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At first glance, Please Please Me at the Kiln Theatre might sound like another Beatles nostalgia piece, a trip through Liverpool accents, mop tops and wall-to-wall hits. Instead, playwright Tom Wright delivers something far more intimate and psychologically impressionistic: a study of Brian Epstein, the “Fifth Beatle”, and the hidden loneliness behind one of the greatest cultural revolutions in modern history.

For those less familiar with Epstein’s story, his importance to The Beatles is difficult to overstate. A young Jewish businessman from Liverpool, Epstein managed the family record store empire, NEMS, within a respectable and tightly controlled family world before discovering the Beatles at the Cavern Club in 1961. At the time, they were a rough-edged local band shaped by the chaos of Hamburg clubs and Liverpool nightlife. Epstein saw something extraordinary in them. He refined their image, introduced the famous suits and synchronised bows, secured crucial recording opportunities and helped transform four working-class Liverpool musicians into polished global icons. In many ways, he helped invent the blueprint for modern pop stardom itself.

Yet while Epstein became enormously successful professionally, his personal life was far more complicated. Homosexuality remained illegal in Britain throughout much of his lifetime, and Wright’s play repeatedly returns to the shame, secrecy and emotional isolation shaping Epstein’s inner world. Here was a man helping usher Britain into a new age of freedom and cultural liberation while remaining trapped behind carefully maintained facades himself. The production repeatedly hints at the tension between the respectable Epstein family environment and the hidden private life Brian was forced to navigate beneath it.

Even before the curtain rose, the production’s intent was quietly signposted through a haunting pre-show soundtrack of wistful crooner ballads including When You Lose The One You Love by David Whitfield and I’ll Always Be in Love with You and Skylark by Michael Holliday. These songs of longing, emotional restraint and unreachable devotion create the atmosphere of a Britain just before the Beatles exploded everything open: a world of coded emotions, polished surfaces and hidden lives. The playlist feels less like nostalgia and more like Brian Epstein’s private emotional soundtrack.

Wright’s programme notes make clear that this is not intended as strict historical recreation. He writes of emotional truth, memory and the unknowability of what may or may not have passed between Epstein and John Lennon during their infamous trip to Torremolinos in 1963, noting that theatre thrives in spaces where certainty breaks down. That tension between ambiguity and interpretation sits at the heart of the production.

The first half charts Epstein’s extraordinary rise with real energy. We see the ambitious young man who transformed the Beatles from rough-edged Liverpool club act into polished global phenomenon, imposing suits, discipline and refinement while simultaneously helping unleash a seismic cultural shift. The Cavern Club atmosphere is vividly evoked, and the production captures that intoxicating sense of Britain standing on the brink of reinvention. This is the story of the hidden architect of modern pop culture, a man shaping not only a band but the very idea of modern celebrity.

Interestingly, the Beatles themselves hover over the production more like ghosts than fully realised characters. Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr barely register directly at all, their absence becoming oddly haunting. Rather than recreating Beatlemania literally, Wright allows the band to exist as a looming cultural presence just outside the room, refracted through Brian’s memories, anxieties and desires. It is an unexpectedly effective choice, transforming the Beatles from flesh-and-blood icons into something almost mythic.

Then comes the unravelling.

The second half becomes increasingly hallucinatory and fragmented as Epstein spirals through drink, drugs, paid encounters and emotional collapse. Wright’s play leans hard into psychological impressionism here, less interested in documenting facts than inhabiting the inner chaos of a man who helped create cultural immortality while quietly disappearing inside it. The play becomes less a Beatles biography than a chamber piece about intimacy, repression and mythmaking.

At the centre is a uniformly excellent performance from Calam Lynch, known to many from the second season of Bridgerton, as Epstein. Lynch charts the character’s trajectory beautifully, moving from driven architect of Beatlemania to emotionally unravelled figure with both glamour and vulnerability intact. There is something of a young Rufus Wainwright in his appearance and energy, particularly during Act Two: intelligent, melancholic, slightly unkempt but elegant and faintly haunted. Lynch ensures Brian never becomes merely tragic martyr or historical footnote. Instead, he emerges as painfully human: ambitious, lonely, ashamed, romantic and increasingly fragile beneath the polish.

