Review Roundup: Ben Platt in MIDNIGHT AT THE NEVER GET at The Menier Chocolate Factory

1965, New York City. Trevor Copeland and Arthur Brightman’s romance is against the law. In their secret nightclub act, “Midnight,” they perform love songs in an act of defiance of a world that demands they stay hidden. As tensions rise at the start of a historic movement, Trevor and Arthur are torn between their own surreptitious affair and the oncoming storm of social revolution.

What did the critics think?

Midnight at the Never Get plays at the Menier Chocolate Factory until 12 September

Photo credit: Johan Persson

Clementine Scott, BroadwayWorld: The metatheatrical style of Midnight feels perfect for someone like Platt, who may be exceptionally talented and the most memorable musical theatre voice of his generation, but possesses a distinctive, vibrato-laden voice that can divide opinion. This is a show where he can play something of a caricature of an esoteric well-known performer, all while indulging his voice’s rich emotional potential and natural comic timing in Mark Sonnenblick’s songs.

Nick Curtis, The Standard: There’s a fascinating but not entirely new thesis voiced here, that gay culture had to be cloaked in camp or self-aware irony, that outrageousness was less shocking than sincerity. More interesting still is the suggestion that Arthur’s commitment to his art leads him to sacrifice his emotional life and betray Trevor. I wonder with which character Sonnenblick, who wrote the music and the witty book and lyrics, most sympathises?

Theo Bosanquet, WhatsOnStage: It’s above all a superb showcase for Platt’s musical talents, that trembling falsetto, so familiar from Dear Evan Hansen, put to plentiful use in songs that may lack a standout earworm but certainly tell the story with style. He also shows his mastery of whimsy and comedy, notably in the number “Boy in Blue”, about a romance with a police officer (“I won’t forget his number, it’s 911”), riffing on the fact homosexuality was illegal at the time. At one point, the (excellent) band is briefly unveiled on the side stage as the pair dance gracefully around the audience, Lynne Page’s choreography calling to mind the golden age of Astaire and Kelly.

Tom Wicker, TimeOut: As the show drops increasingly heavy hints that we’re watching a revue that may not necessarily be taking place on the corporeal plane, its meta-theatricality and fourth-wall-breaking cleverness sometimes gets in its own way. The convoluted framing risks pulling focus from the stingingly bittersweet heft of its core story. Thankfully, Cromer never loses sight of this, keeping intimacy, self-doubt and regret central as Trevor wanders around us. It’s as slippery, tricky and romantic as a painful memory.

Kate Wyver, The Guardian: s darkness seeps into the story, we start to make sense of our narrator’s gaps in time and memory. Director David Cromer (The Fear of 13) retains the show’s intimacy by keeping things simple, with a minor magic trick – worth keeping secret – wrapping up the story’s loose threads, though the gut-punch would hit even harder with a trim. Midnight at the Never Get sees music as both heartbreak and cure. With one eye on who’s about to walk in through the door, it reveals what love leaves you with when all else is lost: songs to sing at the top of your lungs to the memory of who you used to be.

Holly O'Mahony , The Stage: At this production’s core is a gorgeously intimate show – one that bottles the feeling of finding a love who feels like your missing half, before pouring out the misery that comes with losing them. But Cromer’s production often loses us, too, as the story’s timeline jumps about. Significant reveals are played down emotionally, which might be part of Trevor’s act, but denies these moments the magnitude that musical theatre would typically afford them. It needs some finessing.

Olivia Garrett, Radio Times: Onto Ben Platt. I think it's fair to say that thanks to him, a kind of magic hangs over this show. His performance is equal parts charming, endearing, aching and raw. He deftly dangles the story in front of the audience and leads them down the path to its climax, only for us to realise he had no control over it all along. His voice is enchanting and perfectly adept at handling the vibrato style typical of 60s singers and the spellbinding nature of the part comes from the fact that it feels utterly real.

Marianka Swain, The Telegraph: Mark Sonnenblick, who co-created the catchy songs in Netflix’s mega-hit KPop Demon Hunters, provides a gorgeous pastiche of the Great American Songbook in a score that references Irving Berlin, George Gershwin and (the secretly queer) Cole Porter via swinging ditties and wistful ballads. But fictional composer Arthur (Gregor Milne) is a man out of time. He decries the directness of new rock bands such as the Beatles, preferring to couch feeling within beautiful, controlled writing. He also baulks at Trevor’s suggestion that they join protest marches. His form of activism is legitimising their love through song – at least, until a major record label offers him fame if he’ll only change the pronouns.

Average Rating: 77.5%