Despite not, one must assume, being an actual subtitle of this lavish new touring production of Miss Saigon, good luck finding any materials associated with it not having ‘The Legend Reborn’ slapped all over it (go on, take a look at that poster).

Part pitch, part invitation, it’s a nifty (and suitably theatrical) call to action for audiences to be summoned to what has always been the less ubiquitous of the Boublil and Schönberg big two (the other being, of course, the inescapable Les Misérables).

And as mission statements go, it’s pretty on-point. Here, Michael Harrison and team have rebuilt, redesigned and in parts even rewritten Saigon into a recognisable yet confidently reimagined beast. Yes, it’s still saddled with some of the show’s inherent lopsidedness and mawkish cul-de-sacs, but a tremendous cast and some truly stellar design work give it a whole new lease of eye (and ear) popping life.

Fans and purists trembling at the mention of rewrites can be assuaged, too; this is still the Miss Saigon you know and love. Much of the tinkering, courtesy of the National Theatre’s Rob Hastie, brings some of the more dated or coarse sung-spoke dialogue to a more contemporary place. ‘Half-breeds’ becomes ‘little ones’ when referring to the left behind children of ‘Bui Doi’. Completely agreeable things like that.

“Fans and purists trembling at the mention of rewrites can be assuaged, too; this is still the Miss Saigon you know and love.”

But broadly, the story still follows the same, Puccini-inspired tale of an ill-fated romance between a disenfranchised US marine (Jack Kane) and Vietnamese girl (Julianne Pundan) who has been enveloped into the underbelly of Saigon’s nightlife, during the closing of the Vietnam conflict. Orbiting the two is Seann Miley Moore’s swindling ‘Engineer’, a larger-than-life wheeler-dealer scheming and exploiting where he can in the hopes of getting a visa to pursue his ‘American Dream’.

Given its wider geo-political context, Saigon remains a surprisingly focused and even simple affair. Yes, there’s still the thrilling evacuation sequence (also repurposed here, yet no less effective as members of the company zip up and down into the beyond), and fleeting ruminations on the wider consequences of war, such as the stirring ‘Bui Doi’ Act II opener. But it remains ultimately a show about a love torn asunder and a mother’s determination to better the life of her child.

In a week where Jon M Chu’s second Wicked movie is reviving conversations about just how many musical’s suffer from wobblier second halves, Miss Saigon proves itself a high profile reminder. Cramming Madama Butterfly’s three act structure into two is felt, making for a meaty, sweeping and romantic first half, followed by a decidedly flatter and thinner second. There’s good stuff in that last hour, for certain – that helicopter moment, and this production’s heightened, Drag Race-esque ‘American Dream’ set piece keeps it being comfortably one of the best parts of the whole show – but it’s undeniably front-loaded.

Thankfully, even as some of its second Act wheels into soap opera or Lifetime territory, a genuinely stunning company keep us invested. Julianne Pundan is an exceptional Kim, delivering both powerhouse vocals and a blistering turn as a defiant young woman who refuses to be victim or damsel, despite the horrors about her. She gets a lot of big sings – ‘The Movie In My Mind’ (pairing up beautifully with a similarly impressive Ace as Gigi), ‘I’d Give My Life For You’ and ‘I Still Believe’ to name but a few, and Pundan goes to town with each of them. A seriously impressive performance. Jack Kane imbues his Chris with a sensitivity and later flashes of trauma that bounce nicely off of Pundan’s steelier Kim.

“Julianne Pundan is an exceptional Kim, delivering both powerhouse vocals and a blistering turn as a defiant young woman who refuses to be victim or damsel…”

Dominic Hartley-Harris, Emily Langham and Mikko Juan all get moments to impress in supporting roles, but it’s Seann Miley Moore as the Engineer who threatens to steal the whole thing from beneath the lovebirds. Landing in an era of Me Too and Epstein files, some of the more problematic edges of the role are softened a little here, with Moore dialling the mercurial flamboyance and opportunism of the character up to eleven. Sexy, sleazy, comedic, villainous and anti-hero all rolled into one, it’s a kinetic, dazzling and chameleonic turn, utterly infectious to watch and arguably worth the ticket price alone.

Were the performances not enough, Andrew D Edwards and Bruno Poet’s design and lighting work muster up a similar feast for the senses. Peeling back some of the glitz and neon of the original production in favour of something grittier and earthy, Edwards sets are tremendous labyrinths of levels, layers, depth and verticality. From the seedy back alleys of Saigon to the red swathes and pillars of later Ho Chi Minh City in ‘The Morning of the Dragon’, this is a scale and quality of touring production rarely seen. Bathed gloriously in Poet’s spotlights and side-spilling waves of light, it’s likely the prettiest and most visually arresting tour you’ll see this year.

