The excellent 3-part Kylie documentary, currently on Netflix highlighted a sometimes vulnerable, seemingly authentic woman with a sense of humour and winning humility. She’s weathered major personal struggles, with her health and love life, all exacerbated by her celebrity status. The media interest in the movement of Minogue hasn’t waned since the mid ‘80s. Thanks to PWL’s ‘hit factory’, Kylie Minogue became a pop phenomenon on the back of her fame as TV soap actress. She was always a gay icon but cutting edge queens were digging acid house in ’88 and Kylie was the antithesis of the freewheeling rave scene.
The Netflix doc shocked younger audiences with its focus on the widespread critical responses to her work. It was mean, misogynist and relentless. Kylie wasn’t cool. She had a credibility deficit, and nobody viewed her as an ‘artist’. That perception included her record label, management, the music press and Kylie’s pop star peers. In the ‘90s, when she ditched her creative overlords and flirted with dance music and fashion, her efforts were mocked and dismissed. She was trying too hard and few believed she had an agency.
She was given little grace but slowly became a national treasure simply by sticking around, working hard and enduring strife with smiley dignity. Today, Kylie is loved almost universally. Her cultural impact is lauded by academics, excitable queens and musicians of every generation. Kylie is one of only four women to reach the UK’s top 10 in five separate decades, alongside Cher, Lulu and Diana Ross. Fashion labels would kill to have Kyie on their front row. She’s inspired women the world over to look out for breast cancer and global tours have proved her skills as a disciplined and dazzling performer. It’s thanks to the widespread adoration of Kylie’s heartfelt spirit that Hersh Dagmarr can stage a show such as Minogueus Sanctus. Belated acclaim for Kylie’s artistry has elevated Kylie to national treasure status. If people are deconstructing your work in the West End and beyond, it’s highly likely you are genuinely ‘iconic’.
French singer-songwriter Hersh Dagmarr has taken the Minogue songbook and given it a Weimar-era cabaret makeover. As London descends into hedonistic queer chaos for Pride weekend, Brasserie Zedel’s Friday night show seems like a wise choice. However, on the eve of the city’s celebrations, this show lacked the defiant joie de vivre that was already spilling onto the streets of Soho outside. Dagmarr’s conceit is that he’s an immortal ghostly entity. Maybe he’s a vampire. He’s hung out with Edith Piaf and enjoyed semi-stardom with the German Expressionists. Dagmarr has neither the dark menace of the undead OR the camp conviction of a careworn chanteuse. His character should have both those qualities in abundance.
Dracula + Sally Bowles x Kylie Minogue is a rich concept, but Dagmarr is strangely restrained, considering the dramatic source material. There are glimpses of musical wit, such as an interpretation of Can’t Get You Out of My Head featuring the ivory strains of Money Money from Kander and Ebb’s Cabaret. Dagmarr sings a verse in German, which feels radical, jarring and oddly hilarious, but that subversive vibe gets lost in a show that feels criminally safe.
Dagmarr is accompanied by piano virtuoso, arranger extraordinaire and regular collaborator Karen Newby. She looked like a serious lesbian activist who got lost on a pro-Palestine march and found a piano. She plays it brilliantly. With almost no effort, the classically trained Newby subtly evoked the counter-cultural spirit of cabaret. Though she barely spoke, and sang only one song, I’d believe she was a wise old vampire in a heartbeat. No idea why, perhaps it was her assured presence and quiet talent that lent her an air of immortality. Perhaps it was her undeniably dark rendition of Better the Devil You Know.
Kylie Minogue is known for collaborations with song writers and for picking great pop songs to record. The fact she didn’t write much her own material was used as a stick to beat her. Strangely, nobody judges Elvis for taking the same approach to recording. Perhaps the most surprising aspect of this show was the enduring strength of Minogue’s material. Even when re-arranged and stripped of hooks, beats and synthesisers, the songs stand up. While Dagmarr can carry a tune, he’s unduly shadowed by the songs, which feel bigger than his performance. His faithful version of the duet Where the Wild Roses Grow is a highlight, largely because he inhabits the voice of Nick Cave with pleasing ease.
The title ‘Minogueus Sanctus’ arouses images of the Kylie catalogue, but chanted Gregorian-style by Benedictine Monks. I’d go to that show, for sure. This production could tour the world’s monasteries and would barely raise an eyebrow or ruffle a robe. Therein lies the problem. Proper cabaret should be gleefully unhinged, shocking and rebellious. Minogus Sanctus felt comfortably polite, which isn’t quite the mood required for the current political climate or the wild weekend of London Pride.
Reviewer: Stewart Who?
Reviewed: 3rd July 2026
North West End UK Rating: