Review: Into The Woods (Noël Coward Theatre)

Review by Seth Wilby

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

It seems crazy to me that, since Stephen Sondheim’s death in 2021, we have had none of his musicals fully staged in the West End. There have been many great revivals elsewhere in London and across the country, but it feels, in many ways, like his work may be cursed (I’m looking at you, Sunday in the Park with George). That is, until Jordan Fein’s critically acclaimed revival of Into The Woods opened at the Bridge Theatre. Now making a West End transfer, would I find this production truly magical, or would it leave me asking for ‘no more’?

Into The Woods began its life in 1986, as the second collaboration between the late great Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine, before opening on Broadway the following year to great acclaim. Since then, multiple productions have sprouted up all over the world, as well as a 2014 film adaptation, with the most recent being a revival at London’s Bridge Theatre last Winter, which became the most nominated show at the 2026 Olivier Awards with eleven nominations (tied with a certain bear), of which it won two, including Best Musical Revival. So, when the transfer to the West End’s Noël Coward Theatre was announced, the stakes were certainly high (sorry Milky White).

Into The Woods takes the fairytale stories we know and love- think Cinderella, Little Red Ridinghood, Rapunzel, Jack (of beanstalk fame)- and merges them together as, along with a baker and his wife seeking four ingredients to make a potion to have a child (“That makes no sense!” one character rightfully declares), they all meet in the woods while trying to get their wishes granted. It’s a tale of longing and of gluttony, a story of family and of grief, with the second half taking a much darker turn as our characters find out what it really costs to get your happy ever after.

Considered by many to contain some of Sondheim’s most beautiful work, the score is dazzling, and the lyrics are the stuff of genius (‘While her withers wither with her,” will never get old to me), with the soundtrack having aged very well into something that seems timeless. Lapine’s book is wondrous in the way it weaves these stories together, the thematic links unavoidably threaded together. It is, objectively, a masterpiece of musical theatre. But, in reality, I have no authority to comment on the merits of this forty-year-old material, nor is that what this review is for. Instead, I’m here to make a judgment on this specific production, and how well it has transferred to its new West End habitat. 

Compiling all the ingredients for this masterful potion is director Jordan Fein, who brings a simple and sophisticated flair to this production. Demonstrating utmost trust in this material and his cast, Fein doesn’t try to reinvent the show in any monumental way or dazzle us with spectacle to hide any flaws, but just provides a straightforward platform for the story to unfold, aligning himself firmly with the musical’s original intent. What could easily be interpreted as a surface-level exploration, however, actually hides something much more nuanced, with Fein having meticulously handled each component to control the tone and impact of every moment, like a master puppeteer invisibly pulling the strings of this intensely poignant and seamlessly funny production. 

Visually, Fein’s choices are always engaging, utilising the deceptively simple design (more on that later) smartly to display changes in time and place. The portrayal of Milky White (puppetry design is credited to Cheryl ‘Chuck’ Brown, Max Humphries, and Tom Scutt) is my favourite I’ve seen, oozing an adorably dotty level of character and sass, and some other puppets are used sparingly yet effectively to bring clarity to the story. It’s all depicted in a very naturalistic way, which really lets the musical itself sing (no pun intended) by transporting us to a world as efficiently theatrical as it is visually honest, making the emotion hit with a deeply real relatability.

Parallels between our characters are presented very cleverly- one stand-out example to me is in the prologue, where the troubles of all three of our scenes merge into a smoky unity, achieved resourcefully through dusty flour, sooty ashes, and milkless udders. Each scene is full of little choices like this, which prove the amount of care Fein has put into making this production one that feels constantly purposeful, both in progressing the story in line with the musical’s original demands, while also creating a phenomenally sublime evening, certain to never let your mind wander. It’s a production ideally suited both to Sondheim newcomers and aficionados alike, for the way it freshly elevates the text so faithfully and engagingly, proving why there is always something to take from this timeless musical.

That said, there are some minor changes, beyond simply presentation and characterisation, from the original material, which, as well as keeping this version fresh, all seem purposeful and warranted. Most notable is some increased utilisation of Rapunzel, who’s a fascinating character in developing the witch’s otherwise confusing motives. Sung beautifully by Fiona Finsbury, her vocals appear as a regular reminder of this, and the changes to the end of ‘Last Midnight’ are stunning, both aesthetically and narratively. The addition of both her and the Mysterious Man to ‘Children Will Listen’ reaffirms the parallels in the show’s message, and, although I’m sure some purists may find it controversial, I thought that by switching the show’s final line to one shared by four characters instead of just Cinderella, it demonstrates a newfound unity and implies continued pain, while maintaining the cyclical structure.

