Perhaps not, but it’s certainly a drive well worth taking.

Note: TWE reviewed  ‘Annie’ 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 visit to the Wolverhampton Grand.

It’s one of those mildly discombobulating moments, realising that Nikolai Foster’s celebrated revival of Annie is staring down the barrel of being, itself – whisper it – twelve years old.

Springing from a bed sewn from the success of the likes of Matilda the Musical – whose inspiration can be seen and felt throughout much of Foster, and designer Colin Richmond’s, admittedly dazzling work here – this Annie is, in many ways, a testament to the power of a strong creative team and vision.

Sure, Charles Strouse and Martin Charnin’s original music still offers up a handful of memorable earworms – most notably tentpoles ‘Tomorrow’ and ‘Hard knocked life’ (though everyone knows the villainous razzmatazz of ‘Easy Street’ is comfortably the show’s best number). However, the gooey sentimentality that runs through the core of its story, about an adorable orphan being taken in by a irascible billionaire, coupled with some its fair share of less memorable tunes and wonky narrative choices (the prominence of FDR and his political aspirations in Act II still slightly jars), has seen past productions prior to this revival often be exercises in ‘pleasant but unspectacular’.

No such mediocrity here, though. Foster, along with choreographer Nick Winston, have kept their feet firmly on the peddle since 2011, and never let up – hyper-charging each set piece and number into overdrive. Within the multicolour playground of Richmond’s opulent staging – which offers plenty of knowing winks to the story’s original roots in comic strips, of all things – this comfortably remains the best, most kinetic and vibrant that the little orphan’s merry misadventures have ever been.

“It’s a thrill to be back at the orphanage for other reasons, besides…”

It’s a thrill to be back at the orphanage for other reasons, besides. We reviewed this latest touring production of Annie earlier in the year, during its visit to Birmingham, and it felt, to be blunt, a smidgeon lacklustre in places. That it was mere days after the passing of the late, great Paul O’Grady who was, at the time of his passing, sharing the role of the villainous Miss Hanagan at certain venues, meant we gave it a bit of pass. But sound issues, stoppages, some flubbed lines and a slightly nervy leading lady left the impression of a show that was finding its ‘Easy Street’ not quite so smooth a ride.

Returning to the Midlands this week with a visit to Wolverhampton’s Grand Theatre, it’s a thrill to say this Annie has more than gotten her groove back.

Along for the ride for this latest tour is one of the earlier stars of Foster’s original revival – Strictly Come Dancing’s Craig Revel Horwood, once again strapping on the heels and necking back the (hopefully artificial) booze as Annie’s caustic, gin-addled orphanage owner, Miss Hannigan. Horwood’s been in and out of the role for just shy of a decade now, and this latest incarnation of his take on the villainess carries some of that brow-beaten weariness with her. Sure, Horwood can shimmy and soft-shoe up there amongst the best – something that gets put to terrific use in the dialled up ‘Easy Street’ and its reprise, for instance – and he’s not shy of belting, either, but there’s something infectiously delicious about the dryer, quieter character moments and less overt choices he takes this time round. His Hannigan here is pathetic, desperate, whiney, deluded – and all the funnier for it.

From old pros (forgive me, Craig) to newer faces, a superlative Sharangi Gnanavarathan delighted in the performance reviewed as the lovable, titular orphan. In what is, remarkably, her professional stage debut, Gnanavarathan commanded the stage with a charismatic, endearing performance and fantastic vocals. Insert ‘bright future awaits’ references here. 

“A superlative Sharangi Gnanavarathan… in what is, remarkably, her professional stage debut.”

Amelia Adams proves another one to watch, as a delightful, kindly Grace Farrell with beautiful, crystalline vocals, she feels plucked straight from the golden era of the studio musical. Paul French and Billie-Kay, meanwhile, are suitably sleazy and odious as the con artists trying to monopolise on Annie’s newfound attachment to business titan Oliver Warbucks, with French in particular taking his ‘Rooster’ down some gloriously unhinged deviations and creative cul-de-sacs that were new and hilariously bonkers, even after having already seen the tour earlier in its run. There’s clearly a lot of fun being had between French and Revel Horwood in particular, as on-stage siblings.

Speaking of fun, stage vetern Alex Bourne is a notably buoyant and even occasionally peppy Oliver Warbucks, a choice that works beautifully with this vibrant, technicolor take on the tale.

But of course, there’s no appraising the show without mentioning the kids.

Oh, the kids. Right from the off, with a foot-stomping, fist-clenching, gleefully bravura take on the anthemic ‘Hard Knocked Life’, they brilliantly, bombastically let you know this is an Annie that means business… and isn’t afraid to sock you one in the smacker if you underestimate it. Revel Horwood, French, Adams and the company all put in wonderful turns but, in truth, it’s the talented youngsters stomping their way through some of the best numbers, that really run away with the whole thing.

There’s so much theatrical goodness coursing through the fibre of this incarnation of Annie, that it’s difficult to see it being considered now anything less than definitive. It is so animated, so slickly choreographed and energetically delivered, so colourful and infused with stagey showmanship, that the possibility of slipping back to the simpler, dryer offerings of yesteryear is simply inconceivable.

