The Choir of Man
Last night, I stepped into the Curve Theatre in Leicester to watch The Choir of Man, a show I’ve wanted to see ever since it took the West End by storm. When I discovered it was touring—and better still, that I’d be reviewing it—I was absolutely thrilled. Now, having experienced it, I almost worry that words won’t do it justice. It’s not often I’m lost for words, but this truly is a five-star production: a one-of-a-kind theatrical experience that I would happily watch again and again.
The magic begins before the show has even started. As the audience enters the auditorium, we’re invited onto the stage and into The Jungle pub, where we can grab a pint, admire the auditorium from the performers’ perspective and chat with the cast. I’m not ashamed to admit that I seized the opportunity to grab a selfie with the Romantic (Sam Walter). Suddenly, I’m not simply watching a performance; I’m part of it. And that is exactly what this show celebrates: community, friendship and humanity. It’s relaxed, welcoming and utterly unpretentious, with a soundtrack spanning rock, pop, folk and breathtaking a cappella arrangements.
The moment the cast takes to the stage, the audience erupts. We instinctively know this isn’t going to be an evening of sitting quietly before politely applauding at the end. From the opening number, Welcome to the Jungle, the energy is infectious. The vocals are gritty, raw and gloriously authentic. They aren’t polished in the traditional musical theatre sense, and that’s entirely intentional. Musical Supervisor Jack Blume has deliberately embraced those imperfections, allowing the music to feel honest and lived-in, and it’s this creative choice that gives the production so much of its heart.
Please don’t misunderstand me, though. The singing throughout is phenomenal. This truly is an ensemble production in every sense of the word. The nine performers produce some of the most beautiful harmonies I’ve heard on stage in a long time, effortlessly blending their voices into rich, soaring arrangements. As though singing, acting and dancing weren’t enough, every member of the cast is also an accomplished musician, seamlessly picking up instruments throughout the evening and reminding us that these are exceptionally talented performers.
There is a genuine sense of fraternity between the cast that simply can’t be manufactured. It shines through in every glance, every harmony and every piece of choreography. Freddie Huddleston’s movement perfectly reflects the atmosphere of the pub. One moment, the patrons are stamping rhythmically in complete synchronicity; the next, someone is passionately serenading a pint glass. It’s inventive, playful and brilliantly unexpected. I certainly wasn’t expecting an extended tap-dancing sequence, but Handyman (Jack Skelton) delivers it with extraordinary energy and precision, earning one of many deserved rounds of applause.
What makes The Choir of Man particularly unique is the way the songs are interwoven with spoken word. Ben Norris’ beautifully written monologues, performed by the Poet (Oluwaonimi Owoyemi), provide the emotional backbone of the evening. Some are laugh-out-loud funny; others are deeply moving. One particularly poignant reflection on the decline of the British pub reminds us that when we lose our local, we lose far more than bricks and mortar—we lose a place of belonging, conversation and human connection.
Those moments of stillness are just as powerful as the high-energy musical numbers. The Impossible Dream is mesmerising in its simplicity, allowing the audience a rare opportunity simply to breathe. Equally breathtaking is the stunning a cappella performance of Chandelier, which is rewarded with such prolonged applause that even the cast appears momentarily surprised by the audience’s response.
If I had one small criticism, it would be the emotional transition from Dance with My Father into Queen’s Somebody to Love. The former is such a deeply moving and thought-provoking piece that it perhaps deserves a little more space before the audience is expected to throw their hands in the air once again. A brief monologue between the two would allow the emotional weight of the performance to settle before the mood shifts dramatically.
Visually, the production is equally impressive. Oli Townsend’s beautifully realised pub set instantly feels familiar, complete with burgundy wallpaper, stained glass windows, mismatched framed photographs and a warm oak bar that forms the heart of the action. It’s the sort of pub we’ve all visited at some point, and that familiarity only strengthens the show’s central message. Throughout the evening, the invisible barrier between audience and performers completely disappears as cast members regularly venture into the auditorium while inviting us into their world.
That interaction never feels forced. During the performance I manage to grab a complimentary pint from Hard Man (Levi Tyrell Johnson) and even take home a souvenir beer mat—although, sadly, I miss out on the flying packet of Walkers crisps! There’s something wonderfully pantomime-esque about adults scrambling for freebies, and it’s impossible not to smile.
One of the production’s greatest achievements is that we don’t simply get to know the characters—we begin to know the performers themselves. There is huge applause when we discover that Barman (Joshua Lloyd) is a local Leicestershire lad who even spots his former headteacher sitting in the audience. Moments like these reinforce the idea that this isn’t just a performance; it’s a celebration of ordinary people and the stories that connect us.
Then comes one final surprise. As though the evening hasn’t already celebrated community enough, the cast is joined by the magnificent 90-voice Sing Space Musical Theatre choir for a soaring a cappella reprise of Chandelier. It’s a breathtaking conclusion and one that perfectly encapsulates everything this production stands for. The message extends far beyond the stage: everyone is invited to become part of the choir.
Every member of the cast deserves enormous, and equal, credit for creating one of the most joyful evenings I’ve spent in a theatre for a very long time.
- Beast – Rob Godfrey
- Barman – Joshua Lloyd
- Joker – Ben Mabberley
- Maestro – Gustav Melbardis
- Poet – Oluwaonimi Owoyemi
- Bore – Aaron Pottenger
- Handyman – Jack Skelton
- Hard Man – Levi Tyrell Johnson
- Romantic – Sam Walter
Finally, congratulations must also go to Creator, Producer and Director Nic Doodson. The fact that this remarkable idea began with a pint of beer in a garden somehow feels entirely fitting.
From the outset, we’re told, “We can drink, we can dance, we can sing, we can laugh,” and that’s exactly what happens. The Choir of Man isn’t simply a musical; it’s a joyous celebration of the Great British pub and everything it represents. It proves that pubs are about far more than pints—they’re about belonging, friendship and shared experiences.
“Come one, come all” is the beating heart of this extraordinary production. So, if you can—and trust me, do everything you can to make it happen—join The Choir of Man at Curve before it pulls its final pint on Saturday 11 July.
