Just as the real Operation Mincemeat was a plan that shouldn’t have worked, the idea of turning it into a musical feels equally improbable.
As one cast member wryly reminds us, breaking the fourth wall to ask, “Who on earth would make a musical of this?” And yet, against the odds, it works triumphantly. The result is a serotonin-boosting blend of wartime espionage, heroics, thrilling choreography and two hours of theatrical brilliance.
The story centres on the audacious (and true) 1943 Allied plot to dispatch the body of a drowned RAF pilot, carrying decoy invasion papers, to be intercepted by the Third Reich in coastal Spain, a deception designed to alter the course of the war. It’s an intricate scheme, but in the hands of the Team behind SpitLip, this award-winning production, the narrative never feels convoluted. The musical numbers are seamlessly woven into the action, propelling the story forward with pace and clarity.
Like other contemporary musicals that seem implausible on paper, such as The Book of Mormon, Operation Mincemeat tackles subject matter that could easily feel coarse or insensitive. Instead, it’s handled with such precision and wit that the tone remains buoyant without ever undermining the gravity of its backdrop.
The inventive staging and lighting work as tirelessly as the exuberant five-strong cast, fluidly shifting between settings: from War Office bunker to Underground station, the Gargoyle nightclub to a storm-tossed submarine and a Spanish mortuary. The rousing opening number, “Born to Lead,” sets the pace, while shifts in tone are deftly handled, most notably in the heartbreaking ballad “Dear Bill,” sung by Hester Leggatt to her lost love, and rightly a fan favourite.
The cast are astonishingly adept at juggling multiple roles and gleeful gender-swapping transformations. A special mention goes to Christian Andrews as the camp, blood-stained, sequinned, Sweeney Todd-esque coroner Bernard Spilsbury, tasked with procuring a suitable corpse, a performance that teeters deliciously between macabre and absurd.
Visually, the show is a feast, peppered with contemporary flourishes, including a wink to Beyoncé, woven into its wartime aesthetic. The jaw-dropping Act Two opener, “Das Übermensch,” with its goose-stepping grime and rap routine, neon backdrop and driving beat, wouldn’t look out of place at Eurovision.
The lyrical dexterity is so rapid-fire that you almost wish for subtitles to savour every clever turn of phrase. On paper, and arguably on stage, Operation Mincemeat shouldn’t work. Yet its blend of physical theatre, razor-sharp wordplay and irresistible melodies creates a joyous, riotous celebration of derring-do and pluck. Its five-star reviews, standing ovations and sold-out UK tour are more than deserved.
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