Review of ‘MILES’ (2026, Southwark Playhouse): “Offbeat biopic needs to find a better pitch”

The venue presents a new two-hander piece portraying the life of one of the biggest jazz icons of all time. Guillermo Nazara shares his views on the show to let us know if the experience left him kind of blue.

He was a legend. And, like every legend, he has been turned into a product of biographical entertainment. He was worthy of it. Whether this is the one he deserved is another story. There’s competence in Oliver Kaderbhai’s coming-of-age portrayal of world-renowned trumpeter Miles Davis. Yet, some elements of it seem to have lost their cadence. And in some crucial aspects, it comes off slightly tone-deaf.

There’s no question of the author’s profound admiration towards the jazz icon — or his knowledge of the subject. Conceived by Jay Phelps, who also stars in the show as an accomplished yet struggling instrumentalist, the script is an obvious love letter to a man who has served as inspiration in more than one way. So much so that, in the process of revering him, they might have forgotten about what they were trying to deliver in the first place.

Although its dramatic intentions permeate the script, this play might have lost the plot. There’s not one to begin with. Not a proper one, that is. A loose narrative thread ties Miles’s journey from a struggling performer to a globally acclaimed recording artist. Before tasting heaven, he’s experienced hell in its crudest form. We would only assume, though. A lot happens before our eyes, but nothing truly resonates, because the text is fixated on incorporating motifs rather than expanding them.

A frustrated 32-year-old musician meets Davis at the studio. His contract will be terminated in a month, so he craves mentorship from the man whose work has nurtured his passion. From then on, Davis explains how he came to be both person and myth. It’s not an original premise, but it can still function if applied correctly. Sadly, this execution sounds slightly off-key.

None of the characters is explored compellingly. There is so much opportunity from both Davis and his wannabe protege, Miles. However, the absence of a defined thematic goal makes the narrative feel superficial and underdeveloped.

So many topics knock gently on the recount’s door. There’s Davis’ abusive upbringing, the difficulties of making a living from a job a million others are competing against you for, the systemic persecution of people of colour in 1940s America, the advocacy for multiracial unity instead of prejudice and division, and an artist’s constant battle to find and build their own identity.

All these concepts teem with poignancy and thought-provoking qualities. Unfortunately, none of those chances are taken. Overall, the script presents a shallow depiction of events — things are told, but it never delves into any of them. It prints a vague picture with a blurred focal point. And consequently, the pathos never materialises. And for a significant part, the engagement fails to solidify.

The production makes up for the writing’s shortcomings to the best of its ability, which is inevitably limited. Regardless, we can appreciate its beautiful staging — arguably, the show’s greatest accomplishment. Pure theatricality pervades every layer of it, and it walks a few extra steps to bring freshness, originality, and cohesion to the traditional techniques it employs. There’s poetry, and there is subtext to it. And its impact is undeniable.

Benjamin Akintuyosi gives an excellent performance in the title role. His portrayal of Davis, a man seasoned by personal and artistic overcoming, is appropriately jazzy. His ample register imbues every detail of his rendition, ranging from character arc to an adequate impersonation of his distinctive raspy voice during his later years.

Jay Phelps’s musicality is the most interesting and laudable feature of his interpretation. His live trumpet solos are impeccably delivered, and they add value and uniqueness to the final product. Unfortunately, his craftsmanship in the brass department isn’t matched by his acting skills, which are generally flat and one-dimensional. He doesn’t share enough chemistry with Akintuyosi, which irremediably leads to a decrease in the play’s appeal.

Davis’s fictional version has got to blow his own horn once again. And that’s precisely the problem. Despite its attempts, MILES is too obsessed with the romantic idea of the genius. And by getting tangled in its mystique, it forgets about the human elements that go over the name and form a direct bond with the viewer. It has all the pieces required to sing — but it needs to find its voice first.

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All pictures credit to Colin J Smith.

MILES plays at London’s Southwark Playhouse Borough until 7 March. Tickets are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara