By Christopher Caggiano

 The Off Broadway revival demonstrates how 10 years of dedicated work can make a mediocre musical even worse.

The cast members of Heathers: The Musical. Photo: Evan Zimmerman

One lesson we can learn from Heathers is that just because you’re popular, that doesn’t mean you’re good, or even bearable. But the squealing fan base currently making the Off Broadway revival of Heathers an ear-piercing experience doesn’t seem to have clocked that particular nuance.

The Off Broadway revival marks a return for the show to New World Stages, where the show had its first New York City run in 2014. Based on their previous material, authors Lawrence O’Keefe (Bat Boy, Legally Blonde) and Kevin Murphy (Reefer Madness) would seem to be the ideal creators for a musical version of Heathers. And apparently, they’ve been tinkering and retooling the show over the last ten years, including a successful run in London, which resulted in a filmed version of the production.

And, if the crowd reaction to the current New York run is any measure, this incarnation will be a hit as well: performances are routinely packed with shrieking superfans (seriously, bring ear plugs), and the run has already been extended through 2026, well past its original closing date of September 28.

But, financial success aside, the staging serves as a sobering reminder that dedication doesn’t always lead to artistic success. Ten years on, Heathers is still a deeply flawed musical, and this latest revival somehow manages to dull the material’s edges even further. It’s loud, it’s lucrative – and it’s still not very good.

For those not in the know, Heathers centers around one Veronica Sawyer, a socially invisible high school senior at Westerberg High who yearns for acceptance. She catches the eye of the school’s resident mean girls, the Heathers – a cruel, scrunchie-wearing clique – by using her skills at copying others’ handwriting to get the gaggle out of detention. As she basks in newfound popularity, she meets J.D., a dark, enigmatic new student whose charm quickly turns sinister. When J.D.’s pranks turn to murder, Veronica and J.D. spiral into a dangerous alliance to eliminate the high school hierarchy.

The show’s most persistent problem is its confused and unconvincing tone. The musical never figures out how to navigate the tightrope between its pitch-black premise and its oh-so-peppy delivery. Compared to the 1988 film it’s based on, the stage version feels sanitized and overly broad, like a kid-friendly remix of a cult classic. It seems to want to be both Mean Girls and Carrie – two wildly different worlds to inhabit – and fails to commit to either. Of course, neither of those shows is particularly worth emulating, but Heathers never finds a consistent voice of its own.

Olivia Hardy and the cast members of Heathers. Photo: Evan Zimmerman

That tonal confusion bleeds into the performances, most of which unfortunately lack the sharpness of the original Off Broadway cast. Casey Likes (late of Almost Famous and Back to the Future) and Lorna Courtney (a Tony nominee for & Juliet), are both skilled and personable performers, but here they are let down by a paucity of direction that leaves them with little sense of who their characters are or what kind of show they’re in. Likes, as J.D., lacks the smirking menace Christian Slater brought to the film role, and he doesn’t have the sly charm of Ryan McCartan in the 2014 production. This J.D. doesn’t project enough danger or instability to ground the character’s descent into violence.

Courtney, meanwhile, seems sadly miscast as Veronica. With her pop-diva vocals and polished stage presence, she comes across as too poised to believably portray this supposed outcast. Barret Wilbert Weed’s original turn as Veronica was scrappier, darker, and far better suited to the role’s emotional chaos. Even Kerry Butler, typically a sure thing, struggles to make an impact in the supporting role of Ms. Fleming, the guidance counselor, a loopy hippie who by all rights should steal every scene she’s in, but instead barely registers.

The one standout in the cast is McKenzie Kurtz, who leans into the role of Heather Chandler with gleeful abandon. Her comic instincts are so sharp she earns laughs even when the spotlight isn’t on her. Some might call it upstaging, but in a production this unfocused, a little mugging is welcome. She supplies the bite that the rest of the show sorely lacks.

Still, the real culprit here isn’t the cast, it’s the direction. Original director Andy Fickman returns to helm the revival but seems to have run out of steam. The energy is flat, the comic timing slack, and the characterizations dull. The show doesn’t seem to know whether it wants to embrace the camp or just play things straight. As a result, it doesn’t commit to either, and the production ends up stuck in limbo. Add to that muddy sound design—which buries the often clever lyrics—and choreography that seems to exist only to check a box, and you have a staging that feels more like a tired regional tour than a fresh New York revival.

Things only get worse in the second act. Whatever momentum the first act manages to build soon collapses under the weight of tonal whiplash and leaden pacing. The show veers from slapstick to sentimentality with hardly any transition or justification. The song “Lifeboat” remains a particular low point – lugubrious, mirthless, and guaranteed to grind the show’s momentum to a halt. “Lifeboat” is sung by Heather McNamara, the least cruel of the Heathers, as she begins to crack under the pressure of the dire events around her. It’s unclear why this song survives every incarnation of the show when it remains an energy suck.

Overall, the musical is simply too long. The creators could easily cut half an hour without affecting the story. As I asked in my original 2014 review: should any campy Off Broadway bloodbath really be more than 90 minutes? Sure, Little Shop of Horrors pulls it off, but unless you’re Howard Ashman reincarnated, maybe don’t try.

The deeper issue, though, is the book itself, which feels not only underdeveloped but also strangely reliant on the assumption that the audience already knows and loves the film. Character motivations are often glossed over or wildly inconsistent. Veronica’s moral reversals—especially when she acquiesces to murder, then just as suddenly rejects her accomplice—feel arbitrary rather than earned.

In one baffling sequence, Veronica fakes her own death for no apparent reason, only to be revealed as alive moments later in a way that fools no one and accomplishes nothing. And her behavior toward her supposed best friend Martha – cruelly revealing a forged love note with visible glee – feels incompatible with the “redeemed” Veronica we’re apparently meant to root for by that point in the show.

Given all that, you’d at least hope the production values might offer some compensation. No such luck. The sets look cheap and flat, closer to a second-rate high school staging than a professional Off Broadway revival. And yet, the ticket prices are Broadway-level, topping out at $195. Audiences may be willing to pay that much for the nostalgia, the fan-service, or the sheer thrill of screaming along to the cast album live. But what they’re getting in return is a lot of squeal and very little sizzle.

Christopher Caggiano is a freelance writer and editor living in Stamford, CT. He has written about theater for a variety of outlets, including TheaterMania.com, American Theatre, and Dramatics magazine. He also taught musical-theater history for 16 years and is working on numerous book projects based on his research.