Sunny Afternoon: The Kinks Musical - UK Tour Review

★★☆☆☆

The jukebox musical is now a familiar staple of the British touring circuit, and Sunny Afternoon arrives at the Nottingham Theatre Royal packed with nostalgia and a catalogue of undeniably iconic songs. Charting the rise of one of Britain’s most influential rock bands, this production takes us back to the swinging ’60s and the anthems that defined a generation. But does this musical biopic showcase the volatile story behind the music, or does the drama get drowned out by the noise?

Danny Horn and Company. Photo Manuel Harlan

Sunny Afternoon follows the ascent of The Kinks from working-class North London beginnings to international stardom. At its centre is Ray Davies, a temperamental songwriter grappling with the pressures of fame, alongside his brother Dave, bassist Pete Quaife, and drummer Mick Avory. As legal battles, creative freedom, and personal tensions threaten to fracture the band, their music continues to play on, producing era-defining hits that are still adored today.

There is no disputing that the strength of this production is the music. Love or loathe The Kinks, their back catalogue is incredible. From the urgency of “You Really Got Me” to the charm of “Waterloo Sunset” and the mega-hit “Lola,” the songs are the show’s lifeblood. When this production leans fully into its concert aesthetic, it is exhilarating. The fact that the cast perform as actor-musicians, handling everything from guitars and drums to trombones, melodicas, and banjos, is genuinely thrilling. There is a raw, live energy that cannot be faked, and it is here that the evening truly comes alive. The finale, “Lola,” is electric, with the room on its feet (hip replacements permitting), and a wave of nostalgia washes over an audience largely composed of fans of the band. In those moments, the show feels exactly what it should be: a joyous tribute concert.

The cast deserves immense credit. Danny Horn gives a committed and vocally strong performance as Ray Davies. He avoids impersonation, instead capturing the emotional undercurrents of a songwriter wrestling with ambition and insecurity. His voice suits the Kinks’ repertoire beautifully, and he works tirelessly to inject depth into a script that too often skims the surface. 

Harry Curley’s Pete Quaife is one of the production’s quiet triumphs. Not only is he relentlessly charming, but the scene showing his departure from the band carries genuine emotional weight, and Curley’s performance in that moment gave me goosebumps. 

Oliver Hoare and Company. Photo Manuel Harlan

Oliver Hoare leans confidently into Dave Davies’s rebellious persona, arrogant, charismatic, and frequently intoxicated, bringing rock-star bravado and impressive musicality. Completing the band, Zakarie Stokes makes a striking professional debut as Mick Avory, with his drum solo being a genuine highlight.

Tam Williams and Ben Caplan deliver strong performances as managers Grenville Collins and Eddie Kassner, while Alasdair Craig appears as Larry Page. All are capable performers, yet dramatically they blur together. The script’s insistence on faithfully documenting the band's history results in multiple managerial figures who feel functionally identical, discussing rights and royalties without ever fully dramatising what those stakes mean on a human level.

And this is my biggest issue. Dramatically, Sunny Afternoon feels sanitised and frustratingly safe. Whenever dialogue begins to build toward genuine conflict, it is abruptly interrupted by another song. Rather than heightening the drama, the music frequently halts it. After Act One, there is a sense of anticipation: surely these unresolved tensions will explode in Act Two? But they never quite do. The narrative rarely explores the darker complexities of the band’s relationships beyond surface stereotypes: Dave as the reckless drunk, Pete as the sidelined bassist, Ray as the tortured artist. There is talk of contracts and lost earnings, but little sense of consequence or danger. No real fallout. No true volatility. The band’s supposed implosion feels muted.

The result is a production that might have worked more effectively as a concert with narration rather than as a fully-fledged dramatic musical. As theatre, it struggles to generate sustained emotional investment. As a gig, it would soar.

Technically, the production is a mixed bag. Miriam Buether’s design evokes a convincing 1960s aesthetic, complete with period costumes and a gig-like atmosphere. The red, white, and blue lighting rig cleverly conjures both British iconography and vintage stage lighting, giving the production a strong visual identity. Yet the staging feels cluttered, with excess ensemble characters (stylists, groupies, passing American executives) drifting in and out without a clear dramatic purpose. Not to mention the entering and exiting through the audience, which is a personal gripe of mine. 

Phil Corbitt, Alasdair Craig, Danny Horn, Harry Curley, Zakarie Stokes and Oliver Hoare. Photo Manuel Harlan

The most problematic point is the sound design. In a music-driven show, balance is everything, and it is frequently off-kilter. Vocals are often drowned out by over-amplified instruments, a baffling choice given the cast’s considerable vocal talent. The a cappella version of “Days”, when band and management harmonise without instrumental backing, is breathtaking precisely because we can finally hear their undeniable talent. By contrast, “You Really Got Me” is blasted at an almost uncomfortable stadium concert volume, as though familiarity alone justifies decibel excess. The sharp contrast between concert-level songs and comparatively under-supported dialogue becomes aurally jarring.

There are also moments of visible clumsiness: an actress tripping over some shoes, a microphone nearly knocked over, and a cymbal that actually fell over, suggesting a lack of polish this far into the tour. These do not appear to be due to performer error, but rather to design or technical misjudgment, and they chip away at overall professionalism.

Yet for all these flaws, it would be disingenuous to ignore the audience response. The crowd (largely older, many lifelong fans) clearly relished the experience. There was applause, foot-tapping, and everyone on their feet singing and dancing along to the encore. Nostalgia is a powerful theatrical currency, and Sunny Afternoon trades in it generously.

Ultimately, this UK tour of Sunny Afternoon is entertaining but dramatically lightweight. It is powered almost entirely by The Kinks’ music and a hugely talented actor-musician cast who give everything to the material, which rarely rises to meet their commitment. As theatre, it feels dramatically thin and safe; as a concert experience, it would be infectious and celebratory. For die-hard Kinks fans, this will be a crowd-pleasing night of musical nostalgia. For those seeking drama and genuine insight into the volatility of one of Britain’s most influential bands, however, this production never quite digs deep enough.