It surely goes without saying that shadow of the spectral or supernatural is no niche thing at Christmastime in jolly old London Town.

Dickens and the obvious cornucopia of Christmas Carols aside, the West End has often played host to things that go bump in the night over the season. 2023 notably saw the critically derided clunker that was The Enfield Haunting run at the very same theatre that now welcomes Levi Holloway’s Paranormal Activity for a crack at the festive fright whip.

Whilst the Catherine Tate and David Threfall-led Haunting was loosely based on titular ‘true’ events, Holloway’s ‘new story’ here shares only broad thematic brushstrokes and concepts with the smash Hollywood franchise with which it borrows a name. It is an original story penned and conceived of for the stage, shrewdly removed from the sprawling mass of sequelitis that quickly consumed Oren Peli’s 2007 indie hit.

Still, brand recognition will likely help get those bums in seats and itching for a good fright, but have Holloway and director Felix Barrett been able to summon up a meaningful, original and, crucially, scary outing in a climate of 2:22s and women in black?

“It isn’t difficult to envisage a world in which a rudimentary cash grab on name recognition alone gorged itself on jump scares and cheap gimmicks”

What’s perhaps most striking about Paranormal Activity – which debuted at Leeds Playhouse last Summer – is both how classy and confidently restrained it is. It isn’t difficult to envisage a world in which a rudimentary cash grab on name recognition alone gorged itself on jump scares and cheap gimmicks.

Instead, Holloway has penned a character-centric piece which, whilst never particularly groundbreaking, still has far more to say and ponder than you’d maybe suppose.

Loved up husband and wife duo, James (Patrick Heusigner) and Lou (Melissa James) have recently relocated to rain-soaked London from Chicago. They’re getting their heads around the local lingo (it’s a bin, not a trash can), battling with temperamental plumbing and electrics, and James’ opinionated, god-feathering mother is perhaps little more than one or two FaceTimes away from making herself a real nuisance. Oh, and there’s that small matter of medication for Lou’s constant existential dread and the sensing of something more sinister, but surely there’s nothing to worry about there…

“…Holloway and Barrett understand that implication and anticipation are far more gnawing than cheap jump scares ad nauseum…”

So far, so formula. But though its first act is relatively light on incident and frights, the dynamic between Huesinger and James is so authentic and earnest that it’s hard not to root for them. Here, Holloway and Barrett understand that implication and anticipation are far more gnawing than cheap jump scares ad nauseum, and the fact we like the duo so much only amplifies the dread as the screws begin to tighten. If anything, it makes the more exposition-heavy second act and finale in particular a little jarring, as everything beforehand touches upon ominous backstory and trauma so deftly and implicitly.

When it does decide to get its spook on, Paranormal Activity sits comfortably alongside the best of its peers in terms of polish and execution. From a deeply unsettling open through to a handful of deceptively ingenious and technically faultless scares, the measured way in which the show approaches its frights make them all the more impacting when they do come along. Kudos to illusions designer for Chris Fisher for pulling off one of the most simple yet deviously effective illusions this particular reviewer has seen in a show of this ilk.

So yes, it is frequently unsettling and ratchets up the tension to deliver some knock out moments of toe-curling creepiness. But it never loses sight of its characters either, even as some of the more bonkers set pieces and narrative deviations throw in the likes of podcasting mediums and unexpected home visits with a twist.

Heusinger and James are great anchors around which the scares pivot. James sensitively navigates a character and plot that offers up some neat things to say about the belittlement and misunderstanding of mental health issues, as well as, of course, that old genre staple, gaslighting. A rather hulking Heusinger imbues his James with just the right level of sincerity and relatability, alongside a soupcon of almost douchebag solipsism that stops the character from feeling too cookie cutter.

“…some of the audiovisual flourishes at pivotal moments are exceptional.”

The pair’s shifting, conflicting and complementary dynamic never stops feeling real, even when beset with late exposition dumps as mentioned. Jackie Morrison and Pippa Winslow bring some levity to things in supporting roles, with Winslow in particular something of a scene-stealer as the overbearing, coddling Midwestern matriarch.

