Sting’s The Last Ship has finally docked in Brisbane, and it’s a production that feels both deeply personal and oddly distant—a bit like the man himself. Personally, I think what makes this musical intriguing isn’t just Sting’s star power, but the way it grapples with themes of identity, legacy, and the ghosts of industrial decline. It’s a love letter to Wallsend-on-Tyne, the shipbuilding town that shaped him, but it’s also a meditation on leaving and returning, on the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future.
One thing that immediately stands out is how the show navigates its political backdrop. Margaret Thatcher’s policies, which gutted communities like Wallsend, are present but not the focal point. From my perspective, this is both a strength and a weakness. On one hand, it avoids turning the musical into a heavy-handed political diatribe. On the other, it feels like a missed opportunity to explore how systemic forces—like privatization and deindustrialization—shatter lives. What many people don’t realize is that these stories aren’t just historical footnotes; they’re still playing out in towns across the globe, where economic shifts leave communities hollowed and searching for purpose.
Sting’s presence on stage is, of course, the elephant in the room—or rather, the hovering platform. Watching him play Jackie White, a shipworks foreman grappling with mortality and loss, is a study in contrasts. Here’s a man who left Wallsend to become a global icon, now returning to confront the place that made him. What this really suggests is that fame doesn’t erase roots; it just complicates them. Sting’s performance is solid, but it’s the moments when he steps back, letting the ensemble shine, that the show truly comes alive.
Take, for instance, the scene where Gideon Fletcher (Declan Bennett) sings Dead Man’s Shoes in his late father’s house. It’s a quiet, rueful moment that captures the essence of the show: the ache of what’s been lost and the hope of what might still be found. This, to me, is where The Last Ship excels—in its smaller, more intimate moments. The bombastic bits, like the picket lines and death scenes, feel almost obligatory, as if the show is trying too hard to be epic.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how the musical handles its female characters. Annette McLaughlin as Peggy White and Lauren Samuels as Meg Dawson bring a depth and resilience that grounds the story. Yet, it’s Hannah Richardson as Ellen, Meg’s daughter, who steals the show. Her desire to leave Wallsend for London mirrors Sting’s own journey, and her spark is a reminder that even in decline, there’s always the possibility of renewal.
But let’s talk about Shaggy—or rather, the Wallsend Ferryman, a character who feels like a missed opportunity. Personally, I think he could have been more than just a lovable angel of death. His role feels underdeveloped, almost like an afterthought. If you take a step back and think about it, his character could have been a powerful symbol of the town’s transition—a bridge between the past and the future. Instead, he’s left lingering on the edges, half-formed and underutilized.
The music, of course, is where The Last Ship shines brightest. Sting’s songs are evocative, blending folk influences with his signature style. Tracks like The Night the Pugilist Learned How to Dance are charming, but it’s the title song, The Last Ship, that cuts the deepest. It’s a haunting ode to a dying industry and the people who built it. What this really suggests is that music, like memory, has the power to resurrect what’s been lost—if only for a moment.
If there’s one critique I’d level, it’s that the show feels overlong, particularly in the second act. Three fewer songs, and it would have been tighter, more impactful. But perhaps that’s the point. The Last Ship isn’t just a musical; it’s a reckoning—with the past, with mortality, with the choices that define us.
In the end, what stays with me is Gideon’s warning to Ellen: ‘If you leave in the wrong way, you’ll never really go.’ It’s a line that lingers, not just because it’s beautifully written, but because it speaks to something universal. We all carry our origins with us, whether we like it or not. The Last Ship reminds us that leaving isn’t just about walking away—it’s about how we choose to carry what we leave behind.
From my perspective, this isn’t a perfect show, but it’s a deeply felt one. It’s Sting’s attempt to make peace with his past, and in doing so, it invites us to reflect on our own. Whether it succeeds or not depends on what you bring to it—but one thing’s for sure: it’s a voyage worth taking.
