5 Star Reviews on Broadway Baby

There is something quietly bold about installing a small Peruvian bear in the Savoy Theatre and asking him to carry a full-scale West End musical. Paddington rises to the occasion with marmalade-smeared charm and a surprisingly stirring heart. The story broadly mirrors the first film, tracing the bear’s journey from Peru to London and his search for the explorer Montgomery Clyde, but the stage version deepens and enriches it with a generous score and a distinctly theatrical sense of mischief.We begin in Mr Gruber’s shop of curiosities, where every object has a history. A young man discovers a teddy bear on a shelf and Gruber begins to tell the tale of how that bear travelled across oceans. In a swift transition we are at Paddington Station, where our as-yet-unnamed hero discovers that Londoners are not quite as friendly as Aunt Lucy suggested. Salvation arrives in the form of the Brown family, with Mrs Brown persuading her cautious husband to offer the stranger a bed for the night. From there the show unfolds with warmth and escalating chaos.Paddington is realised through a deft theatrical double act. Arti Shah inhabits the beautifully engineered bear on stage, while James Hameed supplies voice and remote puppetry from off stage, stepping into view when emotional focus demands it. The costume alone is a marvel, capable of the subtlest eyebrow lift and eye flicker, and Shah’s enthusiastic bum wiggles add an irresistible layer of physical comedy.When Paddington first arrives at the Browns’ home, the house is all but demolished in a sequence reminiscent of a Universal Studios backlot tour. As cupboards collapse and fixtures explode, the company launch into the riotous Don’t Touch That, a masterclass in escalating slapstick. Later, a joyous full-ensemble ode to marmalade sends choreography and the vast LED screen into overdrive, only for Amy Booth-Steel to wander on in the next scene dressed as a marmalade sandwich, glance around in confusion and sigh, “Ah, I missed it.” It is that kind of show.Booth-Steel proves invaluable in multiple comic guises, notably as the gloriously accented Lady Sloane of the Geographers Guild – “are you a mumber?” The Brown’s meddling neighbour, Mr Curry (Tom Edden), gleefully minces through scenes and chips away at the fourth wall in the second act, while Victoria Hamilton-Barritt relishes villainy as Millicent Clyde of the Natural History Museum, delivering taxidermy-themed menace with panto flourish. Veteran Bonnie Langford brings brisk authority and warmth to Mrs Bird, now firmly the Browns’ household’s organising force.The production values are lavish. Lighting spills into the auditorium, sound design is astonishingly clear and the sets and costumes brim with storybook detail. Beneath the spectacle lies a simple, resonant message about welcoming outsiders. In the current climate, it lands with particular force. By curtain call, it is hard not to feel a swell of pride, both in this city and in a musical that understands exactly what Paddington stands for.

With a head full of songs to which she has to give voice, Allegra swans around her village causing distress to all the miserable, grumpy and easily upset locals who despise her lack of conformity to social norms. They resent her cheerfulness and the way she tries to spread her glee, while she sees herself as performing a service to the community by brightening their days.Dame Maureen Lipman, in the eponymous role, clearly relishes every minute of playing such an innocently mischievous character and, as a consequence, her infectious joy flows off the stage, enveloping us in two hours of delightful situation comedy, brimming with classic English humour, courtesy of Peter Quilter’s profound understanding of what makes us laugh. The show has a pace worthy of a farce and contains nods to that genre, thanks to the astute direction of Stephen Mear, who is also responsible for choreographing the highly entertaining song-and-dance routines that permeate the show and venture into every corner of Justin Williams’ charming country-house set. He also designed the vividly coloured costumes that give Allegra an added air of eccentricity.Brimming with so many tunes, Allegra sometimes recedes into her own fantasy world while others are talking to her. As she does, lighting designs by Samuel Biondolillo, with sound by Russell Ditchfield, transform the set as projected leaves descend and dancing tulips appear while she bursts into that old Tiptoe favourite. Complaints from the neighbours, people in the library, the hairdressers and local shoppers reach a point where she is ultimately given a judicial order to desist and is placed on medication that destroys all the life in her.She’d been warned that this might happen by her long-suffering brother, Ronen, charmingly played by John Middleton in a caring role riddled with frustration at dealing with Allegra. He employs a Czech housekeeper, Anna, played with firm compassion by Elizabeth Bower, to bring some semblance of order to his sister's life. Somewhat surprisingly, Allegra gets on well with Anna. Interrupting the domesticity, Officer Rogers makes several visits to the house to explain how Allegra's behaviour is increasingly being brought to the attention of the police. Bailey Patrick, as a stereotypical village bobby, is both serious and comical as he becomes drawn into this bizarre world.Among all the humour there is a serious but unstated undercurrent of issues relating to old age and mental health, which those looking for more meat among the light-hearted frivolity of Allegra might like to ponder. No doubt some will criticise Quilter for not making the play more sensitive to these issues, but this is escapist entertainment, almost of a bygone age, and not the soul-searching angst of most modern drama. To that end, sit back, enjoy the show and wonder at the marvellous Dame Maureen, who celebrated her 80th birthday last month.Following this week’s run at Richmond Theatre, the play goes on tour until its limited West End run at the Harold Pinter Theatre, starting on 8 July.

Yes! Yes! Yes! Mozart's sex comedy has lost none of its oomph. Sir Thomas Allen's revival of his production of The Marriage of Figaro shows how it should be done. With Amanda Holden's supernaturally witty English translation as its spine, this superb cast exploits every moment of broad comedy, bedroom farce, class satire, hormone explosion, jealousy, guilt, loneliness and forgiveness.The plot, briefly: Count Almaviva has renounced droit du seigneur but already regrets it, specifically where Susanna, the Countess's maid and Figaro's bride-to-be, is concerned. The Countess, heartbroken by the Count's infidelities, joins Susanna in a secret plot to outwit him. Meanwhile, Figaro pursues several schemes of his own, while Cherubino – the ultimate hyper-randy teenage pageboy – causes chaos across the estate. To add further complication, Marcellina arrives with her lawyer, Dr Bartolo, to enforce a debt that would compel Figaro to marry her instead.The cast is uniformly on point. Edward Hawkins plays Dr Bartolo as comically conceited rather than a mere buffoon; Jeni Bern navigates Marcellina from one-dimensional unpleasantness to salt-of-the-earth warmth. Minor characters linger in the memory: Francis Church as the drunken gardener, Kira Kaplan as the besotted Barbarina, and Luvo Maranti as a wonderfully oily and mischievous Don Basilio.The production walks the fine line between modern sensibilities and plausible period intent. Cherubino is perhaps more dog-rubbing-itself-against-anything-that-stands-still than strictly 18th-century (perhaps), yet neither does it overplay the erotic frisson of a female singer playing a randy boy dressed as the prettiest girl in the room. As Cherubino, Simone McIntosh's comedy is excellent, and her lovely mezzo-soprano makes for a heart-melting entreaty to the Countess for guidance in the mysteries of love.Edward Jowle sings and plays Figaro with relish and brio – in lively arias fantasising about revenge on the Count, in comic double-takes, in ridiculous improvised excuses when caught out – yet his performance radiates domestic affection for Susanna. It feels like a marriage that could be a success. Ian Rucker is wonderfully mercurial as the powerful but often outwitted Count. Mixing menace with comedy, he manages the improbable feat of making the unfaithful, bullying Almaviva mysteriously likeable.Both men are luckier with their wives than they deserve. Purportedly a story about the men, it is the women who come out on top morally and intellectually. Alexandra Lowe brings heart-rending loneliness and disappointment to the Countess as she sings her aria of wanting either her husband's love or death. Yet this is balanced by a characterisation that shows strength of character and, ultimately, forgiveness for the sake of love.The stand-out, though, is Ava Dodd as Susanna, embodying the most admirable and life-affirming character on stage. She flawlessly ranges from comic bitchiness to warmth and affection, and although she is easily the most intelligent character, Dodd convincingly plays comically wrong-footed. She delivers gorgeous singing throughout, culminating in an unforgettable, exquisite duet of female friendship with the Countess in the letter-writing scene.Simon Higlett's period stage design moves efficiently between locations, with a particularly clever solution for the Countess's bedroom. Dane Lam conducts the Scottish Opera musicians with ease, and special mention must go to Toby Hession for his witty piano improvisations in the dialogue sections.

Oliver Greaves is the Cycling Man. A middle-aged Tory voter and Oxford alumnus working in financial services (or it could be consultancy – he’s "not sure and it’s too late to ask"), he cycles every morning from "his house in central London to his office in slightly more central London". He has all the gear, from the obligatory Lycra that creates "mysterious and offensive bulges" to the GoPro camera on his helmet (to protect him from being wrongly accused of sexual assault, of course). A proud member of Islington Cycling Club (ICC – pronounced "ick"), he spends his weekends cycling all over the UK (but mostly the south) and has spent the equivalent of an NHS nurse’s salary in sports shop Decathlon.Ironic, then, that he has ended up in an NHS emergency room after crashing his bike. Forced to wait hours for treatment despite being with Bupa, he tries to account for how his life has reached this nadir. For it emerges that Oliver is a man on the edge: his wife, Sarah, recently left him and he’s been cycling across the country, not just because it’s a way of "being with other men without having to talk to them" but because he has been desperately searching for her. Although he reassures us that she has now come to her senses and returned to him, he remains baffled as to why she ever left. With the aid of a PowerPoint presentation featuring graphs and diagrams, he attempts to unravel the mystery of how his wife went from being a City lawyer who reminded him of Margaret Thatcher (the latter was his "sexual awakening") to a human rights lawyer with a "bad haircut". Along the way, we learn more about Oliver and, in particular, the "mummy-shaped hole" that neither his wife nor bike can fill.The result is a hilarious concoction of character comedy, drag performance and musical theatre, with a song extolling the virtues of the three-quarter-zip sweater a particular highlight. Writer and performer Kathy Maniura captures the archetypal Cycling Man, skewering his sexism and class privilege while revealing the "lost boy" within. His favourite musical is, fittingly, Oliver!, and there is a funny rendition of the song Where Is Love? Shortlisted for the BBC New Comedy Awards in 2023, Maniura is clearly going places and, unlike the obnoxious and deluded Oliver, you’ll find yourself rooting for her all the way.

The use of drag as an artform is astonishing in Kinder; an exhilarating tract on the relationships between language, gender and how it is best taught. This enthralling hour is my pick of Prague Fringe.Kinder, a play on words, uses the German word for children while also invoking its English meaning through its subject matter. The artist of the hour is Goody Prostate – a sexy, hilarious riff on a German kellner who is likeable, outrageous and immensely watchable. They would be a great drag act if here for drag alone, but as Stewart peels back their layers the show transforms into something working on multiple levels.Various protests have condemned the idea of a 'Drag Queen Story Hour', where a drag performer reads a bedtime story to children, often in a theatre, an art gallery or a library. In the UK, they were particularly documented by the media through 2022–23 when protests were spearheaded by popular right-wing commentators. Ryan Stewart's premise, then, of Goody Prostate preparing a performance for that evening only to find out it is a story hour for children, is already intensely charged with political resonance. It is really a feat, then, that Stewart uses it only as a point of origin, as the play expands into a wider theoretical conversation centred around the complexities and ultimate suppression of German sexologist Magnus Hirschfeld.Where Stewart most greatly succeeds is that despite the deeply resonant and complex political foundations of their work, it is still utterly light, utterly entertaining. When it probes, it probes our heart first, creating a space that is nothing short of an empathy machine. Gender is so often framed by conservatives as either a niche queer issue or a simple matter not worthy of discussion. Kinder shows, not tells, why it is a conversation we must have amongst all people, regardless of how we might identify. Hirschfeld concluded that gender exists on an infinite spectrum almost one hundred years ago. Kinder doesn't ask us to reach the same conclusion, but it does show us that the conversation is necessary and that it is necessary to educate children about the possibilities present in their lives. To show them acceptance rather than instil in them the echoes and prejudices of nuclear families.Ultimately, we are all the children we were with our same prejudices and assumptions. An hour of riotously entertaining, deeply moving theatre can go some way to recontextualise issues, to make us see ourselves and our world anew. Kinder is such an hour. Through Stewart's own physical transformation, we are invited to transform too. It is meta, it is a laugh and it deserves all superlatives. Do catch it this August in Edinburgh.

There’s a particular thrill when a classic story is stripped back and submitted to the craft of an outstanding single performer. In The Hunchback of Notre Dame, at Studio A Rubin as part of Prague Fringe, the master of solo performance, Pip Utton, delivers another triumph from his series of towering characters that have included Lear, Churchill, Chaplin and many others.As we enter, Utton is there, barefoot, dressed in shabby sackcloth and holding a small posy of white flowers. His back is towards us, revealing the hunch that dictated how the world viewed Quasimodo. He looks to the ground, his stare transfixed by the body of his beloved Esmeralda, one of the few people ever to show compassion towards him. He mourns her loss, turns and then takes us back in time until his life story is fully revealed and we return to the present and the tale's tragic ending.Throughout, he remains utterly immersed in the character of Quasimodo, drawing us into his sad life in a manner that is immediate, intimate and emotionally devastating. His voice is the only sound we hear except for the timely introduction of the famous bells of Notre Dame; bells that had caused his severely impaired hearing, but which, in the absence of people, had become dear friends, each lovingly named and called upon to perform. He looks down on the streets of Paris and observes the everyday life from which he is excluded; the interactions from which he is prohibited and the encounters with friends which he is denied.His narrative is richly textured, full of heartache and longing, replete with reminiscences and recollections of childhood, of the loves that might have been and the painful details of the flogging he received when he made a rare venture onto the streets and was arrested. This is no grotesque caricature, but the portrayal of a painfully isolated soul with deep feelings and yearnings, who can yet find wit and humour in the misery of existence. This is all conveyed through the power of a meticulously performed character study of small gestures, little steps and the humility of a mostly bowed head, in which the slightest movement or change of voice can transform a scene, turning individuals into crowds with ease. He also allows himself the occasional enraged outburst.It's a superbly balanced performance, precisely what Utton has become famous for, and despite all his claims to be retiring, we look forward to seeing him at many more Fringes in Prague, where he's been coming for 23 years, and at others around Europe.

Whether to wear a poppy or not, whether to commemorate and honour those fallen in battle: two close friends find themselves on opposite sides of the argument, becoming increasingly entrenched and embittered. It’s not a simple answer. It’s not just a piece of red paper for which you put money in the collection pot. It’s not just an older veteran reaching an important birthday, prompting the British nation to send birthday cards. Because there is more than one nation: Jim is English, Johnjoe is Irish.First shown at Camden Fringe, this version is even tighter and more refined. This is beautifully rich writing in which not a second is wasted in either construction or production. Strangely, the fact that it is a comedy makes it more accessible, rather than diminishing the weight of the subjects it contains. Johnjoe and Jim play versions of themselves, and much of the content is inspired by true events, which gives it even greater gravitas.They joke about giving us an hour of political theatre, telling us it is about men’s mental health, toxic masculinity, and identity, but the lightness and laughter twist like vines through the play until the more serious refrain - “it’s about poppies” - resounds from both men for very different reasons. The irony lands like a punch: it is so clearly about far more than poppies, or any emblem. It invites probing questions that leave their indelible mark long after the play ends. On a larger scale, how can anyone support the symbol of an empire if their best friend comes from a culture subjugated by that empire? How is supporting and commemorating the fallen in the armed forces of a country not also supporting the killing they perpetrated? And if your best friend was on the other side, how could you support what your country stands for?This cleverly written play is told with character-driven fluidity, even when jumping in and out of multi-role situations that intercut conversations with perfect timing. The performers feed off each other with remarkable ease; movements and words come as naturally as breathing. The production is tightly choreographed and directed with lean precision, yet still feels authentic, grounded, and real. Jim Spencer Broadbent and Johnjoe Irwin, who also co-wrote the piece, have eked out every possible angle, yet the humour never undercuts the drama; instead, it deepens the emotional impact.Throughout the journey with these friends, sympathies shift, tilt, and veer between them at different moments. It builds towards an unexpected ending that lands with quiet devastation, elevating this far beyond the usual Fringe fare. What it manages to convey about identity - the desire to belong to something and to feel valued - in such a seemingly effortless way is nothing short of extraordinary. An acutely observed story of belonging and relevance, told with authenticity and power - unmissable.

It is with horribly prescient timing that Mark Gatiss – who has apparently always wanted to play the role – turns his theatrical attentions to Brecht’s slimy cauliflower-botherer Arturo Ui.Set in the Chicago ganglands of the 1930s, the piece follows a ramshackle bunch of criminal goons so obviously corrupt and so hideously unsuited to political life that it beggars belief anyone would permit such clowns to rise anywhere near high office. It is precisely this resistible rise that we are encouraged to consider in a work which uses the vegetable business as an allegory for Hitler’s power grab and reign of terror.But, as Gatiss himself notes, the piece hits differently in 2026 than it did for those of us who first encountered the text decades ago, when the serenity of believing fascism might never rear its ugly head again led us to view it as an indignation of the past rather than a more expedient inoculation against the future.The premise is simple enough, albeit muddied somewhat by the league of characters who pop in and out to oil Ui’s ascent up the greasy pole – hooray for Brecht’s use of storyboards and hefty exposition. Small-time crook Arturo Ui bullies and bludgeons his way to becoming premier underworld boss and then premier law enforcer. Those with more than a passing interest in the extracurricular activities of big-beast politicians will immediately note the unholy chimera that contains both criminal and legal champion. And those for whom these things fail to register – well, they will simply fail to register.Along the way, people are expendable: little people, weak people, brave people, strong people, honest people, immigrants, women. And when they have outlasted their usefulness, even allies and henchmen.The historical relevance of the piece is underlined by the juxtaposition of Hitler’s own activities, bellowed into the omnipresent microphone. Casual cruelty rings from the rafters, but it is only ever heard by those prepared to listen.The stage is a cleverly designed and deliberately horrible mishmash of modern utility and garish neon. There is no style in Ui’s world, and very little substance. It is a nouveau fever dream of glamour screaming: “All the gear, no idea.” Lights blare, colours scream, and the house band in the minstrels’ gallery provide the bombastic jazz insisting that we “will” have a good time. In just one of the many delicious details which permeate the piece and allow us to fall into Brecht’s own ethical traps again and again, their sliding platform enables the set to be launched from the central trap without us noticing the scene changes and how quickly the world is turning.Gatiss begins the piece as a slippery, hunched figure in a flasher mac. With his absurd comb-over, penchant for McDonald’s and rather too much make-up, he makes an utterly preposterous leader. But nevertheless, he soon manages to wheedle his way into becoming an inevitability. With the help of an old luvvie – a much-admired Christopher Godwin – he develops a more sophisticated style, replete with nascent goose-step and ominously imperious salute.It is a stunning performance: at once physically repellent and commanding, ridiculous yet terrifying, with vocal tricks that manage to fuse elements of the Hitlerian bark and Trumpian immaturity. It must be a particularly exhausting interpretation to play and, if there were an Olivier for best line delivery, it should hie thee immediately to Gatiss for the way in which he spits the terrible final line. A line which chills the blood when heard during a local election week in a country previously – allegedly – opposed to fascism and those who espouse it.There is excellent support from the entire ensemble, who are led by translator Stephen Sharkey and director Sean Linnen in a production which is both hugely imaginative and utterly faithful. Mawaan Rizwan is an outstanding addition to the stage, a clown straight out of nightmares, dominating even in silence. Amanda Wilkin and Santino Smith also shine in pivotal roles highlighting the horrible ease of human collateral damage.At the start of the piece, we are all game enough, obeying the imperatives of the applause signs with gleeful self-importance. But as the repellently redolent rally banners unfurl and a succession of armbands begin to adorn upper arms, it is startling how many audience members are prepared to continue lauding the illaudable. Easily drawn in by the laughter and buffoonery, slower to disengage when things get real. But then he is a character, isn’t he? A laugh. A man of the people. Just the anti-establishment figure we all need. And by the time the pennants fly, it is too late.The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui was written in 1943 and not staged until after Brecht’s death in 1958, parodying a very specific moment in history through a very specific lens. But it is also a tale for all time. The Reich Theatre Act of 1934 ensured theatrical output became little more than state-sponsored propaganda and hatred. Free speech was shut down. Books were burned.Today’s censors may be subtler, with sneers about being “educated”, “elite”, “lefty” or “woke” deployed to do much of the heavy lifting. But the threats remain. Open critique of oversensitive politicians is ill-advised for those wishing to retain jobs in certain spheres. TV channels and digital streams are devoted to spreading the word that resentment and rancour pay.The Oxford English Dictionary accepted the term “woke” in 2017, defining it as being “aware of social and political issues and concerned that some groups in society are treated less fairly than others”. Not a bad sobriquet to most of us. Yet there are those who adjudge it a weakness, a stain against their idea of political purity. They will not see this production. But they should.And then there are those who do not see the problem. Do not realise there is one. Pottering along in their own little worlds until cold reality hits someone they love. These are the ones Niemöller was writing for. Not bad. Just idle. Disinterested. Precisely those who could have resisted, but did not. Who should be resisting, but are not. They will not see this production. But they should.Because this is not just theatre, entertainment or froth. This is epic theatre: urgent and vital. And for a genre supposed to spark thought rather than feeling, it packs one heck of an emotional punch.

The origins of Peter Shaffer’s 1973 classic came from an anecdote he was told about a young boy blinding six horses in a stable in Norfolk. Driven to explore why that would happen, Shaffer created a struggle between children’s psychiatrist Martin Dysart and the troubled teenager Alan Strang.Staged originally with metal horses’ heads and hooves, symbolically representing the ritualistic nature of worship (and presented like that in the 2007 Daniel Radcliffe version), this stunning revival of Equus at the Menier Chocolate Factory eschews those symbols. Instead, it builds on the physicality of the equine ensemble, the horses represented by strong, muscular performers, with movement director James Cousins foregrounding the erotic, masculine appeal of Alan’s worship. This is the perfect venue for such an intimate piece of theatre. We are the congregation in this church, witnessing one young man’s rituals and world and an older man’s questioning of everything he once found true.The performances are excellent, headed by Toby Stephens and Noah Valentine. As Dysart, Stephens resists the urge many actors have to make him appear too buttoned up, too cool at the start of the play. His emotional distress is evident from the beginning, drawing a clearer line between his professional manner and his personal turmoil, making his final speech all the more devastating. As Alan, Valentine is wiry, crackling with energy and vulnerability, his defiance and obstinacy giving way to heartbreaking revelations. Amanda Abbington is a passionate Hester, and Colin Mace and Emma Cunniffe are powerfully convincing in their distress at their son’s actions and their desperation to explain why. But it’s the horses that hold your attention. They create the sea in the excellently staged beach scene, with Ed Mitchell a perfect Horseman/Nugget, the bodies ebbing and flowing, entwining and at times embracing Alan Strang.Lindsay Posner’s direction keeps the pace right, the debates are passionate, and the play is allowed to breathe and let the impact settle in. The staging is gripping, and even if the outcome is inevitable, you find yourself yearning for a happier conclusion. It’s like coming to the play anew, making fresh discoveries as this classic is brought to sensuous life.

It’s unusual for a stage production to prompt the metaphor of multi-dimensional data analysis, but Triptych is no ordinary dance show. Revived by Lewis Major Projects for a European tour, each of the pieces extends dance beyond the usual three dimensions of space, plus sound.The show opens with the solo Two X Three. Choreographed by Russell Maliphant and with electronic rock music by Andy Cowton, Elsi Faulks commandingly performs the piece in partnership with the costume and dim orange lighting (design by Michael Hulls). The sections of bare skin, contrasted with the black costume, work with the dim light to emphasise a disembodied foot or face or the length of an arm. The movement is predominantly angular and rigid. The light pulses are imperceptible to the eye but are enough to leave ghosting trails of arm movements, adding time to the dimensions of the dance.The middle piece, Unfolding, is of epic scale contained within a few minutes. With cinematic music by James Brown, the choreography of Lewis Major joins with the gob-smacking visual design of Fausto Brusamolino so that the lighting is effectively a fifth dance partner to the four bodies on stage. The piece opens with them in machine-like angular motions reminiscent of the first dance. The dancing opens up, however, as the flat planes of lasers move across the bodies and the lasers take on the role of stage set as they form a pyramid shape over the dancers. The lighting then ripples over the undulating bodies as the dance takes the tone of a sci-fi nature documentary about mysterious underwater creatures.The setting changes again for the solo by Rebecca Bassett-Graham. Here, the lighting transforms the floor into a psychedelic set that makes 2001: A Space Odyssey look tame. Bassett-Graham displays incredible timing as she moves with the lighting along inter-dimensional gangplanks, or is set spinning by a rotating floor. This section – perhaps a journey using unimaginable technology? – concludes when she is joined by Elsi Faulks in a duet of mirrored actions, this section closing on a note of human connection. The male dancers (Oliver Chapman and Lewis Major) rejoin for the conclusion, and the four meet in the semi-dark in formations of strange creatures.Epilogue is a solo performed by Elsi Faulks to electronically treated Claude Debussy piano music by Dane Yates and Lewis Major. The choreography, lighting and costume design are by Lewis Major. The floor and the dancer’s body are covered in chalk. If the opening piece was angular, this piece is all about curves. The dancer creates circles and curves in the chalk on the stage, and trails white dust clouds in the air following her movements, creating a history of her dance on the flat dimensions of the floor and the three dimensions of the air.The solos perform the task of revealing or reminding us of things we overlook (the normally invisible patterns of movement on the ground or through time), while Unfolding intuits the mental and unknown.A stunning, mind-bending show.

An inspired piece of programming by director Claire Evans sees Misconduct by Dom Riley and Ladykiller by Madeline Gould paired in a double bill entitled He Said/She Said, at The White Bear Theatre.The concern with running two plays together by different authors, with separate casts, is that one will overshadow the other. That issue was heightened after the towering performance by Gwithian Evans as Richie in Misconduct. “Follow that,” was the thought that came to mind. It took no more than a highly charged entrance, with face, hands and clothing covered in blood, combined with the forceful delivery of opening lines, to demonstrate that Geebs Marie Williams as Her in Ladykiller was going to more than match the pre-interval show. Even though the gender of the actor, the location and the circumstances change, these plays and actors feel as though they were made to go together and be performed in this order. With the common theme of a knife attack occurring towards the end of Misconduct and at the opening of Ladykiller, it’s rather like picking up where we left off.These are not plays tackling systemic knife crime and remain two very different works that are ultimately concerned with the exploration of two individuals, their mindsets and how a solitary act can change their lives for ever.Male bonding and the challenges of friendship permeate Misconduct. Richie is distressed by the knowledge that his best mate at school is heading off to university, leaving him behind with lesser prospects and also breaking up the group. In a farewell outing they set out on the train to Leeds for a big away game. As their journey progresses, aggression and hooliganism emerge on the train and at Elland Road, before the fatal crime occurs almost out of nowhere and Richie is faced with the devastating consequences of an action which he underplays through self-deception. It’s a male story by a male writer.Ladykiller, on the other hand, is about a female and is written by a female. It places the character known just as Her at the centre of a gruesome hotel murder. In a single frenzied act of grotesque violence her simple life as a chambermaid is destroyed. However, her attempts to rationalise her behaviour and the ideas she has for escaping detection reveal that she has deep-rooted psychological issues that form a disconnect between what she has done and its consequences. Like Richie, she creates a gulf between feeling guilt and the acceptance of responsibility.Both actors sustain an impassioned level of performance that is truly remarkable. They are unyielding and unwavering in their commitment to the roles and exude breathtaking energy. Powerful direct addresses are balanced with moments of calmer introspection but, for the most part, with Evans we are carried along on both a literal and mental journey at breakneck speed and with Williams we are plunged into a fiery, fervent and vehement malaise of rage and delusion.The intensity is heightened by the confines of The White Bear Theatre and its inescapable intimacy. Evans’ direction uses every inch of space, with movements darting in all directions, thus overcoming the complexity of seating on two sides at right angles to each other. Both actors engage with us at all times, wherever we might be seated. Meanwhile, Jan Giedroyc‘s evocative soundscape is timed with staggering precision to the phrasings and delivery of the scripts, raising the dramatic stakes even higher in harmony with the lighting direction and technical DSM work by Marta Fossati, who changes designer David Fitzhugh’s appropriately functional and unobtrusive set with an array of colours.              This double bill is a stunning double treat.

They say you should never meet your heroes. Nonsense. At The Rocky Horror Picture Show 50th Anniversary Spectacular at the Dominion Theatre, meeting them feels less like a risk and more like a rite of passage. This is not just a screening. It is a full-throttle, fishnet-clad celebration of a cult that long ago stopped pretending to be niche and instead settled comfortably into legend.The evening kicks off with a gloriously unruly Q&A hosted by the president of the worldwide Rocky Horror fan club, who does his valiant best to impose structure on a panel that has absolutely no interest in it. Barry Bostwick proves the evening’s unofficial ringmaster, gently keeping proceedings on track while Patricia Quinn drifts magnificently off piste, whether through mischief, merriment or something a little stronger. She is, frankly, a joy. Peter Hinwood, the original Rocky, makes his first ever appearance at a fan event. Shy, softly spoken and clearly moved by the reception, he is coaxed into the conversation with warmth by Bostwick. It is loose, affectionate and just chaotic enough to feel authentic.Then the film begins, shimmering in a pristine 4K restoration on a vast screen, and the evening shifts gear entirely. Beneath it, a live shadow cast performs every beat in perfect synchronicity, transforming the screening into something closer to a theatrical event than a trip to the cinema. When Bostwick and Little Nell step in to reprise their roles, the atmosphere lifts into something close to delirium. Nell’s tap routine alone becomes the stuff of instant legend thanks to a wardrobe malfunction that refuses to be discreet, prompting gasps, cheers and the unmistakable sense that the audience has been granted a particularly generous anniversary gift.To describe this as interactive undersells it wildly. Every audience member is armed with a prop bag containing the essentials, newspaper, glow sticks, party hats and horns, all deployed with military precision at the appropriate moments. Yet the real magic lies in the additions. One group unfurls fairy lights for “There’s a Light”, transforming the stalls into a shimmering constellation. Elsewhere, a couple brandish cue cards for “Dammit” and “Janet”, conducting their section of the audience like seasoned pros. Even for those who have attended countless Rocky Horror screenings, the sheer inventiveness of the shout backs is astonishing. New lines cut through the noise, perfectly timed and wickedly funny.It is, at times, gloriously overwhelming. Between the film, the shadow cast, the audience participation and the constant ripple of laughter, it becomes almost impossible to decide where to focus. Yet this sensory overload is not a flaw. It is the essence of Rocky Horror. The show has always thrived on excess, on audience complicity and on a very particular brand of organised chaos. Here, all of it is dialled up to eleven.The crowd are as much a part of the spectacle as anything on stage or screen. Corsets, fishnets, sequins and heels dominate the auditorium, making the official costume competition feel almost redundant when hundreds have already committed so fully. For the so-called virgins in attendance, this must feel like being dropped into a very fabulous fever dream. For everyone else, it is something closer to home.What lingers is not just the spectacle, though there is plenty of that, but the sense of community. Fifty years on, The Rocky Horror Picture Show remains defiantly strange, gloriously inclusive and utterly unapologetic. This anniversary event is not simply a tribute. It is proof that the party never really stopped. It just got louder, bolder and even more fabulous.

Inspiration comes in many forms for playwrights, and the experience of becoming a father was the perfect stimulus for Nathan Scott-Dunn to pen his latest drama and make his debut at Òran Mór with Un-Expecting, as part of A Play, A Pie and A Pint’s Spring 2026 season, supported by Creative Scotland.Speaking of the life-changing event and the play, he says, “Becoming a parent completely changed how I see the world and it made me think a lot about how we talk about parenthood in society, especially when it isn’t neat or planned. Un-Expecting is messy, lyrical and full of humour, but at its heart it’s about what happens when real life refuses to follow the fairy-tale version we’re usually sold.”That’s it in a nutshell. It’s a simple story told by two characters on a specially constructed thrust stage that provides the up-close intimacy the play requires. It’s a functional, non-distracting, versatile set of plain black rostra with a couple of moveable, multipurpose black boxes and two neon strip lights either side of four translucent screens that enable silhouette scenes, courtesy of set and costume designer Heather Grace Currie. A standard glitter ball with associated lighting creates the disco scene where Scott (Cristian Ortega) and Jess (Cindy Awor) meet and exchange their first tentative words.Scott is rather lacking in confidence when it comes to dancefloor social interaction, but when he sees Jess he can’t resist making a move. They end up nervously chatting on a bench outside, and clearly Jess has this planned better than Scott. They go back to her place, where they discover that he has forgotten to do one of the few things his father ever taught him: always go out prepared. With minimal risk assessment, the condomless night ensues, as does the surprise pregnancy.Debates follow about what to do. We gain insights into the trials of carrying a child and giving birth, of dealing with other people’s opinions and managing coping mechanisms. Scott is reaching the end of his music degree in London. He’s desperate to graduate but also wants to be with Jess. Another issue is carefully woven into the story here. Parenthood comes with responsibilities. Scott was only six years old when his father left home, and he is determined to be a better, more responsible man than he was, so his time away weighs heavily.Awor and Ortega are two powerful performers who deliver with unfaltering passion and sincerity, giving captivating credibility to their characters. The richness of his accent from Edinburgh and hers from Glasgow adds to the idiosyncratic, beat-poetry style in which Scott-Dunn writes. Rhymes abound in the verse-dominated script, and yet he is such a master of this style that it seems completely natural as a speech form: it’s just the way the characters speak. But it adds momentum, which, combined with the precise timing the actors possess, makes for a fast-moving story enhanced by lines started by one of them and finished by the other, and dialogue interspersed with direct address. There are many very funny moments of laugh-out-loud humour contrasted with several intensely emotional, tear-jerking scenes that together reflect the highs and lows of life.Maximising the outstanding talents of Awor and Ortega, director Edoardo Berto has lifted this gem of a script off the page and managed the diverse elements of the play, its staging and the performances with focused clarity of purpose and cohesiveness to deliver an hour of joyous theatre.

With music and lyrics by Cyndi Lauper and book by Harvey Fierstein, this musical began with an impressive pedigree. But over the years it has become a milestone musical of LGBTQ+ equality, and here at the London Coliseum gets the production it deserves.Based on the real-life story of a failing Northamptonshire shoe factory that saved itself from closure by specialising in making women’s footwear for drag artists, the story came to prominence in the 2005 film. With its message of “accept someone for who they are”, it tackles homophobia, transphobia and prejudice with a sequined boxing glove that packs a powerful punch. It also explores the danger of accepting a situation you’re not happy with, as Charlie inherits the factory and feels the weight of expectation to keep going and not let his community down.Of course, the success of every production of this show hinges on the casting of drag queen Lola, and here we have a true star in Johannes Radebe. Millions of Strictly Come Dancing viewers know he is a terrific dancer, but he has the singing and acting chops to fill the huge auditorium with personality. Lola is given stunning entrances that get roars of approval, but Radebe goes beyond the glamour and convinces as Simon, the shy, bullied man under the drag suit of armour. It’s hard not to take your eyes off him, he leads the company with strength and grace.No stranger to Saturday night TV audiences himself, former The X Factor winner Matt Cardle has built up an impressive musical theatre career since, and here has the tricky role of “straight” (in more than one way) man Charlie Price, and is equally convincing, as Charlie’s doubts and fear of closure increase. It’s a part that builds, and although Charlie’s homophobic hissy fit feels sudden and out of character, Cardle makes it work by portraying the stress Charlie is under really well. His vocals are excellent, especially in Soul of a Man.The leads don’t get away with stealing the show though. The supporting cast and ensemble are terrific. Courtney Bowman is outstanding as straight-talking and lovelorn Lauren, Scott Paige a gorgeous triumph as George, giving into his drag side with glee, Billy Roberts hugely convincing as misogynistic Don, until Lola zaps the toxic out of his masculinity, and Rachel Izen earns gales of laughter as Pat.The whole production feels as if it’s had a glow-up after its UK tour, and director Nikolai Foster fills the huge stage with energy and flow, performed on Robert Jones’s excellent design. It’s when Don brings on the Progress Pride flag that the message is delivered home, and when the flag takes its place in the curtain call, it’s a powerful statement against the voices who want to silence us all. With the world being as it is, this musical is an essential, uplifting tonic.

The journey to the West End stage has finally arrived for Marie and Rosetta, setting up church in the wonderfully intimate Soho Place. Sister Rosetta Tharpe – the “Godmother of Rock ’n’ Roll” – and her protégée, Marie Knight, are names everyone should know. This production restores those names in wonderful neon, as the women first meet in a funeral home – a safe space at a time when touring the American south was dangerous for performers of colour.In broad strokes, writer George Brant gives us the main events of their lives, but it is the music that elevates this production to something special. Rosetta was losing her gospel crown to “Saint Mahalia” (Jackson), whose pure church approach made her hugely popular. Rosetta had performed “dirty music”, played in places like the Cotton Club, and was too raunchy with her hips for many a saintly listener and viewer. Was church-raised Marie brought in to entice the core audience back? Whatever the reason, the combination of these two performers and the excellent band creates a toe-tapping, roof-raising, heart-lifting production that is impossible to resist.Beverley Knight, as you would expect, is stunning as Sister Rosetta. The strength, vulnerability and wisdom of a woman who has been in showbusiness and been burnt many times are all there from the opening. Her marriages foreshadow the abuse suffered by Tina Turner and thousands of women who worked – and still work – in the music industry, and the racism personally experienced. But through it all, it is the voice and the music that soar.Ntombizodwa Ndlovu is equally compelling as Marie – her nervousness at being in Rosetta’s presence, her strong faith, her concerns about the music and, above all, the love for the children she must leave behind to tour with Rosetta are all perfectly captured. As church and “dirty music” begin to reach an understanding and respect for each other, I Want a Tall Skinny Man brings the house down. The singing in this show must be among the best in London right now.And, in a way, there lies a slight problem. The singing is so fantastic that you want more, and Brant’s script can feel a little pedestrian in its exposition, particularly in the first half. It works much better in the second, when the text segues into songs teeming with relevance. However, this is of little importance as the intimacy and in-the-round staging bring us so close to the music and the women – excellent direction by Monique Touko. (A wonderful device symbolically introduces the piano and the guitar.)Lily Arnold’s design places us in the funeral home but opens out into various stages, remaining particularly effective at the poignant and tenderly played conclusion. Whatever your faith or beliefs, your soul needs this production – taking you to church with passion and outstanding talent.

On the surface, this is another in a line of adapted books at the Mercury theatre, and adaptations are all the rage at the moment. But this is a book, by A K Blakemore, of depth, and this powerful, emotive and superbly staged production is the best I have seen here for a long time. A co-production with Frantic Assembly, Scott Graham’s movement direction is as exceptional as you would expect from the company’s artistic director. Add to that the adaptation by the mighty Ava Pickett – whose wonderful, Essex-based play 1536 begins a West End run this summer – and the sensitive, exciting direction by Natasha Rickman, and you have a production that deserved its opening night standing ovation.For generations, our introduction to witchcraft trials began with Arthur Miller’s The Crucible. This British story, rooted in local history, flips everything away from Miller’s play and gives voice to the women – those murdered and those who survived.There isn’t a weak link among the cast. At the centre of the novel and play is feisty, strong Rebecca West, our narrator, accused of witchcraft. Lucy Mangan gives one of the best performances I have ever seen, exceptional in its understanding of the emotional arc of the character – a strength that refuses to be shaped by the men persecuting her and by her circumstances, yielding only when she absolutely has to.Estranged from her “bawdy” mother, Anna “The Bedlam” West – another outstanding performance by Gina Isaac – their journey from conflict and defiance to accepted love is wonderfully portrayed. Fiona Branson captures the fragility of the elderly Bess Clarke, while Amy Cudden is excellent, particularly as the bitter Priscilla Briggs. Mia Jerome, Maria Louis and Chileya Mwampulo bring vivid life to the village women.It would be easy to portray the men as simply evil – in particular “Witchfinder General” Matthew Hopkins – but the script, and Sam Mitchell’s performance, tease out the fear and insecurity of the man. The circumstances and restraints under which they all live – although far less oppressive than those faced by the women – are captured subtly by Gavin Fowler as a lovestruck John Edes, and by the multi-rolling Jack Gogarty, particularly as a beautifully human and perceptive doctor towards the play’s end.They are supported by a community chorus that fills Sara Perks’ outstanding set design with life and bustle, moving set and people beautifully. In many ways it reminded me of Beah Flintoff’s The Ballad of Maria Marten: both take a local story passed down and told by men and rework the myth to place women centre stage.As the play progresses, the battle for the soul becomes a powerful duet between Rebecca and Hopkins, and the segue into its contemporary relevance is handled well. We know Matthew Hopkins’s name, but not the women he murdered. Add Jack the Ripper, Peter Sutcliffe, Steve Wright and too many others, and it is a message we all need to hear.The entire run is sold out, proving there is a thirst for new work on the main stage here, and I hope this remarkable production gains further life.

Director Jordan Fein has brilliantly placed Arthur Miller’s tense psychological drama Broken Glass in a pit-like arena at the Young Vic theatre, creating an all-encompassing air of inescapability and claustrophobia for characters trying to deal with the fact that in life “you draw your cards face down, you turn them over and you do your best with the hand you’ve got”.This first major London production of the play in 15 years proceeds for an uninterrupted two hours, with little let-up in the mounting intensity of questioning, revelations and confessions in the search for answers to a bizarre situation.Sylvia Gellburg (Pearl Chanda) runs the emotional gamut from calm acceptance of the strange paralysis that has inexplicably taken control of her legs to the ragings of a sexually frustrated and fearful wife who has nevertheless stayed by her husband. Now, from the comfort of her Brooklyn home, she is also overwhelmed by events in Germany. It is 1938 and the horrors of Kristallnacht fill the newspapers she obsessively buys, compulsively reads, then bundles up in her sitting room. The image of elderly Jewish men being forced to scrub the pavements with toothbrushes particularly haunts her.Based on his experience as a student in Germany, Dr Harry Hyman (Alex Waldmann) believes the people to be good-natured and that these events will soon pass, in the same way he believes Sylvia’s condition will disappear once they find the cause. He believes her paralysis to be psychosomatic, but he is no psychologist and she dreads the prospect of being thought mad. As the doctor to her husband, and despite his lack of appropriate qualifications, he continues to “treat” her and espouse amorous intentions towards her in keeping with his past.Meanwhile Philip Gellburg’s (Eli Gelb) tormented existence goes from bad to worse – a man who has never come to terms with being Jewish yet prides himself on being the first to attain such an elevated realtor position in the company. Gelb incrementally portrays the undermining of Philip through the mystery of his wife’s condition, his impotence and his shortcomings at work, despite his vehement protestations of being a good husband and a successful businessman. Waldmann excels in the interrogative scenes with him, as he does with Chanda, as a man passionately trying to do his best and get others to be honest and confront their demons.Mingling among these flawed titans, Nancy Carroll brings a knowing understanding of her situation as Harry’s wife, along with an outrageous scripted laugh. Nigel Whitmey captures the arrogance and control of a property magnate as Philip’s boss, while Sylvia’s sister – the most down-to-earth of them all – is realistically portrayed as a classic Jewish woman from Brooklyn by Juliet Cowan, who knows a lot and has to have it dragged out of her.This late play by Miller, in which he reveals many of his own misgivings, is not his most outstanding work but it is stamped with the hallmarks of his greatness and is done justice in this gripping production. Imaginative yet simple set design by Rosanna Vize, and lighting by Adam Silverman, along with excellent casting from Julian Horan, make it an all-round tragic joy.

History is rarely treated with such gleeful disrespect as in Oh, Mary! at the Trafalgar Theatre, where Cole Escola detonates the Lincoln myth in a blaze of farce, played out on a set that resembles a slightly shabby Crossroads motel, complete with two well-used doors that promise, and deliver, escalating chaos. Set in the jittery days before Abraham Lincoln’s assassination at Ford’s Theatre, the play imagines a White House in which the Civil War is almost an inconvenience. Abe frets about a nation that loathes him yet it is his wife who proves the more immediate catastrophe.Escola, who has cheerfully admitted to doing no research, rewrites history with anarchic abandon. This Mary is less grieving widow in waiting than thwarted cabaret star, marooned in a corset and desperate for the spotlight. She drinks anything that might conceivably intoxicate, from whiskey to paint thinner, and if that fails she improvises. Her long-suffering chaperone Louise is the focus of sustained, inventive cruelty, including an arson incident on Christmas Day that Mary defends with breezy logic. “I put it out.” “Not until the New Year,” comes the reply.In an effort to curb his wife’s theatrical ambitions, Abe hires an acting tutor with no intention of letting her act. The tutor happens to be John Wilkes Booth, all tight britches and smouldering glances. Mary veers from contempt for her teacher to full-blown obsession without troubling herself with the steps in between. Meanwhile Abe, who you might reasonably expect to steady proceedings, has distractions of his own, not least a lingering interest in the derriere of his seemingly pliable assistant Simon. Simon may look decorative, but proves adept at negotiating the perks of proximity to power. The humour is gloriously unsubtle. If there is a cheap gag to be had, it is seized and shaken until coins fall out. Physical comedy abounds, whether Mary is shuffling grandly across the Oval Office, attempting to dismount the Walnut Desk in a mountainous crinoline or pausing just long enough before asking, “Why would I throw an entire woman down the stairs?” Beat. “Because it is hilarious.” The script bristles with lines destined for post-show quotation. Mason Alexander Park pivots sharply from their recent Emcee in Cabaret to deliver a feral, fraying Mary whose every heeled step is a provocation. Giles Terera’s Abe is tightly wound with repression and panic. Dino Fetscher relishes Booth’s theatrical bravado, then neatly punctures it as the bluster gives way to something far more desperate, Kate O’Donnell gives Louise a bruised dignity that almost steadies the madness and Oliver Stockley plays Simon with a knowing lightness that suggests more calculation than innocence.You need know nothing about Mary Todd Lincoln to relish this. Let’s face it, Escola didn’t. Oh, Mary! is not history. It is high camp heresy, gleefully rummaging through the ruins of American myth and rearranging them for maximum laughter. Just when you think it cannot become more absurd, it does. And then it does again.

It’s always a risk to adapt a book as beloved as Rachel Joyce’s story of Harold Fry, an ordinary, unspectacular man who receives a letter from an old friend, Queenie, writing from a hospice where she faces her final days.As he goes to post his (very bland) reply, Harold is overwhelmed by a feeling to keep on walking from Devon to Berwick upon Tweed to make amends with Queenie for a past incident. He meets people along the way, until social media gives him fellow pilgrims, all seeking their own redemption. As he becomes more dishevelled, the protective layers he built around him become as threadbare as his shoes and clothes, and the shocking events from the past are revealed.The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry at the Theatre Royal, Haymarket, is heart-soaring and heartbreaking in equal measure, and this beautiful, superbly cast production does perfect justice to the source material. The music and lyrics by Passenger give the show a folksy feel, suiting the folklore element of the story, and are reminiscent of another great musical, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. In both shows, the fluid movement of the performers and staging marks the passing of time, and simple props become powerful totems of loss and grief. Here, a Cambridge University scarf is used to devastating effect.Each person Harold meets gets a great song, and I was initially concerned that the bar was set too high with the second number, the gospel-inspired Walk Upon The Water, with the outstanding Nicole Nyarambi raising the roof, the prolonged applause and cheering well deserved. But this concern was quickly banished by the other “turns”. Out Of Luck, peppered with a certain four-lettered word, is a joy. Daniel Crossley delivers perfectly as Silver Haired Gentleman, Harold’s advice allowing him to be free and open in his sexuality in a wonderful tap number. Noah Mullens, making their West End debut, is a haunting presence as The Balladeer, evolving into something else in Act Two. War Horse revolutionised puppetry in this country, and if you don’t fall in love with Dog, this may not be the musical for you!But none of this would work without the central characters of Harold and his seemingly sterile wife, Maureen, being perfect. Mark Addy is outstanding as Harold Fry, his “everyman” persona working perfectly as he takes us on the pilgrimage. Buttoned up, grieving, his barriers are delicately removed as the journey develops, a beautiful portrayal of English reserve and male silence breaking down. His song Dear Girl In The Garage is emotional, measured and heart-breaking. Equally outstanding, as always, is Jenna Russell as Maureen, the dam she has built around her emotions cracking as she accepts her grief and her part in what happened.The back story is devastating. Those who have read the book or seen the film adaptation will know that this is no cosy drama; it’s brutal and unflinching. But when Harold arrives at Queenie’s bedside, there isn’t, and shouldn’t be, a dry eye in the house.A welcome transfer from Chichester Festival Theatre, this is a West End must-see.

A tragicomedy that is both entertainment and therapy, The Olive Boy is rooted in the death of Ollie Maddigan’s adolescence and his grief management following the death of his mother, which he confronts through the lens of himself aged 15.It's emotionally challenging, but it's his choice and he knows what he’s doing. The play is not just a release and coming-to-terms mechanism for him, but has also powerfully impacted others who have found themselves in similar situations. In conversation he will relate moving accounts of parents and children who have thanked him for The Olive Boy and the way it has helped to bring about reconciliation in families and hope for the bereaved.Maddigan is now 22, but vividly remembers his youth, which provides the framework for what one assumes is an embellished, yet authentic, portrayal of the boy he was. A family video opens the play before he makes a swaggering entrance in his dishevelled school uniform of black trousers, white shirt, blazer and tie. He sits and waits, looks around to get a feel of his audience, raising the tension with a lengthy pause, before breaking the ice with a line of humour. It’s a device that will appear on several occasions and just one of the many performance skills he uses so deftly. He artfully juggles punctuation to create momentum and then hold things still. Rather than stopping at the end of a sentence, he will run straight into the next, irrespective of content, and then insert an unexpected pause. It’s a clever attention-holding strategy that combines with accents and voices attached to an array of characters he portrays.Complementing the language is the physicality of his performance. He occupies the stage in a manner that illustrates teenage agility, using all available space and just one chair. He sits on it, leaps over it, stands on it, picks it up and thrusts it down. He has walking styles, movements and a myriad of gestures that in themselves entertain but which are always directly related to the text and reflect his various states of mind. Some flow smoothly, others are abrupt.Alone on stage, but with the family, classmates and teachers vividly in his mind, he also interacts with some startling lighting by Adam Jefferys, precisely cued by stage manager Dani White, along with various sounds. On a plain stage these serve to change locations, time and moods.As his life unfolds we are treated to the story of a bereaved lad in a dysfunctional relationship with his alcoholic father, trying to fit in as a stranger in a new school in a new area, while his body increasingly produces testosterone and he craves a girlfriend. As Maddigan has pointed out, “When you're a teenager and your mum passes away you don't stop being a teenager. It's not like you don't stop caring about who's popular and girls and drinking and parties.” And we see that sentiment well evidenced.An earlier version of this play had enormous success at the Edinburgh Fringe, where I first saw it, and on tour, but now under the sensitive and imaginative direction of Scott Le Crass it’s had what they call a ‘glow-up’, and a play that always shone brightly glistens even more vividly as a hilarious, tear-jerking and profound theatrical triumph.

It’s a 60-minute two-hander, but Harold Pinter's mingling of realism and absurdism, combined with his precise style of writing and the need to create two credible yet enigmatic characters, means The Dumb Waiter presents a challenge for even the greatest of talents. It is therefore all the more remarkable that two teenagers from Years 10 and 12 at Westcliff High School for Boys should pull off a triumph.Performed in a black box, created by curtaining off the bookshelves in the library and performed in the round, the space has precisely the required level of claustrophobia needed for the basement setting. Two canvas beds are the sum total of furnishings, but in the centre of the raised staging, connecting this level to the uncharted floor above, is what amounts to the third character: the dumb waiter, which seems to have a mind of its own and interjects by suddenly dropping down with notelets attached to a covered tray or abruptly ascending. But who is writing these food orders, and why can they not grasp that the kitchen no longer functions?Playing faithfully to the script and its stage directions, Sam Skeels and Conor Lynch-Wyatt create the very different characters of Ben and Gus respectively, two hitmen awaiting details of their next assignment. It’s nothing they haven’t done before, but that doesn’t make the waiting any less tense nor allay Gus’s concern that their victim might be a woman. The specific actions that Pinter insists on are there from the outset. Gus struggles with properly tying his shoelaces, while Ben assumes the detached and disinterested manner of a man simply filling the time with reading and rereading his newspaper while making the occasional observation on a story.This is where the chemistry between the two begins to emerge. Skeels embodies the contrasting elements of a passive, lethargic man of few words, who nevertheless exerts enormous control over his partner. His movements are purposeful, and his occasional criticisms of Gus and comments towards him indicate the underlying sinister and threatening manner of a man who will not tolerate criticism. In the societal view of the play, he represents the oppressive authority of those powers who are, nevertheless, controlled by someone higher up the ladder.Lynch-Wyatt, in contrast, is a man who can't sit still, always burning energy in erratic pacings of the floor or expressing nervous tension. He behaves submissively in his role and is clearly dominated by Ben, perhaps because his intellectual powers are more limited. He is the other dumb waiter in the room, but it doesn't stop him trying to engage, although it rarely gets him anywhere.Under the meticulous direction of Mr Ben Jeffreys, who runs the school’s drama club, the team has mastered the art of delivering an ellipsis, a pause, and silence; the three forms adopted by Pinter to break up his text in a way that directly reflects the characters’ mindset. They also have the effect of creating suspense, tension, and anticipation in those watching. These work most effectively when the text is delivered with pace. It is this art of timing that comes over so well in this production and which the duo have clearly mastered.Of course, the play poses many questions and, as Pinter intended, gives no answers, but this was a breath-taking opportunity to see a first-class exposition of the great playwright's work at its best.

If you’re looking for a master class in dramatic construction, performance and direction, it has arrived at the Marylebone Theatre in Michael McKeever’s hit Off-Broadway play, Daniel’s Husband, for Plastered Productions. The superb casting by Arthur Carrington allows director Alan Souza to draw out all the emotional intensity of the play with distinctly drawn characters and dialogue that is engaging throughout the five-scene structure.Before becoming immersed in the story, however, sit in awe of Justin Williams’s chic set: a stunning apartment dominated by walls in British racing green, straight out of Farrow & Ball, with occasional tables, sofas and bookcases. He should do a sideline in interior design. People would be queuing up. It is all sensitively lit by Jamie Platt in amber hues with hidden lights on every shelf. The gay couple who live here also have a record player and Sarah Weltman captures its sounds perfectly in her design. There are soothing tunes throughout and some delightful cabaret-style piano as a mood-setting introduction.Scene one opens with the guys enjoying a relaxing after-dinner drink with arms wrapped around shoulders. Friendly chat ensues and we enjoy the camaraderie of the evening. Joel Harper-Jackson’s Daniel exudes confidence as a successful architect and plays the perfect host. Luke Fetherston, as Mitchell, his partner of seven years, and in Daniel’s mind would-be husband, is an author who is happy to make plenty of money out of popular gay fiction rather than pursue a literary career for less. He’s relaxed and sociable. Between them there is only one taboo subject, that of marriage. Daniel is desperate to wed. Mitchell refuses to accept the idea of gay people subscribing to heteronormative traditions. Nevertheless, the issue keeps raising its ugly head and is central to the plot.Joining in the exchanges are their friends. Barry is the oldest member of the group and Mitchell’s agent. David Badella’s charm and maturity entirely suit the role of a man whose professional wisdom works well for him in business, but whose craving for twinks and at least a twenty-year age gap has not served him well. Witness Trip, who adoringly sits beside him. Raiko Gohara has some wonderful lines that illustrate the eras in which they grew up and he delivers them with a youthful naivety that gains a number of laughs. Trip’s serious side is the work he does as a home-care provider. Meanwhile, with some disagreements, the mood has become a little tense.Scene two opens with the dreaded arrival of Daniel’s mother, the control freak, complete with suitcase. The week proves stressful and argumentative, but Liza Savoy’s Lydia is not one for compromise. She sternly plays the woman who is not to be messed with or contradicted. She holds her deceased husband in low esteem, whereas Daniel holds him in the highest regard and despises his mother for having held him back from an outstanding career as an artist. He has one of his large abstract paintings on the wall we don’t see, which he refuses to take down in order to appease her.Once she leaves, the startling event occurs that will change the course of everyone’s life. While no one could have seen that coming, the foreshadowing of the previous scenes now falls into place and the subsequent events, while having some inevitability to them, entertain in their unfolding and detail. Monologues from Daniel and Mitchell, a scene apart, provide a balanced and refreshing stylistic change of mood from the otherwise intense dialogue. The end of the final scene brings a surprising, but very neat rounding off of the story. Have tissues at the ready; you might very well cry.If you’re seeing no other play as a culmination to your year of enjoying theatre, fit this one in or kick-start 2026 with it. Everything about it suggests it has a huge future ahead of it and you want to be able to say you saw it here.

Small town America, a place called Skidmore to be exact, where nothing much happens. Or nothing much is supposed to happen. Until the arrival of the bully, Ken Rex McElroy, and his reign of terror over the residents of the town. Despite being indicted 21 times, McElroy was convicted only once due to the twisted skills of his defence lawyer Gene McFadin. Until the citizens couldn’t take any more and, after a night of terrifying violence and intimidation whilst McElroy was released on bail, the citizens took matters into their own hands. This gripping true-life story is brought to powerful life by an excellent creative team, with every moment gripping the audience from the outset. Told in the form of evidence given by county prosecutor David Baird, the stage pulses with energy and movement. The music by composer and onstage musician John Patrick Elliott pounds through the seats, building the tension up to breaking point.Performer and co-writer Jack Holden (written with Ed Stambollouian) brings every single character to life, not just the passing-through residents, but the lead characters of McElroy, McFadin and Baird, not just performing the roles but inhabiting them. It is a tour de force, his chameleon-like physicality making each character clear. As McElroy, he bends his body and lowers his voice deep into the bass. Then there is a flamboyance to McFadin that is cheeky and funny, whilst Baird tries to be the honest everyman, believing in the power of the law and decency. There are so many strong scenes, but when McElroy crashes the annual Punkin Show and seduces the singer of the national anthem, Tirena, and sets out his intentions, the scene is given extra chill by the fact she was 14. Becoming his wife, it’s almost as if the town sacrificed her hoping the Monster would be stilled, but speaking against him led to terrible violence. This production is the perfect synergy of performer, musician, lighting and sound. It is an ultimate example of theatrical storytelling.I didn’t expect to see the play of the year in December, I thought my mind was set, but here it is, smashing every high standard. The direction by Stambollouian is superbly paced, giving urgency yet also space for tension to grow and breathe. It observes classical theatricality, powerful storytelling enhanced by simple techniques that bring home the story. When the residents remain silent, Holden unplugs the microphones; it’s that simple and effective. Surpassing even their production of Cruise in 2021, this team deserve to win every award going.

