Normally, my spring ritual involves a red-eye to New York, marathon sprints between the TKTS booth and Midtown cafés, and triumphant selfies beneath the Al Hirschfeld marquee. But this season, a growing number of international theatregoers—Canadians foremost among them—are pressing pause on U.S. trips. With border traffic down and Washington’s tariff drumbeat rattling wallets and politics alike, the Great White Way suddenly feels more distant than an ocean crossing.
Cue London’s West End, where centuries-old playhouses rub shoulders with audacious new writing, and where a pint at interval costs less than Broadway’s commemorative sippy cup. I spent a week zigzagging from Covent Garden to South Bank to see what might soothe the Broadway FOMO. The verdict: plenty dazzles, some disappoints, and one hulking forest spirit steals the whole show.
Where: Gillian Lynne Theatre (Covent Garden)
Why go: To remember what childlike wonder feels like.
Studio Ghibli’s 1988 animated gem becomes a tactile, big-hearted spectacle under Phelim McDermott’s direction. Imagine towering inflatable puppets, rolling farmland conjured by spinning platforms, and soot sprites scurrying through shadows. Sisters Mei and Satsuki chase an enormous furry guardian through storms and sorrows while Joe Hisaishi’s re-orchestrated score tugs at every heartstring.
At two-and-a-half hours, it never drags; in fact, the most magical plot beats come during the curtain call—a sly nod to filmmaker Hayao Miyazaki’s habit of hiding grace notes in the end credits. Word to the wise: budget extra baggage allowance. The merch stand’s plush Totoros beckon like sirens.
Where: Olivier Theatre, National Theatre (South Bank)
Why go: To watch strategy, psychology and sport collide—no footy fandom required.
Playwright James Graham turns England’s decades-long penalty-kick curse into a gripping workplace drama starring national coach Gareth Southgate. Rupert Goold’s staging blends archival projections, locker-room banter and a revolve that spins like a midfield sweep. Audiences who couldn’t tell a 4-3-3 from a Yorkshire pudding still leave buzzing, thanks to a script that unpacks national identity with TED-Talk clarity and Ted Lasso warmth.
Even if you miss its limited run, pencil the National Theatre into your itinerary. The riverside terraces brim with pop-up bars, the bookshop is catnip for drama nerds, and £10 “Friday Rush” tickets put world-class work within backpacker budgets.
Where: Dominion Theatre (Tottenham Court Road)
Why pass: Because runway chic can’t hide a threadbare book.
On paper, Elton John meets Meryl Streep’s ice-queen legacy sounds bulletproof. In reality, the musical feels stuck between 2006 flip phones and 2025 Instagram filters. Costumes look off-the-rack rather than haute couture, and only one anthem—“Seen,” a self-love power-ballad sung by fashion editor Nigel—lingers past the curtain. Vanessa Williams brings regal command to Miranda Priestly, and newcomer Georgie Buckland belts heroically as Andy, yet neither performance can rescue a script that hasn’t decided whether it’s nostalgia or reboot.
If the creative team refashions the show before rumoured transfers to New York or Toronto, great. Until then, spend the ticket money on West End day seats elsewhere—or a really nice afternoon tea.
Same-day steals: The TodayTix app and the TKTS kiosk in Leicester Square still offer rush bargains—often under £30.
Matinee Mondays: Many shows add 2 p.m. performances early in the week, freeing evenings for pub-hopping in Soho.
Hidden gems: Peek into the Menier Chocolate Factory or Almeida Theatre for off-beat transfers that often end up winning Oliviers before Broadway bows.
Souvenir hierarchy: Programme > cast album vinyl > novelty mug. (Trust me on luggage weight.)
Yes, Broadway’s bright lights will beckon again. But until the geopolitical mood—and the airfare—lightens, London readily fills the gap. Between a cuddly forest deity, a football saga that doubles as national therapy and the National Theatre’s year-round smorgasbord, you might just discover a new theatrical home away from home.
Next up on my own playlist? A second helping of Totoro—and, if fortune smiles, a transfer of Dear England to NT at Home before the World Cup kicks off on my side of the pond. Stratford-upon-Avon may have birthed Shakespeare, but in 2025, the West End proves the play’s still the thing.
Photo Credit: DepositPhotos.com
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