Book by Katori Hall with Frank Ketelaar and Kees Prins

Directed by Phyllida Lloyd

Review by Dominic Corr

Edinburgh Playhouse

Few performers have earned the moniker “Queen of Rock ’n’ Roll” with the same ferocity as Tina Turner. Her story is one of resilience, reinvention, and raw talent—a narrative that Tina: The Tina Turner Musical embraces with a thunderous energy at the Edinburgh Playhouse. Directed by Phyllida Lloyd, this production doesn’t just recount a life; it electrifies it, transforming biography into a concert experience that leaves audiences breathless.

From the opening moments, the storytelling grips with an honesty that refuses to sugarcoat. Katori Hall’s book, alongside Frank Ketelaar and Kees Prins, charts Turner’s journey from Nutbush, Tennessee to global superstardom with a clarity that balances grit and glamour. The early scenes—young Anna Mae Bullock under the stern eye of her mother Zelma—are steeped in tension, foreshadowing the battles ahead. Yet, even in these quieter beats, the production pulses with rhythm, thanks to Anthony van Laast’s choreography, which threads movement through dialogue like a heartbeat.

But it’s the lighting—Bruno Poet’s masterstroke—that elevates this musical into something transcendent. Poet doesn’t merely illuminate; he sculpts with light. Stark shafts pierce the stage during moments of isolation, while explosive strobes mimic the chaos of Ike Turner’s volatile presence. In the climactic sequences, as Tina reclaims her voice and autonomy, the stage erupts in a blaze of golds and reds—a visual metaphor for liberation that feels almost operatic. It’s a design that understands Turner’s essence: bold, uncompromising, and dazzling. It’s the finest example of what so many pieces of musical theatre attempt to capture: that feeling of a concert, a gig. And Tina captures it sublimely.

Vocally, the show is a tour de force. Elle Ma-Kinga N’Zuzi and Jochebel Ohene MacCarthy share the mantle of Tina, with Ma-Kinga performing on press night, delivering a performance that defies imitation. Rather than mimicry, they channel Turner’s spirit—those gravel-edged belts, the growl that slides into a soaring note, the stamina to sustain anthem after anthem. Numbers like “River Deep – Mountain High” and “What’s Love Got to Do with It” aren’t mere recreations; they’re acts of possession, storytelling mechanics. David King-Yombo’s Ike is magnetic and menacing, his charisma a chilling counterpoint to the darkness beneath. Gemma Sutton as Rhonda Graam offers a grounding presence, a voice of reason amid the storm, but it is Isaac Elder’s Roger Davies who provides much of the needed levity in the second act, with a charming performance.

The narrative pacing occasionally falters, biographical musicals often wrestle with the weight of chronology, but Lloyd’s direction compensates with momentum. Scenes bleed into songs with cinematic fluidity, aided by Jeff Sugg’s video design, which projects archival textures without overwhelming the live action. Mark Thompson’s set, a modular marvel, shifts from Southern kitchens to Vegas stages with deceptive ease, while Nevin Steinberg’s sound design ensures every guitar lick and drumbeat lands with visceral punch. And then comes the finale, a metamorphosis from musical theatre into a full-blown rock concert. The fourth wall crumbles as the Playhouse transforms into Wembley Arena circa 1988. The audience, until now spectators, become participants: clapping, dancing, roaring approval as “The Best” detonates across the auditorium. It’s not just a curtain call; it’s catharsis. For two and a half hours, we’ve witnessed struggle, survival, and triumph—and now, we celebrate it in the only way Tina Turner ever knew: loud, proud, and unstoppable.

What lingers after the applause isn’t just admiration for technical prowess, though there’s plenty of that, but a renewed respect for the woman at the story’s core. This isn’t hagiography; it acknowledges flaws, pain, and compromise. Yet, by the time those final chords fade, what dominates is resilience. Turner’s life reminds us that reinvention is possible, that power can be reclaimed, and that sometimes, the most radical act is simply to keep singing.

In an era where jukebox musicals often feel like glorified playlists, Tina stands apart. It’s theatre with teeth, biting into themes of identity, autonomy, and artistry, while never losing sight of its primary mission: to entertain. And entertain it does, with a ferocity that would make Tina herself proud. So, if you’re ready for a night that oscillates between heartbreak and euphoria, where storytelling collides with stadium spectacle, Edinburgh Playhouse has the answer. Just don’t expect to stay seated during the encore.

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