The annual Intermission Youth Theatre production is always a highly anticipated and rewarding event. Those of us who have been attending for several years know we will be in for an evening of joyous entertainment from a new cohort of 16 to 25 year olds who have completed the 10 month programme that is an accessible alternative to drama school for burgeoning actors and creatives. Shakespeare will be stripped back, reimagined and remixed. The everyday language of the Bard will blend with modern street English and become a universal means of communication.This year’s choice from the Bard’s collection, performed in their new location of the Courtyard Theatre, is The Comedy of Errors, rewritten with the customary flair of the company’s artistic director Darren Raymond to create A Comedy of Errors Remixed. Perhaps not an obvious choice, but as always the modern relevance of the play is drawn out.The original is set in the Greek city of Ephesus, which the citizens of Syracuse are forbidden to enter under penalty of death. Chaos reigns when two sets of identical twins, who were separated at birth, unknowingly end up in the city, giving the play a farcical element. None of this is lost in the current production, which wholeheartedly embraces the confusion of mistaken identity, the importance of family and the wider issues of immigration, displacement and what Raymond describes as “worsening attitudes towards the ‘other,’” pointing out that “members of our cast are second and third generation immigrants and still struggle to feel British.”Set in London, we follow two asylum seekers, Anthony and Dominique, who arrive in the UK having escaped conflict in their home country. We witness their struggle to assimilate as they navigate language barriers, prejudice and mistaken identity, eventually reconnecting with their long lost identical twins whom they believed to have been killed in a civil war 20 years earlier but who had actually escaped to the UK.A special feature of this year’s production is the direction by Stephanie Badaru, who was in the first group of young people to participate in the company’s programme in 2008 and is the first alumnus to face the challenge of directing two casts who switch lead roles and chorus on alternate nights. With a multi level functional set by Constance Villemot and lighting by Rajiv Pattani, she has created a play with pace, energetic interaction and scope for the young cast to demonstrate their abilities. She is assisted by associate director Federay Holmes.As always, it is a thrilling multi ethnic production, created by an enormous amount of teamwork and passion, that inspires hope for the future of theatre.

All the stops are always pulled out at the Mercury panto, and this year is no exception, with an added cause for celebration. This show marks ten years of the powerhouse panto duo Ash and Dale (Antony Stuart-Hicks and Dale Superville), who have elevated the panto at Colchester to award winning heights, winning the hearts of the community. Always a chance to showcase their talents, they excel here in one of the best Mercury Theatre pantos I’ve seen in my lengthy reviewing career. It is also one of the most magical and glorious designs, Jasmine Swan presenting gorgeous costumes from the very first minute, and the workshop have done a tremendous job on the set, aided by a vibrant and fluid lighting design.As Gertie Goose, Antony Stuart-Hicks remains, in my opinion, the best Dame in the business, making me always glad I’m not the bloke in the front row the Dame singles out. Pushing the envelope of adult humour, he makes ad libbing look easy, and his relationship with Dale is wonderful. As the Dame’s son, Billy the Goose, Dale Superville has many a show stealing line, waddling hilariously around the stage, and his connection with the children in the audience is always naughty and joyful. It is a cast of wonderful singers, not least the returning and superb Sasha Laroya who, as Fairy Fortune, leads us into a uniquely soulful version of the Python hit, Always Look on the Bright Side of Life. Jaimie Purden is an outstanding baddie as Baroness Bellinora Badapple, revelling in the role. Kemi Clarke and Daisy Greenwood are adorable as the love interests Bailey and Gracie. In fact, there is not a weak link in the cast, with excellent support right down to the panto chorus.If the plot is a little weak, especially in the first half, it does not matter, as the team have updated it and brought in the laying of golden eggs with skill and relevance. The second half is a total joy. It was a delight to see If I Was Not Upon the Stage performed by the four leads in ultra manic style – the house was brought down – and Ash and Dale sliding about in the ghost room bed was a feast of corpsing. Director Natasha Rickan has wisely let the fun expand in the hands of experts, but her flow of the stage and control of the material are to be applauded. Containing every panto trope you could want and wish for, it is five golden eggs from me.

The marginalised of society walk among us – well, those who are able, anyway. L’ombra del Gelsomino (The Shadow of Jasmine) offers a glimpse into the lives of three such individuals, as we learn of their ostracisation from society and other challenges.The production opens with three seated figures, obscured by veils. The reference to the witches in Macbeth is hard to ignore; indeed, as the production unravels, the protagonists’ fate seems to follow a predetermined path.The setting is innately ambivalent. Are the trio in an afterlife, a dream state, or even in purgatory, expiating their societally perceived sins?Livia (Federica Gurrieri) is a single mother. Through a modern lens, this may not appear to be a significant case for marginalisation. However, in many societies, this simple situation would place her beyond the boundaries of acceptability. In Livia’s case, her unmarried status is simply not tolerated, and her child is labelled a "mongoloid and a retard".Andrea (Giovanni Peligra) is a teacher. He is homosexual and confined to a wheelchair. He wryly observes that while his sexuality renders him invisible to some elements of society, ironically his wheelchair serves to provide him with visibility. His sexuality causes him to be an outsider, while his physical handicap bleeds into the perception of him as a freak.Rosaria (Alice Canzonieri), like so many women, carries the label of witch. While superstition and ignorance resulted in women’s persecution over the years (and in some parts of the world today, they are still hunted), there has often been a sinister subtext. They are a convenient scapegoat for some natural catastrophe. They posed a threat to the patriarchy and hierarchy, challenging esoteric medical or religious knowledge. When midwives were denounced and burnt, the preservation of income was a key factor.There is a Proustian thread to the production. Rosaria says: “The real voyage of discovery does not consist in seeking new lands, but in having new eyes.” In other words, true discovery comes from an internal shift to change your perspective, rather than seeking external change. Andrea recognises this from À la recherche du temps perdu. Moreover, in Proust’s novel, memories are evoked by the smell of madeleine cakes. Jasmine is employed similarly in this production. It is symbolically used in different cultures and, in this case, serves as a metaphor for destiny, its scent lingering when all else has faded.Art Evolution’s production has multi-faceted appeal. At its core, it carries a clear and prescient societal message regarding marginalisation. The staging is spectacular: brilliant use of light and sound provides a show whose visual splendour will live long in the memory. L’ombra del Gelsomino is a fluid blend of drama, dance, and physical theatre, and the quality of the performances is simply outstanding. The performers’ movement, physicality, stillness, and interactions are finely honed, as the production unravels viscerally, grippingly, and eloquently. Much credit goes to director Alessandro Romano.The production makes the prescient observation that variance from the norm engenders fear, and that violence invariably follows. As Andrea remarks, “We are all prisoners of something” – in their case, society.

When Edmond Rostand wrote a fictionalised account of the life of the 17th-century author Cyrano de Bergerac in 1897, he could not have comprehended the literary legacy this hybrid character would continue to flaunt over a century later.In this stunning new adaptation by Debris Stevenson and director Simon Evans, a delicately wrought world of laughter and tears is conjured with exquisite precision and emotional sensitivity. Not a moment is superfluous. Not a second is wasted.We first meet the young Cyrano in dappled sunlight: a straw hat covering his face, and thus the generous facial appendage that haunts his existence. The nose is an invention of Rostand’s and has no historical evidence, but it provides a heartbreakingly real reason for his inability to declare himself fully to the woman he loves so passionately that he would rather another take his place than embarrass them both by revealing his feelings.A man of tenderness and war; a poet and a soldier; a lover and a celibate; a beacon of sincerity yet living a lie... Cyrano is a role for the ages. Adrian Lester, in an inexplicably tardy RSC debut, is devastating as the hero who counts himself so poor and plainly made that no honest love could ever come to him.Every moment he is on stage, Lester crackles with an electricity that cannot help but draw the audience into understanding the aching rationale for aiding young lover Christian to woo Roxanne. His self-sabotaging pretence somehow makes sense, and the brittle façade that hides the profundity of his loathing for what nature gave him is overwhelming in its intensity.Whether in a battle of wits with the slimy Comte (the ever-excellent Scott Handy); mentoring the charming dufus who erroneously wins Roxanne’s heart (a winsome Levi Brown); or bantering with Ragueneau (Christian Patterson), Cyrano appeals to us all precisely because he speaks the truths we would all like to utter. He is grumpy, taciturn, ironic, verbose, provocative, and soothing, but never less than truthful—except, of course, in his personal life.These scenes with Roxanne (Susannah Fielding) are realised with a poignant economy of skill: each minuscule facial reaction betraying a lifetime of emptiness and estrangement. The final minutes are played with extraordinary restraint, which somehow amplifies their pain and leaves a lingering impression as one of the most beautiful moments one could be privileged to see in contemporary theatre.Fielding is exactly as described: all angles and energy. She breathes an intoxicating sense of life into what could be a cipher of a character and proves herself a more than worthy recipient of Cyrano’s compositions. Fielding imbues the character with such freshness and modernity that we long to see the world – fragmented and ugly though it is – through her eyes. This makes her tacit acceptance of loneliness and solitude all the harder to bear, and her final desolation feels all too much as though it is also ours.The PR of every show will tell you that you need to see it. Event theatre will take your money, sell you a ‘name’, and leave you with all the cultural nutrition of a theatrical Happy Meal.But real theatre will quietly creep up on you and change your life in the course of a few hours. And the spellbinding Cyrano de Bergerac is just that. Real. Authentic. True. Unforgettable.

After a long hiatus, it is so good to have Colchester-based professional company 3 Wishes back on our stages. Their revival of 4:48 Psychosis was an award winner at Colchester Fringe last year. Their interpretation of Hobson’s Choice in the summer threw new light on a classic text, and now they stage Breathe, one of the best new plays I have seen this year.Playwright Jazz Ely has constructed a superb play that looks at her own mental health issues and also how the systems set up to support people consistently fail. Sam and Callum hope to start a family, but her somatic OCD presents many challenges. Audacious in its comedy, she is serenaded by Michael Burst-Your-Bublé, a crooner who murders the classics in a hilarious style. There are many different approaches taken to the subject, and laughter dies as the seriousness of the condition is played out beautifully by this excellent ensemble.As Sam, Claire Walkinshaw is the heart of the play, and she is adept at handling the tonal changes with ease, delivering information in a lively performance that never loses sight of the key messages. The rest of the cast multi-role, and Ed Ismail is a strong, calm, patient presence as her boyfriend Callum, giving a performance full of dignity, frustration and support. Shania Grace Thompson beautifully captures young Sam, bringing shocking events from her childhood vividly to life. Adrienne Thornley is particularly effective as the therapist, and Lisa Wakley is excellent in every role.But it’s the ever-watchable Dean Bartholomew who almost steals it with his comedy skills, a brilliant Bublé and a particularly moving performance as Sam’s dad. They all serve the text with commitment and sensitivity, and the pace is spot on, aided by excellent movement direction from Tia Winterbottom.Director Wendy Smith has guided and shaped this team into crafting an unforgettable piece of theatre. The design by Jane Fisher has transformed the Headgate space, and the construction team are to be congratulated for their hard work. The lighting design by George Emberson is astonishingly good – the darkness in our mental health always there, but light always piercing and shining through.Written from personal experience, the strength of the play is in its avoidance of self-indulgence, instead being practical and personal, creating stage imagery that will stay with the audience for a long time.

Ah, the glamour of consumption! Responsible for 25% of nineteenth-century mortality, death from consumption (TB) was horrible; yet culturally it was seen as the glamorous death – a beautiful sacrifice to a life lived too deeply and too fast. Perhaps in reaction to its sentimental treatment in Victorian literature, some productions of La Bohème try to add stirrings of revolution. But those tricks simply work against the opera, which was specifically designed to be a personal, intimate story.Reviving the show from 2017, André Barbe and Renaud Doucet’s insightful production at the Theatre Royal, Glasgow, hits the perfect balance between honouring the opera’s intentions and providing a bridge between the modern day and the social context it had for its original audience.La Bohème, at least to a degree, de-glamourises consumption by making Mimi, the heroine, a poor seamstress living a restricted life of poverty and loneliness. Puccini balances this element with the colourful garret of Rodolfo and his fellow poor artists, who live it large at any opportunity. Barbe and Doucet (stage direction and sets and costumes) carefully underline the effects of poverty on Mimi’s life while providing the artists’ roles with hilarious clowning and stage business.This is balanced by modern settings – prior to Act I and a superb modern-day opening to Act III – providing one of the most elegant transitions of the present dissolving into the past that I’ve seen on stage. The delicate lighting is designed by Guy Simard. These settings remind us – as Mimi’s story would have reminded the contemporary audience – of the gulf between the comfortably off and the poor.Of course, everything depends on the singers, and they are a sparkling cast. Roland Wood as Marcello ranges from clowning to portraying a fraught, complex relationship with his lover, Musetta. Rhian Lois plays Musetta with vivacious, over-the-top comic selfishness mixed with heartfelt sympathy for others. Their arias and quartets with the main lovers are stunning. Colline (Callum Thorpe) and Edward Jowle as Schaunard are characters in their own right, rather than merely supporting cast – so much so that you worry about the rest of the characters’ lives after the curtain has dropped.The lovers are played by Hye-Youn Lee and Mario Chang. Chang’s Rodolfo is outstanding in the emotion given to his vocal delivery and acting, and the romcom elements between the lovers are played with charming lightness and wit. Hye-Youn Lee as Mimi shows the inner depths of what could be an insipid character. This is the second consumptive role she has played for Scottish Opera; ironically, she is going from strength to strength.As we expect from Scottish Opera, there is attention to detail and quality in all elements – from the always impressive orchestra, conducted by Stuart Stratford, through to the children’s chorus (directed by Susannah Wapshott), the marching band, and the outstanding accordion playing (Djordje Gajic).For insight, ingenuity, setting, characterisation, cast and musical treats, this La Bohème is a revelation.

The ninth century: plague, war, pestilence, famine. The populace was largely uneducated, and ignorance was rife. Life expectancy was short – especially if you were a threat.We meet Johanna, born in a Rhine valley village at a time when women were forbidden from reading and writing. Her brother, Johannes, secretly helped her to read, though only after first extracting a price. Johannes died from a fever, however. A woman in the village, Matilda, had knowledge of herbal remedies but was unable to prevent Johannes’ demise. In her grief, their mother denounced Matilda as a witch, and the villagers lost no time in burning her – but only after she had consumed a pellet as a sedative. Johanna watched and learned, later concealing a similar pellet in her own ring.Johanna is taken to an abbey for religious instruction, but is tasked with extracurricular “women’s work” and generally has to be better than the boys simply to survive – this will prove familiar to some readers. She subsequently disguises herself as a boy, adopting her brother’s name. After a traumatic journey, she winds up in Athens, becoming a brilliant scholar.She finally heads for Rome and the Papal Court, still under the guise of Johannes. These are turbulent times, and even Rome is not immune from invasion, with the Saracens attacking from the south and Charlemagne’s army from the north. An earthquake adds to the carnage, but Johannes is instrumental in Rome’s reconstruction. The people love Johannes, and she is subsequently ordained as Pope.She falls pregnant, though, and during an Easter procession gives birth. The mob turn on her, but before death she manages to consume her pellet.Beatrice Schiaffino’s performance as La Papessa is nothing short of a triumph. She emerges in religious attire, but costume and character changes follow, demonstrating her considerable range and poise. Conflict, pride, ambition, fear, desire, rage, power, calculation and more are conveyed in stages by Schiaffino, as Johanna’s soul is revealed. Her performance flits from visceral to stillness as she owns the stage, at times with a composed swagger. With Carmen Di Marzo’s subtle direction, it is a tour de force – a very fine example of a solo show at the impressive Milan Fringe.One of the themes of Andrea Balzola’s script is concealment. Johanna cannot reveal that she can read or her true gender; Johanna and Matilda conceal their pellets, and relationships are undisclosed. The deeper, esoteric subtext of the narrative has an embedded patriarchal element, exemplified by the papal inner circle prohibiting the presence of women.The legend of Johanna goes back many centuries but has largely been debunked by scholars – whether or not they had an agenda for this conclusion is a matter for another forum. However, at the heart of this tale lies the struggle of a woman who refuses to accept the prescribed order of the world around her.Johanna’s struggle will, of course, strike a chord even in these allegedly enlightened times. She tells us that “an educated woman is a dangerous woman”. Today, Afghan women are prohibited from receiving an education; in many other countries, de facto barriers result in the same outcome. While emancipation may have been achieved by women in some cultures, a host of challenges – and a glass ceiling – remain.

Would this show live up to the hype? A resounding YES. Powerful, hugely imaginative and devastating. In these troubled times and war in Gaza and Ukraine it is sad but also deeply relevant today that this show, War Horse, adapted by Nick Stafford from Michael Morpurgo’s novel, should be revived. As Morpurgo himself said: “It’s about the pity of war, a horse and a boy” – Joey and Albert. The original, directed by Tom Morris, was the National Theatre’s most successful production, a global phenomenon performed in 14 countries, seen by 8 million people, running since 2007 for seven years until the pandemic. Now, after a five-year break, it’s back under the direction of Katie Henry.Who would have thought back in 2007 that, due to War Horse, puppetry would become mainstream in the UK, although in eastern Europe and Russia it had long been valued in shows not only for children but for adults, even of the classics. Its success is due to the amazing South African puppetry company Handspring’s stunningly realistic horses, not only Joey but his companion Topthorn and several other more shadowy horses in the war scenes. Despite being made mainly of canvas and bicycle wire, their workings and puppeteers visible, it does not take long to forget the puppeteers as the horse (each with three puppeteers, one at the head) appears to breathe, ears twitch, tails swish, and they neigh and snicker just like the real animal. But it is the emotion between the boy and horse, and later men and horses, that makes this superb drama.The story starts in a Devon village, where Joey, a hunter gifted to Albert, is degraded to plough horse, sold to the cavalry and shipped to serve in the first world war pulling carts of heavy guns or of the dead and wounded. Albert, aged 16, enlists and follows, searching for Joey. There is a parallel story of Albert’s dysfunctional family and eventual reconciliation. Full cast performances as villagers or soldiers are impressive.The contrast between the village and the later war scenes is dramatic. There is also humour in the first half with another puppet, a goose which nips the backs of calves, contrasted in the war scenes with the sinister black raven puppets that peck out the eyes of the corpses.The bucolic village is suggested by birdsong and bird puppets swooping through the air on long rods. Mood and atmosphere are echoed in the suspended screen, like a piece of torn-off parchment with delicate sketches of countryside and village scenes by Rae Smith. Later these are replaced in the war scenes by harsh drawings of warships and machinery, then silhouettes of soldiers in the trenches. Stunningly vivid light and sound, simulacra of gunfire and explosions, is truly frightening and act one prefigures this with a terrifying charge as if into the audience. Throughout, the two worlds are linked by the strong performance of folk singer Sally Swanson on accordion or solo.Tom Sturgess as Albert is convincing as a naive but stubborn boy dedicated to his horse. Later, the performance of Alexander Ballinger as Captain Friedrich, a German deserter and also lover of horses, stands out. As the story moves from the trenches to no man’s land the stage is littered with corpses, both German and the Allies. It is the remarkable aspect of the show that both sides are represented, both are shown as humans and the pity and waste of war is clear. Yes, reader, I cried.

I have seen The Importance of Being Earnest more times than is strictly respectable. I have witnessed handbag scandals in provincial theatres, cucumber crises in college halls, and Bunburying of such varying conviction that poor Bunbury himself must be quite exhausted. Yet this latest revival at the Noel Coward Theatre – starring Stephen Fry and Olly Alexander – is, without hesitation, the funniest and most intoxicating interpretation I have ever had the pleasure (and the privilege) to endure. It glitters with the assurance that wit, when handled correctly, is far more lethal than truth.At the centre of this divine nonsense are two glittering curiosities: Mr Fry as Lady Bracknell and Mr Alexander as Algernon Moncrieff. Fry gives us a Bracknell so majestically upholstered she could be mistaken for one of the nation’s better-appointed institutions. His vowels are of cathedral quality, and his pauses are longer than certain engagements. When he demands, “A handbag?”, it is not a question but a verdict. Yet behind the loftiness flickers the faintest blush of amusement – a Lady who knows she is parodying herself and enjoys it immensely.Mr Alexander, meanwhile, is a perfect Algernon: effervescent, spoiled, and heartbreakingly unserious. His every gesture is an essay in self-admiration, and rightly so. He flits through the drawing rooms of Mayfair as though he were the butterfly for whom the entire social season was invented. His Bunburying, that noble art of convenient illness, is performed with such conviction that one almost feels the urge to send flowers to the invalid himself.Nathan Stewart-Jarrett’s Jack Worthing is a delightfully repressed counterpoint – a man whose moral fibre is stretched so tightly that one fears for his tailor. Kitty Hawthorne’s Gwendolen and Jessica Whitehurst’s Cecily spar with the elegance of duellists and the malice of debutantes. Shobna Gulati’s Miss Prism is charm itself, and Hugh Dennis turns Rev. Chasuble into a masterclass in clerical yearning.And then there is Hayley Carmichael, as both Lane and Merriman, who bumbles through scenes with the blissful chaos of Mrs Overall serving eternity. She steals the show one teacup at a time, proving once and for all that in Wilde’s world, the butler always has the last laugh.Under Max Webster’s direction, the production worships the text – rightly, for it is a religion in itself – yet one celebrated in a decidedly modern chapel. The words remain pure Wilde, but the glances most certainly do not. There are lingering looks between gentlemen that last a fraction too long to be merely polite, and between ladies that seem to promise a most improper friendship. One moment involves the casual caress of a statue’s anatomy which, I am convinced, was no accident of choreography but a deliberate act of aesthetic curiosity. The result is a world where decorum trembles delightfully on the edge of desire.The top and tail of the show – which I cannot reveal for fear of robbing you of their audacious surprise – are gloriously incongruous, and yet, in the context of this refined madness, they make perfect sense. This is Wilde reborn in all his glittering absurdity: wicked, wise, and, above all, outrageously funny.I have seen Earnest often. I have never seen it better.

Theatre often affords rare opportunities, and at Dundee Fringe this week we had the chance to hear the delightfully evocative voice of Lucy Beth in her solo show Ma Name Is Isabelle.It comes as no surprise that Beth was nominated for the Artist of the Year award as part of the Scottish Emerging Talent Awards in 2024. She is an accomplished storyteller who has honed her craft with the skills that make for engagement. The varying paces and levels of delivery are embedded in the emotions of the storyline: sometimes soft and lyrical, carefully measuring the metre of rhyming couplets that assist the flow of the narrative, then in marked contrast raging with anger as the story becomes darker and she voices Isabelle’s frustrations.Running for a tight 45 minutes, Beth introduces the story with an explanatory note in English regarding the language and style of the work. Why? Because the story itself is delivered in Doric, her native dialect from the north-east of Scotland, giving an aspect to the performance as intriguing as the story itself.Many words are shared by both languages and others are so closely related in sound that their meaning in context is clear. Some words and expressions might be unknown to non-Doric speakers, but again the manner of delivery and setting allow for a good guess at what is being said.It is Beth’s talent in that area that makes listening so easy and joyful. Seemingly lacking the harsher gutturals of Gaelic, the tone for the most part is mellifluous and the mood mellow, reflecting the pastoral Highland nature of the story. However, it can still be spat out with the throat fully engaged, especially when delivering words that end in “cht” and “ght”, with the tongue working overtime, rapidly vibrating the uvula at the alveolar ridge to produce the trill – the art of simply rolling your r’s.The story is a reimagining of the famous bothy ballad Bogie’s Bonnie Belle, related from the protagonist’s perspective – an angle that historically has been overlooked. Isabelle is a young woman who was impregnated against her will by her lover, James, on her father’s farm. She expresses the challenges she faced in her relationship with James and the conflicts she endured as an unmarried mother whose pain was increased by the removal of her son. The tale highlights the strict moral codes of local communities and the church. The weight of inner shame, public disgrace and excommunication from the community that young women endured is matched in Isabelle’s case by her resilience, strength and triumph over adversity.Ma Name Is Isabelle is a superbly told and powerful statement about female oppression and degradation that also bears witness to the courage of making a stand and fighting back.AcknowledgementsThe work was commissioned by Eden Court Theatre and Tobar an Dualchais/Kist O Riches, Scotland’s online resource dedicated to the presentation and promotion of audio recordings of the country’s cultural heritage, as part of the Scrieve Project for the 2024 Under Canvas festival. During the research and development process, Lucy collaborated with Kist O Riches Scots song cataloguer Chris Wright to research Belle’s experiences and present a speculative yet plausible depiction of what she may have endured.

Beneath the rustic facade of The Weir lie themes that resonate with personal experience, adding a depth that will be different for each audience member, bearing out the idea that “the tallest tales reveal the deepest truths”.Written and directed by Conor McPherson at the Harold Pinter Theatre, Rae Smith’s costume and set design roots us in the realism that pervades the play. We are immediately at home in a rural Irish pub, with shelves of whiskey bottles and beer taps that will dispense a good many pints during the next hour and three-quarters. The dark woodwork of the walls, bar top and occasional tables, dining chairs and stools dominate the room, while a couple of upholstered armchairs provide more comfortable seating. With the bar set to one side, the stage is open with plenty of room for movement and changes of position. This is important for a play that consists largely of each character, in turn, telling a story while the others listen. In between their tales there is lively banter and plenty of classic Irish humour. Mark Henderson’s subdued amber lighting, which dims so warmly, completes the moody scene against the background of a windy night, subtly created by sound designer Gregory Clarke.Undeterred by the weather, four local men gather for yet another night in the pub. Owen McDonnell awaits them as Brendan, the barman, who is part of the furniture. Humble yet convivial, he knows his customers well, meets their needs, listens to their words and conveys a welcoming charm. With him is his long-standing handyman Jim. Seán McGinley is many years older than the suggested age in the original script, but his wealth of years is ideally suited to the slightly cynical local whose spontaneous quips show that he misses nothing.There is much that is very ordinary in what they say, as is the norm in bar-room chat, and with lyrical Irish voices the joy is as much in the sounds as the content. Brendan Gleeson dominates as soon as he enters, with his hulking figure and wry smile. He is Jack, the man around whom the evening seems to revolve, though all the characters have their turn. He soon turns the everyday into a personal revelation of Jack’s lost love – a melancholy reminiscence of what might have been that has haunted him for decades.In contrast, Tom Vaughan-Lawlor is every bit the showman as Finbar, a spiv who behaves as though he might break into a song-and-dance routine while selling you a dodgy second-hand car. He has actually left the village for Dublin and a real estate agency, and he has brought his outside influences home with him. He has also brought Valerie. Kate Phillips plays the only non-Irish character, who shows the unease of being an outsider but ends up having the most tragic story of them all, and gains their sympathies.The Weir is a snapshot of common interactions and testament to the power of simplicity. Nothing much happens, but all stands witness to the emotional strength of storytelling, the joys of camaraderie and how much we need the things we so often take for granted.

Take a deep breath. Actually, take several deep breaths, because you’re going to need them. Meanwhile, close your eyes and get pumped up to the disco rhythms of Pet Shop Boys and the voice of Jimmy Somerville proclaiming I Feel Love. There's nothing to see; the stage is bare.What follows is about language, delivery, and performance; about playwright Philip Ridley, actor Louis Davison, and director Weibke Green — an experienced triumvirate of talent that takes the Arcola Theatre by storm for some 90 minutes or so with The Poltergeist; an exhilarating monodrama of breathtaking intensity.Davison owns the space from the moment he walks on and surveys the scene, which is his audience. His blue-grey eyes are wide open, and his strikingly shaped eyebrows move up and down, giving expression to his thoughts and emotions. He’s 26, 5'11" (1.80m), with short hair. He looks casually cool, wearing a white t-shirt, an open-fronted short-sleeved beige shirt, black belted trousers, and matching narrow chains around his neck and left wrist. With his presence asserted, he bursts into creating the character of Sasha.Outward appearances can be deceptive, and beneath the smooth exterior, Sasha is a deeply disturbed individual. At the age of 15, he was hailed as a prodigy by the art world. His works were sought after, and he had high hopes of becoming a superstar. A tragedy turned all that on its head, and now he lives in a run-down flat with Chet, his out-of-work boyfriend, and is unknown.Reluctantly, they both attend a children's party to celebrate his niece’s birthday. Though not direct family, Chet has less of an issue with it than Sasha. He has to deal with the birthday girl, whom he delights in referring to as “the brat,” his brother, Flynn, with whom he has a strained relationship, and likewise with his sister-in-law, Niamh. The event serves as the catalyst for emotional reflection on a past that haunts him while he angrily deals with the present. At breakneck speed, Davison creates each of these characters and more, each precisely defined with posture, accent, and gesture, as Sasha becomes embroiled in codeine-fueled conversations and commentary. Every inch of space is used under Green’s direction, and Davison exposes Sasha’s tormented condition not just through the agile delivery of the hugely demanding text, but also the energy and vigour with which he moves from one location to the next.Ridley has created a massively demanding role in Sasha, but as with Joseph Potter three years ago, when the play was performed at the Arcola, Davison excels in interpreting the part and delivering an astonishing, awe-inspiring performance.

Philip Ridley was already known as a visual artist and screenwriter (The Krays) when his first professional stage play was performed at the old Bush Theatre in 1991. The Pitchfork Disney took the theatre world by storm. Now acclaimed as a seminal work, it received a mixed reception at the time: mostly negative from established critics, but positive from young audiences who relished the power, complexity and vivid imagery of his writing, and the brazen affront to dramatic norms.Haley (Elizabeth Connick) and Presley (Ned Costello) live in isolation. It’s ten years since an unspecified event took their parents away, and nothing has changed in the house they grew up in. They have barely matured, still behaving as children. The only growth has been in their fear of the outside world – and their love of chocolate.Kit Hinchcliffe’s design and Ben Jacobs’s lighting faithfully create the ‘dimly lit room in the East End of London’ with furnishings that are ‘worn and faded’. The pallid palette runs through the walls, the fabric of the shabby sofa and the carpet. Along with the wooden table and chest of drawers, everything belongs to a bygone age.Their lives revolve around stories, some based on past events and wildly embellished, others drawn from a post-apocalyptic vision of a world in which only they and their house survive. They listen with biblical devotion to each other retelling these tales, sometimes interjecting with an extra detail which is then absorbed into the next version. Both deliver remarkably intense, fast-paced monologues: two highly animated ones early on from Connick, followed later by a five-page belter from Costello (one of the longest ever written for the stage).They shun the outside world and relationships, except their own as non-identical twins. Presley reluctantly visits the corner shop, but Haley never ventures out, always successfully arguing her case to remain in the safety of the house. Five front-door locks guard against intruders – in their minds, only minimal protection against who or what might enter. Haley trusts Presley never to let anyone in, but one day he sees a tall, 18-year-old blonde Adonis getting out of a car and opens the door while she is deep in her daily drug-induced sleep.Presley sees in Cosmo (William Robinson) someone who might give him the recognition he craves – the sort his father used to give him with a pat on the head. Although the air simmers with sexual undertones, Presley makes his position clear: “I am not a homosexual. I just want you to say my name.” Now the tension really mounts. Robinson’s Cosmo has an unnerving, menacing demeanour, his behaviour able to change on a whim. But the truly terrifying experience comes with the entrance of his performance partner, Pitchfork Cavalier (Matt Yulish), a latter-day Darth Vader who cannot speak but makes chilling noises. That these figures are recognisably human makes their words and actions all the more daunting.It’s a play of contrasts: the past and the present; the real and the imaginary; logical arguments derived from irrational premises; spaciousness and claustrophobia. The most grotesque figure is also the gentlest. Power and control is a battleground for the twins, but Cosmo takes it to another level, showing the malign manipulation and darkness of human nature in full force. If Cosmo feeds his obsession with money by eating cockroaches as part of his pub act, Presley is coerced into doing so as an act of submission.If you want to know what all the fuss was about in 1991, visit the King’s Head Theatre, Islington, for this stunningly performed production, brilliantly directed by Max Harrison for Lidless Theatre. It’s an engrossing, mesmerising and disquieting theatrical triumph.

Expectations rightfully run high. Figures in Extinction is like the return of 1970s supergroups: Simon McBurney’s theatrical inventiveness and Crystal Pite’s dazzling choreography, working with the renowned Nederlands Dans Theater. Crikey!Section [1.0] presents “figures” of things that have become extinct due to human activity. The stripped-down human bodies – without crass anthropomorphism, imitation, or costumes – capture the characteristics of birds, a frog, a collapsing glacier, a herd, by their gait, alertness, or the shape and undulations of the herd collectively. The lighting design, by Tom Visser, is acute, highlighting features so that the humans become “other” and remote – but sometimes, almost relatable, depending on the animal.Section [2.0] is the unifying “humans” section of the three pieces. The voice-over is mostly a recorded lecture on the different modes of attention of the left and right sides of the brain. The left is focused, abstract, mechanistic; the right is intuitive, implicit, relational. Modern society is dominated by the left-hand side. The dancers, dressed in suits for this section, illustrate the lecture. They split into two sides, take turns as the ‘lecturer’ – miming while mirroring the words with gestures and movement – and representative tableaux appear and disappear at lightning speed (internet gossip, an autopsy, dominance, the prefrontal cortex). The video design, by Arjan Klerkx, is strikingly used to amplify the theme of specific scenes.Section [3.0] is Requiem. The final theme explores the relationship between the living and the dead. This section has the most abstract recorded text, while simultaneously featuring the most emotional and affecting dancing and acting, enhanced by the music of Owen Belton and Benjamin Grant, expertly positioned throughout the production to support the action on stage.Evocative hospital scenes are acted out, with stunning set design and props by Michael Levine, combined with abstract dance sections and hallucinatory tableaux on the experience of death. The performers are in full medical costume for some scenes or dressed in their own clothes when giving personal reflections. The hospital deathbed scene brings to mind the work of video artist Bill Viola, while later scenes with the bed are reminiscent of Géricault’s Raft of the Medusa.Throughout each section there is analytical, abstract, quantitative text – all left hemisphere. There is a constant play of tension and resolution between this and the intuitive, elusive, implicit right-hemisphere actions and tableaux of the dancers – especially in the gorgeous solos and duets that abandon text in favour of expression and emotion.Considering the piece deals with the most important questions there are – extinction and death – the overall effect is contemplative rather than emotional. The unifying theme is our culture’s emphasis on left-hemisphere thinking and the resulting cost to the world and human well-being. The show’s balance of left and right demonstrates a solution, and the combination of talents has achieved a production where the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

Few have not heard of Lady Jane Grey, the ill-fated “nine days Queen” who had the misfortune to be moved about the political chessboard of Tudor England like the low-ranking pawn she was, inevitably to be cut down when the all-powerful Queen Mary snatched back the throne that was rightfully hers. But in this powerful piece of new writing, Laura-Rose Layden brings Jane’s final moments to life in a deeply affecting hour which illuminates her earlier years and mourns the woman she might have become.The Greenside venue at Riddle’s Court is most evocative for this historical journey, and the intimate Clover Studio allows the audience to feel every minute moment with the unfortunate Jane. Clad in a simple green Tudor gown, Layden uses the tiny stage to great effect, working in tandem with lighting changes and sound cues to revisit the places she knew before her incarceration. Her physical control is superb, creating a range of moods and ages with pinpoint precision. It is hard not to feel for this slight, young girl, buffeted on the waves of happenstance. Layden’s eyes – full of searching and confusion – communicate a profound understanding of the dreadful life of privilege, and its attendant pain, that Jane was born into.Layden has also written the piece, and it is easily one of the most beautifully crafted you will hear at the Fringe this year. The script is achingly poetic, conjuring devastating reality with a sophisticated yet lightly delivered linguistic register which haunts the air and draws the audience into Jane’s thoughts as if we are in that tiny Tower room with her.The fusion of actor and character is exceptionally strong, and Layden’s powerhouse performance weaves a nightmarish spell on the audience as her fevered mind flits between the key moments and characters of her young life as she awaits execution. Her short but happy time in the court of Queen Katherine Parr; her miserable home life with an overbearing, ambitious mother; a dreadful marriage; an adored sister… Layden dispenses with the heavy historical exposition which many will already know and drills down into the more universal themes of yearning and emotional solitude.Layden’s Jane is a more complex, involving and recognisable figure than the pious, uptight source might suggest. This is a wise choice, maintaining audience interest while communicating the wider themes of female subjugation and historical brutality. Another key production decision is to showcase her beautiful vocals by progressing the plot with art-rock style songs, reminiscent of the ways in which Miranda and Lloyd Webber use music to elevate mood and deepen understanding.The beauty of the Fringe is that, if you search through the hype and hysteria of big names, you can find little gems such as this tucked away up cobbled alleyways, waiting to be uncovered by those lucky enough to secure a ticket.

As the audience enters the theatre – in this case, the Etcetera Theatre, an intimate performance space above the Oxford Arms in Camden – they are greeted by the soft glow of a pair of washing machines. Their lights shift in different colours with the hypnotic coolness of a lava lamp. What at first seems like a playful visual flourish soon reveals itself as something more layered. In Bezerk Theatre’s Spin Cycle, this is no ordinary launderette but a space where memories, relationships and emotions are rinsed, wrung out and re-examined.Two strangers meet at the threshold between clean and dirty laundry, both literally and figuratively. Noel (Rhiannon Bell) quickly draws the attention of Kit (Zofia Zerphy), and the two fall into a rapport that is equal parts flirtation and curiosity. Their banter is easy; what begins as casual small talk soon deepens into unusual revelations. The coincidences in their experiences, particularly in matters of love and heartbreak, start to feel less like chance and more like inevitability. This is Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind combined with the launderette meet-cute from Baby Driver. Yet in this case, the script avoids focusing on the “why” of Noel and Kit’s apparent amnesia. Instead, it asks the harder question: “What is there to say now?”Zerphy and Bell exude excellent chemistry. Their performances maintain a gripping rhythm throughout, sliding effortlessly between flirtatious exchanges and raw vulnerability. The dialogue, penned by Zerphy, is witty and personable, hitting the playful beats of a romcom before veering into heavier emotional terrain. It is at once familiar and dreamlike, offering a compelling meditation on love, loss and the messy, cyclical nature of relationships.

This isn’t a production for purists, but then opera isn’t pure; it has always been about noise, spectacle, and danger. Part of the wonder of opera is that so many things could go wrong. There is always risk. So why not add aerial artists without safety nets and acrobats tumbling from bone-breaking heights?Directed, set designed, and co-choreographed by Yaron Lifschitz of Circa, this is total theatre: all the senses are bombarded in a production that excels in every component. It is also a production where the director’s vision is paramount. The show is dominated by stark images – black, white, or bold red against a dazzling white background. Even the surtitles are a work of art.The overture begins, and a slit in the curtain reveals a woman in a red dress, precariously twisting and turning on ropes that seem to reach the sky. (The Playhouse’s huge stage is used to full effect.) The audience gasps; many more will follow.Lifschitz’s staging is modern – the action plays out in Orpheus’s mind while he lies in a mental institution. Rather than a straightforward adventure, we witness an interrogation of the big questions: desire, fantasy, loss, and death. This focus on Orpheus’s mental state allows for high spectacle. The stage can be flooded with tumbling acrobats or aerial doubles, because here, any man is Orpheus and any woman is Eurydice.Lifschitz notes that Gluck included extensive ballet sequences, so using those passages for acrobats does not detract from the singing or action – it’s how the opera was designed. I have seen my share of circus shows, and these are the most elegant, fluid acrobatics I have ever witnessed.Countertenor Iestyn Davies as Orpheus and soprano Samantha Clarke in the dual role of Eurydice and Amor are outstanding. Despite the spectacle, they are never overwhelmed, and when the singing should dominate, it does. The sung dialogue beginning “Come satisfy your husband” would be gorgeous enough to overcome a hurricane. In the end, this opera belongs to Orpheus, and its success rests on the shoulders of the singer in that role. Davies rises to the challenge of all the strange stage business required of him, singing throughout with indefatigable clarity and emotion.In the original myth, Orpheus takes a fatal risk and causes Eurydice’s second death, the gods’ trickery proving that death is inevitable. Gluck and his librettist, Calzabigi, added a further twist – Amor reunites the lovers to show that love can triumph over everything.Lifschitz adds another layer. The opera closes with the massive stage covered by corpses, followed by a final shocking, dazzling image that burns into the mind and lingers long after the curtain falls.

I haven’t seen everything at this year’s Fringe, but this is probably the most important show on in Edinburgh right now. This is art as a genuine attempt to make a difference in the world.There’s a lot of information about this event online, but I suggest going in with as little prior knowledge as possible. Although described as a “performance lecture”, the show is more of a process. To fully engage – to break from the usual gridlock of debate and thought – it’s best to attend without preconceptions.The focus of the lecture element is on Lord Arthur James Balfour and his Scottish connections. This is Balfour of the Balfour Declaration of 1917 – the first official support for Zionism from a politically and militarily significant country.The event combines text, archive research, film, expressive movement, audio effects and discussion. The performer and writer, Farah Saleh, is welcoming and engaging. Her humour is unexpectedly light-hearted, but she has the quiet authority of someone prepared to stand up and be counted.The audience is drawn into the performance, and this is handled so well that by the conclusion, participation is both enthusiastic and deeply felt. This is far from an episode of Question Time; it’s an opportunity to contemplate, and to think afresh.A great strength of the work is that it overturns the sense that we are trapped by history. Instead, we are shown that imagination can be used as the first step towards a new future.It could be argued that the Reparations letter used to drive the show is simplistic. But the point of this work is to rethink what is possible – or impossible.It could also be said that the complexities of history aren’t examined in depth. But that is for academics. This piece prompts present action, breaking away from the usual sterility of get-out clauses and ‘whatabouts’.Whether the show’s impact will prove just a fleeting fantasy, I don’t know. But every change in the cultural and political weather starts off small.I urge you to judge for yourself – go along to Summerhall and participate in Farah Saleh’s inspirational Reparations’ Evaluation Committee.

The rating of a show is not always just about the performance. As we know, many elements come together to make something truly outstanding – and this can include background research, the devising process and the purposes that a play in the realm of social drama can serve in terms of therapeutically helping others.Insiders was created through video links with Scottish prisoners during the Covid-19 pandemic and was first performed in November 2020 via live stream. The final version was devised by Sam Rowe (coordinator of Creative Expressions), Neil Leiper and Garry Sweeney from the contributions of 14 Scottish prisoners, and went on to tour 11 of Scotland’s 13 male prisons. It was devised with touring in mind, with no need for a set.The Edinburgh stop at St John’s Church sees a stage erected on the chancel steps with a black cloth forming the rear wall. Each of three chairs seats a prisoner who is in his cell. On a fourth chair is musician Michael McMillan. He plays the guitar and sings original compositions that tell stories and embrace reflections on life. In turn, the prisoners vividly describe the contents of their cells – the pictures, artefacts and memorabilia they are allowed that provide comfort and consolation. It’s a modern place that permits a TV, a mobile phone and video games. Once we have that picture, we enter the lives of the insiders.Danny (Sam Rowe) is in for murder and battles anger and loneliness. Craig (Sean Connor) is trying to put behind him years as a drug dealer and addict. He finds strength in his new faith and fervently reads his Bible. He does not want to be released because he fears going back to his old ways. Richard (Garry Sweeney) is a middle-class newcomer who does not fit in. We move from monologues to dialogue as conversations between them enhance our insight into daily routines and prison life. The air is often tense and the slightest remark can provoke a heated response. Tempers flare, insults fly and anger is released. There is harsh language and serious questioning of what God is up to – none of which is watered down for this church performance by three actors who have a fine array of accents and are completely immersed in their roles and the creation of unique individuals.Creative Expressions is a department within Bethany Christian Trust, “a national charity dedicated to ending homelessness in Scotland”. The company seeks to provide opportunities for people “to express themselves through the creative arts in communities across Scotland”. A particular aspect of its work is in the criminal justice system and prison service, often in collaboration with chaplaincy. Hence its material commonly explores “faith, recovery and rehabilitation”, enabling people to reflect and engage in forward planning “whilst developing positive networks and a renewed sense of self, aiding resettlement and reducing reoffending”.Insiders is not just a gripping drama but also a powerful vehicle for revealing prisoners as people and providing them with a means of expression.

Police Cops is a three-man show built on a bedrock of nostalgic laughs, with a dizzying array of props held together by the comedic chops of performers who own every inch of the stage from the moment they take to it. The trio are amazingly inventive, have comic timing down to the millisecond, and know exactly when to go over the top – as well as occasionally shrug carelessly and gloss over something that shouldn’t make sense.Usually I come in here and compliment seamless technicals that augment an already excellent show. Police Cops is the sort of production where you can see all the seams, tape and frantic energy holding it together – and it only adds to the whole experience. You will belly laugh, snort, giggle and utterly lose your mind at this camp tribute to all the classic (sometimes terrible) action movies of the 80s and 90s. Right down to the facial hair on show. Going through good effects to bad effects and then coming out the other side slickly into good effects that look sort of bad takes a certain brand of genius I really admire.An early moment includes the “Uncle Ben tragic death character development” of almost every inexplicably ripped protagonist from these decades. It has all the staples: corny language and morality, a mysterious murderer, “heartfelt” and overacted dialogue. More importantly, though, the show comes right out and tells you what to expect with the soon-to-be-departed observing: “It’s snowing, Johnson.” before the third member of the cast walks past quickly to scatter white paper cuttings over them. The crowd howls, the lights shift, and the performers smirk because they know they’ve got you in the palm of their hand.Buckle in, because this is the formula for the rest of the show. Constant laughter, 80s dialogue and witty asides as two of the trio play out a scene while the third rolls out fitting “effects”. The genius is that it’s almost the opposite of spectacle – but it really works. The whole performance is tight, like a well-tuned muscle car thrumming with energy provided by the cast and fed back to them wholeheartedly by the crowd.If you are a fan of 80s and 90s action flicks – or really not a fan – this is the show for you. You will get the references. I cackled at the self-aware depiction of the grizzled old cop, the plucky young buck out to become the Best Police Cop Ever, and the dubiously international villain. It’s so on the nose and so knowingly winking at the audience that you can’t help but love every minute. There isn’t an ounce of slack in the show. It keeps a steady cadence of laughter running through the whole performance.They even manage to make a meta joke about a cash grab after ten years – like all the best serial action movies. Magnificent.

Julia Masli: ha ha ha ha ha ha ha is now in its third year at the Fringe, and it has grown from a fantastic late-night clown show to an unmissable cult masterpiece performed around the world.The concept is simple: Masli approaches audience members with a microphone on the end of a prosthetic leg, and asks, “Problem?” This facilitates an hour of hilarious, and often deeply emotionally affecting, theatre. One audience member responds that he is tired, as he has just arrived in Edinburgh that morning and has already seen six shows. Masli speaks gently to him about the importance of sleep and pacing oneself, pulls a double bed onto the stage, and invites him to nap for the rest of the show. Another man states that he is unhappy, and doesn’t like himself, and Masli has the audience shout compliments at him before having us carry him on our shoulders while the crowd cheers and applauds.The show is gentle and deeply heartwarming in many ways, but also carries a tone of darkness and danger – of not knowing what she’ll do next. Masli paces up and down the aisles slowly and deliberately, dressed like a Victorian alien, while dark and serious synth music plays in the background. She asks cutting follow-up questions of participants, with no care for social etiquette or what you’re “not meant to ask”. She is probing and deeply present, like a therapist who has just landed on earth – someone who cares deeply about us but who is also scarily unpredictable and unknowable.The stagecraft of ha ha ha ha ha ha ha is fantastic. Most of the problems that are brought to her lead to a prop being used that feels as if it was placed on stage especially for them. The night has a magical quality and leaves me wondering how all of this was possible. I won’t go into detail on what these props and prepared elements were, as I am sure many will be used for different purposes in future shows, and the surprise is a big part of the fun.If you enjoy clowning and deeply personal, honest audience engagement, you owe it to yourself to see Julia Masli: ha ha ha ha ha ha ha – even if you have caught it in previous years.

As Michael DeBartolo glides on to the stage to Over the Rainbow in a Dorothy dress and red ruby trainers, the room lights up. It is a natural charisma that instantly puts a smile on everyone’s face. You might say he had us at “hello”.His coming-of-age story is spilled all over the stage as he recounts tale after tale. From a very unkosher incident with a Kevin Bacon VHS to making love over the phone with straight crushes, this show delves into the messy, explicit and camp personal journey of DeBartolo.After witnessing this powerhouse performance, the titular question has an easy answer for Michael DeBartolo: his home is on the stage. An emotional third act leads to an absolute corker of a finale that had several jaws on the floor. Let us hope this plays to bigger, fuller rooms because this show is an absolute triumph.

Step into Luke Rollason’s weird medieval world, where the castle walls are made entirely of loo roll – and so, it seems, is everything else. It is the princess’s flowing hair, the wizard’s beard, Hansel and Gretel’s breadcrumbs. This is Rollason at his most silly, populating the stage with fairytale misfits brimming with magic, whimsy and glorious foolishness.He strides on in pink pyjamas, loo roll dispensers attached to his body with makeshift devices, and a homemade crown perched on his head. As “King Midas”, cursed so that everything he touches turns to comedy gold, he charms the audience with his deliberate attempts to win them over with his wide-eyed, bushbaby charm.Rollason is never performative, at times hinting to the audience that a particular moment is failing, which is always met with guffaws of laughter. While this approach can be risky for some, it reflects Rollason’s commitment to clown – embracing failure and riding the wave of the audience’s energy. Whilst committed to the chaos, the production remains well paced and carefully structured. Each episode is a vivid motif from his eccentric fairytale world, with the tomfoolery dialled to the max.The audience participation in the show is beautifully judged, with Rollason’s experience on full display. He reads the room with precision, mirroring and steering the crowd while keeping the sense of spontaneity alive. Even when he peels back the curtain, it is done with control.Towards the end of the show, Rollason reveals a deeper layer behind his folly. Whilst making a wish as the ugly duckling (and its surrounding characters), his father’s heartfelt wish for his future slips in, stirring questions of career, happiness and self-worth. His self-anointed “king” persona swells, only to be gleefully toppled – earnest, but never for too long.A surreal, imaginative cacophony of fairytale fun, Luke Rollason, Luke Rollason, Let Down Your Hair is proof that visiting Rollason’s comedy kingdom should be at the top of your to-do list.

Bec Hill is adamant that what we are about to see is not a show. She is very clear that there is no director, no dramaturgy, very little planning, and she is not quite sure if it is going to work. It is a bold way to open a comedy show, although her decision to spend the first few minutes before this statement hand-inflating an airbed, putting on a fitted sheet and stuffing a duvet into a Brum-themed duvet cover was already a bit of an indication that this was not going to be a very conventional hour of stand-up.What follows is a chaotic mix of classic bits from Hill’s previous shows and appearances, and some bonkers new material relating to her recent divorce. Stand-ups finding material in break-ups is nothing new, but here we are presented with an optimistic, heartfelt and unhinged hour in which Hill addresses her insecurities about being single, dealing with her ex moving on, and mourning the loss of a deep and close connection, while also celebrating the time they had together and the new shape their relationship will take moving forward. There are moments of exquisite silliness and clowning, including extended skits on the phenomenon of James Bond, a brilliant take on a well-known sexy song, her longing to be on Taskmaster, and the best car alarm impression I have ever heard, followed by genuinely moving observations about love, connection and loss (and how much she wants to be on Taskmaster) before swinging back to perfect one-liners that land every time. There are also a couple of appearances of the flip charts for which Hill is well known from her spots on The Jonathan Ross Show and 8 Out of 10 Cats Does Countdown.Hill is an accomplished comedian with a dorky, self-deprecating style that she has developed to a fine art. This hour of comedy is painfully funny and yet vulnerable and open – as Hill closes the show, she thanks us for being there because, without an audience, how could she do this? It is a pleasure to be there and to, in a sense, feel as though we are witnessing a new chapter in Hill’s career.Just put her on Taskmaster already.

A delicate yet subversive act of liberation, Masli and Lenoir dissolve the line between performance and communion in their hour in the Former Gentlemen’s Locker Room. As mischievous as it is soothing, this is a quietly radical exploration of sensuality, intimacy, and connection.Masli and Lenoir have created something sacred, and to reveal too much would be to rob the audience of the joyful sense of discovery they bring to the space. To write about it at all feels like trespassing on their magic, but to leave their brilliance undocumented would be just as criminal.We watch, transfixed, as Masli and Lenoir brush shoulders with audience members who are crammed into a bathroom, squeezing into stalls and crouching on the tiled floor. The two nuns waft calmly from toilet to sink, washing their hands as they go. Their silent serenity sets the tone: a graceful veil behind which a delightful trouble brews.Once we arrive in the space, woven in between their silent exchanges is Audre Lorde’s powerful speech, Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic As Power. We listen to Lorde overthrow the patriarchal erasure of women’s eroticism as we watch the pair interact and play with one another in the subtlest of exchanges. The result is a deeply moving and equally playful commentary on sensuality and inhibition, reclaiming eroticism as a force of connection rather than objectification.Breaking the silence is a deeply personal exchange between the two, which feels authentic and grounded, revealing layers of history and friendship. Their chemistry is palpable, and their willingness to reveal themselves both physically and emotionally lends the piece a profound sincerity. Masli and Lenoir’s powerful dignity commands the space. As Marc Chagall once said, “The dignity of the artist lies in his duty of keeping awake the sense of wonder in the world,” and this piece embodies that fully. Their performances balance stillness with moments of bubbling, cheeky energy, never losing the thread of tender humanity that runs throughout.Julia Masli & Paulina Lenoir in Former Gentlemen’s Locker Room is a profoundly transformative and cathartic piece of theatre. Hypnotic, moving, and deeply powerful, this is a secret that must be shared. If you see anything this year, it must be this.

The sound of jackboots outside. A ruined theatre. An actor staggers into the gloom, clearly shocked and horrified by the sight of his fellow performers’ costumes and props, strewn across the stage like detritus. Then he notices us, an unexpected audience lurking in the literal dark, waiting for a performance. While, in truth, he is more the impresario and Master of Ceremonies than a performer, he feels obliged to give us one, defiantly recreating his missing friends’ acts while ever waiting for the return of those jackboots on the steps outside.That is the opening scenario of Singing into the Dark, a show loosely based on the fate of the Eldorado Club in 1920s Berlin – home to a “Kabarett” (cabaret) which had featured a pre-Hollywood Marlene Dietrich, singers such as Claire Waldoff, and the Weintraub Syncopators jazz band. With the rise to power of the Nazi party in 1933, however, the venue’s avant-garde proclivities became the outrageous talk of the town – until, that is, theatres and cabaret venues were shut down and their performers persecuted, forced to flee or simply “vanished” into what eventually became the prototypes for the concentration camps.This solo show, written and performed by Bremner Fletcher Duthie with great skill and dexterity, comes to Edinburgh with a certain reputation for greatness – and it is a reputation that is extremely well deserved. Duthie’s performance is a powerhouse, full of raw emotional power and heart; he possesses a remarkably strong baritone voice which seldom actually needs any artificial amplification. Arguably, he does not just sing the songs, he performs them – fiercely, boldly, sometimes almost attacking us with lyrics you do not always necessarily understand if your German or Russian is not up to scratch. Yet the sense of those lyrics remains clear and undeniable.As Duthie points out in his show notes, at one point the “actor” talks of the Nazi goal of security for Aryan German culture and the importance of the purity of the family – both biological and social. It is a collage of a speech made by Adolf Hitler on freedom and culture, along with one on the same subject made by an American MAGA activist. This may be a story set some 90 years ago, in a chaos that we might hope is safely “in the past”, but Singing into the Dark remains a worryingly relevant warning. As Duthie points out, those two speeches “fit together frighteningly easily”.There are certainly other current echoes: for example, when resurrecting the cabaret’s “disappeared” comedian – well known for his dangerous habit of forming his own opinions and crossing the line when speaking truth to power – Duthie’s character describes him as “a weapon of mass destruction”. These are no mere anachronisms; rather, they help underscore the timeless issues of individual freedom and the challenges of continuing to speak out and be true to ourselves.This is an extraordinary solo show, and a performance that deserves to be seen – a prime example of what the Fringe can bring to Edinburgh.

Theatre allows us to enter the hearts and minds of others, to explore cultures, to confront issues, to see things from a different perspective, to be challenged, to view history not only as the past but also as the present and the future, because it never goes away, it cannot be erased and will always be with us. Sometimes these elements come together in profound writing, imaginative staging and precise direction as they do in Kaddish (How to be a Sanctuary) at theSpace Triplex.Kaddish is a 13th-century Aramaic prayer. It means sanctification, a word related to the Hebrew Kadosh, meaning holy. The best known is the Mourner’s Kaddish, which never mentions death but rather proclaims the greatness of God and speaks of peace being established. When chanted in groups, it’s a reminder that no one mourns alone.There would have been Kaddish for Grandpa Saul, to whom his grandson, Sam Sherman, is given access via a mystical creature from Jewish folklore. A structural pattern permeates the monodrama as Sherman alternates between two desks. At one he is Grandpa, typing about and reflecting upon current events. At the other he is himself, with books piled up for research along with Grandpa’s writings. Thus the past becomes the present. A large wooden tree against the back wall dominates the set, a symbol that in Judaism can represent the connection between the physical and spiritual realms, but can today also be a reminder of how forests can be used for political ends.The writing is tight, with multiple short scenes, some at the desks and others using movement around the floor space, furnishing energy and pace. Disparate topics are often juxtaposed, providing thoughtful connectivity. Grandpa is revealed as an impassioned man of conviction and principle who will face up to anyone for a worthy cause. He fights Nazis in battlefields across Europe in WWII and confronts domestic fascists and mobsters in his hometown of Newark, New Jersey. Meanwhile, Sam gets swept up in the Washington, DC uprisings of 2020 and then, appalled at the actions of Israel's Zionist government, he draws us into the heart of current events, believing it is time to follow in Saul's footsteps and take a stand. But how can he tell his parents he intends to leave home for solidarity work in the occupied West Bank?Sherman is deeply conscious of the respect and sensitivity required to bring the journal of the man who inspired the shape of the play to life on stage; a relative who died years before he was born, yet still asks us to listen to the moral inheritance of our ancestors. They echo one another across decades in a dramatic arc that serves as a reflection on Jewish-American life, political fights and contemporary struggles. If that sounds heavy, there are times when it is, and rightly so. Burdens are rarely light. Yet there is plenty of humour and, as a playwright, Sherman knows exactly when to bail out of the depths of despondency and lighten the tone, and as an actor he knows how to time and deliver both.Sherman and Lila Weitzner collaborated on this first joint project and together, regarding it as culmination of years of friendship and shared commitment towards creating politically engaged theatre. The fruits of their labours are a dramatic triumph.

