Just For One Day review: This Live Aid musical is Bob Geldof’s tribute to... himself

We can be heroes,” sing the cast of jukebox musical Just For One Day in its opening David Bowie number. And in 1985, a ragtag group of rock stars led by Bob Geldof really did look like caped avengers as they channelled millions in the approximate direction of famine-struck Ethiopia. Nearly 40 years on, things look a bit more complicated. But this bumptious show about the story of Live Aid is all about pure, simple nostalgia, potent as the blend of self-righteousness and backstage cocaine.

Perhaps that’s because Just For One Day comes endorsed by Geldof himself: the theatre’s decked with posters for The Band Aid Charitable Trust, which is still supporting organisations across Africa. Accordingly, all attempts to make this feel like more than a massive celebration of (and advert for) the sweary Irish star’s legacy fall a bit flat.

The first act deals with mawkish-but-catchy Christmas number one “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” ("don’t listen to the lyrics," say its creators, in a rare moment of insight). The second covers Geldof’s attempts to unite stars including Bob Dylan, Queen and Elton John for its massive fundraising gig Live Aid. This show tries its best to persuade us that it’s really about the ordinary guys, like poor old technician Jim (Ashley Campbell), whose gift to the world is accidentally pulling the sound on Paul McCartney’s “Let It Be”, or teenage Suzanne (Hope Kenna), who doles out copies of Band Aid’s Christmas single like they’re life rafts for people drowning in white guilt.

Still, it’s hard to get too invested in their stories when writer John O’Farrell sticks so firmly to the middle of the road. Director Luke Sheppard lines up the emotional beats with impressive deftness: the audience chuckles dutifully each time Geldof drops an inappropriate f-bomb, or vaults a logistical hurdle like a mulleted gymnast.

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Clearly, this duo are aware of all possible criticisms of the Band Aid project. Token Gen Z representative Jemma (Naomi Katiyo) makes the point that it encouraged people to see Africa as a monolithic wasteland instead of a rich and diverse continent, while aid worker Amara (Abiona Omonua) complains that it turned a massive tragedy into another bit of festive kitsch to sit alongside “Frosty the Snowman”. But somehow this show states these criticisms without giving them any actual weight, like a bad boyfriend glibly listing his failings in a voicenote plea for reconciliation.

Instead, it’s the songs that land most powerfully here, especially because Sheppard makes the welcome choice to stage them as interpretations, not impersonations: Freddie Love delivers a haunting, queer take on “Bohemian Rhapsody”, while Julie Atherton’s long-locked Margaret Thatcher channels Chrissie Hynde as she belts out “Stop Your Sobbing”. Fay Fullerton’s punky monochrome costumes filter all the naffness out of the Eighties aesthetic and keep the good stuff: if only this show’s book did the same. Instead, this is a backslapping look at a historical moment without much to say to 2024, when there’s more suffering than ever – and more of a need to work out what meaningful global solidarity looks like, too. 

Old Vic, until 30 March