Opposite him, Noah Ritter makes a strong professional stage debut as Lennon, particularly impressive in capturing the voice and accent. However, the production’s portrayal of Lennon is perhaps its most contentious element. Here he is frequently harsh, arrogant, emotionally withholding and controlling, with relatively little warmth visible beneath the charisma. The play heavily implies Lennon as the emotional instigator and seductive destabilising force within the relationship.

More strikingly still, the production often gives the impression that Brian becomes less a genuine emotional equal than an experience for Lennon to try on before fame, marriage and fatherhood fully take hold. That imbalance hangs heavily over the play’s central relationship. Brian appears emotionally exposed and deeply invested, while Lennon frequently feels transient, exploratory and already moving toward another life entirely.

That dramatic choice creates compelling theatre but occasionally sits uneasily beside Wright’s own stated fascination with uncertainty and unknowability. Historically, the Lennon/Epstein relationship remains unresolved and contradictory, shaped as much by projection, loneliness and mythmaking as by any known facts. The play is most compelling when it allows that ambiguity to breathe rather than steering too firmly toward emotional certainty.

Still, the emotional force of the production remains undeniable, particularly in the way silence and withdrawal are used. Following the overt intimacy of the Spain scenes, Lennon’s sudden distance and emotional retreat become devastating in themselves. The man capable of managing global hysteria is reduced to anxiety over unanswered calls and vanished affection. The loneliness behind Beatlemania is rendered painfully clear.

Surrounding the central performances is a superb supporting ensemble. William Robinson, Arthur Wilson and Eleanor Worthington-Cox move seamlessly between multiple characters, creating fluidity and pace throughout. Their transformations are quick, convincing and often remarkably economical.

Worthington-Cox is especially affecting as Cilla Black, who opens and closes the play and emerges as one of its most emotionally grounded presences. Amid the speculation, obsession and emotional projection surrounding Lennon, Cilla feels refreshingly tangible and real: a loyal friend, a reminder of Liverpool roots and genuine connection. Her brief moments of singing are genuinely beautiful and quietly steal the evening.

Visually, Tom Piper’s simple but highly effective set works wonderfully within the intimate Kiln space. A huge illuminated NEMS sign looms over sparse staging and ghostly white drapes, suggesting glamour suspended above emotional emptiness. The fluidity of the design allows scenes to move rapidly through time and place without ever feeling cluttered.

Meanwhile, Amit Sharma’s slick, thoughtful direction keeps the production moving briskly across shifting decades, locations and emotional states. Despite the play’s abstract tendencies, Sharma ensures clarity and momentum rarely falter.

Ultimately, Please Please Me is less interested in Beatlemania itself than in the cost of creating it. Wright’s play asks what it cost Brian Epstein to help build a cultural revolution while remaining unable to fully inhabit his own identity. It may occasionally overstate its interpretation of Lennon and Epstein’s relationship, but it remains a compelling, stylish and deeply thoughtful piece of theatre that lingers long after the final scene fades into darkness.

UTS Rating:

#pleasepleaseme #thebeatles #kilntheatre #johnlennon #brianepstein #cillablack

I returned to Kander and Ebb’s Kiss of the Spider Woman more than 30 years after first seeing it, this time at Bristol Old Vic, as part of its current revival and regional tour. My first encounter with the show was as a teenager at London’s Shaftesbury Theatre in December 1992. That lavish production starred Chita Rivera, Brent Carver and Anthony Crivello and sadly did not run for long, but left a lasting impression with me. I went into this brand new, reimagined production expecting nostalgia. What I did not expect was to be completely undone.

From the opening, eerie bars, underscored by the cold sounds of the prison, I was hooked. There is something about this score that gets under your skin immediately, and for me it remains one of the most extraordinary musical theatre scores ever written. I love Kander and Ebb and all that they have done, but this feels like something else entirely.