If something odd, funny, and a little spooky is what you’re looking for at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, then look no further than Baron Vordenburg’s Guide to the Paranormal. Although actual paranormal antics are minimal, Baron Vordenburg offers an absurd glimpse into his world of darkness and evil.This show is one to watch – even if it is not a show at all. Rather, it is a lecture hosted by Baron Vordenburg – along with sidekicks Grotesque and Gothic – preparing audiences on how to protect themselves from the paranormal. Even before the Baron walked on, I was drawn in by one of the actors in the booth in full costume, including just a dash of blood and an unsettling mask. Then, as the show started, those unafraid to sit in the front row were greeted by two women unafraid to stare back at the audience. Truly, the spooky atmosphere was set well.Just as I thought I knew what to expect from the show, the more comedic elements started. This tonal shift was weird and perfect all at once. It was a good reminder that I had signed up for a dark comedy, and it certainly got both dark and comedic. One of the best parts of these more comedic elements was Grotesque and Gothic. The two had wonderful comedic timing, and in playing characters that did not speak, they used their bodies to convey the story. Their comedy blended with costumes covered in blood made me wonder if I should run for my life or keep watching them galavant on stage. As things played out I could not help but wonder if everything I knew about the main trio was wrong. And I always found myself thinking about those two women at the beginning – so unabashedly afraid to stare back.As a play with a small ensemble, everyone had their moments of standing out and often made me wonder which direction I should look. Should I look at the Baron and his overpowering demeanour? Grotesque and Gothic letting the audience in on a little secret? Or should I still be worried the front door might open and let someone else in? Everyone left me enraptured and my eyes roamed to everyone. Though there are not heavy technical elements in this intimate space with an intimate cast, I felt a part of their story, not separate.Baron Vordenburg’s Guide to the Paranormal is a show that will stick with me. Perfect for people who like weird theatre and shows that don’t do what you expect them to.

As a wellspring of city-grown talent, Edinburgh’s own Captivate Theatre is committed to nurturing young theatrical skill, and in their take on Legally Blonde, we may well see some names bloom bigger in the future. Any preconceptions of the small, half-assembly hall confinements are thoroughly blown away by the cast, whose incandescence immediately whisks us off to the Harvard campus with the powerful opener Omigod You Guys, which lets star Elsie Watson make her presence known as Elle Woods.In its 15-and-a-half-year tenure, Legally Blonde has traversed numerous pop culture phenomena, and this iteration manages to stay relevant with playful potshots at Gloria Steinem and some catty remarks aimed at Sabrina Carpenter’s wardrobe. Sound and lighting are handled expertly, the stage changes are superfluous, and costume changes move at electric pace, with Watson’s lightning-fast mid-show transition from pink to black dress in So Much Better rivaling that of a magic act. A deserved nod to stage props, including stuffed chihuahua Bruiser, is also worth mentioning.With watertight production, director Colum Findlay masterfully uses the talents of his 24-strong cast by playing to each of their strengths, with all given an earned shot to convey vocal prowess. Strong shoutouts in the first half go to the Chicago-esque Blood in the Water with its matching colour palette, which reveals the inner machinations of Callaghan. Big praise goes to Rory Maclean for his portrayal of the cutthroat, sleazy law professor, while Ireland shines a deserved spotlight on Speff Strachan’s Paulette, dreaming of her Irish hunk—by far one of the most endearing performances of the evening. Meanwhile, the post-interval delivers high intensity with the home-workout-inspired Whipped Into Shape, where Emma Clarkson delivers an energetic romp as Brooke Wyndham, barely breaking a sweat (expect high kicks and jumping jacks), as we glide towards the finale with a sublime rendition of Find My Way that sees the audience on their feet in rapturous applause.True to Amanda Brown’s novel, Legally Blonde finds ways of rejecting gender norms and societal expectations of femininity, whilst maintaining its tongue-in-cheek quirks (particularly with UPS delivery boy Kyle offering the female gaze something to drool over with his big package) to present a camp-heavy, thoroughly guilt-free pleasure. The show instils the message that we are all capable of being more than we think we can be, emerging as a strong contender in this year’s Fringe musical roundup.

Imagine walking into a classic rock concert hosted in the hottest industrial sex club in modern-day Berlin, with all the flair of Weimar’s Golden Age. That’s what it felt like to arrive at Bernie Dieter’s Club Kabarett – and the acts more than lived up to the space.The venue is perpetually lit by a harsh neon red BERLIN sign, but the judicious use of spotlighting creates a theatrical yet often intimate feel. As the simmering guitar riffs of the live rock band fill the air, the cast begins setting up – it feels as much like kittens playing as it does a troupe getting into position. But it’s when Bernie Dieter takes the stage that the performance truly begins.The leading lady’s husky, sultry tones welcome the audience with a call for connection, while making it clear this is her domain. The opening number feels hot and dangerous, mingling seamlessly into crowd work that comes off as both authentic and delightfully debauched. As Bernie puts it, “I could stay here gazing into your beautiful, slightly petrified, eyes all night... but the show must go on.”This cabaret knows exactly what it is and stays true to itself from start to finish. It is queer, hot, industrial, and absolutely full of character. It mingles silliness with sexiness to create the kind of experience you want to do shots of until the sun comes up. Circus tropes meet cabaret staples seamlessly, like so much velvet and leather in the cast’s varied costumes. I’ll also admit to being charmed by the masc-presenting performers with their nipples taped while the femme folk displayed theirs with utter nonchalance.Be careful – you might unexpectedly pick up a kink (or three) along the way.The pace isn’t breakneck. It’s grab-you-by-the-collar and drag-you-down-an-alleyway to adventure. Keep up, or else. We transition through acts and songs so swiftly and cleanly that there isn’t a moment of slack in the 70-minute runtime.Danik Abishev leads with an impressively physical hand-balancing act that had the crowd heart-thumpingly invested, before we coil into Soliana Ersie’s contortionist routine – both performers polished more like diamonds than glass. I caught both grinning as they heard the front row gasp, “Oh my god!” Iva Rosebud injects silliness into the evening’s throbbing veins with whimsical drag acts that felt refreshing, rather than the sometimes tired tropes of the scene. Each performer brought creativity alongside the salaciousness and indulgence. Jacqueline Furey delivered an innovative and genuinely risky fire performance that was unforgettable in scope. Jared Dewey may have been the most impressive, with aerial acts that challenged masculine norms while feeling soulful and self-aware.This cabaret is drenched in spit, sex, and feminist framing. It delivers an empowering message that felt poignant – even while being the very best kind of filth.

Protests are planned in support of Hong Kong’s fragile democracy. Millie, while along for the ride, is more keen on partying.Millie is the daughter of ex-pats, a “third culture kid” – raised in a different environment than that of their parents. She is used to being uprooted and is a Hong Kong resident without a sense of belonging. Her lack of British identity is laid bare at her school’s International Food Event. She is described as a “gweilo”, a Cantonese term simultaneously meaning white ghost or foreign devil – is she little more than a distraction?Jesse, a local and her best friend, is passionately committed to opposing the Extradition Bill, a mechanism by which individuals could be transferred to mainland China. Hong Kong citizens fear that once granted, it will be the pivotal moment for the demise of their democratic processes.Jesse and Millie set off for the protests, but Millie diverts them to her favourite bar, Danny’s; the fact that an underage teenager has a favourite being a tell. Danny expresses surprise upon learning that they are going to the protests; he had hitherto considered her a party girl. This stings Millie, her sense of belonging taking another hit. Danny is an equally committed democrat, broadcasting pirate radio, and ominously signposts a safe haven.Many of the protestors are still adolescents: Jesse and Millie, staggeringly, are more fearful of Jesse’s parents’ disapprobation than of the actions of the riot police. When Millie’s taxi is prevented from reaching its destination by protesters, she is more concerned about her hangover.Their evening chaotically spirals out of control, with protesters and riot police inevitably violently clashing. There are very few pupils the next day at school and without explanation the class has a substitute teacher – there have been many arrests overnight. But there are other reasons for absences: Jesse is in hospital, in a coma. If he ever pulls out, he faces arrest for assault and doubtless sedition.Mimi Martin wrote and performed this highly impressive production, drawing on her first-hand experiences as a former Hong Kong resident and gleaning verbatim stories from friends. Martin weaves her narrative between initially self-absorbed teenage and the gravitas of the political situation unfolding. She flits between characters impressively but with cultural sensitivity. Her storytelling ability is remarkable. Martin’s physical performance is striking: she struts the stage, she dances in a club, but it’s the moments of stillness, the understated anxiety, that haunt.None of this would be possible without Jessica Whiley’s exceptional direction. Every choice, every movement, every nuance, has been carefully honed.The closing scene, in which the realisation of the situation slowly lands, will live long in the memory. Every inner thought is conveyed on Martin’s face and despite a full auditorium you could have heard a pin drop.The stories of Hong Kong citizens’ voices need to be recounted to the outside world; Youth In Flames is a classic example of ‘actors as messengers’. This is a quintessential Fringe show: a small venue, a minimal set, but magnificent storytelling combined with flawless direction. Mimi Martin and Jessica Whiley – remember their names and see them while you can.

Get ready to run with the pack in Circa: Wolf. From Australian new wave contemporary circus, Circa’s latest project opens with a bang and never lets up, attacking every movement, every moment, every look with precision, commitment and control.Libby McDonnell’s form-hugging costumes in shades of black and nude perfectly complement the wild, heart-pounding beats of DJ Ori Lichtik.The performers channel a primal spirit, moving as one with seamless mounts and dismounts, their effortless acrobatics pushing the human body to its limits in a jaw-dropping display of strength, flexibility and trust. The cast’s chemistry is undeniable – funny and playful at times, sexy and electric at others – while the pulsing angst of the music captures the true spirit of the wolf.The relentless pace makes it feel as though the audience is in the wild, moving with the pack, a cold shiver running down the spine each time a performer locks eyes with the crowd.Their fierce energy spreads, enveloping the space. A seat-grabbing, spine-tingling experience builds to a crescendo of daring, precision and primal force – Circa: Wolf is circus at its most visceral, thrilling and unforgettable.

The strange juxtaposition of bricks and nudity creates a raw tension. Inlet, choreographed by the Syrian-German Saeed Hani, is intensely visual, immersive, and above all, dance as embodied emotion. Referencing Roman myth – the story of Romulus and Remus – this dance/performance piece explores the significance of walls and borders, both of stone, barbed wire or of the mind. The dancers Francesco Ferrari, Ana F. Melero and Michele Scappa are superb.Founding his company in 2016 and based in Luxembourg, Hani is a choreographer of international standard, influenced by Pina Bausch and the avant-garde Dimitris Papaioannou, who directed the 2004 Olympic Games opening ceremonies, and is likewise interested in expressing emotions visually.Rainforest birds and torrential water create an environmental soundscape evoking the world of Eden, as we see only limbs appearing from behind two rectangular blocks. Eventually two males are revealed, their nudity as innocent as before the Fall. A woman crouches on top of a stone plinth, surveying the audience with two metal balls held to her eyes as if binoculars. It is clear the audience are to be implicated in the unfolding story. Slowly she stands and reveals, unashamed, her nudity.What follows is subtle, endlessly varied and unpredictable choreography, allowing the audience to interpret and bring their own experiences to the story. The lighting by Marc Thein, highlighting with squares of light or creating glowing columns, beautifully enhances the experience. Music by Jakob Schumo and the significant silence after the men fight are expressive, contributing to an artistic whole.There is nothing so banal as building a wall at first. Rather, the dancers shift the blocks around, steal them from each other, slap them down with a loud smack, pile them up or dismantle them as the relationship between the two males, and the three of them, evolves. It’s interesting that the dancers become clothed as the relationship between the two males becomes strained and a wrestling scene ends, as we know, in the death of Remus. The last scene has the depth of Greek tragedy, where the woman enters, bare-breasted but trailing a shroud-like fabric round her waist. She approaches the finished wall, a tall white column, then turns holding the fabric bunched in her arms as if cradling an orphaned or dead baby. As she is overcome with grief, pulling at her hair, one is reminded that in Arabic culture mothers show their pain, and Saeed, as a Syrian, is drawing on his own heritage.Along with the wide references from Roman myth to Greek tragedy, the audience might bring to mind the violence resulting in the Berlin Wall, a divided society in Northern Ireland, the Mexican/US wall, and contemporary issues in the Middle East – though none of these are explicit in this dance. However, the title Inlet, a place or means of entry, suggests that there is hope. Wishful thinking maybe, and not shown in this work.A must-see show and a choreographer to watch.

It’s a pretty sight in the Space’s Auditorium. The lights hang low, shifting slowly from purple to green to blue. A murmured awe pervades in the effervescence as the shadow of five musicians looms larger in the dimmed room. And then, a gentle glissando, as we bleed softly into our acoustic opener Rhiannon for Maia Elsey to emerge, adorned in classic boho-chic dress and fingerless gloves as our Stevie Nicks for the evening. It’s a nostalgic mood, fearless and witchy, hurling us back to memories of The Midnight Special of 1976. Elsey is thoroughly captivating, addressing us directly as she sings: “Would you stay if she promised you heaven? Will you ever win?”. There’s an ethereal dreaminess to it all, broken only by the gradual background cymbal swells. All until co-vocalist Sarah Leanne’s appearance breaks the softness to harken the guitar, drums and bass to kick in. It’s a powerful statement, one that tells us to love not judge the performers before us. In one of Night Owl’s most prolific acts, arguably their greatest demonstration of unified group dynamics, The Fleetwood Mac Experience’s bold opener is only eclipsed by the rest of the show to follow.An inter-musical nod to the success of Rumours sparks Alex Beharrell into action as lead vocals on Don’t Stop, his uplifting tenor an excellent tribute to Lindsey Buckingham. The enthusiasm is palpable and infectious, with the backrow of the auditorium already on their feet, and love from the crowd is certainly not lost as we transition into the mystified Dreams.One may assume that the soft ballad Songbird would deprive the show of its vitality and urgency; quite the opposite. Sarah Leanne, our Christine McVie for tonight accompanied by Harry Whitty on keyboard, delivers a heartwarming rendition that makes for the perfect halfway point, allowing us a brief respite from the more frantic numbers, and gives pause for reflection on Fleetwood Mac’s past. Peter Green’s battle with mental health is addressed, as is the turbulent band’s constant rotation of members, along with the alcohol-fuelled tit-for-tat clashes between Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks. It’s a curt history lesson, but necessary given the demands upon the performers.The watershed moment comes in the endearing performance of Everywhere, presenting Leanne a brilliant opportunity to display her mezzo-soprano, with excellent back and forth between Leanne and Elsey in the call-and-response outro. Evidently, the heavy hitters are best relished at the show’s conclusion, with Go Your Own Way shining a spotlight on Bernthall’s tremendous vocal range, but it is also where the entire band comes together: everyone throws their heart into it, from Louis Porter’s finesse on drums to James Sinclair’s splendid guitar solo, it exceeds all expectations as a tough act to follow, only for the septet to pull it off with an unforgettable closing rendition of The Chain.Beyond the on-stage skills, the production values cannot be undersold with credit to Harshad Jadhar’s expert handling of sound and lighting transitions. Praise must also go to the Night Owls' artistic direction where they have made clever choices in their song selections that abide within the confines of tight Fringe slots. Unfortunately, as with all their shows, they must make sacrifices: fan favourites like Little Lies or Silver Springs simply cannot make the cut. But that’s okay, we can live with that. The show is a loving testament to one of rock’s most adored music groups, one handled with care but willing to take risks where afforded. Truly, The Fleetwood Mac Story is that fleeting comet of a musical tribute that shines brightly with unforgettable warmth and remarkable talent as it blazes through a galaxy of emotions from laughter, sadness and joy.

A one-man play in a compact space is really something of a highwire act – if the actor doesn’t immediately grab your attention it can be an extremely tedious hour. It’s a relief, then, that Thom Tuck delivers a sublime tour de force as Scaramouche Jones, a clown reliving the story of his life on the eve of his death and one hundredth birthday on 31 December 1999.The externally unassuming venue could not be more perfect for the performance. The intimacy of the small yurt gives the impression that you are backstage at the big top for the clown’s swansong – and with stage and performer working in symbiotic harmony, we hear Scaramouche tell of his experiences through major moments of the 20th century. Reminiscent of Woolf’s Orlando in miniature, from his birth in the Caribbean, venturing across Africa, then into Europe, he encounters multiple tragic experiences, each leaving an indelible mark on his visage. One tale in particular, telling of his time in a concentration camp, would be jarring if done by a lesser performer, but here it is delivered with great humour and incredible tenderness.Tuck’s indefatigable energy holds the engrossed audience in his thrall throughout – a fact proved undeniable when he receives a well deserved standing ovation. If there is a better intimate one-man show at the Fringe, I have yet to see it.

Highly Suspect is a highly original theatre company who have developed a niche in interactive mystery thriller-driven theatre in which the audience is given files of information to help solve puzzles as the narrative unfolds.In my 2021 three-star review of a previous show of theirs, I surmised that the format is strong and could be looking at five stars in future iterations, highlighting areas for improvement as: cramming too much into the hour-long runtime; actors spoiling puzzles before we have the chance to conclude them ourselves, even with giveaway clues; and the actors not quite taking ownership of their characters. I can relievedly reveal to you that all of these flaws have now been addressed and the show has met its full potential. The extra five-minute leeway allows them to give the narrative, performances and puzzles their due attention; the puzzles are all solved in time, with enough spare to hear audience members divulge and justify their theories; and the four characters here are expertly crafted and performed, complementing each other perfectly.We are greeted by our wonderfully named host, Claud Earwinkleman, a masterfully gender-swapped version of Claudia, performed with quirky panache that lies somewhere between tribute and parody, perhaps a little closer to Alan Cumming. But it’s Claire Voyance who truly steals the show, and it’s hard to take your eyes off her in all her gleeful kooky glory. All four carry the show well, with witty ad-libbed commentary on the audience’s petty reasons for accusations. The script is filled with quality quips, puns and asides, as well as running gags – although the first act relies too heavily on rapid-fire dad jokes to the point of overkill, but that’s the only real criticism.We have plenty of time to look at the clues while the cast mingle with the audience, and the puzzles are all solvable, while leaving cunning Easter eggs and layered references so even the most seasoned of solvers will leave feeling like they were challenged, while newcomers will be able to access everything too.With great intellectual stimulation, well-paced and controlled action, a perfectly devised narrative with excellent humour and writing throughout, and eking out every inch of its potential, Highly Suspect should be quickly becoming a Fringe staple for anyone looking for puzzling interactive immersive theatre. So go on and support them. Or are you … a Traitor?

Lanford Wilson was at one point one of America’s preeminent dramatists – he was awarded the Guggenheim Fellowship in Drama & Performance Art in 1972, the Pulitzer Prize for Drama in 1980, and the PEN/Laura Pels International Foundation for Theater Award in 2004. As co-founder of the Circle Repertory Company, Wilson transitioned in the 1970s from off-off-Broadway to off-Broadway to Broadway, and was instrumental in advancing off-Broadway as a movement – demonstrating that new playwrights could inch closer to West 41st Street in time.Typically, at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, I seek out new writing and tend to dismiss revivals or regurgitations of especially famous productions – but I’m certainly glad I made an exception for this, the first part of a two-part concoction of Lanford Wilson’s one-act plays, none of which I had ever read or heard of before this year’s festival. After watching Who We Become, Pt. 1 – an admittedly corny title that does not quite prepare you for the depth, mystery and pain of The Moonshot Tape, the first of the plays presented – I cannot wait to see the other two in the second part.In The Moonshot Tape, Margaret Curry plays Diane, a successful short story writer who has returned to her hometown in Missouri and sits face-to-face with a journalist from the high school paper she once wrote for. What follows is perhaps one of the best performances you will see at the Fringe this year, as Diane comes to terms with the horrors and traumas of her childhood over the course of the interview. Wilson’s writing veers gracefully across and between topics, supported by a consistently compelling, nuanced and thought-provoking delivery from Curry. The stage is bare-skinned and minimal, as is the direction, allowing Wilson’s distinctly naturalistic dialogue and Curry’s reserved physicality to fully occupy the space.Overall, this version of The Moonshot Tape by Deep Flight Productions is a triumph – bolstered by a devastating and eloquent central performance.

In a masterclass delivery of Beckett’s most autobiographical work, critically acclaimed former Royal National Theatre actor and award-winning Fringe veteran Kevin Short takes to the stage at Greenside @ George Street to give a mesmerising performance of Krapp’s Last Tape.If you’ve seen the play before, you know what to expect and the details to look out for. First, the man himself. As we enter the auditorium, Short does not disappoint with his presence, and the set is perfect in its stark simplicity. There he is, seated behind a black desk with white drawers that match his eccentric shoes. The tape recorder is in place, and the now-tattered files and boxes are scattered around. Short sits in silence with a wild mass of grey and white hair – fuller than Einstein’s – cascading from his head. The black and white palette extends to his shirt, waistcoat and trousers.The silence is all-consuming. He sits and stares into the void. And sits and stares. And sits and stares. And sits and stares – until the first fumbling for keys. He tentatively rises, shuffles around the table and, after some bungling, unlocks the drawer. He has a good rummage around and finally produces the first banana, and the absurd humour we've been waiting for begins to flow.What follows reveals the loneliness and isolation of an old man who has only his memories to fall back on, but who can at least listen to the recordings of events he made each year on his birthday. This birthday, he is reliving the past with a tape in box five. It’s spool number three and, after more rummaging, it is carefully fitted onto the tape recorder.It’s mundane stuff but gives an insight into a life that has known intimate relationships and loves that were found and lost. Short conveys the melancholy mood, the reflective meanderings of the mind as the spools turn, and the fun that can be had with stretching out the vowels when pronouncing “spool”. “Spoooool,” he says several times, and interrupts the tape with the occasional chuckle or rant. And so it goes on, becoming more captivating by the minute, until we are transfixed by the man.His measured delivery, attention to pauses, the careful timing and leisurely pace are textbook Beckett, and Short’s impeccable performance will leave all admirers of the great author’s work richly rewarded.

On 26 April 1986, the Chernobyl nuclear power plant exploded in the Ukrainian SSR, now Ukraine. Atomic Tales is not simply a reconstruction of the events surrounding the disaster, but a portrait of profound, irreparable loss. One of Italy’s most acclaimed actresses, Elena Arvigo delivers a tour de force performance as Lyudmila, the wife of a firefighter. Arvigo is more than up to the task of expressing the inexpressible, drawing from seemingly unfathomable emotional depths in this impressive, visceral performance.The monologue won Italy’s top award, Le Maschere del Teatro Italiano, for best solo performance, and is only more poignant for being translated from Italian to English. Spoken in a language that is not her own, Arvigo navigates the challenges of translation, using gaps in understanding to highlight the inadequacy of language to express suffering and loss.Atomic Tales was drawn from Chernobyl Prayer, a book of monologues from survivors of the disaster collected by Nobel peace prize winner Svetlana Alexievich. Arvigo painstakingly recreates Lyudmila’s disorientation, shock and exhaustion as she recalls the last few weeks of her husband’s life. There is no break in the emotional extremity of the piece and at points it becomes almost unbearable to watch. Yet by delving into Lyudmila’s harrowing experience, Arvigo captures the insidious and devastating nature of a tragedy that is almost impossible for the individual mind to imagine.The piece forms part of Arvigo’s ongoing project, Le Imperdonabili (The Unforgivables), a series which attempts to shed light on women’s experiences of conflict and disaster. Arvigo switches masterfully from the intensity of Lyudmila’s grief and unwavering love for her husband to her cold, impersonal treatment at the hands of doctors and administrators. The set is simple – a wooden table strewn with flowers and a folding bed – capturing the disruption to ordinary domestic life.Projected shadows fill the stage, reminding us that in this one story are a million others. After Lyudmila is rehoused in Kiev, Arvigo warns against going blindly into the next tragedy, recalling not only those who experienced similar losses in Chernobyl but also every person affected by present political tragedies. Exploring the profound, reverberating impact of war through one woman’s experience, Atomic Tales is an urgent, harrowing and stunningly performed piece for the present age.

How To Win A Pub Quiz is Alex Love’s love letter to comedy and quiz formats that has been gathering momentum as a Fringe cult smash for a full decade.In the hands of a lesser comic or quizmaster, this show could easily flop, but Love is a master of both, striking the perfect balance of skills to ensure his show reaches maximum potential, and then some.He opens with a comedy routine combining personal insights, trivia, and great gags that instantly cultivate the kind of rapport a regular quizmaster might take weeks to establish with regular teams. More than half the Fringe shows I’ve seen this year contain some commentary on Oasis’s role in the festival, but Love handles it in a totally individual and engaging way that outshines the generic, crowbarred references elsewhere. Despite the fact that the quiz is the show’s USP, he does not just settle for that, outstripping some of the festival’s top-rated comedians in terms of both quality and quantity of laughter.By the time the questions began, the affectionately teased audience was in the palm of Love's hand, aided by his ability to recall when certain audience members last came to his show, even dating back to 2015. It’s clear that he possesses the qualities of a quizmaster perhaps even beyond those of a comedian. The way he incorporates questions based on the initial material is novel and varied, including some truly hilarious twists and revelations.Returning audience members are both rewarded by generation-spanning in-jokes and callbacks, and challenged (or rewarded, as you see fit) with questions and material that have endured across multiple Fringes. Newcomers are fully welcomed as well. If you like the sound of the show, it is guaranteed to be a festival highlight, as it delivers everything it promises and then some.

Kofi is on stage, attired (if that’s the word) in an orange jumpsuit. A Black man is in prison – cue the pearl-clutching – and he has a life sentence. But it’s not what you think.Kofi (Quaz Degraft) is a numerical marvel, entertaining his fellow inmates by solving mathematical puzzles, and is clearly articulate. So, how did he come to be incarcerated?He is first-generation Ghanaian, raised in New York. His family has imbued him with a strong work ethic, and he has, albeit narrowly, avoided the pitfalls of the inner-city underworld. Kofi graduates with honours in accountancy and lands a big break: he is employed by a large financial institution on Wall Street, managing funds in excess of $1 trillion.He embarks on a relationship with a colleague, works hard, and the financial and lifestyle rewards follow. A dark cloud, however, is looming. His father has contracted cancer, and his medical insurance will not cover the treatment. Kofi is expecting a six-figure bonus and promises to cover the cost.A pivotal moment follows, where he must choose between supporting his girlfriend or his father. Under pressure, he makes what transpires to be the wrong decision, perjuring himself in the process. He subsequently regrets his actions, recants his testimony, and is imprisoned. The life sentence, of course, is the damage to his relationship.The American dream is out of reach for many people, especially those of colour. The systemic and institutional conflicts confronting Kofi are articulately depicted by Degraft. Furthermore, the pressures that ordinary citizens face regarding medical insurance cannot easily be understood on this side of the Atlantic. All of which give rise to Kofi’s initial overreach, signposting the juxtaposition between ambition and morality. A word here for Degraft’s adept and sharp writing, introducing layers of conflict and turmoil, truly giving the performer a barrier against which to push.Quaz Degraft is an extremely talented and charismatic performer. His stage is more or less bare, save for an accountant’s suit, yet his consummate storytelling holds sway. He embodies myriad emotions: dignity, ambition, shame, guilt. It’s all very impressive. He sings beautifully and turns his hand to guitar for good measure, but it is his understated yet powerful performance that is truly gripping. It is a fine piece of solo theatre and Degraft is marked as a star of the future.

There are a plethora of quiz- and game-related shows at the Fringe these days, and Not Another Quiz Night is a cut above the rest, combining two of my great passions – quizzing and chaotic partying.For quiz purists, the show offers genuinely interesting questions with a good mix of difficulty for all abilities and genres for all interests, but the real star of the show is that, as the title suggests, it is not just another quiz night. It also brings comedy skits, challenges, singalongs and all sorts of outlandish “celebrity” guests.Gregarious host Jake Bhardwaj sets the tone, immediately putting at ease anyone worried that there are not enough jokes or enough quiz for them, and brings the room’s energy to a point where the audience cannot help but get swept along with the joy of it all. Joining him is his DJ buddy, frequently playing crowd-pleasing bangers, and the aforementioned guests, including (minimal spoilers) a hilariously harrowing cameo by a now older and down-on-his-luck beloved childhood character.As the night progresses, the atmosphere and camaraderie create a closeness among the audience that makes it feel as though all your fellow teams are friends rather than rivals. By the end, it does not matter how well you have done – you leave feeling like you have just been at the greatest Fringe late-night party with your new best pals.

“I need you to keep your expectations for what’s about to happen SKY HIGH!”John Norris did not fail to deliver on his promise made at the beginning of Mr Chonkers. Gathered in an odd venue, Summerhall’s fitting Anatomy Dissection Room, the crowd sat in semi-circle wooden pews. Hovering above Norris, we look down at him as he performs his “entertainment showcase.” This is the container for Mr Chonkers – an odd audition with endless gags and surprises. And while there are times his show may seem like a hat on a hat – no, literally. He has a hat within a hat within a hat within a hat (and many more hats, but let me not spoil the show).To summarise the show would be like a list of Mad Libs. From Hugh Jackman’s Wolverine as a father, to an Italian boy with a love for magic, to Norris’s actual endearing love for his wife, who he earnestly applauds at the end of the show – Mr Chonkers is not formed like any other show at the Fringe.With excellent direction from Corey Podell (Underground Monk Show, Vanessa 5000), Norris’s chaos is always tightly connected to the next bit. And in times when we may get lost, there is never a broken connection with the audience. His capabilities as a performer are captivating. With a one-second look, he cuts through the audience like a knife. The audience is the most important relationship in the show, obviously. He uses the space like a playground.He includes circumstance in the pursuit of total presence. He tells us Summerhall is where the “art shit” happens. And while the material ranges from Norris’s impressive Chihuahua having his belly scratched to being a faceless monk with a people problem, there is a sense of artistic sincerity because of his level of acute awareness as a performer.Norris is a clown’s clown. This phrase is not to undermine his mainstream likability in any way but rather to highlight his total mastery of the craft. There isn’t an inch of the show where he is not completely present and open to the spontaneity of live performance. He is constantly engaging with us in new and surprising ways. Edgy is too simple a word. He’s unafraid to challenge himself with every performance, and it’s a complete delight to watch.This is an unforgettable clown show you’ll want to catch before the rest of his run sells out.

This show is about nothing. SE Grummet and Sam Kruger from The Creepy Boys make that incredibly clear. Scored by electronic, upbeat music with songs about chickpeas and Donald Duck – the Canadian duo continually one-up themselves every moment in this performance.So what is something and what is nothing? They try to explain to us as we quickly understand the abstract language of the show. In a world constantly filled with something – shootings, homelessness, racism, transphobia, etc. – their hope is to make a show about nothing. A show that is so simple, unoffensive, and delightful – and much to our chagrin, they fail to do that. It turns out to be hard to stick to nothing when our world is so wrought with something.Bearing all – quite literally bearing all – the duo go pantsless, aka doing the Donald Duck, in the first twenty minutes of the show. While the first moment of shock value is hilarious, they never fail to build on every bit in the most wonderfully absurd and skilful way. The use of imagery is absolutely amazing: live puppetry and interactive, creative use of space only help us delve deeper into the Slugs’ world.As performers, there is something so charming about the Slugs’ purposeful naivety. They constantly straddle obliviousness and inventiveness, and we are very much along for the ride. The show is similar to taking poppers but if it lasted sixty minutes. Without spoiling the show, there is a specific moment near the ending that is so batsh*t and unlike anything I’ve seen at the Fringe (complimentary).And while the content of the show is hilarious and impressive, their friendship and performance chemistry is one of the most exciting things about the show. One imagines the origin of this show: two friends playing out of joy. In a world full of something, they laugh in the nothing. It proves to be the best thing we can do.

Back and better than ever, Cat Cohen’s Broad Strokes is her personal story of how the New York comedienne faced the one thing she wasn’t ready for: a stroke. Fortunately, it came from the same condition Hailey Bieber had, so at least it was chic.Having been diagnosed with a PFO, Cohen recognises the pure comedic and ironic bliss of having a literal “hole in her heart.” She tells the story of hitting rock bottom for a hypochondriac – actually being diagnosed with a serious illness. From amazing songs sung with glee about wanting to be a normal girl to another optimistic tune about wanting to have complete control over everything in her life, Cohen’s comedic tone perfectly straddles two perspectives – one being an inflated-ego-oblivious American and the other a deliverer of comedic truth.Having followed her Fringe journey since her debut in 2019, this is seemingly her first show to follow a single overarching narrative. The structure of the show provides the most amazing container for her to deviate from. There is never an empty space or silence she doesn’t make us laugh at. “I’m great with silence,” she insists. From a squeaky microphone stand that becomes Ariana Grande to her playful yet deeply serious beef with adult blonds, Cohen is a beautifully skilled performer.And while her onstage persona is so comically unself-aware, it provides the perfect set-up for her punches of truth. Broad Strokes is Cohen’s encapsulating singular work. Those who are not particular fans of musical comedy would enjoy the show as well. A skilled singer, Cohen’s use of music takes the narrative further. The rhythm of her songs, as well as the punchy choruses, provide the perfect landing for her jokes. And while there may be silences as we patiently wait for the punchline of the song, the timing is always so incredibly articulated. The show is so thoughtfully constructed. There is never a missing beat in terms of story. It’s dazzling, honest and surprising.Cat Cohen proves to be one of the most impressive American comedians at the Fringe. Unbridled and honest, she’s enrapturing and yes, but of course, oh so chic.

Deceptively simple, Trace of Belief, choreographed by Hsieh Yi-Chun, is a captivating, dreamlike dance that deepens and grows on the viewer. Exploring, through temple processions and rituals, the experience of prayer – from the quietly meditative to the ecstatic, and applicable to any religion – it asks what we can put our faith in within an agnostic world. Is there still something beyond ourselves we can believe in?Multicultural, melding classical Chinese and Western contemporary dance, this is a subtle and delicate piece featuring dancers of remarkable flexibility and expressivity, accompanied by a soundscape flavoured with temple bells, Chinese drums, gongs, cymbals and suona (Chinese trumpet).Starting quietly with the sound of water drops and birdsong, six dancers – three male and three female – dressed in brilliant blue wide-legged trousers flecked with white, stand together, slowly swaying. As one dancer breaks away then turns and returns to the group, another follows. Later, more complex groupings evolve, suggesting that there is strength in unity, while individual solos speak to the need for independence. The piece becomes not just about religious experience but also human relationships. The beauty of this work is that it allows the audience to bring their own experience into it and interpret it as they wish.A particularly dramatic section features two men in painful rapture, their use of feathered fans – symbols of spirituality but also of male power – enacting the self-destructive potential of such intensity, as one turns his fan against his own abdomen.The choreography is skilfully varied, delighting with unexpected shifts in mood and style. Audience members may recognise Tai Chi movements and delight in the raised knee with bent foot, a gesture from Chinese opera, as well as Chun’s signature low pliés and fluid, circular movements, which she associates with flowing water – all combined with Western balletic lifts.The final section features Hsieh Yi-Chun herself, semi-naked and standing only in her underclothes, offering herself to the audience as if to say: this is who she is. Belief in self, belief in dance – that is what matters. Trace of Belief may not transport you in the way that a louder, more in-your-face piece might, but it may subtly transform you.

Imagine scrolling through the internet – past memes, videos of shocking brutality, porn and animals doing stupid things – but put it on 10x speed and then feed it amphetamines. That’s a bit like what watching Pigs Fly Easy Ryan feels like. Strap in and brace yourselves for one hour of absolute insanity.Pigs Fly Easy Ryan, a recipient of the 2025 Untapped Award, was dreamt up and brought to life by transatlantic theatre company NONSTOP. On paper, it’s a story about two pigs trying to fulfil a lifelong fantasy of impersonating air hostesses to secretly fly a plane to the land of Freedom. Watching as all the rituals of air travel are subverted into sexually deviant routines, it’s not surprising to learn that the first kernel of inspiration for this play came from a fever dream. From checking in your bag to airline safety demonstrations, every ritual of air travel is fair game for these little piggies and their voraciously violent sex drives. Be warned: you will probably never experience air travel the same way again.Lou Doyle and Trevor White inhabit their roles with a surprising amount of empathy. They get creative with some pieces of fluff and a shower curtain, and the audience could almost forget they weren’t really flying if it weren’t for the constant reminders that this is, in fact, a play. “The plane is actually a planet,” one of the pigs informs us. You leave feeling like you’ve just woken up from a feral night out, but also somehow more aware of the fact that we are on a burning plane ourselves as the Earth crashes towards climate catastrophe.Jumping from high to low culture at a speed almost invisible to the human eye, there is a moment where one of the pigs takes too much melatonin and delivers a deliriously bimbofied Shakespearean soliloquy. But is there meaning behind the madness, or is this just another hour of spectacular, raunchy fun? Pigs Fly Easy Ryan may not offer up any easy answers, but between a lot of aggressive humping, fluorescent garters and baby oil, the show poses serious, real-world questions about climate disaster, the rise of global fascism and the fetishisation of freedom.This unhinged, chaotic and strangely heartfelt piece of physical theatre forces us to check in to the world right now – if you have the stomach for it.

It’s Eileen’s 90th birthday party in Northern Ireland. Her daughter Gilly has gone to some trouble to make it a special occasion, including the arrival of her own daughter Jenny and granddaughter Muireann – meaning there will be four generations of women under the same roof. There are party hats, balloons and the promise of a cake. It should all pass off rather smoothly – right?Eileen (Julia Dearden) is prickly, demanding and frankly more than a little truculent. She relentlessly browbeats Gilly. She has uncompromising views about the Ulster political landscape, scornfully using a slur to describe the Catholic population.Gilly (Andrea Irvine) is the product of her upbringing. She feels huge societal pressure to present a good impression to neighbours, obsessing over trivial detail while a storm rages.Jenny (Caoimhe Farren) breezes in from England, with generational and cultural schisms immediately obvious.Muireann (Muireann Ní Fhaogáin) is an idealistic and progressive teenager, an environmental and ethical standard-bearer for her generation.The scene unfolds with stilted familial exchanges, but multiple cracks are evident at every turn. This is an unhappy and dysfunctional family. A nagging series of questions remain unanswered. Where is Gilly’s husband? Why does Gilly retreat whenever the phone rings? Why has Jenny’s husband not made the journey? And, most troublingly, is there an undertone to Eileen’s acerbic barbs?Gilly’s repressed emotions are central to the scenes, empowering Eileen’s dominance, fuelling Jenny’s frustration and, in turn, Muireann’s sense of injustice. Inevitably, however, the dam breaks and a series of hitherto unstated truths are revealed.Muireann has developed an interest in epigenetics – the idea that behaviour and environment can affect which genes are prominent. In other words, trauma can be inherited through the generations without being experienced first-hand. She is seeking a cultural identity but is aware that it may come with baggage.Tensions have simmered in Ulster for generations; the Good Friday Agreement perhaps serving merely to suppress feelings – a recurring theme. This is, of course, the backdrop to Consumed, where culturally it became ingrained to look away. The sound of silence reverberates.This is a fine, albeit at times slightly strained, Paines Plough production. It is frequently blisteringly funny, the sharp one-liners delivered to perfection, especially by Dearden. Farren’s good intentions visibly falter, and Ní Fhaogáin’s arching search for identity is splendidly conveyed. Yet your attention constantly reverts to Irvine’s simmering repression.Karis Kelly’s writing is sharp, layered and asks a lot of questions about violence, culture, misogyny, repression and trauma. Katie Posner’s direction is assured and gives space for the storytelling to unfold – albeit with a minor niggle around the rapidly heightened scenes as the denouement approaches.The façade of happy families, cake and hats is breached, usually by what is not being said. Some things, though, cannot be swept under the carpet and inevitably will need to be confronted.

When it comes to Copla, Alejandro Postigo is not only a pre-eminent exponent and performer of the art, but also a world authority. It was the subject of his PhD thesis at the Royal Central School of Speech and Drama, and he is currently Senior Lecturer in Musical Theatre at the London College of Music. His knowledge and talent combine in his latest show, Copla: A Spanish Cabaret, a celebration of Spain’s vibrant cultural and political history, brought to life with a queer twist. The show makes its Fringe debut at Assembly George Square.So, what is Copla? In an interview with Broadway Baby, Postigo explained that it “is a popular song tradition that emerged in Spain in the early 20th century. It’s often compared to torch songs or chanson because it blends folk roots with theatrical flair. At heart, Copla is storytelling set to music. Each song is a miniature drama about love, shame, defiance or heartbreak.” His show is an illustrated and practical guide to the genre, in which he performs songs, shows video footage and photographs, and relates a fascinating history that reaches out from his homeland to other parts of Europe and the USA.We are invited to join him in a song from The Sound of Music, sung in both English and Spanish — the musical he fell in love with as a child, which stirred his early love of singing. We hear the same song performed by numerous artists over many decades as an example of how Copla spread, and also how it was both repressed and subverted under Franco to boost his ideology. It was even exported to be sung in German under Hitler. But after the Civil War, it was reclaimed by the people, especially the marginalised, who featured in many songs concerning relationships outside heterosexual marriage, love gone wrong, laments for a lost homeland, or bawdy celebrations of forbidden passion. The warmth of this heartfelt music has the power to bring both tears and laughter, or simply the chance to sing along with your favourite diva. In the show, we also enjoy live violin accompaniment.Copla: A Spanish Cabaret is not only an entertaining show but also a joyous celebration of an often overlooked Spanish folk tradition, and a well-crafted educational tour, vividly told with passion, colourful costumes and, of course, song.

The title of this show is misleading: it is not so much The Butterfly Who Flew Into The Rave as a pneumatic road drill challenging the Olympic speed drum machine team. And I mean that in a good way. What is accurate is the tagline ‘a 3-day rave condensed into an hour’.The dancer-choreographers Oli Mathiesen, Lucy Lynch and Sharvon Mortimer are already dancing as the audience make their way to their seats. It would not surprise me if the performers have already been dancing for half an hour.The music is adrenaline-pumping hard techno at full blast – courtesy of Suburban Knight’s Nocturbulous Behaviour album.What follows is an hour of non-stop synchronised endurance dancing at such speed it’s surprising limbs don’t fall off.Viewed simply as a feat of memory, the dancing is astonishing. There must be two or three moves or poses per second, all of which are detailed from the fingertips to the toes – and all perfectly synchronised between the dancers. It’s like firing a machine gun for an hour and remembering the name of every bullet.The experience is sweaty, grimy and loud. The dancers are unremitting and relentless, as if each is connected to a personal generator parked outside. Every so often, one or more of them look as if they’re tiring – but that’s just to trick the audience.There are a few slow-downs of seconds while they gulp cups of water, but near the end of the show they even swig while dancing. Presumably there is too much routine left to take time to pause.The show emulates a rave but the difference is these performers are choreographed to the molecular level. The movement is incredibly varied. Sometimes you might think they are repeating a sequence, but then you see they are doing something new.This is a short review for a five-star award. The show has no themes, no examination of a topic, no research of dance archives; there’s no message. What there is, is a show that is simply mind-boggling.

Australian acrobatics troupe Gravity and Other Myths return to Edinburgh with their international smash hit Ten Thousand Hours – and if you’ve ever wondered what the human body can achieve through a great many hours of dedication, this show is your answer.At first, the performers seem a little serious – but for good reason: their blank faces reflect not smug ambivalence but extreme concentration as they begin to climb onto each other’s backs with feline grace in a tense game of one-upmanship.Without any rigging or equipment, the eight-person troupe use their own bodies as scaffolding to enact increasingly advanced acrobatics: walking towers, human trapeze, elevated somersaults. The moves are executed with utmost precision yet somehow have a playful suppleness, as if they hadn’t trained the same action for months on end. The ease with which they move through the air is almost frustrating for a ground-dweller like me.In the background, a digital timer flickers between numbers one and ten thousand – a nod to the years of sweat and repetition needed to achieve this kind of mastery. We’re even given glimpses of moves in their raw, beginner’s form before they bloom into polished, airborne versions – a rare gift in circus arts.There’s no single star here; every member matches up in skill, strength and precision. But there are moments of individual brilliance: one woman with nerves and thighs of steel returns to the floor to perform various dance styles, taking cues from the audience to showcase her versatility.If anything, the show could lean into more narrative threads like this, allowing us to feel invested in one person’s struggle or triumph – but Ten Thousand Hours doesn’t really aim to make heroes. It’s a celebration of collective effort, of bodies in absolute trust, where the perfect act is built as a team, one exhausting, painstaking hour at a time.Ten Thousand Hours was one of the best acrobatic performances I’ve ever seen. And judging by the gasps around me, I’m not the only one left breathless.

If his audience are as glad to be here as the warmth of their reception suggests, then polymath Paul Sinha is even gladder.The Fringe veteran and television favourite has had a rough couple of years. His health battles – double heart attacks whilst performing in Edinburgh – contribute handsomely to his current set. But this is not a maudlin hour. Far from it. The jokes come thick and fast, frequently at his own expense and underpinned with a warmth and generosity of spirit that make one feel as if the material is being delivered solely to you across a couple of beers.Sinha’s keen eye and acerbic tongue are well-sharpened against those we probably all agree deserve it, and his carefully crafted little ditties at the keyboard are a particular highlight. Rhyming attacks on establishment figures set to some of the most famous tunes of all time is a woefully under-explored comedic microgenre, and one which carries a more weighty heritage than Sinha’s somewhat indifferent delivery might suggest.Whilst his script is as clever and detailed as we might expect from one of TV’s most recognised factualists, Sinha's acknowledgment of his own tendency to pomposity is what stops the piece from ever becoming pompous. Unlike so many other (younger? less skilled?) comics, so much of himself bleeds through his delivery that we feel the personal connection which elevates his show above others that are simply trying too hard. There is no assumed goofiness here, no devotion to ticker-tape one-liners, no over-reliance on expletives – nothing that gets in the way of an honest tale being plainly told.In short, it is clever. It is honest. It is very, very funny. It derives its humour from the daftness of life and the resilience we all need to find at times – and that is something we can all applaud.

Around me I heard several people say, “Wow, it’s dark in here” – and dark it was. Both in the room and in the story that followed. Scatter: A Horror Play left me reeling from beginning to end, in a space where every time one person was scared, we were all scared.The play follows Tom as he recounts travelling to a small village in Wales to scatter his father’s ashes with his brother. Patrick McPherson plays the role, and for an hour he held my attention in this one-person show. Strategically, the set consisted only of a single chair covered in leaves and rot. It made my stomach churn the moment I saw it, and I couldn’t look away. Beyond that, McPherson built the rest of the world himself – the quaint village, the woods, the run-down B&B – and he did build this world.Every movement suggested the space he was in. His physicality and timing made everything feel real, even if it existed only in Tom’s memory. McPherson gave a performance that made me fear for Tom and be afraid of Tom. At times, his comic timing was spot-on – quickly followed by a jolt of terror – so the audience never truly relaxed, which is exactly what the show wants. And going in knowing it was meant to be scary, I’m glad I never did. I was uneasy from the first moment, even before McPherson appeared.Alongside the stripped-back set, the lighting design was phenomenal – from classic flickers to deep reds that darkened until the room was almost pitch black. Every element served the story, and when I wasn’t watching McPherson, I was bracing for the next scare.If you enjoy being frightened, this is a must-see. If you don’t, I’d still recommend it. From the storytelling to the performance to the technical craft, Scatter is a force to be reckoned with – and sometimes it’s fun to be scared.

I’m lucky enough to count a few trans persons among my friends and, although it’s not a subject often discussed, there’s generally a feeling that their transition is to be celebrated – a becoming of who they really are, of who they were meant to be. Diana Salles takes the intriguing approach that, to become the woman she is today, she had to kill the man she was. Delusional: I Killed a Man is a multidisciplinary contemporary circus show that tackles this feeling with heart, skill, humour, and beauty.Opening as the arrival at a funeral, we are greeted by Salles in mourning black. She glides among the audience, expressing her grief before throwing herself into the performance. It’s a spectacular use of circus theatre, utilising aerial silks and hoop, physical theatre, and contemporary dance, along with singing and an intriguing selection of music that, although not always subtle, clearly conveys the intention of the piece.The aerial performance is both spectacular and nuanced; there are moments of breathtaking beauty in the air, followed by sudden death-defying drops that bring gasps from the enraptured audience. Seeing her entwined in silks makes me wonder if the big question of Delusional: I Killed a Man is whether Salles truly murdered the man she was in order to create this complicated, talented, vulnerable, yet strong woman. Or was this a metamorphosis? Did Salles spring forth from a body that was simply a cocoon, allowing her to be reborn as she is now?Circus theatre is fast becoming the hot genre at the Fringe, and Salles has delivered an incredible example of the genre. In this show, Salles presents a performance as tightly delivered as a classical monologue and as thrilling as the highest drama. This is a show that will stay with you long after the applause has finally died.

I deliberately went into Undersigned with as little information as possible, and I’d strongly recommend you do the same. That said, I am a reviewer, and as such, I’m duty-bound to tell you a little about the show. As much as I’ll keep things brief and vague, a big part of me hopes you don’t read further than this paragraph. Take my word for it, and go in completely blind. Without hyperbole, Undersigned is the most emotionally and psychologically confronting and transformative piece of theatre that I have ever experienced.Following a brief preparatory and safeguarding conversation with an attendant (in which you list any topics of conversation which are off-limits or too uncomfortable for you), you are led into a small room containing two chairs, a table and a small wooden box. In the box are objects central to the ritual about to take place: matches, a notebook and pen, a blindfold. You are blindfolded, the attendant leaves, and the performer enters.What follows is one of the most fascinating, challenging and uncomfortable conversations I’ve had in years. Yannick has a knack for playfully unpicking and digging into your fears, desires and values, facilitating an honesty and transparency rarely confronted even in therapy. Through the roughly 45-minute blindfolded conversation, I was encouraged to examine who I really am and what really matters to me, in a way that left me shaken and dizzy as I walked back out into the Cowgate.What struck me most about Undersigned was how ‘real’ it felt, and continues to feel. When I’ve attended other immersive one-to-one theatre shows, there has always been a sense that you’re ‘playing along’ for the sake of the experience. With Undersigned, the stakes felt cosmic, and I felt completely and genuinely immersed. I feel like I’ve been initiated into an ancient mystery cult; like my sense of self has been shattered, and is in the process of being reconstituted.I’m aware of how pretentious and unlikely all of this sounds. I ask you to trust me that I’m actually quite a down-to-earth guy. I’m not the sort of over-excited art snob who is prone to calling theatre shows “transformative” and “shattering”. I don’t think I’ve ever claimed that I’ve walked out of a Fringe show feeling “shaken and dizzy” before, and I don’t think I ever will again. Undersigned really is that good, and that important. If you can get a ticket (and that’s a big if – they have a long waiting list, and as I understand it, tickets are rarely made available outside of that), you’ll know exactly what I mean. Undersigned is an experience I don’t think I’ll ever forget. I really want you to experience it for yourself.

Oxford’s Out of the Blue have been a Fringe favourite for years, and it’s easy to see why. This all-male a cappella group deliver an eclectic mix of modern rock and pop hits, transforming them into something uniquely their own through tight harmonies, inventive arrangements and irresistible stage presence. The result is a show that feels as fresh as it is polished.Founded in 2000 at the University of Oxford, the award-winning group refreshes its line-up each year as students move on from Oxford and Oxford Brookes universities. Over the years, they’ve performed around the globe, appeared on Britain’s Got Talent and raised a considerable amount of money for their chosen charity, Helen & Douglas House hospice.This year’s setlist is a joyous journey through eras and genres, with everything from Bon Jovi’s Livin’ on a Prayer and Jamiroquai’s Virtual Insanity to Gnarls Barkley’s Crazy and Beyonce’s Crazy in Love mash-up getting the distinctive Out of the Blue treatment. The group’s ability to reinvent familiar songs is dazzling – expect unexpected key changes, bold mash-ups and sudden harmonic swells that create spine-tingling moments.High-energy bangers are balanced beautifully with softer ballads, like Just the Two of Us, complete with cheeky, gender-bending choreography, or a heart-wrenching take on Billie Eilish’s When the Party’s Over. Every number is arranged specifically for the group, ensuring the harmonies remain exquisitely polished.Speaking of harmony, the basses provide a warm, resonant foundation, while the baritones add depth and drive. Tenors soar effortlessly in solos, switching between silky ballad lines and thrilling falsetto riffs. Then there’s the beatboxer – the perennial crowd favourite – whose percussive precision adds a rhythmic punch that makes you forget there’s no band on stage.Visually, the show is every bit as dynamic as the music. Choreography is crisp without feeling over-rehearsed: playful winks, synchronised moves and just enough camp keep the mood buoyant. The camaraderie between members is genuine and infectious – the sort of easy, youthful humour that draws the audience in and makes you feel part of the fun.With flawless vocals, inventive arrangements and boundless energy, Out of the Blue don’t just raise the roof – they raise the bar for a cappella at the Fringe. Brains, blazers and brilliant harmonies: it’s Oxford’s finest export since the dictionary.

The Tale of the Loneliest Whale is a magical dive beneath the sea, as one whale searches for someone who will complement his song. The audience is taken from the surface of the sea to the deep and back again, all by Gemma Curry, who – along with a few willing audience members – tells the story using a number of very impressive puppets.Curry’s capable puppetry is commendable, with a great deal of life and personality injected into each character. She herself is very engaging, keeping the audience’s focus on her and guiding them through the narrative she weaves. She has a strong and clear voice – important in a production that centres on a character’s inner song – and no small amount of charisma.The production is both fun and enchanting – there were moments when the children in the audience got up to dance to the turtle’s music, and gasps of wonder when the jellyfish bloom began. The jellyfish, in particular, were a standout moment according to the children I interviewed afterwards, as Curry skilfully conducted the audience as a melodious choir of singing jellyfish. The sound design overall was very effective – neither too loud nor too quiet, and always on cue – creating just the right atmosphere to enhance the storytelling taking place.The narrative is both simple and sweet, providing an important lesson: no matter who you are, or how different you seem, there will always be someone out there who will accept you as you are. I couldn’t help but interpret the show as a nod to neurodivergence, with the main character feeling alone and out of place, unable to be proud of his difference – the other whales seeing him as too strange to befriend. This adds an additional layer to the narrative, whether intentional or not, and only increases its importance as a story that encourages self-acceptance and finding those who will understand you. It is charming and impactful – one mother commented to me afterwards that she was “welling up” as the story drew to a close.The Tale of the Loneliest Whale is a fantastic piece of children’s theatre. Many of the children present recommended I assign it five stars – and I have done so, as I believe it deserves recognition for the effort put in and the captivating results those efforts have produced. I strongly recommend this show – whether you are a child, have children, or simply need a reminder that there will always be someone out there ready and able to harmonise with you.

Eleanor Roosevelt, wife of FDR and the ‘First Lady of the World’, fought all her life for peace, democracy and universal human rights. But today, all she stood for and everything she achieved are under sustained attack. In this classy and timely piece, her voice of sanity and compassion echoes down more than 80 years, under the careful guidance of writer and performer Alison Skilbeck.The central conceit focuses on Mrs Roosevelt’s visit to the UK during the height of the war, but ably navigates her rich biography from privileged birth to fulfilled death. The period is thoughtfully evoked through Jane Heather’s spare set design: a chair, a hatstand, a trunk, and jolly bunting covering most of the bases, while Emma Laxton’s judicious sound design contributes to the atmosphere without ever overwhelming the action.Skilbeck covers much of the known ground of Eleanor’s life and offers up some tasty titbits and anecdotes that keep the action moving with charm and gentle humour. Eleanor’s difficult early life, familial connections to the presidency, and overpowering social conscience are conjured without sentiment: her unorthodox marriage, FDR’s known affairs and Eleanor’s alluded ones are explored with a fusion of tastefulness and candour that one suspects Roosevelt herself might rather approve of. There is no particular agenda here to either out or closet Roosevelt, and the affections she nurtured for those known lesbians in her close circle are embraced without becoming reductive or pulling focus.It is a very generous performance, allowing one of the most lauded first ladies of all time to breathe with a redolence and reality that cannot help but draw silent comparison with the current incumbents of the White House. A cast of characters – diplomats, royalty, land girls, servicemen –are portrayed by Skilbeck to texturise the piece and invite an appreciation of Roosevelt’s common touch. A touch that belied her aristocratic and monied background, and which seemed to have taken especial flight whilst at finishing school in London. The script’s brisk nonchalance somehow elevates Eleanor’s fervour for workers’ rights and racial equity, just as her quiet acceptance of FDR’s lovers seems to heighten the intimacy of their understanding.Eleanor Roosevelt was, by anyone’s standards, an extraordinary woman. A woman compelled to speak out. Compelled to make a difference. She bore deep personal sadnesses, scaffolded the longest presidency in the history of the United States, and unfailingly prioritised the most fundamental needs of others over her own reputation. That she was also far from flawless merely makes her more engaging, even at the distance of the best part of a century. And this show celebrates the power that messy, imperfect humans have to change the world.

