Theatre Review: Barnum at the Nottingham Playhouse

There are some shows that build to a grand finalè. Barnum does the opposite. It bursts into Nottingham Playhouse with the theatrical equivalent of a brass band, a glitter cannon and someone doing a backflip in your peripheral vision. Subtle, it is not. Joyous, however? Absolutely.

Presented by Bill Kenwright Ltd and the Watermill Theatre, this touring production of Barnum arrived in Nottingham during the hottest week of the year, which added an unexpected extra layer of admiration to the evening. We were melting just walking in to the auditorium, so watching a cast sing, dance, backflip juggle, play instruments and throw themselves into two hours of relentless circus energy was, frankly, astonishing.

With music by Cy Coleman, lyrics by Michael Stewart and book by Mark Bramble, Barnum tells the story of the nineteenth-century American showman P T Barnum, the man whose name became synonymous with spectacle, salesmanship and ‘humbug’. 

Before The Greatest Showman turned P T Barnum into glossy pop-cinema mythology, this 1980 musical was already exploring the showman as both a dreamer and trickster, a man seduced by colour, noise and possibility.

The production makes its intentions clear from the start, this is a circus-infused musical rather than a straightforward biography. Jonathan O’Boyle’s direction keeps the pace moving at breathless speed, while Strictly's Oti Mabuse’s choreography, with co-choreographer Matt Nicholson, gives the show a restless, kinetic quality. There is almost always something happening: a performer crossing the stage, another climbing, a burst of music, a visual gag, a balancing act. At times, you hardly know where to look,  Discussing it with my companion after, we were like "Did you notice the bit where...?" And the other hadn't, because they had been watching something completely different play out. In fact, I think you could watch it every night and see something new. But that sensory overload feels entirely in keeping with Barnum’s world.

Lee Newby’s set and costume design creates a rich old-world circus atmosphere, think deep reds, gold trim and big top nostalgia. It has that lovely theatrical quality of feeling both grand and handmade, as if the whole thing has rolled into town for one week only and might vanish by morning. Jai Morjaria’s lighting adds the necessary dazzle, while Tom Marshall’s sound design keeps the momentum of the band and vocals driving forward.

The real marvel here, though, is the cast. This is not simply a musical theatre ensemble with a few tricks added. These performers are actor-musicians, singers, dancers, acrobats and circus artists, often all within the same number. The show’s company plays around 150 instruments between them, and that live, self-contained musicality gives the production much of its charm. There is something deeply satisfying about watching performers create the sound, rhythm and movement of the show in full view. It makes the whole evening feel much more alive.

Numbers such as Come Follow the Band and Join the Circus are where the production really takes off, filling the Playhouse stage with organised chaos. The ensemble is hugely impressive: bright, busy, and full of stamina. 

As Barnum, Lee Mead brings professionalism, warmth, vocal confidence and an easy likeability to the role. He has charm, experience and the kind of musical theatre polish that makes him a natural lead for a touring production of this scale. The famous tightrope moment remains one of the evening’s genuine wow moments, partly because it strips the showmanship back to something very simple: a performer, a risk and an audience holding its breath.

That said, on this particular evening, I did find myself wanting a little more spark from his Barnum. The role arguably needs not just charm, but a slightly dangerous glint; that unstoppable, persuasive, impossible-to-ignore quality that makes you understand why people would follow him anywhere. Mead is never less than professional, and perhaps the heat played its part. If the audience were suffering the cast must have been working under brutal conditions, but there were moments where Barnum himself felt a touch underpowered compared with the dazzling world moving around him.

Where the emotional heart of the show lands most clearly is in Barnum’s relationship with his wife Charity, played with warmth and grounding presence by Monique Young. Their duet The Colours of My Life offers a welcome pause amid the whirl, allowing the show to breathe and giving the audience something more tender to hold onto. Charity is the counterweight to Barnum’s hunger for spectacle, and Young gives her enough grit and character to stop her becoming simply the sensible wife left at home.

Penny Ashmore brings elegance and fantastic vocal to opera singer Jenny Lind, while Dominique Planter has fun as Joice Heth, Fergus Rattigan as General Tom Thumb and Kevin Oliver Jones as James Bailey also help bring texture to Barnum’s parade of personalities, though the show often moves on before these figures can be explored in any real depth.

And that is where Barnum as a musical remains slightly uneven. The production itself is bursting with invention and movement, but the book is less bold than the staging around it. Barnum’s story is complicated, morally murky and full of uncomfortable questions about exploitation, entertainment and who gets turned into spectacle. This version gives a nod towards those ideas but rarely stays with them for long. The result is a show that dazzles more than it interrogates.

For most audiences, that will be enough. This is, after all, a musical built on razzle-dazzle, and there is plenty of it. But in 2026, it is hard not to be aware of the darker sides of Barnum’s legacy. A little more tension between the joy of performance and the cost of showmanship might have given the evening more dramatic weight.