It’s a handsome production, to boot. Fly Davis’ bisected household never feels stagey or composited, and even as Barret keeps things taut and punchy, it’s impossible not to feel yourself glancing about the household for ‘what ifs’. Anna Watson’s moody, evocative lighting and Gareth Fry’s mix of diegetic and auditorium-swamping sound keep even the quieter moments faintly unsettling or downright chilling. To disclose too much would be to spoil things, but some of the audiovisual flourishes at pivotal moments are exceptional.

Anyone going in expecting a pulsing, jump scare packed scream-a-minute might find Paranormal Activity a slower beast than anticipated. For everyone else, here is an impressively measured and lovingly crafted piece of thrilling theatre that takes its time, and pitches its frights with precision and polish. A far classier and more thoughtful presence than its title alone would perhaps suggest, and one that earns those eventual scares all the more for being so. And, when the gloves finally do come off and the titular supernatural hijinks go down, Paranormal Activity offers up some of the most effective and jaw-clenching frights the good old City of London has seen.

In a fashion that seems befitting for such a daring, distinctive show, we’re going to start this one both broad and bold.

There are very few shows in memory – recent or otherwise – that manage to succeed in being so profoundly specific yet universally resonant at once as Michael R. Jackson’s A Strange Loop.

On the one hand, its emotionally raw and honest exploration into the creative process and intrapersonal struggles of a self-proclaimed ‘fat, Black, queer’ aspiring musical theatre writer is razor sharp in its definition and scope. There is a lived experience cast on the stage here in unbridled, blistering form. Kyle Ramar Freeman’s immediate and endearing protagonist, Usher, takes us through a disarmingly powerful single-Act tour-de-force stacked with prejudice, fetishism (of queerness, body size and skin tone), self-loathing, ecclesiastic intolerance and more, that will doubtless speak loudest to its black and queer audiences.

And, as was highlighted during a frank and illuminating post-show Q&A, should absolutely be offered to them as readily and affordably as possible.

And yet, on the other hand, so too is there an undeniable universality and frankness to so much of Loop’s journey of self-discovery and emotional honesty, and so irrepressible a joy and exuberance to its execution, that it makes it an easy recommendation for all.

There’s no shying away from the importance of its message and strength of its voice, though. A Strange Loop almost dares you to lull into a false sense of comfort or apathy. ‘Butt f*cking’, dehumanisation and liberal use of the ’n’ word as both endearment and insult abound. Fresh trauma or anguish is injected at almost every turn, as Usher weaves a metafictive journey of crafting his own musical project that, for character and audience both, comes to feel like creativity via self-therapy.

If its metafictional hijinks and its wheeling around identity issues are not entirely original in approach, they’re no less genius or affecting in execution. Usher is joined on stage throughout by a cast of six ‘Thoughts’ – manifestations of his psyche and place within modern society. Some are literal and immediate – sexual ambivalence, self-loathing etc. – whilst others float more nebulously around matters financial and familial. What binds them all is the witty, biting fashion with which they are employed throughout, and the glorious company that bring them to life.

“If its metafictional hijinks and its wheeling around identity issues are not entirely original in approach, they’re no less genius or affecting in execution.”

As Loop charges through its hour and forty-minute runtime, Jackson’s music and lyrics don’t waste the promise of exploring Usher and his toils through the medium of the musical. It manages to be both immeasurably uplifting and a bit of a downer at once; the numbers bandying between show-stopping and glitzy to searing and soul-searching. Director Stephen Brackett keeps his feet on the pedal and does a solid job of guiding us through the at-times dizzyingly blurring lines between the literal and figurative. As we see Usher’s ‘big, black and queer-ass’ musical take shape, discerning what is ‘real’ and what is part of Usher’s heightened reconstructions isn’t always immediately available, but the emotional resonance and message are never lost.

