That friend you have who hates musicals – probably male, probably straight, probably not seen one since The Sound of Music on BBC 1 after the Queen’s Speech in 1978 – well, don’t send them to Charing Cross Theatre for this show. But that other friend you have – enjoyed Hamilton, likes a bit of Sondheim, seen a couple of operas – do send them.
They’re not guaranteed to like Stiletto, but they’ll find it interesting at worst and, whisper it because it's a new musical, they might actually thank you! We’re in 18th century Venice, pleasingly evoked by Ceri Calf's atmospheric set design and Anna Kelsey's beautifully observed costumes, rather than the budget option of a couple of gondoliers punting across the stage in the opener while someone complains that the Pope should realise it’s 1730 not 1330. That’s not much in itself as we are in the West End, albeit in one of its less exalted venues, but it’s a sign that care has been taken and money spent – and that needs balls in 2025.
Speaking of which, our bolshy ex-boy soprano, Marco, doesn't have any since he’s a castrato, divested of his before puberty in order to preserve his pure falsetto vocal register. There are hints that his injury isn’t just physical, but any psychological damage is soon forgotten (though an ever-present elective mute best friend from his schooldays, Niccolo, reminds us that such pain persists). He is first adopted by the wealthy noblewoman, Azzura, as a full-time house singer and part-time lover, then falls for a gifted soprano from the wrong side of the canals, Gioia, and soon breaks with his Svengali-like tutor/lover, Faustino. Meanwhile, Azurra’s racist husband, Count D’Orozco, is concluding fraudulent property deals and soon has an excuse, via the eponymous dagger and an accidental homicide, to see off Marco and Gioia.
It’s the kind of plot that wouldn’t be out of place in a grand opera, though I suspect Puccini would have given us a different ending, and we’re treated to some fine singing from soprano, Jewelle Hutchinson and, especially, mezzo Jennie Jacobs, that one might more readily expect across The Strand at The Royal Opera House. It really is thrilling to hear, in real time before our very eyes, the shift from musical theatre belting into the supercharged stylings of an older format, though Jewelle and Jennie didn't need amplification!
Matthew Wilder’s songs and, especially, Simon Nathan’s orchestrations, include plenty of callbacks to those roots too (not what I would have guessed from the man responsible for the hooky 80s pop anthem, “Break My Stride”) with a 12-piece band including a harp and a mandolin to provide the music. Not that we’re confined to ersatz arias – we get our proper allocation of ‘I Want’ numbers with Hutchinson’s “God Given Gift” a standout. There’s also a nice frenemy duet between the loveless Count and Contessa, Douglas Hansell and Kelly Hampson’s “Without Me” predictable the first time round, but satisfyingly witty in its second act reprise.
Is it just too cliched to grouch about a new musical’s book? Tim Luscombe’s is not the worst I’ve seen (not even in the last five days) but it’s trite when it should be affecting and resolves its jeopardies far too swiftly. Jack Chambers (pictured above) brings plenty of twinkle-eyed charm to his court favourite, but Marco’s words and deeds seem more rooted in the need to drive the plot forward mechanistically rather than in his developing character. Likewise Greg Barnett can do little with Faustino, the lascivious tutor’s ruin no sooner revealed than acted upon, and off he goes.
Amidst all the pulling at flaws and the nit-picking that can hobble any review of a show like this, it’s important to focus on what its audience wants. On that overarching criterion, Stiletto delivers some very good numbers well sung, a sweet and charming romance and a dastardly villain’s comeuppance – and that’s no bad deal for MT. If, under the railway arches, that all proves a little over the top, don’t say you weren’t warned!
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