Review: Sunny Afternoon – Edinburgh Playhouse

The phrase “jukebox musical” usually brings on a familiar, icy dread—the promise of an expensive tribute act shackled to a flimsy plot. I missed Sunny Afternoon during its initial runs, though its Olivier Award-winning reputation preceded it. Now back on tour and currently shaking the foundations of the Edinburgh Playhouse, Ray Davies (Music, Lyrics and Original Story) & Joe Penhall’s sharp dramatisation of The Kinks’ chaotic ascent is yet another example that the genre can carry genuine dramatic voltage.

A Jukebox Musical With Grit

Appropriately then, this production makes no apologies for its volume. Director Edward Hall doesn’t invite you for a gentle stroll down memory lane so much as blow it up. Matt McKenzie’s sound design is ridiculously good, delivering a punch worthy of a stadium rock gig. Achieving this without massive, visible modern PA rigs cluttering the stage is an act of real theatrical wizardry.

Miriam Buether’s imposing set, dominated by a towering wall of vintage speaker cabinets, perfectly frames the action. They smartly hide their acoustic might early on, holding back the decibels until the distorted power chords of “You Really Got Me” finally drop. When they do, the energy shift in the auditorium is palpable.

This production makes no apologies for its volume. Director Edward Hall doesn’t invite you for a gentle stroll down memory lane so much as blow it up. Matt McKenzie’s sound design is ridiculously good, delivering a sonic punch worthy of a stadium rock gig.

The vocals retain their authentic Muswell Hill grit, aided by a welcome lack of American intonation that anchors the band’s swagger in reality. Because the cast functions as a troupe of actor-musicians—handling everything from guitars to trombones—the evening skips standard musical theatre entirely and becomes a narratively structured gig.

The result is a superior jukebox musical, blending ‘sung as performed’ numbers and emotional beats with a deft touch. The hits aren’t played in strict chronological order, but you still get a strong feel for their musical evolution and the calamities that beset them along the way.

If you thought The Kinks were tame by contrast with the Stones, think again. The closing scene of Act 1 is probably the most chaotic, fantastically violent scrum I have ever seen staged.

Brotherly Brawls and Music Industry Exploitation

Dramatising The Kinks requires chemistry, and this quartet is tip-top. Danny Horn anchors the production as Ray Davies with a sharp, restless performance completely devoid of cheap mimicry. He captures the introspective melancholy of a songwriter wrestling with his own genius. Oliver Hoare provides the essential, combustible contrast, leaning confidently into Dave Davies’ rebellious persona as an arrogant, frequently intoxicated force of nature. Their relationship crackles with the toxic love-hate dynamic of brothers who can neither stand each other nor function apart.

**SUNNY AFTERNOON UK Tour. Danny Horn and Lisa Wright. Photo Manuel Harlan**

Harry Curley delivers a tenderly judged interpretation of the nervous bassist Pete Quaife, finding quiet pathos in his distaste for rock stardom’s mayhem. Zakarie Stokes makes a highly striking professional stage debut as Mick Avory, holding his own amidst the Davies brothers’ crossfire. His exhilarating second-act drum solo is one more house-bringing-down highlight.

Davie Penhall’s script wrings tension and laughs from the band’s oddly affectionate exploitation by upper-crust management and the relentless grind of touring. Tam Williams and Joseph Richardson make a wonderfully strong double act as the posh managers, providing excellent comedic friction against the working-class band they represent. Ben Caplan adds a robust turn as the ruthless publisher Eddie Kassner. However, Penhall’s insistence on faithfully documenting the band’s legal history means these managerial figures occasionally blur together. They spend long stretches discussing rights and American tour bans without dramatising the human cost, becoming a somewhat functional chorus of exploitation.

Danny Horn anchors the production as Ray Davies with a sharp, restless performance completely devoid of cheap mimicry. He captures the introspective melancholy of a songwriter wrestling with his own genius.

On the domestic front, Lisa Wright returns to the role of Rasa, Ray’s wife. Her soulful, quietly devastating rendition of “I Go to Sleep” is a vocal high point. Yet, her character arc exposes a lingering structural flaw: as fame grows, she (and any other female characters) is increasingly relegated to the sidelines.

A Theatrical Gig, Not a Pub Singalong

A mid-show, a cappella rendition of “Days” offers a lovely moment of stillness amidst the hurricane, and audiences hungry for “Waterloo Sunset” and “Lola” get truly luxurious deliveries. Yet, the show could do with a pre-show voiceover instructing audiences not to join in. It took a near-rebellion from multiple rows around mine before two men who ignored polite requests to stop their loud conversations and off-key sing-alongs removed themselves. If venue ushers are sharp enough to catch people recording on their phones, they must surely notice when ticket-holders are bellowing over the cast or being aggressively shushed by a surrounding crowd. I digress, back to the excellent show.

Narratively, the final scenes do lack a solid sign-off, but it is a minor quibble against the sheer force of the playing and characterisation. By the time the cast launches into a raucous post-bow medley, any structural grievances are swept away by pure joy. This is a musical that genuinely deserves the standing, dancing ovation it demands. Twelve years after it first opened, Sunny Afternoon remains a robust, unashamedly British celebration of a profoundly influential band. Go forth and bop!

Featured Image: SUNNY AFTERNOON UK Tour. Zakarie Stokes, Harry Curley and Company. Photo Manuel Harlan