Cruel Intentions: The ’90s Musical review – dark, rollicking and stylish

The old adage that the devil gets all the good tunes certainly won’t be disproved by the new jukebox musical Cruel Intentions. Adapting the 1999 movie about sexual skulduggery and coercion amongst the privileged youthful elite of NYC’s Upper East Side, creators Jordan Ross, Lindsey Rosin and Roger Kumble have curated a collection of chart hits from the decade in which the story is set. The ‘90s was a terrific time in the worlds of rock and pop, with the emergence of artists such as Britney Spears, Placebo, The Cardigans, No Doubt… all of whom are represented here, resulting in the most exciting non-original score heard on a London musical stage since & Juliet left town.

They’re employed to flesh out a story of real nastiness, something Jonathan O’Boyle’s glossy, monochrome production doesn’t shy away from (even the pre-show announcement is peppered with expletives and withering disdain). Cruel Intentions the film was a surprisingly faithful and bracingly vicious update of Les Liaisons Dangereuses, and this stage version, first seen in a different staging off-Broadway in 2015, doesn’t make any attempt to sugar the pill of just how lethal the protagonists here are, despite the fact they’re in a musical with (hopefully) mainstream appeal.

Admittedly, that never hampered Heathers at the box office, and I suspect Cruel Intentions will probably enjoy similar success, not least because it’s arguably the better musical, inhabiting similar dramatic territory of precocious teens being absolutely bloody awful to each other, only here it’s in much more stylish outfits. Kumble (who penned the original screenplay), Rosin and Ross have done a splendid, witty job of interpolating modern pop classics into this gleefully malevolent tale of erotic scheming and betrayal: having über mean girl Kathryn Merteuil describe herself using Christina Aguilera’s “Genie In A Bottle” feels wonderfully right, as does “Wannabe” by Spice Girls as a sexual come-on for a pair of comically mismatched young gay guys. The Verve’s “Bittersweet Symphony” makes a suitably rousing, literally bitter-sweet, finale, while the streetwise “No Scrubs” by TLC for a ghastly racist, Chanel-clad Park Avenue matron is just plain hilarious.

As director O’Boyle proved in his acclaimed version of The Last Five Years and the 2017/8 Hope Mill and Southwark Pippin, he’s a master at balancing intelligent dramatic choices with crowd-pleasing theatrical pyrotechnics, and is on similar form here. The book scenes are played with considerable intensity, then the songs come on like little escapist explosions of joy or angst. A car crash is simulated through sound effects and some lighting ingenuity (design by Nick Richings), a revolve is used but never distracts from the narrative thrust, and the differences between the ‘90s and now (cellphones are present but never central to social interactions, emails are viewed with suspicion, cool kids keep written journals) are subtly there but never belaboured.

It’s a shame that there aren’t a few more ensemble members to execute Gary Lloyd’s enjoyable if overused pop video-inspired choreography: a couple of the dances tend to resemble an aerobics class with insufficient attendees. Polly Sullivan’s imposing marble-effect split-level set, with the excellent band perched on the upper floor beneath the Manhattan skyline, looks more like a style choice than an economical one though, like a cross between a UES townhouse and a mausoleum.

There isn’t as much erotic heat as there might be between Daniel Bravo’s chiselled seducer Valmont and Abbie Budden as his morally upright prey, although they’re both fine individually. Bravo is particularly strong, raising pouty detachment to an art form, while bearing a satisfying resemblance to Ryan Phillippe in the film. Jess Buckby is very funny as his therapist and the bigoted mother of another of his conquests, and Josh Barnett is a standout as a bouncily spiteful gay meddler. The treatment of initially innocent Cecile, whose sexual awakening coincides with her becoming a pawn in Kathryn and Sebastian’s twisted games, is decidedly icky but Rose Galbraith, in a notable professional debut, invests her with a welcome comic knowingness. All of the singing is top notch, and occasionally downright thrilling.

That’s especially true of Rhianne-Louise McCaulsky, all silk and granite as the imperious Kathryn. Hitherto known primarily as an acclaimed Tina cover and a replacement Six queen, McCaulsky emerges here as a bona fide star, investing this magnetic but deeply unpleasant young woman with charisma, nuance and sly, dark humour. When she unleashes her full vocal firepower in an 11 o’clock breakdown number that mashes up Meredith Brooks’s “Bitch” with Garbage’s “Only Happy When It Rains” amongst others, to devastating effect, she’s like something elemental, stopping the show cold and threatening to rip the roof off the Other Palace.

Dark, rollicking and stylish, this is a fun, foul-mouthed addition to the roster of current London stage musicals. “Are you in, or are you out?” asks the show’s advertising tagline. I suspect loads of people will want in.