THE PIANIST

Park Theatre

★★★★

“Beautifully melancholic and affecting”

The life of the composer, Wladyslaw Szpilman, was brought to the public consciousness by Roman Polanski’s 2002 film “The Pianist”. Himself a holocaust survivor who witnessed his parents being taken off to the concentration camps, Polanski exorcised some deep-seated scars with his harsh, objective portrayal of a man who survived against impossible odds. Despite sharing the title and also being based on Szpilman’s memoir, Thom Southerland’s new musical is not a dramatization of the epic feature film. Instead, it is a beautifully understated chronicle of the key elements of the life and music of a man who carried the guilt of survival on his slim shoulders. Early on, Daniel Krikler’s Szpilman tells the audience that “I don’t know how I survived”, as he paces the bare boards of Andrzej Goulding’s set; stark wooded slats that continue up the back wall. They slide apart to reveal the musicians and the music, only sometimes to be slammed shut again as Szpilman cries “no more songs!”. Yet we cannot escape the music; with the grand piano that pulls focus centre stage. A prop for Krikler, as he stands aside to let pianist and Musical Director Malcolm Forbes-Peckham recreate Szpilman’s compositions.

An intensely descriptive piece, it relies heavily on narration. Krikler depicts a soul at pains to get his story right, aware that memory is fallible, especially when wrought with trauma. Szpilman’s siblings and parents are on hand to fill in the gaps, and to correct occasionally, but not always reliable witnesses. His father (TJ Holmes) is initially in denial about the establishment of the Warsaw ghettos, while at the other end of the spectrum, his brother Henryk (Nitai Levi) is the prophet of doom. Sadly, the latter is closer to the truth as history has proved. Each family member, along with the many other pivotal characters that propel Szpilman’s journey, are also part of the onstage orchestra, who move and dance and sing, accompanying Forbes-Peckham at the piano. The piano itself dances too, spinning on its revolve, taking the spotlight when needed and retreating into the shadows whenever the music stops.

‘Where words leave off, music begins’ is a famous maxim that applies here. Unspoken thoughts are revealed through the songs, with new lyrics written by a band of lyricists, including Szpilman’s son, Andreas. There is dramatic irony in the opening number, ‘I Am Free’, a rousing choral ensemble. There are delicious 1930s pastiches such as ‘One More Time’ which sees the mother and father waltzing in the cafes. There is poignancy in ‘My Memories of You’ and ‘Forgotten Song’ while the later ‘Out of the Darkness’ tries to inject a very fragile optimism. There is the constant danger, however, that the beauty of the music will eclipse the horror of the story. ‘Without You’ is a misjudged ballad that closes the first act. Gloriously tender, it feels an incongruous accompaniment to the unimaginable terror of being wrenched from your family, watching as they disappear on the cattle trucks.

More in tune are a trio of piano instrumentals – ‘’The Life of the Machines’ – that mix spikes of danger into the melodies; almost a precursor to Stockhausen’s punctuated atonal technique, but still retaining flowing harmonies. It is fitting that these fall in the second act, in which the harsh realities of the story are more pronounced. Southerland’s pacing of the narrative is reflective of the acceleration of events. The dynamics of Szpilman’s family are well executed, particularly Levi’s portrayal of the indignantly righteous rebel, Henryk, illustrating the difficult relationship between the brothers. Melania Maggiore and Elżbieta Kalicka are the spirited but tragic sisters Halina and Regina. Rosalind Ford’s moving portrayal of the mother matches her evocative cello playing and vocals. In similar fine voice is Mischa Jardine as lifelong friend Janina.

