Les Misérables Review by Finbar Kelly

          To condense a 1,400-page novel into just under three hours of theater seems like an impossible task,

yet the current tour of Les Misérables, showing at The Orpheum until February 22nd, accomplishes it with

astonishing clarity and emotional force. Rather than feeling compressed, the story unfolds with sweeping

inevitability. From the first low strains of the Prologue I felt the scope of that world settle over the stage,

immense in scale, yet startlingly intimate.

The staging moves with cinematic precision. Projections glide across the set, transforming the space from the bleak docks of Montreuil-Sur-Mer to the narrow streets of Paris and, eventually, to the towering barricade. The transitions are seamless, allowing years to pass in moments without ever feeling disjointed. I was struck by how quickly I lost awareness of time; the narrative momentum carrying me forward so completely that Intermission felt like an interruption to another reality. Yet within that grandeur, the production finds intimacy. Subtle lighting shifts isolate characters in pools of light, and in those quieter scenes, I felt as though the massive theater had shrunk to a single heartbeat.

The performances of Jean Valjean, Javert, and Éponine form the emotional core of the show. Valjean’s portrayal by Randy Jeter is layered and deeply human. His journey from hardened prisoner to compassionate father unfolds not in grand gestures alone, but in small, deliberate choices, in the way his shoulders soften and in the gentleness that gradually enters his voice. During “Bring Him Home,” his tenor rose with a fragile sincerity that felt almost prayerful. As he sustained the final note, I felt goosebumps ripple along my arms and a swell of emotion tighten my chest. For a moment, I forgot I was watching a performance; I was simply witnessing a man’s desperate hope.

Opposite Valjean’s warmth is the cold Javert, played by Hayden Tee who easily commands the stage with a formidable presence that is impossible to ignore. His rigid posture and unwavering gaze communicate absolute conviction from his first entrance. In “Stars” he stands alone beneath cool, focused light, delivering each phrase with resonant clarity and steely control. His baritone carries an authority that feels immovable. Sitting in the dark, I found myself leaning slightly forward, drawn in by the intensity of his belief. There was something both admirable and unsettling in his certainty, and I could feel the tension building beneath his composure, making his eventual unraveling all the more tragic.

Éponine provides one of the production’s most emotionally piercing moments. Her rendition of “On My Own” showcases extremely powerful vocals that soar effortlessly while remaining grounded in vulnerability. As she crossed the stage alone, her heartbreak felt palpable. The song builds gradually, and when her voice expanded into its climactic heights, I felt a lump rise in my throat and a sting behind my eyes. The sound seemed to vibrate through the floor and into my chest, a raw expression of unrequited love that lingered long after the final note faded.

What makes this show extraordinary is not merely its efficiency in storytelling, but its emotional expansiveness. Despite the compression of Hugo’s monumental novel, the production never feels rushed. Instead, it captures the essence of the story: its moral complexity, its aching humanity, and its enduring hope. By the final reprise, I felt both emotionally drained and profoundly uplifted, reminded that great theater does not simply recount a story; it makes you live it.