Stephen Sondheim is, for me, something of a love or hate composer. His distinctive style inspires enormous devotion, but I have never counted myself among the faithful, so I arrive at Leicester’s Little Theatre more curious than converted. However, Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street is frequently hailed as one of his masterpieces, and given KW Productions’ strong track record (alongside the pre-released production shots by Russell Webster), I find myself genuinely intrigued before I enter the auditorium, and absolutely wowed on the way out.

Walking in, the first thing that hits is the 10-piece orchestra in full view – a rare sight at The Little Theatre – and it’s breath-taking. Inevitably, it eats into stage space, but the trade-off is magic. Before a word is sung, the orchestra commands attention. Watching the players in motion and James Stevenson conduct with such vigour becomes theatre in itself. Sondheim’s score is relentless, dense, complex, and unforgiving. This band barely gets a breath, yet they sustain tension and texture throughout. At the curtain call, their rapturous applause is completely earned. A huge well done to Alison Madin, Rosie Curtis, Mick Curtis, Phil Reckless, Mike Shaw, Natasha Pattinson, Graham Darby, Graham Johnson, Steve Sanders and Helen Shelton.

John Bale’s direction uses the smaller, confined stage wisely. A single main structure divides Lovett’s pie shop and Sweeney’s barbershop above, while mobile pieces glide in and out cleanly, transitions invisible. Lighting by Alex Crooks is especially striking. Deep purples and dark reds, mist catching the beams, the sudden red flashes marking each murder, sharp spots and slashes all timed with almost musical precision. Costumes (John Bale) and makeup reinforce the grit and deepen the grime. Nothing is too polished, everything belongs to this grim world.

Keiran Whelan-Newby’s Sweeney anchors the piece. He’s not a panto villain; he’s a wronged man, his rage accumulating until it can’t be contained. Whelan-Newby captures a man destroyed by injustice until revenge consumes innocent and guilty alike. His desire for justice, rooted in grief and loss, is palpable. Opposite him, Alexandra Elliott’s Mrs. Lovett is compelling, bringing skill, wit and intelligence to the role. Her comic timing is razor sharp and her energy undiminished. An adept performer, she knows just when to lean in and when to hold back, using her vocals to give subtle nuance to the character. Together, Whelan-Newby and Elliott make a compelling central pairing, his brooding intensity playing beautifully against her more animated, comic energy, while the imbalance in what each character wants from the relationship is always bubbling beneath the surface.

The contrast between their dark, sweaty world and the tenderness between Anthony and Johanna is striking. Dan Rowberry’s clear, steady tone and Grace Bale’s fragile yearning create a much-needed softness, and it’s difficult to tear my eyes away from their innocent fledgling relationship. Bale captures Johanna’s naivety beautifully, but beneath it is a growing desperation that makes her situation increasingly affecting. Rowberry’s voice soars in “Johanna”, which is a personal highlight and the song that I will definitely be listening to on repeat. It’s a beautiful song, beautifully performed by Rowberry.

Elsewhere, Steve Elliott’s Judge Turpin chills with controlled cruelty while Chris Hyam’s Beadle balances pomposity and menace with some wonderfully judged comic moments, never allowing the humour to completely disguise the mean streak underneath. Freddie Perkins’ flamboyant Pirelli amuses before folding back into the disciplined ensemble; and Harry Woodward’s Tobias charts a chilling arc from cheeky to something hollow and deeply unsettling. It’s the kind of turn you don’t forget. We are reminded that revenge doesn’t end; it just consumes the next person. Nicole Collins’ Beggar Woman is beautifully judged, comic on the surface yet threaded with vulnerability. Collins gives her a fragility that makes her completely memorable and, as the story unfolds, increasingly significant.

The ensemble — Russell Gillespie, Joe Middleton, Charlotte Parker, Amanda Sadler, Rachel Wheeler, Bernadette Woods and Philippa Hamilton — prove integral, their rich harmonies and commanding presence building the atmosphere throughout. Their physicality in the asylum sequence is particularly effective. Embracing the grotesque, the ensemble’s jagged, angular movements are genuinely unsettling.

It is when the full cast takes the stage together that the goose bump moments arrive – there are some stunning vocal performances and their harmonies blend beautifully. There is a richness and power to the company numbers that fills the auditorium, particularly impressive from a cast of just sixteen. Sondheim’s notoriously intricate score demands precision, and the cast navigate its complex rhythms and overlapping vocal lines with apparent ease. Tom Brooks’ sound design ensures clarity without losing blend. The famous Sondheim repetitions almost feel like a mind caught in a loop – revenge repeating until it consumes the next victim.

Coming to the story almost blind, that final revelation lands with real force. It scrambles everything retrospectively. Act I hurtles along, Act II dips slightly before the production surges towards its end. If anything, it’s baffling that this isn’t playing to a packed house.

At times, I can’t believe I’m in Leicester watching a local production. The scale, precision, and passion are something special. This is a production Leicester should be proud of. Even if, like me, you approach Sondheim with hesitation, this is one not to miss. I leave the auditorium, not just impressed but exhilarated.

I walk in a Sondheim sceptic and walk out a Sweeney Todd fan. That says it all.

If you want to “attend the tale of Sweeney Todd”, and I sincerely hope you do make the trip to Leicester’s The Little Theatre for this production, tickets are still (shockingly) available. Sweeney Todd is running until Saturday 19 September.