Heathers: The Musical Entertains But Never Explodes

Heathers: The Musical arrives with a reputation as one of the sharpest high-school satires of the last century. This 2022 West End pro-shot, directed by Andy Fickman, comes loud and stylish.

Yet for all its gloss and vocal strength, it fizzles: entertaining but keeping you aware you’re watching, rather than swept into its chaos.

Like the 1989 cult film, it leans into unapologetic dark comedy.

Suicide, abuse, bullying, and eating disorders, still disturbingly evergreen today. But where the film revelled in darkness, the stage version often feels sanded down.

Hierarchy and hollow notes in Heathers: The Musical

Veronica Sawyer (Ailsa Davidson) our awkward, angst-ridden guide, frames the action with diary-like asides, through the “thunderdome” of Westerberg High.

The brash opener Beautiful, sketches the school’s unforgiving food chain before the untouchable Heathers—McNamara, Duke and Chandler—strut on in their iconic plaid to thunderous applause.

Veronica’s forgery wins their approval, but her compromise deepens when JD, (Simon Gordon) the trench-coated transfer with nihilistic charm, lures her further down.

Heathers rule, Veronica wavers

Despite crisp harmonies and West End precision, the early stretch drags.

Davidson’s almost brace-faced geekiness charms in flashes but doesn’t command until later.

Gordon nails JD’s brooding look but not his menace in a mostly underwhelming show despite revealing a warm tenor in Freeze Your Brain.

Dialogue rarely crackles with the bite the text promises.

But sharper laughs come from physicality: Davidson’s elastic expressions, Kurt and Ram’s chest-puffing, and the Heathers’ weaponised sashays.

Big Fun, Dead Girls, and other scene stealers

Candy Store offers the first jolt.

Maddison Firth commands as Chandler, with Vivian Panka‘s Duke given a sharp, and intentionally clipped, moment of her own.

But momentum dips again until Big Fun, where the ensemble fully unleashes, allowing audiences to truly latch on and “lick up” their collective strength.

From there, Davidson’s blistering Dead Girl Walking ignites the stage, her high note tumbling into a steamy encounter with JD.

Firth’s tense drain-cleaner demise flows into The Me Inside of Me, a macabre yet hearty ensemble highlight.

The undeniable standout is Firth’s Heather Chandler. With a hilariously grating affect, she’s magnetic in her cruelty, even after re-emerging as a ghostly gremlin with razor-sharp barbs.

She is wickedly fun and impossible to ignore.

Teleri Hughes‘ McNamara surprises in an unexpectedly striking turn in Shine a Light.

Vicki Lee Taylor‘s Ms. Fleming lands an absurd yet hilarious audience gag.

And in the uproarious My Dead Gay Son the fatherly duo, played by Andy Brady and Oliver Brooks, nearly stop the show, with Brooks unleashing a vibrato that nearly overshadows the satire itself.

If only every parent handled coming out with such musical gusto.

Veronica remains vocally committed, but the show reads more ensemble-driven than star vehicle.

Plaid precision and a broken spell

Technically, the production delivers. Costumes are evocatively retro; lighting shifts smoothly from smoky haze to neon floods, heightening each emotional beat.

The set is minimalist, shifting efficiently over its two-hour runtime.

The pro-shot, however, is a double edged sword. At its best it amplifies the drama with effective close-ups, but repetitive shots, frequent audience cutaways and corny zooms break immersion, even as the third act finally finds editorial rhythm.

More damaging are the tonal and structural lapses. Murky accents distract and sap from a show that thrives on wit, and by Act II the score feels overstuffed, with too many side-character numbers that over-explain where momentum should build.

Beyond You’re Welcome (Doyle and Phelan shine with knowingly ridiculous shirtless ‘bro-coded’ choreo) and Seventeen (Gordon’s tender layering of JD’s brokenness), too much blurs together and ultimately softens the sting.

For all its polish—tight vocals and sleek choreography—this Heathers never quite detonates.

It entertains in bursts, yet lacks the intangible spark that makes satire sting and theatre unforgettable.

★★★

Heathers: The Musical opens in cinemas from September 4.