This is all in no small way down to Freeman’s astonishing central turn. Rarely off-stage, he more than delivers on the big vocal asks, but is perhaps even more impressive in the honesty and rawness of his take on a role that asks for big, often whiplash-inducing emotional about-turns. Whether heartbreakingly lamenting his choice of a grimy, abusive one-night stand, timidly jostling with his ‘Thought’ co-stars, sassily channeling his ‘Inner White Girl’, or sending up gospel evangelist types in deliciously broad, comedic strokes, it’s an absolute barnstormer of a performance.

“…an absolute barnstormer of a performance.”

He’s surrounded by excellence, too. It would be churlish to single out any of the six-strong ‘Thoughts’, all deserving of extra kudos for being on multi-role duty as they are, and each is given plenty of moments and set pieces within which to shine. When they come together collectively, such as during a side-splitting cultural ombudsman for the creative output of Tyler Perry, featuring the likes of Harriet “motherf*ckin’” Tubman, Jimmy Baldwin, Whitney Houston, and even an Oscar-wielding Solomon Northup a la 12 Years a Slave, it’s utterly electric. And how gratifying, not to mention a privilege, to be witness to such a bold, distinctive musical not only speaking to, but also delivered by, a cast consistently exclusively of superlative black talent. Nathan Armarkwei-Larya, Eddie Elliot, Sharlene Hector, Tendai Humphrey Sitima, Yeukayi Ushe and Jean-Luke Worrell were all superlative thourhgout in the performance reviewed. They are a manic whirlwind of vibrancy and character around Freeman’s soulful centre.

A review of A Strange Loop could easily run double, treble the length as afforded here. There’s more that could be said of the sheer ballsy, unfiltered hutzpah of where Jackson is willing to go, and what all involved are willing to bring so truthfully to the stage. Of appraising its completely-deserved Pulitzer gong for Drama, and how it has already ensconced itself amongst the great pieces depicting the creative process and person. And there’s just something exquisite about bearing witness to a show with so much grit in its teeth and gumption in its stride landing amidst a sea of vanilla and beige.

But above all, A Strange Loop is fierce. Fiercely unique, bitingly funny, ferociously honest and relentlessly inspired. You will likely find yourself caught in your own strange loop of laughter and tears throughout, and come away – after its bravely unconventional, no-easy-answers finale – feeling like Usher’s marvellous musical project has if not necessarily redefined, then certainly reminded, of the true possibility, power and impact of storytelling via the medium of the musical.

Roaring, as it does, into The Barber of Seville’s ‘Largo al factotum’ (‘Figaro’ may ring more bells), before segueing into a soundtrack popping along to the likes of Aerosmith, Sinatra and The Four Seasons, it isn’t difficult to conceive of the idea of 1993’s smash-hit Mrs Doubtfire being given its own makeover into a musical. For sure, there’s the thorny issue of having to find someone who can navigate stepping out from the buxom, smoking shadow of the late Robin Williams’ soulful, Golden Globe-winning performance, but much like another renowned musical offering, get your ‘Effie’ right and it’s plain-sailing to musical theatre goodness, surely?

If nothing else, the vibrant, spirited Doubtfire that Jamie Wilson, Jerry Zaks and company open on the West End this week can certainly claim to have gotten its casting on-point. Direct from the show’s limited run at Manchester’s Opera House last Autumn, it isn’t hard to see why Gabriel Vick was invited back to reprise the title role for its London debut. He’s a barnstorming, comedic tour-de-force, channeling a turn that respectfully encircles Williams’ beloved screen performance, whilst still crafting something distinctly attuned to his own instincts. As recently-divorced, down-on-his-luck Daniel Hillard, a struggling actor who ends up posing as a kindly Scottish nanny in order to spend time with his children, Vick is superb.

The broader strokes of this showy spectacle don’t afford the character quite the same degree of soul or moments of quiet as the film – the emotional beats here are fairly on-the-nose and confined to mostly serviceable tunes – but when it comes to the comedy and sheer physicality of his Euphegenia, Vick fires on all cylinders. Iconic moments, such as some whip-sharp choreography with a vacuum cleaner, are present and executed to perfection, and the show shrewdly keeps Daniel’s penchant for impressionism. Freewheeling through everything from Homer Simpson, King Charles to the perhaps inevitable Boris Johnson bumbling, Vick’s comic relish is relentless and infectious. There’s even a cheeky Jack Nicholson (a Williams calling card) thrown in for good measure.

