INTO THE WOODS

Noël Coward Theatre

★★★★★

“Compelling and captivating”

Much has been written about the importance and, more significantly, the magic of fairy tales. How they help a growing mind deal with difficult emotions and internal conflicts. We all have our favourite one, but imagine if a few of them were intertwined together. Would that create confusion and dampen the magic? Jordan Fein’s staging of Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine’s “Into the Woods” provides the simple answer that, if done right, the result is truly magical indeed. For nearly three hours we are enchanted, bewitched and spellbound by this production in the West End, which has transferred from its acclaimed run at the Bridge Theatre across the river.

It shouldn’t work. The musical mixes up the plots of several Brothers Grimm fairy tales – notably ‘Little Red Riding Hood’, ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’, ‘Rapunzel’, ‘Cinderella’ – and adds some others too. It is fitting that the collaboration between Sondheim and Lapine was initially (allegedly) forged over a shared spliff at Sondheim’s New York apartment. Whether that’s true or not, it certainly goes a long way in explaining the haphazard storyline which centres on a childless baker and his wife, and their quest to begin a family.

The characters are introduced to us by the Narrator; a casually erudite Michael S. Siegel who leads us on their journey, watching from the outside but occasionally and unwittingly getting drawn into the fantastical fiction himself. They each have their own wishes. Cinderella wants to go to the King’s festival; Jack wishes that his cow could be milked while his Mother just wishes he would sell it. Little Red Riding Hood wishes to look after her grandmother; Rapunzel wishes for freedom, and the witch, in an odd twist, wishes for curses to be lifted. There are giants, wolves, princes and a mysterious man. And chaos and destruction, with plenty of darkness. But above all, the humour is brought to the fore in this revival. It is a winning and utterly compelling formula that adds untold layers onto the dreamlike wonder the show inspires.

And that is before we even get to the performances. Impeccable across the board, the cast weave the dialogue and the singing together as though spinning gold, making the complex melodies, countermelodies and switchback rhythms sound natural and simple, and layering emotion onto the technical intricacy. All the while humanising their outlandish characters. John Dagleish and Laura Pitt-Pulford have a deep-rooted and cozy chemistry, as do Keith Ramsay’s gorgeously eccentric Jack and his Mother, whose resigned and stoic tolerance of her son is beautifully portrayed by Julie Jupp. They all have their quirks, kinks and foibles. Simbi Akande is a feisty Cinderella who is more concerned with escaping her family than fawning over her prince, while Fiona Finsbury’s delightfully obstreperous Rapunzel dreams of her own escape. Gracie McGonigal, as a mischievous Red Riding Hood, makes us wonder how the wolf would even dare think about taking her on. Cinderella’s Prince and Rapunzel’s Prince (Matthew Seadon-Young and Lucas Koch respectively) make a dynamic, camp comedy duo.

It’s an impossible task to stand out among such a strong line up, but if anyone does it is Kate Fleetwood as the witch, with her starry and captivating performance. Caustic, sardonic, world-weary and extremely funny, she exudes sassy power and helpless frustration simultaneously. Her rendition of ‘Last Midnight’ is breathtaking, enhanced by the sheer spectacle of Aideen Malone’s lighting. Ethereal and mystical it creates the supernatural world of the woods. Tom Scutt’s set opens up to reveal the forest, inviting but foreboding; initially luxuriant before becoming a wasteland when things take a turn for the worse. For in this tale, they most certainly do as we learn that getting your wish is only the start of your problems. There’s no small body count in the second act as the characters battle the consequences of their actions. There is a pertinence to this make-believe world of witch hunts and scapegoats that translates to the real world, and Sondheim and Lapine’s message creeps through the ravaged undergrowth to grab us by the throat.

This is an astonishing piece of theatre that highlights every note, cadence and inflection of Sondheim’s extraordinary score. Dark but full of joy, affirming the importance of fairytales, magic and escapism. Lapine has called it “the best production I’ve ever seen, and I include my own”. We can only agree with that. Compelling and captivating. You simply must go into the woods. The only problem is that you won’t want to come out.