Tonally, Fein has managed to strike just the right balance. Taking the production on a slightly darker path than we may be used to, there’s this constant questioning of the truth behind ‘happy ever after’, with each moment spurred by an implied inner pessimism. Even in the song Ever After, where our characters should be at their happiest, something feels uncanny, and there’s an impending sense of doom as we enter the interval, which continues into the song ‘So Happy’, where Fein’s uncomfortably crammed staging exposes how this happiness may be just a façade. Through it all, there is this psychological imbalance that demands exploration, and only feels near completion when we reach our final, stirring reassurance that happiness is not always linear, and ‘children will listen’.

Most significant, though, is Fein’s clear awareness that Into the Woods is, in many ways, a comedy. While the darker moments are heightened, particularly in the sense of the overall narrative, the direction not only leans into the inherently comedic script but also provides new comic additions. This is extremely important for a show which follows fairytale characters- these are not characters used to being subtle, and the journey taken when they are put together ought to be full of humour. Much of this comes from the exuberant cast and their sarcastic line deliveries, with the comedy directed in a way that is quite self-aware, but there are also moments, particularly in Act One, where Fein leverages our knowledge of these fairytale stories, depending on the innate theatricality for some great throwaway gags (Milky White’s misfortune is hilariously unexpected, and, when she enters for the slipper-size testing, the ‘dirty’ Cinderella already dons a flamboyant wedding veil, for example).

This tonal medley of the show is clear in the differences between either act, yet, by concocting his potion with a more subtle, inferable tone, Fein prevents it from feeling like two different shows entirely- at the end of Act One, something feels unfinished, and our characters are notably influenced during Act Two by their first act choices. When the stage literally rises during Act Two, it’s made clear that things cannot be the same, but some neat little callbacks remind us of our characters’ journeys. It’s an Into The Woods where neither half can stand alone, with their congruence a testament to the clarity of Fein’s vision, which ensures each balances seamlessly between humour and darkness.

One particular song that demands discussion is the Prologue, where, across fifteen minutes of complex overlapping scenes, we are introduced to our characters in a depiction I can only describe as a masterpiece. Taking place entirely against a dark curtain, helping our characters to seem mysteriously freer upon entering the woods, Fein chooses to place all three of our overlapping scenes around a single workbench, exposing the similarities between each of our characters and what they wish for. Compact and clever, it demonstrates all of Fein’s directorial genius, baked with nuance, a care for the material, and a trust in the actors to hold our attention, all while ending on one of the most striking silhouettes you can see on the West End right now. 

Within the material, Sondheim and Lapine have managed an extraordinary exploration of several themes, and Fein chooses to elevate two of the most important ones. The first is family, particularly parenthood, which interlinks all our characters. The face-value tale of the Baker and his wife is told with their wish to have a child clearly motivating them, yet every parental relationship (from Jack and his mother, to Little Red and Granny, and even to the Princes with their father) has been forensically examined, forming the beating heart of the show and evident in each interaction. There’s one striking moment near the end of the first act where, about to return to the Witch, Rapunzel changes her mind upon being reminded of her newborn twins and the trauma she suffered under her mother. This theming culminates in a powerful ‘No More’ (precisely interpreted by Michael S. Siegel’s great Mysterious Man as a father scalding his son) and a tragic ‘No One Is Alone’, which both truly deliver on the emotional impact of these familial relationships, and lead into a ‘Children Will Listen’ that is beautiful, stirring, and tear-inducing.

While parenthood is an unavoidable theme in any production of Into The Woods, Fein makes his interpretation clearest in how he displays this as a story about storytelling. By leaning into this, Fein returns the musical to its fairy-tale origins by making it appear, in many ways, like an allegory, treating the woods as a metaphor designed to teach us a multitude of lessons on gluttony, grief, and blame. Entering from the audience, Michael S. Siegel’s perfectly executed, 21st-century Narrator stands out amongst the other characters, appearing like your fun physics teacher about to enlighten you with knowledge. Beginning somewhat confused and hesitant to force these characters to tell this story, he soon snaps the whole show into an abrupt pace, and Siegel’s conducting of ‘Ever After’ is delightfully fun. His lurking presence is a constant reminder of this storytelling, with the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it details he contributes (my favourite I noticed being his creation of the sound effect when Florinda slaps Cinderella), demonstrating how it is he who pushes the story along. After his disappearance from the narrative (which in itself provides the characters with a lot of their own identity), the story becomes far messier and Fein’s direction less smooth, deliberately leaving the story feeling angry and unfinished. 

