Operation Mincemeat on tour review – the hit musical comedy sails on triumphantly

The world tour of Operation Mincemeat launches at the Lowry with the kind of swagger usually reserved for victorious generals and vanquishing heroes.

If ever a musical deserved to conquer the international stage, it is this deliciously clever confection from the anarchic geniuses at SpitLip. This is a show that started out in development in the Aldridge Studio here at the Lowry as a developmental offering, and is now the toast of Broadway and primed for world domination. It is a potent reminder of the importance of continuing to fund and support theatres and small companies to develop new work.  

For those who missed the briefing, the show dramatises the outrageously improbable true World War Two deception in which British intelligence floated a corpse carrying fake invasion plans to fool the Nazis. An unlikely subject for a musical, this production celebrates the sometimes bonkers but genius thinking that helped win wars and now inspires a global theatrical success. 

From the first brisk harmonies, the cast attack the material with ferocious precision and a twinkle in the eye. The production remains a masterclass in controlled chaos: five performers playing dozens of roles, switching accents, genders, and allegiances with the flick of a trilby. It is absolute searing farce forged in the furnace of impeccable timing. One moment we are watching the development of high-stakes wartime strategy, then we see Ian Fleming pitching his James Bond to his MI5 colleagues. The tonal plate-spinning should be impossible and yet, somehow, it all works. 

Armed with a dazzling score which pirouettes from patter song to soaring ballad without ever losing narrative propulsion, this production is a joy to watch. The now-iconic “Dear Bill” lands with a hush so complete you could hear a ration book drop. Amid the dazzle and derring-do, the show finds genuine emotional ballast. It reminds us that behind the absurdity of war lies human fragility, longing, and sacrifice.

Visually, the production embraces its own artifice. Ben Stones’ design is lean, ingenious, and gloriously unpretentious until the final glitzy close. It trusts the audience to imagine and rewards them with theatrical alchemy. This is storytelling that salutes the power of suggestion over spectacle.

Yet the true secret weapon is wit: Spitlip’s text lampoons bureaucracy, skewers macho heroics, and gently roasts British stoicism until it is golden and fragrant. The humour is both deeply silly and stealthily intelligent, like a crossword puzzle that suddenly bursts into song.

As a launchpad for a world tour, this performance feels electric. There is something deliciously apt about a show built on deception, conquering hearts with such transparent joy. The five-strong cast are incredible, like supremely talented, precocious children raiding the dressing-up box, continuously morphing into multiple characters. Seán Carey is a wonderfully diffident Charles and Christian Andrews is simply brilliant, especially as Hester.

Operation Mincemeat earned its reputation as a winsome wartime caper a while ago – and this tour will only cement that top-tier status.