Dr. Strangelove on Stage: Steve Coogan's Brilliant Take on Kubrick's Black Comedy
How Armando Iannucci and Sean Foley Brought Kubrick’s Iconic Satire to Life at the Noël Coward Theatre
What madness it takes to attempt what Armando Iannucci and Sean Foley have pulled off at the Noël Coward Theatre. In the frosty chill of a November evening, I shuffled into the auditorium clutching expectations alongside my scarf, bracing for the theatrical defibrillation of one of cinema's greatest satirical masterpieces. Stanley Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove, that 1964 cinematic cocktail of nuclear dread and biting wit, isn't just any movie—it's a sacred cow, and we've arrived to watch these bold creatives milk it dry or butcher it outright.
The first hurdle for any adaptation is always the same: Why? Why take a work so perfectly sculpted for the screen and cram it into the unforgiving confines of the stage? Surely, some might argue, there are easier ways to go mad. For instance, how does one replicate the unforgettable image of a cowboy straddling a nuke, yee-hawing into Armageddon? The answer, dear reader, is sheer audacity. This production doesn't just aim to recreate; it refashions the absurd for an audience craving nostalgia and novelty.
Steve Coogan, stepping into Peter Sellers's oversized shoes, is the undeniable centrepiece here. Not content with playing one role or even two, Coogan opts for the full buffet, embodying four distinct characters. First, there's Dr. Strangelove himself—a wheelchair-bound ex-Nazi scientist whose outbursts veer between menacing and hilariously inappropriate. Coogan plays him with relish, adding a sprinkling of new quirks to Kubrick's original recipe. The result? A character so wildly bizarre you half expect him to invent the wheel mid-monologue.
Then there's Group Captain Lionel Mandrake, that archetypal stiff-upper-lip Brit, all tweed and desperation. Mandrake spends much of the play dodging verbal grenades from rogue general Jack Ripper (John Hopkins, playing it with just the right amount of deranged conviction). Mandrake's primary skill? Absorbing abuse with a baffled politeness only a British officer could muster. Coogan plays him with exquisite restraint, wobbling somewhere between hapless hero and bumbling bureaucrat.
Enter the US President, Merkin Muffley—a man so mild he could defuse a bomb with sheer passivity if only his generals weren't so intent on triggering it first. Coogan's portrayal is a study of understated absurdity, delivering lines with a deadpan precision that somehow amplifies the insanity around him. And finally, in a show of theatrical bravado, Coogan rounds things off as the gung-ho pilot Major "King" Kong, a role that lets him whoop, holler, and give a Texan twang to an audience already doubled over with laughter.
The script stays true to Kubrick's sardonic wit while injecting just enough modern references to remind us that the lunacy of war isn't a relic of the past. An amphetamine-fueled Russian premier, suspiciously accident-prone rivals, and a casually tossed mention of Jerusalem all draw knowing chuckles from the audience. But these updates are never heavy-handed; the humour remains timeless, the absurdity universal.
Visual gags abound, and the show isn't afraid to lean into silliness. It takes the original film's razor-sharp satire and rounds the edges just enough to let a broader audience in. If Kubrick's movie was a scalpel, this is a Swiss Army knife—still sharp, but with a corkscrew thrown in for laughs. The result is a play that, while perhaps less edgy than its predecessor, is undeniably entertaining.
Of course, the heart of Dr. Strangelove remains its biting critique of political and military hubris. Watching these men—so drunk on their own power they can barely see straight—feels uncomfortably relevant. Yet this isn't a morality play; it's a farce and here to have fun. Coogan, in particular, seems to relish every moment, his versatility on full display as he ricochets between roles with the energy of a man possessed. As the curtain fell, I couldn't help but grin. Yes, some of Kubrick's edge may have been sanded down in favour of broader laughs, but what remains is a rollicking evening of theatre that never takes itself too seriously. This Dr Strangelove is a triumphant blast from the past, delivered with the precision of a nuclear strike and the joy of a firework display. If you're a Coogan fan, it's a no-brainer. For everyone else? Prepare to laugh until your face aches—don't forget to duck and cover.
The play runs at the Noël Coward Theatre until January 25th, 2025, offering plenty of opportunities to experience this brilliantly adapted black comedy. Don’t miss your chance to see Steve Coogan’s masterful performances live on stage. Click here to book your tickets now.