In January 2012, three weeks after my 15th birthday, I saw One Direction live in concert and left with one fact sure in my head: I loved Harry Styles more than anything in the world, including my own family.
On paper, Fangirls, Yve Blake’s musical about the teenage fangirls obsessed with Harry (Thomas Grant) of fictional British boy band Heartbreak Nation, is made for former fans like me. Yet the show doesn’t discriminate; it’s a campy, impassioned defence of anyone who’s been made to feel like their feelings are “too much”.
There will be some, I’m sure, who ascribe those two words to Fangirls (the show) too. In the first five minutes alone, we have strobes, sequins, and a fantasy sequence involving a surprisingly violent sexy motorcycle chase. It sets the tone immediately: don’t expect realism from Fangirls. The “too much”-ness is worn on the show’s sequin-bedazzled sleeve. Not everything works perfectly, but trust me: there’s nothing in London’s theatres like it.
The excess of the show exists in direct opposition to our protagonist Edna’s life at home in Sydney. She lives in a working-class, single-parent household, and is drifting from mum Caroline (Debbie Kurup) and the friends at her all-girls school. The only time Edna (Jasmine Elcock) feels excitement is when she opens up her laptop and her fellow Heartbreak Nation fans from across the globe appear.
For Edna, it’s these virtual friends, not the girls at school, who really understand her. Their language is both violent and sexual, with choruses of “I’m dead” or “my uterus is actually exploding” echoing through every conversation. When they cry, their tears are broadcast up-close on the curved screens adorning the stage.
Living in Australia (the accents in the show are, bar a few songs, pretty impressive), Edna feels worlds away from Harry and co. That’s why when “the boys” announce their first ever Sydney concert, Edna knows she will go to extreme lengths to see it.
Edna starts off stroppy and a little unlikeable, and by the surreal second act has become, frankly, deranged. Yet recent graduate Elcock has a stage presence and likeability that makes it hard not to root for her. If there is another standout among the multi-talented, multi-roling ensemble cast, it’s Mary Malone as Edna’s sometime-best friend Jules, a gawking, strutting comedic creation with notes of Ja’mie: Private School Girl.
He might be the fulcrum for the fans’ obsession, but Harry appears only in flashes or third-person conversation until the second act, when he re-opens the show with an immersive concert medley of Heartbreak Nation’s biggest hits. Here, it’s clear that Blake is a skilled pop parodist, the songs stuffed with vague platitudes about knowing you’re beautiful and “changing the world”.
With his flicky hair and dulcet northern tones, Grant is a totally believable pop star. But Blake’s script also makes it clear that Harry is pretty bland, a blank slate the girls can project onto. This characterisation perfectly encapsulates a core facet of fandom: it’s not about them, it’s about you. You don’t need to have been a fangirl to find those depths in the show, but tapping into your inner teenage obsessive will only elevate this impressive, bombastic production.