Francisco de Nata is the larger-than-life creation of the brilliant Keaton Guimarães-Tolley, who storms the stage with castanets, party music and a mischievous glint in his eye. From the moment we meet our long-necked friend, we are his willing accomplices in a world where the ordinary becomes the extraordinary.Francisco communicates only in grunts, sighs and the occasional exasperated murmur, yet his emotions feel all the more visceral. Think a more measured Mr Bean without the obnoxious streak. Conjuring entire stories from inanimate objects, it is his charisma and ingenuity that skilfully carry the show. With nothing more than a wink, a tilt of the head or a forehead kiss from his giraffe costume, he instructs his audience as surely as if he were speaking, and we are under his spell. The audience participation is wonderfully simple and thoroughly cheeky.Guimarães-Tolley is riddled with creativity: chaos unfolds with some ingenious sound cues, and even watching paint dry (literally) in silence becomes an exercise in anticipation and joy. He reads the room immaculately, knowing exactly when to push a bit, when to pivot and how to coax participants into going the extra mile – his scolding and re-instruction always delivered with a wink. Some struggle with alienating the audience in such moments; Francisco draws us closer.As if we were not entertained enough, a surprise cameo appearance from Francisco’s Portuguese grandmother over the phone offers a glimpse into his private (albeit bonkers) world, deepening our connection further without breaking the spell of his own silence. Not that we needed it, but this also provides a fresh narrative framework that deepens our affinity with the entire show.By the end, you leave beaming, cheeks aching from laughter, carrying the warmth of having shared in something rare – clown comedy at its most inventive, intimate and alive. Francisco de Nata is a masterclass in play, and Guimarães-Tolley’s giraffe is a bright yellow star at this year’s Fringe.

If you’re looking to see one of the most exciting new comics on the British and European comedy scene, look no further. Theo Mason Wood delivers a truly genre-defying tour de force of surreal, and at times heartbreaking, comedy in Theo Mason Wood: Legalise Kissing. Fans of Brass Eye, Steve Coogan and The League of Gentlemen will feel at home here.In a way, it’s surprising it’s billed as standup. Part clowning, part comedy set, part spoken word, part mental breakdown – Theo adopts the character of a hapless comic and spoken word artist, struggling with a breakup and a flatlining career. It’s certainly not a show for the squeamish, but there are jokes sharp enough to persuade even the most tender-hearted. Mason Wood’s audience interaction is sublime as he twists through depraved stories of awful nights out and relationship woes. We remain in equal parts aghast and captivated as the show ultimately expands into a surreal adventure exploring various fundamentals of the male psyche. Quickly, two camps are established: those buckling over in laughter and those gripped but perhaps a little afraid.It doesn’t come as a surprise that Mason Wood is one of the writers for the acclaimed Guy Ritchie Netflix series The Gentleman – the tone is here, but with Legalise Kissing, we see a blistering demonstration of a new comic in love with the boundaries of society and what pushes people into extreme situations. There is a clear curiosity with modern masculinity, honesty and consent – themes present throughout Mason Wood’s work so far (his previous Camden Fringe show with The Caravan Guys was titled How to Beat Up Your Dad – The Musical) – but these are handled with an abundance of depraved silliness and joyously playground gags.A wholehearted recommendation to see him in all his twisted glory before he blows up. Don’t expect an endless stream of quotable one-liners, but do expect deep laughs and to be taken on a debauched ride that will stick firmly in the mind. He may not need to legalise kissing, but you do need to catch him at the next opportunity.

Eliza Nelso ’s Cabbage the Clown is the underdog hero of Cinemadrome: a wistful, wide-eyed romantic stuck in a dead-end job, dreaming big between bin runs and popcorn refills. Nelso’s debut show reminds us what live art is capable of, in all its silly, sparkling, quietly devastating potential.Before the show even begins, Cabbage is one of us, earning immediate rapport with the audience as they scan our tickets and join us in the auditorium. There’s a deep generosity to Nelso’s performance: they let us in, let us distract them, and bring us along on their work shift, as corporate grind and existential crisis rub shoulders with meme-level absurdity. From the moment they lip-sync through a warped montage of cinema announcements, it’s clear we’re in for something special.Staying true to clown, the structure is satisfyingly loose, with just enough plot that still leaves room for ample play. We’re simply watching Cabbage try to survive the day at Cinemadrome, but in Nelso’s hands, the mundane becomes mythic: bin bags become dance partners; a puppet encounter in a nightclub becomes a tender, wordless romance; a sequence of mind-numbing intercom instructions becomes a brutalist clown ballet about burnout. The show weaves together movement, drag and clowning with impressive clarity, never losing its sense of joy and play.Visually, Cinemadrome is stunning. Nelso’s clown makeup and costuming are exquisite, combining classical references with a contemporary drag twist that feels fresh and unique, topped with jaw-dropping costume reveals. Screen projections are packed with joyful chaos: a rapid-fire collage of cinematic references, absurdist humour and perfectly timed visual gags reward pop culture fluency without excluding those less online.Amid the chaos is a tender undertone. We watch as Cabbage tries, fails and tries again, making peace with the fantasy that keeps them going. It’s a love letter to escapism, yes, but also a quiet cry for kindness, and Nelso calibrates every beat with astonishing control. Their physicality is fluid, magnetic and far from performative. Cabbage doesn’t escape into fantasy to avoid reality – they use it to survive it.In all its whimsy, Cinemadrome is a truly elevated performance. Visually beautiful, wickedly funny and rich with artistry, Cinemadrome is nothing short of a triumph. Eliza Nelso is a visionary. You’ll laugh, you’ll melt, you’ll gasp – and you’ll never look at a bin bag the same way again.

DUSK/NIGHT/DAWN is a beautiful aerial work launched into the stratosphere on wings of visual storytelling, technical brilliance and raw emotion.Donna Carnow and Gina Alm are the only members of the aerial collective Verticle Dreamscape, and this is their debut at the Fringe. Their work earns the elusive moniker “experimental” – I say this because I did not know you could do what they pulled off with an aerial performance. Their chemistry and talent are the beating heart of the show, and they treat it with the seriousness it deserves. This is highly adept, physical polework sustained for the entire runtime.The beauty is mostly down to the two on-stage performers, but the piece is truly the whole package. The music complements and underscores; the lighting work alone is world class. From a mist-filled faescape conveyed only with soft lighting to industrial hotness simmering in the night, the lighting elevates every moment. Much of the audio is bespoke but feels familiar, with homages to ethereal indie bands such as Cigarettes After Sex. More than once, I felt like I was in an art-pop music video.As the title suggests, DUSK/NIGHT/DAWN has clear and defined acts charting the stages of the sun setting before rising again. Each has its own distinct flavour and is delicious in its own right. While there are obvious scenes, they convey emotion and ideas as much as story, moment to moment – from a broken-heel messy break-up to dazzlingly hot sex, whimsical dalliance, and fighting to stay asleep and keep dreaming. It feels as though each segment grabs something vivid and unspoken within you, rips it from your chest and shows it to all of us so we can recognise: “That’s me, I’ve been there.” Each feels like something just beneath conscious thought – immediately evocative and intuitive – but that we had not taken the time to examine ourselves.DUSK has a dreamy haziness that feels loose and easy to grasp, full of childlike wonder even though the piece is mature and confident in its delivery. Balloons and fantasy are the name of the game. At this stage you don’t quite know what you’re going to receive, but you’re hopeful. You wonder what dreams might come.NIGHT cusps into being with stark lighting and industrial themes. It is messy, hot, powerful and full of bold emotion. This is no longer soft around the edges – I could taste the heartbreak as if they had pulled a tooth and my mouth was still full of blood. Rage and passion brim through striking visuals that leave little room for doubt.DAWN takes us briefly to a space of disorientation before transforming into something hopeful and uplifting. The duo bring it home joyfully and outstandingly – a triumphal return to where the show began.And all of this happens on aerial pole, without a syllable of dialogue. You owe it to yourself to see this performance; it is a genuine work of art, and you can thank me later.

‘Domestic abuse isn’t funny, but this show is’ is a wild tagline for any comedy show – but it feels fitting for James Barr’s Sorry I Hurt Your Son (Said My Ex to My Mum). Back for its second run at the Fringe, the show has been substantially reworked – from the material and timing to the lighting – although the core story remains the same.As soon as the audience steps into Buttercup at Underbelly, things feel different from last year’s show. From the upbeat entrance music to the remixed trigger warning at the start, it’s clear that Barr is changing up the vibe. He even goes so far as to bring out balloons, which he throws into the audience. As Barr states early in the hour: “If I’m laughing, I’m surviving.” This is not a show of tragedy, but of strength and joy.Barr now wears a headset microphone – giving either TED Talk or Britney, depending on who you ask. It may seem like a small change, but it speaks volumes. With no handheld mic to restrict him, Barr can move freely across the stage, using his whole body to tell the story. It’s a simple but smart shift that reflects not just a growth in performance style, but a deeper confidence in owning his narrative.Barr recalls some surprisingly tender moments with his ex: moving in together, introducing him to Barr’s mum (the formidable Colleen). That is, until one little dick changes everything. The stories that follow are distressing and uncomfortable, yet delivered with great care – never gratuitous, always honest.Later in the hour, a few of the more disturbing moments hit audience members right in the gut, and they audibly react. What began as a romantic recollection becomes something far more sinister. But Barr doesn’t flinch. He holds the space carefully, never letting discomfort become alienation. That’s the strength of this hour: we’re not just witnessing a story – we’re part of the healing process. Barr earns our trust and, with it, our full attention.What makes a five-star show isn’t just the strength of the hour, but the evolution behind it. James Barr hasn’t just refined his material – he’s reclaimed it. What was once raw is now razor-sharp: braver, funnier and more gloriously empowering. By the end, there’s a shift you can feel in the room – a quiet, defiant release that lingers long after the lights go down. This is more than catharsis. It’s a comeback.

If comedic genius lies in the ear of the beholder, then any ears attuned to political discord, dishonesty and overwhelming disbelief at the state of 2025 can surely only concur that Matt Forde is precisely that.Forde’s slick standup combines a merciless ability to skewer those who most deserve it with a rich roster of howlingly accurate impersonations, gifting his audience the cathartic laughs they are clearly desperate for in a world gone mad. In recent years, Forde’s shrewd eye for the ridiculous has seen him embrace his own health problems as an integral part of his set, adding layers of vulnerability and humanity to his work. And while he may chuckle at his assumed identity as a poster boy for the conditions his recent chordoma has left him with, there is no doubting that by shining a light on such medical unmentionables Forde helps both to normalise and to lighten the load of life-altering diagnoses for others.With all this personal and global material, the only downside (as always) is that an hour in Forde’s company simply does not feel long enough. Razor-sharp observations flow thick and fast, with an almost flawless rate of hits. Trump and Starmer are the particular stars of this show, but there are guest appearances from a range of other surreally redolent establishment figures which tickle the funny bone precisely because life itself has become as unpredictable and inescapable as a Benylin-induced fever dream. There is even a cameo from the awful Boris Johnson, serving as both a comic salve and a warning to humanity.We know that comedic genius does lie in the ear of the beholder, so it is entirely possible that Forde’s intelligent reflections will not land with every punter. But it is hard to imagine who these punters might be, other than a Mr N Farage of Clacton, who is treated throughout the set with exactly the levels of respect he deserves.It is a strange feature of ageing that we seem to laugh less readily and less heartily with every passing year. Perhaps we have heard it all before. Perhaps the world is just less funny. Matt Forde turns all of that on its head. We not only have permission to laugh at what scares us but are invited to weaponise our collective laughter against the total tossers in charge of our lives. And for a magical 60 minutes, laughter does indeed prove that it can sometimes be the best medicine.

Toussaint Douglass arrives on stage like a man obsessed – with pigeons, mostly. Binocular-wearing and twitching with anticipation, he guides us fellow birdwatchers to our seats, as we enter into his natural habitat. His winsome energy soon infects us all and, within minutes, we’re throwing bread rolls at the stage with abandon, willing the show to start.He wasn’t lying about the pigeon material. There’s a lot of it. But there’s also so much else: Nan’s immigrant origin story, an emotionally elusive dad, and a psychiatrist girlfriend who makes all the diagnoses. From family dynamics to love languages, Douglass pecks through it all with the confidence of a South East London pigeon – bold, unruffled, and weirdly magnetic.Cawing, clowning and occasionally hollering, Douglass couldn’t be more amped up on his ornithological subject matter. We follow his moves keenly, hanging on each gag. When audience interaction slows the pace, Douglass’s confidence keeps things flying.From pigeon to robin to the Caribbean’s Plumbeous Warbler (!), birds are more than a punchline for Douglass – they’re thematic scaffolding for comedic reflections on love, modern masculinity, and the things men rarely get to say out loud.This is a generous, original and properly funny show, from a performer who gives a lot – not just in movement, but in food for thought. Accessible pigeon material? Absolutely. But also: universal joy, laughter, and a weirdly moving tribute to both birds and the people who make us who we are.

The field of sex work has radically changed over the past few years, with the rise of OnlyFans and increasingly sensationalist sexual acts reaching national headlines, inspiring further uptake and ever greater sensationalism in turn. Body Count tackles these issues head on, leaving very little to the imagination, as the high-energy, insane show strives to tackle the difficult questions surrounding sex work and women’s sexuality.Body Count tells the story of Pollie, an OnlyFans megastar taking on her most ambitious challenge yet – sleeping with 1,000 of her subscribers at the Edinburgh Fringe. As audience members enter, with several adorned in provided blue balaclavas, Issy Knowles’ Pollie arrives ready to begin, coming out completely “naked” in front of the audience and prepared to perform any and every sexual act. The show then follows the attempt to sleep with 1,000 men, interspersed with an interviewer preparing a documentary and asking about her life.Despite the show jumping between disconnected scenes – from sex act, to interview, to flashback about Pollie’s life – the tight writing keeps things easy to follow. Knowles’ performance as Pollie works wonders in ensuring that this narrative stays coherent, with her not only fully realising the witty, sexy persona she clearly wants to put on, but also being brilliantly raw as Pollie is tested when the challenge drags on, or when recounting her own difficulties in coming to terms with her sexuality.Knowles’ writing is also immaculate. It tackles the difficult nature of sex work and the questions it raises with great sincerity, while also allowing the audience to laugh at some of the more absurdist elements of the piece – be that the impersonations of the men coming to sleep with Pollie or the horrific absurdities of the sex work industry. The show is incredibly polished, in writing, acting and direction, and despite the potential for a bombastic and simple parody of Bonnie Blue or other OnlyFans creators, it instead provides a funny, heartfelt examination of women’s sexuality, and asks how, in an industry where sex literally sells, who truly controls women’s bodies?

As soon as I saw the poster for Hamlet by New York Circus Project – an acrobatic and visceral twist on the Shakespearean classic – I had a feeling it was going to be good, and I am pleased to report that my gut feeling was correct. An intricate and carefully woven tapestry of dance, poignant theatrics and sheer athleticism, if this is only New York Circus Project’s debut show, I am beyond excited to see what they do next.As one of Shakespeare’s best-known works, I was curious to see what fresh perspective the company would bring. I wondered whether the promise of “acrobatics” might just be a gimmick to compensate for a lack of serious acting and stagecraft, but what I quickly realised when the lights went down was that thoughtful attention to narrative lay at the heart of this production – and the gymnastic display of the cast only enhanced it.Audio played a prominent role in creating an emotive atmosphere, and I applaud the sound designer(s) for their work in producing an engaging and stimulating auditory experience. Stage design was also excellent. I especially liked the triangular prism-shaped trapeze that the ghost of Hamlet’s father contorted himself through at the start of the performance – beautifully choreographed and visually arresting. Likewise, the transparent box in which Ophelia performs her final scene was an interesting and unusual portrayal of that moment, further demonstrating the director's successful experimentation with the script.For all its seriousness, and the nail-biting tension evoked from watching the cast throw themselves through the air, there was a clear desire to bring comedic moments of relief. These were handled well and added a light-hearted dimension that was welcome. I won’t spoil them here – this show deserves to surprise you.The actors taking on leading roles were convincing and performed with passion, but it was the ensemble cast – especially when they performed with Hamlet – that made my breath catch in my throat. I was blown away by their strength and fearlessness.A daring and accomplished Fringe debut that made me excited about seeing Shakespeare again – which is a feat in itself – Hamlet by New York Circus Project is an excellent demonstration that there is still something new to be extracted from the classics if we look hard enough and think outside the box.

Chloe Petts loves boobs. She’s made that abundantly clear in her new hour, appropriately named Big Naturals. In a stand-up set that digs into what it means to grow up with lad culture, date baby gays and question one’s masculinity, Petts has complete control of the room.I was impressed by how nuanced Petts’ examination is. It’s honest, hilarious and never misses a beat in returning to a joke she’s already set up. She comes from such a genuine place and, in the same sentence, can be hilariously cynical. It made me grateful to see a stand-up hold a truth-telling position, especially one informed by gender.There’s an acknowledgement of her own masculinity and its respective problematic aspects. In a very sincere moment she talks about her dad’s approach to conflict, which is to be soft spoken. I was laughing and at the same time reflecting on how valid a subject this is – especially in comedy.I absolutely loved the show and believe it deserves the continued acclaim it’s receiving.

Jacob Aldcroft’s The Day I Got The Horn is a riotous, surreal odyssey through madness and the slow unraveling of a man named John Binjuice, the last human standing in a world overrun by rhinoceroses. Eugène Ionesco’s Rhinoceros meets Rick and Morty in this clown-meets-character-comedy show at its most unhinged and unexpectedly tender.Aldcroft barrels onto the stage, out of breath and fresh from a shop run to escape the rhino apocalypse, and we’re suddenly dropped into a topsy-turvy world in which he is fully immersed. Whether scaling a mimed rooftop in a three-stage ritual, handing out vodka, or reliving traumatic moments from his past, Aldcroft crafts a performance world ruled by nonsense, anxiety, and incredible comic timing.His clowning prowess lies in the rhythm of his repetition, the care with which he handles the audience, and his earnest sincerity in the face of the utterly absurd. He also strips back the chaos to let us see the inner workings of the madness in a standout moment of meta-theatre. It’s humble and emotionally grounding: a brilliant beat of quiet in the chaos. In the culminating chapter, as the rhinos close in and force John to grow a horn, Aldcroft creates both an emotional and physical crescendo. The resolution, both tender and uplifting, is the perfect whimsical antidote.He deserves a standing ovation for his unwavering dedication and the unbridled joy he brings to the room. Aldcroft not only plays at the highest level but also draws us into his infectious world of mischief, leaving us grinning from ear to ear. This is the true heart of clowning, and he embodies it completely.The Day I Got The Horn is as ridiculous as it is clever, and Aldcroft proves himself a magnetic, generous, and deeply original performer. This show is what the Fringe is all about. Your face will hurt from laughing. Your heart might ache a little, too. Hysterically funny, feral, and full of feeling. Beautifully bizarre.

What do you get when you mix a Tony Award-winning actress with an hour of confessional comedy and original songs? The answer is perfection. Laura Benanti’s electric new show is as touching as it is dazzling.Benanti exudes leading-lady energy from the moment she hits her opening mark. Although this show pays homage (and good riddance) to the unwitting ingénue in life and on stage, Benanti is far from a wide-eyed protagonist. She is a razor-sharp performer, commanding the stage but with unending warmth and sincerity.The songs, co-written by Benanti and long-time friend Todd Almond, nod to musical theatre without being heavy-handed. We got a little of the golden age, a slice of contemporary and a few tributes to some theatre greats, all in just a few numbers. Almond and Benanti’s back-and-forth interaction only added to the feeling of familiarity and joy threaded through the hour.While Benanti may be a recovering people-pleaser, this show left every audience member not just pleased but ecstatic, as we were treated to a rollercoaster of highs and lows covering everything from break-up turmoil to perimenopause. With deft movement, gestures and smiles, Benanti showed off her impeccable comic timing, never wasting an opportunity to make the crowd laugh.It was a delight to watch a Broadway legend perform, but this wasn’t a far-removed performance in some expansive room. This was emotional, intimate and heartwarming as Benanti brought everyone in the room along with her through the trials of bad boyfriends, motherhood and being misunderstood.With so many wonderful credits under her belt, it was hard to imagine a performance that tops them but this work is undoubtedly her best. In an hour, you get a snapshot of a flawed, funny but undeniably talented performer who will stay with you long after the show is over.From standing ovations in its first week, it’s clear that this show is set for a sell-out run and yet more, very well-deserved accolades for Benanti. This show is already on its way to London and, with a reception like that, perhaps Benanti will be back on Broadway with this gem of a production in years to come.

“Never walk through the Meadows alone at night” – this is a common piece of advice that likely every Edinburgh resident has received at some point. Probably more times than they can count, especially if they happen to be a woman or a girl. As many times as we have heard this warning, most could also pair it with a happy memory: a sunny day, a part of everyday life. The Meadows can represent both the beating heart of the city and the other bloody organs we try to hide. Alright Sunshine tells the story of the Meadows on a day that's too hot, too heated and primed for trouble. Through the eyes of a young female police officer, we are taken on a journey that feels like a love letter to the city at the start, but ends with a thunderous roar of pain.Wonderfools have been a growing force in Scottish theatre since their inception, and now, in their eighth year, they have become an unmissable presence. Based in Glasgow but with bold projects throughout the country, they have been at the forefront of connecting communities to the arts. What better company to deliver such a powerful piece about Edinburgh, by an Edinburgh playwright, to the biggest festival in the world, hosted by a city that can easily get lost in the noise.Isla Cowan’s writing is a first-class demonstration of pacing, storytelling and complex character voice. She balances the poetic with the mundane, successfully incorporating local Edinburgh references and slang while not alienating an international audience. Nothing “shan” about that. The power of this writing has already earned her deserved recognition in Scotland, and this may be the moment her talent is shared even further. Words, of course, mean nothing in theatre without someone to say them, and delivering an absolute powerhouse of a performance is rising local talent Molly Geddes. With a masterful command of the stage, she perfectly moves between relaxed banter and complete devastation – honouring the importance of the subject matter at every step. Debbie Hannon also deserves her due as director. She does so much with no set, one actor and a play that requires both lightness and tension.Together, Hannon, Geddes and Cowan form a real triple threat, representing Scotland’s bright, bold new generation of theatre-makers. Maybe one day stories like these will be less vital to tell, but for now, it is heartening to see companies like Wonderfools taking on the crisis of misogyny and violence against women with such empathy and urgency. This is your chance to see some truly excellent new writing that is part of a bigger story.

December 21 is always the longest night of the year. In 1988, it was the darkest.In the mid-1980s, tensions were rising between some Middle Eastern and North African countries and the United States. In 1984, Libyans acquired timers for bomb detonators. In 1986, a discotheque in West Berlin was bombed, killing three Americans. Shortly afterwards, the US retaliated by bombing Libyan bases, killing an estimated 60 people. In 1988, various reports criticised lax security at Frankfurt airport. That same year, the US mistakenly shot down an Iranian passenger aircraft, killing all 290 people on board. And so to 21 December 1988, when Pan Am flight 103 departed from London to New York, having originated in Frankfurt.The deadliest terrorist attack in the UK followed. A bomb, sent from Malta to Frankfurt and intended to be aboard this flight, exploded over the Scottish town of Lockerbie, killing 270 people, including 11 on the ground. While most of the victims were American, there were victims from many countries.Annie Lareau was a drama student at Syracuse University, spending the autumn semester in London with many classmates. Christmas was looming and they were all heading home, but Lareau could not afford to travel with her friends, opting to return alone the next day. This was a tough call for her, as she had a fear of flying.When news of the bombing broke, she was numb. Theo was her closest friend – now she saw images of Theo’s mother collapsing at the airport.Of the myriad feelings she had, relief was not one of them. She experienced survivor guilt, which later manifested as self-destruction and self-loathing. The inevitable media frenzy did little to ease her fragile mental state, with a news producer trying to manipulate her into crying for the cameras. At breaking point, she entered a series of abusive relationships, the survivor guilt pushing her to try to feel something.Fuselage flits between the prelude and aftermath of the bombing and her eventual visit, later in life, to the scene of the crash. Colin, a newly recruited 18-year-old policeman, had been first on the scene. Thirty years later, he is still haunted. A now middle-aged Lareau visits him with her daughter, walking the fields where her friends – and others – landed. The visit was inevitably traumatic, but it appears to provide a modicum of closure.Multimedia provides the contextual backdrop, with news reports and photographs. Brenda Joyner and Peter Dylan O’Connor play multiple roles, but the focus remains on Annie Lareau, on stage revealing her personal story. Mikaela Milburn’s excellent direction ensures the narrative sweeps along with pace, with silences and stillness landing, the storytelling fluid and nuanced. All the performances are layered – ranging from teenage exuberance and the thrill of adulthood, to conveying the weight of seismic events.It was not just fragments of the plane that fell onto Lockerbie: body parts, clothing, luggage and personal effects rained down. Lareau had lent Theo an earring, which she recovered from an archived box at Syracuse. One of her friends had bought a deerstalker for her father as a Christmas present, posthumously delivered. These were not just fragments of wreckage – they symbolised fragments of memory. Those who died were not nameless victims; they remain in the thoughts of those who loved them.Many audience members were reduced to tears by the end, along with a visibly emotional Annie Lareau, whose bravery in telling her story in person is unimaginable. Anyone present will not forget this production any time soon.

Following a decade of sell-out tours and international acclaim, the multi-award-winning Brazilian adaptation of Michel Marc Bouchard's Tom at the Farm is now making its UK premiere at the EICC in a spectacular surtitled production featuring Armando Babaioff, Denise Del Vecchio, Iano Salomão and Camila Nhary. Under the striking direction of Rodrigo Portella, the quartet of impassioned actors somehow manage to fill the vast stage for two hours.The multi-faceted plot revolves around Tom, a sophisticated advertising executive who travels to a remote farm to attend the funeral of his lover, who was killed in an unspecified accident. However, he is shocked to discover that his partner had hidden his sexuality from his mother – she has never even heard of Tom. In contrast, her other son, a brutal beast of a man, knows everything and will do anything to keep the truth from emerging. He sets the mood of unrelenting toxic masculinity, homophobia, psychological torment and physical violence, heightened by vivid lighting and a dramatic soundscape.Bouchard has said that this is “one of the most beautiful and powerful productions” of his work. The stage is covered in plastic sheeting and slick with mud, in which the men roll during the play’s intense fight scenes – Tom is even drenched with buckets of water as part of the abuse he suffers. Movement across the open space reinforces the sense that this is not merely a conflict between two men, but a malicious predator in relentless pursuit of weakened prey.Meanwhile, the mother mourns her lost son and, despite Tom’s arrival, suppresses any suspicions she might have about his sexuality, consoling herself with the belief that her son had a girlfriend. While she goes along with this at first, she increasingly challenges the brother’s deception and his grip on the household. Further power dynamics unfold as the characters clash, each played with conviction by an outstandingly accomplished cast.The production is supported by Brazil’s Ministry of Culture, not only as a theatrical triumph but as a powerful political statement. It stands in defiance of the country’s previous right-wing government, whose time in office saw a surge in violence towards the LGBTQ+ community.

Long is my journey through the Pleasance Courtyard to the Beyond. Loud and suspiciously familiar is the music that fills the corridors of the Dame Katherine Grainger Rowing Gym. Missing is the LOTR logo from my T-shirt as I weave among the elves and orcs crammed into this chamber. I have no memory of this place, even though I was here a couple of hours ago for a one-man show.I speak in the style of The Lord of the Rings, for everything about it is grandiloquent, majestic and verbally disordered – from Tolkien’s commandingly professorial text to Peter Jackson’s scenically beautiful film trilogy. And, like anything so infused with grandeur and gravity, the temptation to send it up is irresistible. Such a temptation has produced Fly You Fools, a spoof retelling of Peter Jackson’s first Lord of the Rings movie, The Fellowship of the Ring. The critical word in this show’s title is, of course, “Fools”. Fooling is surely one of the hardest performance skills to master and, done badly, is there anything more tedious? But when done this well, good fooling is an absolute joy – and here it is done very well indeed.Recent Cutbacks has sourced four clowns of the highest calibre and the result is spectacular and highly comic. Three black-costumed figures take centre stage with a fourth at a sound effects table. Multiple characters are quickly and inventively created to give a faithful, if tongue-in-cheek, rendition of the story. Elegant choreography sits alongside goggle-eyed goofery to create something truly hilarious. Props are simple – including a Burger King crown and two beards on a stick – and are adroitly used. Lighting and sound support the action elegantly.The beauty of this show is that everything is offered in plain sight. This includes the remarkable sound effects that accompany the action: a recorder, crinkly paper, bells and the obligatory coconuts. The use of paper towels and cutouts, with rear projection, to create the Mines of Moria is quite brilliant. This goofery is inventive, hysterical and masterfully delivered.If there is a drawback, it is that the films are now 25 years old – how many people under the age of 30 have actually seen them? Without seeing the films, it may be difficult to follow the plot and impossible to catch the clever references that are the comic heart of this show. This is a shame when there is so much that young people can learn from a comic performance of this quality. A family show should be for the whole family, not just for the mums and dads. Given the popularity of the recent Rings of Power series on Amazon, an opportunity was perhaps lost to hold the attention of all ages by widening the reference points.That said, today’s performance is without question a comic joy. The best things come in threes, and this is no exception: Tolkien’s 1954 text, Jackson’s 2001 movie, and Fly You Fools in 2025 – each, in its own world, a masterpiece.

Tiff Stevenson is officially the only comedian at the Fringe who has ever made me laugh at a bit about farting. It’s a subject that routinely (pardon the stand-up pun) bores me. And yet, I found myself doubled over at the Hive at Monkey Barrel, watching her tickle the audience’s funny bone again and again.One of the opening routines involves manifestation – a new age trend that isn’t quite what it seems. Stevenson turns it on its head as she speaks to one twenty-something woman at the back of the room. It’s not just funny – it’s eye-opening to the rest of us.The breadth of her material is striking. From finding a guardian angel through TikTok to her days as a ‘grid girl’, her jokes are both hilarious and thought-provoking. But it’s the moments when she speaks about dealing with her father’s dementia that reveal Stevenson’s deeper skill: she doesn’t just pluck jokes from everyday subjects. She skilfully weaves her way through the darkness, acting as our torch through the tunnel – finding jokes and catharsis in the shadows.Post-Coital finds Stevenson at the top of her game – the kind of show that proves why the comedy world rates her so highly, and why the rest of the world needs to catch up. Audiences might disagree about whether the show is “sexy yet”, but there’s no debate about whether it’s funny. With Tiff Stevenson, it always has been.

The Other Mozart tells the true, forgotten story of Maria Anna (Nannerl) Mozart, the genius sister of Amadeus, who performed throughout Europe alongside him to equal acclaim before her story was lost to the obscurity thought to be more fitting for females of the period.It is unlikely that you will see a more beautiful set design this Fringe – alone in the black box space, the skirts of a lavish white gown are spread in a giant circle of lace and froth. Among the folds and pockets, tucked away from the prying eyes who would not understand, lie key memories of Nannerl’s life… music, souvenirs from her European travels, books, and letter after letter regarding the mischievous little brother who took a continent by storm in the late eighteenth century. This is a treat for lighting designer Joshua Rose, who is able to use a full range of colour palettes against the neutrality of this canvas to illuminate each of the contrasting chapters in Nannerl’s life.The gown itself (immaculately realised by Magdalena Dabrowska and Miodrag Guberinic) seems to represent the maturity and acceptance of adulthood, which the young Nannerl dances around and through and over, before finally accepting that she will never inhabit the fantasy world her brother has been gifted. Thus, for much of the piece, Nannerl prances about the stage in her corset and pantaloons – free-spirited, dynamic, hopeful; before admitting that she must put away childish things and climb into the fierce-looking farthingale contraption ominously waiting to enclose her in its iron embrace.Those familiar with the story of the scatological musical genius whose intemperate mouth belied the beauty of his compositions will have much to engage with here. But there is no need to have an exhaustive knowledge of the backstory. The piece is so carefully constructed that we are treated to a substantive amount of information, which never dips into lecture territory but is always delivered with a delicious verve that somehow makes Nannerl’s relegation to a mere footnote in history all the sadder.Sylvia Milo (alternating with Daniela Galli) created, wrote, and stars as Nannerl, giving a towering performance that never tips into self-indulgence but gently and generously evokes a funny, knowing, clever, loving, and divinely talented woman who was denied her due in life. Much of the success of the execution lies in the way the creative team have used minimal methods to construct maximum effect – the control and economy deployed by director Isaac Byrne and his team demonstrating the tightness of grip and completeness of understanding at the heart of the process.The script is based on the well-documented facts about Mozart’s colourful life and on the hilarious and heartbreaking letters the family penned to one another during their times apart. It is a delightful piece in which a woman once reduced to the shadows is finally granted her own time in the spotlight.

Doktor Kaboom – AKA German-American science communicator David Epley – is everything you want for a family show: bright, bold, and educational in that most subtle of ways – by exciting kids’ imaginations and holding their attention for the best part of an hour. That he’s able to include one or two more risqué jokes “for the grown-ups” – nothing sexual, though; this is a clean, if rubbish-strewn, show – is a bonus.With his cool dyed hair, bright orange jacket, and a kilt made out of a German flag, “Doktor Kaboom – Man of Science” considers himself an excellent specimen of humanity who just happens to “speak funny”. That said, within minutes he has his whole audience enthusiastically shouting out either “Ya!” or “Kaboom!” in response to a promised or delivered explosion.That old BBC mantra – nearly 100 years ago, founding Director General John Reith defined the broadcaster’s role as being “to inform, educate, and entertain” – is undoubtedly appropriate here, but Doktor Kaboom adds a significant amount of fun and excitement to the whole endeavour. Most of the kids in the audience – and who knows, perhaps some of their parents too – are likely to have left the venue knowing much more about pressure – the titular subject of this particular show – than they did going in, and they had a great time doing so. Though doubtless they would also be a little bit jealous of the three kids – on the day of this review, Tom, Alex and Sienna – who were brought up on stage to help with some of the more impressive experiments. (Note to our younger readers: if you want to increase your chances of selection, persuade your grown-ups to sit you in the front rows.)In Doktor Kaboom’s world, science may be dangerous – but it’s also exciting. His experiments include crushing steel with nothing more than the pressure of the surrounding air, firing ping-pong balls out of a vacuum-filled cannon, and showing the full potential force of sublimation – that’s when a substance like “dry ice” (frozen carbon dioxide) turns from solid to gas without going through that boring liquid stage. Kaboom!Yes, there are some blatant morals “in the room” too: that it’s alright to be wrong in science, and that experiments may not always work on the first attempt, but the important thing is to work out what’s wrong and to keep going until they do – and when you succeed, the previous problems help build the audience’s anticipation. At one point Doktor Kaboom also reminds us that pressure isn’t just a physical force; that the stresses of life can bear down on any of us to the point we risk “bursting”. But, as one particular experiment proves, there is always strength in numbers; that opening up to others and sharing the load can make all the difference. You cannot be brave without being afraid.Certainly, you don’t have to be afraid in the company of Doktor Kaboom. An informative, educational and entertaining hour is guaranteed.Kaboom!

Sam Blythe is directed by Guy Masterson in this superb one-man adaptation of George Orwell’s seminal novella. The structure and characters of the original render it problematic to stage successfully, making this outstanding piece of theatre an especial treat for those keen to revisit this allegory of the Russian Revolution and commentary on totalitarianism.That the history books are replete with tales of the good-natured, the simple and the trusting being manipulated by slick oracy, hollow promises and plain thuggery is no secret. But admission that our own times are – irrefutably – beset with such manipulative practices still carries the risk of an eyebrow raised in askance (at best), or a short trip to the nearest high window (at worst).Blythe’s occasional nods to apposite moments in our own world drive home Orwell’s universal themes of impotence and outrage. And there is a delicious feeling, together in this darkened space, that we are complicit in this revolutionary act – in this telling of truths.Blythe creates both humans and animals with an extraordinary physical capacity, conjuring the tragic and the risible in equal measure. A boorish Napoleon, the silliness of the sheep, coquettish Molly, obsequious Squealer, and an array of personalities are bounced between at impressive speed. But the stars of the show are Clover and Boxer, created with such tenderness and humanity that their sufferings force an almost physical weight on the audience, who must bear witness to their journeys.Blythe's towering performance remains respectful to the source at all times, while breathing innovative new life into phrases that have become ingrained in our collective lexicon. This insistent, breathless piece should be on the Fringe shortlist for anyone interested in quality theatre – and an imperative for anyone interested in quality of life.

The legend of Sweeney Todd – the infamous ‘Demon Barber of Fleet Street’ – has been a staple of Gothic literature for nearly two centuries. First appearing in the Penny Dreadfuls of the early Victorian era, the bloodthirsty Todd and the epicurean entrepreneur Nellie Lovett are said to have terrorised and nourished London society in equal measure through their dastardly double act.In this origin piece, Lucy Roslyn imagines what might bring someone to Nellie’s eventual status as butcher to the establishment and feeder to the masses. Using the notorious story as a scaffold for wider social commentary, Roslyn conjures a world so simultaneously colourful and bleak that it is not hard to sympathise with the newly widowed Mrs Lovett as she searches for a way – any way – to survive.It is an extraordinarily powerful hour. Roslyn is nothing short of hypnotic, infusing every syllable with a powerful longing for something more than the crappy hand life has dealt both her and pretty much every other 19th-century woman of limited means. Without sentiment or saccharine, we explore the choices (few) doled out to impoverished women of the day (many), and recalibrate our lofty, privileged understanding of lives lived so very far from the hedonistic, earnest, liberated echoes of the Pleasance Courtyard at play.Roslyn conjures a world redolent with the whips and unforgiving scorns of Victorian London – and while perhaps less of a treat for the faint-hearted, the piece never strays into sensationalist or gratuitous territory. There is a delicacy in the gore, and a tenderness beneath the filth and grime smeared into Nellie – sorry, Eleanor’s – soul.Roslyn is a spectacular physical performer, able to breathe life into a range of additional characters with that seemingly minimal effort which takes hours and hours to achieve. As an expert in her trade, Mrs Lovett rejoices in the beauty of precision and artistry. And Lucy Roslyn, in one of the most relentless, compelling pieces of work at the Fringe, is certainly no stranger to such mastery of her own commanding craft.

One of the purposes of science fiction writing is to issue a warning to humanity about a possible future. In 1949, when George Orwell wrote his now classic novel 1984, never had that idea been more urgent, with the Nazis only just overrun and Stalinist forces now controlling eastern Europe and parts of Asia.Britain has been subsumed into a trans-Atlantic authoritarian superstate, ruled by Big Brother. Winston Smith works for a historical revisionism department, responsible for retrofitting historical archives with the party line du jour. This manipulation of history and memory is a critical component of state power: “Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past.” Smith secretly despises Big Brother, however, making him a thought criminal.Smith embarks upon an illicit affair with Julia; but the room they take is provided by a state agent. The member of the resistance they had trusted also transpires to be a double agent, smoking out prospective dissidents. They have been set up, rendering their capture inevitable. They are taken to the Ministry of Love, a deliberately chilling misnomer, where victims are terrorised, tortured and brainwashed. The culmination of this process is to send the protagonists to Room 101 – the embodiment of the individual’s greatest fear. Those who survive the process are returned to the state as now useful citizens, embracing and amplifying Big Brother’s propaganda.Box Tale Soup are no strangers to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, staging many fine productions over the years, and 1984 is their latest triumph. One of the hallmarks of the company’s production ethos is the use of reclaimed materials to manufacture their set, which not only drives their narrative but also supports their eye-catching, fluid, precise movement, directed adeptly by Adam Lenson. The set shifts and evolves throughout, with the backdrop accentuating the chilling denouement to Smith’s torture.Smith (Mark Collier) has a nervous energy – quite understandable given his inevitable demise. He conveys the human condition against the backdrop of a ruthless machine: hope, fear, neuroses, love. Antonia Christophers plays Julia and other characters. As Julia, we see the brazen façade, but also moments of tenderness when believing she is undetected. It is beautifully and convincingly performed. Noel Byrne plays O’Brien, Charrington and others. Byrne’s performance is layered and nuanced, with unnerving stillness and composure as Smith is being tortured. There is a fourth member of the on-stage cast – the puppets. Byrne and Christophers weave their movement into the narrative so eloquently that we believe them to be real. A mention also to the unseen voices of Joanna Lumley, Simon Russell Beale and Sophie Aldred; truly a star-studded ensemble.The global slide towards totalitarianism continues to gather pace. The lessons of history and the warnings starkly conveyed in Orwell’s dystopian masterpiece are wilfully disregarded by politicians more interested in power than progress. Much of Orwell’s writing has already come to pass, yet mankind continues to ignore his cautionary tale. Box Tale Soup’s superb production is alarmingly prescient.

From disparaging French Disney employees attempting compassion to the struggles of being a “big girl” among pashmina-shrouded, petite friends, Helen Bauer delivers an hour of powerfully honest and utterly seamless comedy.Big laughs are not in short supply as Bauer comes out all guns blazing with tales of ghostly interactions with Queen Victoria and toying with the idea of motherhood. With neatly placed callbacks and pitch-perfect timing, the hour flies by in a flash, leaving a sense that everyone wants just a little bit more. The whole show feels like a conversation with friends – a testament to Bauer’s impeccable crowd work and disarmingly direct delivery.Bauer does not shy away from the quiet, leading us through perfectly curated moments of vulnerability with her and her younger self. There is a swell of love and support for her in those quieter moments that seems to fill the space – a collective longing to be present for a refreshing and brave performance.Tackling tough topics with sincerity and grace, all the while making the audience roar with laughter, is a true gift – one which Helen Bauer undoubtedly has.Prepare to be charmed and utterly enchanted by this moving, hilarious show. Bless Her is a must in your fringe itinerary – get a ticket while you can.

If memory is theatre’s most treacherous stage, then Dan Colley’s Lost Lear treads it with mesmerising assurance. Joy is a retired actor living with dementia, her memories teased out and tended to by carers who encourage her to live in a world where she is still preparing King Lear – the people around her “playing along” to steady her existence and allow the one-time blazing star of the theatre some level of engagement and stimulation as the condition strips away her memories.When her estranged son Conor arrives, the game casts him – devastatingly – as Cordelia. The piece shifts and swirls between present-tense caregiving, shards of Lear, and memories of a life of dramatic transcendence and familial abandonment. This bleed is the point: memory misfires, repeats, dazzles, collapses. Live video, projection, puppetry and tight lighting cues make those shifts visible without ever forcing the metaphor; the show’s form behaves like Joy’s mind.Venetia Bowe as Joy gives a performance of astonishing tact. Imperious in her imagined world, she does not hunt for pity; she lets thought arrive late, or sideways, and you feel the cost of the correction. When a line of Shakespeare surfaces, it is not a show-off trick but a flare in a raging storm – poignant because it risks not landing. There is wit here too, and a stubborn performer’s instinct that refuses to shrink Joy to mere diagnosis.Playing off this is a superb Gus McDonagh as Conor. He is tightly clenched, bewildered, resistant to the dramatic premise and torn between an irresistible urge to manifest love for his mother, and the deeply held bitterness of a spurned child. He carries the unglamorous truths of estrangement: the petty defensiveness, the reflex to say “that’s not how it happened”, the dawning realisation that playing along with the dramatic tragedy might be the only honest thing left in a long-broken relationship.Manus Halligan’s Liam is the hinge that keeps everything humane. Deft and unfussy, he finds the dry humour and practical tenderness of care work – the rhythm that allows the production’s bigger ideas to breathe. Together, this trio make the meta-theatre feel earned; this is not cleverness for its own sake, but a working method for humans to stay close and relate to each other, breathing a powerful, intensely recognisable personal pain into the grandeur of Shakespearean tragedy.This is a production that resists tidy catharsis – rightly so – but the emotional clarity never blurs. What remains is pathos without mawkishness, intelligence without chill, and a hard, resilient sort of hope. If there is a whisper of Beckett in the pauses, there is also exuberance in the playfulness – the swagger of performers keeping a fragile world intact, line by stolen line.

You don’t need to have rewatched Jurassic Park before seeing Hold Onto Your Butts – but you’ll certainly be glad if you did. Produced by NYC-based team Recent Cutbacks, this chaotic, cut-price tribute to Spielberg’s dino epic is one of the most joyfully silly hours of theatre currently stomping around the UK.Scored by the nostalgic Jurassic Park theme tune… on kazoo, naturally, Jack Baldwin and Charlie Richards take us into the gloriously low-budget world of Jurassic Park – supported by gifted dino-imitator and Foley artist Charlie Ives. Together, the innately likeable trio retell the entire film with full-throated commitment and infectious glee. Every prop is repurposed, every sound made live, and every character – from little Timmy to the ever-seductive Dr Ian Malcolm – gets their own ridiculous moment in the spotlight.Armed with little more than a cardboard set of headlights, two palm leaves and an umbrella, Baldwin has the most fun it is possible to have reproducing Nedry’s iconic dilophosaurus attack, while Richards gets serious as gameskeeper Muldoon hunted by velociraptor.Ridiculous, yes – but also surprisingly slick. The trio, with masterful gracelessness, juggle voice work, physical comedy, sound effects and scene changes with wild-eyed energy and faithfulness to the film. Ives, in particular, merits attention at the side of the stage for her array of slurps, squelches, moans and roars, earning her moment of glory as the bloodthirsty T-Rex in the thunderous finale.While some visual gags land better than others, there’s an undeniable charm in the show’s DIY aesthetic. A traffic cone and bike helmet become a prehistoric predator, a disembodied tie is the fated ‘blood-sucking lawyer’, and an unbuttoned shirt with breathy tone makes for an uncanny Dr Malcolm. And, within it all, tiny black picture frames ambitiously recreate blockbuster cinematography without the price tag.Devised in NYC and evolving over the past decade to become a cult favourite, this family-friendly show feels tailor-made for fringe theatre. After its London run at the Arts Theatre, it takes its place at the Pleasance Courtyard for the Edinburgh Fringe Festival – and, if there’s any justice, word of mouth will see it pack out night after night.

The stark simplicity of Mike Bartlett’s 2009 play Cock shines through every moment in this staging by HER Productions at the Cockpit Theatre, on tour from the Hope Mill Theatre and heading to Shakespeare North.For some, the play may seem dated, yet nowhere has the bisexual conflict in the mind of one young man been so clearly laid bare. As such, it still contributes meaningfully to ongoing debates. It is not about what moralists see as rights and wrongs, but rather the inner turmoil of being confronted with externally imposed demands to declare your love and sexual inclinations as though they were a simple either/or predicament.John (Callum Ravden) thought he knew who he was, living happily with his boyfriend M (John O’Neill) of seven years – until he met W (Hannah Ellis Ryan). She shakes the foundations of his existence, teaches him about female anatomy and invites him to make love to her – which he does. Thus begins a back-and-forth between W and M, and a struggle between fidelity and betrayal. It assumes the biblical proportions of the debate between God and money: “No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both...” Or in John’s case, you can position yourself in a perpetual tug-of-war between your homosexual partner and your heterosexual lover. You cannot move in with both; you are not Schrödinger’s cat.Director Rupert Hill has meticulously adhered to Bartlett’s limited instructions on the staging of Cock – no set, no props – allowing the text, which amply describes setting, costumes and actions, to speak for itself, unlike some less convincing West End productions. Hill goes further, prohibiting physical contact even when it might seem natural. This heightens the isolation and detachment of the characters from each other, despite their intimate relationships, and raises the tension. The action exists at both surface and subliminal levels, while the square performing space keeps the cast hemmed in, intensifying the sense of entrapment. The area allows for freedom of movement, yet it is choreographed with precision to accentuate the message and nature of the dialogue, which the cast delivers impeccably.Bartlett gives very clear markings and punctuation to denote delivery, and Hill has paid close attention to these, creating an energetic pace and a powerful group dynamic in which the tempi vary to reflect the mood and intensity of the exchanges. An outstanding cast rises to the demands of meticulous direction.Ravden is superb in his cutely naïve depiction of John’s confusion and dilemma – a man riddled with guilt and wracked with indecision. O’Neill conveys M’s frustration at having to deal with the situation while being desperately in love with John and aching for the settled existence his maturity desires. Bearing a credible father-son resemblance, Toby Hadoke exerts impassioned rhetoric in support of his son – a man from a previous generation who has espoused a remarkable level of liberal tolerance. However, he is accused by W of lecherously admiring her body during the difficult dinner party. Ryan’s W is not to be messed with; she gives a firmly confident portrayal of a woman able to confront and deal with anything thrown her way.As we come to know the characters, our sympathies are invoked all round as the tension rises to an emotional climax that easily induces a few tears.

House of Life is back – and this time it’s bigger, bolder and more euphoric than ever. After two smash-hit years at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe and a run at Soho Theatre Upstairs, this cult favourite returns with a triumphant upgrade to the main stage at this iconic London venue. With added flair, dazzling visuals and star-studded preachers’ robes, House of Life has been well and truly elevated – heart and soul intact.The joy begins the moment we enter the auditorium. The RAVE-rend (Ben Welch) and his loveable assistant Trev (Lawrence Cole) greet the crowd like old friends at a festival, handing out wristbands and adorning cheeks with glitter. This isn’t just a performance – it’s an initiation. Part rave, part spiritual journey, it’s all wrapped up in a 10-step programme guiding its congregation toward true happiness. Step one is simple: arrive.Welch radiates charisma as he inducts us into his RAVE-olution. His powerhouse vocals could convert even the most sceptical, and he fearlessly commands the 165-seater space with infectious energy. Alongside him, Cole’s Trev – master of the keys and the epic sound system – works the loop pedal with flair and precision. Their magnetic stage presence never falters.What unfolds is a brilliant balancing act between spontaneity and control. As Welch cruises the crowd, Cole masterfully weaves audience contributions into the music with pitch-perfect timing. The loop pedal becomes a tool of connection, transforming unpredictable moments into genuinely uplifting musical numbers.The technical team also deserves applause. Clever lighting and visual gags are timed to perfection, adding another layer of wit and atmosphere that enhances the experience.House of Life is more than a show – it’s a life-affirming experience. Uplifting, inventive, camp and full of heart, it taps into something deeply human: the need to connect, to let go, to laugh, to dance, and to find happiness through community.Sheep Soup Productions have done it again.

Some people simply don’t have a filter, managing to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Our protagonist is one such person.Gobstopper unfolds the story of a young woman in a small Scottish town. For the benefit of international readers, gobstoppers are large, round, boiled sweets, best consumed slowly to avoid breaking your teeth. (The word “gob” is British slang for “mouth.”) Given their size and nature, gobstoppers take a long time to consume, inadvertently silencing conversation. Perhaps this is why the woman eats them.An elderly man sits near her on a bus, making some noise. It’s only after she verbally abuses him that she realises, to her horror, that he’s choking—on a gobstopper, in fact. He manages to eject the sweet, which symbolically lands at her feet. Her blossoming pariah status suffers yet another blow. She becomes aware of a boy staring at her on the bus, but this isn’t a precursor to flirtation; he’s a child. She gesticulates toward him, only for the child’s mother to notice. It’s then that she realises the boy is blind. Before she can apologise, she is assaulted.In such a small town, everybody knows everyone’s business, and her blunders soon become public knowledge. While intelligent and self-aware, the woman doesn’t seem to fit in. She has a reputation for social missteps, whether deserved or not, and today’s incidents only tarnish her standing further.However, she faces an even bigger issue: she’s had casual sex with an older, married man and fears there will be repercussions. She’s conflicted, concerned, and hurt. It seems likely that she was unable to consent, adding a disturbing layer to her situation.But why is she like this? The cold-hearted, dismissive attitude of her mother, combined with the absence of a father figure, is a good starting point. We can only imagine her formative years. She has little support structure, evidenced by the fact that it’s been weeks since she last saw her best—and only—friend. A random hook-up in a bar suddenly doesn’t seem so unlikely.Every aspect of this production, presented at Prague Fringe, is outstanding: the writing and, especially, the performance by Leyla Aycan, who marks herself as a star of the future. Sophie Michelle’s direction is deft, giving the performer space to ebb and flow—no small feat in the intimate Café Míšenská. The only criticism is a back-handed one: while many pieces of Fringe theatre could benefit from an edit or two, Gobstopper feels like it’s missing a denouement, and we were left yearning for more. Will she stand her ground in this small town, pushing back against her reputation? Or instead, will she sail away, as suggested by Enya on her playlist, looking for a fresh start?The woman is impulsive and makes poor choices, but that makes her human—not a monster. She is undeniably a victim of societal and institutional misogyny, another example of a woman being defined by a label. The quality of this SKELF Theatre Co. production is simply exceptional.

Nigel Miles-Thomas is no stranger to the Prague Fringe. In fact, it’s fair to say that he has had a prolific and varied career on television and stage. His tale, Once Upon A Time In Hollywoodland, might just be the most dramatic though. And it’s all true…Miles-Thomas recounts his deeply personal tale at the intimate Café Míšenská. We learn of a deprived childhood in a north London suburb. His father, a major in the Indian army, abandons the family when he is six years old. The father is henceforth referred to as ‘Major Disappointment’. The house is sparsely heated. He and his brother share a bed. In fact, resources are so stretched that his mother resorts to hosting various clubs, whose nature varies most differently, to keep afloat. He attends drama school and once graduated lands a plum role in the West End. Despite this, mainstream success does not follow, although he appears in various well-known television shows.All of which brings us to his early 30s, now married with a young family to support, as an actor. He borrows money and a suit to travel to Los Angeles in the hope of landing a film role. He’s still waiting for the call. But one thing leads to another and an intriguing opportunity opens up: he looks at producing a pantomime in the USA. For the benefit of international readers, pantomimes are traditional shows usually played out in mid-sized theatres around the UK over the Christmas season and are often rather lucrative, but the production usually critically hinges upon a star name to pull the audiences in.Enter Zsa Zsa Gabor, former Miss Hungary contestant, now Hollywood star and socialite. A brief telephone conversation later and once again Miles-Thomas borrows a suit and money to scurry across the Atlantic to meet her. She accepts the role, but her agent demands $5,000 per week. However, if they can fill the 650-seat theatre, it should all be fine. Gabor is the archetypal diva – a heart of gold one moment, a demon the next. What’s more, she is at the business end of a lawsuit with Elke Sommer, the famed German actor. Significant television coverage of the opening has been arranged, suddenly vital to the success of the show with sales sluggish; however, Gabor loses her case on the same day and her bill runs to millions. As fairy godmother in Cinderella, her extemporaneous comic asides add much to proceedings, but this time she brings her fury with her and insults Sommer on stage. If this proves to be the death knell to the show, our protagonist will face ruin.Nigel Miles-Thomas is a consummate storyteller. He holds the audience gently as his personal and true narrative is revealed. His stage is simple: he tells his story with merely a photograph of Gabor for reference. He is skilful, engaging and becomes Zsa Zsa Gabor in essence. The opening is perhaps slightly misjudged, with Miles-Thomas enacting the role of lecturer before turning to his tale; it potentially would solicit more audience interaction than may be helpful another day. A minor point though.The show is utterly charming. You’ll even get to find out whether Zsa Zsa cashed the cheques…

Christopher Sainton-Clark has scored another triumph with his new monodrama, The Night That Ali Died, which makes its debut at Prague Fringe.After his performance, I spoke to two young people from Melbourne in the delightful courtyard of the Museum of Alchemists and Magicians of Old Prague. They said the play was like reading a crime fiction novel or watching a TV crime series condensed into one hour. And they were absolutely right. Their words capture the intensity of the action and the depth of story packed into this gripping drama, which offers plenty of humour without ever losing its focus as a detective tale centred on the tragedy of a young man out of his depth.The protagonist’s Arabic-sounding name might initially suggest a plot involving a terrorist organisation or persecuted freedom fighters, but we’re told from the outset that Ali is short for Alistair – and he is entirely English. This is, in fact, a story of criminal gangs, drugs and murder, set not in a gritty inner-city borough but in sleepy Norwich. And if Inspector Morse can find plenty to investigate in Oxford – and Midsomer Murders in the countryside – why not Norwich? It also provides one of the funniest lines in the play.Ali works in a chemical laboratory with Tony, whom he discovers is abusing his access to drugs. Foolishly, though with good intentions, Ali begins to investigate. He soon witnesses a gruesome murder and becomes a key witness in the police investigation. Although placed under police protection for his and his family’s safety, he abandons his failing marriage, bids farewell to his baby, and escapes surveillance. But he knows too much – and it’s not just the police who are looking for him. The plot thickens, with twists at every turn.Four distinct characters are vividly portrayed through shifts in voice, physicality and costume, with each offering their own perspective on events. It’s a clever device that allows insight into each character’s mind. A simple chair and briefcase are used effectively, supported by a soundscape that conjures atmosphere and setting to enhance the storytelling.Sainton-Clark’s company, Raising Cain Productions, is committed to creating “bold and cinematic theatre that provokes thought and entertains in equal measure”, and this production certainly delivers. He has again collaborated with accomplished director and dramaturg Rosanna Mallinson, whose minimal, physical approach – shaped by her training at L'École Internationale de Théâtre Jacques Lecoq – also contributed to the success of his award-winning A Year and a Day. Here, it elevates the intensity of the storytelling.There’s only one way to find out what happened on the night that Ali died – and it’s a must-see. But if you want to experience a different side to Sainton-Clark’s range, he’s also performing Tales from a Country Pub at the Prague Fringe, telling stories through his own songs – and playing guitar.