Over a decade on, Annie continues to prove itself more than ready for ‘tomorrow’. After a slightly disappointing state of play earlier in the run, everyone’s favourite redhead is back on jubilant, irrepressible form, with a seminal revival that remains a completely joyful tonic, and one that will leave you feeling more than fully dressed, with the grandest of smiles.

It’s one of those mildly discombobulating moments, realising that Nikolai Foster’s celebrated revival of Annie is staring down the barrel of being, itself – whisper it – twelve years old.

Springing from a bed sewn from the success of the likes of Matilda the Musical – whose inspiration can be seen and felt throughout much of Foster, and designer Colin Richmond’s, admittedly dazzling work here – this Annie is, in many ways, a testament to the power of a strong creative team and vision.

Sure, Charles Strouse and Martin Charnin’s original music still offers up a handful of memorable earworms – most notably tentpoles ‘Tomorrow’ and ‘Hard knocked life’ (though everyone knows the villainous razzmatazz of ‘Easy Street’ is comfortably the show’s best number). However, the gooey sentimentality that runs through the core of its story, about an adorable orphan being taken in by a irascible billionaire, coupled with some its fair share of less memorable tunes and wonky narrative choices (the prominence of FDR and his political aspirations in Act II still slightly jars), has seen past productions prior to this revival often be exercises in ‘pleasant but unspectacular’.

No such mediocrity here, though. Foster, along with choreographer Nick Winston, have kept their feet firmly on the peddle since 2011, and never let up – hyper-charging each set piece and number into overdrive. Within the multicolour playground of Richmond’s opulent staging – which offers plenty of knowing winks to the story’s original roots in comic strips, of all things – this comfortably remains the best, most kinetic and vibrant that the little orphan’s merry misadventures have ever been.

Returning along for the ride for this latest tour is one of the earlier stars of the revival – Strictly Come Dancing’s Craig Revel Horwood, once again strapping on the heels and necking back the (hopefully artificial) booze as Annie’s caustic, gin-soaked orphanage owner, Miss Hannigan. Horwood’s been in and out of the role for just shy of a decade now, and this latest incarnation of his take on the villainess carries some of that brow-beaten weariness with her. Sure, Horwood can shimmy and soft-shoe up there amongst the best – something that gets put to terrific use in the dialled up ‘Easy Street’ and its reprise, for instance – and he’s not shy of belting, either, but there’s something infectiously delicious about the dryer, quieter character moments and less overt choices he takes this time round. His Hannigan here is pathetic, desperate, whiney, deluded – and all the funnier for it.

From old pros (forgive me, Craig) to newer faces, the performance reviewed fell on the shoulders of talented young nine-year-old Zoe Akinyosade, whose powerful, commanding vocals belie her small stature and young age. Suitably adorable and winning as the story’s feisty heroine, if the edges of her performance flitted with some mild hesitancy and nerves, there’s no overstating how very impressive it is to watch such a young talent carry such a huge show. Of course, occasionally being accompanied by one of three Golden Getrievers – ‘Darcy’, ‘Boris’ and ‘Lily’ (the latter, in the performance reviewed) – as Annie’s trusty canine companion, Sandy, certainly doesn’t hurt, either.

“Sure, Horwood can shimmy and soft-shoe up there amongst the best… but there’s something infectiously delicious about the dryer, quieter character moments and choices he takes this time round.”

A performance that felt ever so slightly haphazard in places – a premature close to Act I and a couple of stumbled lines, amongst other curios – was otherwise beautifully served by a great company. The swing and ensemble deserve particular credit for imbibing Winston’s choreography with tons of vim and character. Amelia Adams is a delightful, kindly Grace Farrell, whilst Paul French and Billie-Kay are suitably sleazy and odious as the con artists trying to monopolise on Annie’s newfound attachment to business titan Oliver Warbucks. Speaking of whom, understudy David Burrows – stepping in for principle Warbucks, Alex Bourne – was a real delight as the cantankerous tycoon, bringing a sense of trodden venerability to a character that, in this revival at least, has often skewed slightly young. Burrows channelled the initially brittle Republican, who later mellows into a warmer, paternal figure, with true gusto and heart, giving arguably the best turn of the night.

Of course, there’s no appraising the show without mentioning the kids.

Oh, the kids… right from the off, with a foot-stomping, fist-clenching, gleefully bravura take on the anthemic ‘Hard Knocked Life’, they brilliantly, bombastically let you know this is an Annie that means business, and isn’t afraid to sock you one in the smacker if you underestimate it. I suggested Burrows gave ‘arguably’ the best turn of the night because, in truth, it’s the talented youngsters stomping their way through some of the best numbers, that really run away with the whole thing.

There’s so much theatrical goodness coursing through the fibre of this incarnation of Annie, that it’s difficult to see it being considered now anything less than definitive. It is so animated, so slickly choreographed and energetically delivered, so colourful and infused with stagey showmanship, that the possibility of slipping back to the simpler, dryer offerings of yesteryear is simply inconceivable.

Over a decade on, Annie continues to prove itself more than ready for ‘tomorrow’, and whilst this may not quite, across-the-board, beat-for-beat, be the absolute best version of the revival we’ve seen, it’s still nonetheless a completely joyful tonic, that will leave you feeling more than fully dressed with the grandest of smiles.