It’s just a shame that, in the performance reviewed, some of the sound mixing and mics felt off at times, with the excellent vocalists drowned out by the orchestra or otherwise barely audible in key moments. Something of a crime, given their obvious skills.

But yes, the legend has indeed been reborn. Sure, this phoenix Saigon still carries some of the original production’s narrative baggage and wonkiness, and that three act curvature remains as glaring as ever. But inspired casting from a company giving it their all on a truly gorgeous playground makes for one of the most impressive touring productions of the year, and an evening of theatre that you certainly won’t be screaming to get airlifted out of.

There’s certainly some bittersweet irony percolating about when you’re reviewing The Last Laugh, a show about the passing of legendary performers, in Birmingham, and finding out that Ozzy Osbourne has passed away.

It was a moment not lost on the company. In the show’s pleasant (but ultimately superfluous) second Act, which serves as a semi-scripted Q&A session with the cast, the session’s compere, cover Richard Hodder dedicated the evening’s final spot of singalong bonhomie to the great Prince of Darkness.

Death and the weight of being remembered or forgotten hangs heavy in the air of the otherwise charming and frequently funny Last Laugh.

It imagines a hypothetical gathering of comedy legends Tommy Cooper (Damian Williams), Eric Morecambe (Bob Golding) and Bob Monkhouse (Simon Cartwright) in a drab but ambiguous dressing room ahead of a nondescript ‘charity’ gig. The reveal of how and why these giants have gathered is not so much a twist as a journey to realisation (it’s practically given away in the title alone).

Extrapolated from Paul Hendy’s award-winning short, which itself was born from the three leads each doing their own respective shows in tribute to the legends they portray here, Last Laugh is nothing if not a love letter. The depictions of Cooper, Morecambe and Monkhouse are not only uncannily accurate and idiosyncratically on point, but there’s also a clear reverence to capturing the essence of these individuals beyond just the quips and (admittedly hilarious) gags.

“consummately charming, effortlessly entertaining fare that serves up enough of the classics to be worth a watch alone.”

Unsurprisingly, it’s still very funny. Many of the trio’s gags and familiar favourites are wheeled out, often with the audience giggling in anticipation of the punchline or from familiarity alone. A recurring visit from Cooper’s malfunctioning duck and a later sojourn with a wooden gate are a delight. It’s consummately charming, effortlessly entertaining fare that serves up enough of the classics to be worth a watch alone, particularly for anyone who is a fan of one or more of the gentlemen.

With an expanded runtime from the twenty-minute short, Hendy probes a little deeper here, too. Monkhouse’s more analytical bent towards comedy, and fixation on crediting writers, sheds a light on whether he was a more constructed and less natural comedian than his counterparts. The rogues’ gallery of past comics gives chance to ruminate on the likes of Tony Hancock, Max Miller and more (even if poor Sid James gets relegated to a lone haemorrhoid joke). The laughs are great, but it’s when Last Laugh seems to poke a little deeper that it serves up its more human and intriguing moments.

But there’s no denying that, bandying between a glorious, rich tribute act and a more sombre treatise on legacy and comedy as art or science, it’s a show very much all about its triad of glorious performances. Damian Williams is a powerhouse from the off as Cooper, bringing an Earthy warmth to his larger-than-life bravura and booming presence. Some of his more muted, sardonic asides are the funniest moments of the whole thing. Golding bottles Morecambe’s irrepressible energy and exuberance perfectly, and peppers the show with some lovely vocals and musicality. And Cartwright, with perhaps the hardest task of the three as the more composed and even stilted Monkhouse, not only channels his voice meticulously, but lends a real gravitas and dignity to his ponderances.

It all feels tremndously sincere and authentic. Particular credit to Hendy for being able to so believably not only write but also direct these three very different yet familiar icons. There’s no sense of base mimicry or, worse, caricature. It’s a charming, eminently watchable and routinely funny case of three very talented performers evoking what we come to learn are their genuine inspirations.

Poignant, charming and laugh out loud funny throughout, if The Last Laugh asks whether great artists will truly be remembered, it is a soulful, funny and dignified proof of precisely that.

 It’s probably not a great sign when a journey home after a supposed crime thriller has you compounding the plot holes and logical inconsistencies in your mind. Rather than piecing together and remembering all the clever foreshadowing and subtle hints you realise you were being fed over the course of the piece, you instead ruminate on some variant of well hang on, what was the point of that?