“There is a light and whistle for attracting attention.” A phrase that rings with easy familiarity for anyone who chooses air travel. But why is it the title of a piece of theatre? The copy for this production was a little opaque – to the point that it felt deliberate. Which, of course, turned out to be the case in this simply brilliant production by Play Nicely Theatre.The stage is set, intriguingly, with a chest of drawers and small wooden boxes off stage left and right. The performer, Henri Merriam, essentially recounts moments from her life from adolescence through to middle age, the focus becoming her relationship with Tom. The hope of love, marriage, a home of their own becomes a reality for our unnamed protagonist. Yet the cracks are forming. Tom is her husband, her rock, the love of her life. However, iteratively, discernibly, his attitude towards her begins to harden. Like many transitions, it starts slowly – a comment here, a criticism there. But it builds, and as she begins to normalise this behaviour, he becomes emboldened. She is excluded from an apartment on New Year’s Eve for 20 minutes, the cold biting but the humiliation and hurt burning far deeper.He undermines her, privately and publicly. He buys her a gooseberry bush for Valentine’s Day – the analogy obvious and blunt, with its prickly outward bearing. He is possibly – probably – having an affair with her friend, Trish.She is obsessive-compulsive... Is there ambiguity now – is she perhaps an unreliable narrator? We hear his voice on a recording, but is this in her head? Her OCD gives rise to the suspicion that she may be, at times, emotionally unintelligent, yet she knows – she feels it in her bones – that Tom is involved with Trish now.His criticism of her ramps up. He is annoyed she will not assume his surname. He wants to see other people. He feels (classic passive aggression) that she is not the wife he wanted – not enough for him. He makes a list of her deficiencies. Let that land. A list. She doesn’t iron his shirts, doesn’t fold his clothes – it goes on. Clearly, Tom is narcissistic, gaslighting and emotionally abusing her. The misogyny is running unchecked, and he very clearly doesn’t want to be with her – or at least this version of her. She recalls the story of Grease, in which two incompatible people eventually become a couple, largely because the woman changes into someone she believes the man will want. She recalls The Taming of the Shrew, the Shakespearean play with dubious undertones viewed through contemporary optics. How will this end for the woman? We hope not terminally – but that’s far from a given.Every aspect of this prescient production is admirable – nothing less than a triumph. The staging is subtle, adept and clever, enabling the narrative to evolve and flow. The chest of drawers somehow becomes a church lectern, a wheelchair, a stepladder. The writing focuses on an issue for our times and the director, Sophia Capasso, displays a certain yet light touch. The performance by Henri Merriam is pitch-perfect, her timing – especially when shifting into a heightened state against Tom’s recorded voice – and storytelling flawless.The character is deliberately unnamed, suggesting a struggle to have an identity, but moreover leaning into the idea that this is not only her story; it is a situation played out domestically across the planet with depressing regularity. Her overarching desire is, like everybody’s, to be seen – but this is especially true of the vulnerable. Will she need a light and whistle to attract our attention?

Do not be misled by the headline descriptions of this new play. Yes, it is set in an ex-mining village, it has a brass band competition, it has generational conflict, and the finale includes a full brass band. But this is not another rerun of using a group activity to bring together contrasting characters to examine a slice of society. Instead, this compelling production focuses on the battles of one person: the bright but defiant teenager Keli. The storytelling moves through mythic, realist, musical and satirical modes, capturing Keli’s pressurised life through comedy, entrapment, despair and euphoria.Produced by the National Theatre of Scotland and Lepus Productions and directed by Bryony Shanahan, the show is a masterclass in theatrical components working seamlessly together. The drama is elevated by original, vibrant music, performed by a tight ensemble of brass instruments, drums, guitar and singer. Andrew McMillan’s tenor horn solos are crucial to the narrative, with brass instruments used alongside electronic effects to evoke atmosphere and location. Sound design is by George Dennis. Alisa Kalyanova’s pared-down but ingenious sets and Robbie Butler’s dynamic lighting allow for instant, and at times simultaneous, shifts in setting. This is a production where it is difficult to resist acknowledging every contributor.The show includes two actresses making their professional debuts. Liberty Black plays Keli, and for two hours she is almost constantly on stage, delivering a demanding script with unwavering emotional intensity. She seamlessly transitions from domestic, quiet scenes with her mother to heated confrontations, embodying both despair and joy as she expresses the transformative experience of music. Olivia Hemmati is the other debut, demonstrating strong comic skills in two contrasting roles.The ensemble is anchored by two seasoned actors, Billy Mack and Phil McKee, who excel in their roles. Karen Fishwick also stands out. In addition to playing the euphonium, she is almost unrecognisable in the dual roles of the comedic but coercive Lady Snaresbrook and Keli’s mother, Jane, who suffers from severe anxiety and agoraphobia. Fishwick effectively conveys the character’s swings between strictness and vulnerability, creating poignant moments with Liberty Black as Keli, who is effectively her carer.The music and script are by Martin Green, whose text is both fresh and emotionally resonant, combining wit, intensity and tenderness. Green skilfully handles the subject matter without a hint of sentimentality, instead infusing the play with warmth and humanity.Keli says, “At band we make things,” and the play becomes a celebration of music as a unifying force where everything comes together to “make sense.” This is a production that does just that. Unmissable.

In End Game, Katie Reddin-Clancy’s mesmerising one-woman play, cabaret performer Joanie is having a difficult day. After decades in showbiz, she has finally been felled by a heart attack at the age of eighty and is now stuck in the afterlife, forced to undergo an excruciating soul review by her spirit guide, Pam. Deluded Joanie believes she was one of the greats, on a par with Judi Dench and Mark Rylance. In reality, her career highlights include playing a shoplifter in The Bill, a recurring role as Nurse 2 in Call the Midwife, and—best of all—being crowned Miss Weston-Super-Mare. When asked by Pam who she has learnt from, she answers, “Myself!” But in her soul review, Pam reveals the consequences of Joanie’s self-obsession and carelessness towards others, such as struggling young actress Eva. Joanie declares she never reads her reviews (although somehow she knows she’s never received a five-star one), but unfortunately for her, this is one review she cannot avoid.Reddin-Clancy brilliantly brings all these characters, plus several secondary ones, to life. With just a few wig and costume changes to aid her—the stage takes the form of Joanie’s dressing room, where she can help herself to one of her assorted hairpieces and gowns—she transforms into each character, perfectly capturing their 'soul' before seamlessly shifting to another and then back again. She also successfully interweaves song and piano into the show, with Joanie performing showgirl tunes and Eva giving a heartrending rendition of Radiohead’s Creep as she contemplates her descent from promising young actress to downtrodden wife and mother.It’s at this point in the show that the tone shifts from hilarity to poignancy: as well as witnessing Eva’s decline, we discover Joanie’s darkest secret—and how it connects the two characters’ stories. Joanie’s subsequent journey to redemption is beautifully written and performed by Reddin-Clancy. Joanie may never have received a five-star review during her less-than-illustrious career, but Reddin-Clancy certainly deserves one for this show. She has been racking them up at fringe festivals across the UK and Australia—here’s another to add to her collection.

A nervous young man stands on stage with a guitar at a microphone, ready to perform. For a second we wonder if this will permeate the performance, making it a quite anxious watch. Then he introduces himself: Mark. We realise we’re the audience at an open mic night, which he’s never done before. It’s a tricky thing, to start a play with a nervous character alone on stage, but the result is so authentic we become nervous for him. We’re on board, rooting for him, sailing the seas of this part of his life as he lives it; laughing, cringing, crying and everything in between.This is a stunning production. It’s so understated that it grabs you by both the heart and mind unawares. The story unfolds in a natural, grounded way, with both funny and tragic elements finely balanced. Seb Yates-Cridland as Mark and Heather Porte as Jenna are so easy with each other; their falling in love is wonderfully believable and just the right amount of sweet. The way they play with each other’s hands, folding into each other, is acutely well played and incredibly real.There’s a moment where Mark steps outside himself to sing and watch what’s going on that is utterly gorgeous and inventive, characteristic of the beautiful direction throughout by Will Holyhead and Jamie Jonathan, who also writes. There is no fat in this play, no fluff. It is pure and lean, with genuine emotion throughout. Almost every moment is a standout. It’s as if you need to hold your breath while you watch.The story is also an important one, told in a fresh way: how grief changes us, what it’s like to miss someone so much it hurts like a physical pain. And how, as Jenna says to Mark, maybe we should focus more on the living part and less on the dying part. Heather Porte plays a strong and determined Jenna, with an unquenchable zest for life and a subtle layer of vulnerability. Seb Yates-Cridland brings a reserved, emotionally taut Mark to life — full of grief at the start and trying to find his place in the world. Together, they are magic. Watching their story unfold is gripping and, let’s not forget, also incredibly funny.The writing is gorgeous, balancing the poignant, profound and seriously funny. Themes return and feel new each time, shifting with the emotional landscape.The music, by Sam Thrussell and sung by Seb while playing acoustic guitar, is sublime. The melodies are fresh and the lyrics help Mark express what he feels but cannot say. Even the way he performs the songs changes as he moves through grief and healing.This is brave, raw, and at the same time polished, authentic and utterly captivating. It encourages us to keep dreaming, and to live a little. It’s incredible, profound and magical — and so humble and modest it has no idea how good it is. An utter joy.

It’s rare to find a show that has absolutely everything, is literally all singing, all dancing, with copious handfuls of magic sprinkled on it – yet here it is. C’est Magnifique is just that. They call it their love letter to all things musical theatre, but it is much more than that: with host Cyril’s introduction at the beginning inviting everyone to say “Here it is right” along with him, the troupe give us permission to leave everything outside and just be who we are. Here, we are allowed to enjoy the moment, in the cabaret to surpass all cabarets.In fact, if you ever wanted a glimpse of what it must have been like in Berlin in its early 1930s decadent heyday, this is likely to be as close as you can get. It’s deliciously delightful, naughty and a little risqué, in a sizzling glittering pot of understated quality. The vocals are truly sublime. All have different qualities and tones; they also blend exceptionally well together, creating soaring, interesting and glorious harmonies with live music backing. The choreography is incredibly well done, authentic cabaret style and time period, which is a joy to watch – including the French Madame Babette singing almost upside down at one point.One of the many super-skills they have is the uncanny knack of knowing exactly which numbers to put where: the ability to interweave the fast-paced, highly choreographed pieces between wildly different solo songs; contrasting the fun or the frivolous with the deeply poignant and moving in a way that absolutely works. Each individual song has been given detailed treatment, from Money from Cabaret, performed with a tambourine-timed percussion segment which is gorgeous, to a duet tap-dancing routine and dance with lifts lasting all the way through I Got Rhythm, which is fabulous. Their timing throughout is impeccable.There are so many standout moments as every individual piece is stunning; and humour and jokes are the sprinkles of fun and joy in everything they do. There are singing suitcases and shoe percussion, plus a glittery top-hat dance, and it’s the energy they give to it all that makes it wonderful. These six performers are all very different but add their uniqueness and all their contrasting qualities to the mix to make something greater than the sum of its parts. Everywhere you look there is something interesting going on in the shapes, physicality and facial expressions. The sea-faring segment – including a Titanic moment – is utterly hilarious and a fantastic highlight.Each of the six – Conor Baum, Nathan Potter, Jodie Harrop, Emma Edwards, Hannah Semple and Jack Thomson– play a different character with authenticity and verve, each with their own particular mannerisms which complement the whole. Their expressions are hilarious, especially Conor as Cyril the Emcee with camp swagger and confidence, addressing everyone as “Ladies and Gentlemen, Gays and Theys”. The way they deal with hiccups is so professional you are never quite sure whether those moments have been planned as part of the show – but a show like this needs to appear slightly flawed to laugh at itself. It’s the imperfections that actually make it perfect. Head on down there, join in the experience: it’s magnificent.

Tish (Letitia Delish) is stuck. In more or less every sense of the word, in fact. She is increasingly uncertain of her gender and wishes to explore nascent alternative sexuality. Tish is studying musical theatre in Bognor Regis, hardly a hotbed of cosmopolitan acceptance or tolerance. And then there’s also rent to pay.A chance encounter on Grindr (a dating and social app, popular with the LGBTQ+ community) pushes her into highly unexpected territory. Tish decides to become a professional dominatrix. To her surprise, she successfully embraces and embodies this alter ego and is delighted to develop a significant income stream. “My time is expensive,” declares Tish, setting the tone for the role of dominatrix. But what is the real cost?The stage is striking: we see a swathe of dominatrix equipment and clothing, but in the corner is a figure head to toe in latex. At first, such is the absence of motion that it is uncertain whether it is a full-size doll or a human being, but close observation reveals it to be the latter.The dominatrix now takes centre stage and exerts control over the submissive visitor (Alex Chorley), occasionally breaking character and offering us the juxtaposition between person and role, with identity becoming fluid. This activity, being a form of sex work, is necessarily shrouded in secrecy. The visitor, it transpires, has a girlfriend, giving rise to one of the most humorous lines in the dialogue. When setting boundaries, the visitor is asked if there is anything she shouldn’t do, prompting the urgent response: “Don’t tell anyone!”This is a sensitive subject area, one which is directed unflinchingly by Kade Cipher, which could easily have strayed into voyeurism but instead is measured and adept.Tish Weinman’s writing is textured and layered, giving the two excellent performers space to tell their story. The relationship between the two develops and pivots, with boundaries explored and pushed subtly. The pace and timing are superb and at times surprisingly touching and poignant.The sense of someone not belonging, struggling to come to terms with identity, societal expectations and social norms, is pervasive throughout this production. Another key theme is that of acceptance - the need for it, the pursuit of it and the consequences of it not being forthcoming. While the focus of the performance is on the world of the dominatrix, the relevance for wider society is clear.Provocateur is, at its core, a depiction of individuals struggling to find their place and identity in an often hostile world. The intense vulnerability displayed by the outstanding Letitia Delish will live long in the memory.

Hilarious, slick, moving and deeply powerful, it is clear why Mathew Bourne’s Swan Lake has become a legend, with thousands of performances all round the world and now celebrating its 30th Anniversary. Famed for its male swans, this is a transgressive contemporary interpretation of the classical ballet to Tchaikovsky’s glorious music, a gay love story, though love is probably too gentle a word for this tortured, violent sexual attraction and its dangerous love object, the Swan.Framed by palace scenes (the Royal bedroom and later ball) plus segues to a sleazy nightclub and posh opera house, there is much satire, contrasting costumes and choreography, all brilliant. However, it is the swan scenes which take your breath away. Apart from a delightful vignette from the cygnets and their memorable music, the male swans are not camp, but supremely masculine, muscular and strong, with the black streak down their foreheads, bare torsos, shaggy leggings and aggressive behaviour. Forget swans gliding gracefully on serene lakes. Real swans are dangerous creatures and danger is the operative word for these dancers. The choreography cleverly imitates the movements of real swans, an arm draped over the head with the hand hanging down suggests a wing, hands held together like beaks, jerky movements and sudden turns of the head or violent twitches of a leg and, most impressively the hissing, evoking a frisson of both fear and delight. The chief swan (Rory Macleod) is particularly frightening, staring from his lowered head. The Prince's dreams of freedom with the Swan (the white swan of the classical ballet) are overturned when he reappears in human form as the Stranger, (the black swan of the ballet), here a louche predatory bounder, in the ballroom scene. He seduces everyone, and cleverly, there are hints of the swans’ hand gestures and neck movements in the ballroom dancers’ choreography.The Prince (Leonardo McCorkindale) likewise is also a superb actor as well as dancer, and we feel his anguish as we follow his journey discovering his sexuality through his dreams of a male swan and then when he first views a nude male statue, his despair, and confusion (a strangely erotic scene with his mother), funny but poignant scenes with his ‘Essex Girl’ girlfriend (Bryony Wood, who incidentally is hilarious with her many faux pas) and the mockery he endures from other males.Mention must be made of the impressive synching of gestures and movements of the company as servants, nurses etc, the many humorous details, especially a corgi on its morning walk, a sly nod to our own royalty and the Prince’s yawning during royal duties. The sleazy nightclub and its dubious encounters are a great contrast to the opera house scene opening with a pose from Kurumi Kamayachi (the only dancer en pointe) leaning on the floor with one leg extended, reminiscent of Victorian photos of prima ballerinas. Lez Brotherston’s costumes have a terrific variety from those of nightclub goers, butterfly ballerinas and black slinky ballroom dresses. His sets are, as usual, outstanding: an enormous royal bed, a silver moon, a high barred window, open windows in the ballroom leading onto a balcony, all so economical yet suggesting whole worlds. In particular an empty long mirror the Prince gazes into, and his shadow played on the wall behind, graphically suggests the despair he feels about his unresolved sexual identity. Perhaps the choreography of the company is a bit repetitive at times but impressive solos and duets make up for this. A must-see show, ground-breaking in its interpretation but also in the company’s promotion of its next generation young dancers, Matthew Bourne is surely awakening interest in dance in young audiences and as a career for male dancers. 

Mark Lockyer gives a remarkable and compelling performance in Fiona Laird’s shrewdly abridged version of Shakespeare’s Danish tragedy, The Play’s the Thing: A One-Person Hamlet, which she also directs.Wilton’s Music Hall is a cavernous space. The stage is deep and wide, but Laird confines the movement to the expansive apron, with staging blocks almost barricading what is behind. A modestly regal chair is tucked away down left; a place for Lockyer to take a break and towel his face between the newly-devised ‘acts’. A length of shimmering red cloth hangs stage right from the ceiling to the raised floor level behind the apron, its modest width offering just a hint of power, royalty and blood, in vivid contrast to the otherwise ‘sterile promontory’ that is suggestive of Hamlet’s loneliness and isolation in his empty world. Only some highly effective lighting by Tim Mitchell serves as an emotional and mood-setting aid to Lockyer’s performance. Thereafter it is just the man with the text.It is the text that reigns supreme in this production. A palpable passion to convey meaning, and to ensure that every word and construct is understood emanates from Lockyer throughout, as though he is pleading with us to get the message. As he takes on all the roles in the play, it becomes increasingly clear that his characterisations are not about displaying his consummate versatility as an actor, although they do this abundantly, but rather that they are concerned with showing each person as a distinct individual who has a vital part to play in the unfolding of the drama and above all that their words in context should be fully comprehended.Nowhere does this become more clear than in the heartfelt delivery of the most challenging of speeches, To be or not to be… Setting aside all grandeur, he sits humbly on the floor and calmly allows the mental cogs to turn. He earnestly sets out the dilemmas, making sure the emphasis is placed on certain words to convey the logic of the argument that is disturbing his mind. Is it better to ‘suffer… or take arms’?With all lines meticulously enunciated, vivid characterisation and explicatory storytelling dominate. Amidst the many takes on male roles through a range of voices and postures he also brings an appropriate air of sensitive femininity to Gertrude and Ophelia. Humour and light-heartedness are interspersed among the anger and tension, while the complexities of staging a one-man duel are overcome by his acting skills and the ingenious fight direction by Dan Fraser.Together, Lockyer and Laird deliver a rigorous exposition of the play, stylishly directed and consummately performed.

An exquisite production, bringing glitter and joy to lighten the wintry dark. Scottish Ballet’s The Nutcracker gets better and better. The magnificent Tchaikovsky score, performed live by the Scottish Ballet Orchestra, combines with Lez Brotherston’s set and costumes, complete with snowflakes, two giant Christmas trees (one silver), baubles, costumes and dance to die for. What more could you ask for? The 2021 production made radical innovations with a female Drosselmayer on alternate nights and revised choreography for the Sweets to address cultural insensitivity. Now in its 10th year the Artistic Director, Christopher Hampson has continued to tweak it to perfection with more dramatic focus and new choreography melded into Peter Darrell’s original, not only by Hampson but through the inspired idea to invite members of the company to choreograph the Sweets. On the night I saw it, we were also treated to Nicol Edmonds moon-lighting from the Royal Ballet as the Nutcracker prince.Act I at the Stahlbaums’ party is now full of drama and humour from guests, children and servants - look out for the discovery of a dead rat and the eccentric aunts in black (Amy McEntee and Kayla-Maree Tarantolo) who appeared in 2021 but have developed their antics. Not least, a female Drosselmeyer, (Melissa Polson) flashes the lining of her sparkling blue cape more often and she is now a children’s party magician, making her less sinister than before as she pulls ribbons out of a hat or hypnotises one of the aunts. The mice, performed by children, wear Edwardian dress and carry stolen giant sweets, plus an apple-core. Their tails are draped over their shoulders elegantly and the fight between the regimented, masked and moustached soldiers against the Rat King is satisfyingly shorter and tightly structured, created by Nicholas Shoesmith. The Rat King (Javier Andreu)’s brief appearance makes him less frightening with the nice touch of Clara jumping on his back.In fact, Clara (the charming Esme Noronha) is given prominence throughout but particularly in Act II when she watches the dancers and sometimes wanders through them and gives a twirl. The Snow Queen (Gina Scott) and Sugar Plum Fairy (Marge Hendrick) and their attendants are superb, consummate performers of the pure classical technique. The Nutcracker Prince himself, the handsome Nicol Edmonds, added class not only through his breath-taking leaps but his stately yet open demeanour.In the Realm of the Sugar Plum Fairy, the ‘Russian’ dance created by Sophie Laplane is hugely acrobatic and boisterous, including chest-bumps in fascinating red and gold Russian clown outfits with triple-pointed headdresses.The ‘English’ dance by Nicholas Shoesmith, features a Jack Tar mixing tremendous classical leaps with horn-pipe steps; the ‘Spanish’ by Javier Andreu is traditional Spanish though not flamenco, with striking red costumes, and includes the nice touch of presenting Clara with a fan; the ‘French Bon Bons’ by Jessica Fyfe, inspired by pure French classical technique and most interestingly by Edgar Degas’ paintings, wear distinctive long pink ragged tutus; the ‘Chinese’ dance, choreographed by Annie Au, introduced in 2021, replaces the previously dull costumes with eye-catching Chinese-style white-edged, with blue and gold.Much tighter and more child-friendly, it is definitely a production to introduce a seven or eight year old to as their first ballet. And with all the glamour, sumptuous costumes and the high standard of classical technique, mixed with national dances to please adults plus new elements, even if they’ve seen The Nutcracker many times before will transform this into a magical experience.

My heart will go on for quirky shows that have their roots in the fringe but make it to a West End stage. Think The Play That Goes Wrong or Six. Now add Titanique to that roll call; apparently a joke between friends that played one night in Los Angeles, then an off-Broadway run in a 150 seat theatre and now in London, Canada and Australia. It has all the trappings of a proper cult hit.The poster for this show barely sells how fun it is, and you could be excused if you thought it was a tribute concert to Celine Dion, such is the pedestrian marketing. What’s actually going on here is a parody of the James Cameron epic film in which Celine Dion was not just the singer of the theme tune, but actually onboard all along. Our heroine, played with uncanny accuracy of Dion’s mannerisms by Lauren Drew, retells the plot of the doomed ship and the love story between Rose (Kat Ronney) and Jack (Rob Houchen); she can only tell it how she remembers it though, which provides an excuse for one hilarious scene in which Ronney and Houchen have to lip-sync along to Drew’s ad-libbed dialogue. Rose’s mother, Ruth (Stephen Guarino), steals scenes as a messy drag queen obliterating the fourth wall as she tries to get her daughter married off to wealthy villain, Cal (Jordan Luke Gage) to restore the family fortune. There are beautiful self-knowing quips from Guarino at Ronney at her debut theatre performance not knowing which side is stage left and still “three more shows before the weekend” for the actress who’s only ever done telly before.Although born in the US, this version of the show has been very much retooled for a British audience (Cal got The Heart Of The Ocean at Claire’s Accessories) and it’s much more like a panto than you’d imagine – they even make reference to the rather larger production up the road – “Jane MacDonald playing an ingénue?” It’s also sprinkled, unsurprisingly, with Dion’s hits; although Darren Bennet playing Victor Garber (yes, he plays the actor who played the Captain in the movie) singing I Drove All Night as the ship heads towards the iceberg gives the song a meaning I’ll never be able to shake from my head.Dripping with queer pop culture references, this 110 minute Celine Dion fever dream knows its audience; and once the word gets out, you’ll have to slay for a ticket.

Intermission Youth Theatre continues its tradition of radical takes on Shakespeare with Much Ado About Nothing Remixed featuring the customary two alternating casts. They’ve left their former venue in Chelsea, where they had memorable successes with MSND, Taming Who and Juliet and Romeo. Their current four-week run is at the newly relaunched Collective Theatre in Finsbury Park; a minimalist reclamation of an exposed-brick building with tiered seating and, for this production, a thrust stage.True to the original, the action of the play takes place in Messina, now transformed into a 21st-century holiday destination and party island to match Ibiza. First off the flight are the girls, complete with suitcases, stunning outfits and minds set on ‘sun, sea, sand and snorkling’. Right! Within minutes the lads arrive. Promotor Leon has invited Don P and the Aragon boys, Benedick and Claudio, onto his turf, not knowing that his younger sister, Hero, and fiery cousin Beatrice, have also just checked in. When Claudio locks eyes with Hero, it’s love at first sight but with “zero game” he must persuade Don P to help him win her love. However, DJ, (Don P’s illegitimate and jealous sibling) plots to deceive Claudio into believing Hero is unfaithful and chaos ensues. Meanwhile, Don P, convinced that Benedick and Beatrice are secretly in love, musters up a plan to get them together. Confused? Yes. And that is just the start of Shakespeare’s convoluted comedy of errors, dare one say? In a classical production, striving to understand its complexity might matter, and that is not to say it’s unimportant here, but ultimately there is so much joyous theatre going on, that it’s a minor detail. If a stage full of young people immersed in their roles meaningfully reciting the verbiage of the Bard interspersed with contemporary street talk be the food of theatre, give me excess of it, man.Will Claudio get his girl? Will DJ ruin the party? Will Beatrice and Benedick hook up? Who cares? Here the medium, under the bold direction of Nana Antwi-Nyanin, is the message. Intermission’s Artistic Director, Darren Raymond, says, ‘I wrote Much Ado About Nothing Remixed because that’s what I do, I remix Shakespeare. In many ways the world has moved on since the Elizabethan days, but some unhelpful attitudes and ways of thinking still exist. This remix interrogates love, deception, misogyny, and gender through a 21st century, young London lens.’ Thus the company remains faithful to Shakespeare’s intention of using a medium that speaks to ordinary people in their own language.And for those who perform, the experience is transformative. Read the testimonials of Intermission actors whose lives have been changed beyond their wildest dreams since discovering that the timeless themes of the Bard are about them. Don't miss this opportunity to experience a colourfully staged, stunningly performed and very funny adaptation of this classic and to support those who have been the beneficiaries of the company’s endeavours “to improve their mental health, social skills, life outcomes and outlook on their ambitions”. Find out more about Intermission Youth here.

Take it from Edgar Allen Poe, "Once upon a Halloween dreary, the perfect night of entertainment will cheer thee." That was certainly the case this week at One Man Poe, a double double-bill production, that afforded delight and dismay. Upon entering the cellar of the Barons Court Theatre, an already gloomy locale, we are greeted with a crimson bath of light, an eerie ambience, and Stephen Smith curled up, paranoid and skittish. This is our introduction to a captivating night of terror, guilt, grief and murder most foul.Poe is a masterful storyteller and Smith guides us smoothly through Poe’s oeuvre with panache. Despite remaining in the same space with minimal changes in set, each story retains its individual character - aided heavily through expertly selected costumes and lighting changes, as operated by Stephanie Van Driesen. Praise must be thrown to Smith, whose commanding voice and physical control creates four completely distinct characters, while maintaining the Poe-esque nature of dialogue and timbre. Particularly praiseworthy is the physicality of the protagonists from The Tell-Tale Heart and The Raven, convincing us entirely of each character’s insanity and age respectively. His physicality also conjures up the centrepieces of each work, from the eponymous pit and pendulum to the raven atop a bust of Pallas, leaving these harrowing images imprinted upon our imaginations. Indeed, they appear visible in his very eyes. From the quivering twitches of one mentally tortured in The Tell-Tale Heart, to the fatigue of the physically abused victim of the Spanish Inquisition in The Pit and The Pendulum, Smith displays the mastery of his craft. The second half does not disappoint, capturing the violent irony of the protagonist in The Black Cat and the aged woe of the narrator of The Raven; Smith brings these singular characters to life.Between the stories in both the first and second acts of each billing, serious costume and makeup changes take place. In less experienced hands this might be just an awkward silence, but with Smith in control it is mesmerising to see the new characters emerge, while music from Joseph Furey expertly captures the mood of each piece. Maintaining a pefectly judged and subtle sound level allowed the performance and Poe’s verbosity to thrive, while also contributing to the eeriness of the evening. The costume changes culminate in a marvellous connection between the first and final pieces, mortally linking the first horror to the ultimate tragedy.On a personal note, I've never enjoyed the ending of The Pit and The Pendulum… until One Man Poe. The creative choices in the lethargy of performance and delicately optimistic lighting left me greatly satisfied.This is an earnestly masterful production: a great homage to the works of Poe and athoroughly well-formed piece of theatre. It is a must-see (at your peril).Note - The two sets of two plays can be seen as a double bill or patrons may opt to see just one pair.

There is a plethora of influences and pressures on the modern-day woman. She will be bombarded by advertising, which can be subtly and iteratively undermining. Pretty much any website she uses, either through necessity or choice, demands acceptance of terms and conditions. There is societal conformity with its myriad of forms: education, housing, religion etc. We especially encounter gender expectations, against the prevalent backdrop of patriarchal dominance. Women are still expected to dress for men, wear make-up and even sometimes be obedient. They still battle for equality and to are compelled to fight to pierce glass ceilings. Not to mention, of course, sexual consent. Women, by necessity, find themselves compelled to develop defence mechanisms to navigate all of this and more; they need to be able to say “no”.Analissa Limardi is the creator and performer of NO. She gives an insight into the range and scale of the deluge of daily requests to which she may be subjected. These, if not successfully handled, can lead to frustration, under-confidence, self-doubt, mental illness and ultimately abuse, which can manifest itself in very different guises.Entering the proscenium staged Zo theatre, part of the charming Catania Fringe, Limardi is already on stage, back to audience and performing a series of physical breathing exercises, emanating guttural sounds; what appears initally to be a theatrical warm-up, it is instead suggestive of a coping mechanism. She takes us on her journey of requests or demands for acquiescence and the innate difficulties encountered in attempting to define and then adhere to boundaries. The only prop used in the performance is a microphone, being the physical embodiment of the variety of entities requiring her attention, including the manifestation of a penis. The microphone is relentlessly demanding, invading her physical and mental space, at times symbolically being a leash constraining, ensnaring and entangling her. Limardi is visibly tormented by these incessant demands for consent, until eventually finding the fortitude and resilience to push back and assert control.The performance is nothing less than spellbinding. Limardi’s physicality is outstanding, as she weaves, twists, acquiesces and strikes out. Her visible exhaustion is allegorical to her mental turmoil. The rhythmic disco beat pounding out encapsulates the plethora of pressures to which she is subjected. The fluidity of her movement is striking and her timing perfection.This production is intense, urgent and visceral. It is a prescient piece for our times and not to be missed.

Shakespeare wrote that “Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.” Nor does it in Harry Reed’s succinct and focussed adaptation of the Bard’s great tragedy Horatio & Hamlet at Barons Court Theatre.Using the original text, Reed has brought these two characters together to tell the story in a concentrated production that focuses on Hamlet's ‘antic disposition’ and raises the age-old question as to whether Hamlet really is disturbed to the point of madness or whether his extraordinary behaviour is an outward show to further his ends; that he might say with Iago, “I am not what I am”, even to the point of deceiving his friend.Inevitably, Hamlet (Joseph Ryan-Hughes) dominates; after all, it's his tale. But Horatio (Alex Dean) is his student buddy and, lest we forget, he wears the Wittenberg University hoodie as a reminder; an inspired piece of costuming. To reinforce the roots of their friendship, Laura Mugford's set is Hamlet’s dilapidated student flat, two months after the funeral of Hamlet’s father. Without wishing to stretch a line too much Hamlet says to Horatio in Act V “Couch we awhile, and mark”, which is what they do. The couch is a central part of the set on which they share a bong under a blanket creating clouds of smoke. What they are smoking is unspecified, but their subsequent behaviour suggests it’s probably more than apple, as they energetically fool around and bait each other.All the great speeches are recited and some lines from other characters are given in particular to Horatio in order to help the story unfold. Dean plays second fiddle with subtlety, a subdued, facilitating role that contrasts with Ryan-Hughes’ wild outbursts. He gently teases out of Hamlet how he perceives the situation and as far as possible some explanations of his actions and his understanding of his actions.He clearly has a great deal of affection for Hamlet and is disturbed to see him in this condition playing the dear friend with kindness and sympathy. Ryan-Hughes, meanwhile, supplies all the eccentric behaviour and wild gaming to confirm suspicions of madness as he delivers the lines that reveal the inner workings of his mind. He also gives intelligent and meaningful delivery of the famous soliloquies, in particular, “To or not to be..” with emphases in all the right places.In directing his play, Reed does not shy away from modern devices that get around some awkward moments in delivering the full story. Ingeniously the performance of the Mousetrap by the strolling players is live-streamed to the tv in Hamlet’s flat. The deliberate anachronism perfectly fits the situation and forms part of the student-style existence the two guys share. The basement venue also adds to the mood of being housed in a dark old building where ghosts might indeed wander.With Hamlet dead in his arms Horatio has indeed fulfilled his promise to “speak to th’ yet unknowing world/ How these things came about.” And so the double act part ways and we too can leave this triumphant production. Like madness, this play should not go unwatched.

Is there any seasoned theatregoer left who hasn’t yet seen The Lehman Trilogy? Since opening at the National Theatre in 2018, this epic piece of theatricality has been on a near continuous transatlantic run. Over six years (bar the mandatory Covid ‘pause’), it has ping-ponged between New York and London, with the occasional sojourn over to Sydney and San Francisco. As Sam Mendes’ original production now returns to a London stage for the fourth time, it appears the appetite is still very much there. Apart from a cast change – with John Heffernan, Aaron Krohn and Howard W. Overshown taking the number of actors to play the eponymous brothers up to 11 – the production hasn’t noticeably changed since 2018. Neither has my advice. Back then I said this is a show not to miss. If, for some reason, you did, it’s about time you heeded this advice.Bloody good theatre In the age of the ever-dwindling attention-span, it’s surprising that so many people are willing to sit through a 3½ hour play. That’s over 200 minutes. Time in which the average Insta user would have scrolled 75 times. And the return for your precious time investment? A play delivered primarily in the third person. A play where the characters have no emotional interaction. A play with no music, other than a gentle underscore from a single piano (played deftly by Cat Beveridge). A play that doesn’t star Tom Holland.But even after running for six years, it seems that if you make good theatre, the audience will come. This is bloody good theatre. So come they do. What it's not aboutIf you don’t work in the financial industry – even if you do – you will associate the Lehman name with a financial crash. But much like trying to match the right Tory to the right lie, we may struggle to recall what specifically happened at Lehman’s. (“Wasn’t Nick Leeson part of Lehman’s downfall?” asked my guest at press night. He wasn’t. That was Barings. 15 years earlier.) The collapse of Lehman Brothers brought subprime mortgage lending to the fore. If you want to learn more about this, read A Colossal Failure of Common Sense by Lawrence G. McDonald and Patrick Robinson. The play ends just before the crash begins.This was in 2008. By that time, the institution was Lehman in name only. The Lehman Trilogy is about the family. The timings don’t correlate. Nonetheless, this knowledge of what was to come affects our view. It underlines every decision being made, every action taken, by every Lehman male: grandfather, father, and son. A motor-powered rolodexStarting from the moment the first brother arrives in the US in 1844, 150 years fly by like the cards in a motor-powered rolodex. As they ‘live to work’, the Lehmans may be protected, or removed, from the rest of the world. They are visibly trapped inside designer Es Devlin’s imposing glass box of a set. The box rotates – sometimes at speed – moving through both time and place. Encased by Luke Hall’s grand cinematic projections, we travel between Alabama and Wall Street, crossing from reality to nightmare. The pace never lets up for the three hours. Family and business grow, extra layers that magnetically keep things together and force them apart. If the story centred around another family, it would play as a saccharine tale of inspiration. Some would look to it as (fictionalised) proof of the American Dream. Success would seem the deserved reward for drive and ambition. But it isn’t another family. We already know the ending after the ending. And so we question. When does drive become tyranny? When does ambition give way to greed?Testosterone-fuelledWatching now, I was struck by the production's masculinity. There’s something testosterone-fuelled in Mendes’ direction: it’s big and it’s bold. The imposing glass box has a clinical metallic shine and sharp geometric edges: a style you may see on an executive toy in a Canary Wharf manpad. The third-person narrative – poetic at times, but not enough to jar – leaves the script devoid of dialogue, empty of emotion. Its emphasis on the what, not the how or why, could be a (male) CEO’s end-of-year executive summary.And of course, we can't escape the all-male cast. Each actor plays multiple roles, covering supporting characters, big and small. Noticeably, the females – wives, girlfriends, second fiddles all – are brought to life with little more than amusing, but stereotyped, signifiers. But that may be intellectualising after the fact. As could be the more recent argument that the story glosses over the sexism, racism, and slave ownership of the brothers. Whilst these things are important in historical learning, are they imperative to the storytelling here? The play doesn’t hero-worship the Lehmans. Nor does it demonise them. It plays without judgement and leaves you to make your own. Quality shines throughThat said, perhaps it is now time for this production to take a break. Much has happened in six years. Though it may be no more than a wink next to the 70-year run of The Mousetrap, to compare the two plays would be like judging an apple against an aardvark. I don’t believe anyone could have predicted the success that has been enjoyed by The Lehman Trilogy. It shows that, no matter what the subject, quality will always shine through. And there is little to compare with the quality of The Lehman Trilogy.

There’s a wealth of research that shines through Placeholder, presented by Fronteiras Theatre Lab in association with the Colonial-Era Caribbean Theatre and Opera Network at Dundee Fringe. Written and performed by Catherine Bisset, with dramaturgy by Jaïrus Obayomi, choreography by Yamil Cuedo Herrera and directed by Flavia D’Avila, the team took on the challenge of creating a piece that, in D’Avila’s words, ‘would communicate scholarly work to a non-specialist audience but would also be enjoyable’. The company studied historical accounts of theatre and opera performances in Jamaica and the former French colony (1697 to 1804) of St Domingue (now mostly Haiti). In news sheets they found advertisements for runaway slaves next to those for shows. Those two worlds would intersect when wealthy slave owners who wished to attend the theatre sent a servant to reserve their seat; a placeholder who was dismissed once the patrons arrived.In the same period they discovered Minette, an opera singer and a placeholder whose story is elaborated in the play to become ‘a metaphor for the Haitian Revolution’. She is a free woman, but Creole, and in the highly stratified colonial society of the day, that positioned her between the ruling whites and the enslaved blacks, belonging to neither and looked down upon by both. Discovering Minette meant there was an opportunity to redress the imbalance prevalent in the narrative of slavery by telling the story of a highly talented non-white person. Initially trained by her mother, Minette and her sister were discovered by Madame Acquaire, an influential actress and opera singer of the Comédie de Port-au-Prince who took up their tuition.Although a solo show, Bisset through her writing and performance vividly creates two characters steeped in the period, while also exploring the impact of the composer/conductor Joseph Bologne, Chevalier de Saint-Georges, another biracial free man of colour. The dialogue between mother and daughter flows effortlessly and gracefully between the two, deploying appropriate accents and voices while providing insights into the age and the struggles of people against colonial occupation and making clear the enormous courage and determination required to stand up to tyranny and fight against the odds in the pursuit of recognition individually and collectively.Placeholder is a well-crafted, nuanced and moving work, tightly directed with focus on its central themes yet not afraid to deploy movement and dance as a further expression of the emotional content. It is a rare breath of fresh air in contemporary theatre that illustrates the wealth of under-used historical material that is out there waiting to be explored.

Humour is a funny thing and while I have a reputation for not doing comedy, many things amuse me and some even make me laugh out loud. Ortonesque black comedy is at the top of my list along with anything that uses quick-fire wit and repartee. That probably explains why I chortled my way through He’s Not Gay, He’s Just My Brother! starting with the ridiculous non sequitur in the title that still makes me chuckle.This triumphant production from Not so Nice! Theatre Company founded in 2020 by Matthew Attwood and Grace Baker is the work of a tightly knit team. Playwright Ryan Lithgow’s two-hander features the gay Peter (Will Evans) and his not gay brother Ross (Michael Tominey). The circumstances behind that distinction are explained in the play. Both characters are vividly drawn, with an endearing humanity that makes you want to become their friends and participate in all the abundance of brotherly frolics that litter the show.Evans and Tominey play off each other so well that they might easily be brothers in real life. They certainly give the impression of having performed together for a long time and yet that is also not the case; they had never met till casting and rehearsals. They contrast and complement each other perfectly. The fluidity and the inherent demands of pace found in Lithgow’s script are gold in their hands. Their timing is spot on, using changes of tempo and pauses to maximum effect. Frantic exchanges are contrasted with calm reflection and Eleanor Tate, making her outstanding directorial debut, has imaginatively used the confines of this Dundee Fringe venue to heighten the intimacy of the action in scenes that demand focussed conversation and space to explore movement opportunities in the more riotous scenes.The plot is a delightful ‘when things go wrong’ story. Peter is preparing for what he believes will be the happiest day of his life. He’s to marry his boyfriend, but a clap of thunder announces a torrential storm outside linked to the distant presence of the dreaded mother-in-law; a wicked witch undeterred by water. Her recurring presence at the other end of the phone create some of the most hilarious exchanges in the play. Combined with her, the surprise arrival of his estranged brother, who wishes to add his two penn'orth to the fray, escalates Peter’s stress to the stratosphere.And that’s it; a fabulous 75 mins of captivating tragedy and comedy, of pathos and passion. But not quite. About two-thirds of the way through when we are settled into the rhythm of the action, Lithgow throws us a massive curveball; a moment of shock horror that takes our breath away and turns it into a tear-jerker.He’s Not Gay, He’s Just MyBrother! is an enthralling exploration of bonds and relationships, of discovering what brings us together rather than separates us and of learning that the things we have in common are stronger that anything that might divide us. It's also a reminder that you should never be afraid to say who you are or how you feel, because one day it might be too late.

Homestead is a powerful drama that grips you instantly and doesn’t let go. Based on the famous classic The House of Bernarda Alba by Frederico Garcia Lorca and backed by his Estate, Homestead already comes packed with kudos and status. Steven Dykes’ adaptation has transposed the original Spain to rural Texas in 1956, which works incredibly well: it enables Hispanic influences which echo the original, and adds a religious Deep South to the 1950s claustrophobic element which scores through the piece likes words in a stick of rock, working beautifully with the flavour of the original.From the outset, the entrance of the women all in black, except for the two servants in grey plus aprons, deferentially standing at the back, it’s apparent after only five minutes who they all are. The singing with religious fervour is at once beautiful, mesmerising and haunting: a perfect opening to the play, setting the tone instantly. This matriarch has just buried her husband, she and her five daughters are praising God, and sadness is not allowed as it would be seen as a challenge to His plan. There is nothing weak or emotional in this tableau, each daughter and each servant making her personality apparent in the way they move, facially, and the way they worship. And the focal point of this whole family is Lilian Beckman: the mother, played by Deborah Kearne, who is a tour de force in this role, a restrained ferociousness coming off her in waves. Her strength of character is a cornerstone force and the play builds and builds until others either melt around her or break themselves on her granite. There are so many fascinating things at play here: Lilian Beckman is determined not to be seen as weak following the death of the man of the house, and is going to run a tighter household, and wants her daughters all separated away from the evils of the town, particularly men, or at least the ineligible ones. Contrast that with the house full of young women who are desperate for life and love and in the heat of the summer they are boiling past a simmer; and you have characters on a collision course where you almost can’t bear the tension but are so gripped you can’t look away. There are some challenging scenes in the play, in the way the mother gains control of her daughters: one particularly where each of them have totally different reactions to a shocking scene, showing exactly how Mrs Beckman has managed to play one off against the other. Yet the tighter she squeezes, the more some of them try to wriggle free from her grasp: something she is unaware of, even when servant Birdie warns her. The tableau pictures they create between them are both beautiful and eerie, the use of the table is genius, and watching someone breathe in one scene responding to the soundscape has never been so captivating. The daughters secretly listen to the radio, to “honky-tonk” they are not allowed to hear, then accidentally tune into a station playing Elvis: a brilliant addition, as it is so well documented about his effect on young women particularly, in the age which discovered teenagers, in a house where no emotions and no bodily awareness is allowed. A house which only shows love through love for the Lord: where the mother only touches them when they are on their knees in response to praying or asking for her blessing or forgiveness. In deeply religious households it’s easy to imagine this is the way it was for decades, and possibly still is in some places, which gives the play a timeless quality. This is a production where everything works to the highest imaginable standard: the direction by Conor Baum is sublime. There is a sweet flavour of Tennessee Williams in this play, and a welcome reminiscence of the Clint Eastwood film The Beguiled. It’s also rare and very welcome to see such an incredibly strong play with all women characters: and each of them played flawlessly by a universally astonishing cast, with Deborah Kearne at the helm in a perfect portrayal of toxicity disguised as care. It’s simply brilliant, faultless and timeless.

As an ageing film producer plans to resurrect his past cinematic successes, an audience are invited to share his memories and triumphs as he flicks through his back catalogue of work: and sometime friends.James Nicholas’ new play uses prolific producer Peter Rogers as its central character and - aptly as the man behind some of their most enduring roles - a prism through which to meet some of the most outrageous and loved British performers of the twentieth century.The Carry On franchise that Rogers and his director Gerald Thomas presided over was one of the most successful of the twentieth century, and brought laughter to millions: then and now. Facile, puerile and banal they may have been; but as anyone who has ever seen Jim Dale bongling down a set of stairs on a hospital trolley can attest, also rip-roaringly funny.There are, of course, problematic elements liberally sprinkled throughout the films when glimpsed from the lofty distance of a new millennia. But there are also dazzling examples of word play, physical comedy and delivery which more than stand the test of time. Whilst we can understand why a younger audience might be left cold by the series: to those of us of a certain age, they are just a cosy, funny, naughty old pair of slippers that seem to do the rounds at Bank Holidays and remind us of a simpler - but by no means necessarily kinder - comedic landscape.Nicholas’ script fizzles with details and references designed to delight all of us Carry On nerds and educate those less familiar with the behind the scenes shenanigans. But it is also a piece fundamentally about the indefatigability of the human spirit and the sadness of becoming irrelevant.As Rogers contemplates how he might relaunch his brand of saucy seaside humour, double entendre and cheeky sexual innuendo to a millennial audience; he is visited by the ghosts of his big stars.Darren Haywood gives a sensitive performance as Rogers, but what will particularly delight an audience are the Carry On stars he brings to life in rapid-fire succession. We are treated to the sneering Kenneth Williams, throaty Sid James, flamboyant Charlie Hawtrey, airy Hattie Jacques, blunt Joan Sims, and mellifluous vocal stylings of Leslie Phillips that we all know and love. A Bernard Bresslaw cameo is quite delightful; and a bubbly Barbara Windsor is especially joyous. Haywood embodies each of these beloved actors with a love and empathy which is tangible in each of the realisations: their voices now permitted more three-dimensionality than in any of the films which secured their legendary status.This is a wonderfully layered piece brought to life with love and understanding by director Simon Ravenhill: and a tribute to that legion of clowns who gifted laughter to generations whilst grappling with their own sadnesses.

The exposed brick of a top-floor cavern at Underbelly Cowgate is the ideal setting for actor/writer Joe Mallalieu’s premiere of Rum, a solo play rooted in his experience of growing up in a working class family of three generations in the building trade, where the boys were born with a trowel in their hands.Danny has to urgently finish off some plastering before the wealthy customer returns. His mate should have done it yesterday, but instead scarpered off leaving holes in the wall. Bags of plaster litter the stage, along with his tool box, trowel, motorised paddle mixer and tub, all showing the signs of use, with hardened splatterings of plaster all over them. He also has to write a speech for a very special occasion today; not something he’s done before or is any good at, but it’s really important and adds to his stress. A can of beer and a line of coke relieves some of his tension, as does the next one.He’s one of the rum lads; the guys who work on building sites and tell stories full of bravado, of night-time escapades, of shagging and drinking and narrowly dodging the law; of having no care for the consequences of their actions and behaving larger than life. They are great storytellers with plenty to draw on and an ability to heighten the tragedies and comedies with a little ego-boosting embellishment.But the banter tends to be superficial. Danny might have all the tools of his trade but he’s lacking the tools to deal with emotional situations and his mental well-being. Besides, men don't talk about those sorts of things; they keep their feelings to themselves; they put on a brave face and maintain the stiff upper lip of masculinity because there’s a stigma attached to showing any signs of vulnerability.As the clock ticks and the big event draws closer we are drawn deeper and deeper into the raw recesses of Danny’s mind, where childhood memories lurk and his inability to deal with what he has to confront festers. Nothing and no one has prepared him for this and the abyss of male culture offers only a void to stare into.Mallalieu's storytelling is captivating and impassioned. His naturally rich Southport/Bramhall accent has a down-to-earth ring. There’s nothing fake or put on here. He was a plasterer long before he was an actor and he knows the people he’s talking about and their lives. Danny says, “If the prep’s done well, the plaster goes on well. If things are done right at the start, things go easier later on.” Along with Tess Seddon’s tight direction all the prep makes for a smooth finish, a highly polished performance and a deeply moving story.Rum is more than one man’s story. It’s a plea for men to open up, to educate their sons differently and to start tackling the crisis in male mental health. Fitting then that Max Emmerson Productions is partnered with Andy’s Man Club, a men’s suicide prevention charity who offer free to attend peer-to-peer support groups for men aged over 18.

In an impressive departure from her typical fiery comic persona, Ashley Gavin’s latest hour, My Therapist is Dying, gets deep. Through poignant stories from her childhood, Gavin turns tragedy into comedy like water into wine, resulting in a performance that is nothing short of extraordinary.She kicks off the show with some brilliant observational humour, exploring themes of queerness, her identity as a masculine woman, and the unmistakable ‘F boy’ energy she projects. Right from the start, she forges a strong connection with the audience by playfully poking fun at herself, effortlessly granting us permission to laugh at the more intimate material that follows. Her delivery is refreshingly blunt and unapologetic and she holds the audience in the palm of her hand, eagerly anticipating her next quip.We discover that Gavin’s father passed away when she was young—an event that struck just as she was declaring her aspiration to become an actor. With her family dynamic irrevocably altered, her therapist Fred stepped in as a crucial parental figure. As she guides us through the trials and tribulations of her challenging upbringing, Fred serves as an unwavering source of stability.While Gavin may bring you to tears, My Therapist is Dying is far from a sob story. Few possess the gift of opening up about their past without veering into self-indulgence, but Gavin effortlessly navigates this territory. Laughter punctuates even the most sombre moments as she manages to elicit cackles at her father’s funeral and finds absurdity in the concept of suicide. There are no holds barred; she never has to fish for laughs—they come charging in like an unstoppable wave. Gavin uses her comedic talent to bring us all together to laugh at the fact that we are all just desperately trying to be happy.This show carries significant weight, particularly in the context of today’s epidemic of loneliness, anxiety and depression. Gavin’s journey invites empathy without invoking pity—it's about forging a genuine connection. Championing the practice of happiness, she truly masters the art of finding the humour in everything, even through tears. You may cry, but one thing is certain: laughter will prevail, as it’s simply impossible not to. Ashley Gavin is a bona fide professional.

A waiter pours a glass of wine for a restaurant customer. It hardly seems like a philosophical matter, but not everything is as it seems here.The set is simple: a table, arranged with cutlery on a pristine white tablecloth, with a solitary chair. There is a waiter’s station stage left and two spare chairs.Our two performers, Bertrand Lesca and Nasi Voutsas, wander on to the stage at Summerhall. This seems unusual, as if they are about to issue a banal health and safety announcement. They seem borderline apologetic and explain the scene that is about to unfold. Is it suddenly tell, don’t show? They, somewhat hesitatingly, describe the scene, iteratively adding forewarnings of layers of complication regarding what ought to have been a straightforward premise. And, in so doing, they verbally lose the thread of the action about to ensue, confusing themselves.They realise that it would have been preferable all along to have simply played out the scene, so they finally set about this. They now assume characters of waiter and customer, identically dressed.The waiter pours a sample of wine, the customer approves, a glass is then to be filled, but the waiter pours too much and some is spilt on the table, to be cleaned up. The dialogue is initially delivered in deliberately stilted style, no verbal nuance to play with or build upon. But then the twist, signposted during the preamble: once the tablecloth and associated items are removed and replaced, the performers swap roles. They proceed to play out the same scene again.And again. And again.Each time, there is at least a subtle development in proceedings, either with regard to staging or performer’s demenour, at other times a shift. Their physicality unfolds, a swirl of exaggerated movements, stillness, confusion, stuck on a seemingly infinite time loop of repetition and variation. But what can it all mean? The piece is open to a myriad of interpretations. Identities? Nihilism? An examination of addiction? Is it a commentary on mankind’s struggle and inevitable failure to control external events? ...or indeed understand one’s place in the universe? The invisibility or anonymity of service sector employees? A variant on Waiting For Godot? Are one or both in purgatory, iteratively washing away their mortal sins? No need to decide.This is a masterclass of clowning, comedy, physical theatre and absurdism. Their initial dialogue, in which they interrupt, or over-explain, or finish each other’s sentences, or confuse themselves, is not only delivered with immense skill and timing, but acts as a prelude to the physicality to unfold. They have palpable chemistry, testimony to Tim Etchells’ direction, which is expertly tight, entrusting his talented cast.We are left on the existential matter of the bill – l’addition – but this extraordinary production will live long in the memory.

Two chairs, a table and a back wall filled with train tickets, polaroid selfies, drama posters and a cardboard cutout of Shakespeare – is this a re-creation of my university flat? The play hasn’t started and It’s OK, I Still Think You’re Great is already nailing it. My twenties melancholy and existential dread are back. Thanks guys…The plot of this three-hander is simple. Friend comes back to visit old friend at old flat. Friend meets new ‘perfect’ flatmate. Tension. Secrets. Feelings. I’m making it sound generic, but it’s not. The thing with this piece is it’s not just a story: it’s an experience. It’s that feeling you have in your twenties when you’re too old to be spoon-fed but too young to have full confidence in yourself, your abilities and your standing in the world. In one way or another, this comes through in each character, even if they pretend they’re absolutely fine. All three performances are outstanding. Just when I thought one of the talented actors onstage was the stand-out, another would creep up and stun us with a killer of a line delivery or heart-breaking confession. Flossie Adrian, Olivia Khattar and Dominika Wiatrowksa are absolute stars. Along with writer Raffaella Sero and director Lania Hamilton, they have crammed the experience of being in your twenties into a fifty-minute show. It’s astounding. Witty, incredibly well-written and emotional in parts, It’s OK, I Still Think You’re Great is something I wish I had seen in my twenties and is the show I’m recommending to people for the rest of the Fringe.

Icon, legend and star, Miriam Margolyes takes to the stage once more in an homage to her favourite author, Charles Dickens. Transporting us to the 19th century with her gutsy character studies and powerful re-enactments, Margolyes & Dickens: The Best Bits reminds us all why she is a national treasure with a performance that is nothing short of perfection. There is no end to her talents, playing characters that span a wide range of the Dickens spectrum: Fagin, Miss Havisham, Flora from Little Dorrit, Scrooge and Mr Bumble and Mrs Corney from Oliver Twist. Her ability to depict an entire mis en scene with her voice and physicality alone (with minimal mime) is astonishing. She does not require any frills or accessories to enhance her performance and presents unencumbered, with only a chair by her side. Transforming herself in front of our very eyes, Margolyes is a virtuoso in the instrument of her body, modifying her voice and physicality so dramatically that the veil of reality fades away and you find yourself lost in the world she is painting.Margolyes combines her performances with anecdotes about Dickens’ life, adding her own signature quips as she goes. In the second half of the show, she answers a select few audience questions, which allows us a glimpse into her encyclopaedic knowledge and to hear of wild stories from her past that are riveting. Questions in this specific performance ranged from enquiring about what Dickens character she would be friends with to the last time she had an orgasm. Unwavering in her opinions but never unkind, Marygolyes captivates and enchants us at every turn.Everyone deserves the joy of seeing Margolyes on stage. A pillar of British theatre and character work, at the age of eighty-three her light shines as brightly as ever.

Steve Porters (Daisy Doris May) is back with his second instalment of his Ted XXX talks: How to Mate. After becoming boyfriend material himself, Steve tells us—his beloved ‘freshers’—how to follow in his footsteps and land a ‘bird’ with his three step plan. A masterclass in character comedy, this legendary drag king has established themselves as an institution.“Listening, learning and loving”, Steve delivers his “hard core education” with an overflowing amount of passion. Following on from last year’s BIRDS acronym, Steve takes inspiration from the animal kingdom to inform his mating tactics—in particular, peacocks, penguins and pigeons. Interacting with the audience throughout, the Guildfordian iPod DJ welcomes us with open arms, establishing the auditorium as a safe space to fancy your mates, scented of course with Lynx body mist.Building on male, British stereotypes from the South of England, May creates a character with microscopic detail, mastering his mannerisms, accent and catchphrases. His hallmarks are a-plenty and make ingenious references to male culture that are just the right amount of exaggeration and hit the spot every time. This, combined with his iconic accent, is nothing short of hysterically funny. Some of the best laugh-out-loud moments are when May interacts with the audience, particularly when she plays with the irony of horny male feminists using chat-up lines.Steve takes his work extremely seriously, and the sincere delivery of his unorthodox methods makes for comedy gold. His dedication to consent, respect and feelings is hilariously contrasted with his boy-ish personality and makes for hilarious entertainment.With buckets of charisma, irony, creativity and confidence, How to Mate is another smash hit by Daisy Doris May, directed by Mpilo May and produced by Lucy Benson-Brown, that sustains belly-aching laughter. Be prepared to whoop, holler and dance along with legendary Steve Porters whose seminar is guaranteed to be the tonic you never knew you needed.

Absurd, joyful and breath-taking, this brilliant wee gem might be the dance/physical theatre show of the fest. 80 year-old, Christine Thynne holds us in the palm of her hands. Who would have thought such wit and humour could be conjured out of random materials: planks of wood, plastic bottles of water and ladders, orchestrating a repeating beat with her toes on a loop pedal and performance pad, with a sly smile to her accomplice and guitarist, Calum Paterson. Electricity and water mixed. Oh dear! But this show is about risk.Lying on a table at the start of the show she talks about the difficulties of getting out of bed for an 80 year old, itemising each arm, leg and pelvic movement needed before she can sit up. This is in speech only, no movement. Amazingly, the audience is rapt, especially when she then demonstrates these actions. It’s a clever way of fooling the audience. For this 80 year old proves to be extremely agile later, playing not only with the forces of gravity of the random materials on stage, but demonstrating an impressive balance herself, if a little wobbly at times, taking risks a younger performer would hesitate at. There are also moments of gloriously abandoned dancing to one of Mendelsohns’ Songs without Words: surprise and joy the hallmarks of the show.‘This performance isn’t about - or attempting to say - anything,’ says Robbie Synge, the show’s co-creator and director, disingenuously. Despite no story or autobiography, it celebrates with gobbledegook script, dry ice, chutzpah and gardening gloves for ‘health and safety’ that volumes can be told about Christine’s indomitable spirit, an inspiration to us all. The audience were rapt throughout. This collaboration between Synge and Thynne has evolved over decades. Long may it continue.

