Review of ‘Kinky Boots’ (2026, London Coliseum): “Well-heeled spectacle isn’t laced with narrative deftness”

Cyndi Lauper and Harvey Fierstein’s hit musical  treads the West End boards for the first time since its original run in this new production starring Johannes Radebe and Matt Cardle. Guillermo Nazara shares his views on the show to let us know if this sole-ful celebration of individuality is still the most beautiful thing in the world.

They had really big shoes to fill. And when I say shoes, I mean two and a half feet of irrrrrrrrisistible tubular sex. There’s no question about the iconicity of Kinky Boots and the legacy it’s left on both sides of the Atlantic. Critics didn’t rave about it when it opened on Broadway — the cast’s inability to put on a convincing Northampton accent may have influenced their impressions. And although there are some minor character development issues here and there, it’s a solid show that deserves the warm reception it’s earned over the years.

Now, over a decade after the original West End production, the bitch is back, to quote another glittering pop queen. Not everything is the same, though. Cyndi Lauper’s earworms continue to sing. And Harvey Fierstein’s deliciously ironic book still amuses. That is, of course, if you’re able to make out what the actors are saying. For the record, it’s not that their twangs make it difficult to understand. Its overly reverberant sound system, however, is another story.

Nikolai Foster’s new take on the piece doesn’t differ too much from its predecessor. Visually, the essence is very similar, and its spectacularity is undeniable. It captivates the eye through its intricate design and lush musical numbers, all of which brim with stamina, flair, and precision. You might be surprised by my raving given the title of this review. You haven’t been clickbaited, I guarantee. There are flaws. Significant flaws. And by trying to sweep its audience, this production may have brushed off the storytelling, at least partially.

It isn’t that complicated. Ultimately, it’s all a matter of blocking. Robert Jones’s sets exhibit the same versatility as their former incarnation. With one small distinction. And that is proximity to the viewer.

If there’s something the London Coliseum can vaunt, apart from its auditorium’s striking beauty, that’s the stage’s mammoth dimensions. Jones’s approach responds to it adequately, delivering a towering scenery that may not teem with technical complexity but still manages to fill the space resourcefully.

Yet, none of that matters if it doesn’t serve the drama properly. And that’s my greatest concern about this revival. Too many key moments are performed upstage. If that’s already a bad idea, the Coliseum’s disproportionate distance can only aggravate the problem. And it does. The feeling of intimacy and connection that those segments should generate never materialises, while the narrative flow is severely compromised by its limited dynamism.

Conceptually, the design isn’t faultless either. For the most part, Jones’s scenography is effective, cleverly shifting from one setting to another through subtle additions and prop rearrangements. That skillfulness isn’t consistent, nevertheless, as some sections fail to evoke where the story is taking place. And if it weren’t for some delayed lines in the script coming to our rescue, we wouldn’t have the slightest idea of where we are.

Foster’s direction struggles to create the necessary buildup so the characters can break into song naturally, especially during Act One. The writing has remained mostly intact, with minor exceptions such as cutting off the guitar duo that the pub scene used to start with. However, their organicness is jeopardised by the execution’s lack of dramatic tension. As a result, many musical numbers come out rushed or even shoehorned despite the writing’s correct structuring.

The cast is another great asset, whose brilliance is primarily embodied by the ensemble, all of whom display powerful vocals, high-energy dance renditions delivered with impeccable prowess and a sense of togetherness, and adequate to moderately compelling acting. Among them, Courtney Bowman’s flippant portrayal of Lauren bursts with goofy charm, while Scott Paige flaunts an extraordinary comedy bone and exquisite singing skills as George.

Sadly, none of the principals matches the company’s accomplished interpretation. Matt Cardle disappoints in the role of Charlie Price, whose playing comes across as wooden, shallow, and insipid. While his performance shines briefly on the musical side, his take is soulless, one-dimensional, and somewhat the opposite of what the character represents. The dorky traits that made Charlie so terribly adorable- and a hero worth rooting for -are therefore gone. And instead, we are introduced to a rougher version that’s incapable of conveying any sentiment, let alone generating one in its audience.

Johannes Radebe’s Lola brings the house down every time he strictly comes dancing, owning the scene, and sometimes even stealing it, through his magnetic presence and infectious vitality. Unfortunately, his acting abilities aren’t quite as deft, leading to a rather flat outcome devoid of the personage’s signature sass. The same applies to his singing, which, despite its competence, lacks the robustness the score demands, inevitably resulting in a few out-of-tune excerpts.

Albeit the production is defined by its elaborateness and splendour, this latest revival of Kinky Boots still needs more polish. It’s a valid step one, but some aspects require further tweaking before we can say yeah to them. In any case, it’s a thigh-slapper experience I’m confident some viewers will be knee-deep in awe with. Yet, it doesn’t seem like the creatives have worn their soles out in terms of dramaturgy. If you’re looking for a fun, feel-good night at the theatre, you’ll surely get a kick out of this one. Still, I wouldn’t get head over heels about it.

All pictures credit to Matt Crockett.

Kinky Boots plays at the London Coliseum until 11 July. Tickets are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara