Paul Vale

While Joyce’s story is distinctly modern, underscored by Passenger’s music, it hints at timeless folklore, epitomised by Noah Mullins’ confident Balladeer, a wilful, mystical narrator, whose role changes as story gathers momentum. Addy is a solid and endearing presence as Fry. There’s a genuine sense of a journey to his performance as, step by painful step, he exposes the trauma that has haunted Harold’s life. It’s a curious and occasionally frustrating choice for the lead character to sing barely a note, but this is countered by the sensational Russell, who interprets Passenger’s songs with emotional integrity and a sublime narrative skill. An excellent ensemble undergo a myriad of quick-changes to play the people Harold meets along the way, notably Nicole Nyarambi as the inspirational Garage Girl and Daniel Crossley as an unexpectedly candid Silver-Haired Gentleman.

Marber is, of course, well regarded as a playwright and director, but his roots are in comedy, the genre where he cut his teeth. He saturates this slick musical comedy with a wealth of physical gags, exquisitely timed double takes and an expertly judged sense of the absurd that enhances the show’s momentum. This is amplified by Lorin Latarro’s adventurous choreography, which draws on several Broadway tropes with the same sense of mischief as Brooks’ indomitable score. Add to this Scott Pask’s clever composite set and Paul Farnsworth’s inventive, colourful costume designs, and the production seems to have found its natural home in the West End.

For all the dramas on stage and off, Burlesque is an upbeat, sassy story packed with astounding vocals – extensively from Folley and Orfeh – and some genuinely exciting dance routines choreographed by Hall. Antin’s script flips the dynamic of the story, pitching classic burlesque against the new wave, while engendering a sense of family, solidarity and equality within the workplace.

The whole show hangs on Emma Flynn’s gloriously upbeat portrayal of Cher. This is a musical about kids striving to be grown-ups in a playground for the rich; Cher is a genuinely difficult role to pitch, but Flynn, in her West End debut, captures Cher’s naivety perfectly. She injects character into Tunstall and Slater’s catchy original soundtrack and has a wonderful talent for physical comedy, which comes to the fore as she tries to make a move on Isaac J Lewis’ impossibly suave Christian.

Kat Ronney as Rose and Rob Houchen as Jack negotiate the broad, ridiculous romance with slick comedy timing. They are out-camped by Jordan Luke Gage’s sulking rich boy Cal and a hysterically deranged Ruth, Rose’s mother, played with psychotic precision by Stephen Guarino. As the Seaman, it briefly looks as though Layton Williams will be underused, but when he eventually manifests as a rip-roaring River Deep, Mountain High Iceberg, his casting and performance prove sublime.

Holmes and Zegree’s brave, original musical tackles its difficult subject matter head-on, but it often seems that the writers have bitten off more than they can chew. Malia’s writing project becomes a metaphor for the grieving process, and Holmes dramatises her fiction as she rewrites the text. It’s an interesting theatrical device that occasionally helps to relieve the tension and serves to inform us of Malia’s state of mind. But the dialogue veers too often between cliché and melodrama, with a disregard for thoughtful character development.

Working on the assumption that nobody goes to the circus for the plot, director Hammerstein and choreographers Jerry Reeve and Lukas McFarlane throw everything into some astounding acrobatics and a succession of spectacular set pieces. There are aerialists, acrobats, trapeze artists and fire jugglers. A team of expressive vocalists and dancers is woven into the action, bringing to life the movement and sounds of the movie. It has to be one of the most intense circus experiences ever. On occasion, this leads to a lack of focus, with so much going on in the ring at once that it’s difficult to know where to look.

Lord Farquaad, played by James Gillan, is stripped of his Napoleon complex here and of the prosthetic short legs of previous stagings. The removal of the ableist overtones is welcome – but instead, he’s lampooned as a camp, closeted gay man with a chorus of light-footed soldiers at his heels, a substitution that scarcely seems any more progressive. The production flounders on the Eventim Apollo’s huge stage, which brings all its problems into focus. The finale number, I’m a Believer, which should sum up the central themes of this show, feels like more of a last-gasp effort to get the audience on its feet. Drained of its theatrical magic, the whole thing lurches desperately from one song to the next, sapping the story of charm and humour.

Greenberg’s production, with sensitive musical direction from Dustin Conrad, delivers the perfect balance of rustic charm and sexual tension. It may not yet be Broadway-bound, as many of the Menier’s past shows have been, but it is a masterclass of musical theatre for the smaller stage.

The score isn’t really the problem here; nor are Kunze and Hampton’s lyrics, though they are pedestrian at best. Bonatto directs with a peculiar lack of imagination, struggling to find the right tone. Proceedings are irrevocably hindered by Nicky Shaw’s unwieldy set design, with ill-conceived decor and props. David Seldes’ colourless lighting design doesn’t help: much of the time, the hard-working cast can barely be seen through the abundance of haze. The blaze that destroys Manderley is reduced to a crimson wash and a chorus passing empty buckets. It’s a production that monumentally fails to do justice to its source material.