Pop Off, Michaelangelo! at Underbelly Boulevard Soho – review

Apparently, the renaissance got RuPaul’d in this gloriously unhinged musical at the Underbelly in the heart of the West End. What feels like Snatch Game after one too many cocktails, Pop Off, Michelangelo!, the new musical by Dylan Marcaurele, features Michelangelo (Max Eade) and Leonardo da Vinci (Aidan MacColl) in the throes of a queer-coded gladiator ring of paint, passion, and pop culture chaos. The Pope (Michael Marouli) struts in a bedazzled winged jacket like he’s just sashayed off the runway, and Machiavelli (Sev Keoshgerian) shows up in Crocs, because of course he does.

Set in a flamboyantly reimagined 16th-century Italy, this rom-com historical theatrical fever dream pits Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci in a battle of brushes and egos. Their rivalry is as much about art as it is about feelings, and not just in the “do I paint God’s biceps or his heart” kind of way. This isn’t just a comedy with a few songs; it’s a full-throttle love letter to queer identity, creative genius, and the chaotic magic of camp performance.

With a live band crammed onto a stage the size of a pizza box, and a set (designed in collaboration between Joe McNeice, Emily Bestow, and PJ McEvoy) bursting with inventive flair, the production makes every inch count. The costumes (Bestow) are also absurdly well thought out, imagine someone introducing Temu to a queer art historian. One glue gun and a dream later, the results are elevated chaos with impeccable flair. Pop culture references are thrown like confetti, if you spend more than six hours a day online, you will feel seen; the Pope drops TikTok slang like he’s got a For You Page.

RuPaul’s Drag Race star Marouli brings charisma, uniqueness, nerve, and an emotional gravitas that anchors the madness. But the standout superstars are Eade and MacColl. The cast, as a whole, are relentlessly loveable – even when they’re waving censored relics around or lip-syncing to Gregorian chants remixed with techno.

The show is funny, filthy, and surprisingly heartfelt. It pokes fun at the Catholic church’s contradictions with the same hand that gently honours its messages of redemption and love, a tightrope walk it manages with finesse.

It’s not long enough. It’s not serious enough. Its historical accuracy is questionable. But like the best fringe shows, it burns bright and fast and leaves you wanting more. It is joyful, chaotic, queer, and smart, and exactly the kind of glitter-drenched, genre-bending mischief that makes you count down the days to August and the return of the Edinburgh Fringe.