Going into the Young Vic’s press night for Thelma & Louise, I realised it must be at least twenty years since I last watched the film. I could recall very little of the plot, but two memories had stayed with me: the anger I felt at the injustice faced by its protagonists, and that famous final scene that remains one of cinema’s most unforgettable endings.
Given the current appetite for turning beloved films into stage musicals, it’s hardly surprising that Thelma & Louise has received the musical treatment, with original screenwriter Callie Khouri returning to adapt her own work. It is, however, an unusual choice. Not because of the story itself, but because this is fundamentally a road movie, with much of the action taking place in a moving car, something that presents obvious theatrical challenges.
In an interview published in the programme, Khouri describes the musical as a “completely new iteration” of the story. Yet fans of the film will recognise almost every major scene, along with large portions of the original dialogue. Best friends Thelma and Louise unexpectedly find themselves on the run. Yes, from the police, but increasingly from the restrictive lives and persistent male expectations that have defined them for far too long.
The story itself remains as powerful as ever. In exploring the experiences of these two women, the piece forces us to confront how fragile women’s rights can be and how quickly hard-won freedoms can come under threat. Khouri’s writing ensures the relationship at the heart of the show never loses its grip, particularly as the two women gradually exchange characteristics and discover strengths they never realised they possessed.
Amy Lennox and Rachel Tucker are exceptional in the title roles. Lennox captures Thelma’s transformation from timid and uncertain to increasingly self-assured with tremendous warmth and charm, while Tucker brings steel, vulnerability and emotional depth to Louise. Together they create a believable friendship that feels lived-in from the outset, making the emotional stakes of their journey resonate throughout. Trevor Dion Nicholas lends genuine humanity to the sympathetic Hal, while Jordan Luke Gage delivers a charismatic and sharply judged performance as the manipulative JD.
What is entirely new, of course, is the score from Grammy-nominated singer-songwriter Neko Case. Unsurprisingly, the songs draw heavily from country and western influences, complemented by choreography from Bobbi Jene Smith and Or Schraiber that frequently leans into line dancing and Americana imagery. While many of the numbers work well in isolation, Case’s lack of musical theatre experience is difficult to ignore.
The score is dominated by ballads which, although often attractive to listen to, begin to blur together. As a result, the pacing suffers, particularly in the first act, which feels considerably longer than it is. The show is not conceived as a sung-through musical, yet there are moments when relatively ordinary exchanges are underscored for no obvious dramatic reason. Rather than heightening the storytelling, these songs often slow it down.
There are nevertheless several standout musical moments. An early upbeat number introducing Thelma and Louise injects a welcome burst of energy and arguably feels more suitable as an opening than the subdued song that currently begins the evening. Louise’s haunting reflection on what happened in Texas is genuinely affecting, while the final number provides an emotionally satisfying conclusion.
Trip Cullman’s production is less successful visually. Christine Jones and Brett J. Banakis’ initially impressive set places a sprawling roadside bar across the width of the Young Vic stage, but once the journey begins there is surprisingly little sense of movement. The same space and props are repeatedly repurposed, creating a production that often feels static despite a story fundamentally driven by freedom and escape.
That limitation is most apparent when Louise sings about her beloved car. Aside from a brief appearance early on, the vehicle is never seen again. There are theatrical attempts to compensate, but none fully capture the exhilaration of the open road, making it difficult to believe these characters are crossing vast distances in search of freedom.
The original storytelling still shines through, but the adaptation struggles to match the power of the story it is telling. The anger, heartbreak and enduring emotional impact of Khouri’s story remain firmly intact, and audiences unfamiliar with the source material may well be swept along by the journey.
That sense of injustice that stayed with me all these years later is still present and as potent as ever. Yet when it comes to recreating the film’s iconic ending, Thelma & Louise settles for a solution that works effectively in the moment but ultimately feels like a missed opportunity. As with the score and staging elsewhere, it is only afterwards, on the journey home, that you start to think about what might have been.
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