Review: HEATHERS at Sydney Opera House

Hairspray. The Craft. Jawbreaker. Mean Girls. Can't Hardly Wait. Buffy. We would have none of these without Heathers. The flop-turned-cult-phenomenon film starring Winona Ryder and Christian Slater in 1988 was a black comedy that took on every young-adult issue and shot it in the face. It's perfect fodder for a musical unlike any you've ever witnessed before, rightfully making its return to Sydney after touring the nation, to shock and shine at the Sydney Opera House. We've had a few cast changes since the Australian premiere at Hayes Theatre - don't worry they're all still alive, most of them just bailed to become Queens of a new musical - and the latest cast have really sensationalised the sass, camped it up like Christmas and made the vocals so very! If you missed it last time, it's a must-see moxie-fest. If you did catch it last time, then you definitely have to get back and see how it takes on the big stage with new choreography, design and drama!

Veronica finds herself brought into the glowing popularity of the hyper-popular, trendsetting and wealthy Heathers when she shows a talent for forgery. Her newfound notoriety gets her confidence, respect and the amity of number one Heather Chandler, the bitchiest of them all. Eventually forced to choose between cool and conscience. Veronica spoils a popular-kids prank and seeks solace in the bed of bad-boy JD. When an attempt to remedy the situation with a hangover remedy homicide, Veronica's puberty twists, turns and takes lives as she forges suicide notes, forms unlikely friendships and finds her own true voice above the desire to be liked by anyone but herself. It is a heart-warming message served cold and controversial by director Trevor Ashley's antics and saucy soundtrack by Laurence O'Keefe and Kevin Murphy. This is not a musical you'll necessarily come out of singing the tunes in public!

Hilary Cole makes a magnetic ingénue, demonstrating solid command of her voice and wielded it with twists of vulnerability, anger and compassion - particularly in 'Seventeen' and 'Dead Girl Walking' - that gave her character authenticity and depth. Her ethical turmoil is played off cleverly against Lauren McKenna doubling between moral-centre/high school punchline Martha and touchy-feely-artsy-fartsy teacher Ms. Fleming. McKenna's vocals in 'Kindergarten Boyfriend' warrant much respect and placed her directly alongside Cole in the roster of Australian theatre's upcoming singing stars. Also showing incredible chops was Rebecca Hetherington as last-place Heather, taking the show to a whole new place with her performance of 'Lifeboat'. Lucy Maunder as #1 Heather Chandler had completely tied down and handcuffed her part, which made the audience somewhat sad she had to die. Maunder's physical comedy paired with Cole's facial gags made them an on-stage frenemy couple you couldn't take your eyes off. It was almost unfair to Stephen Madsen as JD that the chemistry was better between the women than the twisted-psycho love story, but he gave great lurk on top of genuinely smooth vocal. Vincent Hooper and Jakob Ambrose as the sports-hero kings of crotch-rubbing Ram and Kurt mastered their characterisations, then brought the house down as their own respective fathers singing 'My Dead Gay Son'. Director Trever Ashley has here given licence for just enough ham and camp to give the performance life, but not enough to allow the disconcert of numbers like 'Blue' and 'Our Love is God' to go by unnoticed but remain unnerving.

The halls of Westerberg High are as dynamic as Hogwarts, thanks chiefly to Emma Vine's design of moving lockers that become phone booths, doors and shop shelves. Cameron Mitchell's choreography takes full advantage of the moving pieces to give the feel of a full company and wonderful odes to the 80s. Although Gavan Swift's lighting didn't exactly dance as well, and the levels of Evan Drill's sound sometimes drowned out the solos and vocal nuance, most people were too caught up in the delights of Angela White's costumes, the sheer volume and entertainment of the production to be too fussed. Ashley's touches of dark charisma against colourful backdrops and clothes made magic of the show.

Get out your shoulder pads and your bad attitude, your scrunchies and your jock-strap and take yourself back to a time where you would just die if you weren't popular. Or is it if you were popular? Seriously if you've read this review and still aren't frothing at the mouth to buy tickets to go dance in your seats to the sultry sounds of the world's first Mean Girls as we know them, then what's your damage?

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