Cameron Mackintosh’s 40th-anniversary concert, presented by Nick Grace Management and GMG Productions and under the helm of Adrian Kirk, works, whether you are a fan of Victor Hugo’s French tale or encountering it for the first time.
'LES Misérables World Tour,' a concert that turns love, poverty and revolution into something that lingers long after the final note.
Photographs courtesy of DANNY KAAN and MATT CROCKETT GMG PRODUCTIONS
THE concert is nothing but spectacular, powered by voice, scale and feeling.
On my ride home from the Les Mis concert, I was Éponine, singing under my breath the agony of unrequited love, painfully tone-deaf. The searing ache of “without me his world will go on turning” and “when the river is just a river” lingered. Looking out the car window at the passing streets, I also ruminated on poverty and on how many Jean Valjeans are out there stealing bread to feed a boy in this godforsaken Philippines.
Cameron Mackintosh’s 40th-anniversary concert, presented by Nick Grace Management and GMG Productions and under the helm of Adrian Kirk, works, whether you are a fan of Victor Hugo’s 19th-century French tale or encountering it for the first time. The production brings together a formidable Filipino lineup alongside acclaimed international performers, all opulently costumed and vocally commanding.
The cast includes Gerónimo Rauch as Jean Valjean, Jeremy Secomb as Javert, Lea Salonga as Madame Thénardier, Rachelle Ann Go as Fantine, Red Concepción as Monsieur Thénardier, and Emily Bautista as Éponine, with Will Callan as Marius, Lulu-Mae Pears as Cosette, Harry Chandler as Enjolras, and Earl Carpenter as the Bishop of Digne.
This is not Les Misérables in the fully staged book musical sense. Playing at The Theatre at Solaire until 1 March, the production takes a concert-style approach, with microphone stands lined across the proscenium. The stands are largely symbolic, though, as the performers wear headset microphones anyway. It is just to make the intention clear: the focus is on music.
It is a hybrid experience: bigger and more theatrical than a standard concert, yet not quite the scene-to-scene setup of a full Broadway or West End staging. That approach carries through in the production’s use of lighting and sound, such as rapid bursts of light, tightly synced with sound, that evoke gunfire and the chaos of battle. And when death arrives, a single spotlight cleverly isolates the actor.
A towering barricade of rough, splintered wooden planks dominates the stage and remains unchanged throughout, functioning as one permanent environment rather than shifting locations. A raised central platform with metal railings provides a playing area, while a massive LED screen upstage replaces physical scene changes with projected imagery, often lit in blue, white, and red. On opposite sides of the stage, close-ups of the actors appear, their expressions magnified, their eyes frequently wet with emotion. Upstage and partially elevated is a semi-exposed orchestra pit configuration, rather than a traditional recessed pit.
The production rests squarely on Claude-Michel Schönberg’s score, with lyrics by Alain Boublil and Jean-Marc Natel, and on voices capable of carrying the material and emotional range. Vocal storytelling truly drives the evening, with power and restraint.
Concepción and Salonga, as the Thénardiers, inject much-needed comic relief, cutting through the story’s darkness with grotesque humor and precisely timed vulgarity. Against them play out the intersecting tragedies of Valjean (Rauch), Javert (Secomb), Fantine (Go), and Éponine (Bautista).
Among an already strong ensemble, Concepción stands out, attacking his role with relish. His movements are broad, his facial expressions elastic, and his voice knows exactly when to boom, swell, and snap, triggering steady laughter from the audience.
Opposite him, Salonga is a wicked delight, her Madame Thénardier dripping with scammer energy and sharp comic timing. Meanwhile, Bautista, as Éponine, delivers a devastating “On My Own,” her tears magnified on the LED screen as the theater collectively holds its breath.
There is one confusing casting choice, though. Cosette transitions from an Asian child to a Caucasian, red-haired adult (Pears), and it is visually jarring. Still, this is a minor distraction in a show that largely pulls you along without resistance, and Pears sings beautifully in a crystalline, high soprano.
And when “Do You Hear the People Sing?” finally rises, it feels communal as the music drums in your chest. Hope, duty, idealism, unrequited love, and survival come through, driven by power, volume, scale, and the emotional force of music. The Les Misérables concert is sensational. An experience that follows you home.
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