Sea Witch at Theatre Royal Drury Lane

Sea Witch received its world premiere at the Theatre Royal Drury Lane. An adaptation of Sarah Henning’s homonymous novel, it was created by Kristopher Russell and Michael David Glover, with music and lyrics by Segun Fawole. The cast boasts several familiar names: Michelle Visage as Tante Hansa, Jay McGuiness as Iker, Natalie Paris as Evie, Mazz Murray as Queen Charlotte, Amy Di Bartolomeo as Annemette, and Natalie Kassanga as Malvina. Before the performance, Visage appeared briefly to explain that the cast had had only five days to rehearse together, as this was a one-off concert staging. Unfortunately, no number of additional rehearsals could have saved Sea Witch from its fundamental problems.

The premise is, on paper, intriguing. A prequel to The Little Mermaid, it places the sea witch centre stage. Evie is a young woman forced to conceal her powers, even from her childhood friend, Prince Nik. Everything shifts when she meets Annemette, a mermaid who bears an uncanny resemblance to Evie’s late friend Anna, who drowned when they were children. Annemette has three days to secure true love’s kiss before vanishing forever. Evie resolves to help her, despite interference from Nik’s mother, Queen Charlotte, and from Malvina.

That is, ostensibly, the plot. Without the programme synopsis, however, one would be hard pressed to find it.

Songs tumble one after another, frequently introducing information that is neither explored nor useful, and characters that we might never see again. If Segun Fawole’s songwriting demonstrates talent – Tidal Wave being a highlight – many numbers seem to have little to do with the story and could have been plucked from other shows. The choice to use backing tracks rather than a live orchestra further flattens the experience, depriving this capable cast of the richness they deserve.

The book is probably the production’s most serious issue. Key relationships remain undeveloped, and plot threads are introduced only to be dropped. Entire sequences, however energetically choreographed by Dean Lee, fail to move the story forward and often seem completely out of place. All characters are frustratingly one-dimensional. Even when confronted with the revelation that her mother sacrificed herself for her, supposedly a life-changing moment, Evie barely pauses to take the information in. The emotional weight is bypassed almost entirely.

The romantic core fares no better. We are told that Evie and Nik share a deep connection, but are presented with little to no evidence of real chemistry. Their interactions lack real intimacy or tension, making it difficult to invest in act two’s emotional climax. When Evie publicly reveals she is a witch, the shock lands instead as unintended comedy, with laughter rippling through the theatre.

Annemette’s entrance exemplifies the show’s structural confusion: she suddenly appears, with the suggestion that she has been observing Evie. Within moments of meeting, she then launches into a self-empowerment song directed at Evie, revealing almost nothing about herself in the process.

The production consistently takes familiar tropes – the outcast girl in love with the popular prince, the mean girl – and presents them without irony or subversion. It borrows heavily from Wicked, without any of the depth or characterisation that have made the latter the huge success it is today. By the end, the audience’s detachment is, unfortunately, palpable.