About two hours into this big, brash Beetlejuice, the door to Hell opens up, and I felt a sudden desire to rush the stage, dash through and take my chances. Well, perhaps not on press night, when it's poor form to leave before the end.
Reflecting further (and this is one of those shows in which something is always happening, but everything is said at least twice, so you can take a time out) I realised that I was breaking one of my Golden Rules. This is a musical adaptation of an 80s blockbuster movie and has a wild-eyed, leering man with green hair as its marketing image, so what did I expect? Uncle Vanya? Sweeney Todd? No, I had to take the show on its own terms - and wait for the curtain.
Fifteen minutes or so of bright lights shining in my eyes before the show started (why do so many West End theatres do that?) proved good preparation, as this is a production that thrives on its spectacle not its subtlety. Crashes, bangs, blackouts and giant puppets are summoned regularly by director Alex Timbers, and there’s strong video projection work from Peter Nigrini to supplement some pleasingly detailed sets from David Korins. There's always something to catch the eye, so those who prefer their theatre to be as much like a multiplex experience as possible would only be disappointed by the absence of popcorn in the foyer.
David Fynn (pictured above with Hannah Nordberg) is our titular demon, a lord of misrule who is invisible to those still alive, unless someone says his name three times. Rynn is a madcap ball of energy, immediately breaking the fourth wall with some local and topical quips addressed to the audience. But he’s often speaking so quickly - it’s the part, not his diction - that only the front half of the house is laughing, those towards the back just not hearing it, gags lost as the action charges forward. Fynn is at his best as a physical comedian finding a musichall man’s mimicry, unexpected entrances and pratfalls. It's a compliment when I say that I could imagine Rik Mayall in the part.
As the conventional couple whose deaths lead to the haunting of their house, the venue for Beetlejuice’s mayhem, David Hunter and Chelsea Halfpenny have a lot of Brad and Janet in them. And it’s never a bad thing to be reminded of The Rocky Horror Show, although the wit and charisma of that musical contrasts with the crass and combative that too often jars in this one. And are we still relying on sweary words and a raised middle finger for a laugh? In 2026?
Hannah Nordberg as Lydia, looking like Wednesday Addams without the pigtails, does a splendid job of centring the narrative in a genuinely moving relationship with her father (Alasdair Harvey). We go from seeing her as a damaged mardy teen, full of self-dramatising flounces, to a grieving girl in an emotional crisis who really does just want to be seen. Of course, there are parallels with Beetlejuice himself who wants the same thing, but the poignancy that underpins their shared needs is not really explored by writers, Scott Brown and Anthony King, always keen to get back to sophomore gags and more flashing lights.
Nordberg also, perhaps not coincidentally, gets the best songs and sings them with the skills and passion of a West End leading lady - impressive at 22. “Dead Mom” may have a characteristically unsubtle title, but it shows off her vocals beautifully and demonstrates that Eddie Perfect can do more with his score than big set piece numbers or jokey ditties. “Creepy Old Guy” is the best of the humorous songs and does deal with an elephant in the room that looms significantly larger now than it did 40 years ago when a very young Winona Ryder played Lydia in the film.
I wasn’t at all sure of the purpose of a big dance number led by Vanessa Aurora Sierra as Miss Argentina, though it looked good and brought a bit of Vegas glamour to London. And, I presume, that was purpose enough.
Is this brassy extravaganza really worth the steep, but not the steepest, West End prices? Well I suspect that depends on whether you’re more of a film fan or a theatregoer. If the crash, bang, wallop of the multiplex, where everything is in yer face bright and loud, is your thing, this show will be a treat. If stage musicals, slower, less willing to flood your senses and keener on character development, form your reference point, you’ll be frustrated at the money spent and the opportunities missed. And you’ll want it to slow down. Please.
I certainly enjoyed the skeletons forming an undead jukebox jury in an amusing gameshow scene late on - they had the wit that was in short supply elsewhere. That said, I’m left voting "Miss" rather than "Hit", despite the best efforts of Miss Nordberg.
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