A quick warning for accessibility purposes, Chicago starts with a BANG – literally. The lights are on and everyone is talking, and then the lights shut off right at 7:30 pm with a loud banging noise – it happens at the beginning and again after the intermission. People gasp, scream or react in some way. As a neurodivergent, the bang plus the crowd reaction is overstimulating, so I have to put in my earplugs – I highly recommend bringing earplugs if you’re sensitive to noise. There is also a lot of sexuality, drug use and an imitation of hanging, so be aware of that if you’re sensitive to those themes.

Now to the review!

Chicago isn’t just good, it is grand (and all that Jazz…)

Newsletter declared that 2025 is the year of Maximalism; if you don’t believe me, go watch Chicago at the Isaac Theatre Royal. Michael Hurst’s take on the Fosses’ production Chicago is a flawless mix of camp and transgression – I would expect nothing less than nudity, fake drugs being snorted off of Ellyce Bisson’s chest, Cow burlesque and BDSM props in such a production. A perfect example of this is seen in the number “We Both Reached for the Gun.” Roxie (played by Nomi Cohen) is portrayed as a submissive pink rubber doll with a mouth-open gag, while the company dances with blow-up dolls and throws them around. It was extravagantly campy, considering its provocative nature.

Every single number is bold and confident. The entire cast is oozing chemistry with each other; you can feel they are enjoying themselves, and having fun putting this show together. A shout-out to the dancers and burlesque performers who are up there baring their bodies for our entertainment. Everyone looks incredible and there is not a dull moment. The campy nature of Chicago allows Hurst to balance the comedic with darker tones and concepts. Everyone is doing something on the stage at all times so, no matter what is happening, we’ve always got something to look at. If you had told me they were all constantly fighting for the spotlight, I’d believe you. Everyone up there is a total star.

Some highlights from the show:

• A moment that took me by surprise is the fake gun, which has a realistic bang, smoke, and spark shoot out. I have never seen something like that in music theatre before; it is spectacular.
• Geoff Gilson playing different antagonist roles during “Cell Block Tango” and then being hung upside down and pushed around. The whole number is iconic, but he stole the show for sure.
• Big Mama, played by Jackie Clarke, looked like Madonna in her Madame X album/character with the black hair and corset bustier. A well-developed and thought-out character.
• Amos’ number “Cellophane Man” – Andy Grainger has a voice for Broadway. He has so much control over his voice throughout the whole production, but this number is where he shines.
• Velma’s talking voice is very cartoon-like and animated – for theatre, she has the perfect level of projection, energy and tone.
• “Razzle Dazzle” – oh my goodness! This whole number is a Las Vegas-style spectacle. Everyone represents a different symbol of American culture. The court case that happens in the middle of the night is so tense, I felt myself getting lost in the drama.
• During Velma and Big Mama’s duet, (and I’m not sure if it was impromptu), the moment where Big Mama takes off her wig and starts scratching her wig cap. I was silently giggling for the rest of the number.

The only thing that was missing for me was a flamboyant closing number. Other productions that I’ve seen of Chicago finish with a dance-driven number between Velma and Roxie. It ends with the entire production coming on and reprising “Nowadays”. With the amount of POW throughout the show, the ending felt a little ‘fizzled out’ by comparison. That being said, there wasn’t a lot of dancing from Velma or Roxie. Despite this, Nomi and Lily are both incredible performers; their dichotomy played out well.

All in all, go get your tickets NOW before Chicago continues to travel the country on its national tour. It is one of the most dazzling shows I’ve ever seen – the amount of sequins, rhinestones and shimmer glamourises how shocking the story at the heart of Chicago is; you almost forget Bill doesn’t have any pants on for half of the show!

I give this production 4.5 Big Mama itchy scalps out of 5… NOW PLAY MY EXIT MUSIC.

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Murder, greed, corruption, violence, exploitation, adultery and treachery.  As Fred Ebb’s lyrics propose, when the knobs of an old radiogram are first turned to open the show, these seven sins are dear to the human heart, and their infusion through the irresistible jazz tunes of John Kander is undoubtedly the reason Chicago remains relevant, and the longest running American musical in Broadway history. Its stage longevity is surpassed only by Phantom and Cats.

Tonight, a percussive canon-shot in the dark theatre jolts the audience to startled attention, to begin a seditious, delicious, raunchy, racy, rambunctious riot of zany goth-camp satire rich in the traditions of burlesque, cabaret – and all that jazz! That opening number showcases the sultry style of Lily Bourne as Velma Kelly, murderess and maker of mayhem who proceeds, with breathtaking physical energy, to take over the show.  Until, that is, the matron of Cook County Jail, Mama Morton slithers to the stage under the firm control of veteran velvet vocalist Jackie Clarke, a little sandier these days, who builds a dimension of warmth into a potentially cruel and manipulating character. Her duet with Velma, Class, lives up to its potential for the sassy irony that has attracted so many famous international singers of good breeding. 

Corrupt lawyer Billy Flynn takes Joel Tobeck to his full stretch as a singer, but this hugely experienced pro simply romps through the role with pizzaz and suave assurance.  I am reminded of Macheath’s lyrics in the not-too-far removed Threepenny Opera, “What keeps a man alive?  He lives on others.”  Yet we also find ourselves hypnotized by Tobeck’s slippery legal ringmaster, at his peak in the iconic Razzle-Dazzle scene.

The much-abused “crummy, dummy, hubby” of newly incarcerated Roxie Hart has the challenging task of winning the sympathy of the audience and Andrew Grainger reprises his 2013 Auckland Theatre Company role of Amos with aplomb, making a wan Mister Cellophane come to bathetic life and also showing us the dignity of a naïve, transparent common man. 

Reprising her role as Roxie, Nomi Cohen has the equally hard task of gaining no sympathy at all, while sounding sweet but acting viperously. In the presence of such a well-rounded cast she also excels and gives a fun performance as a real-life puppet, manipulated by Billy as stage chaos erupts around the courtroom.

Where the 2002 film presented polished precision, this staging has its soul in earthy, rhythmic, palpable and visceral physical theatre. It is Rocky Horror on the morning after the Master’s Affair, taking on Jazzercise and adding fancy footwork and Pythonesque craziness, all lathered up and licked over the cool beats laid by a tightly driven live band of committed musicians with a percussive yet svelte “jazz lounge” authenticity, on stage behind tasseled table lamps.  And, speaking of tassels, don’t go if the sight of flesh offends! Or if you are gynecologically sensitive, or positionally cautious about the Sacred Heart.

If that seems a kitchen sink-full, it is because director Michael Hurst uses every classical and modern theatre trick in the book – and then some – while not shying from social comment. The husbands that are murdered are all played by the one “fall guy” Geoff Gilson (who deserves a medal) and eventually his fate is that of a meat carcass. Are all men the same? Social commentary is bound with humour that is literal, liberal and mischievous – there’s a fabulous courtroom scene where liberty, jurisprudence and scales of justice are simply a backdrop to corruption and exploitation.  On the sung cue of “Come here, you dummy” a load of life-size, inflated dummies drops to the stage – is it just coincidence they remind me of our orange Electoral Commission mascot?

Stage management dealt swiftly with any opening night kinks, so to speak; costumes, what little there were among the inmates, were tawdry and a little bit b&d; lighting was appropriately broody, and all other staging elements flowed well.

 In 1926, the original play, like the environment in which Cabaret is set, was an over-the-shoulder glance, with some post-war relief, and yet was also a foreboding squint towards a darker future.  The 1975 musical, like any good satire or parody, extends its relevance contemporaneously – the parting shot is in the lyrics of Finale, as Velma sings “You know, a lot of people has lost faith in America” (sic).  Roxie’s response “And for what America stands for” prompts a ripple of awkward laughter from a full Bruce Mason Centre audience, aware of the dichotomy between humour and horror, between gritty reality and the promise of things made great again. Does tomorrow belong only to those who take it?

