'Little Shop of Horrors' review or 'How does your garden grow?'

Little Shop of Horrors, Howard Ashman and Alan Menken
Regent's Park Open Air Theatre, 10th August 2018
Written for The Guardian

If you dig beneath the blood-soaked surface of Little Shop of Horrors, there are lessons to be learned. Greed breeds greed. A lust for fame will never be satisfied. And perhaps most pertinently – since this cult-classic rock musical features a plant hell-bent on murder – you are what you eat. But why bother? Little Shop of Horrors is that rare theatrical beast: a chance for the actors, and audience, to relax and let rip.

Director Maria Aberg wanted to create a darker Little Shop of Horrors and there are flashes of genuine cruelty in here, as Seymour’s plant grows out of control. But the defining feature of Aberg’s glitter-ball explosion of a show is how she has encouraged her entire company to perform with presence, swagger and absolute abandon.

No costume is too zany, no performance too quirky, no singing too brassy or loud. Jemima Rooper and Marc Antolin charm as hapless lovers Audrey and Seymour, and Alan Menken’s trademark love song Suddenly Seymour positively glows. 

The plant stands tall. Very tall. I won’t give away the secret, but let’s just say this particular plant has immaculately manicured green fingers. Matt Wills is a revelation as sadistic dentist Orin, plastered in tattoos and gleaming with malice. He isn’t a brilliant singer, despite his pop-star past, but Wills floods the space with an electric energy. He’s upstaged only by Tom Scutt’s design, which begins in black and white before quickly bursting into life. Just as one suspects Scutt might finally be flagging, another crackers costume bounds on to the stage, neon antennae waggling in the wind. A gleeful celebration of camp and colour.