Tweedy is a clowning legend, having performed with Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey’s, and most famously with traditional ‘village green’ circus, Giffords for over 15 years, he’s honed his craft in front of a generation of audiences. Now he’s breaking out with his own Tweedy’s Massive Circus (don’t say that it’s tiny; it just shrunk in the rain). Ably accompanied by Sam Goodburn of Fringe sensation, Sophie’s Surprise 29th, actor and musician Reuben Greeph, and actor and aerialist Loren O’Dair, Tweedy oversees an hour of insanity as he attempts to create an amazing show against a great deal of hilarious incompetence.From the very beginning, with Tweedy arriving in a tiny car and crashing into everyone, the show is carnage. Sandbags drop from above, cast get tangled in cables, props and set fall apart, and there’s a lot of shouting, recriminations, and slapstick. The children in the audience scream with laughter and the adults aren’t far behind. The main body of the performance is Tweedy’s constant attempts to convince O’Dair’s wealthy financier that he can produce the quality of show he’s been promised her yet every attempt ostensibly fails but still results in some excellent clowning.This is the perfect family show, Tweedy and the rest of the cast have crafted a script that allows for many asides and adlibs, breaking of character and the inevitable corpsing – everyone is having a good time, but you get the impression that the cast are having even more fun. The humour is pitched with a laser focus on the scatological, violent, anarchic sense of humour of small children but there’s a lot of clever gags in there for the grown-ups. Tweedy understands that the only reason we watch a plate spinning routine is to see things smash, and that if a clown climbs a ladder, he better fall from it.Throw in a dinosaur performing on aerial silks and you’ve got a near-perfect clown show. This level of chaos takes practice!

Last year, I ended my five-star review of Sophie’s Surprise 29th by promising that, if Sophie’s friends decide to throw a surprise 30th, I’d be there with my party hat on. Well, I’m back at Circus Hub and so is Sophie and her friends from Three Legged Race Productions but unfortunately it seems the only one who’s aged a year is me as Sophie is celebrating her 29th again.It can be difficult to review a successful show in its sophomore year at Fringe. Often, they simply bring back the hits and, although it’s still great, it feels less original, less groundbreaking. The return of Sophie’s Surprise 29th is, if anything, better than last year. The show feels slicker, yet more chaotic. The hits are there – we are stunned by Cornelius Atkinson’s display of strength on straps, Katharine Arnold’s character comedy as the quintessential 80’s rom-com “ugly girl” and her stunning aerial routines on rope and hoop, Sam Goodburn’s unique unicycle act and biscuit juggling, and the phenomenal roller-skating routine from Nathan Redwood Price and Isis Clegg-Vinell. But there’s some new stuff in there to keep it fresh. We get what feels like a lot more audience interaction this time - as well as ‘Sophie’ – plucked from the front row to be the unsuspecting star of the show - and a fantastic moment is Josie Jone’s hair-hanging whilst clambering on a bemused but enthusiastic audience member. There’s also an amusing update to Price’s class stereotypes speech that reflects our new, hopefully more liberal political situation in the UK.The Fringe is full of slick circus shows displaying superhuman skills and performers at the extreme of human endurance. This show has all that, yet it’s performed with such a self-aware and confident comedy slant that it almost seems even more amazing when these talented character actors display their circus skills. Sophie may not be aging, but this show is already maturing like a fine wine – or should that be a bottle of WKD Blue?

Mesmerising and minimalist in style, this quadruple bill of dance and light will stay in your memory as dance, lighting, and music all meld into an exquisite whole. The first piece, Two X Three, is choreographed by Russell Maliphant, and echoed in style by the Australian Lewis Major, who choreographs the second piece, Unfolding, and has been mentored by Maliphant and worked with Akram Khan, Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui, and others.Two X Three was originally created for Maliphant’s wife, then expanded for three dancers in three spotlit diamond-shaped areas, designed by Michael Hulls. The dancer at the front, Clementine Benson, is arresting, standing still with one arm raised, which she then slowly lowers to the sound of a single electronic note falling intermittently like a water drop. A slow turn of the head. The audience is rapt, proving that less is more. Two more dancers in spotlit diamonds behind her eventually join in, copying her movements. The precision and simplicity are intensely moving, considering how abstract it is. All is in the intensity.In Unfolding, a wide shaft of light (designed by Fausto Brusamolino) rakes the stage, and the dancers, joined by Macon Riley, are briefly illuminated. Again, the choreography is simple, less static, with rotations and arms raised in fifth or third, but as the electronic music becomes more frantic, the light washes over the stage like foam. As the dancers lie on the floor, the light plays over them, then shrinks to a single circle before it disappears. Spellbinding.Lewis Major is not only the choreographer but also the lighting designer of the last two pieces, Act 1 and Act 2 of Epilogue. Act 1 starts with Elsi Faulks balanced on the back of Stefaan Morrow, who is lying on the floor. An amusing beginning develops into an astounding exhibition of strength by Morrow and agility by Faulks, as her body never touches the ground throughout the piece while he lifts and swings her around his body, over his shoulders, and back again, twisting and turning her. Morrow’s panting is clearly audible, making the stamina required evident. The lighting is more sombre, with much of the stage in darkness, matching this almost grim sequence of bravado.The mood is beautifully contrasted in Act 2 with a meditative, slow solo by Clementine Benson, who appears centre stage out of the darkness in a nude-like costume with her blonde hair loose down her back. One hand is raised, and her statuesque posture is reminiscent of Maliphant’s in the first piece. White powder falls gently from her shoulders, and then as she moves slowly, more powder descends from her upturned hands, her stomach, and her back, as she creates circles with the powder on the floor with her feet. Finally, as she shakes her hair, a torrent.Lewis Major is clearly an emerging star as a choreographer—quite a journey for someone who started life as a sheep-shearer.

Xhloe and Natasha have been a Fringe icon for the past couple of years. Having won the Scotsman’s Fringe First award twice in a row now, the moment A Letter to Lyndon B Johnson or God: Whoever Reads This First, was announced, it was something I instantly put into my diary as one to watch. This Fringe has been a difficult run for the pair, with cancelled shows due to health issues and a fire alarm in the middle of the show I was present at. Yet despite these behind the scenes snags, the show itself is an absolute marvel, living up to what you’d expect from the pair as a seasoned Fringe goer, and a wonder for those who have never seen them before.A letter to LBJ looks at the story of two boys Ace and Grasshopper, mucking around at summer camp trying to become real boys and live up to their hero Lyndon B Johnson so they can meet him at the White House and truly impress him. The two of them play into the boyish charm of their two characters with full vigour, From Natasha’s LBJ obsessed and adventurous Ace, to Xhloe’s meeker Grasshoper constantly looking up to Ace. All the while the show would keep moving as they flipped and spun the giant tyre on stage, or would play iconic 60’s hits on their harmonica’s, never leaving a dull moment.Both Xhloe and Natasha also are using the staples of their work to the fullest and it once again works oh so well. From movement sequences perfectly in sync to a non linear story process that makes you never not want to stop thinking about the project to lighting and sound work that continues to blow me away. The show never stops moving even in its quiet moments, and its ability to play with pace, tone and setting naturally and still have it make sense is such an incredible talent.A letter to LBJ is incredible. It is truly insane how this pair keep bringing hit after hit to Edinburgh. It’s movement is tight, its story keeps you thinking and tears at your heart, and both characters are an absolute delight to watch. Even seeing the two of them forced to break character as the fire alarm rolled in and seeing the passion they had to get started once again was really incredible, the pair of them clearly love what they’re doing, and it makes their work all the more delightful.

Now in its 20th year, La Clique essentially created the genre of sexy circus cabaret at the Fringe. I was there back then, and I remember questioning how the scene would respond to this spectacular shockwave of risqué performances. 20 years later, Cabaret and Circus have their own sections in the programme, there’s a dedicated circus venue; Circus Hub on the Meadows, and La Clique still sits atop the throne as the grandaddy of the genre.The sell-out audience in The Beauty Spiegeltent is presented with a delicious display of circus and variety. The bill will change slightly over the run but, having checked out the cast lists, you’ll be in for a treat regardless of what show you see. We launch straight into the opening act - in a homage to David O’Mer’s iconic routine from that show back in 2004, Tuedon Amy Ariri performs a straps act involving a bathtub. It’s dynamic, sexy and the front three rows do get wet! Tara Boom’s clown popcorn hoop routine brings the chaos and shock factor expected from La Clique before displaying a real skill at antipodism with an array of parasols and David Pereira’s silk act is exquisite – although he returns with a much cheekier bit later in the show that rivals Tara Boom for raising eyebrows. Florian Brooks’ juggling is as slick as his humour and Bayley Graham’s tap dancing brings real energy and impact to the show. We also get a seemingly impossible balancing act from Mirko Köckenberge, fire and sword-swallowing from La Clique regular Heather Holliday, and brilliant tension straps from LJ Marles who uses their stage time as a solid attempt at stealing the show.20 years at the top and still going strong. If you’re looking for the perfect Fringe night out, you can’t go wrong with La Clique.

After their successful run in Wolverhampton, the Wolverhampton Grand Theatre decided to bring one of the longest-running off-Broadway revues, I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change, to the Fringe. This absolutely hilarious and heartwarming musical is here to show everyone what musical theatre is all about.The theatre's setup is perfect for this production. The thrust stage made it easy for us to relate intimately to the stories being told, provoking thoughts about the challenges of modern dating. The performers skillfully utilised the stage layout to their advantage, making this production a must-see.This show comprises different sketches, all centred around the same theme, assembled to create a musical. While this format is challenging for the performers, they absolutely smash it out of the park. They employ mini costume changes to help distinguish the characters, which complements their facial expressions and accent changes, showcasing a range of personalities.It’s clear that director Karl Steele, alongside the performers, worked tirelessly to bring Joe DiPietro’s book to life. Although this production first premiered in 1996, the musical managed to remains relatable in one way or another to every audience member.The music, composed by Jimmy Roberts, is both catchy and memorable. Paired with Steele’s lyrics, it becomes a true spectacle. We all left theSpace @ Surgeon’s Hall humming and singing tunes from the show. One of my favourite numbers was the title song, I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change, which was brilliantly performed by the cast.The four sensational performers are all equally talented. Sarah Pearson’s facial expressions had me smiling from ear to ear throughout the hour and ten minutes. Megan Carole’s vocals are stunning and spine-chilling. Sam Willison and Bradley Walwyn were truly exceptional, especially during their duet Why? ‘Cause I’m A Guy. They delivered an entertaining, hilarious, and jaw-dropping performance.I highly recommend this show to anyone looking for a fun afternoon at the theatre. This performance is a must-watch at the Fringe, and I will definitely be going back to see it again.

In The Whirligig of Time, we revisit Malvolio, the much-maligned steward who leaves the stage at the end of Twelfth Night vowing revenge on the whole pack of upperclass nitwits and rambunctious peasants who have caused him so much anguish.Centuries before Gove declared the country was bored of experts, Shakespeare conjures a self-made man so necessarily skilful at his job that he is squeezed by scornful punching down from the nobs who will never need to turn an honest penny, and irritation from those below-stairs who despise his aspiration. If the phrase sneering metropolitan elite was coined for anyone, it was surely Malvolio.For those uninitiated: Malvolio is uptight, punctilious, supercilious and overbearing. With – whisper it softly, for nothing is more appalling to the invaded upper echelons or those whose own status is deemed too lowly – ideas above his natal station. And it is this potent combination of intellect, determination and burning resentment that lies at the heart of understanding what drives the man to his threatened reprisals.As Malvolio, Robin Leetham slides from waistcoated pomposity to garrulous wench and from oafish flatulence to elegant feminity with psychological fluidity and a sardonically amused eye for the vagaries of life. Much of the success of the piece comes from its perhaps surprising humour, which nods to the tone of the original whilst bringing a sense of freshness and modernity to contemporary audiences.Whirligig is never less than a feast for the linguistic senses for anyone hungry for a script peppered with the understanding, nuance and love that only a team of other actors can fully weave. A masterclass in exploring the significance of character backstory, subtext and motivation; this should be one of the first stops for Fringers wanting to hone their own craft and priortise the suiting of their actions to their words. So clever is Richard Curnow’s writing and Oliver Brooks’ direction that there is no need to understand or even know Shakespeare’s source script. Indeed, Whirligig works beautifully as a standalone, introduction or companion piece to Twelfth Night. There will be those who nod wisely and bathe in the delicious sprinkling of Shakespeariotics (guilty) but also those purely fascinated with the portrait of a man drowning in the waves of his own thwarted ambition.

Hagar is a dreamer. But she never dreamed she’d be a refugee. Set in Aleppo in 2015, this haunting tale of love and hope against the odds sees Hagar try everything she can to bring her baby son to the relative haven of European safety. But she hasn’t reckoned on the ever-changing demands of the people smugglers or the terrible conditionality of friendly help.As the piece opens, we see Hagar (Amena Shehab) playing with the poor remnants of her world as she tries to conjure a first birthday treat for her baby: a plastic tea set, a tiny cupcake with a solitary candle, crates as tables, sand bags as guests. The humour at the outset is delicate and whimsical, allowing an audience to fully connect with the littlenesses of life we all splash about it; drawing us into Hagar’s warmth and humanity; urging her little boy to grow into the man she so wishes for him to become.The inevitable horror is slowly layered throughout the piece, cleverly avoiding sensationalism or sentimentality. This almost matter-of-factness about a world collapsing around her adds to the bleakness and inevitability permeating and threatening to undermine every glimpse of hope. When it does come, it does so in wave upon dreadful wave, threatening to engulf the audience in impotent fury as surely as the cruel sea threatens the lives of those desperate to forge a new life.Herself a two-time refugee, Shehab embodies Hagar with a weary pride and purpose which barely falters throughout this achingly emotional tour-de-force. Through a collage of interactions, we see her chances for happiness rise and fall: as fluctuant as the dunes raked into the desert sand.Playwright Aksam Alyousef has created a beautifully restrained piece that, although nominally set in Syria, chimes all too horribly with thousands of displaced and disenfranchised peoples across the world.But it should never have needed to be written. And this: this is precisely why we all do what we do.To engage, to educate, to entertain.But above all: to make a difference. To tell the stories that no-one else will.There is a reason that totalitarian regimes ban theatre. A reason that it suits a certain type of person to turn their backs on those in need. Religion may have once been the opium of the masses; but ignorance is making a strong claim as its twenty-first century replacement.Thus, shows like this are so powerful because they are not only dramatically exquisite, but politically expedient. And it is our duty - and bittersweet joy - to ensure that such works can continue to change the world: one audience at a time.

Addict introduces us to the central character of John, who, after a tweet (or whatever it is we're meant to call them these days) goes viral, slips into the murky world of social media addiction. A spiralling set of circumstances, actions and missteps lead John further down the rabbit hole, and we see just how damaging leading a double life (online and actual) can be.Craig Barclay's natural and effortlessly conversational style retains a skilful theatrical delivery as he swaps seamlessly between the likeable John and his enigmatically dangerous alter ego Joe; a masterful performance from a superbly skilled actor.The writing is nuanced and delicate but pulls no punches as it dissects the loathsome nature of the necessary evil that has become a part of everyday life, and the direction keeps the subject material from becoming too downbeat with many well-honed and unexpected moments of comedy.I don't want to write too much more about Addict as it is a show that will be better experienced first-hand, but in short, this is an excellent piece of work. Utterly compelling, unsettlingly relatable and a must-see offering at this year's Fringe.

One of the most popular Stephen Sondheim musicals has hit the Edinburgh Fringe, and it truly shines! Into The Woods is produced by the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art (LAMDA) at Greenside @ George Street.Fairytale characters from famous stories like Little Red Riding Hood, Jack and the Beanstalk, Hansel and Gretel, and Cinderella all merge into one story. If you see this musical, I can promise you that James Lapine’s book offers plot twists that take the stories of characters we all love to a much deeper level.With this being LAMDA’s first year of master's students, one would expect to see a marvel of a show. With Annabel Mutale Reed’s direction, this show exceeds all expectations. The choreography by Sarah Golding and Gregory Haney, although minimal, allows every student to showcase their dance skills and the hard work they've put into their studies. Together with James Cleeve’s brilliant musical direction, this promises two hours of outstanding non-stop entertainment.The team makes interesting use of a limited set, and the special effects of Luca Panetta's lighting design work really well, particularly in helping the audience understand whether a character is talking to themselves or to others and in enabling us to see facial expressions, while highlighting the distressing parts of the show. Liam McDermott’s sound design meant the cast could be heard clearly, even when they spoke over each other.Each character is well portrayed. Luke Capello’s interpretation of Jack is truly remarkable, showing how much Jack learned and developed during this adventure. Anna Cornish’s Milky White was intricate and real, making us laugh and cry with their amazing facial expressions and movements. Daniel Trainor’s Cinderella’s Prince was outstanding, authentically highlighting the Prince’s red flags. Caitlin Jane Williams fabulously played the Steward and Hollie Avery was exceptional in terms of stage presence, voice and characterisation. The Witch is a very hard role to play, as they tell everyone what they don’t want to hear. Thanks to Avery, I can now truly understand what Sondheim meant with songs like Children Will Listen.Whether you’re a Stephen Sondheim fan or not, this show is not to be missed. Do yourself a favour, and if you’re watching only one musical at the Fringe, make it this one! Truly remarkable.

This is the perfect Fringe show. It's short. It's snappy. It bursts with intellectual condundra. It's weird. Deeply weird. It's funny. And at its heart lie two dazzling performances which, unlike much of the fast-fiction conceits of the month, will stay with you long after you leave the venue. And if that's not enough to woo you, the seats are easily the comfiest you will find in the Burgh.Ludwig Van Beethoven (Martin John Mills) and his friend Quasimodo (Harald Djurken) are presenting a panel discussion to discuss sound design, specifically their search for the baffling and impossible cue described at the end of Anton Checkhov’s The Cherry Orchard.And if the premise alone is not absurdist enough for you, hold on to your organ stops, for it gets weirder and weirder. Mickle Maher's brilliant script explores how two men - who can have never even met - might interpret a fictional sound dreamed up by a playwright born years after their own deaths.Mills' slick Beethoven is a sharp suited, oleaginous know-all; Djurken's Quasimodo a lumpen feel-all. The cultural clash between classical romanticism and grubby medievalism is suggested through eyebrow rolls and grunts: the disconnect between each world exemplified by the attention to muddy detail in the physical representation of the fictional man and the lack of such accoutrements for the factual. Perhaps it is easier to time hop if you already have a foot in reality.Beethoven exudes confidence and charisma; Quasimodo, the resignation of defeat. And never has a cardboard box been unpacked with such humanness and humanity. The script fizzles with philosophical deconstructions and comic flashes which are delivered with deadpan earnestness and utter conviction in the increasingly surreal academic landscape. Whilst the text considers failure and our reaction to it; that is something which need not concern director Rebecca Garron and the team behind this piece.If one takes a moment to consider the origins and nomenclature of Fringe theatre, then it is unlikely you will find anything more worthy of being the standard bearer. Please go and see it. If not, it will be just another of your silent life failures, destined not remain unscorned because it was never even attempted.

This is a beautiful play. As Charlie's mother lies dying; his fears, lasagnes, guilt and onanistic hobbies all come crashing around him in a farcical romp of his own creation.His "masturbatory nihilism" becomes increasingly all-consuming as he fails to deal sensitively with his mother's insidious cancer. And this is no great surprise: after all he's eighteen, a mess with a penchant for recreating his favourite television scenes, a fantasist whose long conversations with death supplant the moments he should really be spending with the woman in the bed who is desperate just to hold his hand.Writer Ben Blais has created such a special piece: hilarious and moving in equal measure. What helps lift it above the more standard soul-searching Fringe fayre is its ability to twist the narrative and audience expectation minute by minute. As soon as you think you know what to expect from this show, it will shake and subvert your assumptions in the most charming and outrageous ways.As Charlie, Griffyn Bellah is a bundle of nervous energy: bounding, leaping, squirming across the stage as his physical self wrangles with the emotions he cannot understand, much less process. It is a spectacular performance which traverses a range of styles and emotions with dynamism and an aching acuity. The eponymous 'mom' (an exquisitely truthful Liv Hodder) is a former actress, whose over-reliance on the words of others to express what she herself cannot forms one of the key themes of the piece. It is a trait that she has unknowingly passed to Charlie, who will find any way to wriggle away from showing us something 'real': until admonished by death (an engaging and dry Joseph Bellis) to crack on and do so. This leads to a scene of staggering ordinariness and simple beauty which stands out in relief against the high-octane shenanigans.Charlie berates those who indulge in "slosh[es] of monotonous, formulaic storytelling" and Dead Mom Play could certainly never be accused of such literary laziness. It is a stunning, thoughtful and very very funny piece which deserves to be seen by a wide audience: and yes, is absolutely worth setting your alarms for. It is an homage to words, a love letter to those we have lost, and an admission of guilt that when they needed us most, we were not enough.

Catherine Cohen’s new Fringe show will have you asking yourself, “Is she flirting with me specifically?” for the full 60 minute duration.Casually meandering through topics like religion, sex tapes, murder podcasts, and (REALLY) embarrassing selfies, she’s tapped into the millennial woman mindset and — there’s no other way to say it — made us all her b*tches. If you follow her on social media, what you see there is what you get in person, and it’s more than we deserve. She has so much energy and wit that there’s barely one moment where we’re not privy to a witty comment or colourful anecdote, making it actually quite difficult for her to take a much-deserved water break.On top of her comic flair, she’s also a very skilled vocalist who uses her talent to tackle the big issues, basically telling us to do whatever we want because we’re going to die someday anyway. You heard it here first, folks. As a performer, she has an old-school lounge singer energy, meshed with enough pop culture references to allow her to easily connect with her 2024 audience.What else can we say? She can sing, she can tell jokes, she can apply winged eyeliner, and she froze 36 of her eggs, so get ready for those back-up dancers to hatch any day now. You will not regret grabbing a ticket to this (frequently sold out) show.

Kirsty Munro has created an engaging show with her delightfully naughty stories in Two Slut Drops and a Chicken Burger, making the whole room cringe in the sweetest way possible. From tales ranging from bikini waxing mishaps to hilarious accounts of navigating life with depression. Her high energy and infectious giggles created an atmosphere where everyone let loose and enjoyed the wild ride, she took us on.The show also had interactive elements, as Munro invited the audience to guess which mental health disorder she is medicated for. This light-hearted yet bold approach set the tone for the rest of the evening. She then regaled us with the hilarious tale of how her trip to a mental hospital turned into an unexpected adventure in Ibiza. Dropping pills and having uncomfortable bathroom encounters with women she had just met—who may have been her nurse—Munro’s candid storytelling had everyone in stitches.Not one to shy away from personal topics, Munro also opened up about her relationship with her fiancé, particularly their sex life. With a mix of humour and honesty, she recounted their attempts to spice things up with bondage, which somehow ended in a role-play session where she imitated a crab, pinching her fiancé’s bottom while crawling side to side. This bizarre yet hilarious anecdote is a perfect example of Munro’s ability, to make even the most outlandish scenarios feel relatable.Her quick wit and real-life experiences give her stories a sense of authenticity that resonates, especially with the women in the audience. While the delivery of these stories is anything but conventional—she is bubbly, bold, and utterly unfiltered—Munro’s charm lies in her unapologetic embrace of her quirks. She doesn’t just tell jokes; she shares parts of herself with the audience, making it impossible not to fall in love with her at the end of the night.By the time the show wrapped up, everyone in the room felt like they were in on a private joke as if their slightly bonkers friend had just gotten up to share a string of crazy stories at the pub. And what can I say about the finale? In a surprising twist, Munro re-enacted a strip tease she once performed for her partner, complete with Britney Spears playing in the background. I didn’t expect a Free Fringe show to end with pink sparkly nipple covers, but I can’t say I was mad about it!One of the standout aspects of Munro’s performance is her ability to engage with the audience. The participation is just right—not too overwhelming, but enough to make everyone feel involved. Munro has mastered the art of oversharing in the best way possible, making her cringe-worthy yet lovable.By the end, you’d be more than willing to throw it back and share a chicken burger with her on her next night out. The show not only entertains but makes you feel as though you’ve made a new, albeit quirky, friend.

Which is which? Meet six-foot-seven identical twins, Patrick and Hugo. And yes, they are even taller in person. These two will have you doubled over with laughter as you follow them on a journey in search of satire, all in an attempt to secure their producers for next year. They should have no problem keeping their spot, as Pear is a must-see, having already been picked as the Fringe Pick of the Week.Sibling relationships are hard. Now imagine putting together a show and performing it with your twin. That is exactly what makes this show so captivating. Twins have fascinated society for decades, and in this performance, Patrick and Hugo spark curiosity because they look the same, sound the same, and dress the same. They share mannerisms and finish each other’s sentences, so similar yet somehow different.This unique dynamic adds a new level of appreciation for the show. Patrick and Hugo’s genius shines through as they present a plethora of skits, peppered with a few musical numbers, ensuring an entertaining and unforgettable experience.Forget the quintessential myth that twins are telepathic. This duo radiates with explosive chemistry. Their playful banter bounces off each other in perfect synergy. They are the twins you want at your dinner party, with humour that is both current and inclusive. They confidently work the audience, not just filling the room with laughter but also actively interacting and using the crowd’s responses. The whole show is a running joke, with each skit referencing previous ones, creating a build-up that feels fulfilling and effortlessly natural.The Fringe is known for its tiny venues, which pop up all around the city. The stage for Pear features a pear-shaped LED neon sign hanging on the far wall. Two chairs sit on an otherwise empty stage, anticipating the arrival of the twins. Pear is uniquely tailored to its venue, cleverly incorporating Underbelly Cowgate into the show. You really have to see it to fully appreciate its freshness and uniqueness. While their run in Edinburgh continues until the end of the month, the show will take you on a quick tour around the world, introducing characters that cleverly play on stereotypes and deliver a feel-good performance.

“Why do we keep telling the old stories?” asks the titular character of Virginia Gay’s adaptation. Why indeed, the audience wonders. Within the next 80 minutes, we get to see something spectacular — the story of Cyrano de Bergerac as it’s never been told before.It starts in a theatre. So far, so true to the original play by Edmond Rostand, but that is possibly both the beginning and end of any similarity. Instead, Gay plays with the original concept in an entirely fresh and creative way. With the help of her Greek (well, French) chorus, Cyrano attempts to question the plot, the characters and even the audience about what, how, and why the story should develop.From the minute we walk into the Traverse and are seated by the characters themselves, we feel part of the production in a very unique and intimate way — helping to make decisions about how the plot develops, conspiring with one character and deceiving another, and even taking part in a surprise party. We feel guilty when Christian accuses us of using him for comic effect and uneasy about taking part in the catfishing trickery that Roxanne later uncovers. We are not the villains of the story, but we are also not innocent bystanders.Virginia Gay, as Cyrano, is captivating. She is passionate and pleading, seducing Roxanne (and the rest of us) with her “wordsmithery” and lust for language. Although she is the stand-out, every member of the cast seems perfectly suited to their role, particularly David Tarkenter’s turn as the wry and sardonic Chorus #2, who is keen, at first, to keep the story in sync with the original.Yes it starts, and ends in a theatre, but that is where the similarities end. Gay is determined to give us something new and original, proving that there is value in telling the old stories, so long as you write them on a fresh page.

There’s no question that Ben Hart is an international sensation. He’s been a regular face on TV in the UK and internationally since 2014 and seems to be the go-to guy for both Hollywood and the theatre world when jaw-dropping illusions are required.Dressed in a tan suit with sleeves rolled up, Hart takes to the stage at the Palais du Varieté spiegeltent at Assembly George Square and explains that HeX is his 10th show at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe and he has decided to deliver a “best of” the past decade by presenting his ten favourite illusions from his previous shows. This means that we experience a wide range of routines that are linked only by Hart’s narrative banter.However, these aren’t just tricks – Hart weaves his magic with charismatic storytelling and flair with interjections of his trademark self-deprecating charm. It is his admitted wish that the audience should experience a child-like wonder as we witness his performance and Hart himself seems to take a childish delight in making us gasp. We do indeed experience wonder as we are presented with everyday objects that transform in front of our eyes, borrowed items that defy physics to melt and merge in impossible ways, and moments that could have come straight from a Victorian séance.Hart works the crowd with an easy confidence and is quick to react to unexpected responses and friendly heckles with a sharp wit that shows he belongs in front of an audience. Each volunteer who takes to the stage is a willing participant in these moments of wonder and Hart ensures that they all return to their seats to thunderous applause. However, the real applause is reserved for the magician and it’s well-deserved. I can’t wait to see what the next ten years hold for Hart.

The duo, Louise Mothersole and Rebecca Biscuit are having their turn to folk moment. Things are a bit shit right now, and when the world goes mad it is common in the past to turn to folk music as a way to ground oneself in the chaos. It’s steadying to think of all those who have come before us and sang these songs and lived full lives like us. My particular manifestation of this is researching and listening to a lot of waulking songs. I also spend way to much time thinking about kintsugi.They are dressed as peasants, with a series of extravagant, weird, both horrible and wonderful headdresses. The barrels dotting the stage; dark wood pub bench; and the tryptic of wood cut inspired portraits make up our performance space. There is a real attention to details, from the tankards, to the gleaming halos of twisted wood and light spread out over the heads of the audience.This was my introduction to the anarchic fringe icons Sh!t Theatre, whilst I knew of them I didn’t have any expectations for what the show would become: I had no idea what sword of damocles I was sitting under. The show is theoretically about folk music, but as it goes on, and Biscuit and Mothersole leave little crumbs of information, you start to think it might be about something else. A lot of folk songs are about death.There is light audience participation in the form of singing along with the songs, and a demonstration of wassailing complete with drinking song. With an extremely funny moment as when offered the bowl of mixed booze an enterprising hand shoots up, only for the bowl to be handed to and the last stops of drink shared out among a school group. Some things never change.Mothersole and Biscuit’s stage presence, friendship and bond is palpable, and it is the thread that pulls through the show. Don’t be fooled by the name, both are highly skilled singers, and charming hosts. I adored the harmonies. The content of the evening included introducing the audience to the idea of a sing around, attending a folk festival on acid, and their visit to a famous folk pub in Yorkshire, before it was fire bombed and destroyed. The pair revel in the beauty alongside the imperfection. The impressions of the people at the folk night were perfection itself. I did not expect to be so touched by the tales of these passionate people behind pub doors, of course there is always a revival, and that is wondrous in itself.By the time you are able to put the pieces together everything suddenly falls into place. My heart is hit like a train and I spend a lot of time sobbing to The Parting Glass. Biscuit and Mothersole let the emotion pour out of both of them, you cannot tear your eyes away.This is my first Sh!t Theatre show, and much of the show is mediating on if they can still go on in this different state, with no white face paint, and little projection. For this audience member this strongly feels like Sh!t Theatre, a step on its long journey. It’s a surprisingly optimistic conclusion. I offer a musical paraphrase to avoid spoilers: Lenord Choen ‘Forget your perfect offering / There is a crack, a crack in everything / That's how the light gets in’. The cracks make Sh!t Theatre more radiant.There is a sing along in the bar at Summerhall afterwards, which I would have loved to attend to help ease off the water works, but I was sadly on the move again to see another show. Don’t make my mistakes.

Les Foutoukours have been creating beautiful and engaging circus in Quebec for over 25 years. Having attended the last few Fringes (with a mandatory break for COVID), they have racked up countless four and five-star reviews and accolades. By championing traditional circus clowning, they bring a gentle innocence back to the art form that is often missing from more bombastic, acrobatic shows.Directed by company co-founder Rémi Jacques and performed by graduates of Montreal’s National Circus School, Emma Verhaeghe and Joaquim Verrier, NoVa is the simple story of two clowns trying to stay warm on a cold night. The stage is littered with boxes, books, and gently flickering candles and our two protagonists entertain each other by juggling boxes and balancing books. It’s a delightful, paced performance, with the two clowns conveying every emotion and frustration through body language and non-verbal exclamations. However the playfulness is threatened when the candles begin to extinguish and we follow a desperate attempt to find a way to bring back the warmth.Featuring cigar box juggling, gentle but impressive acrobalance, and a great deal of messing around, NoVa is like a warm hug of a show. Verhaeghe and Verrier are both adorable and hilarious, with Verhaeghe stealing the show momentarily with some excellent face and an extended running gag where she tries to climb a small stair. Verrier steals it right back though, with the cutest tantrum ever portrayed on stage. This is a true double act, with both clowns having moments to show off their individual strengths and shine.With its simple, easy to follow interactions, it’s the perfect introduction to circus for the little ones and is an enthralling, yet simple story for older children. I loved it – it made me feel like a child again.

For one last time at the Fringe, The Black Blues Brothers will dazzle audiences with their electrifying circus show. Go see them in a truly unforgettable performance.Even before the show starts, the atmosphere in the room is bustling with anticipation. The performance begins in a nightclub, where a man dressed as a mixologist steps onto the stage and starts organising the bar. Soon, two waiters join him on stage. One of the waiters begins playing with a suit and puts on a hat, much to the mixologist’s displeasure. He scolds the waiter and instructs him to get back to work. However, this waiter has dreams and persists in his pursuit to dance rather than work. The show highlights the balance between working hard and playing hard, serving as a reminder to follow one's passion regardless of the circumstances.The show is an homage to the 1980 film The Blues Brothers, but you don’t need to know anything about the film to enjoy this performance. To the sound of R’n’B, the five members will have you clapping with delight throughout. They will use the bar’s furniture as props to perform wow-worthy acrobatics, lifts, pyramids, and more. Tumbling from one end of the stage to the other will leave you gasping in awe. Physical theatre adds laughter and joy with fun skits that allow audiences to get to know each member’s personality.The Black Blues Brothers are effortlessly contagious and mischievously funny. Their confidence and ease onstage are a testament to their experience as seasoned performers. Don’t miss the chance to witness these legends before their last curtain call; they will be sorely missed.

Sometimes a dance production is so stunning it leaves your brain unable to engage with your tongue: this is such a show – Lost Connection is a fitting name in more ways than one. It opens with a dark stage where the performers, each transfixed by the mobile phone held in front of their eyes, dance around the lit screens like moths. But this show is not a cold intellectual parody, programmatically reviewing the impact of mobile phones but is driven by intense creativity, excitement and passion.There is a seemingly endless sequence of dance scenes involving different techniques and focusing on different themes – fantastic solos, intense duets, astounding quartets – supported by effective changes to the lighting and the dynamic, stirring music (excellent throughout).The inventiveness of Wen-Jen Huang’s choreography is astonishing, with a bit rate of ideas running at 120 megabits per second. Faces distort in the lights of the phones – at one point the movement of the lights and bodies create a strobe effect that elongates mouths and eyes like a long exposure photograph. Bodies are distorted – or perhaps it is better said that new types of creature are being created – heads merge, torsos merge, arms merge; dancers combine into entities resembling deep sea creatures or space aliens. Shadows are used to create surreal bodies like Dali or H.R.Giger figures, or multi-limbed sculptures. The dancers, powered by enough energy to run a data centre, move at fibre-optic speed through isolation, conflict, sharing and confinement – and not all connection is lost – there are also moments of affection and depth of relationship.The intensity is so great that the 40 minutes of the piece seems to flash by in a heartbeat. The exhilaration and joy of this show is to see mind-bogglingly imaginative dance performed at full five-bars exuberant tilt. An absolute treat.

This incredible show is mind-bogglingly thought-provoking; it is also a lot of fun. It begins as a riff on Nassim Soleimanpour’s acclaimed play White Rabbit, Red Rabbit. Each day a lone actor who has not seen the show or read the script gets onto the stage to perform the script’s instructions live in front of an audience. All the actor will know in advance – like us – is that the play is something to do with AI.Like Soleimanpour’s play there is enormous fun in the way our reaction to the lines and jokes have been predicted in advance by the playwright (Nathan Ellis). There’s a leisurely segue into a play within a play, as the actor plays an actor being filmed auditioning for the lead role in a formulaic RomCom. The unseen Director instructs the actor to perform a whole range of emotions and to give multiple readings of a cliché-ridden declaration of love.Joy! The actor gets the part! But then the actor can’t get any information about when filming is to begin…But then… the film is released. And despite never being called for filming, the actor on the screen is the same actor as the one who took the audition.But then… as the play progresses attitudes start shifting. We move from outrage at the way the actor has been cheated by an AI replica to thinking it is quite an efficient process really. A lot less trouble than actually filming.But then… as the play refers back to the audition film, weren’t all those actorly emotions just responses to instructions anyway? What is the difference compared to an image generator doing it?But then… we see the chat show promotional circuit. The actor comes out with the clichés we’ve heard a thousand times before: how great the director was to work with, how the experience has been life changing. It might as well be an AI speaking…But then… we think of our own responses to the performance – responses predicted by the script – and things become a little troubling…This play is a bejewelled puzzle box. A reversed Turing Test; the play’s great trick (if it is a trick) is to make us question how far a human is different from a computer. Yet ironically, each audience member will see something else in the box. And ironically, each actor will put something else into it.A must-see for anyone interested in acting, theatre technique, technology, philosophy, the forthcoming redundancy of the human race or anybody wanting a good laugh.

Not the longest-titled show at the Fringe, but surely in the top ten, An Adequate Abridgement of Boarding School Life as a Homo, at Just the Tonic, Cave, must also rate as one of the most outstanding. It’s a new play from Choir Boys & Co that explores the life of a young gay man in his last year at boarding school. The company points out that ‘the play is not a coming-out story, it is not a gay tragedy, and it is not porn. It is life through the lens of a queer young man, navigating masculinity, Grindr and an institution that is rife with shame’. Johnny (Ned Blackburn) is 18 and in his final year. That he has survived so long is remarkable. As a flaming homosexual and devotee of Britney he is hardly the best fit in an all-boys school, but then there are those who keep their inclinations secure in the changing-room locker. Harry (Will Walford), is a confident, charming, rugby lad. He insists, of course, that he’s not gay; he just like to fuck boys, in the plural, constantly. Johnny is not complaining. It’s what he is good at; actually the only thing he’s good at and he can't get enough.Blackburn wrote the play that is jointly and tightly directed by Meg Bowron and Joshua Stainer, carefully mixing the paces to ensure attention never falters. That we've all been through school, even if not a boarding school, means that there is plenty here with which we can all identify; fellow students, eccentric teachers and, for some, the school chaplain. Walford plays these and others, gifting them with distinctive voices and behavioural idiosyncrasies that mix scenes of sometimes tense and awkward situations with humour that Blackburn has so carefully woven into a rich emotional tapestry. The narrative follows a classic arc from seeing Johnny in the changing room where he introduces himself and the setting, through trigger points that advance the story and make the relationships increasingly complex, to a showdown and its consequences that lead to the denouement. As the events and incidents mount up, so does their emotional impact, on him and us, as he leads us through his experiences.Although he is the focus of the story, there is a strong chemistry between the boys that comes through whatever role Walford is playing. They know how to play off each other to create both humour and tension. They are also blessed with a varied soundscape tied into the scenes and some delightful mood lighting that reflects off the arched walls of The Cave and works particularly well in creating an ecclesiastical setting.All these elements combine to create a play that is a gem on every level; a theatrical joy that, with humour, pulls at the heartstrings.

Derek Mitchell identifies as Dutch. He might have been born in America, but that’s a minor detail. A student of the world and lover of culture, Double Dutch examines the societal stereotypes we subscribe to in order to reveal what connects us. Hysterically funny and unpredictable, Mitchell is truly one-of-a-kind.Donning traditional Dutch dress and wooden clogs, Mitchell keeps the audience laughing from start to finish. After buttering us up by poking fun at himself, he swiftly dives deep into a Dutch persona of viral fame. Far from a mocking parody, Mitchell’s persona is a love-letter to The Netherlands, educating the audience on their idiosyncrasies and history of the language. He builds on this material by drawing comparisons between English, American and Dutch characteristics which makes for hilarious and original observational comedy. What elevates this above most jokes of the same ilk is Mitchell’s attention to detail. He is a master of observation, holding a magnifying glass to the characteristics of different cultures and highlighting their quirks, pointing out both the sublime and the ridiculous.He switches between accents throughout the show with swift, rapid agility, transforming himself into a new character each time. Mitchell’s impersonations are second-to-none and are peppered throughout the performance, delighting the audience every time a new one is revealed. He also demonstrates a brilliant ability to riff and improvise, which makes for spontaneous and electric moments. It would be plausible if Mitchell had studied clowning, as he places his full energy and attention onto the audience, reading the temperature of the room with great sensitivity and responding accordingly. In saying this, he is uninhibited on stage, which makes for an extremely charismatic performance.Beyond the funny, Mitchell makes poignant comment on life as an immigrant, constantly feeling the need to make everyone comfortable and assimilate. Themes of identity and belonging are prominent in the show, and ground the comedy in a very real and salient issue.Double Dutch is a very special hour of comedy that highlights the experiences we share across boarders and our constant search for meaning. What is truly clear is how laughing at ourselves can bring us together.

I’ll start this review with what I really want to say to the gays out there: if you see one stand-up comedy show this Fringe, see this one. Will Owen’s Like, Nobody’s Watching is like a warm hug to the audience’s collective inner child, especially any audience member who is ‘confident and happy’, myself included. As he bounds on stage (to the thumping sound of Rush by Troye Sivan) Owen takes control of The Crate at Assembly, holding our attention for the fifty-five-minute wild ride and not letting go. The show is absolutely packed with laughs. From a family member’s four-minute Rihanna tribute to a cringe-inducing world record, there are several moments in the show where it’s clear that Will Owen is most certainly the star he always believed he was as a child. His banter with the audience was just perfect – from asking a group of girls which TV show judge they were (the only answer is Sharon Osbourne, stunningly absent from the answers given) to his dealings with a particularly obstinate police officer in the front row – a highlight for the rest of the audience. When said policeman tried to derail the show at points, Owen did a masterful job at keeping the show on track, making us laugh in the process, a scary task for any comedian. Not only is Owen’s material spot on for any Loose Women-watching, reality television-loving, Brat-listening gay man, the deep love and affection that Owen shares for his queer identity absolutely shines through, especially in his occasional, mostly one-way, chats with his tech. From a selfish perspective, the message I took from this show is that if Will Owen and I knew each other when we were kids, we would instantly be best friends. As a comedy reviewer, I see a performer who oozes talent, much like the gold confetti on his posters plastered around the city.It certainly wouldn’t surprise me if Will Owen is one of the names on everyone’s lips come the end of August.

Hilarious yet poignant F*GHAG explores Dylan Mulvaney's life at different stages. A catholic upbringing and a somewhat unsupportive mother, Mulvaney satirises her struggle to find her identity as a trans women. Subscribing to labels to be "acceptably" gay for others to a fully realised trans women, telling the audience about her gender dysphoria as a child; depicting her "twink era" as a teenager working in Lush and idolising middle aged women watching Sex And The City.Mulvaney rose to fame with her series on TikTok, The Days of Girlhood, where she chronicled her journey through her transition. A popular watch, Mulvaney was known to be highly positive and her videos felt fun and an insight to what some trans females may experience. In the show Mulvaney portrays this fame as intoxicating at first but then it becomes sinister with corporate culture promoting a certain image of Mulvaney. As if having her face for a campaign is just the right amount of woke as they made her a palatable image. Polite, reserved and separate from her queer counterparts.Once Mulvaney breaks this image the celebrity world goes against her. Intertwined with all the jokes and songs this part of her story is the standout. It makes you think about how society sees trans women and how we expect them to be perfect and so hyper-feminine that if they're not they can't be accepted, that they have to stay in their lane.It's a story about self discovery and acceptance, The real takeaway is the concept of palatability and public perception of queer people. This show is more than a coming out/self acceptance story, it's a joyful display of a women who knows who she is; once praised by mainstream culture then publicly dropped and attacked online when she didn't subscribe to the ideal trans women image.There's a serious message to the show but its also high camp, funny and delectably girly. Truly a joy to watch. It's bold, informative, eye-opening and uncensored personal storytelling.

In an astonishing and delightfully absurd theatrical experience, Elf Lyons: Horses takes horsing around to a whole new level. With impressive physical theatre and mime, this innovative show imaginatively explores the world through the eyes of a horse, inviting the us to step outside the ordinary and embrace the whimsical nature of life as seen from a four-legged perspective. More importantly however, Lyons reminds us to embrace the playfulness we once enjoyed as children, grounding the performance in a touching and universal message.Lyons delights us with a carousel of horse characters presented in different scenes which are compered by ‘Treacle’: the first horse character we meet and narrator of the show. Frank, curt and forthright, ‘Treacle’ takes no prisoners, and it’s these kind of unconventional choices make Lyons such an exciting performer to watch. This is so much more than a show of horse impersonations, with buckets of dark humour, Lyons plays with the disgusting and the angelic.A master of clown, Lyons extensive use of mime recalls black and white films as she energetically but cleanly performs multiple characters in a single scene with no set or props to fall back on. This requires an immense amount of skill and creativity which, combined with the wacky storylines, creates an enthralling performance. The stories in the latter portion of the show predominantly take place on ‘Philly Fat Farm’, an imaginary farm dreamed up by Lyons as a child in which she shared many playful memories with her siblings. Indisposed with real audio footage of interviews with her family as they reminisce about their time spent playing with horses, the show merges clowning with real sentiment without ever insisting upon itself.Throughout the show, you find yourself becoming strangely fond of the various characters in the show, which we become familiar with through Lyons’ clever use of recall. With no costume changes to differentiate between them, it is a wonder how she manages to pull this off.Horses is an adventurous reminder of the power of imagination and the joy of unconventional storytelling in theatre. For those seeking a theatrical experience that is both entertaining and thought-provoking, this performance is a delightful gallop through the unexpected, firmly becoming one of my top picks of the Fringe so far.

Christopher Hall may have started out as a social media star, but he has really earned his stand-up credentials in the past few years, and it's wonderful to see his confidence on stage at the 2024 Fringe.The audience is kept in stitches from start to finish! Hall can make any story funny, either with his devastating delivery or range of panto-like facial expressions. He barely pauses for breath, so determined is he to give us the night (or hour) of our lives.Hall has an amazing ability to connect with his audience, appealing to individuals for support of his life choices, leaning in close to share his secrets, and then hiding behind his one stage prop (a vase of flowers) in a burse of false bashfulness. We are putty in his hands.At different moments, he might swagger or prance across the stage, using every square inch of it for comedic re-enactments of childhood memories — specifically, his performance as Sebastian the Crab during a youthful dance recital. Hall didn't just play Sebastian, he WAS Sebastian, and that really sums up this TikTok entertainer-turned stand up superstar. He gives 110% to every story he tells, determined to milk it for every ounce of joy and laughter that it's worth. And his more vulnerable appeal to parents of LGBTQ+ children at the end was very earnest and genuinely touching.I cannot wait to see how high he soars as a comedian in the future. Go see him now while there are still a few spare seats in the audience, because they won't be empty for long!

Good Boy is a one man play which follows the traumatic journey of a twink (a young looking, boyish gay man) from his first earnest kiss through to his complete loss of innocence. Told with wit, pace, sensitivity and unflinching honesty, this hour long show, based on writer and actor James Farley’s own real life experiences, grips from start to finish and forces us to re-evaluate our usual assumptions about where the fault lines of privilege and prejudice lie.The eponymous Good Boy looks young for his age and in his quest for affection acquiesces to the constant demands from the men he meets: in short, he must be pliant, submissive… and shaved. He’s naive, open, honest and trusting, all qualities which make him endearing but which also unfortunately mark him out as worryingly vulnerable in the sometimes predatory world of gay dating. Good Boy remains unnamed but is an immediately loveable character, the human equivalent of his boyfriend’s pink nosed rabbit. His bouncy innocence makes the constant grasping aggression that the world seems intent on throwing at him all the more unbearable, and his incremental submissions to its demands all the more devastating. Despite this, he’s also wickedly funny, peppering this challenging story of misuse and abuse with frequent moments of levity and laughter. Farley switches deftly between characters, revelling especially in the Manchester accent, and is impressive at portraying the parade of alpha males, bruisers and bears he interacts with. His mimetic skill in generating a sense of the difference in scale between the ‘fun-sized’ twink and his larger ‘tops’ is astounding.Careful thought has been given to the lighting and sound which, aside from adding to the humour on occasion, guide us through the challenging emotional terrain of this tale. The simple set of a pink rug, two pink chairs and a pink storage box is an unobtrusive and flexible backdrop which subtley washes us in gentle femininity.One could wax lyrical about the dramatic deconstruction of patriarchy and critical analysis of the threat of toxic masculinity, but the beauty of this play is how Farley presents these abrasive and triggering themes in what is at heart a delightfully entertaining show. In the post show Q&A Farley described how he had been inspired to step off his own destructive spiral by Matthew Lopez‘s play The Inheritance. I have no doubt that his play will prove as inspiring for many generations to come.

We’ve seen shows that deliver hard on shock value yet manage to stay fresh and original; shows that blunt the woes of trauma and refashion them into a source of laughter; shows that deliver messages of self-acceptance and identity-finding without being preachy. Chloe Petts succeeds in doing all of this but better. Who else but the Kent virtuoso herself could bridge a gap as wide as Crystal Palace F.C. and sex with chickens? Returning to the Fringe for her third year, Petts delivers a blisteringly riotous performance as she takes a jaunt down memory lane to her adolescence and earlier comedic beginnings, melding the irritants of trolls and cyberbullies into the pearl of her comedic renaissance.The pacing is airtight, leaving no purchase for gaps between the laughter, with Petts’ slick delivery never missing a trick and cooly handling the larger gag set ups without losing momentum. Strong set pieces include her take on an imagined heteronormative Queer Eye complete with frigid club dance moves, and her burgeoning sexual discovery from having her feet measured complimented by a genuine Shoe Zone foot measurer. Swiftly moving to attend to romantic ventures, the eagle-eyed Petts scopes out the newly dating couple from the crowd and gifts them a three-month anniversary present in the form of an impromptu roast, showcasing the queer comic’s strong improv abilities and use of the crowd. Whilst Petts isn’t self-depecrating to the point of flagellation, she can mock her appearance with ample payoffs where she takes aim at her oft-compared likeness to Lewis Capaldi, dragging him down with her in the process. On one level, this serves to showcase Petts’ affable personality and dynamic charisma – she is by no means afraid to poke fun at herself nor anyone else. On another, it allows her to delve into her experience of spiteful online trolls in the wake of her stint reporting at Sky Sports News that saw her endure a tidal wave of abuse from those furious at the prospect of a female commentator. But Petts, ever the razor-sharp mind, converts this resentful energy into her own comic battery and finishes her show by delivering a scathingly funny rebuttal with deft aplomb.No less a comedic triumph, the show sees collective joy filled in every pocket of the grateful crowd as the queer comic rallies zinger after zinger in rapid succession. Even the minor japes elicit the heartiest of chortles, be it the acronym on her school pencil case or the reference to Mufasa as an “animated DILF”. Petts’ return to Edinburgh isn’t a case of third time lucky; she makes all of it happen on her own. No, we are truly the lucky ones to have the charm, the imagination and the unquenchable wit of Chloe Petts in our comedic circuit.

Comedy is highly subjective, but it is hard to imagine how anyone might not find someone as genial and goofy and downright decent as Adam Hills funny.The title of the show is, of course, a reference to the natal disability which has become not just a stock-in-trade for Hills' comedy patter, but an effectively irreverent rallying cry against ableism. But Hill's vibe - whilst always righteously outraged by the more nefarious aspects of our increasingly strange world - is far from sanctimonious or sermonising. And that's despite the fact that he loves a good sermon, does our Adam. But it is all done with such warmth, such crinkle-faced bemusement, and such self-awareness that we cannot help but be won over by his one-man quest not to be a dick.Much of Hill's appeal lies in his relaxed and spontaneous delivery. He chats to the audience; embarrasses them a little; celebrates them a lot. He banters with his BSL interpreter; shuffles through some sporting tales; and shares family moments with all the apparently effortless charm of your next door neighbour grilling a chop at the barbecue whilst swilling down a beer.He tackles the small things. He tackles the big things. He tackles the things all but guaranteed to start a social media civil war. And he does all of this whilst noting that he himelf is far from perfect; but that if he is just muddling through the days trying not to be an aforementioned phallus, then maybe we should all give it a try.It is perhaps not the primary job of a comedian to assuage an audience's impotent bewilderment at the state of a world gone mad: but it is undeniably a marvellous feeling to leave a performance space feeling marginally less alone and an awful lot less hopeless. And when coupled with the therapeutic benefits of laugh after laugh, this is a potent combination indeed. So yes, comedy is highly subjective: but this is undeniably a gorgeous, generous and ultimately optimistic hour that will ensure your time and money are very well spent.

Take a risk. See this show.

We’re in luck: Kate Butch is workshopping her jukebox musical: Bush! to audiences at the Fringe this Summer. With protagonist Kathy (a la Wuthering Heights) at the helm, we follow her journey navigating trials and tribulations—informed, of course, by Kate Bush lyrics. With help from the audience, Butch builds Kathy’s world using a technique she gleaned from the swathes of jukebox musicals on the musical theatre market which she calls, ‘musical shoehorning’. This is where song lyrics are taken out of context and drive the narrative which, when Kate Bush is concerned, is guaranteed to be a wacky ride. But you don’t have to be a fan of the Bush to appreciate the ridiculous storyline; Butch’s references speak for themselves, providing material that is utterly hilarious in its own right. Transforming audience members into ‘young Kathy’, ’James’, ‘Kathy’s (dead) dad’, a priest and ‘Kashka from Baghdad’, the audience are involved from the start and, naturally, hilarity ensues. Ever sarcastic and witty, Butch riffs with the crowd with great aplomb, demonstrating her keen improvisational comedy skills that never fail us.Butch’s singing talents are equally impressive as she performs a variety of Bush songs (an octave lower) live, boasting spectacular vocals and magnetic physicality. She truly owns the stage with a commanding presence that makes her effortless to watch. But it’s not all visual gags and raunchy humour: Butch takes your breath away with heartfelt renditions of This Woman’s Work and And Dream of Sheep, where her dulcet tones and acting skills combine to produce stunning theatrical performances. Another stand-out moment is when Butch builds a non-copyright version of a Kate Bush song in front of our eyes (and ears), which is met with guffaws of laughter. And just when you think she’s impressed you enough, she ups the octave in a rendition of Wuthering Heights that will delight Bush fans and sceptics alike. Intelligent, camp, sassy and down-right fabulous, Kate Butch’s Wuthering Shites is a stand-out at this year’s Fringe.

Linus Karp and Joseph Martin of Awkward Productions have an innate talent for honing in on the most ludicrous point of any given situation and turn it into a non-stop laugh-a-second production. Their latest production, Gwyneth Goes Skiing, follows the infamous ski trial between Oscar-winning Hollywood sweetheart (Karp) and a retired optometrist (Martin), where we are invited to make a decision on what we think happened on that fateful mountain in Utah.We often find ourselves in a strange position where the delivery of the jokes is such a big understatement that it also becomes the funniest thing ever said until the next one. The humour is very wry and aided by the fact that both Karp and Martin have a very matter-of-fact, serious manner and delivery style, which is often enough to signpost for us why something is funny. The specificity, constant referencing within the dialogue, and just running with a joke to the point where it becomes funnier each time we hear it forms the bedrock of this production's comedy.Over the course of this production, Karp and Martin combine many different styles from satire to slapstick to musical comedy in order to build each moment, to create an overwhelming sense of just how ridiculous the entire story is, even going to point ou twhen even their combined comedic talents can't out-ridicule reality. They match the nonsensical energy to the point where we can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. Karp and Martin create a spectacle with this show, but strip away the celebrity guest stars, the set, props, and we’d still be left with an outstandingly-written show that doesn’t need all the bells and whistles to be a solid comedic theatre piece. The bells and whistles are just an additional source of laughter, a reminder that we’re watching a dramatic reenactment.Karp and Martin really immerse us in the idea of ‘she’s everything, he’s just an optometrist’ characterisations, with hysterical results. We’re essentially led directly to the source of the humour by their performances, nudging us to the first, obvious punchline, before leaving us to find whatever further humorous depths there are. The ambiguity over the actual fault of the matter adds depth and motivation to these characters, even though initially the characterisation of both Gwyneth and ‘The Other Guy’ makes them more like stock characters in a courtroom drama, but with a slight knowing tonal undercurrent that breaks down the fourth wall.Gwyneth Goes Skiing is a hectic show, there’s so much that Karp and Martin have done in order to completely overwhelm us in the absurdity of this pop culture moment. We are constantly given a reason to laugh throughout this production, the rate and quality of jokes is unbelievable. As they keep outdoing their previous shows on every level, it’s hard to fathom what Awkward Productions will do next.

OH OH is an hour of beautiful, uplifting, delightful playfulness. Go see it. If I didn’t have a minimum word count to fill, I’d leave it at that, but this needs to be at least 300 words so, here we go. After their multi-award winning, international hit, PSS PSS, Camilla Pessi and Simone Fassari of Compagnia Baccalà have returned with an hour of pure joy. Two characters share the stage and pass their time alternately entertaining and antagonising each other in a show of clowning, slapstick, and circus that harks back to the work of Buster Keaton, Fellini, and Charlie Chaplin. Although this is a performance steeped in the history of clowning, it feels effortlessly contemporary and original.Opening with Fassari asleep on a chair, Pessi descends from the flies on a rope ladder to awaken him and encourage some playtime. Fassari cuts an intriguing figure with his expressive face, one moment hangdog and bewildered, the next childlike and delighted while Pessi is the mischievous imp, quick to cause a little chaos, instigate a competition or throw a fit. Yet both of these characters are clearly sweethearts with no real malice towards each other. There’s some lovely business with taking off and putting on coats that sets the stage for the ongoing rivalry between these two. It’s a classic trope of clowning and to see it presented with such skill and grace is a thrill. As the show progresses, there’s chaos with silver balls and wastepaper baskets, fights over sitting privileges, and accordion and trumpet playing. Adding in some spectacular acrobalance and a smaller accordion seems to round out the perfection and we’re left where we started; with Fassari asleep on a chair, and Pessi ascending to the flies on a rope ladder leaving us with the impression that this is their everyday, a Beckett-inspired existential loop of happiness.

