Here We Are, the last musical from Stephen Sondheim, is playing at The Lyttelton at The National Theatre. It’s based on two Luis Buñuel films (The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie and The Exterminating Angel), and it’s a spiralling satire of wealth, privilege, and ritual – as well as being completely ridiculous in the best possible way! Completed posthumously with book by David Ives and direction by Joe Mantello, it’s exactly what you might expect if one of the greatest musical theatre minds in history decided to have one last laugh at everyone’s expense.
They just wanted brunch. That’s how it starts – three close friends arriving at the home of Leo and Marianne Brink, who are super-rich in a way that makes everyone else’s wealth look quaint. Leo suggests they all go out to eat. So they do. They try. They fail. And try again. And fail again. And again. And before you know it, you’re no longer in the world of brunch reservations and awkward air kisses – you’re in a surreal Sondheim labyrinth where time and logic are loose suggestions and the laws of reality have politely excused themselves. This is brunch purgatory. Café limbo. The kind of aesthetic Gwyneth Paltrow might curate if she’d read too much Sartre.
It begins with Tracie Bennett’s “Woman” quietly hoovering the set as the audience comes in – a sly piece of pre-show business that perfectly sets the tone. From there we descend – or rather spiral – through a series of increasingly absurd and wonderfully lit locations: Café Everything (where everything’s on the menu, but absolutely nothing is available), a nihilistic French bistro serving reconstructed deconstructed cuisine, and Osteria Zeno – I’ll leave that one as a surprise – before we land in a plush embassy room that becomes a gilded trap. David Zinn’s set and Natasha Katz’s lighting work hand-in-hand to deliver both sterile elegance and decadent overload, depending on which fever dream we’re in.
The performances are, to a person, sharp and hilarious. Jane Krakowski floats through the chaos as Marianne Brink – grinning, glowing, and declaring “here we are in Eden” while everything crumbles. Her line delivery is immaculate, her oblivious joy infectious. At one point she asks her husband to “buy this day for us” like it’s a handbag. It would be satire if it weren’t so worryingly plausible. The whole thing often plays like a fever dream critique of LA elite culture – people with so much money and detachment from consequence that cloning their dogs for convenience seems perfectly rational.
Krakowski’s scene partner Rory Kinnear (Leo) anchors the show’s capitalist undertow, while Martha Plimpton and Jesse Tyler Ferguson play Claudia and Paul Zimmer – a brittle, passive-aggressive couple who greet insults with insincere kisses and genuinely seem to dislike each other while Claudia carries on a flirtation with their hilariously horny companion Raffael (Paulo Szot), whose frequent utterances of “I have to have you” are enough to set anyone’s loins a-flutter.
Fritz (Chumisa Dornford-May), Marianne’s radically anti-capitalist sister, brings revolution to the table – only to fall in love with a soldier and start second-guessing her manifesto. Her declaration that “I’ve been a lesbian since I was three” – after Rafael told her he had to have her – seemed to cement her as a revolutionary feminist lesbian, until a few scenes later, when she’s cuddling up to a man in uniform. It’s a show that delights in contradiction, but here I was a little disappointed – it felt like the old ‘she just needs to find the right man’ trope that used to be so familiar in Hollywood (Basic Instinct, Chasing Amy, etc.).
The man in uniform is simply credited as ‘Soldier’. This is Richard Fleeshman, giving earnest Les Mis energy to his big number and holding a final note so long I nearly filed a missing persons report. He is describing his dream, which somehow seems to be what he’s now living. He begins to question reality itself. Then the house lights come up, as he tells us that in his dream this was all a play. It’s absurdly meta. Of course it is. Of course.
Tracie Bennett, plays “Woman”. Bennett originated the role on Broadway and is an absolute scene-stealer throughout. She plays multiple characters with total precision, but her standout moment is as the dead-eyed, weeping, nihilistic waitress at À La Mode, who delivers a hilariously bleak monologue and then sings ‘It Is What It Is‘ – a gloriously gloomy chanson about how the boeuf is the boeuf, the pigeon is made of pigeon, and nothing means anything. It’s a pitch-perfect parody of French philosophical fatalism, all delivered with growing despair.
One of the wonderful things about this show is that every time you think you know what the heck is going on, they pull the rug out from under you (again). In the middle of an already bizzare af scene, a bishop just randomly appears (Harry Hadden-Paton), desperate to stop being a bishop and willing to do literally anything else. Hadden-Paton’s bishop is hilarious, and gloriously unhinged.
And then there’s the “Man.” Usually played by Denis O’Hare, but at the performance I saw, Edward Baker-Duly was covering – and he was freaking phenomenal. As the waiter of Café Everything (or, as they call him, “The Enabler”), he deadpans his way through a ludicrous musical number about unavailability and politely informs guests that they can order everything, but can’t have anything. He also went on to play a role in almost every other scene. His comic timing is exquisite, his singing precise, and his presence magnetic. Understudy is a disservice – this was a standout.
In the second half, once the characters find themselves unable to leave the embassy living room – no one knows why, they just… can’t – the mood shifts. The set becomes rich, realistic, and stifling. There’s plush seating, a piano, piles of books. Marianne sighs, “I could live in this room,” and then, well… she has to.
This is where the surrealism peaks. Characters try to leave and find themselves choosing to stay. Food and water run low. Paranoia creeps in. Someone may or may not be leading a rebel uprising.
The best thing I can say about Here We Are is that when something truly bonkers happened in the second half – something so absurd I won’t spoil it – I found myself nodding and thinking: Yes. Of course that’s happening. What else would happen, other than the completely ridiculous and unexpected?
If you go expecting answers, you’re missing the point. This isn’t a show to decipher. It’s a show to feel. To laugh through. To get a little lost inside. Like a dream. Or a hangover. Or an overbooked brunch.
Sondheim’s final gift isn’t a finale – it’s a maze. A glittering, ridiculous, occasionally profound maze full of echoes, dead ends, and moments of weird beauty.
Don’t overthink it. Understanding is the booby prize.
Just let it happen.
Here we are.
Here We Are is playing at The Lyttelton at The National Theatre until 15 June 2025.
Book tickets at www.theatreticketsdirect.co.uk
Words by Nick Barr
Photography Marc Brenner
