Siddhartha, the Musical

Adapting Herman Hesse's 1922 novel of the same name, Siddhartha, the Musical is an Italian-language operatta which started life as a prisoner rehabilitation programme in Milanese maximum security penitentiary. It is a story of enlightenment, Eastern religious philosophy, personal fulfillment and the ancient Buddha's quest for wisdom. 

But below the surface, Siddhartha is majestically stupid, utterly daft-as-a-brush nonsensical. The plotline is complete tosh and, given the show's 70-minute running time, is rushed through at a bewildering pace. Siddhartha, born a prince in ancient India, is raised behind the golden walls of his father's castle. One day he is told that life is not so gilded outside of his palace walls, which prompts an existential crisis in our eponymous hero and sees him leave his lover and their unborn child and embark on a quest to find the true meaning of life. A knocked-up, abandoned and (shortly after) dead concubine, a sage whose wisdom has come from staring at a river his whole life and a son left to face near-certain death in a forest later, and Siddhartha has learned that all you need is love.

Yeah...

Nevertheless, this is gloriously dumb fun. Siddhartha, the Musical boasts a fantastically good looking cast and is all rippling six-packs, pounding music and great vocals. The costumes are fabulous, the dancing entertaining and as a spectacle it's a great big production standing out against the general lo-fi tenor of the wider Fringe.

It's a colourful, vibrant and entirely enjoyable romp that takes its journey of enlightenment very seriously. Even if nobody else does.