Guys like stories about dead bodies. Maybe they remind us of our own mortality. Or maybe they represent the cold and unforgiving world we’re all trying to survive. Or maybe dead bodies are simply quiet and humble and don’t complain, and that’s a refreshing change from social media, rambling speeches from our bosses, or walking the bustling streets of New York City. Either way, most men find dead body-plays like Dead Outlaw (RIP Elmer McCurdy) and Operation Mincemeat (RIP Glyndwr Michael/Major William Martin) relatable. And maybe that’s why I loved Operation Mincemeat so much.
Also, any show that takes on fascism earns major points from me. Recently my wife and I have seen Cabaret and other fascism-adjacent musicals, and each of these stories addresses, in one way or another, the insidious creep and normalization of authoritarianism in our lives—something especially poignant for anyone living in America, or the world, today. In my mind, one of the most patriotic things a person can do is see a Broadway show, because supporting an art form that isn’t afraid to openly stand up to fascism is an act of patriotism. And it works. Storytelling is a powerful weapon, which is why despots want control of cultural narratives.
Which brings me back to Operation Mincemeat.
This show is based on the almost-too-wild-to-be-true WWII spy caper in which British intelligence concocted a plan to float a dead man ashore in Spain with “secret” documents chained to him. The Germans intercepted those documents, believed them, and diverted troops away from Sicily—exactly where the Allies actually planned to land. In real life, this was a pivotal operation that saved countless lives and gave the Allies the upper hand in the Mediterranean. In the musical, it’s both a war story and a farce, a reminder that even in humanity’s darkest hours, quick wit, humor, and a willingness to take risks can turn the tide.
What struck me first is the speed. The show moves like a Lancaster bomber, low and fast. The dialogue and lyrics fly so quickly that you really have to lean in, the way you would when your uncle at Thanksgiving starts rattling off a WWII story you’ve heard before but don’t want to miss a single detail of. Blink and you’ll miss a joke. Zone out and you’ll lose the thread of the plan. The writers pack wordplay, historical nods, and sly humor throughout the storytelling. It’s like watching Hamilton if Hamilton were written by a group of Brits who mainlined coffee with a shot of Monty Python (also a great Broadway show). My advice: pay attention. This isn’t a show for casual half-listening.
And yet, the speed and density are part of the charm. Because this isn’t a solemn war drama—it’s a comedy about an absurd idea that actually worked. That tonal tightrope is hard to walk, but the show manages it, allowing you to laugh while still recognizing the bravery and ingenuity behind the deception.
Another highlight? Ian Fleming is a character. Yes, that Ian Fleming: the man who would go on to write James Bond. For any guy raised on 007 movies or paperbacks, seeing him in the mix is a little thrill. It’s as if the musical is giving us an origin story: before Bond ordered martinis and tangoed with femme fatales, his creator was in the room, brainstorming one of the most audacious spy plots in history. For the dudes in the audience, this detail alone makes Operation Mincemeat worth the ticket price.
The Cast That Carried It All
Here’s the thing: Operation Mincemeat is carried on the backs of just five performers. That’s it. Five people create a whole world of MI-5 officers, German spies, Spanish intermediaries, grieving families, and yes, one unforgettable corpse. At the performance I attended, the stage belonged to David Cumming, Jessi Kirtley, Natasha Hodgson, Jak Malone, and Zoë Roberts. Watching them work was like seeing an elite special-ops unit in action—each one handling multiple roles, switching gears on a dime, and making it all look effortless.
What makes this especially satisfying is that these actors are not Broadway’s usual big-name stars (yet). They’re the kind of talents who’ve been grinding, waiting for their chance to shine, and here they get to absolutely own the spotlight. Natasha Hodgson, who also co-wrote the show, exudes comic precision and timing that reminds you of the best sketch comedians. Jak Malone turns moments of absurdity into unexpected depth. Jessi Kirtley and Zoë Roberts have an elasticity that makes their character changes both hilarious and convincing. And David Cumming anchors it all with a mix of charm and dry wit.
In an industry where budget realities can force tough choices, a small cast could feel like a limitation. But here it becomes a superpower. You leave the theater not only impressed by the story, but in awe of what five humans can conjure with their voices, bodies, and pure will.
Visually, the production is clever without being flashy. No giant rotating stage, no pyrotechnics. Just crisp design, quick changes, and a lot of imagination. That restraint fits the material. After all, this is a story about making a big impact with limited resources. The set and direction echo that theme perfectly.
I’d be lying if I didn’t say that part of my affection for Operation Mincemeat comes from my own upbringing. I grew up listening to stories about World War II—the men who fought, the sacrifices that were made, the sense that the world was saved not by inevitability, but by courage, ingenuity, and the occasional lucky break. Seeing those values dramatized on stage, with humor and song no less, stirred something deep in me. It reminded me that history isn’t just dates and battles; it’s human decisions, sometimes strange ones, that shape the world we inherit.
By the time the curtain call rolled around, I felt both entertained and grateful. Entertained, because this is a witty, fast, raucous musical that never lets you get bored. Grateful, because it honors the resilience and inventiveness of the Allied Forces—the very qualities that made victory possible.
Operation Mincemeat might not be the flashiest show on Broadway, but it’s one of the most educational and memorable. It’s proof that sometimes five actors, a dead body, and a wild idea are all you need to create a night of theater worth talking about over beers afterward. If you’re a guy who loves WWII stories, Bond movies, or just smart humor delivered at breakneck pace, do yourself a favor: see this show.