Bat Out Of Hell: The Musical - UK Tour
- Thomas Levi
- 2 days ago
- 3 min read
★★☆☆☆
On paper, harnessing Meat Loaf’s epic anthems in a dystopian setting sounds electrifying. Bat Out Of Hell is a vocal tour de force buried in sensory overload, but should a rock opera feel this chaotic?
In a post-apocalyptic Obsidian, the ageless leader Strat (Glenn Adamson) spearheads the rebellious Lost who live beneath the city. When he falls for Raven (Katie Tonkinson), daughter of the tyrannical ruler Falco (Rob Fowler), it sparks a Romeo-and-Juliet-style rebellion powered by motorbikes, romance, and rock anthems.
Glenn Adamson’s portrayal of Strat brings raw energy and an incredible vocal range that lands every Big Chorus moment. Katie Tonkinson is a standout as Raven; her soaring rock vocals during “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” are electric and profoundly moving.
Ryan Carter (Jagwire), Luke Street (Ledoux), Carly Burns (Valkyrie), and Sharon Sexton (Sloane) all deliver blistering vocal performances that more than do justice to Steinman’s thunderous rock anthems. Every cast member earns their place on that stage—this is a production where not a single performer feels out of step. From leads to ensemble, the casting is spot on. The ensemble in particular is a whirlwind of energy, bringing tight harmonies, sharp choreography, and unwavering stage presence. It’s some of the most thrilling vocal work you’re likely to hear on a musical theatre stage this year.
While this production delivers powerhouse vocals and eye-popping visuals, it doesn’t just stumble in the storytelling—it plummets headfirst into confusion. At times, it’s hard to tell whether you’re watching a musical or sitting through an overblown stadium concert. Bat Out of Hell is a high-octane rock extravaganza—but calling it a musical might be a stretch.
Unfortunately, flash meets fizzle, as the spectacle constantly outpaces substance. With a roaming camera operator, screens continually splitting attention, and an endless barrage of explosions, strobes, and confetti cannons, the staging feels engineered for gimmicks over story. The cameraman routinely obstructs the view, signalling design by lens rather than a live audience perspective. It’s painfully loud and exhausting, leaving the show feeling with major sensory overload, seeking a quiet space to decompress from the onslaught.
Hats off to Jon Bausor’s dystopian vision. The steel-grey wardrobes and industrial set perfectly complement Steinman’s theatrical rock score. Likewise, Gareth Owen’s sound design delivers punchy, atmospheric moments that beautifully glue sight and sound together. They prove the production can be artfully realised when it chooses clarity over chaos.
Credit where it’s due: every song, penned by Jim Steinman, is a show-stopping anthem. Even in isolation, Steinman’s songs tell entire stories; listen to Paradise on the Dashboard Light and you know that his lyrics create a vivid narrative. These compositions are undoubtedly the heart of the show. Yet the book never catches up. The dialogue lacks any clarity, and if you didn’t recognise the Peter Pan parallels or cult tropes, you’re left puzzled. It’s only thanks to a pre-show Wikipedia search that I could piece together what was unfolding on the stage at all.
My theatre companion for the show whispered in my ear during the interval, "Do you know what's going on?" I had to answer honestly, I have NO idea. The narrative feels like the roughest scaffolding, connecting each power ballad, but never a story in its own right. Each section of dialogue introduces more confusion throughout the production. We sat in anticipation that all would come together in a clever reveal at the end, but my narrative rucksack was overloaded with unanswered questions after the curtain call.
The eight-piece band roared; tight, powerful, and truly the engine of every song. And the audience? A sea of Meat Loaf devotees, erupting in cheers and dancing along to "Two Out of Three Ain't Bad", "Dead Ringer for Love", and belting along to "I'd Do Anything For Love." The communal energy was genuine, though the volume levels were borderline ear-splitting (and, yes, as I left, I craved a rest from the barrage of sound).
“Bat Out of Hell” thrives in its musicality, yet falters as a musical. Gloriously sung, rhythmically tight, and visually bombastic, it’s a thrill ride in parts. But the story remains a muddled afterthought, the staging a gimmick factory, and the volume a barrier. If you want a rock concert with a veneer of plot, here you go. But if you're seeking dramatic clarity with your classics, maybe stick to the Spotify playlist.
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