With a band of twelve and a cast of stunningly harmonic vocalists, the show always sounds incredible, and the music (orchestrations are by Jonathan Tunick, and musical direction is credited to Mark Aspinall) sounds as beautiful as ever, filling the Noël Coward with every layer of Sondheim’s masterful score. Packed with motifs, each one is given time and attention, and the melodies truly soar. This is most mesmerising during the show’s group numbers, particularly ‘Children Will Listen’, where, by simply letting a brilliant group of actors and musicians excel, the emotions seem to physically sting, and chills are sent down your spine.

If the show sounds beautiful, it looks even more stunning, although that might not even seem possible. Tom Scutt’s design is breathtakingly good, and truly transports us into this serrate fairytale world. His gorgeous costume design is colourful and characterful, as amplified by Sam Cox’s equally elegant wigs, hair and make-up design, with Rapunzel’s wig design alone proving why WHAM deserves more recognition in the industry. Offering a brightness and detail perfectly befitting the Noël Coward’s ornate environment, each garment is exquisitely aesthetic, and proffers a delicately descriptive depiction of each character.  Standing out most is the Act One Witch design, correctly transformative and grotesque (although her transformation is underwhelming given the time it takes), and Cinderella’s ball gown, reminiscent of the luxurious forest from which it came, which is an outfit of magnificent beauty, growing in glamour each midnight.

You wouldn’t perform Into The Woods without any woods (unless you were Jamie Lloyd, maybe), and Tom Scutt’s deceptively simple set design delivers an unbelievably breathtaking reveal as the curtains lift and we are greeted with a stunningly realistic and beautifully natural woods, filling the stage. The forest feels overwhelmingly dense, with bundles of sprawling greenery and sturdy tree trunks towering over our characters. Removed from the wide, welcoming space of the Bridge Theatre, though, the set feels more claustrophobic, and, forced to conceal its beauty within the black-box confines of the space, Act One is slightly less awe-inspiring, with the audience becoming observers instead of immersed. While it is still a flawlessly attractive design, it feels slightly disappointing that the height of the space wasn’t fully utilised to replicate the feeling of an enthralling, never-ending woods.

The confinement does, however, work wonders in the darker Act Two, which sees fallen trees and trampled bushes neglected to an impenetrable blockade on the sides of the stage, seeming to trap our characters both literally and metaphorically. With a huge, gaping concave darting into the depths of the stage, all concealed by a blurring smoke that gradually spills into the audience, it feels totally different to the lush green clarity of earlier, effortlessly supporting the darker tone that leaves everyone feeling at least slightly lost. Scutt also deserves a further shout-out for the clear vision of the prop design, from cottage-shaped baskets to horse-shaped handbags, which complete the visual feast of this production down to all the entertaining details.

One of the production’s Olivier Awards was for Aideen Malone’s lighting design, which has transferred flawlessly. With sunlight piercing through the trees at the back of the stage, Malone’s design seems to transport us to the woods, demonstrating changes in time and place effortlessly in a flawless collaboration with Scutt’s design. Some moments feel harsh, and others calm, emphasising each emotion in the production with ease through orange glows and all-consuming sunbeams. Never has a show had a lighting design so captivating, and without Malone, the design could never be anywhere near as beautiful. Roland Horvath’s video design is similarly strong, particularly in the depiction of the Giant through shadows, which works much better with the height of the Noël Coward than it ever could have at the Bridge, dominating over the audience. Adam Fisher’s sound design has also made a successful transfer, echoing around the auditorium with a delightful depth and helping to build this incredible sensory delight.

With such direction that places high trust in the cast, you need an ensemble that can rise to the challenge and perform Sondheim’s work with truth and comprehension, like a musical Shakespeare. The whole ensemble of the piece excels at this, proving that there are no small roles by making sure each characterisation appears considered (Jack Quarton’s Steward is a strong example of this, delivering each of his lines with a gusto that turns into surprising messaging by the second act), which is almost certainly helped by the use of the cast’s own varying dialects. This is most evident in ‘First Midnight’ and ‘Second Midnight’, where, despite essentially witnessing a list of lessons, we are immensely engaged and interested in each character.

