This content is copyright of CelebMix.com. There are nights in the theatre when you feel the room shift, not through spectacle or gravitas, but through that delicious, early ripple of laughter that moves through an audience when it collectively realises what sort of night it's in for. At Dracapella, that moment arrives almost immediately. Somewhere between a thunderclap conjured entirely by human voices and a knowingly dreadful pun that somehow lands as brilliance, I felt that old familiar joy: theatre at its most alive - silly, self-aware, and entirely in control of its own mischief. Park Theatre set out to deliver an "alternative Christmas show," and they have done exactly that. On paper, the premise sounds faintly unhinged: an a cappella retelling of Dracula. But in practice, it becomes a well-judged piece of comic theatre that leans into its own chaos with gleeful confidence. Co-writers Dan Patterson and Jez Bond clearly understand the appeal of organised chaos and let the cast run with it. There are no twee snowflakes or sentimental sermons here - just fangs, harmonies, and a beatboxer who seems genuinely powered by something supernatural. And it works! The show never pretends to be anything other than what it is: a delirious, high-camp, high-skill a cappella reinvention of Bram Stoker's classic that would likely make Stoker squint - and then, perhaps, applaud. Credit: Photography by Craig Sugden The production's true engine, however, is ABH Beatbox, whose extraordinary skill underpins every sound, rhythm and effect. In a show powered entirely by human voices, there is no room for sloppiness, and the cast meet those technical demands with astonishing control. The arrangements are eclectic and cheerfully chaotic, with comic timing so sharp that laughter often arrives before comprehension. From eerie wind effects to the clatter of Transylvanian hooves, everything comes from the eight performers on stage. ABH, the UK champion beatboxer, is both heartbeat and backbone; more than once, it is genuinely easy to forget that such sound is being produced by a human being. The premise is familiar - solicitor Jonathan Harker travels to Transylvania on business, only to become entangled in a love polygon involving Mina, Lucy, and a vampire who treats melodrama as a sacred vocation. The narrative is deliberately loose, stitched together with rapid-fire gags and musical interludes, but it holds because the performances do. A cappella? For Dracula? I can almost hear the sceptics blinking. But Patterson and Bond clearly spotted that hesitation and thought, "Perfect. Let's run straight at it." Credit: Photography by Craig Sugden Credit: Photography by Craig Sugden Stephen Ashfield's comic precision as Harker is a masterclass in timing, playing the straight man with just enough frayed nerves to keep the madness anchored. At the opposite end of the spectrum, Ako Mitchell's Dracula swaggers through the evening as a fully self-aware showman, luxuriating in his own theatricality. Lorna Want brings luminous vocal warmth to Mina, while Keala Settle's Lucy devours the stage with glorious, knowing abandon. Monique Ashe-Palmer, Ciarán Dowd and Philip Pope whirl through accents, quick changes, physical comedy and harmonies with reckless joy, pulling the audience confidently into the joke. Tonally, Dracapella sits somewhere between sketch comedy and musical revue. Patterson's fingerprints are unmistakable: rapid-fire jokes, gleefully groan-worthy wordplay, and a willingness to halt the narrative for moments of pure absurdity. It isn't subtle, and it doesn't attempt to be. The humour lands because the cast commit wholeheartedly and because the production understands its audience. Credit: Photography by Craig Sugden The staging is efficient rather than lavish, serving the material perfectly. The story moves briskly, transitions snap cleanly, and musical cues signal tonal shifts without breaking momentum. It is a compact, confident piece of festive programming that understands itself entirely: a vocally ambitious, mildly feral two-hour excuse for collective enjoyment. One of the show's most impressive achievements is how consistently it keeps the room in its grip. A cappella is unforgiving, yet the harmonies rise with the confidence of a West End ensemble accustomed to filling far larger houses. Certain numbers sent small chills up my arms - not from fear, but from sheer vocal craftsmanship. You haven't truly lived until you've heard Eye of the Tiger reimagined through vampire hysteria and human beatboxing, or witnessed a cast commit to a joke about "stakeholders" with such sincerity you briefly forget how catastrophic the pun is. Credit: Photography by Craig Sugden Credit: Photography by Craig Sugden There is something rare and restorative about watching a theatre full of strangers laugh together, unguarded. Patterson has said he wanted silliness as an antidote to the weight of the world, and he succeeds: Dracapella doesn't attempt t