From its pulp-horror origins to its rollicking Motown-infused score, Little Shop of Horrors has always been a deliciously oddball piece of musical theatre — equal parts camp, heart, and onstage audacity. AMPS Magazine caught the current staging at the Dr. Phillips Center and came away grinning: this production honors the show’s B-movie DNA while delivering an emotional beat that landed with the downtown audience in a way that few season offerings manage.
The show’s lineage is a neat theatrical pedigree. What began as Roger Corman’s breezy 1960 cult film was reborn in the early 1980s as an Off-Broadway smash, courtesy of writer Howard Ashman and composer Alan Menken. Their cunningly catchy score and wickedly comic book sensibility turned the story of Seymour, a meek floral assistant, and Audrey II — the gluttonous, man-eating plant — into a musical that both lampoons and celebrates American pop culture. Subsequent adaptations, including the 1986 film, cemented its place in the modern canon; this Dr. Phillips production proves the material still bristles with theatrical possibility.
What AMPS loved most about this rendition was its sense of joyful invention. Where some productions lean heavily into spectacle or nostalgia, this one struck a finely tuned balance: the puppetry and plant-effects were nimble and surprising rather than simply loud, and the band read the Motown-tinged arrangements with real soul. The design team embraced the show’s low-budget roots — think retro signage, greasepaint glam, and a pneumatic sense of comic timing — and transformed them into a polished, immersive experience. That humility of design made the more emotional moments, when the score shifts from sly to aching, feel earned and honest.
Audience response reflected that careful calibration. Families, theatre regulars, and first-time playgoers all filed out buzzing — laughing about Audrey II’s demands, praising vocal turns, and debating the show’s wicked sense of humor. Parents appreciated the accessible storytelling; long-time fans praised the reverence for Ashman and Menken’s book and score. There was a communal energy in the lobby: people trading favorite jokes, humming the songs, and convinced they’d seen something both familiar and freshly alive.
Compared to other offerings at the Dr. Phillips Center this season — which have skewed toward glossy spectacle and grand dramatic statements — Little Shop of Horrors felt like a welcome palate cleanser: compact, mischievous, and intimately theatrical. It didn’t rely on scale; it relied on craft. That made each laugh land harder and each quieter, bittersweet note resonate more deeply. In short, it reminded us that theatre’s most potent magic is often made in the small, hair-raising details.
Fo
r anyone who missed opening night, AMPS urges you to make time for this one. It’s a reminder that great theatre can surprise you: by being funny, tender, and gloriously strange all at once. The plant may be hungry, but the Dr. Phillips stage is full — of talent, heart, and the kind of theatrical mischief that keeps audiences coming back.
