Alex Wood

Rudd’s direction leans into the whimsy of the road while never shying away from the fear that haunts Harold’s footsteps. The way the ensemble shifts from being the wind in the trees to the judgmental men in a café is perfect. There’s also comedy there too – a number involving dancing car wash is excellent, while there’s some perfectly pitched contributions from lighting designer Paule Constable and video designer Ash J Woodward.

Dunster’s direction largely keeps the various strands of Panem’s storylines in tight focus, and the team have a lot of fun when the tributes reach the Capitol. The fights, choreographed by Kevin McCurdy, are consistently inventive. The act one training sequence is one of the show’s high points, giving a sense of rhythm and danger without ever slipping into repetition. In the second-half arena scenes, McCurdy keeps the movement varied and engaging, ensuring that each encounter feels distinct. One key death, among the most devastating in the source material, is handled with real precision – a passage that lands with genuine authenticity.

Burlesque is now a perfectly fine musical. An entirely average, run-of-the-mill, engaging evening... Some powerhouse performances, popping choreography and a select few one-liners bring the joy in perfectly adequate measures. But it’s a show broadly lacking in flare or heart – chugging through the motions like a well-oiled machine without the sweaty, grainy authenticity that made the film so memorable.

On the larger canvas, director Michael Longhurst allows the weight of betrayal, the exultation of connection and the soaring jubilation of familial happiness to bump into the top of the rafters. The material itself still has shortcomings – its treatment of mental illness feels more slapdash and non-specific than it needs to be (highlighting the musical is already showing its age against the backdrop of a fast-paced subject matter). Even so, it may have been marvellous at the Donmar, but it’s a must-see now.

Reaching almost 80 years in age, the show’s flaws aren’t hard to spot (incessant bouts of sexism seem to rear their heads a fair wad). Much as he did with his lavish productions of My Fair Lady and The King and I, Sher is the perfect man for the job here: adding small interventions to the numbers and blocking to both broaden and deepen Graham and Vanessi’s relationship. It’s subtle, and never feels extravagantly overt, but does make the material far more palatable – even though the “spanking” scene still raises an eyebrow or two.

It all comes apart in a staid second half (shorter in length yet feeling longer), where both Shakespeare’s text and Icke’s choices feel much more lacklustre and uninspired. Without the urgent and imminent threat of civil war and insurrection, and with some strange directorial decisions (prostitute Mistress Tearsheet having an Eastern European accent felt particularly lazy), the wheels of Icke’s Shakespearean behemoth wobble as they scream out for voracity. Perfunctory design choices from Hildegard Bechtler, with the show’s aesthetics largely grounded in the early 20th century, don’t add anything too revelatory.

Provoking fevered reactions – many audible gasps or sobs were heard after a variety of plot beats – while being resolutely, brazenly assured in its craft, makes Standing at the Sky’s Edge a towering feat of contemporary musical theatre. It stands as a shining tribute to the combined power of both popular music and stage storytelling, and subsidised and commercial theatre. Unmissable.