Coven review: A magical new musical that'll leave you spellbound
Published on 12 November 2025
I accuse the company of Coven of witchcraft. From the haunting opening chorus to the final, rousing rally cry, I was utterly transfixed. My temperature dropped and small, raised bumps covered my arms - I was possessed and completely under its spell. This is a warning for witch fearing folk: something extraordinary is brewing at the Kiln Theatre.
A reinterrogation of the Pendle Witch Trials, Coven follows Jenet as she awaits her fate in a tiny prison cell. Two decades ago she condemned her family, now the finger is pointed at her, and no one is listening. As she shares stories with the women around her, Jenet’s faith begins to fracture, and thirteen women rise together to reclaim their power and rewrite the story history tried to burn.
The music is the show’s magic ingredient, gospel-folk threaded with eerie harmonies and battle cries. A single drumbeat reverberates through the room, like a heartbeat awakening something ancient. When the ensemble sings together, they are one entity: fierce, divine, unstoppable. Their chant-like rhythms, driven by handclaps and stomps, feel like a ritual, a summoning of strength that history tried to silence. They have stayed silent, forgotten in history for long enough, they are ready to make some noise.
For all its fury, Coven is also wickedly funny. The all-female cast takes gleeful aim at the all-male institutions that persecuted them; judges, jurors, and clergymen reduced to absurd and clownish caricatures. The doddery judge, calling for the “gentleman and gentleman of the jury,” is met with pompous choruses of “rah rah rah,” and noses in the air.
Diana Vickers is a standout as Edmund, a twelve-year-old star witness who struts through the courtroom in sparkly shoes and a bejewelled cap, rapping his evidence like a child possessed (ironically). After he is rewarded with a giant lollipop for successfully condemning this week's woman (he’s a regular at the courtroom) the judge pleads with the accused “Oh go on, give us a guilty plea. Be a sport.” Later as the clergymen, they launch into a hoedown listing what makes a woman a witch, a brilliantly ludicrous sequence that's hilarious until you remember it was true for many.
Coven moves effortlessly from satire to sorrow, it’s not just the story of women in 1612, but of women now. “What happens to a woman’s body has to be the woman’s choice.” Nell declares, garnering impassioned nods from the audience.
Lauryn Redding’s Rose is luminous. Her voice shimmers with otherworldly grace; it’s not just powerful, it’s transcendent. Gabrielle Brooks gives Jenet both conviction and fragility, her faith slowly splintering under the weight of what she’s done. Together, they lead an ensemble that moves as one organism, each woman’s story distinct yet inseparable from the others.
Empowering, haunting, joyful, and inspiring. Coven is a raw, human story of resistance and rebirth. It’s a celebration of womanhood and survival.
Coven plays at the Kiln Theatre until 17 January 2026.