Curiously, it’s where Mrs Doubtfire veers furthest from the original film that it most seems to hit upon its strengths. Daniel’s ex-wife Miranda (Laura Tebbut), memorably played by a steely Sally Field on screen, is here repurposed as a burgeoning fashion designer, and a wholly new set piece where Mrs D is conscripted into modelling plus size sportswear for a fashion is not only a hoot, but it also one of the few times where the show really seems to be flexing its musical theatre muscles. Elsewhere, Daniel’s brother, hair and make-up designer Frank (Cameron Blakely), and partner Andre (Marcus Collins) feature more prominently, and are given some fun wrinkles including an adoption subplot and Frank’s giggle worthy tendency to shout whenever he’s forced to lie (hint; most of the time). Their big number, ‘Make Me A Woman’ proves particularly fun.

“Curiously, it’s where Mrs Doubtfire veers furthest from the original film that it most seems to hit upon its strengths.”

It’s just a slight shame that, outside of its spirited vignettes, Wayne and Karey Kirkpatrick’s music doesn’t really make a compelling case for Mrs Doubtfire being a musical. A Siri-focused cooking tutorial, that culminates in the iconic moment of Euphegenia’s smoking mammaries, is fun but superfluous, whilst a late-game aria from a scorned flamenco dancer (Lisa Mathieson on scintillating, scene-stealing form) is hilarious, and probably the closest the show comes to having the music purposely drive forward narrative and event. But much of the character-centric numbers feel formulaic and halting, even when they are beautifully delivered by Tebbut and Carla Dixon-Hernandaz – regularly impressive as eldest Hillard daughter Lydia – in particular.

Perhaps most surprisingly, Daniel himself gets precious few moments to carry musically. An Act II back-and-forth with Samuel Edwards’ burly love rival Stuart (whom Edwards does an admirable job of crafting out beyond the character’s fairly anaemic writing) is peppy and characterful, and Vick does fine work with the odd spot of soul-searching, but overall it seems something of a missed opportunity that the Kirkpatricks were unable to find a way to channel the character’s chameleonic vocals into song.

Karey has more success with the book, which, co-penned with John O’Farrell, has been given some tweaks and polish since Broadway and Manchester both, offering up some welcome injections of modernity. It checks off most of the essentials; you won’t be left disappointed if you go in expecting your Guiness truck laments, pudding-slathered ‘helloooooo!’s, and quips of ‘run-by fruiting’.

“It checks off most of the essentials; you won’t be left disappointed if you go in expecting your Guiness truck laments, pudding-slathered ‘helloooooo!’s, and quips of ‘run-by fruiting’.”

But there are updates, too. From the small – an aquarium-plunged tv remote becomes withheld wifi (pronounced, naturally, ‘whiffy’) and as mentioned, Siri, invasive Youtube commercials and other contemporary flourishes filter in.

The cast of characters get some welcome improvements, too. Kelly Agbowu’s court enforcement officer Mrs Sellner is given a little more dimension (not to mention intelligence), whilst Tebutt’s Miranda crucially gets afforded more empathy, as we witness her sitting in solo on marriage therapy sessions, and later beautifully crooning her former marital anguish to a disguised Daniel. Elsewhere, Micha Richardson, as TV executive Janet Lundy, is a deliciously deadpan and fun gender-swap.

There’s a lot to love and enjoy about Mrs Doubtfire on stage, not least of all its sublime central turn, and a fantastic supporting company about it. Zaks and choreographer Lorin Latarro keep it moving at a brisk, punchy pace, and a superlative ensemble deliver everything from high-kicking chefs to even Doubtfire clones with characterful vim and energy. David Korins‘ staging looks suitably big-budget for the West End, with the Hillard homestead in particular an effective, multi-faceted yet homely depiction of space.