Emma-Louise Howell will go far. I just wanted to start with that bit out of the way early doors; because I would like to be thanked fulsomely and publicly when she goes all PWB on us. Which she will. You heard it here first. I Really Do Think This Will Change Your Life is a frantic, fierce, and fresh hour of unflinching, unforgiving anger. At its heart is Belles (Howell), washed up at 24: with bills to pay and a mother to disappoint. We first meet Belles when she is eking out a miserable existence at one of the soul-destroying Princess parties which regularly suck the life-blood from virgin actors. And if you don't know what a Princess Party is, don't worry too much about it. Just mark yourself on social media as safe from synthetic fibres and corporate manipulation and move on.Without a shadow of a doubt, Howell's gives us one of the best opening monologues in theatre; and the laughs come thick and fast from then on. But so does the desperation. The suffocation of poverty. And the realization that toxic femininity doesn't dissolve at the same pace as the ink of scrawled signatures on school shirts when the doors are flung open to the big wide world. Belles' ends up down a wormhole of get rich quick schemes, bitchy girl bosses and - most egregious of all - women who spend most of their lives trying to manifest wall art slogans. As she twists and turns between expectation and self-evaluation, she loses pieces of herself between the cracks of the evocative visuals which blink, swirl and zoom behind her. The piece follows her particular story; but has a universal target... those who don't just prey on the vulnerable, but those who do so under cover of apparent compassion and liberation. Whilst I Really Do Think This Will Change Your Life probably won't; what it will do is smack you round the dramatic chops, put up a rocket up your soundbites, and introduce you to one of our undoubted stars of the future.

The Emu War is a joke. At its core the Australian Ministry of Defence’s plan to manage a species with Lewis Guns and motorcars to protect Australian wheat supply is so absurd it has been mocked to death, life and death again. Lotte Pearl’s musical, whilst in concept risked sounding like so many other terrible memes about the war, is a truly hilarious absurd, heartfelt and brilliant take on a “war” memed to oblivion, staged and performed by an incredible cast and crew.The story is rife for mockery, and the cast do it brilliantly. Tom Brace-Jenkins and Violet Morris as protagonists Steve and Greg play the confused Australian farmer perfectly, baffled by the actions of the increasingly insane Sir George Pierce, Minister for Defence (Lotte Pearl) and Major Merideth (Lili Mohammad). This all supported by the two excellent Emu’s and Ensemble Members Ellie Spooner and Spike Maxwell’s, who’s Emu’s are both hilarious and weirdly enchanting to watch.This score that supports it is every bit as absurd, from an upbeat number on how the government can always help, to a villain song about how every Emu must be wiped from the face of this earth, to a romance between me and Emu (yes really). Each of these are a delight to hear, particularly when Mohammad and Pearl are signing with how truly absurd their characters get at times, alongside how incredible their vocals are. What is truly surprising however, is the heart this musical also contains, with Brace-Jenkins’ struggles with shellshock after Gallipoli and laments over his lost love William being incredibly moving, a truly brilliant take on a conflict which had veterans so at its heart, often boiled down to “ha ha funny big bird”.There is so much more to say. This musical’s humour is ironclad, and is such an innovative way of talking about the Emu War with people much more at its heart than a funny timeline of beuareacratic screw ups. What is truly surprising though is how genuinely emotional the conflict is, making you feel for great war veteran, emu murderer and sock puppet all in different moments. Go see The Emu War, it is absolutely brilliant!

You can always rely on three things from the Edinburgh Fringe: a huge, purple, upside-down cow, a ton of flyers everywhere and Tiff Stevenson giving us a hilarious show.This year’s show is Husband Material, an hour about the ups and downs of Stevenson’s married life in her 40s (even though we as an audience have multiple times to dispute that she actually is in her 40s, nobody seems to take the opportunity!) There’s also some sharp political satire that’s incredibly relevant to the current times we live in.Whether she’s speaking about the size of her handbag or just commenting on some truly basic bitch names of older men in the audience, Stevenson has us hooked. As a comedian embarking on their eleventh – yes, eleventh – full Fringe show, Stevenson knows how to keep an audience engaged. She knows how to structure jokes properly and her wide grin at the end of certain punchlines is absolutely infectious. Her strong performance is enhanced by the knowledge that she is a performer absolutely on top of her game, someone at home on the stage and who you can rely on for gag after gag.We’re in a venue which Stevenson admits is a little odd for a comedy gig (the sticky floors make it more than likely that our bags will contract some kind of STD), but I would have remained stuck to my seat (literally) for longer than the hour. Husband Material is a brilliant, life affirming show from one of the most underrated and funniest comedians in the UK today.

It’s not quite clear whether Alex Kealy’s The Fear is a confessional or a general self-reflection that spirals into a cyclone, but what occurs onstage is a steady deluge of material that oscillates between the binary points of very funny and downright hilarious.There’s almost a David Hyde-Pierce/Niles Crane-esque energy to the set as over the course of the hour, Kealy links a kind of dry and logical analysis of landmark moments in his personal life to the current context of reality. There’s a direct and succinct rationality to Kealy’s set as he plays around with concept of ‘show not tell’ in its application to his own self-described tendencies of over-analysis to the point of applying a level of indiscriminately destructive rationality, whether it’s to an abstract concept like planning a wedding or something more personal like the comedic art from.Initially, Kealy quickly fires off a series of political jabs, warming us up to the hour, relatively simple jokes compared to what the rest of the show has in store. The political references that he makes are quite recent, almost making the political comic’s curse of relevancy appear relatively over-exaggerated. This eventually snowballs as the pace shifts to something comparatively lethargic, taking more time and space to build up images of the most ordinary things, which builds into a bubble of anticipation that Kealy detonates at will. Often, he layers several comedic techniques from every aspect of his toolbox in order to build a joke, as if going for the most technically complicated gag possible, before doubling back and unspooling it for us so that we can see why we’re laughing.There’s a constant building and deconstruction within each contained segment that drives the show forward. It’s the ebb and flow of these connections that constantly fire like neurons and tie ideas that would be far-fetched in any other environment together. There’s something about the precision and technical skill that he operates with that the closest equivalent to what he does might just be a composer showing us their written score so that we can follow along and visually see the melodies, countermelodies, thematic repetitions and key modulations that create a symphony. Kealy shows us how the music (jokes) comes together from their disparate parts, and we enjoy it all the more that we can understand exactly how it's put together. Anyone can be funny, but Kealy takes comedy a step further and creates something so technically clever that it's almost beautiful.In The Fear Alex Kealy mixes humour with an eruditeness that creates the most complicated web between jokes. In unraveling the mysteries of comedy and showing us the cogs, this hour becomes the exception to the rule about how the explanation devalues the joke itself. Kealy instead shows that it can be just as if not more funny than the original source material. The Fear is a career-defining show. Definitely make sure that you’re there to witness it for yourself first-hand.

Possibly one of the most controversial, yet wildly successful musicals ever on the West End, The Book of Mormon pulls no punches as it high-kicks its way through every conceivable taboo.Two missionaries fresh from training are sent to Uganda to convert the locals. Elder Price is a devout valedictorian type who actually wanted to be sent to Orlando. He is paired with Elder Cunningham, a nerdy compulsive liar with an obsession for pop culture. On arrival in Africa the two find the local villagers are less than impressed with the scripts they have learned back in Utah, and more concerned with the local warlord (General Butt Fucking Naked) and the fact nearly all of them have AIDS. The local Mormon missionary station has managed zero converts thus far, so Elder Price is determined to prove his worth. He, unsurprisingly, fails and only manages to feel the wrath of the General. Elder Cunningham, on the other hand, reverts to type and just starts making up scripture to what he thinks the villagers want to hear – all sprinkled with references to science fiction and fantasy. He has more success, but his stories don’t go down well with the Mormon leaders. But yes, there is a happy ending.Penned by the creators of South Park and one half of the duo that wrote Avenue Q, it should be no surprise to anyone that the show is distinctly adult in its themes. Female genital mutilation; fucking babies (and frogs); Jeffrey Dahmer and even Hitler. But here’s the thing – it’s all so very clever and achingly funny. And the music and choreography are sublime. The Book of Mormon’s themes are undeniably Marmite. If you are the sort of person who goes out of their way to be offended, take your pearls – you’ll need them. But for this reviewer, it is my favourite show in the West End.

In the third of three deliciously riotous performances on the main stage in recent months, it is clear that the RSC is not so much changing true rules for odd inventions, but reverting back to the old fashions of letting the plays speak for themselves. Stepping neatly aside from some of the more self-satisfied interpretations which have been known to haunt our familiar paths: this season is prioritising audience engagement above worthy stolidity, splashing gaily about in concepts so well-loved and finely honed that there are rich internal backstories tantalisingly glimpsable in every utterance and eye roll. Something of an outlier in Shakespeare’s canon, this romp through suburban living rooms offers rather more in the way of curtain twitching and wife-swapping than trembling poniards and wise-cracking peasants. Heck: so universal are the domestic tropes of sex, secrets and neighbourly shenanigans that even a basket of dirty linen is paraded in public.We find ourselves, somewhat unsurprisingly, in the leafy lanes of Windsor: where best friends Mistress Page and Mistress Ford find themselves at the centre of Sir John Falstaff’s unwarranted attentions. And that’s pretty much it. As Shakespeare goes, the plot is thin, and craves a director prepared to leave no crazy paving stone unturned in the quest for audience involvement.Happily, Blanche McIntyre’s production is generous to a fault: and the exquisite detail provided in every tiny gesture and ‘keep off the grass’ sign provides layer upon richly textured layer of meaning. This is such a cleverly imagined piece that we cannot help but buy into the world which is immaculately realised by designer Robert Innes Hopkins.John Hodgkinson’s Falstaff is a navy pinstriped fat cat: his fair round belly nurtured by corporate lunches and hospitality junkets; his over-weening self-belief bolstered by a hedge fund background and a minor public school education; white of beard yet impeccably groomed; portly yet nimble. This is a vain, deluded creature. Despised by all yet fully wedded to the idea of his own irresistibility: all that’s missing is the ‘Vote Reform’ rosette and the lingering aroma of twenty Hamlet and… well, you get the picture.We all know this guy. If we’re female, we have all been pinned to the doorframe by this guy at parties. So it is a much-needed delight, even at (groan) four centuries on, to be able to cheer on the merry wives as they tease, flirt and ultimately condemn the man to a catalogue of ignominious disasters befitting the grubby absurdity of his ardour. Siubhan Harrison and Samantha Spiro bring some psychological weight to the otherwise emotionally slight ladies who lunch; and there is superb support from Richard Goulding as the jealous Frank Ford.Indeed, the shrewd casting from Matthew Dewsbury is spot on throughout: Shallow (John Dougall) as a Barbour-clad, mustard-corded pub bore; Slender (a goofy Patrick Walshe McBride) as a chinless Tory Boy; and the fantastically deadpan Jason Thorpe as Dr Caius all creating the recognisably unlovely ensemble of male ineptitude.Part of the joy of this production is the effort it takes to release the comedy effectively: why one visual pay off when two will do? A single punchline? Let’s have a double. In an ever-darkening world, this frothy, fizzing summer treat of a piece is a must see for anyone wishing to lighten the load of reality for just a few precious hours.

Better get your tickets quick because this is going to be one big hit once word gets around. Pitlochry Festival Theate launches the summer season with the award-winning musical celebration of the life and work of singer/songwriter Carole King and it hits the high note in Sam Hardie’s top notch production, Beautiful: The Carole King MusicalDouglas McGrath’s book traces King’s life from her teens, to first co-writing some of the 60s biggest hits with her first husband, Gerry Goffin, to finding her own voice and the landmark issue of her solo album Tapestry in the 70s. The script is witty, fun and thoughtful by turns, getting its strength from not having concocted fiction underlying the treasury of music but a human story of a real woman overcoming many barriers to find herself and show the world her talent.Kirsty Findlay inhabits the role of King, embracing every nuance, with an outstanding performance, treating us to great singing that is powerful and poignant, along with sensitive acting. Her rendition of Will You Love Me Tomorrow, which King wrote at 17, is breathtaking. The show charts the frenetic world of 60s songwriting in New York. King and Goffin worked for music publisher Don Kirshner turning out great music to order. The marriage was falling apart due to Goffin’s depression and infidelity. Connor Going brings a lost soul quality to the errant husband.They, and King individually, created so many great hits for others which sometimes are forgotten. Beautiful reminds us of their achievements with an ensemble of talented actor/musicians movin’ and a’groovin’ into the mantles of 60s stars from Neil Sedaka to Little Eva and The Shirelles to The Righteous Brothers. Musical director Richard Reeday creates a pacey feast of hits.Although King had faith in her music, she was reticent about putting herself in the spotlight as a performer. Divorced, she moved to California and then came Tapestry; an album from the heart, that captured the hearts of many others. What a treat it is to immerse oneself in this excellent musical bio and come out singing!

Everyone knows it takes more than a pinch of ruthless egotism to make it to the top of the theatrical tree, but Diva: Live From Hell takes that demonic compulsion and ratchets it up to eleven.The premise is simple: Desmond Channing, president of his high school drama club, is confined to hell for his sinful act of vengeance against new boy Evan, a drama pro from New York whose transfer threatens to topple Desmond from his theatrical throne. We watch as he tells his story, a play within a play, while he's hopelessly trapped in an eternal loop of torment, forced to relive his tragic demise.A dark plot no doubt, but from darkness springs light. The show is crammed full of hilarious musical theatre references that had me belly laughing. There were, of course, well-trodden gags (another Wicked pastiche with pointy black hat and billowing cape), but the side-splits came from the more obscure and off-centre references. They were all delivered at whiplash speed with no concession for addled memories. If you got them you got them, if you didn’t… tough!That bitchy, keep-up-or-miss-out attitude in the script was deliciously mirrored in our anti-hero. Luke Bayer was devilishly superb as the bitter, self-serving diva Desmond Channing, a triple threat, small stage starlet who was, on the one hand, desperate to impress us with every performance trick at his disposal, from fierce vocals to Broadway tap dance, and on the other hand was driven to the heinous acts of jealousy and revenge that drag this one-man masterpiece to its twisted conclusion.Bayer captured Desmond’s ruthless self-centredness with aplomb, drawing huge laughs with a mere pout of his lip or roll of his eyes. He treated everyone, including his long suffering pianist and her band, Jerry and Her Men (another glorious catch it or miss it pun) with contempt and disdain, but also with such wit and sincerity that you’re charmed and shocked in equal measure.Rolling through a whole cast of characters with deft shifts of body and voice, Bayer coaxed wonderful humour out of teen idol Evan, and genuine sympathy for Desmond’s cruelly maligned sidekick Alison Hewitt. His control of voice was spellbinding, never once leaving you in doubt about who you were watching. A camp, clever and catty comedy with a gory, gothic twist. A must for all musical theatre fans; to miss it would be a sin.

Who’s the most famous Czech of all time ? Dvořák, Smetana, Navratilova, Kafka, Havel? But the greatest – it surely must be Jára Cimrman. You’ve never heard of the polymath? He invented the lightbulb, yoghurt and when Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone, he found he had three missed calls from Cimrman…He was also a renowned actor and sought to pass his wisdom along, developing his ten acting commandments, including such gems as “on stage you generally have a different name than in real life” and “after a cue do not repeat everything; some lines are for other actors”.Jára Cimrman’s The Stand-In is brought to us by the ensemble from Cimrman English Theatre, based in the Prague suburb of Žižkov. A theatrical troupe has had some cast members pull out and they are fortunate enough to find a stand-in at the last minute, the renowned Karel Prácheňský (Ben Bradshaw). Such is his fame that he receives a round of applause simply taking the stage. His notoriety and huge talent come at a price, however: his fee and travel expenses hoover up the box office take. But, what actor wouldn’t want to work with this prolific legend ?Prácheňský comes to rehearsal and his demands are not limited to those of a fiscal nature; he assumes the role of diva and claims a particular spot on the stage where the other actors may not tread. He directs the prompt and even suggests changing the play entirely. The company are still spellbound by his presence and his demands are mostly accommodated. The play begins and now the comedic set-up of the ten commandments begins to weave with the play itself. Bárta (Adam Stewart) contravenes the ninth commandment by trying to exit via a painted door. Prácheňský clearly does not know the script and mistakes cast names, speaks other members’ lines and fails to execute key plot devices. The scales slowly fall from the cast’s eyes and they realise that Prácheňský is in reality talentless and self-serving. The lovely Malostranská Beseda theatre at the 23rd Prague Fringe was completely full. We were served a masterclass in comedy writing, performance and timing. The remainder of the cast are Peter Hosking, Curt Matthew, Michael Pitthan and Jake Zaharadnik - collectively it is all pitch-perfect, huge credit to director Brian Stewart. This is a comedy riot: the placement of the “morons” in the audience stage-left, the off-stage broom prompt, numerous slow-burn jokes. While often achingly funny, the quality of acting is evident also – to do nothing on stage requires skill and the cast’s conveyed awkwardness at small-talk when Prácheňský has, unscripted, left the stage due to not knowing his lines, was subtly and beautifully played.This is a superb, occasionally absurdist, production; an unreserved joy. It brings to mind The Goon Show, The Goodies, The Marx Brothers, Monty Python, with Prácheňský of course labouring under The Unbearable Weight Of Massive Talent.Catch this gem if you can (tickets are scarce). And, spoiler alert: Jára Cimrman is, of course, fictional - although the God-fearing atheist did correspond with George Bernard Shaw for many years, without response...

When the time comes to become a parent, you just know…right ? Especially the woman – the maternal instinct is reputedly strong. But what if you aren’t so sure ?Alice No, by La Petite Mort Teatro, is staged at The Museum of Alchemists at the 23rd Prague Fringe; such a lovely venue. The stage is small, no - intimate, immediately instilling the sense that the narrator is about to reveal herself to us. We soon learn that our protagonist, Alice, (Sofia Pauly) has just undergone a pregnancy termination procedure and is in the throes of post-op recovery. Alice is waiting. And waiting. The staff, pleasant enough, are not helpful. The futility of small talk is obvious. She is apparently consumed by minutiae, fixating on inconsequential details, such as the ingredients in her biscuits and the optimum number of mini pizze. But this is, of course, transference – her brain is not wishing to land on the big question :"How does she feel ?" Alice is conflicted – she is a self-aware, modern woman aged 35 who understands that this is perhaps the life moment to venture into motherhood; if not now, when ? She appears to be in a stable, established relationship. And she further reveals that she is a children’s books illustrator and her boyfriend, Felix, a children’s books publisher. The pregnancy was, however, unplanned and Felix simply allows her to decide about keeping the baby. Does this indicate that Felix is embracing female empowerment, or is he ambivalent ? Her psychologist is on maternity leave – a sign…or just irony ?The younger woman in the next bed is now having second thoughts about the procedure, but Alice is numb, she feels nothing. Why not ?“Alice No” is her often employed, self-regulatory, mantra. Is this is a tell that she does not trust herself ? And if that is the case, is there a nagging doubt about the procedure ? Alice’s feelings begin to rise to the surface and she feels strange. She makes the case for the termination: gin and tonics, sex, sushi, getting her life back in general – but these are only expressed in her own mind, not outwardly – and she is unconvincing, perhaps over-compensating. She further suggests that it is irresponsible to bring a child into this world, with the environmental crisis at the forefront. She locks onto this thought; it seems to hold water. But … did she only have this thought because she is pregnant ? The logic is circular and she is unnerved by the all the uncertainty. In words of The The “uncertain emotions force an uncertain smile”.This is a master-class of writing, story-telling and physical performance by Pauly; she adopts a variety of characters, holding us and constantly digging deeper. The purpose of the brief audience participation is unclear and it perhaps broke the narrative, rather than the fourth wall, but this is a minor gripe in an otherwise outstanding performance. The pace is precise (credit to director Gianluca Maria Bozzale) and we see Alice’s thoughts landing. The comedic asides bring to mind Fleabag. One final thing: this show is usually performed in Italian; tonight’s performance of Alice No was the first ever in English. This was no mean feat - it was all very, very impressive.

When We Died is an evocative and haunting exploration of grief, loss, and the process of healing. This solo performance, skilfully performed by actress and playwright Alexandra Donnachie, delves into the complex emotions surrounding death and the aftermath of losing a loved one.The play opens with an embalmer at a funeral home being confronted with a corpse who she recognises and, whilst the production doesn’t reveal the full details until much later on, from the outset there’s a clear feeling that, whatever the secret maybe, it’s not going to be good. Donnachie's portrayal of the embalmist, Rachel, is raw and authentic and draws the audience further and further into the depths of her character's inner turmoil.The development of When We Died was a personal journey for Donnachie, who wrote the script based on both research and personal reflections. Donnachie drew inspiration from real-life stories and her own experiences, which helped create a narrative that is both poignant and brutally honest.The minimalist set design, featuring a stark funeral home with subdued lighting, enhances the play's sombre mood. The use of the LED batons could, under a less experienced team, have ended up gimmicky - however they manage to create an atmosphere that oscillates between the chilling and the tender. A special mention should go to composer Curtis Arnold-Harmer whose soundscape underpins every scene in a way that never overpowers the scene, allowing the focus to remain firmly on Donnachie’s performance.As the plot twists and turns so does Donnachie herself in increasing manner and movement coordinator Christina Fulcher deserves significant praise for not allowing Donnachie’s contortions to seem at odds with the melodrama unfolding. The pacing is deliberate, allowing the narrative to unfold organically, and giving the audience time to process the emotional weight of the story. Clever direction ensures that the play never veers into melodrama, maintaining a balance between the harrowing and the hopeful.Donnachie’s writing is excellent and she delivers a script that is well-paced, thematically heavy and challenging, but infused with levity and wit when she senses her audience needs to breath. It is beautifully detailed so that despite the lack of a set and no props, the world and each scene are completely formed in our minds.When We Died is a compelling and emotionally charged production. Alexandra Donnachie’s exceptional performance, combined with thoughtful direction and a powerful script, makes this play a standout in this year's Prague Fringe.

Houdini’s Great Escape is a self-proclaimed diversion for New Old Friends, whose well reputed murder mystery comedies have been a hit both an on-stage and in podcast form since 2017. Their decision to gamble on a new genre though has paid off in spades, with this fast-paced, lively performance well capturing the peculiarly magical lure of the world-renowned entertainer Harry Houdini.Drawing partly on well researched facts about Houdini’s life, writer and director Feargus Woods Dunlop excitingly blurs the line between the fictive and the biographical, as he weaves together an action-packed ninety minutes of theatre. Asking whether the king of escapism can escape from a tangled trap that is, for once, not of his own making, the play is a fun take on the ‘wrong man’ thriller format. Houdini, played by Ben Higgins, and his wife and on-stage assistant Bess, brought to life by Lydia Piechowiak, find themselves framed for theft and then murder by the notoriously criminal family the Barker’s, with Kirsty Cox performing as Ma Barker and Adam Elliott shapeshifting between her three sons. In an increasingly elaborate attempt to escape reputational ruin, and thus salvage their opportunity to perform at the Royal Variety Show before King Edward, the couple encounter a host of evermore farcical situations, as they attempt to orchestrate the greatest escape plan of the show: that of having to prove their innocence. Centred as the more cunning of the two, Piechowiak brings to life the formidable Bess with a confident performance, that well-balances a sharp-witted resourcefulness with a slightly daft playfulness. At her side, Higgins performs Houdini as bombastic entertainer who is nonetheless able to be nifty and slight in his escapes. The two have a convincing chemistry that rumbles on throughout the whole performance, and they do well to sustain the energy of the show.Stealing the show however, are the performances of Elliott and Cox, whose character lists run into the double-digits as they bring to life a host of wonderful side-characters. Cox switches from the sinisterly scrunched faced Ma Barker to the exaggerated extravagance of the spiritualist Agatha effortlessly. In addition, her performance as eccentric elephant-armed circus clown - credit to the costume designer Connie Watson for bringing that idea to life - was as endearing as it was funny.It was Elliott, who played twelve different characters alone, who stole the biggest laughs of the night though, with a quick fire interlude sketch that had him switching between four characters. Through hilariously simple costume changes and a mastery of endless new accents and mannerism, Elliot bounced off his own presence in an incredibly impressive manner.Throughout the show, the work of the whole creative team could be seen in its entirety. From the scenic lighting (designed by George Seal) to the simple yet effective staging (with set design by Caitlin Abbott and movement directed by Sam Archer) everything that could be seen on stage added to the overall comedy and spectacle of the performance. Worth mention, is the absurdist underwater scene, where the sudden slow-mo not only wonderfully showed the time-alternating features of being submerged but also added a welcome breath to the otherwise fast paced performance. Interspersed nicely throughout, was a healthy dose of real life magic, brought to the company by magic consultant Pete Firman, but performed with confidence by the cast. Whilst there was certainly a lot of plot for ninety minutes, Dunlop manages to position a tight storyline within a flyaway comedy, that’s well open to the farcical. This was a performing team at their best - and with a tour’s worth of performances behind them they were clearly having fun on the stage and able to surrender to the silliness of the performance.

Making their international debut, UnErase Poetry, India's biggest spoken-word collective, with over two million followers on social media, provide an hour of delightful tales, all beautifully told in Stories From India.Taranjit Kaur, Helly Shah and Simar Singh relate personal stories that give a fascinating insight into a mysterious culture rooted in traditional expectations and family life, which modern generations find increasingly difficult to embrace. An array of topics feature in often amusing anecdotes that have a profound personal element and open questions that go to the heart of the national psyche. What is it like for a young girl to realise that she is less favoured than her sister because she is a different shade of brown? How do you confront parental expectations concerning your career and marriage when they are at odds with what you want? How do you broach the idea of moving away from home to have an independent life of your own making in another country? How do you challenge stereotypes of women and make clear that you do not intend to devote your life to cooking and cleaning. How does a young man explain to his father that there is more to life than being an engineer? Why are boys not supposed to show emotion and what does it mean to be a man? Why is there so little sex education and if you are radical enough to think it necessary, where do you begin?These tales of love, hope and, of course, engineering, are eloquently expressed in prose and verse by three experts in the art. Their mellow voices and varied delivery make for easy listening, combined with sincerity, passion and humour that sustain the passing on of powerful messages that are at the heart of our humanity.Storytelling and the spoken word genre is a performance art that is easily overlooked, but this production is a testament to its worthiness as part of the canon of dramatic forms. Stories From India might be a surprise discovery that opens up a new world of artistic appreciation. The experience will certainly be a joy and memorable.

On 26 May 2024, Rob Madge should have been performing on Broadway. The smash hit autobiographical show “My Son’s a Queer (But What Can You Do?)” should have been nearing its last few weeks on the Great White Way. It should have been a fitting crown atop a sparkly show that had already dazzled from its TikTok origins to become an Edinburgh show and a West End hit. Shoulda, woulda, coulda.When Rob announced that Broadway was going ‘on hold,’ it hurt. With a show this personal, the hurt felt even deeper. And not just for Rob, the creatives, and the production team. For the thousands of people who had seen themselves reflected in Rob’s home movies, heard their own conversations echoed in Rob’s words, it felt personal too. On the 26 May 2024, these people filled the Garrick Theatre (home of the first West End run of MSAQ) for much-needed catharsis. Rob Madge’s Regards to Broadway was introduced as a very personal “therapy session.” It was therapy that had the required effect not just for those on stage, but for every emotionally invested fan in the room. Stage 'warmth'Rob Madge’s Regards to Broadway was a one-off. Two, if you count matinee and evening separately. Context and timing are integral to the story. Which means if you missed it, you’ve missed it. While this review can’t sell tickets, it can record Rob’s growth as both performer and writer.On stage, Rob is a natural at ‘being on.’ Yell ‘tits and teeth’ and Rob may fling out jazz hands, Pavlov’s dog style. Cut Rob and you will see blood…. brothers. (Please don’t cut Rob!)But Rob also has more than just stage presence. He exudes stage warmth. The story here may be tightly scripted, with requisite emotional arcs, but it is delivered with a natural intimacy. It could be your best friend – or the person you wish was your best friend – sipping a white wine spritzer and being their usual funny self. Comic alchemyRob Madge’s Regards to Broadway contains fewer big musical numbers than MSAQ. There is music as underscore, played on piano by Pippa Cleary, whose creative input is cordially undermined in her role here as onstage patsy. And a few West End pastiches that can be added to the showreel to demonstrate aptitude for key change and breath capacity. The real musicality is in the scripting. It often feels as though funny things have just popped to mind, interrupting the story’s flow as they’re shared. This ability to land laughs on seemingly throwaway lines recalls the comedy stylings of Victoria Wood, an inspiration acknowledged early on by Madge. At one point, the comparison is explicit. A small white towel is tucked over the belt. A beat. An upward glance. The words “Two soups.” Howls of laughter. If you know, you know. And Madge certainly knows this audience. As a scriptwriter, Madge shares Wood’s instinct for the 'mot juste'. Every word carefully chosen, fine-tuned, then rhythmically positioned to get the biggest laugh. Few writers know the funny words that are just funny for no discernible reason. Like knowing Cheadle is funny but Manchester isn’t. Or anorak is funnier than raincoat, but not as funny as pac-a-mac. Being able to consistently choose the right word is a skill that can’t be taught. It is the gold of observational comedy and Rob may be one of its few alchemists.The 'Madrigals'The themes of MSAQ, and the theatrical detail behind the Broadway experience, have led to a fanbase high in empathy. As such, it’s unsurprising that many of stories shared in Rob Madge’s Regards to Broadway are more niche than mainstream. References to the everyday life of a working performer are plenty. Emotions experienced by queer and gender-questioning children come often.In these areas, Madge has been cast as spokesperson for their audience and delivers accordingly. I should say that, if they don’t already, these fans have the sort of fervour that demands a collective noun. I’m going to suggest ‘The Madrigals.’ I like the nod to Armistead Maupin. I’ll just put it out there and see what happens.In my review of MSAQ , I suggested that such specificity will always impede reach. I was called out by a number of Madrigals (I’m trying) for missing the point. Their argument was that just having the voice matters, that just being there matters. That’s fair and I’m not for a moment suggesting Rob should be straightwashed, or even queer-quietened. Moreso with Rob Madge's Regards to Broadway as Rob delivered precisely to these expectations. I simply mean that Rob should be allowed to be more than a megaphone. I wouldn’t pretend to know Rob’s ambitions, but I do know when a performer has something that makes them more than “just a jobbing actress who scraped to put herself through the RADA” © V Wood. Rob has that something. In sparkly bucket loads.Something magicalMy Son’s a Queer is no longer just Madge’s story. The thousands of people who the show has touched now share ownership. That’s something to be proud of. Though Rob Madge’s Regards to Broadway is unlikely to be staged again, you will be able to catch the show at the centre of its tale when MSAQ tours the UK this year or when it returns to Edinburgh in August.But Rob is also moving forward, as must be done. A recurrent headline role in the annual Palladium panto – from 2022’s Pat the Cow, Tink in ’23 and the Spirit of Sherwood in Robin Hood this year – means Madge has been seen by around half a million ‘mainstream’ eyes already. In September, they will be performing in Buyer & Cellar at the King’s Head: another one-person show, but this time fictional. There’s more to Rob than being able to hit a high note or land a laugh. There is the ability to make everyone in the room feel special by feeling heard. The audience on Sunday hadn’t just come to see a show, they were here to catch up with a friend. They waited at stage door not just for an autograph, but for a hug.Experiencing something this magical is rare. Great things can be done with great magic. And I for one want can’t wait to see the great impact this great magic will have.

A year has passed since her home invasion, but Faye isn’t sure she’s over it. Suffering from insomnia and living in fear of a masked man who haunts her nightmares, Faye takes matters into her own hands. Enlisting the help of her estranged brother Naoise, Faye tries a form of immersion therapy that requires Naoise to hide in her wardrobe and Faye to take off her pants. So far, so… strange.A perfect balance of light and dark, Lie Low had me laughing away goosebumps in the first minute. From a fast-paced dance number with Duck Man, straight into a booming psychiatric evaluation, it’s clear from the get-go that Lie Low will be perfectly unhinged, just like its main character Faye, played by Charlotte McCurry.With her unique breed of Irish lyricism and dark humour, playwright Ciara Elizabeth Smyth commands the Royal Court’s upper stage for a full seventy minutes. Her depiction of victimhood and perpetration is as nuanced as it is funny, and her playful handling of complicity and delusion is acted out perfectly by a bold, wild-eyed McCurry.As the siblings volley blame, Thomas Finnegan’s delicate comic timing as Naoise gives us laugh-out-loud moments, while poignancy comes in the subtext of their disagreements. The play asks: who do you support in a he-said/she-said injustice? Whether you agree with Faye’s black-and-white view of sexual assault or Naoise’s somewhat greyer view, Lie Low forces us to peer closer at Faye’s righteous toxicity as much as Naoise’s supposed misdeeds.That the turning point for Faye comes at her brother’s humiliation is uncomfortable, leading us to question our assumptions about right and wrong and what it means to be mentally stable if we lack compassion and kindness for others.Like the best dark plays, the ‘happy’ ending is open to interpretation.For me at least, Lie Low serves a dark cultural critique on the growing division between men and women fed on mutual anger and fear, which leaves no room for sensitivity.Perhaps the allegory here is to resist falling for gendered arguments of who's right and who's wrong, and instead hold ourselves accountable to truth. Even if that means, unlike Faye, owning up to one’s delusions, rejecting bias and apologising for our indiscretions.

Dance when it has a clear usage of passion, dedication and experimentation can be a fascinating exploration of how various rhythms and technique can conjure up colour, feelings not felt in a long time and more. Tap is not just a dance show, but a celebration of some of its origins through various countries, cultures and music that influences todays contemporaries. It is a fusion of rhythm, jazz and soul music respectively and freestyle improvisation that creates a new and exciting sound that brings back memories of original tap dance show Tap Dogs.Whilst Tap Dogs back in the day had a more lavish theatrical set the dancers used to experiment with to create their own style, today Tap through the talents of Lee Payne, Simeon Weedall & Lorraine Le-Blanc have their creativity, tap shoes, no set and musical instruments accompanying the action. What sets them apart from a lot of the dance shows today is their ability to at any given moment trust each other to subtly and seamlessly fuse one solo routine into a strong collaborative expression of trust, support and connection between one another. It becomes playful, with fun moments of comedy and silliness through verbal and physical banter, keeping everyone engaged and entertained.Lee Payne brings the relaxed and laid back approach to dance, as well as soulful jazz singing and playing a small trumpet reminiscent of Louis Armstrong's style. He has a natural way of making tap look easy, yet the rhythms created are tight and intricate with one or two surprises thrown in along the way. Payne's positive approach to his performance is one that ripples through the cast and audience through his warm smile and engaging eye contact and connects with everyone wellSimeon Weedall in contrast is a dancer and drummer who loves a more experimental approach to his work. Although Weedall says himself that he is a slow learner, he delights all watching him with sounds that can be quite difficult to even the more experienced dancer is a journey in itself. He creates dance fusion sounds that are reflective of the past and present with a hint at what the future could be like for tap dance. A highlight of his is a composition he calls Indian Rhythm, which brings aspects of Bollywood drums, stamping and more in both a solo and a group context which becomes intrinsically slick to listen to and watch.As for Lorraine Le-Blanc, she brings the soulful aspect to her dancing and was confident with her playfulness in style. She brings images of Spain to the routines presented through flamenco style rhythms and becomes almost child-like when she gets into her groove. Le-Blanc shares her joy in music not just for herself, but in supporting others and steps into her own style well.Tap strips dance back to the heart of where it needs to be and shows great respect and appreciation of all greats before them.

Have you ever been on several failed dates and lived to tell the tale? Sexy Rude Harp Concert explores the idea of trying to find the perfect match and a happy ever after in an honest, engaging and humourous way through personal anecdotes, harp playing and original songs parodying opera. Bringing all these different genres together, what you see is a woman on the edge of self discovery through her own sexuality as she tries to overcome her own doubts and past trauma by going on a sexual conquest of empowerment and more.Sam Hickman from the word go is upfront about her own journey trying to find a man. She uses anecdotes from her own life that lead her to where she is today sexually, creatively and musically that enables us to connect and relate to her as a person. From introducing us to a mother who scarred her by saying 'If I stayed a lesbian, I wouldn't have had you', we immediately see someone who is vulnerable and creates her own therapy using her harp playing and setting out to get revenge in a cheeky way on her mother despite them reconciling their differences. Part of that revenge explores finding something her mother couldn't have; a man. The way Hickman weaves in and out of each adventure into the next song is so slick that you have to stay on your toes as the jokes keep coming hard and fast. However, she is not afraid to have her moments of stillness to keep the variety fresh and to lure you into a false sense of security before another pun arrives.Hickman's skills as a performer are mesmerising as she tells her stories, but what really makes this show stand out is her harp playing and singing skills. Like a spider web, she weaves every note and lyric together so well that it gives the impression of someone who is out to make her mark on the world. Imagine Drag Race's Michelle Visage mixed with the musical and comedic ability of Victoria Wood and you have Sam Hickman. There is never a dull moment in Sexy Rude Harp Concert and the more you watch and participate, the more sassy the show gets with Hickman's charming way of luring you in.Sexy Rude Harp Concert is for adults who love pure, honest comedy, burlesque routines, unique songs and music that enhances the soul. Not to be missed.

In a cell strewn with straw, Michael Murphy sits on a basic mattress, chalks up the days of imprisonment on the wall; looks in his notebook and scribbles in it with his pencil. It’s a bleak and intense opening on a scene which only holds two more items: a chamber pot and a tiny metal food container. It is 1923 and we are in Ireland: a country divided by civil war. The soundscape including dripping water and subtle lighting colour changes hold the mood of each moment throughout. His decent into nightmares bathed in red are guttural and shocking. He talks to the persistent Magpie, outside his cell window, at times tormented and at times soothed by the presence of the bird who is the omen of “one for sorrow”. He names the bird Jamie for reasons that become clear later in a poignant and heart-breaking moment.This is a very personal story, a crucible of humanness in the midst of a divided country showing the cost of divisiveness and war. It’s also the story of how men, especially brothers, communicate with each other – or don’t, and what in this case happens as a result. Michael is so entrenched in his anger and pain that he only know to hit out at those around him, especially his brother Patrick who is the guard in the jail, and at the Priest who comes to see him. These verbal and sometimes physical barbs result in totally realistic brother punches and fights. This is an extraordinary and excellent piece of theatre, in every respect. The story unfolds with the two brothers on opposite sides of the civil war: the youngest and the eldest in a huge family which only has the two of them and their Ma left in it. They have always been on opposing sides: Michael having signed up at 16 to fight for King and Country in the First World War, and called traitor by Patrick. “we pick sides” he says, while Michael points out that everyone is “sticking so hard to their truth”. Carrying the trauma of war on his return and being called traitor by his community, Michael changed sides. His anger was used against him, to manipulate him, to give him two unspeakable orders. Yet halfway through these he reaches his capacity: “all these orders – I couldn’t follow another one”.The two brothers are incredible: Andrew Cusack, who also writes and produces, plays the angry, sarcastic and deeply pained Michael, while Johnjoe Irwin plays the stoic, barely holding it together Patrick. Despite their antagonism, the care and despair between them is palpable. Ronan Colfer, who also directs, plays Father Kelly, in a charged scene where he offers Michael time for confession and prayer yet ends up sharing his own feelings as the man behind the robes: “as a man I don’t feel much of anything anymore, how could I”. Michael asks him if he understands death, with the most beautiful line: “do you know what it’s like to be letters on a stone melted by the rain”. This is an intensely powerful piece told in a visceral, gritty and authentic way, with a story born from Andrew’s own family and real knowledge of these things happening. It’s challenging and uncomfortable at times yet essential viewing. This is a journey of raw emotion and power, and the final understandings and empathy in the last ten minutes elevate a breathtakingly exceptional production to a must see. A stunning production, which is quite simply flawless.

You don’t get many second chances in life. Being taken back by the ex you cheated on. Being promoted by the boss you embezzled. Such chances are rare. They should be grabbed with both hands. A play returning to the West End after almost a decade may not be on quite the same life-changing level. Nonetheless, for anyone with even the slightest interest in theatre, this second chance to see People, Places and Things – first run in 2015 at the National and Wyndham’s Theatres – offers an opportunity you would be insane to miss.Intensely humanPeople, Places and Things is about addiction. It’s about struggling to show our best selves. It’s about standing out and fitting in. It’s about honesty and secrets. It’s hilariously funny and painfully sad. Duncan Macmillan’s script – unchanged bar a sprinkling of hard-to-ignore events such as Covid, Brexit, Trump – manages to be all these things. Yet it never feels confused and it never loses focus. His characters are flawed, their reality flexible. It is intensely human.The story is of Emma, an actress we first see fumbling through a performance of The Seagull. Our confusion grows as her grasp of reality seems to lessen. “I am a seagull. No, that’s not right. I am an actress” she says as the actress playing the actress in Chekhov’s play.As she collapses ‘on stage’ on stage, the set explodes. Techno music suddenly pounds. Emma is dancing, writhing messily with strangers. She drips chemically fuelled sexual energy. Another explosion and we’re in the reception of an austere medical building. Emma is checking herself in. She does a line of coke off the desk. On the mobile, she begs her mother to clear her flat of "temptation" before she returns home. “I’ll stop calling you a cunt when you stop being so cuntish” she hollers, a childish petulance given adults’ vocabulary. She moves with the confident messiness of the addict, trying to prolong a high that long since became devoid of its original euphoria. It’s clear her detox is driven by necessity, not choice. The frenetic energy of the opening is used to great effect throughout the play. It puts us into the head of an addict and makes us see things from her perspective. It is exciting, discomfiting, jarring and disruptive. The experience is one that defines theatricality. People, Places and Things should only ever be seen in the theatre. Imperfect truthWe follow Emma as she deals with her addictions. Though “deals with” suggests an arc of struggles, soul-searching, self-acceptance, and salvation. In People, Places and Things, nothing is quite so neat. Emma rejects the spiritual backbone to rehab’s “twelve step programme.” She demands her therapist be “at least as intelligent” as her if she is to be useful. Group therapy is quickly rejected. All she wants is a certificate proving she doesn’t pose an insurance risk for potential employers. There is no proselytising of sobriety in Macmillan’s script. It even suggests that with so much pain in the world, we owe it to ourselves to enjoy what we can, when we can, how we can. And drugs and alcohol play a clear role in that enjoyment.We’re often shown sobriety as the solution to problems deemed antisocial. A perfect world where entrance is a prize coveted by the recovering addict. People, Places and Things paints the imperfect truth.We see people (addicts) in nightclubs, dancing with strangers, feeling the vibrations of the pumping bass. We see people (non-addicts) drinking orange squash out of plastic cups, soberly singing karaoke. Where would you rather be? Which people would you rather be with?Our moralistic selves may say one thing. The usual interval rush to the bar suggests another.A theatrical CerberusAlong with the refreshingly adult tone of the script, what makes this production unmissable is the triptych of talent that brings it to life. Director, designer, and performer come together as though a theatrical Cerberus. Remove one of their heads and this beast would surely suffer. Director Jeremy Herrin creates chaos before suffusing to silence in a heartbeat. Bunny Christie’s set secretes panels that allow props and people to melt on and off the stage. And what is left to say about the incredible performance Denise Gough somehow manages to give every night? The role of Emma has many layers, and we are never sure we see them all removed. She tells us of the child abuse she suffered, which never happened. She seems devastated by her brother’s death, which happened yesterday, recently, many years ago, or never. Emma isn’t Emma’s real name. Gough takes this character, drawn from lies, and embodies her with truth. Her performance is painfully raw. She makes us hate her, yet still root for her. For the two and a half hours she is constantly on stage, Gough controls our emotions. With a flick of a switch, she makes us laugh. Another flick and we cry. We gush about performances being ‘memorable.’ Often these are compliments borne of celebratory hyperbole. But trust me, Gough gives a performance that takes the hype and then surpasses it. If you’ve seen it, you’ll know. If you haven’t, you should. Beyond compareSince her original performance in People, Places and Things, Gough has done good work. In London and on Broadway, she won acclaim for her role in Angels in America. She also won awards. After seeing her play Emma, the writer of Andor (the Star Wars prequel to the Star Wars prequel) offered her the role of Supervisor Medro. Her talent has been deservedly acknowledged. But, whether it’s a good thing or not, in People, Places and Things, Gough gives a performance that is beyond compare. If you didn’t see this play on its first outing, be grateful to have this second chance. It will be your last.And if you did see it, I can’t think of any reason why you wouldn’t want to see it again.

Prepare to be swept away with the magical spirits, river gods and squeaking sprites of Yubaba’s bathhouse for a timeless adaptation of the classic Japanese animated film, Spirited Away.A soon-to-be sellout success (I’d bet money on it), this stunning live-action production performed by the original Japanese cast honours the West End with its international debut, turning the London Coliseum into an enchanted forest for three months only.Supported by the deep pockets of one of Japan’s largest film production companies, this no-expense-spared production is a treat for anime newcomers and avid Studio Ghibli fans alike. The gorgeous costumes, adorable puppets and fluid transitions go hand-in-hand with rotating doors and revolving set pieces to make you feel as if you are moving through a dream world, raptly following the fantastic coming-of-age story of Chihiro as she undergoes initiation into the otherworldly bathhouse.The choreography is equally mesmerising, meticulously devised to allow the oversized cast to flow as one across the stage. Standout performances include the contortionist agility of Hikaru Yamano as Kaonashi (No-Face) who slinks across the stage with silent menace and the dynamite physicality of Yuya Igarashi as the three-headed Kashira. Skilled puppetry meanwhile brings life to Hayao Miyazaki’s ‘Boiler Geezer’ Kamaji and Haku’s dragon form, not to mention Yababa’s harpy bird servant and the much-loved soot spirits.A feat of creative engineering as much as beastly puppetry, you’ll be wide-eyed throughout, invested in Chihiro’s growth journey as much as the fates of all the characters who get eaten by No-Face, enlarging his threatening form until he almost subsumes the entire bathhouse. Hats off to the production team and director John Caird for creating a show that truly lives up to the magic of the animation, succeeded by a live orchestra that brings to life Joe Hisaishi’s original film score.Note: The show is performed in Japanese with English subtitles embedded each side of the stage.

If Emily Burns’ immaculately realised Love’s Labour's Lost is anything to go by, there is a fresh new breeze whispering through the corridors of the RSC. This is a delightful production in which no opportunity to explore and amplify the text is wasted; and promises so much for the upcoming season under the new co-artistic directors Daniel Evans and Tamara Harvey. Although perhaps not the most obvious choice with which to herald a bright new dawn, this is a play which resonates more in 2024 than might initially seem to be the case. For whilst much of the arcane badinage has understandably lost its zing in centuries of transit: there is still plenty of silliness to splash around in. Above all, this is a production which feels loved. There is none of the smugness or sense of ‘dialling it in’ that can hamper elite theatre: alienating new audiences and boring old ones. Perhaps it is significant that almost every cast member is making their RSC debut alongside the director; for there is a heart to this piece often noticeable by its absence when given a more seasoned embrace.In Navarre, four young chaps eschew worldly pleasures in order to commit to study. Four young women descend into their orbit on a diplomatic mission. And so the games begin. As comedic Shakespearean plotlines go, it is deliciously uncomplicated… leaving space for the audience to grapple instead with the occasional verbosity of a text wrought by a young author just honing his craft. Every inch of the concept has been explored to chime with the text: from the stark opening of a Press Briefing Room to the gorgeous Pacific Island retreat brought to life in Joanna Scotcher’s beautifully sleek, seven-star spa-hotel set. The geographical location is an inspired touch: suggesting to us, perhaps, some of the beauty and remoteness felt by 16th century audiences when contemplating the politics of Aquitaine and Navarre. It also conjures the elevated social status of its main protagonists: all pressed chinos and impossibly shiny hair larking around on gold courses, whilst the lower echelons run hither and thither, weaving their own romantic entanglements around sun loungers and face packs. Jack Bardoe as Don Armado is one of the standout performances: a hipster Spanish tennis instructor with vowel sounds nearly as strangulated as his nether regions are in their tight red shorts. This is a broad, brash, and ballsy performance which brings many of the eyes-on-stalks moment, and a fair proportion of the belly laughs. Jordan Metcalfe’s Boyet brings a contrasting subservience: a clenched, uptight, frustrated wit devoted to his Princess and determined to oversee some form of order. The boys moon and fawn with neatly-drawn differentiations of character; the girls similarly primp and preen. It is Luke Thompson as Berowne who really gets the opportunity to flex his verse speaking muscles: an opportunity he takes full-throated advantage of in a charming, goofy, knowing performance which tantalises the audience with the prospect of how future classic roles might be realised. Thompson proves to be rather more then just a pretty air of britches with some dazzling delivered verse speaking which is echoed almost across the board. Whilst I might prefer the cast to trust to their own performances, the concept, and the man himself to allow the piece to run free of the modern ad libs which are no doubt inserted to massage accessibility but which ultimately just jar on the ear: one supposes there may be teenagers or more recent converts who appreciate and find greater engagement through the bants. The ingenuity and imagination knitted throughout the action bowls us towards the final, poignant moments in which the young Princess must close the door on girlish pursuits and walk towards a throne she is barely old enough to ascend. Melanie-Joyce Bermudez’s dignity and poise intimates that the weary acceptance of her station is unlikely to guarantee a reconciliation with Ferdinand (a commanding Abiola Owokoniran) in a year’s time. Perhaps the other lovers will prove more constant: although it seems doubtful. We are left rooting for Berowne and Rosaline (a punchy Ioanna Kimbook): but our hearts are telling us that the girls will be moving on. Which, it seems, the RSC is doing in style. With a tenderness and devotion which is really rather moving and really rather brilliant.

Theatre in the round (well, square) at the Bush Theatre, The Cord is a powerful realist drama about the unshakeable bond of motherhood and the tests of being a new parent, written and directed by Bijan Sheibani (Netflix’s One Day).The Cord centres around new father Ash, played by Irfan Shamji, who, feeling boxed out of the loving bond between mother and newborn, struggles to come to terms with his new supporting role. Petty arguments fuelled by sleep deprivation ensue, calling to mind all of our own worst frustration towards our partners and the question of who, if anyone, started the fight.The relatability of The Cord is largely what draws us in and, while the language centres around the everyday – around Christmas dinner and mastitis – the bare staging and absence of props give the production a metaphysical dimension. Ash’s philosophical ponderings fall on wife Anya’s deaf ears, but, to us in the audience, these questions – in tandem with cellist Colin Alexander in one corner – strike a chord. “Can you imagine not feeling separate from anything else?” Ash asks, talking about a baby's seamless connection to his mother. “Like when you smile at a baby," he continues, "It feels the smile. It is the smile. Likewise, when you are sad…” The beauty in this line of thought is clear, but later, when we learn about Ash’s fraught early days, we can reflect on its tragedy.Mimicking how Ash resents playing second string in his new family, he too plays a secondary role in the story. Over and above a story of fatherhood, The Cord is about the deep emotional bond a mother has with their child. Though now a grown man, Ash still cannot free himself from his own mother’s pain and anguish, or the inadequacy he feels as a result. But, in his efforts, and by releasing his own anger, he and his family find hope.

To stage Les Misérables is a massive undertaking for any theatre company, but Director Ben Jeffreys has consummately risen to the challenge with a production of the School’s Edition at Westcliff High School for Boys. This production is more than worthy of anything students at a musical theatre school might produce. Shivers ran not just down my spine but through my body for almost the whole of Act One along with tear-jerking moments that followed through into Act Two.As with most shows the end product is the culmination of extraordinary teamwork, and more so in a school production, where everyone is putting on the show in addition to full-time study, teaching or other jobs. Drama is not on the formal curriculum, but Jeffreys, who is Head of History, has run an after-school drama club for the last eight years. He puts on at least three shows a year, amassing a total of twenty-five since he started in 2016. That is a tribute to the energy and drive that combines with his passionate belief in the importance of drama in giving young people opportunities and skills.He has a cast of thirty-eight to manage and, watching from the balcony, it was easy to appreciate his directorial creativity, theatrical imagination and choreographic eye from the outset; the convicts, normally a chain gang of labourers, are instead twenty-four rowers in the galley of a French naval vessel with a series of motifs made into a grand opening number with an impressive “wow” factor.Once on stage, the backbone of any musical is the orchestra. Musical Director Mr Wood, an Old Boy of the School, conducts an accomplished band of sixteen, mostly students, with some adults who have connections to the school, in a manner that ensures the pace of the show never falters.The performance takes place in the School Hall, which has an adequate stage that has been extended by the guys at 1159 Productions, but affords little space behind the flats and no wing space. The challenge this presents is made all the greater given the number of beautifully crafted sets that are wheeled on and off, courtesy of Spotlight Productions, who also excel with the costumes and props. Mr G. Marlow handles the construction of the barricades elegantly, whilst Sound by Jamie Mather and Lighting by PikeLights completes the staging.Jeffreys is blessed with a remarkably talented group of twenty-three students who take on the named parts. Edmund Griffiths (Bishop of Digne) sets the standard high in a lyrical and sensitive rendition of his prologue song following the theft of the silver. Jacob Guyler, in what turns out to be a commanding performance, then breaks into Jean Valjean’s What Have I Done?, an emotionally charged opening number in which he captures the convict’s bitterness about the past and anger at his current predicament, together with his resolve that Another Story Must Begin! Indeed it does, but perhaps not the one he has in mind. Guyler goes on to vividly portray Valjean's angst in the midst of a moral dilemma (Who Am I?), but still finds time to help Fauchelevant (Peter Nimalan) when threatened by Javert.The big chorus number, At The End Of The Day, exposes the plight of the poor, epitomised by Factory Girl Five (Isla Rodel), and the power of those in charge in through The Foreman (Jacob Mellor), Fantine (Mia Cater) emerges and her story of an abandoned single mother turned prostitute is revealed. Then the music tones down and we await with baited breath for the Susan Boyle moment as Cater, in melancholy reflection, looks back on what might have been with I Dreamed A Dream; and, as they say on The X Factor, “She nailed it” and the tissues came out.Now, the story becomes increasingly complex with plots, subplots and the passage of time, all interwoven with Claude-Michel Schönberg’s signature style of repeated musical motifs and the many famous songs.The reality of life in the docks returns with misogynistic avengeance in Lovely Ladies, with the likes of Old Crone (Freddie Cathan) and Bamatabois (Ronnie Hardy) and the chorus. Inspector Javert reappears after his brief introduction in the Prologue, determined to see Valjean re-arrested. Rafael Gamma gives a well-crafted, darkly menacing, sinister and vengeful portrayal of this sad man, though he manages to come over as a much smoother individual, if still full of malice, in Stars. Lighter melodies follow from Cater and Guyler as Fantine lies on her death bed (Come To Me) and Young Cosette (Sophie Cleave) follows with a sweet rendition of Castle On A Cloud, that is interrupted by interjections from her keeper, Madame Thenardier, whose aggressive and rather unpleasant nature is captured effectively by Edith Jefferson. Light relief comes from her husband. It’s strange that a murderous, money-grabbing informant has such a comically entertaining scene but Gabriel Williams in full song and dance routine mode proves highly amusing as the innkeeper in Master of the House and the master of faux sorrow in the Thenardier Waltz. Meanwhile, Sam Skeels seizes the opportunity for a fine piece of characterisation as Gavroche, the son whom they threw out. He grew up as a street urchin whereas Harley Cleave as Young Eponine, has the joy of being their spolied daughter who learns the tricks of the family.The revolutionary period now comes to the fore as the scene moves to the ABC cafe where conspirators of various backgrounds meet. Further interesting individuals emerge with the actors creating well defined characters for each: Sebastian Puddick (Combeferre), Oliver Street (Feuilly) Joseph Galvin (Enjolras) Alexander Miller (Joly), Noah Bettis (Grantaire), Conor Lynch-Wyatt (Marius) and William Holley (Prouvaire). The culmination of their revolutionary planning comes with the stirring Do You Hear The People Sing?.Alice Morgan, as the grown-up Cosette continues the show with a suitably lugubrious rendition of In My Life as she is joined by, Valjean, the papa she never had, Marius, who expresses his love for her and Éponine (Emma Clarke). Clarke carefully balances the multifaceted aspects of Eponine’s character of the girl who was as nasty as her parents, the Thenardiers. She is in love with Maruis, and jealous of Cosette. Their intertwined relationships are brought out in s a delightful rendition of the trio A Heart Full of Love. Several characters continue the plotting in Plumet Attack which leads into the fabulously grand Act-One-closing chorus number, One Day More.Clarke opens up the second half with Eponine’s impassioned On My Own and not long after Guyler tearfully delivers a deeply moving Bring Him Home. Meanwhile Javert is battling with his conscious and inability to live with the events of his life. Gamma mentally wrestles his way through the man’s tragic demise before committing suicide. Marius and Cosette have a joyous wedding before we move forward to Valjean's natural death and Guyler’s peaceful song of farewell.No show would be complete without a rousing ending including some short reprises and Les Mis is no exception. All that remained was for us all to rise and give this production a very well deserved standing ovation.