Peter James is back in Birmingham, as another of his popular, pulpy crime novels gets a stage adaptation, complete with the usual slew of vaguely familiar TV faces propping up the marketing. Where The Perfect Murder saw Eastenders favourites Shane Richie and Jessie Wallace reunite, 2021’s Looking Good Dead pulled a similar soapy feat with Adam Woodyatt and Laurie Brett (also of ‘Enders fame) teaming up.

For 2025’s offering, Picture You Dead, a veritable smorgasbord from the likes of Emmerdale, Casualty and even Strictly Come Dancing stuff out the line up.

The premise alone is quintessential, high-concept James, as a young couple find themselves embroiled in sinister goings-on after they inadvertently stumble upon what may be a long-lost masterpiece at a local car boot sale. Forgeries, murder and the dark underbelly of the art world come to envelop the pair, all as James’ DSI Roy Grace (a returning George Rainsford) races to solve an historic, unsolved murder that may or may not be connected.

The initial flourishes of Dead prove intriguing enough. The concept of forgeries and fakery puts an audience weened on Netflix true crime and golden age television on high alert from the off. It’s likely that alarm bells will ring early on when a seemingly charming ‘copyist’ offers to look after this prized painting for a few days.

And yet, for all of its attempt to slowly ratchet up the tension and uncertainty, the ultimate realisation is that Picture You Dead is, frankly, nowhere near as smart as it seems to think it is.

It certainly doesn’t help that, as mentioned earlier, the sheer abundance of plot holes and chasms of logic seem to only refresh with each passing scene. Sure, you may have managed to get a very impressive copy of your painting made, but do you really want to hang it on your living room wall for any visitor or passing burglar to see?

Why exactly is this villain engaging in some elaborate, Kevin McAllister-esque scheme involving donuts and insulin jabs when they are already brandishing a pistol and could just threaten to shoot their target instead?

Surely this other scallywag’s threat to set a captive aflame in the middle of his collection of priceless paintings is a little… hollow?

It doesn’t help that the direction feels similarly hokey, too. Picture You Dead whips about like a tonal hurricane, with moments that should feel intimidating and fraught with peril coming across as hammy and camp. Elsewhere, scenes are awkwardly lingered on for so long after their conclusion that one begins to suspect an about turn that never comes. And let’s not even get started on some of the questionable choices of LGBT representation and performance.

“Picture You Dead whips about like a tonal hurricane, with moments that should feel intimidating and fraught with peril coming across as hammy and camp.”

Some of the cast do their best with the wobbly material they’re served. Mark Oxtoby and Sean Jones both give good loveable rogue, and Gemma Stroyan is at least earnest as Grace’s sidekick and second in command. Rainsford feels like a walking cypher of your de facto superintendent, with precious little to do except sternly pontificate and spout exposition on autopilot. Ben Cutler shows moments of promise as one half of the genuinely overwhelmed young couple whose find kicks off the dangerous series of events, but Fiona Wade is more wooden than most of the picture frames on the set.

If Strictly fave Ore Oduba seems to at least be having fun as a machiavellian art collector, and is good for the odd titter, the character is still so jarringly camp and unthreatening that the whole subplot regularly feels pulled from a production of Carry On Criminal. Spare a thought for the talented Jodie Steele, who does her absolute best and gives arguably the best performance of the night as a ruthless contractor, but inherents most of the silliest beats to try and pass off.

If you can disengage your critical faculties and don’t mind some acting that can bandy from hammy to downright mahogany, Picture You Dead is an evening of watchable nonsense. At the very least, it looks handsome enough, with Adrian Linford’s set a surprisingly versatile beast.

But James churns out his thrillers with conveyor belt efficiency, and in Picture You Dead it truly shows. Pluck too hard on any of its threads, or let yourself get carried away with too many theories or expectations and it rapidly untangles into a contradictory, jarring mess, which for many will be a death knell in the current climate of sophisticated, intelligent thrillers.

There are glimmers of an interesting picture occasionally being painted here, and a couple of brushstrokes and performances to admire, but on appraisal it’d be fairly criminal to go anywhere near calling Picture You Dead a masterpiece.

Leave it at the car boot, where it belongs.

Note: TWE reviewed  ‘Dear Evan Hansen’ earlier in its current tour. Given that this is the same touring production, what follows is a revised version of that same review, updated for its most recent visit to Birmingham.

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

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

Cue Adam Penford and the Nottingham Playhouse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeremy Dyson and Andy Nyman’s Ghost Stories is one of those shows that can be fiendishly tricky to review. Much akin to that other spooky offering doing the rounds across the UK, 2:22 – A Ghost Story, we’re firmly in say-too-much-and-you’ll-spoil-it territory here.

