Oh, Mary! arrives in the West End already carrying a reputation.

Written by Cole Escola and directed by Sam Pinkleton, this Tony Award winning comedy has crossed from Broadway to the Trafalgar Theatre with considerable noise behind it. The show reimagines Mary Todd Lincoln in the weeks leading up to Abraham Lincoln’s assassination, discarding historical reverence in favour of camp, excess, and unapologetic vulgarity. Running at a tight 80 minutes with no interval, it makes its intentions clear early on.

The atmosphere in the theatre felt charged before the lights went down. The audience arrived primed, some visibly excited, others cautious. From the opening moments, the production sets its terms. This is American humour with the volume left deliberately too high, broad, crude, and uninterested in compromise. It shares more DNA with downtown New York cabaret and late night sketch comedy than with polished British farce, and it makes no attempt to soften that contrast.

For me, that clarity was liberating. I found myself smiling almost constantly, with several moments tipping into laughter so sudden and physical that resistance felt pointless. Around me, reactions came in waves, laughter bursting out mid scene, applause landing early, energy spilling freely across the room. At the same time, there were pockets of visible resistance, faces unmoved, arms folded, a refusal to engage. Watching those two responses play out side by side becomes part of the experience.

At the centre of it all is Mason Alexander Park, who steals the night and refuses to give it back. Their Mary Todd Lincoln is not shaped for sympathy or redemption, but unleashed as a force built on timing, precision, and fearless excess. Every pause is deliberate, every exaggerated movement grounded in intention. They dominate the stage not through volume alone, but through instinctive rhythm, knowing exactly when to stretch a moment to breaking point and when to snap it shut. It is a performance that turns excess into precision, making even the most outrageous choices feel inevitable.

It is easy to see why Oh, Mary! has divided opinion so sharply. Some responses search for depth, subtext, or historical insight, while others meet the show on its own terms. What feels clear is that this is not a piece interested in explanation or correction. Camp is not decoration here. It is the structure. Repetition becomes rhythm, vulgarity becomes form, and any meaning that surfaces does so quietly and without instruction.

Sam Pinkleton’s direction keeps the madness tightly controlled. The pacing never drags, the physical comedy is carefully shaped, and each joke feels steered rather than left to sprawl. Even when the humour pushes towards the crude or deliberately juvenile, it does so with confidence rather than apology.

Mason Alexander Park leads a cast that commits fully to the show’s excess. Giles Terera plays Mary’s husband with dry control and sharp timing, while Dino Fetscher leans into the role of the acting teacher with ease. Oliver Stockley and Kate O’Donnell complete the ensemble, each clearly tuned to the show’s rhythm. The visual world is shaped by the design collective dots, with costumes by Holly Pierson.

The surrounding hype plays its part. A bold social media campaign and a steady stream of strong reactions have set expectations clearly, and the show delivers exactly what it advertises. This will not be for everyone. American humour of this kind rarely is. That division feels intentional.

I left energised and already wanting to return. Oh, Mary! is loud, rude, excessive, and completely confident in what it is. In a West End landscape often shaped by caution, that confidence feels bracing.

Some shows ask for admiration.
Oh, Mary! dares you to keep up.

Photo by Manuel Harlan.

Oh, Mary! is playing at Trafalgar Theatre, London, until 25 April 2026.
Running time is 80 minutes, no interval.
Tickets are available via the Trafalgar Theatre box office