Book by Cheri Steinkellner and Bill Steinkellner

Directed by Taylor Doig

Musical Direction by Roisin Caulfield

Review by Dominic Corr

Broughton High School

Raise your voice, grab a cheese-steak, say a few hail-mary’s and get ready to be possessed by a spirit which screams louder than anything else: Soul. And there’s a particular sparkle that emerges when a familiar musical lands not in the plush surrounds of a commercial venue but in the hands of a youth company brave enough to lean into its scale, energy and emotional warmth. Forth Children’s Theatre’s production of Sister Act, staged at Broughton High School, proves that ambition, combined with discipline, confidence and a clear sense of joyful purpose, can transform a school hall into something gloriously theatrical. And without the £7 ice cream to boot.

From the outset, this is a production unafraid of its own momentum, something familiar with Forth Children’s trademark of quality. Sister Act is a show that lives or dies on pace: its comedy requires snap, its musical numbers demand muscle, and its emotional arcs must be navigated without tipping into sentimentality. Here, the cast attack the material with an infectious commitment, buoyed by direction that keeps the story clean, energetic and consistently forward‑moving. The quieter moments in the initial bouts of nerves are quickly ebbed, and with a little audience encouragement, the roof is well and truly blasted off in a mix of soul, music, and laughter.

The plot, of course, remains satisfyingly intact from the original Whoopi Goldberg 1992 film, and the 2006 musical which spun from its success: nightclub singer Deloris Van Cartier, is forced into hiding within the unlikeliest of sanctuaries, finding both purpose and connection within an ailing convent community. What distinguishes this staging is how confidently it allows those contrasts to play out. The shift from sequins to habits never feels like a gimmick; instead, it becomes a canvas on which questions of belonging, discipline and chosen family quietly take shape.

Central to the production’s success is its leading performance, which balances swagger with vulnerability; in superstar Dara Omoya’s Deloris Van Cartier is played here with a welcome refusal to sand down her rough edges, while maintaining a strength in comedy and sincerity – delightfully playing the role with relish, but no ham. The performance understands that Deloris is not instantly lovable – she earns her place within the convent through friction, wit and gradual self‑realisation. Vocally, the role is handled with assurance, navigating the score’s punchy soul‑inflected lines while never overpowering the ensemble moments that make the show sing, with plenty of support from Mirrin Macleay’s sharp and bouncing choreography (best demonstrated in the Act one closing number, and finale), though this does suffer from over-crowding when the number of performers on stage outgrows the smaller playing area the Brought space provides comfortably – leading to a few collisions.

Around her, the convent forms a richly textured collective rather than a blur of habits and punchlines with a strong ensemble in the likes of Emma Ssembatya, Keira Swain, Chloe McGuire, Olivia de Silva or Cat Steele, and a significantly camp and giddy turn from Nathan Fisher as the Monsignor O’Hara. The principals within the sisterhood are sharply defined: comedic beats are landed with clarity, but what resonates most is the sense that these women exist as individuals with histories, doubts and quiet defiance. The Mother Superior, in particular, emerges as a conflicted moral anchor thanks to a powerful performance from Maia Baxter – measured rather than severe, firm without becoming brittle. That restraint gives their eventual rapprochement genuine emotional weight, delivering Here Within These Walls with an aethereal presence.

But Deloris wouldn’t be anything without their right and left wing; one of which is played by Lillie Paul, as novice nun Sister Mary Robert, who best demonstrates the shows brilliance in prioritising performance through music and song. It’s a slow-build of character for Paul, rather than an out-and-out explosion of change. Polar opposites; Anna Johnston’s bristling Sister Mary Lazarus, and the bubbly to the extreme Sister Mary Patrick, Lara Shanks providing plenty of humour and drips of pathos in song.Musically, the production punches above expectations. Harmonies are clean, rhythmic precision is impressively tight, and the ensemble numbers – so often the downfall of amateur productions – are choreographed with intention, and aimed for spatial intelligence. There’s plenty of smart choices across the board from musical director Roisin Caulfield, and Taylor Doig’s mainstage direction which strikes a balance across all of the shows outputs; thought he lack of live musicians is a shame.

What’s especially striking is how thoughtfully the production handles tone. Sister Act is often remembered for its high‑gloss comedy, but beneath that lies a narrative about visibility and voice: who is allowed to be heard, and under what conditions. This staging leans into that theme through moments of stillness as much as sparkle. When silence arrives, it feels earned. When celebration erupts, it feels communal rather than performative.

And while the more serious elements of the story; often involving violence and murder, are occasionally downplayed – there’s still plenty of menace in a talented performance from Ryan Guthrie, who brings sleaze to Curtis Jackson, Deloris’ married lover, who catapults the narrative forward following the shooting of one of his associates who snitches to the cops. Usually followed by their lackies, gleefully played to full-comedic impact by Maisie Aitchison, William Howard, and Jac Simpson-Hobbs, their solo piece, When I Find My Baby, is a highlight of the show – vicious, yet jovial, and a showcase of the musical direction.

Technically, the production demonstrates careful planning and ambitious execution for s show on this budget, while still utilising level and space. Gavin MacLeay’s set design is well=structured, impressive even, is elevated by lighting used expressively to define spaces than simply illuminate them, while costume design clearly understands the importance of contrast—both visual and symbolic—between Deloris’s former life and the convent’s disciplined order. Scene transitions are sometimes on the clunkier side, but an inevitable cost to pay for shows with ambitious scale and limited options.

Perhaps most impressive is the production’s refusal to patronise its performers or its audience. This Sister Act treats its young cast as capable storytellers rather than novelty acts, and the result is a musical that feels cohesive, confident and emotionally lucid. There is humour here, yes—but also generosity, sincerity and an underlying belief in the power of collective action.

Forth Children’s Theatre once again champions and reaffirms the value of youth theatre as a space of genuine artistry rather than apprenticeship alone. This is a production built on solidarity, rhythm and shared purpose, and it glows accordingly. A vibrant, assured and thoroughly uplifting rendition of a modern musical classic. Raise your voice, raise the roof, and raise a toast to this brilliant team.

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