Book, Music & Lyrics: David O’Brien
Director: Jack Storm
A new, original musical on the London stage is always welcome, and David O’Brien’s Snap! certainly brings fresh material to the theatre scene.
Set in the cutthroat world of fashion photography, Snap! follows renowned photographer Max (Matteo Giambias), who has just secured a last-minute contract to create a campaign for a new beverage. Deviating from his usual preference for tall, beautiful women, he selects young Tom (Will Usherwood-Bliss) as his subject, who happens to be the partner of Max’s ex-girlfriend, Angela (Hayley Maybury).
Within a compressed 24-hour timeframe, we’re whisked through a whirlwind journey of opportunity, desire and manipulation, as Max ruthlessly exerts his power over those around him to satisfy his own ego and twisted pleasure.
Despite its intriguing psychological premise, this dark tale struggles to deliver the dramatic impact it promises. The relatively short runtime severely constrains both character and narrative development, leaving viewers feeling oddly detached from the unfolding drama. This emotional distance is further exacerbated by an underwhelming musical score. While there are a few standout numbers, most songs prove melodically forgettable and do little to advance the story or add depth to the scenes.
The cast performs admirably within these constraints. Justine Marie Mead steals the show as Max’s long-suffering assistant Sheila, delivering an emotionally charged performance that resonates beyond the material. Giambias as the manipulative Max proves less successful; rather than embodying the Gordon Gekko-style alpha male suggested by the script, his portrayal comes across as surprisingly camp and somewhat neutered.
Snap! introduces an interesting premise ripe with opportunities to explore control, coercion, power, desire and love. While it touches on all these themes, it never examines any with sufficient depth to create genuine resonance. The production sits in an awkward middle ground—entertaining and occasionally thought-provoking, yet neither funny enough nor dramatic enough to do its weighty subject matter proper justice.
Runs until 25 May 2025