Every so often, a conversation about theatre cuts through the noise and reminds you why live performance continues to matter. In this episode of Showtime, Andrew G sits down with Belle Parkinson, Ali Long, and Eleanor Atanofsky as they prepare to bring Mamma Mia to the National Theatre this February. What unfolds is more than a discussion about a globally recognised musical. It becomes a reflection on connection, friendship, and the quiet responsibility performers carry when they step into stories that already hold meaning for so many people.
What stands out almost immediately is that this isn’t a conversation centred on spectacle. While Mamma Mia is known for its energy, colour, and music, the cast keep returning to something more grounded. They speak about recognition—about the moment an audience member sees themselves on stage and feels understood. For them, that is where theatre shifts from simple entertainment into something more lasting. It’s not about perfection or polish; it’s about honesty. When a story feels familiar enough to reflect real life, it creates a shared emotional space between performer and audience.
This is where Mamma Mia continues to thrive. Beneath its upbeat exterior, it tells a story that feels deeply human. Love, friendship, family, and the complicated decisions that come with growing up all sit at its core. The characters aren’t distant or idealised—they are flawed, impulsive, independent, and searching. Audiences can recognise themselves in Sophie’s curiosity, in Donna’s strength, and in the friendships that hold everything together even when life becomes messy. For the performers, portraying these moments truthfully is a responsibility they carry into every performance. It requires being present, emotionally open, and willing to meet the audience where they are each night.
As rehearsals progress, the atmosphere within the room becomes just as important as what ends up on stage. The cast describe it as a space that balances hard work with a genuine sense of belonging. There is a kind of relief in being surrounded by people who share the same passion and are working towards a common goal. Even after a long or difficult day, stepping into that environment offers a reset. The energy is collective, and that sense of unity feeds directly into the performance itself.
What’s particularly striking is how quickly the cast formed connections with one another. That trust allows for playfulness, which becomes an essential part of the creative process. Small, seemingly insignificant moments—an improvised movement, a shared glance, a burst of laughter—start to shape the larger picture. While the demands of the production are high, the process remains fuelled by joy as much as discipline. It’s this balance that sustains the momentum as opening night approaches and ensures the work never feels mechanical.
Of course, Mamma Mia would not exist in the same way without the music of ABBA. The songs are woven so tightly into the fabric of the show that they become both its driving force and its emotional backbone. They are instantly recognisable, carrying a sense of nostalgia that resonates across generations. Even those who didn’t grow up with ABBA’s music often find themselves drawn in, as the melodies and lyrics feel both familiar and infectious.
Yet beneath that sense of fun lies a demanding structure. The pace of the show is relentless, with live vocals and continuous movement leaving little room for pause. Performers must remain fully engaged from beginning to end, whether they are in the spotlight or supporting from the sidelines. This creates a strong sense of ensemble, where each person relies on the others to maintain the energy and rhythm of the performance. Once the music begins, it carries everyone forward, and there is no opportunity to step out of that flow.
Taking on characters that audiences already know presents its own unique challenge. There is an expectation attached to roles that have been performed countless times across stage and screen. The cast speak about the need to honour what has come before while still bringing something personal to their interpretations. Simply replicating previous performances would strip the story of its immediacy, but ignoring its legacy would disconnect it from the audience’s expectations. The balance lies in respecting the essence of the characters while allowing them to feel fresh, grounded, and real in the present moment.
For Belle, Ali, and Eleanor, this process feels particularly meaningful because of how closely they relate to their characters. There is a shared sense of youth, openness, and discovery that mirrors their own experiences. Playing individuals who are still figuring things out allows for a level of authenticity that might not exist in more defined or resolved roles. It keeps the performances dynamic, as there is always a sense of growth and possibility within each character.
At the heart of both the story and the production is the idea of friendship. It is portrayed not as something static, but as a relationship that evolves over time. The connections between characters endure distance, change, and moments of uncertainty. Sophie, Ali, and Lisa, for instance, fall back into their dynamic effortlessly, reflecting the way real friendships often operate. Time apart does not erase the bond; it simply reshapes it.
This theme extends to the older generation as well, where friendships carry history, complexity, and resilience. Even when disagreements arise or choices are questioned, there is an underlying sense of support that remains constant. It’s this portrayal of enduring connection that resonates so strongly with audiences, as it reflects relationships many people recognise in their own lives.
Part of what makes Mamma Mia so enduring is its accessibility. The story is not confined to a particular era, even though its music is rooted in a distinct time. Its themes are universal, allowing it to connect with audiences regardless of age or background. It offers joy without feeling superficial and comfort without losing depth. Like revisiting a favourite film or returning to a place that feels familiar, it provides a sense of ease while still leaving room for emotional impact.
Ultimately, what the cast return to again and again is the experience of the audience. Theatre, at its best, creates a shared moment where people come together, feel something collectively, and leave changed in subtle ways. Mamma Mia invites audiences to let go, to laugh, to move, and to connect without overthinking the experience. It doesn’t demand analysis; it offers feeling.
If people leave the theatre smiling, humming ABBA, and carrying a sense of lightness with them, then the production has achieved exactly what it set out to do. That shift, however small, is what makes live performance so powerful. It reminds people of connection, of joy, and of the simple pleasure of being present in a shared space.
In the end, the most meaningful magic of theatre often goes unnoticed. It exists in the energy between people, in the quiet recognition of shared experience, and in the feeling of walking out just a little lighter than when you walked in.
