Operation Mincemeat Is Smart, Slick, and Just Not for Me

This WWII musical is bursting with cleverness, but even after two tries, I can’t say I enjoyed myself.

Let me start with the hard truth: I don’t like Operation Mincemeat. I respect it. I admire its craft. But I’ve now seen it twice, once in London and once on Broadway. And both times, I sat there wishing I were anywhere else.

The premise is undeniably juicy: A group of British intelligence officers in World War II use a corpse, a forged identity, and a fake backstory to dupe the Nazis. It’s real history, with a twist of dark absurdity. The execution? High-speed, high-camp, and impressively tight. But for me, it’s just not an enjoyable night at the theater.

The creators—Natasha Hodgson, Zoë Roberts, David Cumming, Jak Malone, and Felix Hagan—clearly know what they’re doing. The show is full of clever lyrics, dense wordplay, and sharply executed multi-roling. The cast is technically excellent. The concept is airtight. It’s easy to see why people fall in love with this show. I am just not one of those people.

When I saw it in London, I hated it. Like, viscerally. On Broadway, I softened a little. The audience was more responsive, the production had smoothed out some of its rougher edges, and I could at least sit back and say, “Okay, this is solidly made.” But that’s as far as I go. Mincemeat aims to be a machine of constant cleverness through the lens of daffy British farce, only to then turn around and break your heart.

Audiences consistently point to the song “Dear Bill,” an improvised love letter to a fake soldier from his fake sweetheart, as the high point of the show that clinches it all together. And indeed “Dear Bill” is a lovely song. Lovely…and long. At over 5 minutes, the song goes from cheeky, to sweet, to moving, to a tad exhausting. Which is probably how I would best describe Mincemeat’s effect on me: clever, creative and exhausting.

The farcical hijinks of the Allies and Axis alike, the meta-theatrical asides, the biting commentary on British class and bureaucracy—it’s all there. And it’s a lot. Mincemeat will often go hard for the gut with a wacky bit of staging or a joke about the genitals of a newt, then go for the jugular with heavy-hearted emotionality. It all gives theatrical tonal whiplash. Like if you threw Hamilton and The 39 Steps into a blender and made a chunky smoothie.

But here’s the thing: I’m definitely in the minority here. Maybe not the *vast* minority (Mincemeat did lose out on most major Broadway awards), but a minority nonetheless. The show continues to be a hit in the UK. It has a devoted fanbase. And I’d be lying if I didn’t say that many in the crowd seemed to be having a ball. I’d also be lying if I didn’t say that there were some walkouts at intermission. The question is, which camp do you think you’ll fall in?

See for yourself. If you like hyper-caffeinated comedy with historical overtones—like, what if Atonement was a bit more like Spamalot? ha!—you just might be in heaven.

Just don’t ask me to come with you.

For more on musicals that impress even when they don’t land:
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