INTO THE WOODS

Noël Coward Theatre

Reviewed on 7th October 2026

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Johan Persson

INTO THE WOODS REVIEW

INTO THE WOODS

★★★★★

“Fein’s direction and Julia Cheng’s muscular choreography is marked by sublime precision”

In its Barbican transfer, director Jordan Fein’s revelatory Fiddler on the Roof retains the elemental power that made it a five-star phenomenon in Regent’s Park. He strips the beloved 1964 musical of its nostalgic veneer to expose something more potent and contemporary: a raw and resonant meditation on tradition, displacement, and the endurance of community.

Fun, too, in case there should be a misunderstanding. Great fun.

Set in 1905 in the menaced Jewish shtetl of Anatevka before the Russian revolution, Fiddler follows Tevye, a weary but devout milkman, as his five daughters begin to choose love over arranged marriage, and the outside world encroaches upon his way of life.

Anchored by songs like Tradition, If I Were a Rich Man, and Sunrise, Sunset, it’s long been cherished for its warmth and wit. But Fein’s version – subtly but decisively restaged – asks more interesting and topical questions too: what happens when the traditions that once sustained a community begin to fracture under the weight of change? What is the true impact of displacement, of a people menaced from their homes?

Where the musical was once critiqued as “shtetl sentimentalism,” this staging leans into pared-down grit, stoic humour, and haunting lyricism. There is a modern feel to the witty script – and to the resolutely ambiguous ending.

Tom Scutt’s gorgeous design is emblematic of the approach: instead of quaint rooftops, we see cornstalks uprooted and suspended above the stage, evoking both harvest and trauma. The titular fiddler (a magnetic Raphael Papo) becomes not just a symbol but a shadowy companion, echoing Tevye’s inner world with eerie cadenzas and an eventual duet with Hannah Bristow’s Chava – whose marriage outside the faith breaks her father’s beleaguered heart.

The huge cast is potent, using impressive numbers to magnificent effect, a dream sequence appearing like a fully-realised Hollywood dance number. Meanwhile, Adam Dannheisser’s Tevye is no grandstanding showman but a wry, tired father trying – and failing – to hold his family together through reason, prayer, and rueful monologues. His comedic timing is sharp and he plays out with great relish the classic sitcom paradigm of the father and husband who declares his dominance only to have it slyly eroded by the headstrong women around him.

But it’s his gentleness that resonates most, particularly opposite Lara Pulver’s commanding Golde, whose grounded and wary pragmatism keeps the domestic scenes taut and touching.

Fein’s direction and Julia Cheng’s muscular choreography is marked by sublime precision. The Bottle Dance at Tzeitel’s wedding is performed under a canopy that rises and falls. On top of that precarious canopy, and ominous, the fiddler makes clear that everything is poised on the brink of a mighty disaster. The Russians are coming.

The cast functions as a true community, especially in the spine-tingling finale as they sing Anatevka, their voices braided with longing, resilience, and bitter clarity. In a final image, the toppled milk cart, beautifully lit, appears like an oil painting. Everywhere, indeed, there is beauty and catastrophe.

One of Fein’s many achievements lies in his refusal to oversell modern parallels. The production trusts its audience to make the connections – to recognise in Anatevka’s forced dispersal the long shadow of global displacement. It neither moralises nor rants; it simply tells the story with integrity and emotional intelligence.

For all its sumptuous visual invention and musical flair, Fiddler is most powerful in its silences: a father cut off from his daughter, a community carrying candles into the dark, a fiddler playing an aching lament.

A joyous and moving triumph from beginning to end.

Tag Archives: Jordan Fein

INTO THE WOODS

★★★★★

Noël Coward Theatre

INTO THE WOODS

Noël Coward Theatre

★★★★★

“Compelling and captivating”