The Producers – Garrick Theatre

Joanna Woodward and Marc Antolin in The Producers at the Garrick Theatre, London. Picture: Manuel Harlan

The Producers continues at the Garrick Theatre, London until 21 February 2026.

Star rating: five stars ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Coming from the genius brain of comedy legend Mel Brooks, The Producers was always going to be more than a straightforward satire of the entertainment industry. Originally a 1967 film, this tale of a slimy Broadway producer and his naive sidekick deliberately staging the worst show they can imagine in a complex ploy to extract investor money for themselves has since won countless awards on stages across the world. Returning to London at the Menier Chocolate Factory last year and now transferring to the Garrick Theatre, The Producers’ outrageous take on fascistic fanaticism could not be timelier.

With the far right’s rise being covered with universal po-faced sincerity, we risk forgetting just how silly that whole business is. Right wing populism proves itself immune to intellectual debate time and time again – its supporters stubbornly unconcerned with philosophical discourse – but as Brooks and Voltaire both would agree: once people have laughed at something, they won’t see it with the same level of blind respect ever again.

That subversive power of comedy is borne out by my abiding mental image of acclaimed director Patrick Marber – forever condemned to the silly wigs and hapless characters of his work on The Day Today and Alan Partridge. However, this does a great disservice to a writer and director who has since given us some of the most compelling serious theatrical works of this century. The Producers is simultaneously a return to his comedic roots and a first foray into musical theatre, and on both fronts his direction impresses.

Everything that was stunning at the Menier is only bigger and better at the Garrick. Scott Pask’s set – which impressively relies more on ingenuity and illusion than overly-busy excess – has upscaled perfectly, providing camply gorgeous backdrops for choreographer Lorin Latarro’s many, many showstopping dance routines. The dazzling costumes are another highlight of this production, with designer Paul Farnsworth seemingly taking another dip into the drawers of sequins and swastikas since the last outing.

Reprising their Menier leading roles, Andy Nyman and Marc Antolin are a delight as titular producers Max Bialystock and Leopold Bloom. Nyman somehow channels his character’s sweaty sleaze into an irresistibly charismatic performance, making it easy to see why Antolin’s kinetically callow Bloom is so readily swept along in his schemes. Crucially, both are more than capable of holding the entire auditorium in the palm of their hand for their solo moments. Then when their powers combine, the effect is explosive. There is no better comedy double act in the West End.

For Swedish secretary/actress/bombshell Ulla, the casting gods have again treated us to the sensation that is Joanna Woodward, also reprising her Menier role. In Woodward’s assured hands, a character with potential for two-dimensionality becomes an intelligent, self-determined, consistent comedic focal point on a stage stacked with silliness. With the score allowing her to slide from soprano purity to room-shattering belts, Woodward proves she is every bit the superstar and deserving of her growing West End reputation. Outstanding.

Elsewhere, Raj Ghatak and Harry Morrison are both hysterically funny as Carmen Ghia and Franz Liebkind, while Trevor Ashley’s playing Roger DeBris playing Adolf Elizabeth Hitler threatens to steal the whole show like it’s a weakly-defended Allied country. Add to this a superb ensemble, each member with impeccable comic timing and dance skills, and even this larger West End stage can barely contain all the brilliance on display

You can be as sophisticated as you like when it comes to comedy, but I dare anybody to not laugh multiple times per scene. Brooks’ book (co-written with Thomas Meehan) is impossibly dense with knockout one-liners, yet Marber and his cast have somehow managed to extract even more comedy out of every moment in their year plus of playing with the show. Sure, one or two jokes may not pack the punch they did when first written all those decades ago, but “one or two” is a vanishingly negligible percentage in a show as jam-packed as this.

And for the cherry on top of this musical: the music itself. Brooks isn’t primarily known as a songwriter, but his score for The Producers is glorious, with many tunes now bona fide musical theatre classics. There is pastiche of the classic Broadway sound, but so lovingly and capably done – and rendered so beautifully by musical director Matthew Samer’s 13-piece orchestra – you are swept away. I genuinely can’t think of anybody who would not enjoy this, except perhaps for the actual real-life Nazis who, terrifyingly enough, remain an extant demographic. I’m sure Brooks himself would be perfectly happy upsetting them, and I hope he is proud of the impact and joy his work generates still.

Ian Bowkett