We sat down for an exclusive interview with Michael David Glover, co-creator and writer of new musical Sea Witch. This new musical reimagines the origins of one of the sea’s most feared villains – a prequel inspired by The Little Mermaid, it follows Evie, a witch surviving in a world where magic is outlawed.
This show runs for one night only on 1st March at Theatre Royal Drury Lane – Tickets here
Sea Witch reframes a classic villain as a protagonist — what excites you about asking audiences to question who gets labelled “evil” and why?
I’ve always been fascinated with what happens before the moment in a story. Whether that’s a moment in history, in pop culture, or in fiction… I’m always reading books and dying to write the story before!
That’s what excites me about Sea Witch. In the original Hans Christian Andersen tale, the Sea Witch barely gets the space to exist… she’s a plot device, not a person. Sarah Henning cracked that open and asked the far more interesting question: what if the villain label isn’t truth… what if it’s branding? What if it’s what happens when a woman doesn’t behave the way the world wants her to, or when her power can’t be controlled?
This musical lets us watch the narrative being built in real time. How fear, lies, and self-preservation can turn someone into a warning story. And I love putting an audience in that position where they have to sit there and realise maybe “evil” isn’t a fixed identity. Maybe it’s the story we tell when we don’t want to admit what we took from someone to make them that way.
When adapting Sarah Henning’s novel for the stage, what felt essential to preserve, and where did musical theatre allow you to go further emotionally or thematically?
What felt essential to preserve was the emotional history baked into the world and the characters. Henning builds a timeline shaped by fear, drawing on real witch-hunting trials and imagining the long shadow they cast over generations. Evie lives in a world where magic has been outlawed and even the smallest slip could mean death. That tension, existing while hiding, felt non-negotiable. It’s what gives the story its pulse.
What struck me most when reading the novel was that everyone arrives carrying baggage. Nothing starts clean. Relationships are already fractured, loyalties already tested, and the past is constantly pressing in on the present. Preserving those deep-rooted connections became the emotional spine of the musical. While the plot had to be streamlined for the stage, the weight of those histories, and the damage they cause, was something I was determined not to lose.
Musical theatre then allowed us to go further. Songs give voice to what characters can’t safely say out loud. They let contradiction, desire, fear, and rage exist simultaneously. Writing Sea Witch as a musical meant carving the story through both scene and song, using music to expose inner worlds, and scenes to deal with the fallout. That collaboration, walking the story together with the composer and director, is where the adaptation really unlocked something new. The result isn’t just a retelling, it’s an emotional expansion of the story.
Despite significant streamlining… early drafts were so plot dense, there could have been Sea Witch told in two parts, a spin-off tv series, and a podcast… the musical allowed moments where characters such as Queen Charlotte and Tante Hansa (played by the delightful Mazz Murray and iconic Michelle Visage) to have further development. This is where the medium of musical allows the audience into their thoughts and feelings more deeply.
This story centres on identity, sacrifice, and outlawed magic — how consciously were you drawing parallels with contemporary ideas of otherness and power?
Absolutely aware! That’s one of the reasons I’m drawn to fantasy. It lets you talk about power, fear, and control without pointing a finger. Everything can be heightened, but it still lands emotionally. Sea Witch is written to be deliberately universal, because the feeling of being labelled “other” isn’t owned by one group, it’s something a lot of people recognise in many different ways.
For me, outlawed magic becomes a metaphor for any part of yourself you’re told to hide in order to survive. Evie lives in a world where denying who she is feels safer than existing openly, and that tension drives every choice she makes. Certain people are expected to give up parts of themselves so the world can stay comfortable.
What excites me is watching the power shift. The moment Evie stops shrinking herself, the rules change. Sea Witch isn’t about becoming someone new, it’s about reclaiming what was always there, and questioning who benefits when power decides which identities are acceptable and which are dangerous.
A large part of the ethos of Evie has been the heart of this show. It’s been an uphill battle to bring this project to where it is today. The heavy lifting of rejection, disbelief in the work, and the judgement of trying to step into the spotlight of creating your own work.
As a writer creating a brand-new musical at this scale, how did you balance mythic storytelling with making the characters feel urgently modern and human?
It all began with knowing exactly who the characters are, what they want, and what they’re willing to sacrifice to get it. The mythology gives the story scale, but the humanity comes from very simple, recognisable questions: how far would you go to protect yourself, and what would you become if the world kept pushing you there?
We really interrogate what “villain” even means. Every character in Sea Witch plays a role in shaping the path that leads to the Sea Witch’s creation, and none of them are exempt from that responsibility. I wanted the audience to recognise themselves in those moments… not in a comfortable way, but in a way that makes you pause and think about your own thresholds.
Writing with the audience in mind was crucial. I was constantly asking: what do they expect here, and how can I both honour that and subvert it? Myth gives you permission to go big, but the emotional truth must feel sincere. My hope is that people leave the theatre not just entertained, but quietly unsettled, questioning what choices they might have made if they’d been standing in the same place as these characters.
The show promises a bold, genre-pushing sound and visual language — how did that ambition shape the way you approached the book and dramatic structure?
It allowed me the freedom to not think, “how could this fit into a traditional proscenium theatre?” I’ve been lucky to work in Las Vegas where spectacle rules. It taught me that size and scale should not be feared but brought into more narrative lead theatre where audiences expect more from the stage. Working with our director Kristopher Russell, our composer Segun Fawole and choreographer Dean Lee, it was important to bring the worlds of spectacle theatre, music and live concerts into the traditional theatre space. We had many conversations of showstopping live concerts and what builds excitement for an audience. Sea Witch is a product of my theatre upbringing, my love for music, and the electricity that concerts provide to audiences.
You’ve described Sea Witch as “unapologetic” — what risks were you most determined not to dilute in order to make this musical truly its own?
There’s a line Evie says “This is who you made me.” That moment is the spine of the show for me. It’s the point where she stops trying to be palatable, stops explaining herself, and fully owns who she is. Someone they fear and hate but she’s a product of their judgement and resentment. There’s no apology in that moment, no reaching for redemption or permission. It’s her no-turning-back point.
The biggest risk was who was the character we wanted to leave the audience with at the end of the show. We went back and forth asking whether we should deliver the audience with the rambunctious character we’ve come to know the Sea Witch as or give this woman depth and reason. The former felt pantomime or the easy way out. The heart of the story is that long before the Sea Witch, there was a girl. And we wanted to have this deeply layered character that people could connect to. Allowing the audience a moment to see a character in the iconic scene with the little mermaid, but now with perspective. We see why she helps this mermaid, for everyone deserves a chance at love, but why she asks for her voice. For history shows her the cost of the lies we tell.