Pride Review: A banner raised in song
Pride Review: A banner raised in song
THIS STIRRING ADAPTATION OF THE HIT 2014 FILM proves that solidarity can make for irresistible musical theatre - even if a few notes never quite soar.
THIS STIRRING ADAPTATION OF THE HIT 2014 FILM proves that solidarity can make for irresistible musical theatre - even if a few notes never quite soar.
★★★★☆
★★★★☆
There is a temptation, whenever a beloved film finds itself reborn on stage, to ask the obvious question: Why? Too often, the answer arrives somewhere between cynical commercial calculation and nostalgia dressed up with a bigger orchestra.
There is a temptation, whenever a beloved film finds itself reborn on stage, to ask the obvious question: Why? Too often, the answer arrives somewhere between cynical commercial calculation and nostalgia dressed up with a bigger orchestra.
Pride is that increasingly rare exception.
Pride is that increasingly rare exception.
This stage adaptation of Stephen Beresford’s acclaimed 2014 film never feels like an exercise in replication. Instead, it understands something fundamental about theatre: that communal stories deserve communal spaces. Watching this remarkable new musical at the National Theatre, surrounded by an audience laughing, crying, and eventually cheering in unison, it becomes clear that this tale has found a home it was searching for.
This stage adaptation of Stephen Beresford’s acclaimed 2014 film never feels like an exercise in replication. Instead, it understands something fundamental about theatre: that communal stories deserve communal spaces. Watching this remarkable new musical at the National Theatre, surrounded by an audience laughing, crying, and eventually cheering in unison, it becomes clear that this tale has found a home it was searching for.
Based on the extraordinary true story of Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners (LGSM), the musical transports us back to Britain in 1984, when the country seemed determined to fracture along every imaginable fault line. Margaret Thatcher’s government had declared war on the striking mining communities, while LGBTQ+ people continued to endure relentless prejudice, police harassment and institutional hostility simply for existing. Out of those twin injustices emerged one of Britain’s most unlikely and inspiring alliances.
Based on the extraordinary true story of Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners (LGSM), the musical transports us back to Britain in 1984, when the country seemed determined to fracture along every imaginable fault line. Margaret Thatcher’s government had declared war on the striking mining communities, while LGBTQ+ people continued to endure relentless prejudice, police harassment and institutional hostility simply for existing. Out of those twin injustices emerged one of Britain’s most unlikely and inspiring alliances.
The story remains as astonishing today as it was when it was first introduced to cinema audiences over a decade ago.
The story remains as astonishing today as it was when it was first introduced to cinema audiences over a decade ago.
One community, vilified by much of society, recognized another facing exactly the same machinery of oppression. Together, they discovered that solidarity is far more powerful than suspicion.
One community, vilified by much of society, recognized another facing exactly the same machinery of oppression. Together, they discovered that solidarity is far more powerful than suspicion.
Beresford’s return to write both the book and lyrics gives the adaptation an unmistakable sense of authenticity. Nobody understands these characters—or their humor—better. His dialogue retains the wit that made the original film so impactful, but it also embraces the emotional elasticity demanded by musical theatre.
Beresford’s return to write both the book and lyrics gives the adaptation an unmistakable sense of authenticity. Nobody understands these characters—or their humor—better. His dialogue retains the wit that made the original film so impactful, but it also embraces the emotional elasticity demanded by musical theatre.
The score, written by Christopher Nightingale, Josh Cohen, and DJ Walde, largely succeeds in translating that emotional rhythm into music. It captures the infectious optimism of a movement refusing to surrender, while weaving together influences that evoke the clubs, streets and picket lines of mid-1980s Britain.
The score, written by Christopher Nightingale, Josh Cohen, and DJ Walde, largely succeeds in translating that emotional rhythm into music. It captures the infectious optimism of a movement refusing to surrender, while weaving together influences that evoke the clubs, streets and picket lines of mid-1980s Britain.
Not every song leaves a lasting impression, however.
Not every song leaves a lasting impression, however.
