The pieces of music that bookend and bind the LKY Musical are, in fact, not the work of Dick Lee.

No, the music that perfectly encapsulates the entire tale - spanning Lee Kuan Yew’s Raffles days in rosy 1941 to the tumult and tears of 1965 - are four anthems, starting and ending the musical: Britain’s God Save The King succumbs to the Japanese Kimigayo, and the Malaysian Negaraku gives way to Majulah Singapura.

It is against the backdrop of these four anthems that we see Singapore, and Adrian Pang’s captivating Lee, grow, age, mourn and rejoice.

It hardly bears repeating, but Pang plays Lee Kuan Yew barely four months after the man’s passing, in shows that will run right through the momentous date marking Singapore’s 50th year of independence. That is a weight to carry, even for an actor who has previously played both Macbeth and Hamlet with aplomb. Yet Pang has publically shrugged off notions of letting the pressure get to him, and has spoken instead of trying to portray the towering icon as a human being, a relatable man, one given to moments of doubt, despair, love and longing.

If this is the goal, Pang certainly succeeds for the most part. His Lee is certainly human, and nuanced; he channels lightness and wit (best exemplified by a hilarious exchange where he explains what ‘pro bono’ legal work means to disbelieving, cash-strapped union members) but also palpable uncertainty and trepidation, particularly when confronted with the challenges of disunity within the PAP and separation from Malaysia.

What works less well, however, are the scenes with Sharon Au’s Mrs. Lee. When we spoke to Pang via email he revealed that the thing that struck him most while doing research on Lee was his relationship with his wife, and how much he relied on her; much hype surrounding the musical also centred around the bond between the two. Sadly, the pairing is less than convincing.

We first see the two converse over a boiling pot of glue (Lee developed the tapioca-based Stikfas glue during the Japanese Occupation, with standard adhesives in short supply). As the two approach each other, another character, hearing about the glue, loudly praises ‘the wonders of chemistry’. He is talking about the glue’s formula, but you don’t need a fine arts degree to figure out what is really meant.

Regrettably, said wonders don’t quite materialise; Au’s performance is hampered by a wavering accent that can’t decide whether to stay or go, along with a thin singing voice that repeatedly struggles against the swell of the music; this sadly leaves the pair’s tender scenes hard to take seriously. Au does put thought and effort into Mrs. Lee’s physicality but her subtle touches are swiftly lost in the musical’s hustle and bustle.

A pairing that does work, however, is that of Pang’s Lee and Benjamin Chow’s exceptional Lim Chin Siong, co-founder of the PAP and Lee’s eventual political rival. It is fascinating to observe the tale of how these two men first met, the English-educated Lee enlisting the Chinese-educated Lim’s help to win support from Singapore’s overwhelmingly Chinese-speaking population. Equally riveting is the relationship’s descent into mistrust and hostility.

‘Look At Him There’ is one of the musical’s more memorable numbers, with Pang and Lim trading verses and each giving voice to feelings about the other, admiration and suspicion mingling curiously. The highlight would, however, be an all-too-brief scene where Chow and Pang, playing two of the finest orators Singapore has ever seen, share the stage and deliver lines from the fiery campaign speeches of 1955. In a moment to raise hairs on the back of your neck, Chow’s ringing voice moves hundreds in attendance, as Lim Chin Siong once did; Pang snarls precisely as a younger Lee used to, one hand reaching back, planted on his hip, the other balled tightly into a fist.

Aiding all this powerful drama is a magnificent set by London-based designer Takis. A massive three-storied structure with three distinct sections per level, it formed nine panels in which different parts of the story popped up and were played out; the levels were used to great effect when speeches were made from the higher echelons, with crowds gathered below.

The musical’s songs, however, doesn’t quite rise to the heights expected; Dick Lee’s music is diverse and appropriately grand, but not particularly distinctive or striking. Stephen Clark’s lyrics have the unenviable task of distilling years of complex history into musical words, and perhaps as a consequence lack particularly memorable moments, often coming across as a tad densely packed, putting content over catchy appeal.

This perhaps raises the query that the production never quite puts to bed. Why a musical? It was always inevitable that such a format, particularly dealing with a period spanning many years fraught with conflicting accounts of history, would struggle to deliver depth and do justice to many events of significance. Indeed, history does occasionally feel dealt with in a cursory manner, such as when Lee visits Tunku Abdul Rahman to discuss merger. The Tunku is depicted in a manner that verges on being a frankly insulting caricature; insistent on playing poker and keen to abandon all talk of politics.

Operation Coldstore, where many of Singapore’s key political figures, including Lim Chin Siong, were accused of anti-government activity and detained without trial, also whizzes by unsatisfyingly, as if revealing a reluctance to linger on an event that might tarnish perceptions of Lee. To be fair, though, such controversial chapters of history invite many clashing accounts; perhaps those behind the musical simply didn’t think it's right to weigh in on any particular side of the discussion.

One might flip the coin and consider the decision from another perspective. The unfortunate inevitability of glossing over some portions of history with practically any artistic endeavour might actually render the musical a tempting choice, one that might allow for the smoothing over of tricky, dense chapters of history with a whirling, colourfully choreographed song or two.

Or, of course, an anthem or four, as mentioned earlier, not least a rousing rendition of Majulah Singapura to close the show (an appearance that, happily, does not feel clichéd but rather genuinely hard-won after the strangely affecting experience of watching foreign anthems foisted upon the local characters time and time again).

To their credit, the team behind the LKY musical have certainly crafted an engaging, watchable take on many years of history, and even if it isn’t comprehensive, perhaps we can enjoy it without expecting it to be. As Adrian Pang reminded us: “At the end of the day, it remains a piece of entertainment.” What, then, we inquired of the perennial entertainer, might he have hoped Lee Kuan Yew himself would have said, had he been able to watch the show and Pang’s performance?

“I wish I could sing like that,” came the cheeky answer.

All photos from Metropolitan Productions.