The problem with Heathers: The Musical

There is a euphoric moment in Heathers: The Musical, based on the cult 1989 film of the same name, when anything seems possible. It happens when 17-year-old Veronica – facing ostracism from the popular clique for barfing on the group’s tyrannical leader, Heather Chandler – climbs through the bedroom window of her crush, J.D.

He’s in bed, asleep. As she mounts him, she sings the sassy, come-hither “Dead Girl Walking.” She’ll be toast come Monday morning, she’s “hot and pissed and on the pill,” and J.D. is her “last meal on death row.” Cue the boldest sex scene I’ve ever seen on stage. Veronica straddles J.D. and takes charge, ripping open her shirt to reveal her bra. “Sorry, but I really had to wake you/ See, I decided I must ride you till I break you,” she declares. He submits.

The scene matters for several reasons: as in the movie, the audience must root for Veronica Sawyer (Lorna Courtney) and bad-boy-turned-serial-killer J.D. (Casey Likes), at least initially. Their chemistry must be blistering, as it is here, and their ensuing relationship fierce. This is where the musical could go if its creators were brave enough. Sadly, despite a shrewd and funny first half, it loses its courage in the second act.

Heathers: The Musical first ran off-Broadway in 2014 before becoming a West End hit. The bright, pop-infused effort, with music, book and lyrics by Kevin Murphy and Laurence O’Keefe, is back at the New World Stages in Manhattan.

The subject matter is transgressive: in the dog-eat-dog world of Westerburg High, the teenagers must navigate everything from teen suicide to rape, not to mention murder. The action follows Veronica and J.D.’s bloodthirsty revenge on the school bullies – until Veronica sees sense and advocates for a unified world. It’s a sort of wish-fulfillment for high-school outcasts – many of whom, if the hoots and cheers were anything to go by, were in the audience.

The mordantly funny film, starring Christian Slater and Winona Ryder, relied on satire and surrealism as much as guts and gore. But Heathers: The Musical resorts to campness under Andy Fickman’s direction. In the process, it loses its snark and bite.

Nowhere is this clearer than in Veronica’s character. In the musical, she’s an out-and-out nerd who is hoodwinked by J.D. and she only joins the three popular girls – all called Heather – to obtain immunity from their jibes. This set up allows Veronica to be blissfully ignorant of J.D.’s plans, but also makes her a boring trope: the nerd-turned-babe.

Courtney’s Veronica is confusing. Her voice is powerful, but she swings between two irreconcilable personae: a giggling dweeb and a fearless young woman who seduces J.D. and stands up to the Heathers. The latter persona is a joy. The former rings false. They seem like two completely different characters fused together.

Likes is convincing as the trench-coat-wearing rebel with a troubled past. Dominating the stage, however, is McKenzie Kurtz as Heather Chandler, the leader of the trio and the nastiest mean girl ever to grace high school. The Heathers arrive on stage bathed in light: they wear matching uniforms with sharp shoulders; their tongues are even sharper. Murphy and O’Keefe introduce them with an almost religious fervor: an incantation of “Oh Heather, Heather, Heather” could be replaced with “hallelujah.” These Heathers are, like the gods of old, both feared and worshipped. But Heathers: The Musical suffers when Heather Chandler is knocked off in the first half. While she comes back as a sort of singing spirit or ghost, the musical sorely misses her energy and humor. In fact, all the deaths seem more silly than serious, as the deceased characters return to gyrate or make snide remarks.

Heathers is a sort of wish-fulfillment for high-school outcasts – many of whom were apparently in the audience

And therein lies the issue with Heathers: The Musical, particularly as it moves into what should be the more nihilistic second half, which sees J.D. attempt to blow up his classmates. The movie was prescient – Columbine was just a decade away – and straddles anarchy and teenage desperation with a hopeful ending as Veronica fights back against her ex-boyfriend. But the musical can’t let go of its candy cheer.

There are few consequences to Veronica’s battling, and when she preaches acceptance for everyone, they all acquiesce suddenly, with embraces all round. It doesn’t matter who the character is – they’re part of the gang! Murphy described this sweeter-than-thou ending as radical: “We took the zeitgeist of our time, and the counterpunch was to surprise people by having the characters hug at the end.” Really? A Broadway show preaching love for all has not only been done a zillion times before: it’s exactly what the audience expects.

It would have been radical to have stayed true to the movie’s roots – Veronica is a survivor, not a saint – and to the musical’s brilliant first half. The filthy lyrics! The hot sex scene! The bitchy Heathers!

Heathers: The Musical no doubt has first-rate songs and lyrics. I just wish that it had backed itself as a weird, sometimes tasteless journey into the fury and angst of adolescence. As it is, it flirts with nonconformity and then, scared, retreats into its own shadow.

This article was originally published in The Spectator’s September 15, 2025 World edition.