Imagine a musical that dances on the grave of history, celebrating royalty while the world around it burns—does that sound like a recipe for enchantment or a glaring misstep? That's the uneasy tension at the heart of the 2017 Broadway hit Anastasia, now making its Australian debut at Melbourne's Regent Theatre before hitting a national tour. This isn't just any show; it's a bold retelling of the Romanov legacy that leaves you questioning whether fairy tales can ever truly escape the shadows of reality.
Let's rewind to the facts: The authentic Grand Duchess Anastasia Romanov met a tragic end in 1918, executed with her family during Russia's Bolshevik Revolution. Yet, whispers of her survival linger, fueled by the allure of a 'lost princess' myth that's perfect for pulpy novels and animated films aimed at families. But here's where it gets controversial: This stage adaptation, inspired by the 1997 Disney movie with tunes by Stephen Flaherty and words by Lynn Ahrens, leans heavily into that fantasy without a shred of restraint. It mirrors Disney's formula—saturate with emotion, blind with glitter, and skimp on substance—turning the spotlight on a surviving Anastasia (played by Georgina Hopson) who miraculously escapes a fabricated siege of her family's palace (note: the real storming happened after their deaths).
Our heroine wakes up with amnesia, dubbing herself Anya, a convenient storytelling shortcut from the film that the book's author, Terrence McNally, leaves untouched. In a rebranded Leningrad (formerly St. Petersburg), Anya crosses paths with a duo of 'charming scoundrels': the dashing Dmitry (Robert Tripolino) and the rotund Vlad (Rodney Dobson). These are the sort of generous-hearted tricksters who only exist in musical theater worlds. Their scheme? Convince the world she's the missing princess she actually is, jetting off to Paris to face her grandmother, the empress dowager (Nancye Hayes), while dodging the relentless Bolshevik officer Gleb Vaganov (Joshua Robson).
You'd expect this to pulse with excitement, with the vast canvas of history amplifying the personal dramas, much like the epic Les Misérables. But—and this is the part most people miss—there's a hollow core to this production, a neglect of the animated source and the true historical tapestry. The Romanovs' downfall was intricate, involving layers of political strife and social upheaval, yet here they're portrayed as delicate, flawless martyrs, pure casualties of Bolshevik fury. It glosses over their immense riches amid widespread famine among their subjects, and it treats exile to Paris as mere embarrassment rather than profound disgrace. For newcomers to this era, think of it like ignoring the opulent feasts of kings while peasants starve—it's a simplification that flattens real human consequences.
Sure, a cartoon for kids might skate by with such fluff, but a live stage show aiming for epic grandeur should dig deeper, offering layered insights into events that still echo in today's geopolitics. McNally hints at the fickle alliances in revolutionary upheaval but stays silent on the ties between power and wealth. By ditching the film's Rasputin for the crude, mocking Gleb, the story loses its edge without resolving a key puzzle: How can we root for someone inheriting unmerited riches as she rushes to her extravagantly affluent relative to reclaim her royal claims?
Instead, it falls back on Disney-esque escapism, twisting facts to deliver clichéd payoffs. We're served a tale of a spirited youth 'discovering who they are' and 'returning home' to Paris—a place she's never even visited. And this is where the real debate ignites: Is it harmless nostalgia, or a dangerous whitewashing of privilege that feels eerily relevant in our times?
Visually, the show boasts a glamorous facade—Linda Cho's outfits and Donald Holder's lighting capture the glittering splendor of imperial Russia and the vibrant jazz scene of 1920s Paris—but it's undermined by jarring projections from Aaron Rhone, crammed with tired stereotypes and lacking real depth. Historical visuals flash by without resonance, from the grandeur of Paris's Palais Garnier to the lively avenues of St. Petersburg, while props like a crucial Fabergé egg feel strangely bargain-bin cheap, more like a discarded engine part than a treasure.
The cast shines in spots: Tripolino and Dobson form a delightful comic duo, Robson infuses Gleb with genuine menace, Hayes adds weight to the dowager role, and Rhonda Burchmore is a standout as Countess Lily, the flamboyant White Russian guardian whose presence injects energy whenever she appears. But Hopson, as the central Anya, feels out of sync—she's got grit and resolve, yet misses the natural allure and fragility needed, with vocals that can strain and costumes (including an unflattering wig and a Paris outfit evoking a stern nurse from nightmares) that distract.
The team behind this, fresh from the masterful Ragtime—a musical weaving historical figures into a sweeping, precise narrative—struggles to recapture that spark. Anastasia purports to explore the fall of Russian imperialism, but it's overshadowed by American cultural dominance. Why force Australian actors into American accents for Russian roles? Why do the songs, meant to echo Russian folk tunes and Parisian ballads, come off as forced and monotonous?
Producers bank on the romance carrying the day, but this oblivious glorification of wealth hits too close to home in our cost-of-living struggles, like admiring a lavish party hall amid economic woes. It's royally off-key, and that might just be its biggest flaw—or its unintended commentary. What do you think: Is reviving fairy tales in the face of history a charming escape, or a tone-deaf endorsement of inequality? Does this musical's focus on privilege feel uncomfortably modern, or am I overreacting? Share your thoughts in the comments—do you agree, disagree, or see a counterpoint I haven't considered?
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Anastasia (https://anastasiathemusical.com.au/) is at the Regent Theatre, Melbourne, until 20 February, before touring to Perth, Sydney and Adelaide
