When I was 14, there was a boy in my class who landed all the lead roles in school shows. Charming, friendly, absurdly talented, never arrogant – the kind of guy everyone liked. That boy was Jamie Lloyd. He doesn’t act anymore, but his passion for theatre has but grown, as he has become one of the most critically acclaimed British theatre directors of our time. And now, he’s revived Evita – one of my favourite Lloyd Webber musicals – in a West End production that left me completely stunned.
Rachel Zegler stars as Eva Perón. I was already a fan, having loved her performance in the 2021 film of West Side Story – but this? This was next-level. The charisma, the voice, the emotional range. It’s a full-force performance.
The show opens with Eva’s death, of course – but there’s no coffin, no misty silhouette. Instead, after a chillingly solemn ‘Requiem’, the stage explodes into life with Oh What a Circus, Diego Andrés Rodriguez’s electrifying Ché onstage and Eva standing centre-stage, alive, smirking, defiant. The name EVITA blazes behind her in huge white letters. She’s in a crop top and shorts – modern, confident, magnetic – and it’s instantly clear this is not going to be your traditional Evita.
Jamie Lloyd is known for bold directorial choices, and this production is no exception. Forget elaborate scenery – the set is basically a giant flight of lit steps. But what they do with those steps is nothing short of genius. Blinding lights, political rallies, quiet vulnerability – everything is shaped by lighting, movement, and presence. Fabian Aloise’s choreography is phenomenal – dynamic, energetic, and alive with intention. Every movement pulses with meaning, every beat drives the story forward. The ensemble doesn’t just dance; they ignite the stage with raw physical storytelling. It feels like a rock concert, full of raw tension and choreographic fire.
‘Don’t cry for me, Argentina
The truth is, I never left you
All through my wild days, my mad existence
I kept my promise
Don’t keep your distance’
Eva Perón – Evita
Andrew Lloyd Webber
From the get-go, Rachel and Diego’s chemistry crackles – playful, antagonistic, magnetic. During Oh What a Circus, she weaves between the ensemble, teasing him with nothing but a glance. And the ensemble? They’re worshipping her, touching her clothing, just as Ché asks ‘Who is this goddess, who lived among us?’. You believe in her magnetism instantly, and it never fades, even as Eva’s strength does.
There’s barely a prop in sight, yet scenes shift seamlessly. One moment Rachel’s the sultry centre of attention, the next she’s a teenage Eva, spitting fury at the middle classes with the kind of rage Madonna only hinted at in the 1996 film version. In Goodnight and Thank You, she cuts men loose like they’re playthings, and they crumble beautifully at her feet.
One story point changed from the original was that Migaldi (stunningly and hilariously performed by Aaron Lee Lambert) doesn’t dump her – she dumps him. It’s a small rewrite but a powerful one. The song Another Suitcase in Another Hall instead becomes a gorgeous solo for Perón’s mistress, played with aching fragility by Bella Brown (Zegler’s understudy). It’s a moment of quiet, perfect sorrow in a show that never stops moving.
The whole production is beautifully stripped-back. Ché – the narrator – is always on stage, an omnipresent observer. He’s there as conscience, counterpoint, revolutionary energy. And he owns every moment he’s given.
Highlights keep coming: a bloodless, balloon-popping coup during The Art of the Possible that was just *chef’s kiss*; a fiery tango overlaying I’d Be Surprisingly Good for You (shout out to Natasha Leaver and Dianté Lodge for that scorching dance); the climactic A New Argentina, where the whole theatre felt like it might rise up and march – and on opening night we pretty much did, giving a standing ovation before the interval!
And then, from stripped-back to a moment of decadence, as Eva dons the iconic gown and wig at the start of the second half for Don’t Cry for Me Argentina. Oh my God. As I’m sure you’re aware – it’s been all over the news – it’s performed outside on the Palladium balcony. Broadcast live to the audience inside on a giant screen, and performed to the crowd gathered on Argyle Street below. It’s not a gimmick. It’s a masterstroke. Eva singing to the people, her people. And watching it on screen from inside the theatre felt like being at a rally – huge, emotional, intimate all at once. The sound, the direction, the camera work… it’s perfect. Truly unforgettable. I had goose bumps.
James Olivas as Perón is quietly excellent – less grandstanding than usual, but with a rock-solid presence. The power dynamics between him and Eva are played so cleverly – she leads with fire, he follows with fear. Their duet I’d be Surprisingly Good For You is taut with tension and longing.
Diego’s Ché is just brilliant throughout – playful, furious, seductive, chilling. He is especially good in And the Money Kept Rolling In, which turns into a biting, brilliant satire of Eva’s saintly image, complete with a little girl taking cash out of her bodice, giving some to ‘Mother Eva’, and practically skipping off (another genius move by JL).
This Evita is not always easy to follow if you don’t know the show. It doesn’t hold your hand. But it doesn’t need to. It grabs you by the senses and drags you through a whirlwind of music, movement and emotion. It’s stripped back but full. Modern but true. Rock concert, rally, elegy. Lloyd – my ol’ classmate Jamie – has reimagined Evita as something raw, vital and fiercely now. I’ve never been prouder to say “I went to school with that guy!”.
And Rachel Zegler? She doesn’t just deserve applause – she deserves an Olivier. This is my first ever prediction of the kind, but I will be astonished if she doesn’t at least get a nomination for this stellar performance. Get yourself a ticket to this incredible show now, before the run ends on 6th September 2025. Oh, and if you can’t afford a ticket? Rachel will be performing live on the Palladium balcony at 9:05 each night.
I’ll see you there!
Photography Marc Brenner
