The Bodyguard, The Musical

The Alexandra Theatre

Birmingham

23rd-27th September 2025

Michael Harrison, David Ian for Crossroads Live with Playing Field (Theatre) Ltd, Mirvish Productions, ATG Touring and Michael Watt present The Bodyguard, The Musical.

There is a peculiar electricity that hums through a theatre the moment every seat fills and the house lights begin their slow, dim. At The Alexandra Theatre in Birmingham, that electricity arrives with the strains of a familiar melody; a heartbeat more than a tune and from that pulse the production of The Bodyguard on stage proceeds to do something both reliably crowd-pleasing and quietly ambitious. This is a show that trades in spectacle and sentiment, in pop-star glamour and intimate, human fragility, and the creative team guiding this particular revival understands the delicate arithmetic required to balance thrill with tenderness. The result is a night at the theatre that feels like being escorted through a memory; a memory of music heard on the radio, of clothes that promised reinvention, and of the vulnerable spaces behind the icons we believe we know.

From the first explosive moment the curtain or what functions as a curtain parts, the stage is presented. The set designers have taken the constraint of a theatre and turned it into a cinematic playground. Rather than a single, static backdrop, we are given a series of sliding planes and scaffolds, a lived-in urban landscape that can palpably mutate from the hushed backstage of a stadium to the glare of a television studio to the claustrophobic marble of a hotel suite. There’s a clever economy to the design and the pieces are repurposed in view of the audience, crew and cast becoming silent choreographers as walls swivel and platforms rise and fall.

This production leans into contrasts, the hardness of protection and the softness of fame; public performance and private fear. That tension is mirrored in the textural choices on stage, cool metals and brushed chrome against plush upholstery and mirrored lacquer. Practical concerns are met with aesthetic flair and an arena-sized LED screen is present but never dominant; it’s used as a mood machine rather than a crutch, offering washes of colour, the occasional evocative image, and quick edits to heighten a moment. In quieter scenes, that same screen becomes a reflective plane, catching and refracting light so the stage reads like an interior photograph - halogen and humanly warm in one instant, clinical and stark in the next. Even without naming every scene, one understands that the set is not merely a backdrop; it’s an active participant, a kind of third character that shelters and reveals in equal measure.

Costume here is a language and the wardrobe department has given the lead every glossy promise of superstardom; sequins that capture and throw back light like tiny glass fragments, tailored silhouettes that map power to posture, and softer, quieter pieces that announce vulnerability the moment they’re worn. The show’s costuming never settles on caricature. Instead it respects the archetypes, the pop diva who must always be spectacular, the security man dressed for invisibility but whose uniforms become a second skin. There are sharp contrasts between performance outfits that are engineered to bedazzle from a distance and the offstage garments chosen to intimate character. A robe thrown on in a moment of exhaustion, a sweater worn for comfort, a pair of trainers that say “I’m trying to be normal” all work to humanise figures who might otherwise remain icons on pedestals.

There is a practical intelligence to these costume choices too and quick changes are choreographed with the same precision as fight sequences, and the costumes are constructed for speed as much as for effect. That pragmatic approach allows the narrative to maintain momentum; there is never the awkward pause of an offstage scramble. Instead, the audience catches glimpses of transformation, a jacket removed, a new persona assembled in a motion that underscores the performance’s examination of identity. It’s an economical theatrical trick; clothes as shorthand and it works beautifully here because the costume design respects both spectacle and interior life.

Lighting in this production is not content to merely illuminate; it narrates. The lighting designer takes the arcing, rhythmic structure of a pop concert and scales it to the dramatic needs of live theatre. There are moments when pulses of saturated colour wash the stage; hot magentas and cobalt blues that render faces into poster art and moments when a single, merciless white downlight isolates a character in a cone of truth. The transition between these extremes is handled with a choreographer’s sensitivity and beats in the score are matched to visual emphasis, and emotional crescendos are supported by a palette that understands how colour temperature can change our perception of a scene’s honesty. Practical lights embedded in the set; strips of LEDs, exposed bulbs are used not as gimmick but as texture, supplying an urban grit that contrasts with the glamour. When the show needs intimacy, the rig pulls back into lamplight; when it demands spectacle, it unleashes the full toolkit of modern concert lighting.