The prosthesis and transformation Daniel undergoes to become the titular creation is understandably quicker and more perfunctory than on-screen, resulting in something that registers a trifle distracting at first, but when we’ve already suspended our disbelief to watch the likes of Princess Diana, Donna Summers and Eleanor Roosevelt strut along in a glitzy chorus line, it’s all good.

Much like the lady herself, Mrs Doubtfire is a show that, if not always entirely convincing, is immediately likeable, eventually loveable, and oodles of fun along the way. It honours what has come before, whilst still finding its own voice and identity – even if you are left wishing that it had taken that search for individuality just a knotch or two further. Come what may, though, broken handbags be damned, it isn’t difficult to imagine it being a big hit in London, and a firm new family favourite for ‘poppets’ of every age.

Which leaves just one final, inevitable call…

Help is on the way, dears.

Euphegenia is here, and she can hip-hop, be-bop, dance ’til she drops and yo, yo, make a wicked new show, show.

Ahh, the zeitgeist-clasping, roof-raising, cultural behemoth of ‘Let It Go’. Only just this past week getting knocked off its mighty perch of being the most successful ever Disney number here in the UK, by Encanto‘s equally earworm-y ‘We Don’t Talk About Bruno’. Right from its avalanche-inducing debut back in 2013, where it could be heard everywhere from garden parties to grime houses, there was fairly immediate chatter about how it would make for a perfect Act I closer, much in the vein of triumphant curtain droppers such as ‘Defying Gravity’, ‘Climb Ev’ry Mountain’ and even Legally Blonde’s soar of feel-good, ‘So Much Better’.

Fast-forward just shy of a decade, a successful, Tony-gobbling Broadway venture and even a pesky pandemic in in the interim, and the Queen of Arendelle’s triumphant belter of self-empowerment has finally arrived on the West End.

And, with the House of Mouse coffers backing it, some truly resplendent audiovisual design, and all framing the powerhouse pipes of growing stage legend Samantha Barks, London welcomes a truly jaw-dropping set piece that easily slots in amongst the greatest moments of musical theatre, perhaps ever.

It really is that good.

Disney have form here, though; see the big, colourful magic they wrought in turning Aladdin’s ‘Friend Like Me’ into a tour-de-force explosion of genre-bending, vaudeville-infused brilliance, a trick similarly (and understandably) pulled for ‘Be Our Guest’ in the new touring production of Beauty and the Beast. They certainly don’t shy away from doubling down on their big numbers.

However, a single song and set piece do not a consistent, quality musical necessarily make.

“Disney certainly don’t shy away from doubling down on their big numbers.”

Thankfully, anyone going to see Frozen out of love for its film predecessor (presumably the vast majority) will be thrilled to see all the major beats, moments and numbers included here, all glistening in that Disney sheen of quality and scale.

It’s immensely crowd-pleasing and, barring some slightly darker (yet welcome) moments and a curiously-judged but well received Act II opener that features very mild ‘nudity’ (spoiler: everyone’s in skin suits), is probably the go-to recommendation for a family visit to the West End.

Kids and adults alike will adore Craig Gallivan’s wonderful duality of puppetry and performance in the loveable Olaf, a comedic turn that somehow manages to both uncannily channel the nature and spirit of the film’s animated snowman without resorting to base mimicry of Josh Gad. Similarly splendid is the craftsmanship, design and performance (courtesy of Ashley Birchall & Mikayla Jade) put into reindeer Sven, here decidedly less cartoony, but more in the spirit of, say, War Horse’s ‘Joey’ is an indelible, beautiful stage presence that elicits plenty of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’.

As mentioned, it is one glorious looking production to bathe in. Christopher Oram, Neil Austin and Finn Ross bring an unparalleled sense of production value and scale to the Theatre Royal’s boards, from the breathtaking majesty of Elsa’s iconic transformation sequence, to a dollying bridge (that dwarfs even Les Mis’ iconic barricades) featuring pitfalls and slides aplenty, and a perpetual sense of heightened fantasy and magic, abetted tremendously by Jeremy Chernick and team’s stellar effects work. Even techie elements, such as a blisteringly high frame rate for Ross’ video and projection work in simulating a frustrated Elsa’s climactic blizzard, show a standard of attainment few shows aim for, let alone reach.

Good luck finding a more dazzling display of wonderment in the West End (or beyond).

Kristin Anderson-Lopez and Robert Lopez’ much-played, scarcely-bettered music is as infectious as ever, and the transition to the stage has brought with it some very welcome new numbers that are (mostly) just as good. Oliver Ormson’s beautifully-sung Hans gets a much-needed injection of character and development with his cunningly utilised ‘Hans of the Southern Isles’, whilst Elsa – somewhat passive during a good chunk of the films second reel – gets a real belter of an Act II soul-searcher in new favourite ‘Monster’, which Barks, again, knocks out of the park with real gusto.

Joining her, Obioma Ugoala is a warm, hearty presence as perennial good guy Kristoff, whilst Ormson could croon the phone book and it would likely be divine. In a smaller yet impactful turn, Richard Frame is suitably weaselly (sorry, Wesel-y) and serves up a lot of the pre-Olaf humour with his snidely Duke.

“Good luck finding a more dazzling display of wonderment in the West End (or beyond).”

Particular plaudits go, though, to ensemble member Sarah O’Connor, who stepped up to give a beautiful turn as co-lead Anna, capably carrying the weight of this enormous show on her charismatic shoulders, giving a wonderfully charismatic, quirky turn, and comfortably going toe-to-toe with heavyweights like Barks and Ormson to give just as accomplished and winning a turn. Arguably the night’s MVP.

Less successful is aforementioned Act II opener, ’Hygge’, which, whilst winningly performed (Matt Gillett also stepping in and doing a fine, funny job at the performance reviewed) and getting plenty of laughs as one of the show’s more upbeat and irreverent moments, feels tonally a little jarring, not to mention more than a trifle perfunctory, here. Far better would its vim and spectacle have been leant to the stronger and more character-driven ‘Fixer Upper’, which follows shortly after. Did anyone really think the one thing the original Frozen was missing was a musical interlude from sauna and shop owner Oaken? His now trademark ‘yoo hoo!’ – thankfully replicated here – remains far simpler and more iconic.

That isn’t to say deviation from the source wouldn’t be welcome. Au contraire; if anything, there’s an argument to be made that compared to say, Mary Poppins or The Lion King as other stage adaptations of Disney hits, Frozen plays it a little too safe. The other mentioned properties really lean into the medium of theatre to craft their stage outings as highly distinct and separate entities from their filmic counterparts, whilst keeping the core DNA intact. Frozen, on the other hand, regularly plays out and feels akin to an extremely big-budget – and admittedly gorgeously executed – transfer of some of its Disney park show cousins.

Much like Aladdin before it, there’s a hesitancy to Frozen to stray too far from the established aesthetic and template, or really play around with the uniqueness of the stage experience which, whilst understandable given how iconic Elsa and friends have become in the cultural consciousness, still feels like a slightly missed opportunity. Where it does offer hints at this – such as its interpretation of the film’s ‘troll’ characters here as more tribal, native human-esque types, or the aforementioned de-tooning of Sven, it works beautifully, and offers glimpses of something more distinctive still.

But again, nobody at Disney, or indeed in the audience, are likely to be losing any sleep that Elsa looks and sounds like, well, Elsa. Heck, they even manage to squeeze in a couple of nods and narrative nudges to the sequel.

Having recently extended its run to October at the earliest, there’s little indicator that Frozen on stage won’t have the same triumphant and celebrated run as its film forebear had in the Box Office, and its seminal hit had on the airwaves.

And, in fairness, it’s deserved. It’s a sweeping, glorious spectacle of a show, beautifully performed, and at times staggeringly well-realised. It’s a ‘safe’ bet in the sense that audiences will get exactly what they want and expect going in. Yes, it ends up landing quite heavily on the more derivative side of Disney’s stage adaptations, and the glimpses of something more unique and distinct peppered throughout wink at some potential missed opportunities, but when families of all ages are leaving infectiously overjoyed, satisfied and fulfilled, I guess I just need to let it go.