High Society
★★★☆☆ Slow burner
Edinburgh Playhouse Tue 8 – Sat 12 Sept 2026
Review by Thom Dibdin
High Society, the Cole Porter jukebox musical based on The Philadelphia Story, flew into the Edinburgh Playhouse on Tuesday night with almost everything swellegant and elegant, even though its two big stars were not on board.
Not that such things should matter. And who can predict when the whole of the UK’s air traffic control is going to have a technical glitch, stranding main romantic leads Helen George and Julian Ovenden at the wrong end of the country and forcing understudies Isabel Snaas and Andrew Coshan to step in as as Tracy Lord and Dexter Haven at short notice.
The cast of High Society. Pic Pamela Raith Photography
The show went on, but you can’t blame air control (or Snaas and Coshan for that matter) for the lack of fire to the opening scenes which feel as if the company is so intent on getting it right that they forget to let rip and fill the theatre.
The big ensemble numbers certainly purr with authority, but individuals are not particularly helped by a sound design that over-compensates for the size of the Playhouse by pumping up the volume for the band, leaving the performers struggling for clarity.
Which is a pity because this has the makings of one swell production in nearly every aspect of the stagecraft that has gone into it creation, from the staging and set, to the choreography and the individual performances. Everywhere you look, there is attention to surface detail.
a precocious voice of reason
Set designer Tom Rogers should be particularly complimented for his 1930s Long Island seaside mansion, where divorced socialite Tracy Lord is about to throw over her extravagant life of fun, to marry David Seadon-Young’s boring accountant George Kittredge.
The main set with its twin marbled staircases to the rear is fairly standard. Basic enough for a Lord family breakfast where Josefina Gabrielle’s moderately spiky Mother Lord is begrudgingly accepting of the marriage. While the rest of the family are staying shtum, only Naomi Pacquette’s bolshy teenage sister, Dinah, offers a precocious voice of reason.
James Hume, Josefina Gabrielle and Naomi Pacquette in High Society. Pic: Pamela Raith Photography
Even returning ex, Dexter, is resolutely hands-off, ostensibly only dropping by to warn the family that undercover reporters from Spy Magazine are going to cover the “wedding of the century” and that he has managed to ward them off from focussing on father Seth Lord’s infidelity with a chorus girl.
Coshan is solidly amicable as the one-time hubby and now sober Dexter. He’s clearly a favourite of the whole family, from Dinah to Nigel Lindsay’s hilarious, but resolutely alcoholic, Uncle Willie and James Hume’s icily aloof butler, Chester.
There’s a real sense of fun to the trinkets on the long table of the lumber room where the family dump all the their unwanted things and where the undercover reporters Mike Connor (Freddie Fox) and Liz Imbrie (Carly Mercedes Dyer) are directed on their arrival.
a nice idea
It’s an interesting, shall we say, place for Dinah and Tracy to perform I Love Paris for their guests. Well might Mike and Liz be bemused at the antics of the rich: the severely misjudged number was probably a nice idea at some point in the production process, but should have stayed an idea, interesting or not.
There is nothing misjudged in director Rachel Kavanaugh’s use of the large chorus to seamlessly move the different luxurious flower arrangements and various bits of stager furniture to indicate the various rooms of the mansion. Their movement is a triumph of stage management that is only upstaged by the flown-in scenery.
Carly Mercedes Dyer and Freddie Fox in High Society. Pic: Pamela Raith Photography.
Particularly notable is the swimming pool where Tracy, tipsy on champagne, will cavort with Mike and realise that George is not for her. It is a superb piece of minimalist suggestion: You can practically hear the water lapping against the pool edge, thanks to Howard Hudson’s judicious and clever reflected water lighting design.
And a huge tree – complete with gnarly roots and accompanying gazebo – is the perfect place for illicit trysts and undercover reconciliations, even if Malcolm Sinclair is not quite equal to Seth Lord’s You’d Be So Nice to Come Home To.
High Society is, in itself, a delicious piece of candyfloss fluff, with so many well-known numbers that its a lottery as to which one you will be humming on the way out of the theatre. Who Wants To Be a Millionaire was written for the film, but others are added for the musical, including in the current iteration Be A Clown and an absolute show-stopper highlight I’ve Got You Under My Skin.
tight-as-tuppence
Be a Clown, finds Uncle Willie and Dexter persuading George to write jokes into his welcome speech at the party before the wedding. It’s the first sign that the production is able to take off, adding material by Bob Martin to Arthur Kopit’s original book.
However, the piece still doesn’t really hit the high points until Willie takes over from George’s mis-placed jokes to introduce a tight-as-tuppence on-stage band for the Act One finale of Now You Have Jazz, with big spectacular choreography from Anthony Van Laast.
In fact, the whole piece might be heavy on the big numbers but it is too perfunctory to work in its character development, making more of a jukebox musical about the perils of alcohol than anything else. Still, it’s hard to get too worked up by posh millionaires with more money than sense, so who really cares whether they have character development or not.
With Mike’s head turned by his first glass of bubbly, it leaves Liz to carry the weight of any romantic heart to the piece. And Carly Mercedes Dyer steps up with aplomb with I’ve Got You Under My Skin in a heartfelt, emotional and yearning number that is worth every penny of the ticket price.
Running time: Two hours and 30 minutes (including one interval).
Edinburgh Playhouse, 18 – 22 Greenside Place, EH1 3AA.
Tue 8 – Sat 12 Sept 2026
Tue – Sat: 7.30pm; Wed, Thur, Sat mats: 2.30pm.
Tickets and details: Book here.
Nigel Lindsay and the on-stage band. Pic: Pamela Raith Photography.
ENDS
