Miss Saigon - new production is just as epic

★★★★

Some shows can punch you in the gut again and again, and you can only thank them. Miss Saigon, emerging from the flames reimagined, is one of them.

Julianne Pundan as Kim and Jack Kane as Chris, photo by Danny Kaan

The ballsy political drama documenting a vital piece of modern history goes hand in hand with a tragic love story, lending to some of the most epic musical theatre numbers - and moments - of all time.

At its centre is Seann Miley Moore, who makes a devilish, hysterical Engineer. Drenched in desperation, there's a quiet rumbling of vulnerability that gradually unravels to mania, disguised with a slimy swagger and throwing peace signs. We meet them in the underworld of Saigon as a puppetmaster of the Dreamland girls, forced to party while their world is aflame. With a Western twang to their vocals, dripping in fake Rolexes, their performance culminates in a star-spangled "The American Dream", a big Broadway number with the star quality to boot.

In contrast, Julianne Pundan's Kim is more childlike; there's a naivety to her, a curiosity and hopefulness, as she explains in a princess sing-song the trauma she's endured at the hands of war, painting ghostly pictures with her candour. Dressed in striking red, blue and white (costumes and set by Andrew D Edwards), she's a dream out of reach. Her beautiful vocals are youthfully crystal-clear, but particularly her "I Would Die For You" shimmers with emotional turmoil. As Chris, the American GI she falls in love with, Daniel J Brian is assured and confident, but manages to avoid being an active saviour, instead a man at the mercy of instinct. Between them, Claude-Michel Schönberg and Alain Boublil’s love story has never sounded so true, so lavish. This production boasts new orchestrations from Stephen Metcalfe in addition to the epic originals by William David Brohn, and it is a joy to see conductor Ben Mark Turner direct with his whole being from the pit.

Plummeting into darkness, Jean-Pierre van der Spuy sees the action play out by night. A concrete prison, the multi-story set has a revolve at its core. Wooden room enclosures transform into seedy clubs in Saigon and Bangkok with bars on the windows, holes in the walls. They swirl in and out. There are no safe places; this is a country on its knees. The ensemble (all brilliant) hides in the shadows, bearing witness to the trauma, their cigarettes lighting up the darkness like fireflies under the neon city lights (lighting by Bruno Poet). Striking spotlights illuminate key players before plunging them into crimson red. It works most excellently alongside George Reeve's effective video projections; a skyline, punctuated with wires and satellite dishes, poking through, and flashbacks to the war alongside striking black and white photographs of the victims. At times, silk drapes become backdrops for crashing waves and patriotic flags. 

There's remarkable work from the supporting cast, too. Dominic Hartley-Harris’s John opens act two with a stirring chorus rendition of "Bui Doi", Mikko Juan's Thuy is menacing, growing angrier by the moment, while Thao Therese Nguyen is electric as Gigi, her "Movie In My Mind" hypnotising, accompanied by the haunting harmonies. Chrissie Cartwright and Carrie-Anne Ingrouille's choreography sees waves of soldiers move robotically in unison, conforming in their military uniforms.

I can’t pretend to remember earlier productions in fine detail, but this new creative team have certainly earned the crown. And while there is a noticeable absence of a real-life chopper. Fear not, nobody will be left disappointed by the blistering realisation of Kim's nightmare. It's guttural - adding even more weight to an already relentless production that barely pauses for breath - even when we could all do with one.