Review of ‘Miss Saigon’ (2025 UK & Ireland tour): “New revival engineers adequate staging but lead cast isn’t too much for one heart”

Schönberg & Boublil’s timeless musical returns to the British stage in this new production, touring across the country until summer next year. Guillermo Nazara shares his views on the show to let us know if the heat is still on.

There is no helicopter flying onstage. The sooner I lower your expectations, the faster we can move on—or at least try. They haven’t made it easy, though. And it’s not like we didn’t assume they’d chop the chopper off the touring production. After all, the strange new logo in the posters was raising suspicion. There’s no hidden face, and certainly no iconic prop — just a confusing hieroglyph that vaguely resembles a dragon and a phoenix altogether. And just so you know, there’s nothing of the sort in this latest reincarnation of Boublil and Schoenberg’s Puccinesque melodrama either.

That’s something fans can forgive, however. The harrowing scene when Chris and Kim are separated by the winds of misfortune is still present, and rather cleverly staged by director Jean Pierre Van Der Spuy, whose effective blocking is admittedly one of his strongest features. An ersatz of the aircraft descends discreetly from the rafters — two spotlights, each one accompanied by a metal sidebar, form the entire device, as actors are pulled up on strings in a burst of strobe and mist. Nothing compared to the awe-striking spectacle that the 2014 London revival wowed worldwide audiences with, but still much stronger than this completely misguided approach to the narrative.

As Schoenberg’s Asian-flavoured introductory theme emerges, the show’s uncanny symbol morphs into smoke-splattered footage of the Vietnam War. A burning pattern kicks in as the Overture’s brazen chords explode. Behind the curtain, civilians watch in horror what their country has turned into — nothing but massacre, rabble, and misery.

Small compartments slide downstage to reveal the backstage area of a nightclub, as the competitors for the Miss Saigon pageantry title get ready to give the G.I.s the last night of the world. Among them, a puzzled sixteen-year-old asks for advice to make her chest look bigger. She will be selling beaucoup d’amour, and she’ll be given spite in return. The girls laugh at her guiltlessness. You can’t be a saint when you live in hell. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, that’s what this revival wants us to believe.

It’s just too soft. And when you’re dealing with the doomed romance between an American soldier and a Vietnamese prostitute, that’s hardly the sentiment you should be conveying. There is an explanation for the protagonists falling in love at first sight, crucial to make it credible and, consequently, engage the audience in their journey — they’re both in utter despair.

“Screw the Engineer — you’re the only thing that I’ve cared for here.” That line preluding the much heartwarming Sun and Moon duet encapsulates the whole essence of the piece. Yet, all that we see is a toned-down depiction of its universe’s brutality.

The Engineer is no longer menacing, but catty. The Dreamland staff doesn’t come across as crushed and abused — just not too happy with how life has turned out. And although Gigi “likes it rough”, as the Engineer claims when awkwardly trying to save the situation, she won’t get slapped in the face but quietly threatened with a knife for two seconds. No opportunity for us to instantly relate to her pain. No chance for the actress to delve into such grievance. And as a result, nothing else but the most insipid and emotionless cue and delivery for The Movie in My Mind.

The lack of resourcefulness goes on and on for the most part of the performance. Seann Miley Moore’s portrayal of the Engineer is shallow at best and ineffective at worst. It relies excessively on camp elements that add very little to the character, and ultimately, feels like a total misinterpretation of what the role is supposed to be. There’s no fierceness in this rendition. All that we see is unnecessary drollery and over-the-top mannerisms. I’m not opposed to the idea of adding a queer element to it. Yet, when your outcome stands closer to Lola from Kinky Boots, we may have a problem.

Julianne Pundan excels vocally as Kim, as does the rest of the company. All the singing, except for Jack Kane’s short-ranged Chris, is technically robust and vivid. You can close your eyes during Pudan’s solos, and the image of Lea Salonga will swiftly pop into your mind — their timbres are that close. However, her understanding of the role isn’t fully developed. There is rage in her, and innocence, too. Still, that special charm that makes the character so piercingly compelling isn’t quite there, as she’s devoid of the depth and complexity that define both her and her story.

Chris’s prominence is somehow subdued by Kane’s exceedingly smooth attitude. Gentleness may be key to the personage’s essence, but so is his assertiveness. Sadly, Kane’s overpowering blandness reduces him to a whining stick figure, exhibiting little to no authority onstage and, once again, struggling to capture the conflicting (and therefore, humanising) traits his character should display.

Similarly, Emily Langham doesn’t express enough sentiment during her brief appearance as Ellen. Although her voice is melodically rousing, her acting skills rarely catch up. Her rendition of Maybe is lyrically plain and overly recited, unable to underpin the harrowing arc the verses should take us through. Simultaneously, turning half of the scene’s opening recitative, Room 317, into underscored dialogue has no dramatic effect. And, if anything, it accentuates Langham’s shortcomings as a performer.

We can still find redemption in the production’s orchestral lushness. Real woodwinds, real brass, and a couple of stringed instruments, joined by the usual keyboard-guitar-drums setting, endure Schoenberg’s lavishly filmic sound. At the same time, Music Director Ben Mark Turner elevates the score’s poignancy through his impeccable phrasing and bright colourfulness.

Andrew D. Edward’s set brims with dynamism and versatility. Wistfully, a sense of austerity is also brought into the equation. The intricacy that the two former West End productions flaunted is barely present. Neither is the Eastern spirit that permeated the original 1989 and 2014 revival designs, respectively.

A static, concrete-looking balcony delineates the stage, supported by a backdrop screen alternating archive shots and animated backgrounds. In the middle, a small revolving platform spins a multi-purpose module around. On one side, Dreamland’s bar. On the other, Kim’s bedroom. Vietnam’s banderols unfold at the end of This Is The Hour, while a gigantic neon dollar sign becomes the vehicle for a ball-gowned Engineer’s burlesque fantasy at the climax of The American Dream.

Not quite as impressive as the big Cadillac coming out of the Statue of Liberty’s mouth, Ho Chi Minh’s colossal golden statue, or the smoke-breathing dragon that so many fans would fondly remember, though. Yet, we can appreciate its functionality. That is, if we overlook Chris’s memory of Kim during the I Still Believe number — no longer a nightmare but a PTSD outburst at a veteran’s ceremony. To preserve the illusion of accomplishment, Thuy’s ghost’s excruciatingly dull entrance should also remain in the shadows, keeping company with the overall unelaborate costumes.

Although the genius of its writing continues to resonate throughout, Miss Saigon’s newest revival scarcely meets the requirements of its epic plot and stirring pathos. Audiences may still enjoy it, and surely nobody will find the need to exclaim “What a waste!” after watching it. Yet, it wouldn’t surprise me if the why-God-why remark came through at least a couple of times. The production can take pride in the troupe’s galvanising singing and the theatrical intelligence of a few scenes. As for the rest, many crucial aspects come across as the Bui Doi —  a living reminder of all the good they failed to do.

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All pictures credit to Danny Kaan.

Miss Saigon is currently on tour across the UK and Ireland until 8 August 2026. Tickets and venue information are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara