After great success out at the Menier Chocolate Factory, Patrick Marber’s production of The Producers comes into town to take up residence at the recently revamped Garrick Theatre. The cast pretty much transfer with it, and the scope provided by a larger theatre allows this production to spread its wingsand take off in full zany flight.
There is little to be said about the film and musical that followed it that have not been said before, except there is always there is always some new detail to notice that raises a smile or a laugh-out-loud moment. The power to shock is perhaps no longer there given the increasing historical distance we have from the Third Reich and the ease with which imagery and terms of Nazism are bandied about in contemporary discourse. But the brilliance of the central conceit (let’s make a musical that flops and then fly off to Rio with the proceeds) and the detailed outrageousness of the characters and situations remain, as does the wit of the dialogue and the skill of the invention in music and lyrics.
Where this production really scores, over and above the uniformly excellent cast, is in getting away from the burden of this legacy and finding new ways of presenting the material. Whether in the surreal invention of the Springtime for Hitler sequence, or in the bizarre chorus for grannies with zimmer frames, or in the warmer, more sincere moments – and yes there are many – between the characters, we are made to see this very familiar material through fresh eyes, and that is a rare achievement on the part of the director.
The key relationships have true depth to them. As the two dodgy producers Andy Nyman and Marc Antolin have a real chemistry, the one sleazily inventive and incorrigible, the other hovering between romantic dreams and timorous retreat. When you finally reach ‘Til him’ at the very end, it seems a wholly earned and natural conclusion. There is also a lovely connection between Antolin and Joanna Woodward as Ulla, whose characterisation is much richer than usual, moving way beyond superficial Swedish sexpot. Their song and dance number in the second half is a real high point of the evening.
That said, in some ways the whole show is stolen by an extraordinary performance by Trevor Ashley, doubling as Roger Debris and, in the second half, as Hitler himself. As the cross-dressing director, Ashley is the embodiment of camp divadom, with a delivery of ‘Keep it Gay’ that brings a wholly deserved ovation from the audience. And in the second half, swathed in gold lamé, he manages to embody a mockery of autocratic bombast that goes beyond mere comedy. He is ably supported by Raj Ghatak as his assistant/partner Carmen.
Perhaps the most difficult role to bring off is that of the crazy eccentric ex-Nazi, Franz Liebkind, but Harry Morrison does this superbly, finding a degree of pathos as well as absurdity in his delusions, and delivering his various numbers with panache. His swastika-adorned pigeons deserve a mention too, delightfully manipulated by members of a crack ensemble who have so many other roles to perform as well, from storm troopers to rabbis to show girls and nimble grannies.
Production values are very sharp elsewhere – there is an excellent band placed above the stage, led by Matthew Samer; the sets and costumes give you all the colour and invention you need to divert and outrage, while allowing for speedy continuity between scenes; in fact everyone on stage seems to be at ease and enjoying themselves.
Familiar or not, this show is just what the West End needs right now. We can all do with a dose of escapist screwball fantasy, while at the same time the serious point it makes remains as valid as ever – that the best riposte to unbridled autocracy is laughter and mockery, just as Chaplin had already intuited in The Great Dictator.
Lyrics & Music: Mel Brooks
Director: Patrick Marber
Cast includes: Marc Antolin, Trevor Ashley, Raj Ghatak, Harry Morrison, Andy Nyman, Joanna Woodward
Until 21 February 2026
2 hrs 30 mins with interval
Photo Credit: Manuel Harlan