It’s been over thirty years since Stephan Elliot’s The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert charted its outback road trip into cinematic history. Likewise, this year marks the 20th anniversary since its perhaps-inevitable stage musical adaptation (also co-helmed by Elliot) first debuted in Sydney.

And times, they be most certainly a-changing.

Bringing Priscilla the musical back to the stage in 2026 sees its central narrative – depicting a comedic cross-country journey for two drag queens and a trans woman – landing in a very different socio-political climate to even fairly recent productions of the same show. Mishandle its misrepresentation or fail to modernise some of its messaging and attitudes towards homophobia, trans awareness etc. and this is one particular show bus that could easily crash and burn.

Fortunately, whilst some of the axels and rivets do occasionally creak and groan under their age, for the most part director Ian Talbot steers the good ship (see: bus) Priscilla confidently with this energised, vibrant reimagined take that, for those keenly looking, does indeed do some deft and sensitive repurposing of its central character in particular.

“…director Ian Talbot steers the good ship Priscilla confidently with this energised, vibrant reimagined take…”

Nowhere is this more evident than in the casting of Adèle Anderson as Bernadette. Prior productions have seen cis male performers such as Richard Grieve and Simon Green take on the role made famous by Terrence Stamp in the OG film. And whilst Grieve and Green each gave perfectly enjoyable and characterful turns, it feels egregious to even consider anything other than a trans woman in the role now.

That isn’t to be reductive about Anderson (a highly experienced singer and stage performer herself) nor pigeonhole her; on the contrary, her sardonic, dry, slightly world-weary turn as Bernadette is the classy, dignified core around which all the glitter and camp can swirl. It’s perhaps little surprise that Anderson’s Bernadette feels more grounded and authentic than the broader strokes of past takes on the role.

That’s not to say this is in any way a subdued or pared back Priscilla, though. Andrew Exeter’s set and lighting, Talbot’s punchy direction and some really high-kicking and kinetic choreo from Olivier Award-winner Matt Cole make for a supremely vibrant, rhinestoned and eye-popping trip across the outback. Exter’s use of an almost War Horse-esque wraparound projection is particularly snazzy; accentuating many of the set pieces and big dance numbers with splashes of colourful, or helping create a sense of place for the quieter character beats.

The only (slightly surprising) misfire here are with some of Vicky Gill’s costumes. When sticking closer to the wheelhouse of Tim Chappel’s original, iconic, Oscar-winning creations, Gill does a great job, but some of the more minimalist frocks the three leads get decked in occasionally come across as drab, boxy or uninspiring compared to their more show-stopping pink paint, polka-dot or pluming peers. Thankfully, most of the looks also have Craig Forrest-Thomas’ fantastic wigs and inventive make-up applications to help further elevate the spectacle.

“…Leah Vassell, Bernadette Bangura and Jessie May sass, strut and sing up an absolute storm throughout as the three ‘divas’.”

Credit also have to go to the impressive cast and company who infuse the production with so much of its charisma, uniqueness… well, you know the rest. Peter Duncan, Isabella Glanznig Santos and Billie Hardy all offer up great supporting turns, and Leah Vassell, Bernadette Bangura and Jessie May sass, strut and sing up an absolute storm throughout as the three ‘divas’. Gone are the days of the red-headed songstresses flying about above stage; here, they stomp and shimmy their way upstage from the off, looking like gloriously realised incarnations of Jennifer Saunders’ similarly disco-belting fairy godmother from Shrek 2. It’s a choice that absolutely works – not only do they go to town vocally with a whole host of disco classics from Donna Summer, The Weather Girls to Cyndi Lauper, here they are shaking their groove thing on down to Cole’s spunky choreography with gusto, too.

Adèle Anderson, as mentioned, proves a great choice for Bernadette, and is handsomely met by Strictly favourite Kevin Clifton as Tick/‘Mitzi’ and musical theatre pro Nick Hayes returning to the role of Adam/‘Felicia’. Clifton is in great voice and proves an earnest, likeable Tick, and of course he’s delivered some fun chances to show off his fancy footwork – not least of all in a bonkers, giddily fun take on ‘MacArthur Park’.

“Clifton is in great voice and proves an earnest, likeable Tick, and of course he’s delivered some fun chances to show off his fancy footwork…”

But it’s perhaps Hayes, as the feisty, seemingly fearless Felicia who routinely threatens to steal the whole show. Hayes’ commanding physicality, vocals and muscularity serve up a real tour-de-force Adam/Felicia, but he’s equally affecting when the bravura and barriers break down, too. It’s a terrific performance that only solidifies this as one of the strongest central line-ups brand Priscilla has had to date.

Decadent, dazzling and still fizzing with the heart and humour of Elliot’s original outing, Priscilla the Queen of the Desert the Musical returns for 2026 in glitzy, larger-than-life style. Sure, some of its sartorial choices are, well, choices, and there are occasional moments where the storytelling gives flashes of its age (do we really need to be having conversations about ‘toning it down’ in 2026?), but in other places Talbot and co have clearly, sensitively given her a bit of work. One big laugh from previous productions, for instance, where a character gives another the middle finger after comments about how well they pass as their gender, has been shrewdly excised altogether.

In all, with a bursting jukebox of disco classics and some truly show-stopping staging, choreography and performances, this latest journey with Priscilla is a joyful, rhinestoned, feathered, funny and utterly fabulous road trip well worth taking all over again.

Next stop – Ayers Rock.

Don’t forget the Kylie.

“It will be a magnificent, opulent, tremendous, stupendous, gargantuan, bedazzlement. A sensual ravishment…”

So opines Jim Broadbent’s gloriously animated impresario, Harold Zidler, in Baz Luhrmann’s Oscar-winning Moulin Rouge!

As mission statements go, it’s one that all things ‘Rouge’ have played by. The celebrated, multi award-winning Broadway and West End runs kept things suitably spectacular, and its inaugural world tour certainly doesn’t skimp on the ‘spectacular, spectacular’.

For a start, it certainly makes good on the ‘opulent’. Whilst perhaps inevitably, the nature of touring means Derek McLane’s set and staging can’t spill out and transform the auditorium to quite the extent it does in London, it’s still a stunning beast. The shows’ trademark ‘pink elephant’ and windmills are not only here, they’re rather enormous. The Birmingham Hippodrome auditorium is a particularly splendid fit, its existing crimson and gold hues blending beautifully with McLane’s ambitious work, all cast under Justin Townsend’s roaming spotlights, moody ambience and eye-popping razzmatazz.

Luhrmann’s OG cinematic whirlwind is, of course, the blueprint here. It’s central through line – a yarn of two young lovers, aspiring writer Christian (Nate Landskroner) and courtesan Satine (Verity Thompson) who begin a love affair at the iconic Parisian landmark with tragic consequence – is mostly intact.

“What made the original film such a bricolage of post modern sensibilities (not least of all in its celebration and application of music) gets carried over, too.”

But what made the original film such a bricolage of post-modern sensibilities (not least of all in its celebration and application of music) gets carried over, too. Purists might bemoan some fan favourite songs for not only being cut, but in many instances replaced with a jukebox of eclectic hits new and old alike. But from Whitney to Adele and Gaga and even some Talking Heads and Dead or Alive, Justin Levine and John Logan have summoned up a monster tracklist that, like before, somehow just works, and created a show that feels just as playful, freewheeling and musically madcap as the film did some – whisper it – twenty-four years ago.

Director Alex Timbers and choreographer Sonya Tayeh don’t just let the rapid fire succession of classic rock and pop hits do all the heavy lifting, either. Timbers keeps the playful, fourth-wall breaking of Christian’s narration light and unladen. The show moves at a terrific pace, and Timbers and company mine plenty of levity throughout, too – sometimes even using the choice of song as a brief moment of humour, affording the audience time to giggle for a few moments before the set pieces really swing into gear. Tayeh’s choreography is as showy and theatrical as it needs to be, yet moments such as a breathtaking Act II opener to Gaga’s ‘Bad Romance’ are passionate, virile, rhythmic and intoxicating. It can’t be easy finding a language to the movement of such a tonally erratic piece as Moulin Rouge!, but complemented in no small way by Catherine Zuber’s wonderful costume work, Timbers and Tayeh pull it off to regularly gobsmacking effect.

One of the real areas where this stage adaptation actively improves on the film has to be in some of its character work. Perhaps the biggest beneficiary is Satine herself. It’s only with comparative hindsight that Nicole Kidman’s (admittedly excellent) character in the original film is a little plagued with passivity and victimhood. Here, she is festooned with agency. Whereas in the original, Satine unconvincingly shows no comprehension of a mysterious affliction that seems to be affecting her, here she independently takes action. Where the film depicts her as a victim of manhandling and attempted assault, needing to be saved by a towering man, on stage in the very same scene Satine once again is the one making the decisions, calling the sots and controlling the narrative.

And ultimately, when it all looks to come crashing down about her, our heroine doesn’t simply go along with it all because there’s little point doing otherwise (…sorry, Nicole), instead she not only insists that ‘the show will go on’, but does so selflessly to ensure her lover’s work is showcased.

It certainly helps that Verity Thompson, recently memorable and hilarious as an uber Heath in Heathers the Musical, is a remarkable Satine. Commanding and vocally resplendent (the roof utterly obliterated by her rendition of Katy Perry’s ‘Firework’), she further brings an almost indefinable sense of old Hollywood grace and charisma to the role. Fitting for the characters aspirations and quasi-tragic trappings. But Thompson is met beautifully by a similarly impressive Nate Landskroner, who is soulful, earnest and captures the boyish passion and naivety of the role brilliant. He can also sing up a storm, too, and the chemistry and passion between he and Thompson palpable (which curiously was a mild criticism of the London production when first seeing it back in 2022).

The ever-dependable Cameron Blakely is fantastic as the flamboyant and wonderful Zidler. He even manages to get a few moments of his own ad libbing and character beats in. Generally, it’s a rather perfect marrying of performer and role. Kurt Kansley is great fun throughout, too, as Toulouse-Lautrec.

“In truth, though, wherever you throw your glance, there is excellence on show…”

In truth, though, wherever you throw your glance, there is excellence on show. Good luck peeling your attention away from the scintillation and talents of Kahlia Davis, Summer Priest, Scott Sutcliffe and Ellie Jane Grant, even after they’ve finished knocking your socks off with a truly bombastic and crowd-pleasing ‘Lady Marmalade’ opener.

So is this visit to the Moulin Rouge the ‘sensual ravishment’ we were hoping and promised?

It is, and then some. One of the most visually arresting and high-kicking touring productions that sacrifices none of the spectacle and bombast of the fantastic London production, and with this stellar cast arguably even betters it.

For sure, it isn’t exactly high art, but nor does it claim to be.

But it is, undoubtedly, with a fire in its belly and a passionate, sexy zeal to its step, a ‘tremendous, gargantuan, bedazzlement’.

Yes, Harold, at the Moulin Rouge, you most certainly will have fun.

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.

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.

One of the most pleasant theatre surprises of the past year was Mark Ravenhill’s Ben & Imo, a touching and illuminating two-hander about a musical genius and their young protégé. Ravenhill’s depiction of Benjamin Britten’s determination to pen a new opera in time for the Queen Elizabeth II’s coronation hung on an exploration of the tortured, mercurial auteur.

George Brant’s Marie & Rosetta, running at the Wolverhampton Grand theatre this week, may be a little kinder to its muses, but offers up some parallels nonetheless, and is equally quite the treat. Centring on the relationship between the ‘godmother of Rock ’n Roll’, Sister Rosetta Tharpe (Beverley Knight) and young tour recruit, Marie Knight (Ntombizodwa Ndlovu), in a single act, no-interval run through we find these two very different yet complementary women learn about one another and mine the kismet of their musical souls.

It’s a coronation of a homecoming for Wolverhampton born-and-bred Beverley Knight, who has carved out an (Olivier-nominated) name for herself as one of the most dependable leading ladies of musical theatre. Although Marie & Rosetta takes its time in getting to the singing, once Knight’s powerhouse vocals are unleashed, her transformation into Tharpe is not only complete, but is routinely show-stopping. Roll out the superlatives; Knight once again proves herself both a tour-de-force both technically and in terms of her soulful, searing evocation of the late, great Rosetta. And as stunning as her musicality is, equally impressive is her characterisation of Tharpe as a funny, feisty, no-nonsense, flawed grande dame.

But a two-hander would be nothing if partially amputated, and more than holding her own against Knight’s gigawatt presence is a tremendous Ntombizodwa Ndlovu as Marie Knight. In many ways, Ndlovu gets the more complete and transformative arc of the two, as the initially nervy, almost sycophantic gospel girl slowly begins to cast off her insecurities and hesitance and give herself over to the humanity and nuances of their music. Ndlovu is endearing, sweet and relatable, and packs a hefty emotional punch come the show’s coda in particular.

“Both ladies are formidable vocalists. When they come together… it is something truly electric.”

Both ladies are formidable vocalists. When they come together, in rousing renditions of ‘Strange Things Happening Every Day’, ‘Didn’t It Rain’ and ‘I Want a Tall Skinny Papa’ it is something truly electric.

As a showcase for its two exquisite performances, Marie & Rosetta is a thrill. As a piece of theatre exploring some important socio-political messages and themes, it can at times feel a little more pedestrian. Whilst Knight and Ndlovu both give beautiful, sincere performances, and Knight’s portrayal of Tharpe recalling performing at a venue when her friends and loved ones would not be even allowed in is particularly moving, Marie & Rosetta can occasionally lean a little too heavily on its exposition. And whilst it is a joy to hear these two ladies share their stories, and the growing chemistry and sass-backing between the two is great fun, there’s an awful lot of telling rather than showing.

Monique Touko’s direction, coupled with Lily Arnold’s set design, keeps things intimate and uncomplicated. The ladies’ playground is a 1940s funeral parlour, festooned with symbolism yet deftly staged to offer up some levels and podiums to highlight the musical moments. It’s all given just enough grandeur and flashes of glitz – right down to hidden neon signs and curtains peeling back to reveal the wonderful supporting band – to feel worthy of housing such storming performances. Whilst neither Knight nor Ndlovu play their respective instruments of choice, Touko and movement director Kloé Dean find an elegant and organic way of weaving this into the movement on stage.

As another delight of a two-hander, casting a light on often overlooked or even forgotten musical excellence, Marie & Rosetta proves itself a must-see. Whilst its book is a little uneven, and a touch too didactic where it could be more demonstrative, the sheer quality, power and irrepressible joy of its central performances simply cannot be denied. Searing, soulful and enlightening, Marie & Rosetta is a beautiful testimony to the legacy of two pioneering women who, like the show itself, should absolutely not be forgotten.

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.

For certain, there will surely be extra mileage here for fans of the film, and you could argue that Shark even goes a little overboard on the abundance of meta quips. ‘Nobody will be watching this film in fifty years’ time’, ‘Whatever next… dinosaurs?’ and the almost de rigueur quip that there will never be a more corrupt or questionable President than Nixon (cue laughter).

But minor quibbles aside, even as a standalone three-hander with no familiarity of the source material, this is a keenly observed and beautifully acted slice of theatre. With winning performances, witty and characterful writing that is leant extra poignancy by dint of that familial connection, The Shark Is Broken is a funny, fascinating foray into the old adage of art through adversity.

Now could someone please get a mechanic out to Bruce…

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

Low on conflict. In need of some added bite.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After all, if music be the food of love…