Book, Music and Lyrics by Lin-Manuel Miranda

Directed by Thomas Kail

Review by Dominic Corr

Theatre Royal

Hamilton at the Glasgow Theatre Royal arrives not as nostalgia but as proof: Lin‑Manuel Miranda’s revolutionary musical remains one of the most powerful pieces of musical theatre in the repertoire, a work that keeps reinventing how stage music can think and feel. This UK touring production lands with the full-throttle confidence of a piece that has weathered a decade of reappraisal and remained vital as the company’s energy, the production’s sonic clarity and the constant kinetic invention onstage announce a show still hungry to be argued with rather than merely admired.

Story and history are inseparable from the show’s power. Hamilton recounts Alexander Hamilton’s ascent from impoverished immigrant to architect of the American financial system and a key aide to George Washington, tracing ambition, friendship and ruin across a landscape of revolution and nation‑building. Lin‑Manuel Miranda’s book, music and lyrics refract Ron Chernow’s biography through hip‑hop, R&B and musical theatre forms, letting contemporary rhythms reframe founding myths and expose the personal costs beneath public triumphs

This Glasgow run brings the company’s hallmark choreographic prowess and vocal precision to a theatre that responds to every beat; performers including Marley Fenton in the title role and Ashley J. Daniels as Lafayette deliver razor‑edged ensemble work that makes the evening feel as immediate as a new score. Joining them are the likes of the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland’s very own Sylvie Stenson, who stands among familiar faces like Akmed Junior Khemalai, returning as George Washington.

At the centre of Hamilton is a cast that can rap, sing and inhabit history without flattening it into museum wax. The title role here is both urgent and human; as Marley Fenton’s Hamilton’s breathless lyricism and vulnerable undercurrent keep the stakes personal even amid national consequence, playing the role with a touch more naivety and evolving vanity than some previous incarnations. King George, played with a deliciously venomous comic sting by Louis Maskell’s repeatedly punctures the show’s grander rhythms with pinprick satire, creating laugh lines that double as moral commentary.

Far more compelling from the emotional trajectory, Sydney Spencer’s Eliza’s arc is rendered with luminous control, her quiet scenes given the kind of stillness that makes the big ensemble moments land harder; Breathless and Burn are standouts for the show once more. The company profiles, from the fierce energy of the Schuyler sisters to the bristling rivalry between Hamilton and Burr, are sharpened by a pit band that reads every beat like a living thing, ensuring that the music never lets the drama slacken.

Choreography remains a cornerstone of the piece’s persuasive force. Andy Blankenbuehler’s movement vocabulary – here translated with fierce clarity by the company – treats bodies as punctuation, turning formation and rhythm into argument. Ensemble choreography does double duty: it clarifies political alliances while also offering emotional subtext, so that a single turn or staged tableau can encode betrayal, solidarity or grief without a word. The revolving stage and tight floor patterns keep the piece in perpetual forward motion; the result is a show that feels propelled by its own kinetic intelligence rather than simply by narrative necessity.

If Hamilton’s language still shocks with its audacity, its durability is down to how the production balances swagger with grace. Small moments, a soft, sustained note from Eliza; a staggered rap that catches on a crucial consonant; the comic elasticity of King George’s entrance, compounded into an experience that is both intellectually sharp and bodily overwhelming. The score’s melodies lodge in the ear long after the curtain falls; the choreography stays in the limbs.

One of the greatest shows to tread the stages; Hamilton asks its audience to listen hard, to reconcile lyric and history, to feel the centrifugal pressure of ambition and the ache of loss. On this evidence, the show still does what the best theatre must attempt: it changes the way you hear the world; one shot at a time.

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