A Charming OLD FRIENDS Brings Nostalgia To Broadway — Review

We are gathered at the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre to remember the late, great Stephen Sondheim. The Bard of musical theater, he was a writer of boundless intellectual curiosity and tender emotional ambivalence; his work captured both the heartfelt joy and overwhelming despair that define our fleeting, shared human experience.

But not to worry—we won’t make you think about death. 

Stephen Sondheim’s Old Friends is a celebration of a fearless artist that is itself quite timid, a memorial piece that seems overly desperate to keep out the spectre of death. Once you accept the show’s limited ambitions, as I gradually did over the course of this pleasant and jauntily staged musical revue, you can let yourself to have a good time. Sure, Steve himself would doubtless have rolled his eyes at the whole affair—but there’s no denying the production’s considerable nostalgic charm. 

Presented on Broadway by Manhattan Theatre Club following a 2023 run in the West End, Stephen Sondheim’s Old Friends squeezes 41 of the legendary composer’s numbers into a two-act evening, drawing mostly from his major works: Into the Woods, Sweeney Todd, West Side Story, Company and Follies are all included. Led by musical theater legends Lea Salonga and Bernadette Peters (the latter, of course, one of Sondheim’s foremost interpreters), the fleet and brightly-colored production is conceived by British mega-producer Cameron Mackintosh and directed by acclaimed British choreographer Matthew Bourne. 

Indeed, the whole thing feels like a very British affair. Generally, this genre of blown-up tribute concerts awkwardly shaped into full productions are more typically found on the West End. Not that New York is immune—Roundabout staged its own Sondheim revue on Broadway, Sondheim on Sondheim, back in 2010. While that production loosely framed itself around taped interviews with the man himself, Old Friends makes no attempt at any throughline or guiding theme, instead mashing together a litany of numbers. They are mostly grouped by show—except when they’re not. The only arranging principle, one announced by Peters in a needless intro, is that all are shows Sondheim and producer Mackintosh worked on together. Uh, sure, why not.

In the first act especially, Bourne pushes a broad, almost panto-like delivery style that prove grating. An underused Beth Leavel and scenery-chomping Gavin Lee practically yell the jokes at us in, “The Little Things You Do Together,” mugging hard in case we somehow miss the sarcasm. Jeremy Secomb and Salonga’s stab at Sweeney is similarly overwrought. 

Elsewhere, that over-the-top tone works a bit better, as in Kyle Selig/Kevin Earley’s appropriately madcap “Agony,” and a delightfully staged take on “Everybody Ought to Have A Maid.” (Stephen Mears’ choreograph is mostly perfunctory, but briefly comes to life on that number.) 

Things pick up in the second act when Bourne starts actually trying out some ideas. By far the evening highlight is “Broadway Baby,” reconceived as a barnstorming ensemble effort shared by all of the supremely talented women on stage. It is also lovely to see Bonnie Langford, a stalwart of UK stage and screen, get a triumphant crack at “I’m Still Here” (though her presence will be less meaningful to American audiences). Yet for the most part Old Friends stays very literal in its stagings, eschewing any of the formal boldness or off-kilter weirdness that one might associate with, well, Sondheim. 

Formulaic can still be enjoyable, and it’s a pleasure to hear masterful compositions, sung by the very best, all sounding better than ever (Annbritt duChateau’s orchestra is small but mighty, playing Stephen Metcalfe’s terrific arrangements). Still, Old Friends does feel, overall, like a tour through a cheesy Sondheim-themed wax museum. A bit of nostalgia is fine, but Sondheim should never be schlocky. 

It is only the esteemable and inimitable Peters who transcends Bourne’s staging to hit on something profound. Her “Losing My Mind” is heart-wrenching, all the more affecting for the evident strain in Peters’ voice—at least that strain feels genuine, a rare intrusion of human vulnerability. And in Peters’ tender rendition of “Send in the Clowns,” there lives a heartbreaking current of real, honest grief. We lost a master, and Peters lost a friend. In that moment, it is a loss we share together—and Steve is very much in the room with us.  

Old Friends is now in performance at the Friedman Theatre on West 47th Street in New York City.