The British hit delivers boldness, big laughs

Don’t let the modest cast of five fool you, Operation Mincemeat has long surpassed its humble beginnings and become a classic big, brassy Broadway experience. Expect no shortage of pizazz, frills, belly laughs, and, yes, confetti when you step into the John Golden Theatre — not to mention several catchy tunes stuck in your head when you exit.

From the fringe to the West End to Broadway, it’s no surprise that this very British musical is such a well-oiled machine. After all, it swept last year’s Olivier Awards, picking up seven wins, and has already established a dedicated fanbase (Mincefluencers). But it’s seamlessness is still astonishing to witness, given the show’s quick wit and unrelenting pace.

For the uninitiated, Operation Mincemeat is a farcical retelling of a covert World War II plot of the same name: In 1943, the British used a deception play to convince the Germans to move their forces out of Sicily, just in time for the Allies to invade. How did they pull it off? By planting a corpse — disguised as a drowned pilot, of course — on the coast of Spain with fake invasion plans.

If that sounds unbelievable and/or familiar, both counts are fair. The wild story has already inspired a 2010 book by Ben Macintyre and a 2022 Netflix film — but this take is a tad different. Absurdity and audacity are key factors in the musical, taking the story to an even grander level of farce. Written and composed by the comedy troupe SpitLip, Operation Mincemeat isn’t just winking at the silliness of its premise — it’s pulling the audience in by the neck and asking, loudly, isn’t this insane?

The result is a laugh-out-loud musical that’s part spy thriller, part wartime spoof and endlessly entertaining in the hands of its five performers, who somehow play over 80 roles between them. In addition to filling a main role, each actor proves themselves chameleonic by playing additional characters of both genders, sometimes in the same scene, each distinct and hilarious in their own right.

Natasha Hodgson may well be shredding her larynx as gravelly voiced MI5 agent Ewen Montagu, but it’s well worth the performance: She’s perfect as the narcissistic scoundrel, who charms despite his Eton-educated arrogance. Leading the way with his endless reserves of confidence, Montagu enlists his socially inept fellow agent Charles Cholmondeley (David Cumming) to be the brains of the operation and, against all odds, manages to sell the scheme to commanding officer Johnny Bevan (Zoë Roberts). With the help of secretaries Jean Leslie (Claire-Marie Hall) and Hester Legatt (Jak Malone), who are more than capable in their own right, the adventure begins.

From the moment the curtains go up, the show is quick on it’s feet, slick and clever. The roots of its creation bleed through in the best way possible: It’s no wonder a long-partnered comedy troupe (Cumming, Hodgson, Roberts, and Felix Hagan) is behind the writing and choreography. Though they never miss a beat, it has an air of spontaneity, looseness, and ease. The physical comedy is top-tier — especially when Cumming leans into his lanky goofiness and Hodgson exaggerates Montagu’s buffoonish nature. 

And humor isn’t the only thing on offer. The creatives are perceptive about knowing when to play something for laughs and when to swerve, letting the audience stumble into an unexpected and very earnest emotional gut-punch.

And therein lies the magic of the show. Mincemeat is so flippantly funny — with its premise alone it asks us to laugh off the rise of facism — that you expect the laughter to never die out. But it’s secretly full of heart, and unafraid to slam us back in our seats with an emotional wallop.

The most memorable amongst them is a solo from Malone, which sees Hester, an MI5 veteran secretary, pen a love letter to a “fictional” wartime sweetheart. “Dear Bill” is one of the show’s crowning achievements and a succinct illustration of what makes Malone’s performance such a standout. A man playing a matronly, no-nonsense secretary sounds like a tired joke and instead — while not shying away from humor — becomes the beating heart of the show.

When it comes to lyrical density, Mincemeat sometimes shares much in common with the works of a certain rap-centric songwriter, but is most musically successful when it leans into the spoof of it all. While it’s occasionally easy to get a little lost in the music and miss the finer details, the songs are overall bouncy, exciting, and guaranteed to linger.

Though its satire is sharp and its witty insights frequent, the show isn’t overly interested in the timeliness of its themes, and doesn’t milk the current political noise and pain for longer applause. It’s easy to take shots at Nazi’s and ponder the insanity of what those in power can get away with — the text happily obliges, even poking fun at the crowd with light meta commentary. But as it does with its slapstick humor and sentimental notes, Mincemeat knows how to pick its moments.

Sign up for Entertainment Weekly‘s free daily newsletter to get breaking news, exclusive first looks, recaps, reviews, interviews with your favorite stars, and more.

In its humorous chaos, Mincemeat offers glimmers of Monty Python, with a dash of Hamilton, and a sprinkle of Six. It flouts many influences — even  Beyoncé gets a shoutout — but even more swerves. Its eccentricity is endless, with a heartfelt solo here, a zany sequence there, and a glitzy grand finale to cap it all off.

Here, history isn’t static or unfeeling; it’s fizzy, exciting, and emotional. And though never saccharine, the production doesn’t shy away from prodding at deeper ideas: like what its absurd plot means for the very real people involved. So much like the operation it’s named for, Mincemeat has already gone down in history as an undeniable success. Grade: A