If you loved Cabaret, from the same writers, or Brecht and Weill’s Threepenny Opera, you’ll feel “velcome” to Chicago, where life is certainly not beautiful, but it is Vaudeville. So, slick your hair, polish those buckle shoes and lend an ear, as master craftsman Michael Hurst and his talented troupe tour this much-needed shimmy-shake of a medicine show to cause a riot in a noisy hall near you.  My exit music please …

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A cacophony of voluptuous movement – a match made in heaven (or thereabouts). Director Michael Hurst O.N.Z.M., choreographer Shona McCullagh M.N.Z.M., and musical director Paul Barrett deliver an outstanding evening of vaudeville laced with cynicism, feminine wiles, and buttocks galore.

Chicago: The Musical’s opening night played to a pulsing crowd of theatregoers who, from the first bang at curtain rise, stayed engaged throughout. An almost immediate death scene swivels us into a sumptuous extravaganza of song, satire, and sexual politics. Each person involved in this show provides a technical mastery that sustains the production’s impeccable rhythm and visual flair.

The movement throughout is a showcase of contorted grace and refined gestural wit. These are hallmarks of McCullagh’s inimitable style at its very best. One especially unforgettable vignette featured a silent tap solo performed by a policeman, pivoting gently around the dramatics of Roxie Hart. It is breathtaking in its accretive intention.

From her first entrance to the final weeping moments, actor, singer, mover, and shaker Nomi Cohen takes full command of her role as Roxie, elevating the performance’s greatness. As Velma Kelly, Lily Bourne unearths layer upon layer of vocal power, singing in exquisite harmony with both Roxie and the ever-wonderful doyenne Jackie Clarke M.N.Z.M. in her role as Mama. Joel Tobeck surprises even himself with his brilliant entrance as Billy Flynn, his presence owning the stage with perfectly timed theatrics, gorgeous silver hair, and gorgeous singing. And Andrew Grainger, as Amos (a.k.a. Andy), downplays his commanding presence with beautiful restraint. What a cast!

Musicals can be daunting, but here, every action and lyric serves the narrative. I cannot help but notice: Roxie appears to be the only woman who is faithless, while others are murderers. What unfolds is a deeper question: how do we perceive women who kill men? Are they slighted? Are they calculating? Or are they something else entirely? Are they survivors?

The emotiveness and confidence of the singers nearly but do not outshine the deliciously flamboyant dance ensemble. Their sexualised costuming by Nic Smillie, and subsequent slick, choreographed routines and cavorting are integral to the show’s exploration of disempowerment, power, desertedness, and manipulation. Of particular note is Hanna Tasker Poland, magnetic in both bodily sensuousness and character edginess – exquisite and unforgettable.

This show is deeply immersive. A showcase. The creative team embraces Chicago’s history, glamour, and moral complexities, transforming them into a riotous, intelligent mockery of justice both in 1920s America and, subtly, here in Aotearoa New Zealand. Tiumalu Noma Sio (Stage Manager), Chris Reddington (Set Designer), and Simeon Hoggan (Lighting Designer) keep the show moving at a perfect pace of timing and cadence. The casually opulent set pieces glide through the action, full of sequins, furniture,  sparkles, and surprises – the height of the proscenium loosened in a moment when a circus hoop flings a dancer high in the air. The band plays on from the back of the stage, at every moment and just as suspended.

A pulley hoists a man by his feet, and he is shoved through the air. A set of blow-up dolls dance as much as they are thrown around or heaved through the air – another spatial dismantling. Four men dance around Roxie in macho formations. A grisly hanging scene leaves us breathless – perhaps this woman was the only one not guilty after all, raising a question about what, indeed, the threshold of justice is, morally speaking. I am going again.

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