West End tickets cost real money, and by the time the curtain falls you will have opinions. That is not the same as having a review. A review is a reaction with reasons attached: something a reader can use to decide whether to spend an evening and a decent chunk of their salary. You do not need a press ticket or a drama degree. You need to pay attention, take notes, and be honest about where your judgement ends and your taste begins.
Work out what the show is trying to be
Before you decide whether a production works, decide what it was attempting. A jukebox musical built around a back catalogue is not trying to do the same thing as a new two-hander on a bare stage. A comedy lives or dies on timing and laughter; a tragedy on whether the room goes quiet in the right places. Judge the show in front of you, not the show you would have directed.
Two pieces of context are worth capturing early: the exact performance you saw, and whether it was a preview. Previews are still being worked on, and a production can shift a great deal between the first week and press night. If an understudy or a swing went on, say so — but resist making that the story. The theatre matters too. The same production can land very differently in a small studio and in a 2,000-seat house where the back row is a rumour.
Take notes you will actually use
Memory is unreliable, particularly after a long show and a journey home. Five minutes in the interval and five minutes in the foyer afterwards will save you an hour of guessing. Write down:
- Two or three moments you could describe to someone who wasn't there — an entrance, a piece of staging, a pause held a beat too long.
- One line, lyric or speech that landed, and one that didn't, with a rough note of where each came.
- The shape of the evening. Did the first act earn the interval? Did the second sag in the middle?
- The audience. Did they laugh, shift, cough, read their phones? Reaction is evidence, not proof.
- Names. Cast, director, writer, designer — check the programme rather than trusting what you think you heard.
Write the piece within a day if you can. The details that make a review worth reading are the ones that evaporate first.
The five things you are actually reviewing
- The writing. Story, structure, characters, dialogue. Does the play know what it is about?
- The direction. Pace, focus, and whether the production has a point of view or simply moves people around the stage.
- The performances. Not "good" or "bad" but what the performance is doing. Does it find something in the text, or skate over it?
- The design. Set, costume, lighting and sound. Lighting does an enormous amount of quiet work; so does a blackout at the wrong moment.
- Music and movement. Orchestrations, band balance, choreography. Does the band drown the lyrics? Does the dancing tell you anything about character?
These elements argue with each other, and that argument is often the review. A superb lead performance stranded in a production that has no idea what to do with the rest of the cast is a more interesting thing to write about than a show that is uniformly fine.
Separate your taste from your judgement
"I was bored" is a fact about you. "The second act loses its nerve" is a claim about the show, and it needs evidence: name what happened on stage that led you there. Weak reviews are full of adjectives doing no work — amazing, flat, a mess. Strong reviews describe, then judge.
Instead of "the direction is heavy-handed", try: "every time the couple argue, the lighting drops to a single blue spot and the strings swell. By the third time, the production is telling you how to feel rather than letting you feel it."
Say where you are standing, too. If you dislike jukebox musicals, or you have seen four Hamlets this year, mention it — then review the show as though someone who loves the form were reading.
Where fairness ends and cruelty begins
- Never comment on a performer's body, weight, age or looks. Criticise choices: timing, voice, interpretation.
- Do not spoil the ending or a key reveal. You can describe the shape of a twist without giving away its content.
- Attribute failure carefully. A dodgy microphone or a wobbling piece of set is rarely the fault of the person standing under it.
- Do not treat the audience as a verdict. A full house laughing proves a show is popular, not that it is good.
- If you left at the interval, or nodded off, admit it. Readers forgive honesty far more readily than they forgive bluffing.
- Keep front-of-house complaints proportionate. A restricted view that genuinely spoiled the show is useful information; a slightly cramped seat is a clause, not a paragraph.
None of this means being timid. You can call a production dull, misguided or a waste of a good cast, provided you show your working. Fairness means your criticism lands on the work rather than the people who made it — and if you get a name or a fact wrong, correct it publicly.
Shape the piece before you start typing
A review of 600 to 900 words will hold one clear argument. Two or three vague ones will lose the reader by the third paragraph.
- Open with a verdict and a definition. One line telling the reader what the show is and whether it is worth their evening.
- Give context in two sentences. The theatre, the run, the creative team, whether this is a transfer or a new commission.
- Spend a paragraph on what works. Be specific — a performance, a scene, a design choice — rather than generous in general.
- Spend a paragraph on the central problem. One problem argued well beats six listed in a row.
- Close with who it is for. The person who will love it, the person who should save their money, and whether you would go again.
Star ratings are optional. If you use them, decide what they mean to you and stay consistent — a three-star review that reads like a rave is no help to anyone.
A pre-publish checklist
- Does your first paragraph tell someone whether to book?
- Have you named at least one specific moment, line or performance?
- Have you separated what you felt from what the show did?
- Have you checked spellings of names and titles against the programme?
- Have you said which performance you saw and whether it was a preview?
- Have you cut the sentence written to sound clever rather than to be accurate?
- Would you be comfortable if someone who worked on the show read it? Not comfortable as in soft — comfortable as in accurate.
You do not need a press pass to write something worth reading. You need to pay attention, take decent notes, and be clear about the difference between a show that failed and a show that simply wasn't for you. Publish the review, then book the next ticket.
