The Bodyguard

The songs take centre stage and steal the show.

Based on the 1992 film of the same name, The Bodyguard brings to the stage the story of elite protection officer Frank Farmer, hired to guard global superstar Rachel Marron from an unknown and increasingly threatening stalker. For many, this show is less about suspense and more about nostalgia, a celebration of Whitney Houston’s greatest hits wrapped inside a romantic thriller.

The production wastes no time announcing itself. It opens with a deafening bang that genuinely made the audience jump, immediately followed by black-and-white footage of Rachel Marron projected above the stage. It is a striking start: high-energy celebrity glamour and pyrotechnics, establishing the larger-than-life world we are about to enter. It promises scale, fame and drama.

Before going further, I must congratulate Cale Cole as Fletcher. At just ten years old, he already demonstrates remarkable stage presence. He is clearly having the time of his life, throwing himself into the choreography and vocals with confidence and charm. A quick glance at the programme suggests he is already building an impressive résumé, and deservedly so. He brings warmth and authenticity to the role, grounding the spectacle with something genuinely heartfelt.

Adam Garcia takes on the role of Frank Farmer. It is refreshing to see actors step outside their comfort zones and attempt something different. I am used to seeing Garcia inhabit larger-than-life characters (most recently Caractacus Potts at the New Wimbledon Theatre) roles that allow him to lean into charisma and musicality. Here, however, Frank is restrained, controlled and emotionally guarded. The character does not sing or dance (aside from a deliberately awkward and rather hilarious karaoke rendition of I Will Always Love You), and Garcia must suppress much of his natural stage persona.

In many ways, this works: Frank is meant to be contained, disciplined and stoic. Yet I could not shake the feeling that Garcia is underused. Even during the celebratory curtain-call party number, where other cast members each take a vocal moment, he appears only briefly at the very end. While it is right that he does not outshine the musical’s vocal powerhouse, one does wonder whether casting such a recognisable name without fully utilising him slightly defeats the purpose.

The rehearsal scene early on is a particular highlight. It captures the buzz of performance life with slick, themed choreography and gives the ensemble an opportunity to shine. It is here that the show feels most alive; vibrant, dynamic and rhythmically tight.

That said, pacing during some scene transitions proved uneven. There is a karaoke-style interlude featuring intentionally “bad” singing, which is amusing at first but tend to overstay their welcome. Some transitions felt extended unnecessarily and might have benefited from more inventive use of the ensemble to maintain narrative momentum.

Sasha Monique plays Nicki Marron, Rachel’s sister, and delivers some truly lovely vocals, many audience members around me were vocal in their praise. However, Nicki’s subplot feels rushed in this version. The emotional complexities; her attraction to Frank, her jealousy of Rachel, and her darker connection to the stalker are simplified. In such a straightforward narrative, it is surprising that these elements have been trimmed, as they provide essential dramatic depth.

There were also noticeable lighting issues. At one point, a spotlight intended for Garcia appeared shaky or misaligned, with visible difficulty lighting his face clearly. During an onstage costume change for Rachel, only half her face was illuminated. It left me questioning whether these were artistic choices or technical missteps. Similarly, the final moments, where Frank remains largely backlit, felt ambiguous in intention.

The set and costumes, designed by Tim Hatley, create bold, recognisable locations: sweeping curtains, log cabins and tacky karaoke bars are all distinct and visually engaging. The use of projection, particularly during the club scene where imagery plays across a chain curtain, effectively evokes the MTV generation and adds texture to the lighting design. Slow-motion sequences underscored with a deep bass drone heighten the tension beautifully.

However, I did feel let down by some costume choices, particularly Rachel’s iconic club outfit. Those metallic beads, chains and dramatic headdress from the film are unforgettable. Here, the look is reduced to leggings and trainers (albeit silver to match a corset). Without the beaded skirt, the silhouette changes just enough to feel wrong, especially when that image is so synonymous with the show’s marketing.

Sidonie Smith plays Rachel Marron. Portraying a character so closely associated with Whitney Houston is no small task. Yet this interpretation felt more like “mother who sings” rather than global megastar. Frequently dressed in leggings and, at one point, sandals, the visual presentation lacked the superstar edge. While her vocals are strong some audience members remarked she was giving more Tina than Whitney. The character’s transformation, referenced in dialogue, after the night before does not fully register on stage. For a celebrity surrounded by staff and accustomed to commanding arenas, Rachel seemed oddly lacking in authority and evolution.

Finally, a joke referencing Gordon Ramsay felt jarringly out of place in a production that otherwise remains rooted in 1990s America.

Ultimately, The Bodyguard delivers nostalgia, strong vocals and moments of genuine theatrical flair. When it leans into spectacle and song, it soars. When it attempts emotional nuance, it sometimes rushes or underplays its own potential. Still, for audiences seeking Whitney’s anthems performed live and loud, it remains an enjoyable evening of theatrical escapism.

Photo credit Paul Coltas