All along the way, everybody seems to be on Szpilman’s side, ensuring his survival. But his music is the key. Being recognised as the famous composer frequently helped Szpilman too. Krikler embodies the incredulity of this advantage, even when death is staring him straight in the face. But saved by German officer, Hosenfeld, whose sense of shame is neatly portrayed by Oliver Grant, he lives to tell the tale. A tale that is quite exquisitely told in this musical, even though it does occasionally dip into sentimentality. Yet the staging has a restrained power that accentuates the importance of the music. A Chopin Nocturne bookends the piece, beautifully melancholic and affecting, particularly during the reprise as the ghosts of Szpilman’s family watch on in mute stillness.

“The Pianist” is assuredly moving, and never sets out to be brutal, harrowing or groundbreaking. It speaks of the importance of the music, and then lets the music speak for itself. Szpilman’s life and his music were one and the same. “The Pianist” is a poignant and enthralling reminder of that.

THE PIANIST

Park Theatre

Reviewed on 22nd October 2026

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Rich Southgate

THE PIANIST

Harold and Maude

Charing Cross Theatre

Reviewed – 26th February 2018

★★★★

“Southerland’s presentation remains faithful to the original while adding a few eccentric touches of his own that enhance the narrative”

You know the comedy is going to be black when the play opens with the young lead placing a noose around his neck and hanging himself. His mother’s reaction to finding him suspended is shockingly hilarious, and I imagine more so if you are not already familiar with the original seventies cult film.

Incorporating dark humour and existential drama, “Harold and Maude” revolves around the relationship between the young, morbid Harold and the carefree, septuagenarian Maude whose outlook on life takes quirkiness to a whole new level. Through Maude’s influence, Harold loses his obsession with death and embraces life.

Written by the late Colin Higgins, who also wrote the screenplay in the early seventies, Thom Southerland’s presentation remains faithful to the original while adding a few eccentric touches of his own that enhance the narrative, steering it well clear of whimsicality. There are shades of Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s “Amelie” in Southerland’s direction and, with Francis O’Connor’s primary coloured set, the surrealism is set in stone, giving us license to enjoy and find humour in the characters’ psychotic tendencies.

Sheila Hancock is charismatic, effervescent and totally mischievous as Maude. She sweeps the audience along in the wake of her comically carefree truisms, yet, in the later scenes hints at a sadness that simmers just below the surface. The energy of her onstage presence would shame many an actor half her age. Except Bill Milner, of course, who has the unenviable task of winning over the audience as Harold. But he does this with ease, convincingly portraying his journey from morose alienation towards self-realisation. It is a touching performance and consequently we find that his fondness for a woman sixty years his senior does not seem unhealthy. The attraction is romantic, yes, but not physical which heightens the tenderness. “The main thing in life is not to be afraid to be human” Maude tells him. Disarmingly she follows this up with the assertion that “over time clichés become profundities, and vice versa”. It is this self-deprecation in the writing that thwarts any accusations of mawkishness.

But the two leads do not monopolise the show. The ensemble cast, who rarely leave the stage throughout the evening, all add sparkle. Rebecca Caine is tremendous as Harold’s domineering mother who has decided that it is time for him to get married. Enrolling him into a dating agency gives extra comedy mileage when we are introduced to Harold’s prospective dates – all played with show-stealing versatility by Joanna Hickman.

The icing on the cake is the live music, scored by Michael Bruce. When not directly involved in the scenes the actors are underscoring the dialogue or deftly linking the scenes; on clarinet, cello, double bass, piano, accordion, guitar and banjo. There is a wonderful moment, too, when the cello replicates the manic voice on the other end of a telephone line. It’s these little touches that add to the magic, such as costume designer Jonathan Lipman’s decision to dress Harold and his shrink in identical jacket and tie.

The humour is matched by the compassion. In the second act when it shifts from surrealism to realism the final dialogue between Harold and Maude is both moving and life affirming. The resounding message is exemplified by Maude’s provoking question: “Are you going to do it or are you only going to hear about it second hand?”

Tag Archives: Thom Southerland

THE PIANIST

★★★★

Park Theatre

THE PIANIST

Park Theatre

★★★★

“Beautifully melancholic and affecting”