The Choir Of Man at the Theatre Royal, Nottingham.
9th June 2026.
Created by Nic Doodson and Andrew Kay, The Choir of Man premiered at the Edinburgh Festival in 2017 before landing in the West End, where it received much critical acclaim, not to mention an Olivier nomination. It is now out on the road, embarking on its first tour of the UK and Ireland. Set entirely inside a warmly lit pub called The Jungle, the show blends jukebox musical, concert, and spoken-word theatre into one relentlessly upbeat evening of cabaret down at the local. There is no conventional plot to speak of; instead, nine archetypal (stereotypical?) male pub regulars share fragments of their lives through pop and rock covers, accompanied by live instrumentation, pints pulled on stage and audience interaction. Monologues written by performance poet Ben Norris provide emotional connections between the songs, while musical arrangements by Jack Blume transform familiar chart hits into soaring ensemble numbers.
Watching it this evening in Nottingham, I can absolutely understand why audiences adore it. The atmosphere is infectious from the moment you walk into the auditorium. Cast members roam the stage before the show begins, chatting, pouring free pints of Castle Rock beer from the fully functioning pumps, and turning the theatre into a local boozer. Audience members take to the stage to grab a drink, mingling with said cast who are in character from the moment the house is open. There is a genuine sense of communal celebration that many productions spend hours trying to fabricate.
Vocally, the company of actor-musicians is undeniably excellent. Gustav Melbardis brings musical precision as the Maestro with absolutely phenomenal skills on the piano, while Rob Godfrey’s booming Beast vocals give several numbers real depth and texture. Joshua Lloyd makes for an affable Barman and Ben Mabberley injects plenty of comic cheekiness as the Joker. Jack Skelton is a personal favourite of mine, injecting the Handyman with some first class tap dancing in two marvellous vignettes. Across the board, the harmonies are rich and polished. There’s a particularly beautiful a cappella number at the end of Act One which is executed with real skill. Numbers built around pub anthems and pop classics are delivered with impressive musicality, and Freddie Huddleston’s choreography keeps the pub mates constantly moving across Oli Townsend’s compact and static set.
And yet, despite admiring the terrific craftsmanship, I never quite warm to it emotionally. The problem for me is that the show opts for enthusiasm over storytelling. Every emotional beat is pushed so insistently towards joie de vivre (illustrated by the constant rally cry of “Cheers!”) that I start to feel bludgeoned by blokeish positivity and high jinks. The spoken monologues gesture towards big themes like loneliness, masculinity, grief and friendship, but they rarely delve beneath surface-level observations. Whenever the material threatens to become genuinely revealing, or hints at the reality of life outside the pub, another crowd-pleasing banger arrives to sweep away the pain.
I find it hard to invest in the characters beyond their vocal talents. I can appreciate the appeal of spending two hours in the theatrical equivalent of a very lively pub singalong, but to put it bluntly, it is not my particular cup of tea. I want more narrative substance and more nuance than this show is interested in offering.
That being said, this opening night audience seem to overwhelmingly love it. Around me, people clap along, laugh loudly and leave visibly cheered. Some have even made their very own debut upon the stage! There is something undeniably generous about the show’s desire to create joy and connection. Even if I remain unconvinced by it, I can see exactly why The Choir of Man has built such a devoted following. As theatrical experiences go, it is energetic and crowd-pleasing – it’s an extravaganza of music and dance that makes for a jolly lovely evening out.
