In 2004, Trey Parker and Matt Stone inflicted a brutal drive-by on the original production of via their song ‘Everyone Has Aids’, a merciless parody of Jonathan Larsson’s socially conscious rock opera. Clearly it didn’t bury the musical – it would run for another four years on Broadway – but you do have to think it signalled that the original, tragic but wholesome had become so successful that you couldn’t stage it the same way a second time. 

Step forward Luke Sheppard, director of its first West End revival. He’s probably the most successful commercial British musical theatre director of the moment thanks to his big, bright, lightly ironic smashes . But he does have another mode that he demonstrated in the Live Aid musical Just for One Day – an overtly stylised sexy waifs-and-strays aesthetic, where a nominally naff period of history is given a post-gender makeover that makes it look a bit like an FKA Twigs video. 

And now it has a spiritual successor in his revival of . The concert-like production is based around an ensemble of hot androgynes and self-consciously beautiful misfits, dressed like a more-stylish-than-it-sounds collision of Dickensian urchinwear and early Pearl Jam chic. Sheppard has put a large amount of additional audience seating on the stage, which hems the action into a small performance space with minimal sets. The score has been tweaked: guitars sound gnarlier than on the very ‘90s original cast recording, and some pounding dubstep-style beats have been added to the songs for Jeevan Braich’s loveable drag queen Angel.

From a purely musical perspective, it’s a fulfilling way of staging Larson’s obscenely great collection of songs, and the highlights here are very much individual numbers: the ebullient ‘Out Tonight’ - performed by Alexa Lopez’s Mimi - has never sounded so good, an eruption of pure unbridled glee at being alive. 

It would be a great staged concert but I’m not sure how well it works as a theatre show. Sheppard’s aesthetic choices seem to override his interest in storytelling. This is best exemplified by the fate of ’ Gaten Matarazzo in the lead role of Mark. There is nothing wrong with his performance. It’s endearing. But he looks, acts and is dressed like a puppyish nerd, while everyone around him is an immaculately styled supermodel at least a foot taller. 

A collision of Dickensian urchinwear and early Pearl Jam chic

Him and his BFF Roger (Travis Ross) never look like convincing pals, and Mark never even slightly fits in with his wider friendship group. He different to them, with a more sober, professional lifestyle that eventually drags him somewhat clear of the gutter. But he’s such an odd fit – a puppy hanging out with a herd of graceful gazelles – that his rupture with the group is really a case of ‘well, duh’ rather than a poignant moment. 

Sheppard’s production also feels defiantly apolitical: everyone looks elegantly wasted to the point that the whole Aids/heroin ‘thing’ is really just a buzz in the background. Angel’s decline from the disease is handled in such abstract music vid-style fashion it’s hard to feel fully emotionally invested. Ditto the whole issue of rent and encroaching capitalism – it’s there, but it doesn’t feel like a primary concern of the production. It’s amazing how little there’s even a sense we’re in New York.

Of course, Larson’s musical isn’t really a misery-fest: it’s based on Puccini’s , but has a notably happier ending. The context of the Aids epidemic gave it a poignancy that has diminished somewhat. But still: Sheppard simply feels disinterested in that side of it.

I couldn’t help but compare it to Jamie Lloyd’s , which took a similarly concert-style approach that similarly trampled over elements of the storytelling. But it was also fiery and forceful and had moments of giddy innovation and there is none of that from Sheppard. A formidable vehicle for Larson’s songs, but a less impressive one for his story.

Tom Stoppard Theatre, booking to May 29 2027. Buy tickets here.

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