The strongest numbers emerge naturally from the drama, allowing character and music to become inseparable. Elsewhere, there are moments where the songs feel content to move the plot along rather than deepen it. One occasionally wishes the composers had pushed further emotionally, allowing several pivotal scenes the opportunity to linger instead of hurrying onward. The music is consistently enjoyable, but there remains the sense that a handful of numbers could be rewritten to unlock even greater dramatic power.
The strongest numbers emerge naturally from the drama, allowing character and music to become inseparable. Elsewhere, there are moments where the songs feel content to move the plot along rather than deepen it. One occasionally wishes the composers had pushed further emotionally, allowing several pivotal scenes the opportunity to linger instead of hurrying onward. The music is consistently enjoyable, but there remains the sense that a handful of numbers could be rewritten to unlock even greater dramatic power.
That ultimately becomes the show’s only significant weakness.
That ultimately becomes the show’s only significant weakness.
Fortunately, Director Matthew Warchus (who also directed the film) understands exactly where the production’s greatest strength lies: the people.
Fortunately, Director Matthew Warchus (who also directed the film) understands exactly where the production’s greatest strength lies: the people.
Having recently concluded his tenure as Artistic Director of the Old Vic, Warchus directs with enormous confidence but admirable restraint. Rather than burying the audience beneath spectacle, he trusts the story to carry itself.
Having recently concluded his tenure as Artistic Director of the Old Vic, Warchus directs with enormous confidence but admirable restraint. Rather than burying the audience beneath spectacle, he trusts the story to carry itself.
It is refreshingly theatrical in the purest sense.
It is refreshingly theatrical in the purest sense.
The ensemble functions beautifully as a collective. Whether dancing through moments of celebration or standing shoulder to shoulder during scenes of confrontation, they create the feeling of a genuine community learning—sometimes reluctantly—to care for one another.
The ensemble functions beautifully as a collective. Whether dancing through moments of celebration or standing shoulder to shoulder during scenes of confrontation, they create the feeling of a genuine community learning—sometimes reluctantly—to care for one another.
Several performances rise well above an already impressive company.
Several performances rise well above an already impressive company.
Jhon Lumsden gives a wonderfully layered portrayal of Mark Ashton, balancing infectious charisma with the fierce conviction that made the real activist such an inspirational figure. His Mark possesses enormous warmth without ever becoming sentimental, reminding us that great leaders often hide vulnerability beneath boundless optimism.
Jhon Lumsden gives a wonderfully layered portrayal of Mark Ashton, balancing infectious charisma with the fierce conviction that made the real activist such an inspirational figure. His Mark possesses enormous warmth without ever becoming sentimental, reminding us that great leaders often hide vulnerability beneath boundless optimism.
Sarah Pugh brings tremendous heart to Siân James, quietly grounding much of the show’s emotional core. Yet one cannot escape wishing the musical afforded her greater prominence. Pugh consistently elevates every scene she enters, leaving you eager for songs and moments that never quite arrive. The same frustration accompanies Lewis Cornay’s endearing Bromley. His performance possesses a disarming sincerity that deserves additional dramatic space, even within a production already stretching close to two hours and forty minutes.
Sarah Pugh brings tremendous heart to Siân James, quietly grounding much of the show’s emotional core. Yet one cannot escape wishing the musical afforded her greater prominence. Pugh consistently elevates every scene she enters, leaving you eager for songs and moments that never quite arrive. The same frustration accompanies Lewis Cornay’s endearing Bromley. His performance possesses a disarming sincerity that deserves additional dramatic space, even within a production already stretching close to two hours and forty minutes.
But the evening’s undeniable triumph belongs to Samuel Barnett.
But the evening’s undeniable triumph belongs to Samuel Barnett.
His Jonathan Blake arrives with wit, confidence, and glorious theatrical flair before delivering an extraordinary opening to Act Two that threatens to stop the show entirely. Blending jazz, drag performance, and dazzling stage presence into one unforgettable sequence, Barnett commands every inch of the theatre. It is not simply an expertly performed musical number—it is a declaration of identity, resilience, and joy. In a production already filled with memorable moments, his performance becomes the one audiences will likely still be talking about on the journey home.
His Jonathan Blake arrives with wit, confidence, and glorious theatrical flair before delivering an extraordinary opening to Act Two that threatens to stop the show entirely. Blending jazz, drag performance, and dazzling stage presence into one unforgettable sequence, Barnett commands every inch of the theatre. It is not simply an expertly performed musical number—it is a declaration of identity, resilience, and joy. In a production already filled with memorable moments, his performance becomes the one audiences will likely still be talking about on the journey home.
Yet what ultimately lingers isn’t a single performance or musical number.
Yet what ultimately lingers isn’t a single performance or musical number.
It is the reminder that this story actually happened.
It is the reminder that this story actually happened.
At a time when division was encouraged politically and socially, ordinary people chose empathy over suspicion. The LGBTQ+ activists of LGSM and the Welsh mining families they supported found common cause not because they shared identical lives, but because they recognized injustice when they saw it. That lesson resonates today with uncomfortable clarity.
At a time when division was encouraged politically and socially, ordinary people chose empathy over suspicion. The LGBTQ+ activists of LGSM and the Welsh mining families they supported found common cause not because they shared identical lives, but because they recognized injustice when they saw it. That lesson resonates today with uncomfortable clarity.
The production never shies away from acknowledging the damage inflicted during the miners’ strike or the deep wounds left across countless communities during the Thatcher years. Without becoming a political lecture, Pride recognizes that the policies and conflicts of that era left scars that remain visible decades later. Those historical realities give the musical genuine weight beneath its infectious humor and exuberant choreography.
The production never shies away from acknowledging the damage inflicted during the miners’ strike or the deep wounds left across countless communities during the Thatcher years. Without becoming a political lecture, Pride recognizes that the policies and conflicts of that era left scars that remain visible decades later. Those historical realities give the musical genuine weight beneath its infectious humor and exuberant choreography.
Perhaps that is why the adaptation succeeds where so many film-to-stage transfers stumble.
Perhaps that is why the adaptation succeeds where so many film-to-stage transfers stumble.
It does not merely recreate scenes audiences already love.
It does not merely recreate scenes audiences already love.
It expands them.
It expands them.
There is room for laughter, outrage, celebration, and grief, often all within the same act. The audience leaves entertained, certainly, but also reminded that progress has never been inevitable. Every right won, every prejudice challenged and every community defended came because ordinary people decided someone else’s fight was worth making their own.
There is room for laughter, outrage, celebration, and grief, often all within the same act. The audience leaves entertained, certainly, but also reminded that progress has never been inevitable. Every right won, every prejudice challenged and every community defended came because ordinary people decided someone else’s fight was worth making their own.
A few stronger songs could have elevated Pride from excellent to unforgettable. Some supporting characters deserve richer musical material, while several emotional climaxes stop just short of overwhelming. Those imperfections keep the production from absolute greatness.
A few stronger songs could have elevated Pride from excellent to unforgettable. Some supporting characters deserve richer musical material, while several emotional climaxes stop just short of overwhelming. Those imperfections keep the production from absolute greatness.
Even so, this remains one of the finest new British musicals in recent years.
Even so, this remains one of the finest new British musicals in recent years.
Like Billy Elliot and Kinky Boots, Pride understands that musical theatre is often at its most powerful when it tells stories of people discovering compassion where they least expected it. It feels destined for a long future beyond the National Theatre, and a West End transfer seems less a possibility than an inevitability.
Like Billy Elliot and Kinky Boots, Pride understands that musical theatre is often at its most powerful when it tells stories of people discovering compassion where they least expected it. It feels destined for a long future beyond the National Theatre, and a West End transfer seems less a possibility than an inevitability.
Its current National Theatre run may already be sold out, but if fortune smiles upon you with a return ticket—or you already possess one—you should consider yourself lucky.
Its current National Theatre run may already be sold out, but if fortune smiles upon you with a return ticket—or you already possess one—you should consider yourself lucky.
Because while Pride may celebrate a significant chapter of British history, it also feels poised to become a lasting chapter of British musical theatre itself.
Because while Pride may celebrate a significant chapter of British history, it also feels poised to become a lasting chapter of British musical theatre itself.
Pride - National Theatre: Dorfman
Attended on 22 June 2026