This production, directed by Paul Foster, is scaled back, but never diminished. The set is minimal – iron, shadows, suggestion – yet it creates a world that feels both claustrophobic and cinematic. The Spider Woman sequences, often playing out towards the back of the stage, are enhanced by projected film that gives them the texture of an old movie, adding a layer of glamour and escapism that contrasts beautifully with the stark reality of the prison cell. I loved how Molina and Valentín begin to inhabit those fantasy spaces together, particularly in the second half, when the emotional barriers between them begin to dissolve.

Vocally, the production is outstanding across the board. The singing is consistently strong, with real clarity and emotional weight, and it is a reminder of just how demanding this score is.

At the centre of it all is Molina, brought to life with warmth, humour and real emotional depth by Fabian Soto Pacheco. His performance is both vocally and dramatically assured, and the two elements work seamlessly together. Dressing Them Up is everything I had hoped it would be – playful, expressive and completely captivating. Having listened to Brent Carver sing that song for over three decades and knowing every word, I had high expectations and  am delighted to say that Fabian more than delivered. His rendition was rich with character and feeling, perfectly capturing Molina’s spirit.

Beyond the vocals, what makes Fabian’s Molina so affecting is his humanity. He is warm, funny, vulnerable and instinctively kind, drawing you in from the very start. Molina’s use of fantasy and storytelling as a form of escapism is central to the piece; in a bleak and oppressive environment, he creates beauty, glamour and narrative as a way of surviving. Those imagined worlds are not just distractions, but lifelines, allowing both himself and, eventually, Valentín to step outside the confines of their reality and, crucially, to find moments of light within the darkness. The chemistry between the two men simmers from the outset and deepens into something far more complex and moving as the show progresses.

What struck me most about Molina is how he is treated – dismissed, humiliated, underestimated – not just by the system around him, but initially by Valentín too. As a gay man, as someone who doesn’t fit the mould of what society values, he is seen as lesser, as frivolous, as expendable. And yet he is the moral heart of the piece. He loves deeply, he cares instinctively, he is loyal, and ultimately he is brave. It’s a powerful reminder that decency, kindness and humanity are what define a person, not how the world labels them. In a story filled with oppression and control, Molina becomes the quiet voice of compassion and, in many ways, the source of hope.

Alongside him, George Blagden is excellent as Valentin, embodying the revolutionary at the heart of the piece. His initial rigidity and emotional guard are held firmly in place, shaped by a life defined by resistance and the need to stand against oppression. What is so compelling is how gradually that armour begins to fracture. Nothing is rushed; instead, we see a man who has trained himself to suppress feeling in the name of a greater cause, slowly confronting the cost of that choice. In a world that still grapples with injustice, conflict and the silencing of dissenting voices, Valentín’s struggle feels strikingly current. His journey becomes not just personal, but political, a reminder of the courage it takes to stand up, and the humanity that can be lost along the way, but also what can be rediscovered.

Joanna Goodwin’s choreography is slick, sensual and at times deliberately provocative; yes, there is definite eye candy (the sexy, oiled prisoners did not go unnoticed 😉) – but it never feels gratuitous. Instead, it adds to the heightened, cinematic texture of the piece. Even in a scaled-down production, there’s a sense of glamour threaded throughout, like a flickering old movie playing against the harshness of the prison.

Then there is the musical number Marta. A moment I knew was coming, and yet it still broke me. It’s such a beautiful melody, sung here with real passion and sadness, and it becomes the emotional tipping point of the piece. Up until then, George’s Valentín is controlled, ideological, holding everything in. In that moment, he lets go and the result is devastating.

Anna-Jane Casey is truly mesmerising as the Spider Woman. Her physicality is extraordinary – at times almost fittingly insect-like – and when she appears in black, she is completely transformed, elegant, dangerous, and utterly compelling. She brings a seductive, otherworldly presence that anchors the fantasy sequences and elevates them into something truly striking.

