Jesus Christ Superstar - review Bold and Brash ... Chris Moyles and Ben Forster in Jesus Christ Superstar. Photograph: Tristram Kenton "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do," cries an agonised Jesus on the cross. But it's the good lord, otherwise known as composer Andrew Lloyd Webber, who should have known better than to crucify his own child by presenting it in this arena format with a Jesus (Ben Forster) cast from a TV talent show, a former Spice Girl - Mel C - as Mary Magdalene, and Tim Minchin as Judas. Written by Lloyd Webber when he was 21 with lyricist Tim Rice, the show began life as a concept album and a US arena tour before Jesus conquered Broadway in 1971. It's a bold, brash show that boasts all the look-no-hands youthful glee that marks Lloyd Webber's early and best efforts, including Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat. Taking it back to its roots is not a completely insane idea. But it requires a more imaginative, subtle and better acted and sung production than it gets here in Laurence Connor's revival. Connor conflates last summer's London riots and the Occupy movement to create a contemporary backdrop for the rise of a new political leader who threatens the status quo of capitalism and state authority. Giving the show a contemporary spin is fine, but the production substitutes decibels for drama, and the large cast crowd scenes appear to have been directed on the premise that if Jesus is coming, it's best to look busy. The revolution comes and goes with lots of cartwheels, the unimaginative acrobatic fall-back of the desperate director with a big space to fill. What you get is spectacle, but very little variety. The strength of the show is the score's tonal variations, swooping effortlessly from heavy rock to ballad, the emotional connections in the triangle between the tortured but disaffected Judas, the weary Jesus and the yearning Mary Magdalene, and lyrics that are well worth hearing. How could anyone fail to fall for a line that goes: "Prove to me you're no fool/Walk across my swimming pool." But we often can't hear the lyrics. This Jesus doesn't live, he merely deafens us, and although Forster makes plenty of noise, he has only two facial expressions (pained, or faintly smouldering like a bit of damp kindling) and he lacks the charisma to persuade that he could be the leader of a revolutionary movement. In fact the acting is pretty rudimentary throughout, although Minchin brings intelligence and desperate passion to Judas, even if his singing is sometimes compromised by the effort. Mel C is a strangely laid-back Mary Magdalene, relaxed to the point of blankness. It's left to Alexander Hanson as the dithering Pontius Pilate to inject some theatrical class into the proceedings, although it is Chris Moyles's leering turn as Herod, a game show host in red crushed velvet demanding the audience vote whether this Jesus is a fraud or a lord, which is the surprise success of an unconvincing evening.