Never underestimate a drag queen.

Curious words to preface a review of a show based on Victor Fleming’s 1939 classic with, perhaps.

Yet there’s little shying away from the fact that OG RuPaul’s Drag Race UK victor, The Vivienne, is the big draw for this latest production of Oz as it flies into Wolverhampton in the latter stages of its tour. The marketing and posters certainly lean heavy on her green, immaculately contoured and unapologetically vixen mug as a decidedly 21st Century ‘Wicked Witch of the West’.

Interchangeably swapping in with Strictly judge Craig Revel Horwood when touring and other commitments pulled her away from Oz, the big question orbiting the show was whether the evidently talented ‘Viv’ could cut the mustard in the big, razzmatazz world of musical theatre. She already showcased plenty of performance chops on the path to her deserved Drag Race victory, and an arguably even more impressive (some may say criminally overlooked…) follow-up on the vaunted seventh All Stars all-winners season, but as anyone within it will tell you, the musical theatre game is a fickle beast all of its own.

Before appraising any performances though, let’s start with the basics. The Wizard of Oz as a stage musical is a beefed up, slightly fluffed out version of the classic movie, with some extra numbers and wrinkles courtesy of a certain Lloyd Webber and Rice pairing.

Frustrated, wilful young Dorothy Gale (Aviva Tulley) is restless and tired of the Podunk life in the back reaches of Kansas. After her beloved dog Toto (beautifully voiced and puppeteer by Abigail Matthews) falls foul of mean-spirited local grouch, Miss Mulch (also The Vivienne), she decides to run away from home. A plan given short shrift by a pesky hurricane which ends up whisking the pair of to the fantastic, faraway land of Oz.

The general plot points and set pieces of the original movie (surely intimately known to many?) remain broadly intact. Dorothy sets off with a growing band of new friends through the mystical land of Oz in the hopes of meeting the eponymous Wizard, whom she hopes can magic her back home.

It has to be said that as a musical, whenever Oz strays away from Harold Arlen’s instantly hummable favourites, such as ‘Follow the Yellow Brick Road’, ‘Over the Rainbow’ and the titular ditty, it’s generally more forgettable fodder. Few of Lloyd Webber and Rice’s new songs linger in the memory, though a rousing finale about home teeters close and there’s a liberal dose of L Frank Baum’s whimsy with words throughout. Unforgivably, the Wicked Witch herself only gets one fairly short number, her malevolence and iconic status surely deserving of more scenery to chew and music to belt.

“Nikolai Foster and the Leicester Curve production team do an impressive job taking this occasionally middling book and crafting it into a vibrant, stylised spectacle…”

Nikolai Foster and the Leicester Curve production team do an impressive job taking this occasionally middling book and crafting it into a vibrant, stylised spectacle. Colin Richmond and Rachael Canning pitch their interpretation of Oz as a postmodern explosion of colour, technology and spark, with dashes of comic novella, steampunk and even dystopia filtering through. Douglas O’Connell’s rear screen projections feature heavily, and for the most part accent the fizz bangery well, though there are times when it can all feel like a bit of sensory overload when major, boisterous choreography, dazzling sets and costumes and whippet fast video transitions are blurring about on stage at once.

But generally, Foster and company aren’t afraid to pitch sillier, darker, broader. The ominous sleep-inducing poppies here get the borderline Kubrick treatment. The pre-reveal Oz himself looks akin to a turn of the millennium fever dream. The Wicked Witch is rarely on stage without throwing a shower of sparks someone’s way. Emily Bull‘s Glinda zips about on a neon pink scooter and has a wand that looks more akin to a fifties remote control.

It’s constantly eye-catching and never anything less than showy. Sure, there’s the occasional sense that much of it is style over substance, and the overall shallowness of Oz’s story and paper thin characters rings louder than ever in an age of Wickeds and Hamiltons, but go in expecting essentially a rich, lavish pantomime with a smattering of all-time great tunes and you won’t be disappointed.

Now let’s get back to that Wicked Witch. The biggest kudos must go to The Vivienne for not autopiloting to your standard Margaret Hamilton send-up. Instead, she opts for initially a much drier, sardonic take on the iconic villainess, lending a sneering, derisory tone that eventually gives way to the cackling and histrionics we all know and love. It’s a confident, fabulous turn that the talented queen absolutely devours, including, as mentioned, a sultry, sexy edge to this wicked witch that rounds her out into an altogether more interesting love-to-hate villain.

But she’s far from the only cast member doing great work and, along with the bold design choices, helps to elevate the piece considerably. Aviva Tulley is a perfect Dorothy, and given that she inherits one of the defining songs of the musical genre, delivers a faultlessly beautiful, crystalline sharp version of it. Musical veteran Alex Bourne doesn’t get a tremendous amount to do as either The Wizard or his IRL counterpart, Professor Marvel (I hope someone checked that one with Disney…), but what he does get he is characteristically fun and solid. Likewise for David Burrows, who pops and amuses in a number of bit parts. 

“It’s perhaps this production’s friends of Dorothy (and yes, it does get in a joke about that particular label…) who most frequently threaten to steal the show…”

It’s perhaps this production’s friends of Dorothy (and yes, it does get in a joke about that particular label…) who most frequently threaten to steal the show. Femi Akinfolarin cuts the moves and injects his Tin Man with all the heart he needs, whilst Nic Greenshields is both in mighty fine voice and regularly hilarious as the Cowardly Lion. But its an exuberant, elastic and malleable Benjamin Yates who impresses most, at times almost literally leaping off of the stage and showcasing incredible physical comedy chops throughout as the absent-minded, occasionally camp and ultimately loveable Scarecrow.

