Book by Stephan Elliot and Allan Scott

Directed by Ian Talbot

Review by Dominic Corr

The King’s Theatre

There’s plenty of glitter, leg kicks, splits, cakes in the rain, and fizz to be had in Glasgow this week. And that’s before we even get to the theatre…Few touring musicals arrive with as much instantly recognisable flair as Priscilla Queen of the Desert, and the fresh tour brings that signature cocktail of glitz, disco, and defiant self‑expression to Glasgow. This 30th‑anniversary staging arrives loud, and drenched in colour, fuelled by the legacy of the 1994 film and determined to celebrate its enduring message of unapologetic identity, but it leaves behind a lot of the original stage shows’ sharpness and fluidity the show is known for at the last rest-stop.

At its core, Stephen Elliot’s screenplay, and by extension Elliot and Allan Scott’s book for stage, is a gorgeous tale on three performers—Tick, Bernadette, and Felicia— who embark on a road trip across the Australian outback in a battered bus lovingly renamed Priscilla, encountering and overcoming bigotry, self-acceptance, and Australia’s masculinity. Primarily, it is Tick’s journey which shapes the story – as they get the gang back together for a gig, a guise used as a way to keep a promise of reuniting with his son; while Bernadette seeks her footing after years of navigating shifting communities; and Felicia moves through life with reckless flamboyance that both masks and magnifies his vulnerabilities.

The production’s creative identity is unmistakably shaped by Ian Talbot’s direction, which prioritises pace and visual excess: which does feel cramped in the King’s smaller staging. Talbot balances the emotional undertones of the journey with a production design that foregrounds spectacle. Set and lighting designer Andrew Exeter crafts a shifting landscape where the outback becomes a canvas for neon colour, reflective surfaces, and stylised illusions of movement., which is emphasised with video design by Leo Flint. The real treat, though, is with the hair and makeup artistry by Craig Forrest‑Thomas which builds a heightened world where reality is always tinged with theatrical exaggeration.

Vibrancy continues in the costume department, where Vicky Gill—famed for work on Strictly Come Dancing—unleashes over one-hundred designs tailored for swift changes and comedic transformation. From the infamous cupcake ensembles to shimmering gowns and drag high‑camp silhouettes, their work injects character into each number and often becomes the primary storytelling tool alongside the performances of emotion and rich humour.

Performance-wise, the staging intentionally allows each central figure space to carve out their emotional terrain. Crowd-fave Kevin Clifton’s Tick blends charismatic showmanship with moments of quiet apprehension, grounding the more chaotic elements around him. The lynchpin of the story, much of the resolution is aimed at Clifton, who does a sterling role with championing this – and belting out where required, holding their own against legendary Adèle Anderson (Fascinating Aïda), as Bernadette, who brings a tempered elegance, playing with controlled humour and an authority drawn from cabaret tradition. Her scenes often calms the show’s tone, opening the possibility for tenderness to cut through.

Across from them all though, Nick Hayes’ Felicia commands the production with brash, kinetic confidence. It is, by no stretch, an exceptional performance which captures all of the productions hues and sensitivity – while delivering a swift kick to the down-under of  bigotry and poor showmanship. His performance still, though, leans fully into the show’s camp sensibility (as do many of the ensemble Queens in the show) embodying the volatility and joy that define the character’s arc. Elsewhere, Peter Duncan’s Bob provides a contrasting texture – steady and earnest – giving the road‑trip dynamic a necessary anchor.

Musically, the show remains a disco powerhouse with numbers like Hot Stuff, I Will Survive, and Girls Just Wanna Have Fun which all benefit from Matt Cole’s choreography, whose athletic movement vocabulary ensures momentum rarely dips. But, regrettably, it is incredibly restrictive on the King’s stage leading to a few collisions. The flash comes with a trade-off. The production’s urgency often results in choppy scene changes, where emotional beats slip through the cracks, resulting in structural fragmentation that softens the dramatic payoff.

Despite this, Priscilla Queen of the Desert delivers exactly the kind of joyous escapism its legacy promises – and frankly, what we need right now. Even with its occasional stumbles in rhythm and reveal, the production thrives in its celebration of individuality, humour, and riotous theatrical excess – ultimately earning a confident, glitter‑dusted pair of heels which stands above shows of a similar ilk.

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