Still, firmly ensconced with that fear, let’s switch on the flickering torch and shine a light on whether this creepy outing is truly as spine-tingling as its marketing would suggest.

Theatre isn’t exactly shy of ghostly or horror imbued evenings – The Woman in Black and the aforementioned celebrity carousel of 2:22 being obvious examples. The West End recently lit up to the sci-fi horror mixtape of Stranger Things: The First Shadow, and those who like their atmosphere a la Christie, there’s always tentpole The Mousetrap.

“…a genuinely creepy, at times startling jolt of pure horror.”

Having seen them all, it comes as something of a welcome surprise that Ghost Stories comfortably casts the spectre of its competition aside when it comes to pure tension and frights. This is a genuinely creepy, at times startling jolt of pure horror. It isn’t quite as cerebral as Woman in Black or character-centric as, say, 2:22, but it’s quite possibly, jump for jump, the scariest thing you can sit down and watch in a theatre right now.

Stories hinges around a central narrator – paranormal skeptic and psychologist Professor Goodman (Dan Tetsell). Goodman sets out his stall with a direct address to the audience, flashing up some viral and meme friendly case studies, and introduces us to the idea of the ‘percipient’ – an individual who believes they have seen (or perceived… see?) a ghost or other such otherworldly nastiness.

Goodman serves up some fun audience participation examples, before going on to share the three interviews and accounts of ghostly goings-on that he has always found the most unsettling or difficult to disprove.

“Nick Manning’s sound work and James Farncombe’s lighting are perhaps the real MVPs here, embedding a sense of inescapable dread from the moment you enter the auditorium.”

It is these three spooky vignettes that form the main bulk of Stories run time. We see sardonic night watchman Tony (Birds of a Feather’s David Cardy) encounter strange goings on in during his shift at a sanitarium. Nervy Simon (Eddie Loodmer-Elliott) ends up stranded with a broken down car after a party with some… unexpected company. And workaholic Mike (Casualty and Holby City star Clive Mantle) begins to uncover quite why his pregnant wife is reluctant to go into the new nursery he’s had decorated for her.

Dyson and Nyman, along with director Sean Holmes, have crafted a cracking and regularly thrilling ride. Brilliantly paced, Holmes proves a dab hand at knowing when to simply allow the inherent tension of a scene to simply swallow its audience up by itself. Nick Manning’s sound work and James Farncombe’s lighting are perhaps the real MVPs here, embedding a sense of inescapable dread from the moment you enter the auditorium. It’s a seriously atmospheric and unsettling arena.

There’s some impressive stagecraft and technical wizardry on show, too. Again, to get into the specifics would ruin the frightening fun, but some of the special effects, stunt and costume work from Scott Penrose, Jonathan Holby and Becky Gunstone are seriously impressive (not to mention terrifying).

Given that an awful lot of Stories’ time involves its central cast wandering around looking frightened, a lot of the connection needed with the audience falls on its small but solid company. All of the three central ‘percipient’s are great in their individual segments, with Cardy a lot of fun as the cantankerous caretaker, and Loodmer-Elliott particularly endearing as a rather hapless driver (who may or may not have even passed his test). TV favourite Mantle gets a little more to do toward the end of the show, and Dan Tetsell is fantastic throughout as Professor Goodman. Whether giving deadpan reactions to the close of each vignette, or gradually threading in the sense that something isn’t quite… right about his own interjections, it’s a fun and absorbing performance that threads the entire piece together perfectly.

If you’re in the market for a fright and a fun evening of jumps and scares at the theatre, Ghost Stories is an easy recommendation. At roughly ninety minutes without an interval, it is a taut, regularly gripping and occasionally terrifying dive into the things that go bump in the night. Boasting some impressive visuals, effects work and spirited performances (forgive the pun) this is one set of Stories that will thrill and chill, and maybe even haunt you come bed time.

But don’t worry, there’s nothing under there.

…I promise.

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.

If there was ever to be a case made for there being such a thing as a review-proof show, surely Richard O’Brien’s The Rocky Horror Show would be it.

Recent cultural juggernauts, such as Toby Marlow and Lucy Moss’ Six may nip at its (8 inch, blood red stilettoed) heels, but those queens have almost half a Century of catching up to crack on with before they’re challenging Rocky.

The cult classic rolls around on what has become practically its annual strut into Birmingham and the West Midlands, and the usual fan fervour and audience dress up and participation shows no sign of waning. And why would it? Crowds have been donning their suspenders, singing along and lovingly heckling all things Rocky since the seventies.

