OSCAR AT THE CROWN
concept and book by Mark Mauriello
music and lyrics by Andrew Barret Cox
directed by Shira Milikowsky
The Crown, London – until 31 August 2025
running time: 90 minutes no interval
A multi-media musical with the emphasis more on screlting vocals than coherent storytelling, performed in an elaborately decked-out basement and relying on pre-recorded backing tracks, needs theatre critics the way it needs a power cut. But here comes Oscar At The Crown, previously seen in Brooklyn and at the Edinburgh Festival, and now arrived on, or rather under, Tottenham Court Road in a blaze of campy grunge, neon and overwhelming volume.
Mark Mauriello and Andrew Barret Cox’s dystopian dance party centres on a group of underground rebel youths, soul brothers and sisters to the casts of We Will Rock You and Bat Out Of Hell. Clad in punk-meets-fetish costumes reminiscent of things like Rocky Horror and Saucy Jack And The Space Vixens, the kids (the Exiles) are ritualistically re-enacting the downfall of Oscar Wilde but with added references to TV’s The OC and the Real Housewives franchise. So far, so eccentric.
Andrew Barret Cox, also responsible for the costumes and the frequently exciting choreography, has written some genuine dancefloor bangers, that make up for in energy and vocal gymnastics what they lack in originality. Mark Mauriello, as well as delivering a bold, fabulously sung turn as Oscar, has produced a script that isn’t always easy to follow, partly due to an inconsistent sound design, as it veers between potty-mouthed camp and eye-rolling attempts at profundity (“You have to find a way to hurt and heal at the same time”).
The cast shout and bawl at each other but none of the characters are particularly interesting or sympathetic. This surely isn’t the point anyway for most of Shira Milikowsky’s production, which is presumably aiming at achieving some sort of cult status, where the outlandishness of the aesthetic, the exhilaration of the music and the verve of the performances synthesise a nightclub-style joy that’s pretty persuasive.
The wheels come off towards the end though where the show aims for depth as the young woman playing Oscar Wilde’s betrayed wife turns the tables on him and beseeches him to change his ways; at least I think that’s what was going on, the words were barely decipherable, but Zofia Weretka has a hell of a voice and an intense sincerity. Oscar’s withering observation that “just because the ending is a mess it doesn’t mean the first 40 minutes weren’t fun” is a little too close for comfort in diagnosing the major issues with this unruly spectacle.
Mauriello is a bit of a star, whether snarling at perceived slights, crooning lasciviously at Zak Marx’s purple-haired Bosie, or hilariously rearing back, delivering money notes, cloak unfurling behind him, in an amusing parody of Wicked’s Elphaba. His flamboyant turn has little to do with Wilde but is fabulous on its own terms. Unusually, the company of Exiles is divided into singers or dancers, which seems odd until you realise just how demanding these songs are or how much energy is expended in the execution of the Gaga Monster Ball-esque choreo. Everybody acquits themselves with commendable passion and skill.
Oscar At The Crown won’t be for everyone: it’s crude, barely coherent, borderline pretentious, yet at its best it’s strangely exhilarating. The sightlines are frequently terrible depending on where you’re standing on designer Andrew Exeter’s extravagantly lit dancefloor set, and being shunted out of the way to facilitate the moving about of platforms gets a bit annoying, but it’s all part of the rough-and-ready feel of this unusual show. It’s part club experience, part rock musical, and has the potential to be very successful if it can find enough people willing to think outside the box when it comes to seeking their musical theatre thrills.
ajhlovestheatre 
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