Today I have been forced to do something I hoped I would never have to do in my capacity as a critic. Something that goes against my principles, my morals, the sacred ideals that govern my soul.

I have to say really complimentary things about a piece of art Andrew Lloyd Webber was responsible for. The UK tour of Jesus Christ Superstar, directed by Alli Coyne, might have some stumbles initially on its walk through the valley of the shadow of death, but my God, does it rise again in its second act. It’s been more than forty years since its theatrical debut and still there’s something about the combination of Tim Rice’s book, a surprisingly radical chronicle of our Lord and Saviour’s final days, and Lloyd-Webber’s unapologetically bombastic score that just works together. If you're going to attempt such a patently bonkers premise as the passion of Christ as a rock-opera, you can't be precious about it, and with elements of prog-rock and early synth, whining electric guitars and wailing gospel, its untrammelled energy marks some of Lloyd Webber’s most daring work, much as it pains me to admit it. And it requires incredible vocal chops from its performers - Ian McIntosh as Jesus and Shem Omari James as Judas engage in some truly eye watering belt-offs throughout and it’s a wonder to behold every time.

That said, the first act falters slightly in its momentum, in no small part because of its staging. The centrepiece of this production is an enormous crucifix catwalk, which while visually arresting (especially when lit), also really limits the space that the dancers have to move - much of their action is corralled stage right, which strikes an odd visual balance. The choreography itself is hit and miss; there are moments among Jesus’ followers where their synchronised movements feel like puppetry, effectively communicating a mob mentality for which Jesus never planned. But their steps often veer into “I’m your freestyle dance teacher Renata Bliss” territory, especially in the case of one recurring figure that anonymously follows Christ’s trials while violently chopping their arms. Maybe they’re a metaphor for humanity’s violent instinct, but for me, at least, it really detracted from the pathos McIntosh’s Jesus was delivering.

It doesn’t help that Jesus and his followers seem to be dressed for modern dance class; decked out in grey sweats, hoodies and tank tops, their minimal costume design combined with their modern contemporary choreography doesn’t really mesh with the sprawling 70s maximalism of the score. To quote my companion for the night, it’s “a strange effect [to have] Jesus and his disciples looking like a contemporary New Life church dance group for C of E assemblies, and then along come the priests looking like Cenobites”.

But with the priests come the first signs of great things in store. A buff, caped, eye-linered phalanx wielding staffs-cum-microphones to the raunchiest choreography in the show, accented by ground rumbling bass tones from Jad Habchi’s Caiaphas? Well done, you have understood the assignment. The show’s best moments and most effective visual storytelling are suffused with this darkly camp theatricality; Jesus is anointed, and later brutally whipped, with glitter; Judas reaches into a chest for his grim reward and finds his hands dripping with silver ‘blood’, the cross on which the crucifixion takes place is lit with neon.

My notes for the second act read as follows: “F***ING HELL THAT SECOND ACT”. This is where the production really comes into its own, with a less crowded stage and time to really let its principals breathe. McIntosh delivers all his numbers with impeccable technical skill (his “Why” in ‘Gethsamane’ will drop your jaw) but his movement about the stage in the first act sometimes felt a little listless. His body has not been doing much of the talking. But then Act 2 hits and, Jesus Christ (pun intended), does he die well. McIntosh’s contortions combined with his stoic dignity and composure as he is put through the wringer by statesmen, kings and fairweather followers is arresting and often hard to watch, and his final moments on the cross carry a shocking intensity.

Shem Omari James as Judas has electric stage presence throughout - his crisp vocals and complex runs do so much to capture the immensity of his inner turmoil and compromised loyalty. Timo Tatzber as Herod is also a highlight, festooned in gold lamé and flanked by dancers with their heads on plates, taunting his bloodied subject with the aplomb of the emcee from Cabaret. It’s crass, it’s tasteless, it’s perfect, no notes. But my biggest plaudits of the night have to go to Ryan O’Donnell as Pilate; not only are the vocals astonishing, mixing in the perfect level of grit, but the turn from patrician jeering to desperation as he offers a resolute Christ any kind of out is perfectly calibrated. You can feel a palpable regret as he sends Jesus to his fate that ultimately makes for a far more compelling performance than straight contempt.

I think there are some unfortunate lowercase c ‘conservative’ implications in that the most ‘villain’-coded characters in the show are also the ones that present most visibly queer or gender non-conforming. However, the camp, the excess, the theatre of it all speaks to a very fresh perspective this adaptation brings to the production in general; the existential horror of seeing your life as a show, playing a role you can’t escape. Watching the final crucifixion sequence, as the ensemble gathers to sing ‘Jesus Christ Superstar’, two other endings leapt to mind. One was The Wicker Man, as a ritual death is enacted over jovial song. The other was All That Jazz, as Joe Gideon performs a glittering musical number in his mind while suffering a fatal heart attack. Jesus, whether he likes it or not, is the lead in God's production, and the show must go on. One of the things this production does remarkably well is communicate that Jesus and Judas are two sides of the same coin; actors in a script they didn’t write and from which they cannot deviate. The darkly camp set pieces throughout all culminate in this last chilling tableau, dancing to death for a divine choreographer. It’s an unexpectedly and refreshingly challenging approach for the production to take, and I applaud how well they’ve executed it (that one wasn’t intended). Given my animosity towards Lord LW, trust me when I say that this is a show that deserves your praise.