Avenue Q

I love Q

If you have heard one thing about Avenue Q, it will no doubt be that it is a puppet show. Before I forget, I must mention Puppet Concept and Designer Rick Lyon, alongside Anna Louizos, whose work on these characters makes them feel strangely familiar, especially if you grew up with The Muppets and Sesame Street.

The show is, undeniably, a parody of that world. We follow Princeton as he moves to Avenue Q and meets the other residents, learning a series of life lessons along the way; such as the wonderfully ridiculous idea that if you rearrange the letters in “unemployed”, it spells “opportunity!”. That sort of wordplay perfectly captures the tone: playful, clever, and just self-aware enough to get away with it.

Some of these jokes are supported by animated graphics, designed by Nina Dunn, which appear across two onstage screens, one vertical, one horizontal. They are simple but effective, helping the show feel intentionally designed rather than reliant on tech.

The set, designed by Anna Louizos, is equally clever. Sections fold out, light up and transform to indicate location changes. Sometimes this is quite symbolic, other times much more literal, yes, we do get a full strip club. On that note, let’s put the warning here: if you are easily offended, this show includes a character called Lucy the Slut, with songs such as The Internet is for Porn and Everyone’s a Little Bit Racist. That said, much like children’s television, a lot of this comes disguised as education: outrageous on the surface, but often uncomfortably truthful underneath.

There are some particularly striking visual moments. After the interval, during the nightmare sequence, projection mapping allows the building to crack and wither, a really strong use of design. But what was just as delightful was the way the set itself comes to life as a puppet, complete with eyes and a letterbox mouth supported by dancing flowers and the playful lighting design from Howard Hudson. To contrast the nightmare, the dream sequence is light, floaty and full of bubbles, always a crowd-pleaser.

If you wince whenever you hear a show has been “updated”, fear not. Yes, there are tweaks; Netflix references, AI phone calls, but nothing that feels forced. The only moment that slightly jarred for me was the lead-in to Mix Tape, referencing Spotify and playlists. I’m not convinced anyone would call those mix tapes. If we can keep Gary Coleman, we could probably have leaned into cassette nostalgia properly. In truth, at the time of the Off-Broadway opening in 2003 people were probably burning CDs anyway.

When it comes to performance, huge credit must go to Puppet Coach Iestyn Evans, working alongside Andy Heath for Talk to the Hand Puppets. These puppets genuinely come to life, delivering what can only really be described as pure puppet-powered joy. There are brilliant details, such as Princeton (Noah Harrison) finishing a number visibly out of breath, a small touch that makes all the difference.

Lucy the Slut, performed by Emily Benjamin and ensemble, is a real standout moment, pulling off genuinely impressive choreography, including pole dancing and aerial work. Credit here also goes to choreographer Ebony Molina, whose work ensures the puppets feel just as dynamic as any human performer.

The Bad Idea Bears (Meg Hateley and Charlie McCullagh) are another highlight. Completely adorable, which makes their dialogue even more shocking. The contrast lands every time. What is especially impressive is the variety in puppet operation: some require two performers, others rods, and some are incredibly simple. The performers also have to multirole at times, performers are voicing one puppet while ensemble members provide the physicality for another then switch voices. The level of coordination is genuinely impressive.

Alongside the puppets, the human characters hold their own. It cannot be easy acting opposite a puppet, maintaining eye contact and emotional connection with something that is, a puppet, yet at every moment, it feels believable.

My personal favourite was Christmas Eve, played by Amelia Kinu Muus, who is consistently hilarious. The accent, the timing, the endless costume changes (credit to Sarah Mercade for costume design) — all of it lands perfectly. The wedding dress, in particular, is a highlight.

Ultimately, Avenue Q feels like a warm hug from your past, one that has aged just as well as you have. It is still outrageous, still funny, and still surprisingly insightful. The characters burst with life, the audience response is huge, and the whole evening is full of joy. Honestly, the most offensive joke might just be calling thirty old.

Photo by Matt Crocket