Lovestuck transforms the infamous 2017 Tinder date involving an unflushable poo and a woman stuck in a bathroom window into an outrageously fun musical. It pours out romcom sparkle, unapologetic toilet humour and a surprisingly earnest plea for radical self-acceptance.
The creative quartet behind the mayhem could hardly be less traditional. Jamie Morton and James Cooper, creators of the unbelievably funny podcast My Dad Wrote a Porno, supply a book fizzing with whip-smart gags and school-yard innuendo. Chart-topping singer Bryn Christopher and arranger Martin Batchelar layer on radio-ready hooks that you start humming before the chorus is finished. Stratford East theatre has not unveiled a home-grown musical in a decade, and the team lean into that under-dog energy. Rather than chase Broadway polish they embrace British self-deprecation, mixing Carry On cheek and Richard Curtis warmth.
Lucy, a thirty-something nurse with Instagram-induced imposter syndrome, swipes right on Peter, a sweet though socially clumsy Tolkien fan. Their first date in a Mexican restaurant features salsa-dancing waiters, oversharing and the fizzy ensemble number Picture Perfect, where both try to curate flawless versions of themselves. A digestive emergency sends Lucy to the loo in Peter’s flat, but the flush is broken. In panic she throws the evidence through Peter’s bathroom window, and it gets stuck behind a second pane. She crawls after it and gets stuck. The first act closes on her legs kicking skyward, mortification peaking.
Act Two keeps the spiral spinning. Tabloids and TikTok christen Lucy ‘Poo Girl’, Peter’s banker flat-mate livestreams the scandal and Miseraie, her glitter-drenched inner critic, belts insults while parading ostrich feathers. Peter retreats into self-doubt, Lucy hides under a duvet and social media devours them both. Each beat is underscored by songs veering from patter pastiche to soaring ballad. A nerdy Lord of the Rings metaphor finally reunites the couple, honesty trumps humiliation and a tentative kiss lands to an audible collective sigh. Morton keeps jokes landing like dominoes so the emotional gear changes never squeal.
Ambra Caserotti, promoted from the ensemble after the original lead was injured, seizes Lucy like a golden ticket in a spectacularly likeable performance. Shane O’Riordan’s Peter is lanky, earnest and vocally nimble; his tenor gleams in One in a Million while his limbs sell every cringe. Their chemistry is charmingly awkward. Bridgette Amofah steals scenes as Miseraie, flicking sarcasm around the stage. Marcus Ayton adds comic ballast as Lucy’s super-camp colleague Reece, Johan Munir is a deliciously dreadful city bro and Holly Liburd flicks between deadpan waitress and screaming reporter with elastic dexterity.
Beneath the filth lies millennial angst. Cooper’s lyrics roast ghosting, doomscrolling and perfection theatre yet insist that authenticity is funnier, sexier and kinder. The finale Everybody’s Got Their Shit hammers the point and earns the fist-pump. The mood stays cheeky rather than preachy so the moral lands lightly. In the shadow of cancel culture, the refusal to shame its heroine feels radical, a reminder that nobody dies from embarrassment.
The poo jokes fade first; what stays is the generosity. Lovestuck argues that shared humiliation glues us together and the evidence is every grin in the exit queue. It may lack Hamilton’s complexity yet its heart thumps loudly enough to fuel a West End transfer. Stratford East has injected the British musical with rude radiant life.
