How to Win Against History at Bristol Old Vic – review

Call it the Six effect—a revolution sparked by six Tudor queens who stormed the fringe, crowned themselves in girl power, and conquered London and New York with a wink and a mic drop. Since then, the tides have turned: Operation Mincemeat marched into battle, and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button turned back the clock, both riding the same wave. The 80s megamix musical has faded into the wings; the scrappy underdog now takes centre stage.

When Seiriol Davies’ How to Win Against History lit up the fringe in 2016, the waters of commercial success were still uncharted. I remember being swept away by its first incarnation—tucked into a small, intimate venue, it dazzled with witty lyricism, bubblegum camp, and irrepressible enthusiasm. It felt like a tonic, a queer reclamation of a figure who had been laughed at, dismissed, and erased. But I never thought it would return.

And yet, here it is—resurrected, polished, and gleaming anew. All hail Francesca Moody Productions and Bristol Old Vic for breathing fresh life into it, giving it more fabulous padding, and restoring it to the stage nearly a decade later.

The result? The same electric spark of joy, with sharp melodies, winning performances, and a richer exploration of what it means to live defiantly on your own terms. Will it follow the meteoric trajectory of Six? Perhaps not—at least not in its current form. Its glow-up reveals not just its wit but also its cracks: a structure that falters here and there, and the absence of a true showstopper—a moment that transcends laughter and camp to reach something sublime. (Mincemeat has “Dear Bill”; this show has no equivalent yet.) But what it does have is sheer consistency: a turbo-charged 90 minutes of joy, a cavalcade of camp that leaves you grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Henry Cyril Paget, fifth Marquess of Anglesey, was born in 1875 into unimaginable wealth. But where others of his class traded fortunes for honours, Paget chose a different path. He built a theatre in his family’s crypt, staged lavish adaptations of plays, and starred in them himself, draped in sparkling frocks. The audiences stayed away. The money vanished like smoke. After his death, his family disowned him, reducing his life to ashes—literally burning all traces of him.

There is, however, one surviving portrait: a bearded man in a tiara and a debutante gown, staring back at the world with pride, unashamed and unbothered. The world called him mad, but in that image, at least, he seems not to care.

This is what Davies’ show celebrates: the audacity to stand tall, own your truth, and live boldly, even when the world refuses to look you in the eye. It doesn’t shy away from Paget’s darker edges—his marriage of convenience to Lilian Florence Maud Chetwynd is portrayed as controlling and, by today’s standards, abusive. Yet Davies shows us the little boy behind the man, lost in a world that wouldn’t let him be himself.

As Paget, Davies is both goofy and poignant, a man swept along by life rather than steering its course. He gives dazzling life to the marquess’ glorious, doomed creation. Matthew Blake is even better as Mr Alexander Keith, a Victorian actor and Paget’s companion on this artistic odyssey. Blake leaps between characters, accents, and continents with effortless precision, each role brimming with humour and surprising emotional depth. His arched eyebrows and bawdy innuendos are a delight, yet it’s the specificity beneath the camp that lingers.

Dylan Townley, the third member of the original trio, is the show’s maestro, his piano playing both the engine and the heart of the production. His finely sketched cameos add yet another layer of charm.

The first hour barrels forward with frenetic energy, hardly pausing for breath—a reflection, perhaps, of Paget’s whirlwind, 100-mile-an-hour approach to life. But when the show finally slows, when it takes a moment to reflect, a deeper heart begins to emerge beneath the sequins and sparkle.

Lisa Spirling, stepping in to direct this revamped version, keeps the production slick and defiantly queer. Do I miss the scrappier, rougher magic of its fringe days? Perhaps. But will you leave the theatre uplifted and with a grin etched on your face? Absolutely.