The current touring production is for all intents and purposes a re-wheeling of the same slick, technicolor iteration that has been doing the rounds for the past decade or so. Hugh Durrant’s inspired fusion of gothic-lite hunting lodge fused with lashings of fifties B-movie flavouring and sci-fi provide a playground for Sue Blane’s rhinestoned costumes and Nick Richings’ decadently unsubtle lighting to shine.

You’ve likely seen it all before, but that is no bad thing.

What Rocky 2025 does throw up, however, is a fairly significant overhaul of its central cast.

Veteran ‘Riff Raff’, Kristian Lavercombe, a fan favourite who has appeared in the show quite literally thousands of times, is nowhere to be seen (he’s busy riffing and raffing over in his native New Zealand…). With the exception of some of its ensemble, the company here are mostly brand-spanking new. Similarly, rifle through the show’s programme looking for the token C-lister or Strictly Come Dancing star of recent runs and you’ll be similarly ‘disappointed’ (?). Birmingham not being amongst the select venues on this run to play host to Jason Donovan’s Frank-n-Furter.

It proves to undoubtedly be this tour’s biggest coup; across the board, practically every role is portrayed by trained and experienced musical theatre talent.

Connor Carson and Lauren Chia are equally superb as the show’s ditzy, lovestruck protagonists. It’s often with Brad and Janet where the tempting tendrils of stunt casting creeps in, but no such worry here. Chia and Carson are each really fantastic, showcasing great vocals and a ton of character, serving up arguably the strongest pairing of its leads in over a decade of reviewing the show.

Morgan Jackson, similarly, stands comfortably amongst the best incarnations of the titular ‘Rocky’ creation to date. As well as comfortably passing the Charles Atlas’ approval in terms of a mighty impressive physique, he also showcases killer vocals during his ‘Sword of Damocles’ solo and his portion of ‘Rose Tint My World’. And if his Rocky belts and poses for the gods, Jayme-Lee Zanoncelli’s gloriously bonkers and hyper animated Columbia is another highlight.

“What a joy to sit down for what is now a double digit serving of Rocky Horror and be served with such a fresh, funny and unexpected surprise with one of its key characters.”

And stepping out from the looming shadow of the aforementioned Lavercombe is the quite wonderful Job Greuter as Riff Raff. He ticks all the requisite boxes of belting for the absolute heavens, but so too does Greuter find his own hobbling, nervy and idiosyncratic (and notably more sympathetic) take on the iconic role. What a joy to sit down for what is now a double digit serving of Rocky Horror and be served with such a fresh, funny and unexpected surprise with one of its key characters.

But they don’t come any more key than ‘sweet transvestite’ himself, Doctor Frank N Furter, and another talent to train and cut his teeth on musical theatre, Adam Strong, delivers some of the most stirring and powerful vocals seen in a ‘Frankie’ to date. Sure, he sinks into the vampy, sassy camp of the role with vigour and relish throughout as it to be expected, but it is moments such as a truly soulful coda to his ‘I’m Going Home’ where Strong’s roaring, powerhouse Frank N Furter truly etches out its individuality.

Moments of invention and surprise are littered elsewhere, too. Jackie Clune’s female narrator does a great job with the usual schtick of injecting plenty of topical meta humour throughout (and three guesses as to which divisive political figure and his bootlicking Tesla buddy bear the brunt of this). But it is when Clune goes off on distinctly female tangents to some of the show’s trademark heckling and audience participation that we get yet newer wrinkles and spins on formula.

“…the same colourful, postmodern melange of mayhem and naughtiness that audiences have flocked to in cinemas and theatres alike for over fifty years.”

In all though, whether playing it safe or flirting with surprise like this current production, it’s generally very difficult to go wrong with The Rocky Horror Show. It is the same colourful, postmodern melange of mayhem and naughtiness that audiences have flocked to in cinemas and theatres alike for over fifty years.

O’Brien’s now-iconic numbers are as irresistible and entertaining as ever, and few shows can boast a toe-tapping, off-your-seat doublet as infectious as ‘Time Warp’ and ‘Sweet Transvestite’.

Whether it is your first trip over to the Frankenstein place, or your feather boas and fishnets are already weathered from their service to the pelvic thrusting of it all, The Rocky Horror Show remains a firm audience favourite, and deservedly so. This latest tour peppers itself with some fresh twists, new faces and a handful of welcome surprises, but it’s still the same beloved time warp that you’ll be having a ball of a time doing all over again.

Altogether now; it’s just a jump to the left…

Be it the record-breaking longevity of The Mousetrap in the West End, right through to the resurgent national obsession with the BBC’s The Traitors, if there’s one thing we Brits have a bent for, it’s a good old fashioned murder mystery. And few are better – or more deliciously old fashioned – than the works of Dame Agatha.

