Growing up on the outskirts of Glasgow in the late 1990s, Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting had become so much more than Danny Boyle’s era-defining 1996 film adaptation. It was a cultural touchstone, proudly adopted as a marker of Scottish identity. The words “Choose Life” adorned mugs and T-shirts and were uttered by teenagers the length and breadth of the country.
Between Welsh’s original novel and Boyle’s film, the story of Renton and his fellow Leith misfits became deeply embedded in British popular culture, spawning a prequel, sequels and a hugely successful stage adaptation that remains a regular sell-out at the Edinburgh Fringe.
Which makes Trainspotting The Musical feel all the more baffling.
Set against the economic deprivation and heroin epidemic of late-1980s Edinburgh, Trainspotting The Musical follows Mark Renton and his circle of friends as they stumble through addiction, violence, friendship and self-destruction.
The familiar characters are all present: the charismatic but deeply flawed Renton (Lewis Kidd), the hapless Spud (Kieran Andrew), the explosively dangerous Begbie (Frankie O’Connor) and the manipulative Sick Boy (Sheridan Townsley), though the latter is practically written out with barely one decent scene.
While the production recreates many of the story’s best-known moments, it rarely captures the anarchic energy or emotional punch that made the source material so compelling. More significantly, it sanitises a story whose power has always stemmed from its refusal to be sanitised. We rush through these pivotal moments as if ticking them off a list. There isn’t a gram of gravitas to be found. Renton’s spiral into addiction, Alison’s baby dying and Tommy’s demise are all rushed and emotionless.
Much of the problem lies in the show’s uncertain identity. It wants to be a hard-hitting drama about addiction, a nostalgic celebration of 1990s culture and a full-scale musical all at once. These elements never quite cohere. Scenes of genuine tragedy are frequently followed by upbeat song-and-dance numbers that feel jarringly disconnected from the emotional reality of what has just unfolded. Rather than enriching the drama, the music often interrupts it.
The score itself is an uneven combination of familiar tracks and original material. The inclusion of well-known songs inevitably generates moments of recognition from the audience, but many of the newly written numbers struggle to leave much impression and stretch across too many different genres. There’s a country and western / line dancing number (something about c**ts) followed in quick succession by urban house and northern soul.
Too often the lyrics state exactly what the audience already understands, leaving little room for nuance or discovery. What should feel provocative instead feels surprisingly obvious. Some of this could be forgiven if the performances were strong, but they are not. ‘Drop Dead Gorgeous’ is a tuneless, loud mess, while ‘Perfect Day’ somehow drains all emotional resonance from a moment that should be devastating.
Director Caroline Jay Ranger keeps everything moving at breakneck speed, but the production mistakes momentum for substance. Key moments rush past before they’re allowed to land emotionally, leaving even the story’s darkest tragedies feeling oddly weightless. The show rarely trusts the audience to draw its own conclusions, repeatedly underlining themes that have already been made abundantly clear.
There are flashes of what this adaptation might have been. Occasionally a performance cuts through the noise, or a scene lands with genuine emotional force. Particularly when Renton is forced through the painful and humiliating process of going ‘cold turkey’ in an attempt to kick his habit. In those moments, the humanity of Welsh’s characters re-emerges.
The cast work hard to elevate the material. I genuinely feel for Lewis Kidd as Renton, who clearly has talent, but this script struggles to find fresh angles on a character many audience members know intimately.
Kieran Andrew and Frankie O’Connor as Spud and Begbie also make strong impressions, particularly during the production’s funnier moments when the story is allowed to breathe. But many of the supporting cast are struggling, and too often the production feels more like amateur panto than a West End musical.
After listening to several wildly inconsistent Scottish accents, I checked the programme for a dialect coach. I wasn’t surprised not to find one. The non-Scottish cast really need some support on their accents, and preferably before the show reaches the Scottish leg of its upcoming tour.
Visually, the show adopts a grimy, industrial aesthetic that could be anywhere in the UK. There’s nothing to suggest we’re in Edinburgh. Projections and atmospheric lighting help guide the audience through numerous locations, though there are occasions when the production relies so heavily on visual shorthand that it never quite creates a convincing lived-in world.
The most impressive video design comes during the infamous ‘worst toilet in Scotland’ scene. However, it completely misses the point of that particular scene. And that’s a recurring problem here. This is such a diluted version of Trainspotting that it loses everything that made it special in the first place.
Trainspotting has always been shocking not simply because of its drugs, violence and profanity, but because of its brutal honesty about people trapped by circumstance and self-destruction. Here, many of those rough edges have been smoothed away by the demands of musical theatre, leaving behind little more than swear words and empty narrative.
Fans of the novel and film may arrive hoping to rediscover the anger, humour and brutal honesty that made Trainspotting a phenomenon. What they will find instead is a dramatically muddled retelling that strips away everything which made the original so vital. As an audience, it feels like a painful two hours spent going cold turkey from good theatre.
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