The Great Gatsby - London Coliseum: All the glitz, not enough guts

Jamie Muscato and cast. Image by Tristram Kenton.

⭑ ⭑  - 45% • 5 minutes 20 second read time

The Great Gatsby arrives in London in a swirl of anticipation and high-gloss hype. A Broadway transfer with a lot of buzz behind it, this show was tipped to be the big one – the crown jewel of the summer season, the kind of production that has people clamouring for tickets and queueing at the box office just in case something miraculously becomes available. The hottest ticket in town, promising roaring twenties decadence, a dash of tragedy, and a whole lot of sparkle. And there is no doubt, it absolutely delivers on the sparkle. But unfortunately, behind all the style what it’s lacking is any real substance.

When I say it’s stylish though, that cannot be overstated. The show looks phenomenal. Miriam Buether’s set is genuinely impressive, capturing the garish overindulgence of new money with exactly the right amount of excess. It’s bold, it’s brash, and it leans into the aesthetic of the time with zero restraint – which is exactly what you want from Gatsby’s world. It’s all the bells and whistles and fireworks too. Literally. The screen work, too often an intrusive gimmick, is used cleverly here to give the stage dimension and movement without pulling us out of the story. Visually, this is a very clever production.

Costume design is equally strong – lush fabrics, sharp silhouettes, and glimmers of modern edge that keep it all feeling fresh. The choreography is lively, stylish and grounded in the period, while still managing to feel current. And there’s an actual tap number, with actual tap shoes. You’d think that would be standard, but too often you go to a musical where they’ve included tap but not the shoes and instead of a glorious percussion, you instead are met with a dull thud. The rhythmic joy of it really pops in this, so bonus points just for that.

Performance-wise, the cast are working hard, and for the most part, they’re delivering. Jamie Muscato shows a new side of himself here, leaning into comedy in a way we haven’t often seen before. “Only Tea” is a real highlight – genuinely funny and sharply observed, and Muscato brings a warmth and charisma that makes it work beautifully. Rachel Tucker is phenomenal. Audacious really that she steps on stage and that amount of talent pours out of her. Her rendition of “One Way Road” is the kind of number that makes you sit forward in your seat. It’s full of ache and ambition and a kind of gritty hopefulness – she lifts the entire show every time she’s on stage.

Corbin Bleu, making his West End debut, is another standout. As Nick Carraway, he brings an easy, magnetic presence to the stage – charming, watchable, and grounded. His vocals are strong, his charisma is off the charts, and he handles the role with a natural confidence that makes you instantly trust him as your narrator through the chaos. If this is a first taste of him on the West End, we’ll absolutely be wanting more.

Amber Davies proves herself a capable comic actor, with strong timing and a likeable presence. Her vocals are clean and her tone is lovely in the softer moments. Frances Mayli McCann has the kind of vocal clarity that stops you in your tracks during “Beautiful Little Fool” – it’s heartbreaking and elegant and it makes you hold your breath in case you splinter the moment.

So yes, there are moments. There are glimpses of something more. But unfortunately, they don’t last.

For all its polish and all its promise, this is a musical that feels deeply hollow. Once you peel back the glamour, there just isn’t much to hold onto. The story skims the surface. Characters drift by, barely developed. And while a fair amount of this can be blamed on the source material – Fitzgerald’s novel is to me vacuous and self indulgent, filled with unlikeable characters and without much in the way of a point of view – the show doesn’t attempt to add much to it. Any real emotional weight or nuance in the characters, like Rachel Tucker’s Myrtle, is found entirely thanks to the strength of the performers themselves. They dig deep, they find the humanity, and they breathe life into what’s often not there on the page. But that work is coming from the cast – not the writing.

Where the show really stumbles is in its music. You’ll be blown away in the moment by the vocal performances – that I can promise. The cast sound incredible, and they sell every number with power and precision. But not even two minutes after a song ends, I’d be genuinely surprised if you could hum the melody or recall more than a scrap of lyric. It’s all surface-level sound – big, belting moments that feel impressive as they happen but leave no lasting imprint. For a musical, that’s a real problem. The songs need to live in your head, to echo after the curtain falls, to call you back again and again – and here, they just don’t.

Whilst majority of the big numbers were vocal knockouts, it wasn’t the case for all of them. Amber Davies’ big number “New Money” was nearly impossible to hear. Whether it was a sound mix issue or something else, her voice was completely buried beneath the band. It’s a shame, because when she’s singing slower, more delicate material, her vocal quality is lovely. But when it comes to those showier moments, the clarity just isn’t there.

And while her acting is solid and likeable, her dancing feels oddly underpowered. In ensemble numbers, where the cast around her are giving full-throttle energy, she often looks like she’s only doing 70% – like she’s holding something back, like she’s scared that if she goes full out she’ll be caught serving less than perfect face. But sometimes in musical theatre, you’ve got to let the polish crack a bit to let the energy through. That didn’t really happen, and it was really jarring.

Then there’s Daisy. Frances Mayli McCann doesn’t put a foot wrong technically – everything she does is clean, measured, and perfectly placed. But that’s sort of the issue. It all feels too rehearsed, too controlled. Acting is reacting as they say, it’s about being present and responding to what the actor in front of you is doing. In all honesty, it didn’t feel like she was truly connecting with the cast around her, there was a serious lack of chemistry. It was as if she’d perfected a version of Daisy in the rehearsal room and is now replaying it on autopilot.

And look, none of this is to say the show is bad. It’s not bad, it’s just fine. It’s smooth, it’s well-performed, and it’s nice to look at. But theatre should be more than just “nice to look at.” Especially when tickets are starting at £95 a pop in the stalls, and the cheapest seats in the house require binoculars to see the stage. Especially when you’re being sold something as the next big thing.

The Great Gatsby is a party, yes. But it’s the kind of party where you admire the outfits, sip your overpriced drink, and then quietly check your watch, wondering if you’ve stayed long enough yet for it to not be rude if you left. There’s sparkle here, but not much heart. And that’s a shame – because when you’ve got a cast this strong and a canvas this rich, it should be extraordinary.

Instead, it’s just alright. And for the hottest ticket in town, that’s not quite enough.