Book and Lyrics by Alain Boublil

Directed by Jean-Pierre Van Der Spuy

Review by Laurie Kemmett

King’s Theatre, Glasgow

Miss Saigon is not a show without controversy. From accusations of Orientalism, to undercurrents of white saviorism and imperialism, to the show’s original casting issues – just take a look at the Wikipedia page dedicated specifically to Miss Saigon’s tumultuous past. Eye rolls are elicited when the heroic soldier Chris deplores that it’s in his blood to do good because he’s an American in Vietnam. It would take a real tour de force to even come close to distracting from the show’s past.

Luckily, for this 2026 tour of Miss Saigon, it is a tour de force. So much so that one word could describe the feeling of coming out of the theatre: gobsmacked.

Miss Saigon follows Kim, a 17-year-old girl working in a brothel who meets and falls in love with Chris, an American soldier. He leaves unexpectedly, three years pass, and he finally hears from Kim – and her three-year-old son, Tam.

Let’s begin with the first thing that hits you when the curtains rise. Andrew D Edwards’s set is phenomenal. Projections of washing lines, moveable stairs, and the ever changing sky all serve to make the stage feel like a living, breathing city. It’s difficult to believe that what is in front of the audience can and has been dismantled and transported across the United Kingdom – what do you mean, this isn’t a place where people have existed for hundreds of years? Later in the show, Edwards’s set design shines consistently. Blood-red Vietnamese flags unfurl from the sky, a claustrophobic hotel room encroaches on the characters, and – perhaps best of all – the neon lights of Bangkok fizz menacingly above the action. Combined with Bruno Poet’s lighting design, one can almost feel the warmth of sunlight as it pours through the windows of Kim’s bedroom the first magical morning she spends with Chris. The piece de resistance of Poet’s design has to be the iconic helicopter scene. The confusion and desperation of this scene is only improved by Adam Fisher’s deafening and devastating sound design.

Speaking of devastation, a particularly impactful piece of projection from George Reeve comes at the climax of the first act. As Kim and the hustler, Engineer, escape Vietnam to Bangkok, a square of lit up stage is transformed into a raft as the rolling sea is projected around the terrified escapees. This image is powerful at the best of times, but these days, it’s particularly poignant. Choreography from Carrie-Anne Ingrouille and Chrissy Cartwright is slick throughout, from the writhing movements of the girls in the brothel ‘Dreamland’ to the sharply synchronised soldiers celebrating liberation.

Of course, a theatrical world is nothing without the people to populate it. And boy, are there some people in this show. It’s difficult to know where exactly to begin to describe the performances on display at Miss Saigon. Seann Miley Moore is mesmerising as the sexual, sleazy Engineer. They strike the perfect balance between a menacing figure and comedic relief, not an easy feat in a show such as this. Their stage presence is a force to be reckoned with: during the Engineer’s song, ‘The American Dream’, they command the bare stage like there’s an entire marching band behind them, moving and crowing like a cartoon character. When the marching band does appear, it almost feels unnecessary, as Moore is a magnet for rapt attention. Julianne Pundan is a heartbreaking Kim. Her quiet strength, hope, and anguish never feels overwrought. It’s unbelievable that this is Pundan’s professional debut. Similarly, Jack Kane as Chris is a likeable and broken man.

The supporting cast is equally incredible. You could hear a pin drop as Emily Langham, playing Chris’s wife Ellen, lamented her husband’s past. It would have been easy to play Ellen as an insecure, jealous wife – Langham staunchly refuses to pander to this trope, and instead plays her as one of the most complex and interesting characters in the show. During ‘Maybe’, tears were falling all around the theatre. Another stand-out song came from Dominic Hartley-Harris as John, singing ‘Bui Doi’. His power as a performer radiated – it felt like a privilege to hear a voice like that.

It’s not the done thing to use the first person when writing a review, but I have to make an exception here, to say that Thao Therese Nguyen was my personal standout. Playing Gigi, the hardened foil to Kim, Nguyen was at once gritty, down-to-earth, and ethereal. During ‘The Movie in my Mind’, she carefully revealed Gigi’s multitudes to the audience a layer at a time. Gigi has been stuck firmly in my head since seeing Miss Saigon.

On the surface, Miss Saigon appears to be a love story between a man and a woman. But this production makes it so much more. It is a love between a mother and child. A love between women in a hard place. A love between those who have experienced hardship and come through the other side together. And most of all: it is a love story between the theatre and the audience.

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