This is our first Jamie Lloyd production for a few years – we last saw his work directing some of those Pinters at the Pinter in 2018/19, and jolly good they were too. He has always had an eye for the showier aspects of a text, but I think it’s fair to say he’s come a long way since then. I’m sure we missed a treat with his Sunset Boulevard, but as it’s one of the few shows that Mrs Chrisparkle detests, it never reached the diary. So I was very keen to see what Mr Lloyd would do to a show that was a formative influence in my teenage years. This is the fourth production of Evita I’ve seen and, to be honest, I’m not sure it’s ever truly been staged as well as its material deserves – the illustrious Ms Elaine Paige notwithstanding.

Here’s some honest advice if you’re going to see this production as an Evita virgin, if I can put it like that. Do a bit of research about her life and run your eyes over the libretto online. It will all make much more sense. Whilst the best of Tim Rice’s lyrics in the show are immaculately chosen words that truly get under the skin of the characters, without an additional book to link the songs together, you need to pay very close attention to the lyrics, and, with the best will in the world, they’re not always crystal clear.

Additionally, Soutra Gilmour’s set and costumes, whilst completely perfect for this vision of the show, don’t offer much in the way of visual clues as to where we are or who’s talking, which also doesn’t help the narrative. All we see is a series of terraces leading up to the top of the stage where hangs a huge, illuminated EVITA sign. And whilst the basic black rock concert outfits of most of the ensemble is great for suggesting the masses, other costume variation is minimal, with various shades of grey for everyone else except a few splashes of muted colour for Magaldi, gold for the middle classes, and radiant white for when Eva is “on show”.

That said, this is an Evita unlike any other and sets a standard for the future that I think will be hard to replicate. There is a dynamism, a power, a thrill bursting through every scene and every song, performed by an exquisitely well cast company who boldly go where no dictator, first lady, mistress or everyman have ever gone before. For example, Lloyd has Peron’s ex-mistress – Bella Brown taking every advantage offered with this fantastic song – lamenting her lot in Another Suitcase, Another Hall on the steps as though she’s just been chucked out of a mansion, whilst Eva and Peron toast each other with self-congratulatory champers at the top. In past productions, this has been staged to highlight the isolation of the mistress, facing a lonely and hopeless future. But here, when the song is over, she is comforted by a group of similarly dressed exes, and we realise that she is just one of a sequence of girls who clearly have a support system in place. There is also a beautiful callback towards the end of the show where Peron goes up and snogs another similarly dressed girl whilst Eva is singing through her dying breaths. She won’t be the last. A brilliant insight.

Previous productions of Evita, I have always thought, have played down the ruthlessness of the Peronist regime, turning the marching men into smartly dressed clockwork toy soldiers, like fashionable automata. Inherent in that has been the presentation of Peron himself as a much older, hardnosed, experienced autocrat who will brook neither nonsense nor disobedience. Here he is played by James Olivas, a much younger actor than usual, whose Peron exudes that arrogance of youth that makes him an even more terrifying prospect – you feel this Peron has a lifetime of evil and corruption ahead of him. It’s much easier to imagine why this charismatic Peron would have had success at the election.

Another transformed characterisation is Aaron Lee Lambert’s Magaldi, who’s normally seen just as a cipher, the first step on Eva’s ladder to success. Here the character is filled out with real emotion and personality, and his flourishing rendition of On This Night of a Thousand Stars, a pure pastiche of a dated, hackneyed showtune, turns it into a real song and a star vehicle. And there’s a delightful change to Santa Evita where we no longer have adorable innocent children looking to Eva for support but a junior cynical Eva, dressed like the first lady, extorting cash in the manner of her heroine – a fantastically knowing turn from young Ffion Rosalie Williams at our performance.

The whole show is backed by the most versatile and hard-working ensemble of singers and dancers who perform Fabian Aloise’s gripping choreography with maximum effort; this is unquestionably one very fit group of people. Their movements almost blur with the speed of delivery and create waves of engaging patterns across the stage, but if you settle your eye on any one individual and follow them for any length of time you realise both how demanding the choreography is, and how it’s performed with pinpoint precision.

Che – the everyman narrator of the show who, despite his name doesn’t have to be associated with the famous freedom fighter/terrorist (you choose) – is given a tremendous performance by Diego Andres Rodriguez; vocally superb, amusingly cynical, and thoroughly dramatic. He spends the last half an hour or so of the show covered in blue, white and red paint, which I assume symbolises his (and the people’s) death at the hands of the Argentine flag; a visually stunning effect, although it doesn’t quite explain his continued ability to revive himself sufficiently to sing along with the final broadcast, montage and lament.

Rachel Zegler gives a monumental performance as Eva. She has a glorious singing voice, full of personality and expression, and can create all the extraordinary moods that the character embodies. Much has been made about the staging of Don’t Cry for me Argentina on the balcony overlooking Argyle Street; before the show I was cynical about the effectiveness of that decision, especially as it must inevitably deprive the paying audience of the privilege of seeing it. But no; it’s a brilliant innovation. The camera work is outstanding – as is the audio relay – so the audience loses none of the clarity and beauty of the performance; but the sights of the crowds outside, the crying onlookers, Eva berating the cameraman, the subtle looks and private moments, all come together to make it a much more dramatic and insightful scene. Yes, it is perhaps odd that Eva should be singing to a bunch of people outside a branch of Pret, but you can forgive that. As Che himself says at one point, “as a mere observer of this tasteless phenomenon, you have to admire the stage management”, whilst Eva retreats to the sumptuous upper lounges of the Palladium cosseting a well-deserved champagne. And the use of video continues, to observing Eva in her dressing room, removing her wig, briefly breaking down whilst she comes to terms with what she has done, then resolving herself to return to the stage; which is all done so seamlessly and with technical wizardry. It’s a masterstroke.

Number after number enraptures the audience: Buenos Aires, Goodnight and Thank You, A New Argentina, Rainbow High, Rainbow Tour, And the Money Kept Rolling In… the show is packed with great songs, and this production serves them all terrifically. A New Argentina sends us into the interval covered with more streamers and confetti than I’ve ever seen. As one wag was heard to remark on the way out at the end, I hope they’ve got a Shark. Perhaps the brashness of the production reveals the show’s weakest spot – which is that, much as Eva’s health did, it rather dwindles out at the end. But it’s a landmark production and truly invigorating – a 100% instant standing ovation at the Palladium is a thrill for everyone.

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