Even amongst Christie’s storied catalogue, Murder on the Orient Express stands out. Presenting one of the most challenging and consequential cases for what is arguably her greatest creation – Belgian detective Hercule Poirot – Express is Christie at her most ubiquitous, as Poirot comes face to face with a seemingly impossible case of murder aboard the titular locomotive.

It’s a firm favourite that has since been transplanted to stage and screen many times over, not least of all the big-budget, Kenneth Branagh-fronted Hollywood outing of 2017.

All the kudos, then, to Fiery Angel, Ken Ludwig, Lucy Bailey and co for bringing it once again to the stage for this UK touring production and delivering an absorbing, atmospheric and gripping take on an almost Century-old story that many in the audience will have no doubt experienced multiple times over.

Firstly, it looks terrific. This is a slick, polished and ambitious piece of stagecraft that wouldn’t look at all amiss on a West End stage. The interlocking, multi-dimensional majesty of Mike Britton’s glorious depiction of the Orient Express herself is a wonder – twisting, turning and oscillating to present a set of both remarkable versatility yet distinct character. And it’s often all cast under Ian William Galloway’s moody, evocative video backdrops, whilst Oliver Fenwick’s lighting casts cabins in cosy hues of oranges and browns, or plunges Poirot into stark spotlights in moments of epiphany or moral crisis. It’s rare to have a touring production demonstrate such polish and production value.

“It’s rare to have a touring production demonstrate such polish and production value.”

Thankfully, the assembled company more than meet the grandeur and spectacle of their surroundings. In true Christie form, this is an ensemble piece through and through, though steering the ship (train?) is Michael Maloney’s inspired take on Poirot himself. It’s a dignified and measured performance, bubbling away with the Belgian’s irrepressible charm, but in the second Act in particular Maloney channels a borderline rage and exasperation through the character that proves a real tour de force. It may be this particular reviewer’s favourite stage version of the character to date.

A fantastic supporting cast pepper Ludwig’s adaptation with real verve and spark. For all that it genuinely proves to be a compelling, often thrilling whodunnit, so too do Ludwig, Bailey and the cast inject it with plenty of levity and humour, too. Be it the well-meaning but slightly bumbling nature of Bob Barrett’s kindly Monsieur Bouc, or the verbal sparring between Debbie Chazen’s sardonic Russian aristocrat and Christie Kavanagh’s feisty serial divorcee, there are plenty of laughs peppered through what transpires to ultimately be one of Christie’s darker plots.

As mentioned, the entire company are fantastic. Rebecca Charles somehow manages to make her slightly hysterical assistant endearing as opposed to intolerable, whilst Chazen gives great deadpan throughout. Simon Cotton is suitably odious as shady businessman Samuel Ratchett, and Paul Keating does great work with comparatively little as his nervy helping hand. Mila Carter proves herself a real talent to watch as an enigmatic Countess, whilst Iniki Mariano is excellent and effortlessly convincing as a frightened ingenue fleeing from something in her past.

But if it’s really Maloney’s show, then a captivating Christie Kavanagh more than threatens to give him a run for his Euros. As the flirtatious, wise-cracking Helen Hubbard, Kavanagh commands every scene she appears in. It’s a whirlwind of a comedic and dramatic performance, both.

As an updated staging of an undisputed classic, it’s difficult to imagine a more polished or classy production than this Murder. Bailey’s direction is taut, exciting and ebbs with creativity. A moment where a clue is revealed in flames or the staging of a climactic revelation are simply brilliant pieces of theatre. It crackles with electric performances, looks as grand and ornate as the Orient herself, and is the first must-see piece of touring theatre of 2025.

All aboard for a thrilling, supremely polished journey to murder, mystery and marvellous theatre.

It’s easy to get so swept up by the gobsmacking did-they-really-just-say-that brazenness of Parker, Lopez and Stone’s The Book of Mormon that you almost forget how infectiously great a show it is of its own merit. All the talk of doing unspeakable things to womens’ genitalia and amphibians belies both a surprisingly optimistic and affirming story of the power of storytelling and belief, and a corker of a musical to boot.

But there’s no getting around those maggots in the scrotum (…it’s an in-joke). Much like Stone and Parker’s calling card, South Park, Mormon is certainly not for the easily offended. In fact, arriving in Birmingham for a Christmas tenure at the Alexandra, it’s about as far from family-friendly Hallmark holiday fare that you can get. Though to obsess on its unapologetic frankness and frequent crudeness would, much like South Park before it, bypass the liberal doses of wit and satire that fire maniacally out in every direction. Organised religion. The inherent silliness of the Joseph Smith fable. Homoerotic repression. Cultural appropriation. Few targets are spared, yet there’s an admirable earnest streak to the biting commentary here, one that means its humour often lands all the harder because of the nuggets of truth found within.

