Heathers the Musical, Theatre Royal Haymarket, review: trashy and loud – and why so sexy?
What a strange show Heathers the Musical is: an outsized comedy, dressed to the nines in pop-socks and shoulder-pads, poking fun at teenage suicide while making mawkish points about mental health.
It’s based on the 1989 film, a teen classic starring Christian Slater and Winona Ryder that, over 30 years later, remains a disconcerting satire of alienated adolescence, with Slater dripping in monstrous sex-appeal as the high-school psychopath intent on eradicating Westerburg High of its bullies and abusers. That film predated the spate of American school shootings that dominated the 2000s, but Kevin Murphy and Laurence O’Keefe’s show, which first appeared off Broadway in 2014, exists in the full knowledge of America’s gun-crime epidemic – not to mention the recent boom in student mental-health crises.
In light of this, and given its gung-ho irreverence, you could almost argue that Heathers the Musical is even more daringly subversive than the original – “almost”, except in truth it isn’t at all. This 2021 revival follows a 2018 West End run that, despite mixed reviews, hit gold at the box office. It’s no surprise that as commercial producers look to an uncertain summer, it should be back for another run. But this is a toothless, lip-glossed affair that replaces the original’s ironic cruelty with cartoonish grotesquerie. Beneath the ugly humour, the film took its subject matter seriously; the musical just wants to have fun.
The plot is largely faithful to the original, and many of the killer lines remain intact. Christina Bennington plays Veronica, the aspirational student who signs up to the hyper-manicured clique of girls called Heather, hoping to ease her way through the gladiatorial combat of high school. She falls for the sociopathic charms of newcomer JD – Jordan Luke Gage, who looks sinister as he slinks about in a long black coat, even if the coat is doing the work – who has more of a Ground Zero approach to toxic environments, killing off students one by one.
There are some strong performances. Jodie Steele is gruesomely camp as queen bee Heather Chandler, and Madison Swan as Martha “Dumptruck” proves to be the only member of the cast who can sing not just extremely loudly but with expressiveness as well. But mostly the vibe is trashy, brashy and in-your-face. Bennington, who never sings a song when she can belt it, has none of Ryder’s cool disaffection: her Veronica is giggly and silly instead. And there’s a sex scene with JD that feels shoddily gratuitous.
The film thrived on ambiguity; the musical dispenses with nuance and empathy. That it should then encourage the audience to get on board with its message of “inclusivity” and “acceptance” feels cheap. And the score! There are none of the delicious 1980s synth-pop pastiches you might hope for, but instead a relentless parade of bland power-ballads that seem to get louder as the evening progresses. Honestly, it’s exhausting. Yes, Heathers the Musical is “bad taste”. But it’s also, I’m afraid, plain bad.
Until September 11. Tickets: 020 7930 8800; trh.co.uk