What struck me most, though, is how relevant the piece still feels. The themes of oppression, poverty, and political struggle are not relics of the past; they are very much present in today’s world. And at its heart, this is not only a story about resistance, but about hope, about the ability to find light in the most difficult and horrific circumstances. It is a story about love in all its forms: romantic, sexual, maternal, ideological, and forbidden. Even in its darkest moments, it reminds us that humanity, connection and imagination can offer a way through.

One line lingered with me long after the curtain fell: “Sometimes I hate feelings.” 

And perhaps that is the essence of the show. Valentín tries to suppress them. Molina lives through them. And somewhere between the two, something deeply human emerges.

This production proves that you don’t need scale to create impact. Stripped back but emotionally expansive, it delivers a powerful, moving, and deeply resonant piece of theatre.

The hope is that this tour will evolve; don’t fail to see it if it does.

UTS Rating:

#kissofhespiderwoman #bristololdvic #kanderandebb #musicaltheatre

Kiss of the Spider Woman continues its run at Bristol Old Vic until 16th May 2026 and then plays at the Mayflower Southampton 2 – 6 June 2026.

Tickets for Bristol Old Vic are available here: Kiss of the Spider Woman | Bristol Old Vic

Tickets for Southampton Mayflower are available here: Kiss of the Spider Woman | Mayflower Studios

Photographs by Marc Brenner

A Mirrored Monet at Charing Cross Theatre is an immersive and visually striking piece that invites its audience not simply to observe, but to step inside the world of its subject. Drawing on the life and legacy of impressionist painter Claude Monet, the production blends music, movement and impressionistic design to create something that feels less like a traditional musical and more like a living canvas.

The concept is a compelling one. With a central playing space and fluid stage design (kudos to Libby Todd and Matt Powell) the audience is drawn into the action, moving through moments that feel cinematic in their use of light, colour and sound. Blues and soft washes of colour echo Monet’s own palette, while Jodie Underwood’s lighting design is also particularly striking, shifting between softness and intensity to mirror the emotional landscape of the piece. At times it captures something fleeting and painterly, resembling reflections on water; at others, it frames the characters in moments of quiet introspection. Combined, these elements create a world that feels both gentle and immersive; one that invites you in, and quietly holds you there, drawing you into Monet’s internal landscape as much as his external life.

At its heart, however, A Mirrored Monet is less concerned with biography than with something more universal: the cost of ambition and the question of what it means to truly succeed. Through its dual portrayal of Monet – both the older, reflective artist and his younger, searching self – the piece explores the tension between external recognition and internal truth. Camille, Monet’s first wife, emerges as the emotional centre of the story – not as a counterpart to ambition, but as its quiet cost. Through her, the production gives shape to what can be lost in a life devoted to art: love, stability, and the everyday human connection that exists beyond legacy. If Monet represents the enduring pull of creation, Camille represents what is left behind in its wake.

The performances across the board are of a very high standard. Jeff Shankley, as the older Monet, anchors the piece with a beautifully textured, gravelly speaking voice and a calm, reflective presence that draws the audience in. He brings a real warmth and authority to the role and, with a CV that includes originating Greaseball in Starlight Express and Munkustrap in Cats (how cool is that?!), it’s a genuine pleasure to see him here in a later-career role that feels so well suited to him.

In contrast, Dean John-Wilson’s younger Monet brings a more searching, emotional energy, capturing the artist at an earlier, more uncertain stage of his life. Surrounding him is a wonderfully drawn circle of fellow artists – Bazille, Renoir and their mentor, Manet –  creating a bohemian snapshot of the Impressionist movement in its formative years. There’s something particularly appealing about seeing that community brought to life on stage: a group of young creatives, bound together by ambition, friendship and a shared desire to break away from convention.

Aaron Pryce-Lewis, the Welsh powerhouse, as Manet, is a standout. With a commanding stage presence and a rich, resonant baritone, his performance adds both authority and warmth, and provides some of the musical highlights of the evening. Across the ensemble, the vocals are consistently strong, with a polished, high-quality feel throughout. Brooke Bazarian as Camille is particularly notable in this respect, her voice clear, expressive and beautifully controlled.

