Composer and Lyrics: Robin Hiley
Writer: Becky Hope-Palmer
Director: Alex Howarth
The musical Lifeline debuts in London at Southwark Playhouse Elephant. It is nothing if not ambitious. It tells two parallel stories, the first about Alexander Fleming, the Scottish scientist who invented penicillin, the second a fictional love story of NHS doctor Jess and her musician boyfriend, Aaron. The show’s real innovation is to have a chorus of real-life doctors, nurses, dentists and scientists, a different team of 12 from a total of 60 participants performing each week. Hidden away above the stage is an impressive band of instrumentalists.
Lifeline delivers a strong message: the world’s dependence on antibiotics is creating a dangerous increase in antibiotic-resistant microbes. We may feel we already know this, but the show stresses its urgency.
It’s a lot to package into a single show. It all goes at a cracking pace, thanks to Alex Howarth’s direction, using short scenes from the two time periods, most of which turn on a musical number. There is a lot of joyous dancing, which, if the choreography at times seems awkward, can be blamed on the small acting area. There is certainly no doubting the whole cast’s commitment and enthusiasm.
But this quantity of material leads to a great deal of clunky exposition and heavy-handed dialogue, which reduces characters to stereotypes. Too much is signalled from the outset, so the supposed break-up of Aaron and Jess is clearly going to be resolved.
Similarly, it takes the whole two-and-a-half hours plus of the show to get grieving widower Fleming to realise he’s actually fallen in love with glamorous Greek scientist, Amalia. As a result, too many of their scenes lack drama as he repeatedly fails to pick up her clues. Part of the issue for Becky Hope-Palmer, here billed as ‘book writer’, is that she has to stick closely to the known facts.
Fleming really did marry Amalia Voureka two years before he died. His accidental discovery of penicillin in 1928, when he noticed mould growing on a neglected petri dish was repelling bacteria, is obviously central to his story. But it’s not one that’s easy to dramatise. Understandably, Hope-Palmer is reluctant to omit other episodes in Fleming’s complex journey and adds in flashbacks to his childhood for good measure. But as a result, the story arc feels over-extended and at times flabby. Alan Vicary, as Fleming, has a lovely voice, as does Kelly Glyptis as Amalia. And indeed, the singing throughout the show is very strong.
The story of Jess and Aaron is good-naturedly endearing. But there’s a great deal of plot needed to explain why, given he’s been Jess’s childhood friend and teenage sweetheart, Aaron is somehow American. As a musician himself, Nathan Salstone is able to perform Aaron’s love songs affectingly. But as a character, he’s not given much to work with.
Maz McGinlay as Jess has a stronger role, as events in the hospital cause her to doubt her medical vocation. Helen Logan as Aaron’s mother, Layla, is warmly funny, but later scenes give her too much time to reflect on her love for her sons, which adds more sentiment but little to the plot or theme. There’s an unseen sick child in the story, too, but again, repetition of sentimental moments – she’s drawn a picture of Jess as a superhero – weakens the show’s impact.
The music itself, developed from a concept album by Robin Hiley, is straightforwardly likeable, if not particularly memorable. There are pleasing arrangements by Neil Metcalfe which make use of a variety of instruments to give it all a Scottish inflexion. By far the strongest piece is one that moves away from the show’s overall sentimentality, when Julian Kerr, as government adviser Robbie Scott, sings the passionate I’ve Done All That I Can. The pure anger of the lyrics expressing Scott’s exasperation with the global failure to address antibiotic misuse is genuinely powerful, underlined by the song’s catchy rhythm and melody.
The NHS-related chorus throws themselves into their role as chorus, competently singing and dancing. But perhaps the over-emphasis on jollity comes at the expense of the serious message Lifeline seeks to convey.
Runs until: 2 May 2026