Permitted to provide the most attention-seeking performances are Lucas Koch and Matthew Seadon-Young as the Princes (with Seadon-Young doubling as a slightly operatic, cunningly charming Wolf, who astounds in ‘Hello Little Girl’). Both renditions of ‘Agony’ are delicious audience favourites and for good reason, with both Koch and Seadon-Young taking comic relief to the extreme, yet it somehow still works with their characterisations as arrogant, private-schoolboy-esque charmers who are all flowy hair and attention-seeking codpieces (great design once again from Scutt). With a pantomime-esque extravagance and a fabulous chemistry (although notably less homoeroticism than their Bridge Theatre counterparts), they nearly steal the show and deserve the rapturous response they get for their rapidly accelerating hamminess.

Reprising her role as Little Red Ridinghood, Gracie McGonigal is clearly extremely comfortable as this gluttonous girl, unflappable yet fragile in her commanding demeanour. Milking her role for each laugh, and managing never to become overly grating, her ‘I Know Things Now’ deserves to stop the show, and her breakdown in ‘No One Is Alone’ feels devastatingly juvenile. As Cinderella, Simbi Akande feels immediately unsuited to life as a princess, rough around the edges, and simply wishing for something in between a nightmare and a dream. This is particularly noticeable in her exchanges with the Baker’s Wife, presenting fascinating parallels between the two which I had never considered before. Her voice stuns in the belting of ‘On The Steps Of The Palace’, but she is strongest in her delicate lullaby of ‘No One Is Alone’, which implies a changed Cinderella. As Jack (the role which is probably the most different from the 1986 production), Keith Ramsay hops with quirky exuberance, while offering a timid and insecure portrayal, which completely changes Jack’s relationship with Milky White (who Ramsay puppeteers with brilliant attitude) into something truly fascinating.

At the heart of the show is the Baker and his wife, played delightfully by John Dagleish and Laura Pitt-Pulford, who prove themselves to be masters of acting-through-song. Their chemistry allows for a particularly fun Act One, with ‘It Takes Two’ an excellent moment, and the trials and triumphs of their relationship are effortlessly realised. Dagleish’s Baker feels flawed, and aware of this, allowing it to dictate his every choice in his increasingly tiring portrayal, which he emotionally concludes with both misfortune and hope. It seems like Pitt-Pulford is in a role she was born to play, for her vocal excellence in ‘Maybe They’re Magic’, her effortlessly funny ‘Any Moment’, and her magnetic acting during ‘Moments In The Woods’. Her Baker’s Wife is warm and sweet in a portrayal that seems authentically magical.

The most enchanting performance, however, comes from Kate Fleetwood as the Witch, the role for which she was Olivier-nominated last year. Fleetwood’s witch mainly seems not supernatural, but simply human, and this has marvellous implications. Her performance is that of someone focused not on malice but on motherhood (and her gardening, of course), only driven to this lack of regard for others by years of mistreatment and judgment. She speaks with a nasal whine that symbolises this cynicism, and her physical performance in Act One is possessively captivating. Fleetwood’s witch is deeply and authentically natural, with her emotional dependence on Rapunzel palpable, and it's a role she has a lot of fun with too, bringing a playfulness to the character’s jumbled priorities.

This all culminates in a stand-out ‘Last Midnight’ that is as stirring as it is stunning. Beginning calm and regretful, Fleetwood’s vocals accelerate into pain and anger as everything unravels, radiating with a violent, all-consuming passion. As harsh beams of light penetrate the auditorium (the greatest visual of the show, I should add), her performance builds and builds, as the whole audience is forced to hold their breath, and, while her vocals are dwarfed by those of her daughter, we witness one touch between the Witch and Rapunzel imply a devastating end to her story, which has been more than justified. Fleetwood is outstanding, and delivers what must be one of the best performances you can see on the West End right now- it is a treat to have her back in this show.

When I left the theatre, I had no idea how I was going to condense all my thoughts into a short review. And, as you’ve probably noticed, I haven’t managed to. But such is the beauty of this production, which manages to be both art and entertainment. Every element is so perfectly considered that it demands analysis, and the outcome is something genuinely extraordinary. Fein’s direction is richly layered and has clear intent, amplifying the themes of parenthood and storytelling to a ravishing emotional impact. Scutt’s breathtaking set design collaborates seamlessly with Malone’s extraordinary lighting design to create a true visual treat certain to astound, and the ensemble cast all bring nuanced and commanding portrayals, helmed by Fleetwood’s outstanding Witch. It is a stirring and stunning production that I am proud to say has survived its transfer, and truly is, in my opinion, a perfect production of a perfect musical.

Into The Woods plays at Noël Coward Theatre until 9th January 2027. Tickets from https://allthatdazzles.londontheatredirect.com/musical/into-the-woods-tickets

Photos by Johan Persson