Operation Mincemeat was one of the most extraordinary deception operations of World War II. An audacious plan to convince the Nazis that Allied forces intended to invade Sardinia rather than Sicily, using false documents planted on the body of a dead man.
On paper, it sounds like an unlikely premise for a musical, yet what followed was a whirlwind of music, physical comedy, espionage and wonderfully inventive storytelling. The songs are witty, clever and relentlessly energetic, with moments that feel almost Hamilton-esque in their rapid-fire wordplay, tongue-twisting lyrics and rhythmic delivery.
The set is one of the most versatile I have seen in a touring production. At first glance it appears deceptively simple, but throughout the evening it continues to reveal surprise after surprise. A blackboard conceals a doorway, a staircase transforms into a bar and clever lighting completely alters the atmosphere of the stage. Combined with slick choreography and physical theatre, it creates a production that feels far larger than the five-person cast at the centre of this organised chaos.
Holly Sumpton leads proceedings as Ewen Montagu, sustaining a larger-than-life characterisation throughout the performance with tremendous energy. Her comic timing is superb, with one particularly memorable line – “Well, at least it isn’t a musical!” – earning one of the biggest laughs of the night.
Seán Carey is outstanding as the slightly eccentric Charles Cholmondeley (plus several other characters), with an almost elastic quality to his physical performance. Jamie-Rose Monk is equally impressive as Johnny Bevan, Ian Fleming and a bumbling British operative in Spain: the transformations often happen at breakneck speed, but each feels distinct.
Charlotte Hanna-Williams brings strength, warmth and charisma to Jean Leslie, with her superb singing voice and commanding stage presence providing some of Operation Mincemeat’s most powerful musical moments. But for me, the standout performance of the evening belongs to Christian Andrews as quiet, dedicated senior secretary Hester Leggatt.
His performance of Dear Bill is one of the most emotional moments in the entire production: after the bright lights, frantic comedy and rapidfire songs, everything is still, and Andrews’ beautiful, restrained solo is filled with longing and humanity. The audience sat in silent wonder before erupting into richly deserved applause, and the moment demonstrates how Operation Mincemeat never loses sight of the human beings at the heart of its story, or treats the history itself as a joke. Instead, the comedy draws us into the story before gradually revealing the sacrifice, courage and humanity beneath it.
Nowhere is this more powerful than in its treatment of Glyndwr Michael, the Welshman whose body became central to the operation. Watching this story unfold in Cardiff carries an additional poignancy. Glyndwr Michael was himself from Cardiff – in the afternoon before the show, a memorial bench in his name was unveiled in nearby Alexandra Gardens – and amid all the extraordinary personalities, secret documents and ingenious deception the production also ensures his role is given the recognition it deserves.
The standing ovation from the audience at the show’s end is equally warranted, but what struck me most came afterwards – walking out of the theatre and hearing people talking about… the people. The unsung heroes behind the operation. Indeed, Operation Mincemeat’s greatest achievement is the wonderfully unconventional voice it gives to citizens who, more than 80 years ago, worked in offices, typed letters, devised plans and operated in the shadows.
Operation Mincemeat, New Theatre, Cardiff, Tue 15 Sept
On until Sat 19 Sept (tickets: from £39.75. Info: here); and in Grand Theatre, Swansea from Mon 21-Sat 26 Sept (tickets: £33-£67. Info: here)
words DAFYDD LLYR