In all, audiences will likely go into The Wizard of Oz knowing exactly what to expect, and will be offered that… and a splash more. Foster’s direction, Richmond’s flashy design work and Shay Barclay’s big (if occasionally overly-busy choreography) transform the favourites into bonafide show stopping crowd pleasers, and a game, joyful cast – including some impressive drag royalty – lift the lower ebbs of Oz out of its doldrums and raise it, like a hurricane, to a place of wholesome, family-friendly entertainment on a scope and scale of which will likely have you clicking your heels to go back and absorb it all over again.

It’s difficult to pigeonhole the inspired insanity of Holly Stars’ Death Drop. Sure, there are undoubtedly elements of Frayn, and indeed the more recent madcappery of Mischief Theatre, to be found within its drag-powered murder mystery hijinks, and, as is to be expected, there are plenty of nods to the Drag Race metaverse that some of its headliners sprung to stardom from (‘Shantay Manor’, anyone?). But there’s a liberal dose of dry, deadpan and distinctly British comedy injected throughout, too, with Stars (on writing duty in addition to starring) slathering proceedings in quips and silliness that wouldn’t feel out of place in, say, vintage Victoria Wood, whilst at the same time shovelling on plenty of smut and silliness, too.

In short, Death Drop is complete, unbridled madness on stage. It is unapologetically silly, frequently laugh-out-loud funny, and gloriously bonkers throughout. That the entirety of the cast perform in some iteration of drag only serves to heighten the madness, but at the same time lend it an air of anarchic legitimacy in a way that only drag can.

The premise is deliberately, knowingly trope. Five strangers are summoned to a manor estate on a remote island by one Lady von Fistenburg (Drag Race UK and Everybody’s Talking About Jamie’s Vinegar Strokes) to celebrate, of all things, Charles and Diana’s 10th wedding anniversary.

This being 1991, and all.

Cue a freak storm, broken telephone lines, and, eventually, bodies beginning to pile up. Drop pokes plenty of fun at its Christie-esque trappings and setup, whilst also making it crystal clear that nothing will be taken particularly seriously, either. Irreverence is the name of the game here, in a show that isn’t shy of quite literally plunging the toilet for several of its gags and humour: see a dirty, clogged-up toilet brush getting multiple, increasingly more grotesque appearances, or Strokes’ Lady von Fistenburg getting dangerously close to re-enacting her namesake on stage.

“Irreverence is the name of the game here, in a show that isn’t shy of quit literally plunging the toilet for several of its gags and humour.”

It also isn’t afraid to indulge in that greatest of drag traditions, either; bursting into song at every opportune moment.

As with any such yarn, divulging too much of the plot would spoil the fun and surprises of Death Drop; even as it makes fun of its own twists and bonkers narrative turns in wonderfully knowing fashion. Stars playing all three of the ‘Bottomley Sisters’, for instance, gets plenty of laughs throughout as the impossible casting feat is addressed (and ridiculed) in increasingly hilarious ways.

But given that so much of Death Drop’s tongue is wedged firmly in its cheek (careful), it is on the shoulders of its characters and performances that the show lives or dies (or gets electrocuted… or worse).

Major names from amongst the Rupaul’s Drag Race alumni have pivoted around the show since it opened last December, lending it some star wattage along the way. Courtney Act, Monét X Change and Latrice Royale have been amongst those who have trodden the boards in various roles in Drop in the West End, whilst this touring production brings back iconic Drag Race rebel Willam (memorably disqualified from the show’s fourth season) and welcomes recent All Stars 6 finalist, Ra’jah O’Hara, the aforementioned Vinegar Strokes, and Drag Race Down Under’s Karen From Finance.

Of the ‘Ru’ girls, Willam and Karen are plenty of fun in their roles as a washed-up popstar and Piers Morgan-inspired soulless sleeze journalist, respectively, but it’s Strokes and O’Hara who really run away with proceedings. Ra’jah is a comedic tour-de-force here, her physicality, exaggerated mannerisms and innate comic timing all pitch-perfect and delicious throughout. And Strokes commands such a sense of character, bombast and silliness that she frequently threatens to steal the entire show.

“Ra’jah is a comedic tour-de-force here, her physicality, exaggerated mannerisms and innate comic timing all pitch-perfect and delicious throughout.”

And whilst the Drag Race girls may be the star attractions here – something that’s clear from the audible cheers and reaction as each make their eventual arrival to the story – they nonetheless share the stage with a formidable trio of comedy performers in Richard Energy, Georgia Frost and Stars herself. Energy and Frost completely disappear into their roles of bigoted, misogynistic Tory MP ‘Rich Whiteman’ (he *hates* women, you know) and lecherous media producer ‘Phil Maker’ (all groin and gyration), with each showcasing not just an exquisite eye for transformative, idiosyncratic character work, but generally razor-sharp comic timing and command of the stage, too.

Stars, on (sort of) triple role duty, meanwhile, is deliciously dry and loveable, and the first to give a ‘wink, wink, nudge, nudge’ to the audience that it’s ok to not take any of it all too seriously. Whether it’s an extended monologue bemoaning the perils of Princess Diana potentially venturing into an overflowing lavatory, or a delicious barrage of wordplay jostling with every British tongue twister you could possibly imagine, Stars is a joyfully sardonic presence throughout.

Go in expecting Chekhov and, of course, you’ll be disappointed (deservedly so). But go in expecting a camp, vibrant blast of vulgarity, sexy silliness and infectious mayhem from a killer (pun intended) cast, and shantay, you will most certainly be wanting to stay.