If you don’t like a village of Ugandan natives blaspheming to the almighty, try living there a couple of days yourself, Mormon challenges its audience, during its sidesplittingly blue riff on The Lion King’s ‘Hakuna Matata’.

“Few targets are spared, and yet there’s an admirable earnest streak to the biting commentary here…”

For some, it may be a little too coarse and unsanitised, but for everyone else it’s a raucous, frequently laugh-out-loud comedic whirlwind.

Mormon centres around the debut mission of two newly graduated Latter Day Saints missionaries – the idealistic yet somewhat self-centred Elder Price (Adam Bailey) and the klutzy yet well-meaning Elder Cunningham (Sam Glen). Price’s boyish dreams of proselytising in likes of Orlando, Florida are dashed when the duo are sent to spread the titular gospel to the war-torn and povert-stricken ravages of Uganda.

Upon arriving, they soon discover that the natives have slightly more pressing matters – from a raging warlord to rampant disease – to worry about over their supposed salvation.

Modern sensibilities may at first appear to crash headfirst into some of the representation and depictions found in Mormon. It’s easy to initially feel that it is all surely a bit problematic, but in testimony to Parker, Lopez and Stone’s book, as its absurd tale develops you come to quickly realise that this is actually a far cleverer, more sympathetic and honest appraisal than all the f-bombs and liberal use of the c-word (yes, that one) would seem to first indicate. Just as you think it may be slipping into bad habits, it comes along and takes glee at ridiculing the white saviour complex, or makes an earnest demonstration of the power of faith. Mormon allows it audience be in on the joke throughout, and it’s often our own preconceptions or stereotypes that it takes its shrewdest potshots at.

“Many of its numbers are heavily parodic in nature, and Parker and Stone’s genuine love for a song and dance number can be felt throughout…”

Even with such solid and knowing writing, though, what really seals the Mormon deal is its irrefutable clout as a piece of musical storytelling. Many of its numbers are heavily parodic in nature, and Parker and Stone’s genuine love for a song and dance number can be felt throughout (an instinct that served them similarly well for the disarmingly wonderful South Park: Bigger, Longer and Uncut, itself a canny, Oscar-nominated musical). There’s the hilarious, toe-tapping chorus line of ‘Turn It Off’, along with riffs and nods to everything from Wicked, The King and I to, yes, The Lion King. And there’s still plenty of space for quintessential Parker and Stone fare, too, such as the Jeffrey Dahmer and Genghis Khan-populated hellscapes of ‘Spooky Mormon Hell Dream’.

Mormon’s impressive soundtrack pulses with the language and love of musical theatre throughout, along with that unmistakable Parker-Stone streak. It’s a winning earworm of a combination.

For the current leg of the UK tour, a solid cast bring the animated chaos to life with real zest. Adam Bailey and Sam Glen are great fun as Elders Price and Cunningham respectively, giving spirited and characterful turns and doing a great job with some demanding sings. Nyah Nish, meanwhile, is fantastic as naive young Nabulungi, whose yearning for an escape to a better life is beautifully depicted with impressive vocals and a sweetly endearing turn. Kirk Patterson and Will Barrett pop up throughout and entertain in bit parts, but it’s Tom Bales as repressed Elder McKinley who routinely threatens to steal the whole show. As well as being in fine voice, Bales is comedic gold throughout, infusing every gesture and inflection of his closeted missionary with infectious sass and fabulousness.

Although Scott Pask’s staging is understandably somewhat tapered down on tour, with some of the bigger numbers such as its early Act II depiction of hell a little dialled down by comparison to its west end counterpart, there’s still plenty of visual storytelling and character etched in throughout. And the tirelessly hard-working company make sure the big musical moments of the likes of ‘I Am Africa’ and ‘Turn It Off’ truly sing.

If you can stomach its frequent naughtiness and agree with the school of thought that satire should scarcely pull its punches, you’ll find in The Book of Mormon a must-see slice of scathing silliness with a surprising amount of depth, nuance and heart beneath all the bawdiness. Let yourselves be baptised in the irreverent, warts-and-all waters of Stone, Lopez and Parker and enjoy a wholly original musical that is both heaven-sent and shamelessly sinful at once.

It’s easy to bandy the term ‘crowd-pleaser’ around in a cosy, even vaguely euphemistic way. As if, in our current rather grim times and notoriously febrile environment for new theatre, making something that puts bums in seats and smiles on faces is somehow easy or a given.

