It never ceases to amaze how the Menier Chocolate Factory manages to transform itself for each new production it stages; from thrust to more traditional end-on staging, it always feels like that’s just how the theatre is supposed to be. Now it makes one of its most dramatic transformations yet, for the UK premiere of Midnight at the Never Get, Mark Sonnenblick’s arresting story of forbidden love.
And so, the Menier becomes an intimate cabaret club, replete with cosy banquettes and cabaret-style seating. This is the titular Never Get, an illegal gay club in 1960s Greenwich Village, New York. It’s perhaps the most intimate the Menier has ever felt, and it works perfectly for Sonnenblick’s chamber musical, co-conceived with Sam Bolen and Max Friedman.
Our ‘storyteller’ is Trevor. A wide-eyed singer from Idaho, he forms a partnership with composer and lyricist Arthur. Their act becomes popular because when Trevor sings, he doesn’t change the lyrics to conform to heteronormative expectations, instead singing about ‘him’ or ‘he’. They land their own regular spot at the Never Get, which, as you may have guessed, they name Midnight.
The pair are also lovers, and mainstream success feels within touching distance. But the act as it stands isn’t suitable for the mainstream, and so a wedge is driven between them. Of course, we only really have Trevor’s word for all of this. In true memory-play fashion, we go back and forth in time as Trevor tells his story. How reliable a narrator he is becomes increasingly questionable and, without giving away too much of the climactic ending, perhaps nothing is really as it initially seems.
Sonnenblick’s songs are a great pastiche of the Great American Songbook. Midnight at the Never Get has all original music, yet it all feels familiar, as if written by Gershwin or Porter. All of this is played beautifully by a six-piece band, tucked neatly away in the alcoves. These may not be songs you’re humming on the Tube home, but for this musical they work entirely in the moment.
Midnight at the Never Get gets more emotional as it goes on, and director David Cromer doesn’t shy away from the trickier themes, instead putting them front and centre. Scott Pask’s set is wonderfully detailed; even the lights hanging from the ceiling are authentic to the era, while the kitsch table lamps dotted around the audience bathe us all in a shared glow.
But it’s the performances that elevate this show from something merely good to something genuinely special. Gregor Milne’s Arthur is a beautifully realised portrait of a man caught between love, ambition and self-preservation. Seated behind the piano for much of the evening, Milne could easily have become a passive presence, yet he brings a quiet magnetism to every scene. His chemistry with Ben Platt is immediate and utterly believable, allowing the relationship at the heart of the musical to feel lived-in rather than idealised.
Milne excels at revealing Arthur’s inner conflict, gradually peeling back layers of charm and confidence to expose the fear and frustration beneath. It’s a performance of impressive nuance, never reaching for easy sentiment but proving deeply moving all the same.
While Ben Platt has performed in London before, this marks his first full theatrical run in the capital, and it feels like something of an event. As Trevor, Platt delivers a performance that rattles your bones and stirs your soul. His voice, so instantly recognisable from contemporary musical theatre, might initially seem an unlikely fit for Sonnenblick’s vintage-inspired score, yet he inhabits the material effortlessly. Every song feels rooted in character and storytelling rather than vocal display, although the sheer quality of his singing remains breathtaking throughout.
More impressive still is his dramatic work. Platt captures Trevor’s vulnerability, determination and growing fragility with such conviction that the line between memory and reality becomes increasingly difficult to distinguish. In a venue as intimate as the Menier, there is nowhere to hide, and Platt rises magnificently to the challenge.
Barry James completes the cast, making an enormous impression in a role that proves pivotal to the evening’s emotional impact. Bringing warmth, wisdom and a quiet sadness to the stage, James becomes a grounding presence amid Trevor’s increasingly fractured recollections. His performance is wonderfully judged, never overstated yet rich with feeling, and he lends the production an additional layer of humanity at precisely the moments it needs it most.
Like the club at its centre, Midnight at the Never Get is intimate, fragile and impossible to hold onto forever. What begins as a charming, old-fashioned musical gradually reveals itself as something far more searching, exploring not just the cost of loving in secret, but the ways memory can protect us, deceive us and ultimately define us.
David Cromer’s beautifully judged production trusts both the material and its audience, allowing the story’s emotional heft to emerge naturally rather than forcing it. Combined with Scott Pask’s immersive design and two superb central performances from Ben Platt and Gregor Milne, the result is a musical that feels perfectly suited to the Menier’s unique space.
By the time Trevor’s story reaches its devastating conclusion, Midnight at the Never Get has transformed from a nostalgic cabaret into something considerably more powerful: a reminder of lives, loves and histories that were too often forced into the shadows. It’s a rare piece of musical theatre that trusts its audience as completely as this, and is all the more moving because of it.
Listings and ticket information can be found here