That same toolkit is used deftly to manage mood and misdirection. A sequence designed to feel menacing is lit in low, oscillating strobe, heightening anxiety without losing clarity; a triumphant musical moment is bathed in golden, halo-like beams that make the singer shimmer. Effects are used sparingly but with impact, haze that softens the edges of light to make the visuals breathe, pragmatic spotlights that cut through the fog to guide our gaze. There is an overall restraint to the approach; never too much, never flashy for its own sake, which is crucial in a show where the music and performers must always remain at the centre.

Speaking of effects, the production uses the kind of theatrical magic that delights without insulting the audience’s intelligence. Instead of drowning key moments in CGI spectacle, the creative team opts for tactile, theatre-born tricks of creating illusion, mirrored surfaces and carefully timed silhouettes that deliver dramatic reveals. When smoke is used, it’s not to hide shoddy transitions but to soften, to lift a scene from the literal into something more poetic. Sound effects are crisp and exact; like a door slammed offstage or the distant murmur of a crowd is believable in a way that supports rather than distracts.

And then there is the music…the engine that drives the whole night. You cannot separate this production of The Bodyguardfrom its cultural DNA; the hits, the heartbreak, the spectral presence of songs that live on playlists and memory. This staging respects that lineage while staking its own claim. Vocally, the leads Sidonie Smith (Rachel Marron) and Sasha Monique (Nicki Marron) are tasked with walking a tightrope; they must deliver the nostalgia-laced power ballads we all know and crave, but also find new cracking, human textures inside those notes. It’s a difficult ask to sing in service of both impersonation and interpretation and Sidonie Smith rises to it with heart and strategic vocal colour. Rather than simply replicate an arena sound, the musical direction allows for moments of rawness; breath is audible, vulnerability is visible, and those imperfections make the big numbers feel earned. The band, plays with punch and intimacy with arrangements that are faithful enough to trigger recognition but thoughtful enough to keep ears curious.

What’s smart about the musical approach is the production’s awareness of pacing. Pop concerts run at one level of continuous energy; a narrative theatre piece requires modulation. After a stadium-sized anthem, the show will deliberately pull back into a hushed scene where a single piano or a faintly echoing guitar refracts the same melody into a different emotion. Those quiet passages, where the songs feel like thoughts being spoken aloud, work beautifully. They are the moments where the production’s core question; what happens behind the glare of stardom? … is answered not with spectacle but with honesty.

Of course, dramatic tension is not only created by spectacle; it’s born of relationships. The chemistry on stage between the leads is the production’s central force. One plays the guarded protector, the other an icon used to being watched. It’s a classic setup, and their interplay avoids cliché by centring respect and miscommunication rather than contrived melodrama. The protector’s language is physical; small gestures, a hand placed on a shoulder or a body angled to intercept danger, speak volumes. The star’s language is more theatrical with gestures that are part performance, yet there are lines and silences that reveal fear. The actors are attentive to the little beats: the offhanded joke that is actually a test, a glance held a fraction too long, the way a character’s voice cracks when they believe nobody is listening. These are not pyrotechnic moments but the ones the audience carries home.

Supporting characters are not ignored. The ensemble works hard to create a world outside the central duo - journalists who hover like persistent birds, handlers who hustle, friends who are sometimes almost as public as the star. Each of these roles is given a texture that reinforces the main action without competing for focus. It’s a sign of confident direction when the smaller arcs feel purposeful: a manager’s small moral compromise, a bodyguard trainee’s earnestness, the publicist’s thin veneer of optimism. Their functions in the story are clear, and the production resists the temptation to expand every subplot into a mini-play. That discipline keeps the narrative lean and ensures we care about what matters most.

Directionally, the show benefits from a steady hand that understands rhythm. There is a confidence in how scenes are blocked and paced; moments of danger and intimacy are staged with an economy that avoids melodrama. Rigid tableaux give way to fluid transitions and characters move with intent, crowd scenes are orchestrated with a choreographer’s sensibility. There are fight sequences that are staged to look lived-in rather than stylised for spectacle: less wirework, more believable contact, the sort of scuffles that make you think “this could happen.” Those sequences are supported by sound and lighting so the audience feels the danger without being overwhelmed by the mechanics.

It’s also worth noting how the production handles the public/private interface. There is a recurring motif of screens - phones, cameras, television displays and the show uses them to comment on the voyeuristic appetite of modern fandom. The audience is confronted with repeated images on the LED screen that feel like a social media echo chamber. These moments can be blunt in concept, but here they are handled with subtlety. The lights and projections pretend to be impartial observers while the music and actors reveal the emotional truth. The technology never takes over the humanity on stage; if anything, it amplifies the show’s critique of how we consume people.

The emotional centre of the production is not the romance, as much as marketing might love that angle; it’s the quiet, gnawing idea that protection is not simply a physical task but an emotional labour. The bodyguard must learn to see beyond the celebrity armour and the celebrity must discover which parts of themselves can be trusted to someone else. That learning process is rendered in micro-beats: a character’s hand unclenches, a laugh that feels real, the small compromise of admitting fear. These moments are the show’s moral currency, and the performers sell them.

Audience reaction is worth a mention because it becomes part of the production. There are gasps and applause at the expected beats; the big opening number, the climactic song - but there are also quieter responses when the show trusts the stillness. It’s a delicate balance between crowd-pleasing and true theatre-making, and this staging strikes it well. At the end of the performance, the ovation is long but not performatively so; it feels like appreciation for a production that gave its heart as well as its hits.

Technically, the production is impressive. Smooth transitions, crisp sound mixing, and reliable staging indicate a company that has rehearsed with sharp attention to detail. There were moments of minor imbalance a line occasionally obscured by music, or a projection that felt a beat late - but these were fleeting and did not undermine the overall experience. In a piece that must balance so many moving parts, small slips are to be expected; what matters is how the production maintains emotional clarity despite them, and it largely succeeds.

If there is a criticism to be levelled, it is that at times the show leans a touch too heavily on the familiar scaffolding of the original material. The audience comes to hear the score and to re-live the hits, and the staging sometimes falls back on the most well-worn beats. Perhaps the safest measure of judgement is to ask whether the production prompts reflection beyond nostalgia. Here, it does - the interplay of spectacle and vulnerability invites theatregoers to think about fame, safety, and the cost of being watched but that invitation is sometimes gentle, not insistent.

I left the theatre thinking about how the show explores: protection and possession, performance and privacy, spectacle and solitude. It’s a production that will satisfy anyone who loves a well-staged musical evening. A polished score, big emotional beats, and enough theatrical pyrotechnics to feel rewarded but it will also speak to those who favour a more subtle theatrical conversation. The design team’s measured use of effects, the costume department’s thoughtful economy, the lighting’s narrative intelligence, and the musical direction’s careful balancing act all conspire to produce a production that is more than the sum of its parts.

On a practical level, the Alexandra Theatre is an excellent match for this show. Its sightlines and acoustics allow for both atmosphere and clarity; the audience is close enough to feel the performers’ breath but far enough to experience the love of scale the show enjoys. The theatre itself, with its comfortable seating and intimate charm, seems to cradle the production in an appropriate kind of warmth. Staff and house management run a tight ship; entrances and exits are efficient, and pre-show announcements are delivered in a tone of friendly professionalism that suits the show’s mix of glamour and seriousness.

To single out individual performances would be unfair to the company, for theatre is an ensemble art here as much as a star vehicle. But the leads of Sidonie Smith, Adam Garcia and Sasha Monique deserve recognition for the texture they bring to familiar songs and for the restraint they show in quieter scenes. The ensemble chorus provides rock-solid support, and the band’s musicianship underlines the whole night with a muscular tenderness that sustains the emotional through-lines.

In the end, the production of The Bodyguard playing at the Alexandra Theatre is, simply put, a satisfying theatrical experience. It knows what it wants to be; a celebration of music, a study of protection, a reflection and it executes that vision with craft and style. The set’s cleverly shape the stage into a living, breathing environment; the costumes translate persona into fabric and cut; the lighting sculpts mood with intelligence; the effects bolster rather than trump the humanity; and the music remains the beating heart, handled with respect and interpretive care. If you go expecting a purely nostalgic re-tread, you will get more than that; you’ll find a production that recognises the power of pop to contain deep theatrical truth, and that is a rarer thing than it might first appear. What a show! ‘So emotional!’

The Bodyguard, The Musical is at the Alexandra Theatre, Birmingham until Saturday 27th September 2025.

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