In truth, configuring all the requisite cogs and wheels to successfully stage a new musical that has legs, laughs and audience love is no mean feat. Even quality offerings can struggle to get out of the gate (see this year’s sadly ill-fated Bonnie & Clyde tour), whilst creative duds and misfires abound.

So colour it a triumph, then, that the much-anticipated Steps musical, Here & Now, lands not only as, yes, a crowd pleaser, but indeed an unabashedly camp, glitzy, irrepressible one at that.

We’re firmly in the ‘does exactly what it says on the tin’ section of the seaside supermarket in this spritely, feel-good romp that plays out to the hits and favourites of the pop supergroup. Four best friends navigate their way through the pitfalls, hardships and romantic entanglements of their own ‘Summer of Love’ after making a sacred pineapple pact (no, that isn’t a typo or autocorrect) to chase their heart’s desires.

“Here & Now doesn’t bring anything groundbreaking or blindingly original to the stage, but nor does it profess or need to.”

Shaun Kitchener’s book is tons of fun and keeps things mostly breezy and upbeat. What drama and peril there is remains mostly fizzy and surface-level. Will ‘Better Best Bargains’ close for good? Is the waspish, French-spouting Store Manager (Finty Williams) having an extramarital affair? Will shy, artistic Neeta (Hiba Elchickhe) hold off on crafting her effigies of Alison Hammond and muster up the courage to confess her feelings to hunky Ben (Dan Partridge)? Here & Now doesn’t bring anything groundbreaking or blindingly original to the stage, but nor does it profess or need to.

What Kitchener, along with director Rachel Kavanaugh do so well here is allow the normalcy and even humdrum elements of the show’s premise to be the grounding and connective tissue for what ends up being a genuinely lovely celebration of friendship and camaraderie. The core four – Rebecca Lock’s Caz, Hiba Elchikhe’s Neeta, Sharlene Hector’s Vel and Blake Patrick Anderson’s Robbie – are a loveable, winning quartet. To single any of them out would feel remiss – they work beautifully as a foursome, are all knockout vocalists and each brings charisma, heart and humour to spare to their individual characters. The bonds feel real, the laughs (and tears) earned and the chemistry between the four leads palpable throughout. And of course, it’s all positively littered with Easter eggs and in-jokes that Steps fans will hoover up.

Perhaps most impressive though, is how remarkably organic it all feels as a piece of jukebox musical theatre. The implementation of what for many will be iconic and definitive pop hits is intuitive and, rarely for a jukebox, crafted in way that does a solid job of propelling forward the narrative and momentum. There’s a couple of numbers that feel a little clunkier and sudden in their implementing, but on the whole this is nearing Mamma Mia levels of fusion.

“…it’s all positively littered with Easter eggs and in-jokes that Steps fans will hoover up.”

Kavanaugh and Olivier-winner Matt Cole go to town on the set pieces for the big toe-tappers, such as the giddily bonkers ‘Half Price Hoedown’ of ‘5, 6, 7, 8’ and high camp dragnificence of ‘Chain Reaction’ (courtesy of RuPaul’s Drag Race UK’s River Medway). Tom Rogers’ unapologetically bold, neon, oh-so-Steps staging amplifies the glam of it all considerably, with Gabriella Slade’s costumes carrying a similarly technicolor thread.

It’s busy, brassy and unapologetically played broad. But so too does Here & Now take its time to pause and invest in its more delicate beats, too. Lock’s searing, resonant takes on ‘Heartbeat’ and ‘One for Sorrow’ are not only vocally stunning, but carry a heavy emotional thwack, too. And then there’s the playful cuteness of Hector’s ‘It’s the Way You Make Me Feel’ alongside Helen Colby’s Tracey, or the giddy hijinks of ‘Say You’ll Be Mine’.

“Lock’s searing, resonant takes on ‘Heartbeat’ and ‘One for Sorrow’ are not only vocally stunning, but carry a heavy emotional thwack, too.”

With recent announcements that Birmingham will not be the end of the road for the show (a UK tour embarking from September 2025) hardly coming as a surprise, there’s a fair – and deserved – chance that we’ll be going wild in the aisles with Caz, Val, Neeta and Robbie for many more ‘Summers of Love’ to come.

Bring it on. Here & Now doesn’t reinvent the wheel. Nor does it seek to. It takes a catalogue of beloved pop hits and hands them over to a seriously impressive company and creative team who craft fabulous, funny, feel good theatre with them. By most comparable metrics in the industry, you could even make a case for saying it doesn’t have any right to be as good as it is.

It arrives as one of the freshest, funniest new musical offerings of recent memory and is – no trace of euphemism or side-eye here – an unpretentious, unapologetic crowd pleaser of the most Steptacular order.