Carmel Owen’s score itself leans more towards atmosphere than melody. While it may not offer many immediately memorable or “catchy” numbers, it works effectively within the piece, supporting its reflective tone rather than competing with it. There are moments that echo the sensibility of Sondheim’s Sunday in the Park with George, an inevitable comparison, perhaps, given the subject matter, and while this production doesn’t aim for the same musical impact, it shares a similar interest in art, legacy and the inner life of the artist.

There is, perhaps, a slight sense of the piece lingering a little too long in places, with some musical numbers and passages extending beyond their natural peak. However, this never significantly detracts from the overall experience, which remains cohesive and thoughtfully realised.

Ultimately, A Mirrored Monet is a reflective, quietly moving exploration of art, memory and identity. It delivers its impact not necessarily through spectacle or immediacy, but rather through atmosphere, nuance and the questions it leaves behind.

UTS Rating:  

A Mirrored Monet continues its run at Charing Cross Theatre until 9^th May 2026 with tickets available here: Charing Cross Theatre

#amirroredmonet #charingcrosstheatre #offwestend #newmusical #claudemonet

There’s something undeniably thrilling about attending a big, glossy West End production and The Devil Wears Prada absolutely delivers on spectacle.

Based on the much-loved 2006 film The Devil Wears Prada, which starred Meryl Streep and Anne Hathaway, the story actually began life as a bestselling novel by Lauren Weisberger, published in 2003. The journey from page to screen to stage feels fitting for a story so steeped in ambition and reinvention.

The musical adaptation brings together an equally high-profile creative team, with a score by Elton John, lyrics by Shaina Taub and a book by Kate Wetherhead. Following earlier runs, it arrived in the West End in 2024, stepping confidently onto one of London’s biggest stages.

This is a show that knows exactly what it is: bold, glamorous and unapologetically stylish. From the moment you take your seat at the beautifully refurbished Dominion Theatre, there’s a real sense of occasion. It’s a stunning space; grand, comfortable, and perfectly suited to a production of this scale. There’s something simply fun about being part of an audience for a show this big with a high-profile star, a packed house, and that unmistakable buzz that only the West End at full tilt can create.

From the outset, this show feels like stepping into a fashion fantasy. The sets are slick and ambitious, with the Paris sequence in particular standing out as a real visual highlight – elegant, atmospheric, and beautifully realised. The costumes, as you’d hope, are a triumph: faithful to the spirit of the film while cleverly adapted for the stage, they bring that iconic world to life with flair.

Performance-wise, the cast is strong, but the standout for me was Matt Henry as Nigel. Charismatic, warm, and vocally superb, he completely owned the stage whenever he appeared. Having previously seen him as Lola in Kinky Boots at the Adelphi Theatre, it was a real treat to see him again here and he did not disappoint. There’s a natural ease and confidence to his performance that draws you in, and he brings both heart and humour to the role.

Vanessa Williams is, of course, a major presence as Miranda Priestly. She’s poised, controlled, and effortlessly watchable, offering a slightly softer, more measured take than Meryl Streep’s iconic film portrayal. It’s a different interpretation, but one that works well, and she carries the role with undeniable star quality (and looks phenomenal doing it).

Where the show falters, however, is in its music.

With Elton John behind the score, expectations are naturally sky-high. Yet surprisingly, the songs don’t quite leave their mark. While they support the action well enough in the moment, there’s a lack of standout numbers; nothing that lingers in the mind once the curtain falls. For a production of this scale, and with such a legendary composer attached, it feels like a missed opportunity.

That said, The Devil Wears Prada remains a hugely enjoyable night out. It’s polished, entertaining, and visually impressive – the kind of show you go to when you want to be swept up in something big, bold, and beautiful.

It may not have a killer soundtrack… but it absolutely knows how to put on a show.

UTS Rating:

#thedevilwearsprada #dominion theatre #vanessawilliams #matthenry #eltonjohn