Celebrating the show’s first anniversary, Nicholas Hytner’s sensational, immersive production of Guys & Dolls continues at the Bridge Theatre with a new lineup of stars, that is guaranteed to ensure its run for some considerable time. Frank Loesser’s musical, with book by Jo Swerling and Abe Burrows, is packed with famous tunes and it’s hard to imagine any production not making a success from a score and libretto that offers so many opportunities to excel in the genre. Hytner’s vivid imagination and creativity, however, take this production to a level that rises above all expectations. He has the enormous advantage of a versatile space that can be transformed from a flat floor by raising the platforms from below to different heights to give a variety of stage configurations in terms of levels and shapes. More importantly, he is an accomplished theatre director who knows all about the use of space and how to control the audience’s focus.In the vast floor area standing members of the audience are brought forward and pushed back to be always wrapped around the stages and up close to the action. At times they become extras, seated at tables or dragged into the scene. A large team of stage hands or movement stewards, dressed as New York City cops, are charged with the choreography of these changes; their management of this huge undertaking almost becoming a show in itself for those seated in the tiers of the vast theatre. It’s all done on a grand scale, with the Tommy Entrata orchestra conducted by Tom Brady extending the action onto the first tier. The story is ingeniously crafted around the pairing of opposites in a romantic comedy set in New York and Havana. Newcomers Owain Arthur and Timmika Ramsay star as Nathan Detroit and Miss Adelaide. Detroit is a likeable con-man who spends his time finding venues for his illegal, but highly popular crap games. She is a showgirl who after 14 years of being engaged to Detroit still believes that one day he will marry her. Meanwhile she continues with her job that provides the excuse for some outstanding song and dance numbers choreographed by Arlene Phillips with James Cousins. Costumes by Bunny Christie and Deborah Andrews add a glamorous dimension to these routines, with all the creative elements coming together in such spectacular numbers as A Bushel And A Peck and the act two opener, Take Back Your Mink, of which there is an abundance wrapped around her shoulders.In addition to her stunning showtime song and dance routines, she can also ring the changes with songs such as Adelaide’s Lament. Importantly, Ramsay portrays the love Miss Adelaide has for Detroit in an entirely convincing, sincere manner, while making her repeated protestations equally amusing. Arthur in turn gets plenty of laughs for his quick-thinking in order to change the subject and the busy time he has charging around organising the floating crap game.George Ioannides and Celinde Schoenmaker continue their stunning performances in the other lead roles of Sky Masterson and Sarah Brown. Detroit finally runs out of money to fund the premises for his games. Masterson is prepared to gamble on anything and accepts Detroit’s bet that he can’t get Brown, the morally upright and virtuous Sergeant of the Broadway’s Save-a-Soul Mission, to go on a date with him to Cuba, in return for funding the next game. You can guess how that works out when they discover there’s more freedom in the country than just the Cuba Libre. Earlier on Schoenmaker has made her position clear with regard to the evils of gambling and drink and how she will know when the right man comes along; a heartfelt rendition of I’ll Know makes that clear. But the barriers break down and we are treated to her joyous If I Were A Bell, the contrasting melancholy My Time Of Day from the suave Ioannides and the act one closing number sung together of I’ve Never Been In Love Before. Later Ioannides joins the Crapshooters in a ripping rendition of Luck Be a Lady, that demonstrates another side to his singing capabilities.But the big blockbuster of the show goes to none of these characters. Instead, it’s reserved for one of the crap game guys, Nicely-Nicely Johnson, played by Jonathan Andrew Hume. Sit Down, You’re Rockin’ The Boat is a breathtaking triumph, choreographed on a tight space in the mission house with all the chairs set out for the congregation. It seems an impossible task, but the chairs became the essential props for an array of routines, as Hume milks the song for all its worth. With some rehearsed beseeching of the conductor he gets three reprises out of it, and we were still asking for more!There’s a host of talent in every aspect of this show. Whether you’re a lover of musicals or not this one is in a league of its own and is pure theatre. It’s no wonder it won the Evening Standard Theatre Award for Best Musical in 2023. Don’t miss it.

The Orange Tree Theatre, Richmond, has scored a major triumph in securing the services of Sir Trevor Nunn to direct his faithful adaptation of Uncle Vanya in a production that has all the warmth, attention to detail and style one would expect from the former artistic director of the Royal Shakespeare Company and the Royal National Theatre.With him, Casting Director Matilda James CDG has assembled an outstanding cast of accomplished actors who embrace the naturalism that Chekhov demands and the style of performance that would have have characterised the original production directed by Stanislavski in 1899, albeit with the benefit of developments in his method since then.There are probably many joys to be had from owning an estate in the country, but if you feel bound to be there for a large part of the year the pleasures can wear thin and the tedium of a rural existence can make life seem hardly worth living. Ennui fills the air in the confines of the house and the dreams of a changed existence take many forms. The Professor observes, “I cannot go on living in the country. Human beings were not meant to live in the wild”. It’s just one example of the subtle dry humour that permeates the play and that is so well delivered.The intimate setting if the Orange Tree again enhances a production that is set in a claustrophobic house, meticulously designed by Simon Daw, moodily lit by Johanna Town and soundscaped by Max Pappenheim. It is home to the elderly Professor Serebryakov (William Chubb). Previously widowed, he now has a glamorous young wife, Elena (Lily Sacofsky) with a significant age gap between them. Sonya (Madeleine Gray) his daughter by his first marriage, lives there as does her eponymous Uncle Vanya (James Lance), who manages the estate. She is regarded as ‘plain’ and although of an age to marry is making no progress in that direction. Enter Astrov (Andrew Richardson), the eligible and handsome local doctor who also stays at the house from time to time as the Professor has ongoing medical demands and he lives some distance away. Despite their many conversations Astrov is not attracted to Sonya, though she is besotted with him, he but does have a reciprocated passion for Elena, leading him and the two ladies into many tangled moments. Others add to the household. Telegin (David Ahmad), nicknamed Waffles on account of his pockmarked skin, is a dependent of the family and lives on the estate, Marina (Juliet Garricks), is the mature nurse/housekeeper and Maria (Susan Tracy), the widowed mother of Vanya. The lives of all are thrown into disarray when the Professor announces his intention to sell the house and they are forced to rethink their futures.The cast make realistic, idiosyncratic individuals out of all the characters. Chubb’s Professor is detached in his own world of academia and aloof from everyday life, while Lance contrasts with his cranky Vanya and between them Richardson is the man most in touch with reality and his emotions. Sacofsky and Gray have several charming scenes together in which the woman who seemingly has everything laments the shortcomings of her position and the one who so wants to be loved cannot overcome her insecurities. Altogether, Nunn’s production is a delight from beginning to end and Checkov’s play often surprises with its humour and environmental concerns of about deforestation and population growth.

Ryan Calais Cameron’s For Black Boys Who Have Considered Suicide When The Hue Gets Too Heavy, is now in its fourth run and second West End transfer with a brand new cast, and it is clear that the original creative team have far from dropped the ball. The strength of six strangers sharing their personal experiences of race with one another is undeniable and the production is still a tour de force.From the impeccably crafted movement to the sharp comedic timing and gut-wrenching vulnerability, the production is so profoundly impactful that one feels lost for words. Indeed, silence is as much a part of the fabric of the play as the dialogue. As dance is integral to the choreopoem genre, it is imperative that when words fail, deep emotion can be conveyed through movement. This is absolutely true of For Black Boys—Theophilus O. Bailey’s choreography is breathtaking. There is so much dance variation in the show: lyrical solos, physical theatre, group work with lifts and balances, krumping, hip-hop (and probably more) all of which evoke a passion that embodies each nuanced subject matter discussed by the characters. The play has a strong sense of flow which is difficult to achieve with series of monologues. This is aided by the harmonious use of song and dance as well as some incredibly inventive direction from Cameron. Furthermore, the fact that every move is felt and every word has carefully considered thoughts behind it keeps the audience captivated. Nevertheless, we are kept on our toes with sudden joyous bursts of song and dance, contrasting with quieter, profound moments. It is particularly poignant when the actors break into song acapella. Singing is arguably the most vulnerable way of expressing yourself vocally, and it feels as though that with each song, the characters’ bond grows stronger. Their voices are beautiful and John Pfumojena and Nicola T. Chang should be highly commended for their detailed work.Above all, perhaps, is the strength of Cameron’s writing and his ability to illuminate extremely complex themes in a manner that is accessible, nuanced and poetic. Yes—identity politics is an increasingly popular topic in theatre; however, For Black Boys… supersedes your expectations in every sense. It blows that label out of the water. The discussion of topics such as what the ’n’ word means to Black individuals, the relationship between education and race and what ‘Black’ means to different groups of people are unapologetic, raw and enriching. What amazes me is how Cameron manages to paint such a detailed picture without ever being literal. In this way, his work pulls on your heartstrings, no matter where you come from. This is especially the case in his treatment of suicide as characters heartbreakingly express sentiments that “Black boys aren’t supposed to need love”, that the colour of their skin denies them the right to love themselves, that they no longer want to fight to live anymore. No matter who you are, you cannot help but be deeply moved, and those who are not Black are forced to confront the pain of an experience we will never have. This alone is extremely powerful. For Black Boys… is a trailblazing play whose fire continues to burn brightly as ever. It is clear that the cast and the creative team have fostered an incredibly supportive, loving and innovative environment. The acting is second to none, and Tobi King Bakare, Shakeel Haakim, Fela Lufadeju, Albert Magashi, Mohammed Mansaray and Posi Morakinyo deserve recognition for their talent. The production both caresses you and grips you, much like how each character is tenderly comforted by another after they’ve spoken their truth. In truth, to write about it is difficult—there is so much to unpack nothing feels like it does the play justice. Thus, it demands to be seen.

In a landscape often cluttered with musicals trying to emulate other modern successes, it is delightful to see a new musical carving its own visual and musical aesthetic in this 80s-themed extravaganza. Directed by Charlie Parham and based on the book by David Nicholls, Starter for Ten tells the story of Brian, a working class kid starting at Bristol University. Dreaming of girls, University Challenge and being “taken seriously”, we join our dorky but romantic protagonist in laughing, crying and learning throughout his first year of adulthood. The stage opens upon a brightly-coloured vision of Brian’s home in Southend, Essex. As young Brian happily says goodbye to his father on the way to work, a sense of dread builds from this happy innocence surely about to be lost. Indeed, when tragedy strikes off-stage, the stage serves as a canvas for this interplay between the explanations of the past and the actions of the present. We all love University Challenge but why is Brian so obsessed? Adam Bregman is an effortless leading man, and carries the audience through both Brian’s best and worst moments with charm and vulnerability. The set is a series of pastel moving pieces, an English, ‘80s barbieland that fits together in a hundred different ways. While the piecemeal items could risk feeling inauthentic to each setting or hazarding bumpy transitions, Frankie Bradshaw’s ingenious design instead brings variety while remaining deeply stylistic. Forget edgy textures and atmospheric liminal spaces; bring on the 80s’ pastel and suggestive backdrops. The contrast between Brian's warm but humble Southend home and the bright, elitist atmosphere of Bristol University plays a pivotal role in exploring class dynamics. On one level, this brings comedy, highlighting the prattish rugby boys of Bristol and the maniacal poshness of quiz leader Patrick, performed with incredible physical comedy by Will Jennings. On a deeper level, it prompts reflection on Brian's place between two homes and communities. As Brian’s friend Spencer emphasises, performed with impact by Stephenson Ardern-Sodje, class is more than where you grew up, it’s in what you do and what you like. With his upper-class friends and higher-educational background, where does Bryan belong now? Is it possible to fit into those two worlds and retain authenticity?While the exploration of class is compelling, it feels somewhat peculiar that the elitist 1980s atmosphere barely hints at sexism and racism, despite their historical prevalence in quiz teams and the plentitude of female characters of colour. While one show cannot and should not attempt to tackle all issues, a more intersectional approach could enrich future development.One modernising change from the source material is the downplaying of the love triangle. Two women represent two pathways of Brian’s future, one a symbol of his lust towards an upper-class charisma and the other the true friendship of his working class relationships. Nevertheless, neither women is competing. The loss of any silly romantic tension allows Rebecca and Alice, portrayed by Eubha Akilade and Emily Lane respectively, to shine individually on stage. Akilade delivers a compelling performance as the defiant and sarcastic Rebecca, challenging world issues while questioning the role of arts education in a broken world. Meanwhile, Lane's embodiment of the Cotswold and clueless object of Brian's affection is a tour de force of confidence and comedic timing.While the decentering of the love triangle allows these female characters the spotlight, part of its conclusion feels abrupt and unsatisfying. The show teases the potential of a slow-burn romance with Rebecca, only to hastily shut down that possibility in eternity with one cumbersome line. The worthy intention may have been to highlight Rebecca’s passions outside of any romantic prospects, but she can both be a fully-fleshed character in her own right and feel romantic desires. Can a woman not have it all? A more open-ended resolution could have better aligned with the established storytelling and character development.Nevertheless, any criticisms are merely feedback for future development. Starter for Ten is a truly brilliant musical, combining entertainment and introspection, tears with laughter and my debit card with the Bristol Old Vic website as I purchase another ticket. The technical prowess of this production is especially complementary, but the musical is sure to go far in the years to come outside of it. Don’t miss the chance to see this future West End Hit at the start of its journey.

London’s newest Pub Theatre has opened with a sublime production of Stephen Sondheim’s rarely-staged Marry Me A Little. The Stage Door Theatre, sitting above the Prince of Wales on Drury Lane, surely has the most enviable location of any fringe venue – in the heart of the West End. The room has all the trappings of a proper boozer, such that it’s clear the stage will have to make way for a Six Nations screening or Derek’s leaving do; yet the set and lighting is so deftly realised that it would put many a permanent installation to shame.More than a decade before Julia McKenzie was plucking songs from the Sondheim canon to forge Putting It Together, in 1980 Craig Lucas and Norman Rene had raided Stephen’s trunk of discarded numbers to create a musical about love and relationships. It’s a sung-through revue, with a set list that has morphed with each new director’s hands. Including songs from Follies, Company and all the way to the ultra-obscure Evening Primrose, it’s a 65-minute collection of scarcely performed material that any Sondheim fan should put on their must-see list.Two newly singleton New Yorkers live in the same apartment block – her above him. It’s Saturday night and they are both alone, dwelling on past relationships and possible new ones. On stage they share the same space, gliding between each other with perfect choreography – but they never meet. The song choices evoke the relatable circumstances the pair find themselves in. Sondheim’s sparkling lyrics bring to life their regrets, memories and fantasies. Even though many a jukebox musical suffers from squashing together unrelated songs and losing any meaning, here there is a genuine narrative.The casting is completely on point. Markus Sodergren as the man has a commanding vocal range complimented by Shelly Rivers’ beautiful soprano vibrato. And whilst it seems impossible to create chemistry when neither character interacts with each other, somehow it’s just there. They are accompanied by Musical Director, Aaron Clingham, on a single keyboard which kinda feels right for this intimate setting. Richard Lambert appears to be working miracles creating perfect scenes out of just a handful of lighting cans and David Shield’s set is wonderfully detailed without being overly busy. And I still appreciate that all this kit needs to be packed up to make way for Bethany's birthday drinks tomorrow.Director Robert McWhir has created an utterly brilliant night and such a strong start for this new pop-up pub theatre. The upcoming programme, which includes a new home for the iconic musical singalong night – Overtures – will surely make the Stage Door a regular haunt for many of us West End Wendys.

Eleanor Rhode’s new production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the RSC is a child’s-eye Shakespeare; a tale told in either the boring black and white of adult discourse or a colourful riot of unabashed fun; a thoroughly silly romp of visual gags which do the heavy lifting of comedic expectation; a Shakespeare as seen through the lens of an early 1980s Playaway Creative Director. From the opening montage of telly test-cards (ask your grandad) and outrageous shoulder pads, it is clear that we are are no longer in the grim, shadowy badlands of 2024 but have been translated to a more hempen homespun time. A time of high-tech possibility but social naivety perfect for the conceit of this interpretation; which eschews an overt focus on the pulsing sexual shenanigans and leans instead towards a more cartoonish air. Bally Gill opens the show as a somewhat snivelling Theseus, deliciously doubtful to have wooed anyone with his sword. And it is this rather apposite suggestion of institutional ineptitude which creates the void of authority into which Oberon (also Gill now, cosplaying Adam Ant) is more than happy to slink. Politicos take note: tricksters will rush in where gravity fears to tread. For it is in the forest where the fun happens: a place without grown ups, boundaries, sense or self-awareness. A forest peopled by strange lights, disembodied voices, and thinks that go hump in the night. At the heart of all these revels is Rosie Sheehy’s Puck; a grubby, blue-haired sprite at once slouchy and sinuous, dragging the characters through the trees and into escapades with a casual malevolence redolent of those who intimidate street corners purely through boredom. Illusion runs through this piece like the river through Stratford; and Sheehy’s proficiency with the Hamley’s conjuring boxset heightens the fantasy, invites even the most hardened critic to believe again in magic, and provides that sense of of unease and wonder that we feel when someone else holds all the cards. The lovers come and go; reeling variously from love, lust and hallucinogenics. Ryan Hutton (Lysander) gives a glorious performance which leaves the most lasting impact of the show: effortlessly pulling focus every time he swaggers on to the stage; breathing new life into what is frequently reduced to a stock romantic lead; and fusing tradition and modernity with apparently limitless energy. Hutton’s outrageously physical performance exemplifies one of the major strengths of this interpretation; and Movement Director Annie-Lynnette Deakin-Foster’s assured touch is never far from the surface in uproarious vignettes which are sure to captivate a younger audience desperate to find a Shakespearean comedy that is actually funny. Helen Monks leads the Mechanicals as folksy director Quince, and is ably supported by a crew of patches which includes big-name-draw Mathew Baynton as Bottom. Baynton’s understated and generous performance invites both an element of empathy for this overbearing thespian; and permits a greater sense of ensemble than a more egotistical rendition might allow. Whilst there is perhaps a limited a romantic chemistry between Titania and her ignoble ass, this is equally true throughout all the couples’ stories and appears to be part of the U certificate concept. This is a confident and sweet production which has not yet quite grown up; and is all the more charming for it. The costumes are both spot on and yet have the spirit of having raided the dressing up box; the actors’ legs seem to be made of that selfsame rubber as toddlers; the props feel as though they were just knocked up round the back. It takes guts and mastery to bring this level of freshness to one of the most beloved plays the world will ever know; and this scrumptious interpretation should be high on your Spring ticket wish list.

It’s rare to see an original musical open in the West End. It’s rare to associate the National Theatre with (popular) musicals at all.And then, both rarities are disproven. Twice. In the space of a week. Hot on the heels of Hadestown comes the West End transfer of Standing at the Sky’s Edge to the Gillian Lynne Theatre. Last seen on the National’s Olivier stage, but with roots very firmly fixed in its Sheffield origins, Standing at the Sky’s Edge now aims to show it has global appeal. For the past year, when asked for a theatre recommendation, my immediate reply has always been Standing at the Sky’s Edge. I loved the show’s originality, was drawn in by its musicality, and shed more than a few tears at its emotional journey. But that was a year ago. I’m aware that the remembering can make the experiencing seem more positive than it was. To refresh my memory – and with all the wisdom of reading an ex’s early WhatsApp’s – I re-read my review. I wrote, “The most phenomenally strong voices you’re likely to hear outside a concert.” I sadly noted most of the cast has changed for this new production.I wrote, “The Olivier stage looks like it has been created for the sole purpose of housing Ben Stones’ set.” I sighed, remembering the cold, unwelcoming atmosphere at the Gillian Lynne Theatre.As many have said before me, looking back is rarely a good idea. To date, the show has had much acclaim. At its pre- and post-Covid Sheffield Crucible runs, local audiences took it to their hearts. Unsurprisingly perhaps, given its themes are, very literally, close to home. Standing at the Sky’s Edge is set around the development, the later destruction, and subsequent gentrification of the city’s Park Hill estate. For those living in the area, Park Hill evokes feelings of 1960s’ post-war hope, 1980s’ inner-city violence, or new millennium rebirth.At the Crucible, the show appealed to this sense of local ownership. It played to the pride felt at it being the largest Grade II listed building in Europe. For the National Theatre transfer, the run quickly sold out. But a (stereo)typical National Theatre-goer is more likely to be stimulated by social commentary than singalong chart hits. And politics are never far from the plot here.At its heart are three representations of the 'family unit'. The '60s has steelworker unionist Harry (Joel Harper-Jackson) and his supportive wife Rose (Rachael Wooding). In the '80s, there's the refugees from wartorn Liberia, Joy (Elizabeth Ayodele) and her guardian cousins George (Baker Mukasa) and Grace (Sharlene Hector). And in the 10s, we've newly single, newly relocated, (possibly newly) lesbian, Poppy (Laura Pitt-Pulford). We follow their stories concurrently as each takes residence of the same flat over three different timelines. They are all impacted by the political themes of their day: deindustrialisation and unemployment, immigration and racism, Brexit, and housing. The National’s run benefitted from the sort of political comment that makes many NT members moist. Local passions and political beliefs are all well and good. But with no film plotline, no Nicole Scherzinger lead, no French gymnast welcoming you to your seat, what does Standing at the Sky’s Edge have to offer a West End audience? Seeing it at its new home with these fresh eyes made the answer clear. It has a hell of a lot.It has scale. Ben Stones’ design seems to have replanted its roots into the walls and floors of the cavernous Gillian Lynne and then grown out of it, like some kind of theatrical Virginia creeper. The Park Hill estate is a sprawling mass of concrete blocks, balconies and walkways that fill every corner of the stage. The addition of a stairway and a second balcony adds to the panoramic vista that makes you feel like you're watching in IMAX. Using all this space makes the cast seems larger, though they number the same as at the National. The supernumeraries (or swings) ooze on and off stage - sometimes extending into the auditorium. They move with balletic repetition as time passes and tensions grow. They bring oomph to music numbers that literally makes the floor shake. It has power. The music of Richard Hawley may seem an odd choice to backdrop a musical, but this couldn’t be further from the typical definition of 'jukebox'. For a start, there’s none of the awkwardly manipulated dialogue such shows often use to segue into musical numbers, like:- “But, where are you going?”- “To the top of the hill. I want to be nearer the sky.”- “Be careful. Don’t go too near to the edge. And, Margie, whatever you do, don’t sit down."- “Don’t worry Bobby, I won’t. I’m just going to be…" (as intro music swells…)Instead, Hawley’s songs act as comment, higlighting the emotions of the scenes. Actors often stand outside their characters, mic in hand, giving powerful renditions of what were once songs of male angst, now recreated for stage impact. At times, they have an infectious energy you tap your foot to. The excitement of promise is soundtracked by “Time Is,” led by Samuel Jordan: one of two returning leads, and still “a tender lost soul with a rock-star voice” I could listen to for a whole album. At times, they have an emotional ache that will break your heart into tiny pieces. I defy anyone not to choke back a tear when hearing “After the Rain” – the song Hawley wrote for Shirley Bassey – sung by Rachael Wooding. Wooding is the second returning lead and, to my mind, the very heart, soul and standout star in this star-filled show. And it has a gentle intimacy. Against the vast setting and powerful numbers, the stories it tells are touchingly simple. They're all the stronger for being so. Resonant of the best kitchen sink or soap drama, we quickly take these characters into our hearts. We laugh at their jokes, hope for their loves, cry with their disappointments. There are enough references to Yorkshire – football and food play their part – to give the characters a very local grounding. But that adds to, rather than detracts from, their global relatability. There are comparisons to be made with that other 'local global' show, Willy Russell’s Blood Brothers. Both are very clearly and necessarily location-specific. But both have themes recognisable to everybody, no matter your proximity to events.And like Blood Brothers, you’re unlikely to leave the show with a bounce in your step. Hope is definitely the key takeout here: “hope that kills you but also keeps you alive.”In short, unlike with the ex, I needn’t have worried about going back. And neither should you. Seeing Standing at the Sky’s Edge again has reinforced my view that the deserved winner of last year’s Olivier for Best New Musical has everything a good musical needs. And then some.Whether you’ve seen it at the National, in Sheffield, or not at all, I urge you to go see it at its new home. Standing at the Sky’s Edge is standing head and shoulders above your typical West End musical. This show deserves to run and run and run.

Set in the summer of 1976, in the driest heatwave of the century, four sisters come back to their home in Blackpool as their mother teeters on the precipice between life and death. As three of the sisters wait for the fourth to arrive, their pasts unravel: from their mother Veronica’s ambitions of turning her daughters into stars like the Andrews Sisters, to the uncomfortable staleness of their current realities, and some of the foulest truths of the music industry.It seems fitting that the show premiered at the Harold Pinter Theatre, since Jez Butterworth is heavily influenced by Pinter’s work, and it shows. With the outside of the theatre adorned with the names of the theatrical titans leading the project (Sonia Friedman producing, Butterworth writing, and Sam Mendes directing) The Hills of California has a lot of promise to live up to. But from comedic lovable start to tender and cathartic finish, the new play delivers. Sam Mendes shows a masterful understanding of the questions and priorities the play asks, and there is a moment halfway through the third act so brilliantly directed I wish I could rewind it and watch it again.With gut-wrenching immediacy, he turns the script (thoroughly stamped with Butterworth’s trademark wit) into an extraordinary production, reflecting on the uncomfortable, pertinent realities of exploitation, and the ways these realities are shrouded by shame, nostalgia, taboo and deception.Like all great drama, there’s a great deal of attention put into the space between characters. Their differences and incompatibilities are especially brought out in their costumes, by Rob Howell, the designer behind Matilda the Musical. His set perfectly turns the questions of reality and fantasy, freedom and confinement into physical materia onstage. Along with lighting by Natasha Chivers, the result is a steady reel of carefully designed images, soundtracked perfectly by Nick Powell.Laura Donnelly’s performance is a tour-de-force in all of her scenes as Veronica, and Leanne Best as Gloria is especially full of life and energy, amid the Blackpool sunburn and sweat. But every actor is incredibly strong and well-cast, and there’s not a dull or unpolished moment, not least amongst the young performers, who show their talent in strong harmonies and mesmerising choreography, in a few fantastic live music sequences.Other reviews have noted a tonal falter at the end of the play, but it would seem that this has since been corrected, since there isn’t such a moment anymore. And although it may come off as overly sentimental, sentimentality is a central theme of the play, and it utilises this feeling to show us its ugly side as well. Captivating from start to finish, The Hills of California comes close to being a masterpiece, and will not disappoint serious drama enthusiasts.

Hard Feelings is no ordinary stand-up hour, but then Iliza Shlesinger is no ordinary comedian. Everything in this show is simply astonishing, as it is filled to the brim with such hilarity that we cannot help but continuously laugh and enjoy ourselves. Over the course of the show, Shlesinger builds us up and gives us the confidence that makes us feel like we can take on the world. Chloe Petts is Shlesinger’s warm-up act for the evening and her comedy perfectly complements Shlesinger’s, almost giving us a crash course of what we can expect over the next hour. Constantly keeping us on our toes with the direction of her material, Petts regales us with anecdotes of what it is like to experience being called ‘boss man’ or the hero at a wedding. With her timing and off-the-cuff banter, Petts leads us to unexpected twists and subversive commentary, that proves to be extremely hilarious.Using the power of rational thought, acerbic wit and laughter, Shlesinger voices frustrations about societal behaviours and fighting against them, stemming from a place of experience and her role as an observationist comic. Weaving the show together with anecdotes, Shlesinger adopts an incredibly approachable persona, like a friend imparting life advice and giving us some tough love. Her tone is on occasion very disbelieving and sarcastic, but it makes it seem like she’s telling off the standards and norms that have led to the internalisations that she uses her comedy to fight against. In Hard Feelings, she uses her stage to implore women to know their own worth, to be comfortable with who they are and if we’re going to be angry, to direct that anger in a way that is useful, that does something and is a wake-up call. It is helpful to hear these things from someone else. Shlesinger has a kind of common-sense comedy, that manages to make us laugh whilst speaking truth to power. This is what makes her comedy not only entertaining, but extremely important. She uses the platform that she has to contribute to the overall dialogue and to give us the tools that we need to help ourselves. Hard Feelings is very similar to a spoken-word thesis, because of how it’s structured; hypothesis, anecdote/example and analysis, which creates this balance between being a comedy show and a talk on feminism. Shlesigner is expert at committing to the bit, running with a joke and incrementally building up the gag into this mammoth of a joke until we're doubled over with laughter. She has a lot of control over how she tells the joke; whether it’s a change in tone or some form of physical comedy, Shlesinger far exceeds the mark that she aims for. She makes us laugh continuously, and even when she's making a point that's more serious, she punctuates it with a joke or offhand comment that once more lifts the tone of the show. The choice of topics that surround her show’s central message are quite eclectic; to predict where her anecdote might be going is an exercise in futility, because of her twists and remarkable comic timing, she is able to lead us to a point where we think we know where she’s going, but she then surprises us with a twist. It’s incredibly empowering to watch Shlesinger, because she doesn’t just do stand-up comedy, but voices insecurities that we may have and provides advice on how to fight them; how to help ourselves. She tells us what they need to hear, directly speaking to us through her jokes and observationist humour. Her ability to wrap her activist messages in jokes but also keep the two parts separate is what makes Shlesinger such a great comedian, adding gravitas to what she is saying which just makes it mean more. She gives advice that we probably know deep down, but just need to hear from someone else in order to act upon it. Hard Feelings is Iliza Shlesinger at her best, and it would do a whole lot of good for more people to see this show.

Time travel as a sci-fi trope is fascinating and presents us with endless possibilities and frontiers. It seems very apt - this year in particular - to remember and pay homage to the author who is credited with establishing the genre. Directed by Orla O’Loughlin, Steven Canny and John Nicholson’s The Time Machine is truly a work of some mad genius; turning the extraordinary and mundane aspects of humanity in H.G. Wells’ novel of the same name into a humorous and emotionally turbulent show.The phrase ‘very loosely adapted from the novel by H.G. Wells’ that is printed on the front of the programme is the best way to describe this show. What we believe to be a silly comedy turned quasi-magic show full of an almost aggressive level of audience participation, quickly shows us through the precision of its execution how rational thought and theatre magic can coexist to create the possibility of something that even our imaginations cannot fully comprehend. We are firstly introduced to Dave Wells (Dave Hearn), Amy (Amy Revelle) and Michael (Michael Dylan), an amateur theatre company putting on an adaptation of The Time Machine, who use their show to try and prove that time travel is real with only a slight mockery of confirmation bias. When confronted with a fixed point in time, the trio must use all of their wibbly wobbly, timey wimey knowledge to try to break the paradox, whilst finishing Dave’s play. The show does stay true to H.G. Wells' novel by providing a level of underlying analysis, that like Wells, is of the time and relevant to what we are experiencing today. It’s more people-centric than Wells’ messaging; more concerned with inter-personal relationships and what we owe each other than class relations, which makes for a truly brilliant script. Canny and Nicholson reject the structure that Wells and other authors of his time used to distance readers from the fantastical events of the main plotline; the story within a story within a story, making the fantastical more real, except Nicholson and Canny have managed to do just that without the added distance of a literary device. Every moment is perfectly crafted to contribute to the sense of realism. The writing stays true to – if not every scene- at least the sentiment of Wells’ novel, giving us a glimpse into how the time travelling tropes that we know and love have developed into what they are today. The tropes themselves take on a new life, both in providing comic relief, but then changing direction to create deeply poignant moments that leave us with a hollow feeling that is hard to shake. Every part of the technical design absorbs and boosts the comic tone of the writing, on occasion taking on the role of punchline and contributing to the hilarity of the show. This requires so much precision on the part of the creative team, and whether it’s something in Colin Grenfell’s lighting or Gregory Clarke’s sound design, their ability to come together and use theatre tech for comedic purposes is incredibly enjoyable to witness. Fred Meller’s design of the show mimics and emphasises the tongue-in-cheek nature of the jokes, to the point of making the saying, “been there, done that, got the T-shirt" made literal. The minimalist nature of the set allows our imaginations to fill in the gaps, to see each setting for ourselves without cluttering the stage. The mausoleum backdrop is a little unsettling, in that it looks like it was repurposed from the Emerald City, but the detailing on it is almost illusory, revealing extra hidden features that initially appear as a trick of the light. The cast are spectacular and their dynamic is central to this show. The trio play off each other with an ease and naturalness that only comes from a place of true camaraderie, hitting the various notes and tropes one after another, never once ending up in a comedic cul-de-sac to the point where it’s hard to tell whether a phone call interrupting the show is just that. Each cast member is given the chance to showcase their abilities - whether it’s a swan-song Shakespearean soliloquy, performing songs to the iconic level of Cher or delivering gut-wrenching moments that will haunt us forever – this cast is completely perfect for their roles, complimenting and supporting each other as the show develops. Hearn quickly lives up to his reputation as a talented comedic actor, approaching the role with an over-dramatic seriousness, creating a character with a kind of high-brow and undeserved self-confidence (or arrogance) that in any other circumstance would be extremely frustrating to watch. But it is in the more muted moments, where more gravitas is required, that he comes into his own as a dramatic actor, completely changing how we perceive Dave and Bertie and what we think we know about them. It is through the absolute tiniest of details and micro expressions that we see behind the words and the jokes into the heart of these characters. It is here that Hearn's innate talent is on display the most, and completely captures the spirit of the H.G. Wells who said, “I told you so. You damned fools”. He is the kind of detached expert who has no power over the situation and can only watch as their predictions come true, and it is in this aspect of the role that Hearn's performance creates such heart-rending, emotionally devastating moments that leave us stunned and unsettled. Maybe it’s the hope that we have, that we see through Dave, and Hearn really keeps that hope alive for us in his performance. If all three characters are meant to be examples of different reactions when presented with hardships or complex crises, Revelle's performance demonstrates why Amy is the kind of person that we should aspire to be. She gives the character so much ferocity and depth, that it makes us believe in the innate goodness of people. We buy into her relationship with the other characters because she does not for a minute make us doubt that she would do whatever she could -whether it is in her power or not – to help her friends, turning a character who initially seems quite shallow beyond her obsession with Cher into a force of nature to be reckoned with, showing just how important and useful caring can be. Her navigation of the different roles within the show is remarkable, showcasing her range as an actress, the powerhouse that is her voice and flexibility in navigating between contrasting emotional states. Very early on, Michael is established as a source of light-hearted comic relief; the overly anxious blunderer whose eagerness is quickly put down by his friends. Dylan makes the character so much more. Michael’s character arc shifts more gradually than the other two characters, and Dylan’s emotionally charged performances pushes the extremes of the amount of pathos that an actor can evoke in an audience. It’s because of Dylan’s performance that we buy into the stakes of the play, but also become more invested in the outcome, because whilst the other two are following more logical steps that are easy to rationalise, Dylan performs to the heart rather than the head, setting and controlling the overall tone. He balances the comedy and tragedy, with his comic timing and how he throws his entire self into his performance, never letting the atmosphere settle too much. The Time Machine is a compelling play, promising us laughter before sucker-punching us in the gut with paradoxes and the isolation that knowledge can bring. The comedy makes it easier to process; hitting all the right notes with precision, with roundabout gags and call-backs that buoy the actors' banter and bickering. But it’s really the quiet moments - the swan-song soliloquy or the detached existentialism- that really showcase the talent of the creative team and cast. The Time Machine is a comedy that will make you feel like you've had your heart ripped out of your chest.

Pitched as “Pirates of the Caribbean meets Fishermen’s Friends”, this highly enjoyable production of Treasure Island at the Barn Theatre, Cirencester, turns out to be a swashbuckling festive romp with an excellent original score and guaranteed laughs for audiences of all ages. Although it’s in the traditional panto slot, and it certainly has moments which tip a tricorn hat towards this genre, it is a strong, lyrical offering in its own right. The central story, adapted by Barn veteran Alan Pollock and directed by Bryan Hodgson, is of course well-known to most from the classic Robert Louis Stevenson novel, describing the adventures of cabin boy Jim Hawkins – a fresh, sweet, melodic performance from Elliot Gooch – and of course his friend/nemesis Long John Silver – played with gusto by George Evans – and the quest for buried treasure. The first act is somewhat full of exposition which means a slow-ish start to proceedings but once the score - the definite strong point of the production from composer Lee Freeman and accompanied by funny, entertaining lyrics from Mark Anderson – gets fully into its stride and each of the cast and characters has been properly established, the show really begins to thunder along. Post-interval, the second act keeps the energy going and contains many of the best songs in the show. The energy of Run, Gunn, Run and God, Make Me A Fish are a one-two punch of fun. Whilst all of the cast of seven get the chance to display their actor-musician chops, it's the two women in the cast, Olivia Rose Deane as Lennie and Georgia Leila Stoller as Mrs Hawkins/Jenn Gunn, who provide much of the vocal muscle throughout. There’s a scene-stealing turn from Sam Denia – playing Billy/Squire Trelawney – who gives some much appreciated laughs and an consistently high energy performance, no more so than in All aboard, Hispaniola.The set, designed by Alfie Heywood, is sufficiently nautical with much of it doing double-duty as the various locations during the story with some amusing business involving trapdoors and an apple barrel. If there’s one criticism it’s that the show was inconsistently lit throughout, in fact at some points it was too dark to see the cast’s faces or indeed much else. However, as this was only the third in a mammoth run of 80+ shows I’m sure it’ll be resolved. Overall, an excellent night out and immensely well received from the packed audience of all ages. One to book whilst you can and enjoy with the family over Christmas and in the New Year.

Artistic Director Tom Littler, with Francesca Ellis, scores another inspired triumph with his production of Oliver Goldsmith’s She Stoops to Conquer. Transported from the Georgian period to the 1930s and given a festive air, with Hardcastle Hall bedecked in holly and boasting a large Christmas tree, the seasonal setting works brilliantly to heighten the lighthearted jollity of this classic piece of theatre.There is something very giving about the layout of the Orange Tree Theatre. The corner doors lend themselves to the many comings and goings that keep everyone on their toes. The railings around the circle have been oak panelled and surmounted with hunting trophies and family crests The set and costumes by Neil Irish and Anett Black have really captured the feel and style of a country house for distinguished residents, while Mrs Hardcastle’s penchant for cocktails and parties is captured in the fabulously designed outfits she flaunts. (I can still see the turquoise cocktail dress and flowing orange robe that matched her wig. What a stunning triumph!) With the seats taken out of one side of the auditorium and replaced with tables and chairs, a slick shuffling of furniture transforms the sitting room into the bar of the local pub, the Three Jolly Pigeons, and later into the garden. The addition of a rotating ensemble of local performers to the pub scenes thoroughly enhances the atmosphere, as does the contribution from all the other creatives: lighting by Jonathan Chan; music and sound by Tom Attwood and movement by Julia Cave.A stellar cast from across the generations completes the picture. David Horovitch opens and sets the tome with his period tweed jacket and plus fours, bumbling around with a disgruntled air as Greta Scacchi, the source of his marital woes breezes in as Mrs Hardcastle. What a joy it is to see seasoned actors who know how to deliver these period roles. The youngsters are by no means outshone, however, and soon take centre stage. Guy Hughes, as Tony Lumpkin, Mr Hardcastle’s mischievous stepson, provides lively songs in the pub and relishes every moment of creating domestic havoc. By chance, Charles Marlow, the suitor who has come at Mr Hardcastle’s invitation to meet his daughter, Kate, encounters Lumpkin in the pub. He and his companion, George Hastings have lost their way. Lumpkin directs them to Hardcastle Hall, but tells them it’s an inn where they will find accommodation. They arrive and treat all the residents as staff. Lumpkin takes Kate into his confidence and she wholeheartedly plays the maid. Confusion, mayhem and misunderstandings now become the norm in a farcical comedy of errors that the cast plays to the full. Tanya Reynolds has all the style and elegance to carry off the posh daughter, but transforms herself into the naive country maid with rustic charm. The dashing Freddie Fox captures Marlow’s stuttering nervousness in dealing with women, yet is full of bravado in other situations and is ably assisted by his companion Robert Mountford as the practical George. He in turn has his own scheming storyline with Constance, Mrs Hadcastle’s cousin, involving the family jewels and Lumpkin. Sabrina Bartlett gives her a feisty air that contrasts with Kate’s gracefulness. A final good measure of humour comes with Richard Derrington as Diggory, the inept butler, doubling as the aristocratic Sir Charles Marlow in an upstairs, downstairs reversal of roles.This year marks the play’s 250th anniversary and its easy to why it has stood the test of time. Littler has successfully shown that it can be played in any age and is not simply rooted in the distant past. Pandering to the English obsession with social class while exposing the shenanigans of the well-to do, its humour is as powerful today as ever and makes it a seasonal cracker of a production.

Memory is a strange thing. Why we remember some things and not others is a mystery. Do we we shun the horrors we endured, bury them in the past and remember only the good times? Do we ever remember things as they were or do we see them later in life through rose-tinted glasses? Basque-American Daniel Camou confronts these issues in Now Entering Ely, Nevada, a remarkable piece of theatre he developed for his Masters Degree at Rose Bruford. “I don’t remember much of my childhood,” he says, “but I remember my summers in Ely. So, I thought it would be a good place to start.“ And so we embark on a journey into the past in what Camou describes as “a multi-sensory immersive solo show about sense memory”.His grandma grew up in a copper-mining town in the high desert of Nevada. When he was very young she bought a rickety two-bedroom house in Ely. It became his family’s summer home and his retreat for the rest of his childhood. At the end the season they would stack the furniture and cover everything in dust sheets for the winter. But it’s summer again now and Camou meets us outside the Space Theatre on the Isle of Dogs, introduces himself, asks our names and and leads us in.We remove our shoes and socks. Our feet are going to get dirty as we walk onto the compressed compost that covers the entire floor. The interior is just as the family left it last year. Now we start the task of rolling back the covers, setting out the chairs and other furniture so that we can experience grandma’s house as he remembered it all those summers ago. Everyone has a job, for we are his new family. “I welcome you into this old home of mine,” he says, “where we attempt to rebuild and sort through a childhood of disorganised, fragmented, and forgotten memories.”There are family photos to be seen, stories of outings to be told, old records to be played from his gran’s collection and the story he recorded of her relating her escapade on the ice, a song to be played on the guitar and a picnic to be eaten on a trip to the lake, We engage in these and many more activities as Camou charmingly reveals the secrets of the house and the impact events there had on him that remain to this day in what he confesses to be “a vulnerable, visceral, and honest meditation on growing up and the fallibility of memory”.Camou’s studies and training with the Grotowski Institute, Song of the Goat, Teatr ZAR, and Gecko Theatre give him the confidence and expertise to comfortably deliver this style of theatre and place his participants at ease. This is his work and material through and through, but director Sophia Hail has clearly formed a close relationship with Camou to guide him through the performance of his message that is rooted in sincerity. She too has a rich background on which to draw. She received her BA in theatre performance from the University of Kansas and undertook further training at the Dell’Arte International School of Physical Theatre and has recently completed her MFA in Collaborative Theatre Making at Rose Bruford College. Lighting by Ferdy Emmet and sound by Sam Tannenbaum form an integral part of the work designed to change the moods and create triggers for the development of story and atmospheres for thought and reflection. The floor not only has the contents of the house strewn around it but also juniper twigs and weeds to further the outdoor feel along with the scent of sagebrush, amber and pine; plenty to keep stage manager Paul Sage creatively busy in catering for all our senses along with production assistants Jenette Meehan and Austin Yang. This is the first production from the newly-formed Corduroy Theatre Company and is produced by Camou and Estelle Homerstone. The company aims to make work that is devised holistically. Now Entering Ely, Nevada reflects that approach as an intimate, deeply personal and rare piece of theatre. It is grounded in solid methodology and well-crafted to provide a thought-provoking and reflective experience that by example encourages us to consider our own memories and their reliability along with what we value from the past.

Making its London premier Maimuna Memon’s multi-award-winning Manic Street Creature is now showing at the Southwark Playhouse, Borough, following its barnstorming, sell-out world premiere run at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe in 2022, This is another production I was talked into seeing, believing it not to be my cup of tea. My misgivings were potentially confirmed at the sight of six guitars, a cello, an electronic drum set and keyboard and a harmonium, the latter creating some intrigue as to how it might fit in. The mix of instruments had all the makings of a cacophonous head-banging nightmare, but it turned out to be nothing of the sort. I was enthralled enthralled by the music, the story and the performances. I found out afterwards that the volume for all instruments is controlled from the sound deck, the noise level being my main concern. Full marks to Sound Operator Max Alexander-Taylor for fully appreciating what constitutes a pleasant listening level and sustaining it throughout while still managing variations in volume. Harley Johnston (Raz) on percussion could bang his drums as hard as he liked, it would make no difference. He looked completely chilled for being relieved of the responsibility, clearly enjoying the chance to perform with the occasional harmonising vocal. Although she had her back to me during the in-the-round performance, the same could be said for Rachel Barnes (Heidi), whose contribution on that most melancholy of instruments, the cello, was movingly enhancing to so much of the narrative. Dominating the show, of course, is Olivier nominee Maimuna Memon. Her musical and storytelling artistry, voice and presence are all-pervasive. The tale she has is straightforward. Ria is a Lancashire lass who moves to London, searches for somewhere to live and is thrilled with the prospect of a new life when she finds a place in Camden. She gets a job in a pub and soon she is working with her band to complete a new album of songs that charts the rise and fall of a recent relationship. It proves to be an effective framing device and she calls out the number of each track as its about to be recorded. Each song relates to a specific memory and as events unfold she is drawn into the darker aspects of her own past and the agonies of being in love with a man with bipolar disorder. She points out that before the condition assumed that name he would have been known as manic depressive. That sounds far more hard-hitting, which is why she doesn’t shy away from it. She goes on to unflinchingly describe the highs and lows of their relationship in the rawest terms to chilling effect, creating an air of incredulity wrapped around the thought, “Did she really just say that?As a stand-alone narrative it would be demanding enough to perform, but she proclaims this to be ‘unashamedly musical theatre’ so in between the spoken words and some dry humour, the songs flow from one to the next, not just as musical interludes but as vocal arrangements that are deeply integrated into the emotions and events that transpire. It’s a classic of love, lust and late nights, with the added dimension of mental health issues that are starkly confronted, making it deeply routed in our own times. Memon started writing this show during the pandemic as a’ form of release and catharsis.’ During that time she learned about ‘secondary traumatic stress, which means ingesting someone else's trauma and making it your own’. She writes that by understanding this she was better able to process why she was drawn to a certain way of being. “Most importantly,” she says, “it helped me to realise I wasn't on my own”. Her hope now is that the show will help others in a similar position and those who love and work with them to also not feel alone. There is clearly a strong team behind this production who collectively contribute to the effective styling of the show. Memon is clearly aware of how changes in sound affect the mood. She works her way back and forth between the six different guitars and using a range of style that include Indie, Rock, Pop and Folk amongst others. She and Raz also squeeze that mysterious harmonium to create some really haunting moments. Additional sound by Sam Clarkson for Sound Quiet Time provides effects that relate to various locations for the story. To heighten the moods further, Lighting Designer Jamie Platt frequently bathes areas in warm amber but contrasts with profile spots to give a concert effect, reminding us of how the songs might be heard in another setting. His eight strings of hanging bare-bulb lights similarly brighten and dim for effect. Designer Libby Watson, apart from locating the instruments, has homely rugs covering the floor that no doubt help with sound absorption, while Movement Director Ira Mandela Siobhan has managed to find enough space on the crowded floor to keep Memon on the go, establishing various locations. Finally, Director Kirsty Patrick Ward has brought all the elements together to form a tightly knit show that is powerful and easy to follow.Manic Street Creature is a remarkable creation; a daringly deep musical exploration that bravely confronts mental health issues head-on. I am so pleased I was persuaded to see this stunning piece of theatre.

Playwright Adam Taub says, “In the era of Google, Amazon and Meta, when our every move is monitored and recorded, there is no more relevant story than 1984”. His reimagining of George Orwell’s prophetic novel, however, goes further, much further than to remind us that we are all being watched. It’s many centuries since Pontius Pilate allegedly asked, “What is truth?” In Oceania there is no doubt. Truth is whatever the Ministry of Truth declares it to be. If you have memories that you believe tell you otherwise that the Ministry dictates then you are mistaken. If you write down or proclaim those sentiments to another, then you will be discovered, taken away and re-educated, because Big Brother is not only watching you but listening to you and reading your thoughts. Is you room bugged? Of course it is. Are you family, your friends, your lovers and partners working for the Ministry? Of course they are, for that is the way that Oceania will survive for ever. Or take a break. Believe that life is not like that, behave according to your feelings and see what happens. There is no room for secrecy or dissent; no margins for emotional attachment. This is the age of totalitarian surveillance. Big Brother reigns supreme and the Ministry’s mission is to ensure that Oceania will exist in perpetuity, The imposing Art Deco Hackney Town Hall, venue for Pure Expression’s latest immersive production, has the austerity and deceptive beauty one would expect for the headquarters of the Ministry. Upon entry bags are checked. Phones must be silenced. Everyone is given a colour-coded badge that assigns to either the red, blue or green group and has a unique number. There is no way of knowing the significance of either the colour or the number. This is not a place to ask questions, merely to follow instructions. We assemble in the chamber of the building, seated according to our designated colour. A black and white war film is shown and the anthem of Oceania is sung before O’Brien (Jude Akuwudike), with mellow tones and convincing logic begins his exposition of the Ministry’s rationale. It is so easy to find oneself nodding in agreement, caught up in the smooth-talking that makes complete sense and renders any alternative ludicrous. Akuwudike is frighteningly captivating. How could you go against such a charming man? And then comes the realisation of how painless it is to be sucked into the propaganda, to conform, to unquestioningly believe in Big Brother and the Truth and then to carry out the commands follow. The sound by Thor Aswarm, lighting by Jonathan Simpson and sets by Dr Jeroen Van Dooren all contribute in a precise manner to the running of the well-oiled machine that is the Ministry.Julia (Kit Reeve) and Winston (Declan Rodgers) are examples of those who thought they could beat the system. Of course they are discovered. We see Winston taken away and witness his torture and the re-education he undergoes to correct his memory. His condition of not seeing things as the Ministry has declared them to be is manifestly a mental illness that must be treated by correction. Both Reeves and Rodges give compelling performances that make personal the suffering to which millions have been and still are subjected to around the world. The truly remarkable aspect of Taub’s adaptation directed with unnerving simplicity by Jem Wall and Richard Hahlo, is the subtlety with which it makes us realise the extent to which we live in the age of 1984. Today we listen to the propaganda of warring factions and to politicians in denial of what they have said, even though the evidence is in front of us. And when truth and lies become indistinguishably merged in fields of political rhetoric, 1984 confronts us with those situations and reminds us of how dictators come to power and how millions have died and many more millions have had their lives destroyed on the strength of their ideologies because people succumbed to the pressure of the message and those to whom they gave powerThere’s a powerful scene at the end that challenges the extent to which we have become drawn in to the dogma and developed fear of the consequences of standing up against wrongful actions and evil instead of doing what we know to be right. This might be theatre, but it speaks to our lives and the world we have allowed to build up around us. If only 1984 were just a play.

Following their hugely successful run at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe this year Box Tale Soup are now performing Casting the Runes, based on stories by M R James, at the Pleasance in north London, as part of their UK tour of the production directed by Adam Lenson. Noel Byrne and Antonia Christophers are the writers and performers of the piece who have established themselves as leaders in the art of theatrical puppetry. They are also responsible for the set, props and costumes, all of which are made from recycled materials. Even without that factor they are quite remarkable. The three panels give the appearance of being made from the finest wood. Just as doors they would be impressive, but they also perform tricks. An arrangement of sliding windows make them particularly versatile, drop-down leafs form tables and seats with pullout supports and the reverses are painted as a bookcase. They are ingenious constructions that support the mystery of the plot. Similarly versatile are the four elegant standard lamps that are reconfigured to adorn interior sets and also to light streets and stations suggesting a same period air along with the suitcases that find many uses. Creating the various locations could be a clumsy business, but the team has created an almost balletic style of choreographed movement that sees items delicately adjusted or relocated with graceful ease. Equal finesse is also applied to working the puppets. With a costume draped down the puppeteer’s arm the hand animates the mouth as words are spoken from behind. It’s remarkable how a character can come to life simply through a mask designed to make a vivid statement. Both actors have mastered this art, but Christophers has the most parts in this format and along with her role as the focussed Miss Harrington, uses a range of voices to convincing effect.Using direct address to the audience we become the students attending Edward Dunning’s lecture, a device that draws us into the action and makes us feel part of the whole quest to understand the supernatural, of which he is an expert and a sceptic. At this stage in the play Byrne appears distinguished and confidently plays the self-assured authority on the subject.That is all about to change, however, as he encounters the mysterious Mr. Karswell. His life now becomes a waking nightmare with sinister happenings at every turn, all related to the unfathomable runes he was handed and whose secret he must uncover before his time runs out and the dark presence finally catches up with him. The increasingly ghoulish events are enhanced by Dan Melrose’s original haunting score and lighting that is often dim and moody with flickers that that suggest the presence of powers beyond our senses, in the best tradition of Gothic horror stories. In a superbly measured performance, little by little Byrne reveals how Dunning is destroyed by these forces until he becomes a trembling wreck.This production of Casting the Runes is stylish, gripping and impeccably delivered; a work in the best tradition of puppetry and acting.

From time to time a play comes along that ticks every box and gives a surprise treatment to a contemporary topic. Matt Parvin’s Gentlemen at the Arcola Theatre, does that and much more in a gripping drama whose storyline gathers in complexity as events unfold.Gentlemen was set to open in March 2020, days before lockdown. With the passage of time a new cast has been assembled, one of whom was in his first year at drama school three years ago. Huge credit here goes to Casting Director Nicholas Hockaday for assembling a trio of exceptionally skilled actors and Director Richard Speir for drawing on individual strengths to forge a chemistry between them that gives emotional depth to the production. As Speir’s says, “This cast might as well have been lab-grown for the show. With a wonderful blend of youth, experience and sharp wit, I couldn’t wish for better actors to bring Matt’s piece to life”.The opening scenes have al the makings of a situation comedy. Greg (Charlie Beck) spent his school days deep in study. His reward for all that hard work and isolation was a place at one of England's top universities. Now he intends to milk the opportunity for all it’s worth in a hedonistic mix of societies, pubs, clubs and sex. After all, it is fresher’s term and he’s as fresh as they come. In contrast, his party-going popularity is the antithesis of everything that Kasper (Issam Al Ghussain) has experienced, not that he would want it. While Greg takes to the excesses of university life like a duck to water, Kaspar is the fish out of water. The pair are summoned to the room of the college welfare officer (Edward Judge), known as Timby, who needs to resolve a charge brought by a professor that Greg has plagiarised one of Kaspar’s essays. Greg, with his skilled use of words and personal logic, argues his way out of the accusation. But this is only the start of more serious allegations that eat into his Teflon veneer.Kaspar remains silent during the mediation session; an intriguing device that makes us wonder why he is not participating and what’s going on in his head. Plenty, is the answer, but for now he is biding his time. If Greg is the focus of act one, dominating it with his endless bravado and antics, the balance of power shifts in act two with Kaspar revealing his mastery of the situation and ability to control the agenda. If only Greg had realised how Kaspar could turn and be so devastatingly menacing.Caught in the middle is the well-meaning, all-things-to-all-people counsellor who has perfected the art of sitting on the fence to the point at which becomes painful. The bulk of the play is set in his office, designed with convincing attention to detail by Cecilia Trono. It’s spacious enough for some physical action but sufficiently compact to keep everyone in proximity with each other and heighten the intensity of their meetings. The long entrance to the stage is cleverly converted into a corridor that leads off from behind the door and although largely unseen has appropriate wall hangings. It’s subtly lit with light streaming in from a window and lamps giving tonal effects. In the surprise and contrasting opening to act two lighting designer Will Alder and sound designer Jamie Lu, whose outside protest noises work convincingly, have a chance for a little more excess in their creativity.Judge captures the essence of the rather bumbling counsellor to perfection. His tone is cautious, verging on apologetic when he realise he’s said something that might, upset, offend or show lack of understanding. His delivery is often very soft, with some lines in the style of asides, under his breath as he goes out of his way to display his empathy. His softly-softly approach balances the forthright and vehemently outspoken delivery of Beck, who performs as more of a comedic master of the language, running rings round people. Ghussain falls between the two, cleverly setting up the initially compliant and submissive loner only later to take everyone by surprise as he weaves a web of sinister machinations. Delivery by all three is so powerful as to leave mouths aghast at how the manipulations of the situation unfold.All of this stems form Parvin's finely crafted script and focussed use of language. With a Ph.D in English and years spent at Oxford and Cambridge Universities he’s clearly at home in the setting of his play and his observations of life there have clearly influenced this work. It’s a joy to relish the rich vocabulary, vivid imagery and precisely constructed sentences that elevate the dialogue and gives it heightened credibility in this academic setting, whilst appreciating the skill in creating dark comedy and an intriguing plot. Class struggles, toxic cultures, the complexities of bisexual identity, how people become victims and why others are aggressors, how those roles can be reversed and the emotions that are generated are all laid bare in Gentlemen, often in the style of a detective investigation. Whatever the resolution of the specific situation between Greg and Caspar, the issues will remain long after, for them and for us all.Gentlemen is a masterclass in how to deliver stunningly captivating drama.NB: I am not in any way related to Charlie Beck!

A sincerely told story, a captivating performance and a wealth of humour make for a well-spent eighty minutes upstairs at The Lion & Unicorn Theatre with David Patterson, who makes his writing and acting debut with The Old Queen's Head, directed with precision by Ben Anderson.There is no shortage of material in the coming-of-age genre and plenty that focuses on young men coming out as gay. Many of those seem to recycle a well-trodden path of events that make them highly predictable. Patterson’s piece inevitably has some of those elements. He eventually announces his homosexuality to his friends, his parents and his gran, as many have before. The joy of The Old Queen’s Head is the way Patterson relates these moments and the amusing conceptual framework within which they are placed.David lives alone; well almost. The section of his apartment we see has a large rectangular, regal-looking rug, maybe even carpet. There’s a chair he is able to move around to create scenes in different locations, but the fixed points are two pairs of white, chest-high classical pillars surrounded by items of mess from everyday life with a few books placed on the tops. Surmounting one of these is a small white bust of her late Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, anthropomorphised to such an extent that it provides the qualifier to his solitary life.He and this particular Queen have clearly been together for some time and have a close relationship. She is his conscience and advisor; the one who challenges his preconceived notions of identity and self-worth; his alter-ego and trusted friend with whom he converses in matters ranging from outfits to boyfriends. What else is there in a gay man’s life? It’s a clever idea that lifts the introspection from begin just a vocalised internal dialogue to the level of comedic and sometimes angry exchanges with someone whom we know and whose views and opinions we can imaginatively surmise, even though we have no evidence on which to base such suppositions.This context enlivens the whole discourse, but the energy is deeply rooted in Patterson himself. He has a presence that makes one feel at ease. His fresh-faced complexion, bright eyes and endearing smile underline his innate confidence, but it is his voice, combined with inherent physicality that carries the day. He hails from Erskine and his rich Scottish accent is well-rounded; his enunciation perfectly clear and his voice mellow yet with a sharp edge; the more clipped, guttural and slurred timbre being reserved for when he has disagreements, is riled, or has perhaps spent too long with Glaswegians; an unlikely occurrence given that he went to St Andrews In all cases it’s a delight to listen to and perfectly suited to the art of storytelling, including the portrayal of the odd Sassenach intruder into his life,The stories about his first boyfriend, James, and then Fraser, the one he really fell in love with, come with the usual mix of joy and sadness. The family encounters are a familiar mix of ups and downs and his gran is someone really special whom he clearly loves, but it is the humour and facial expressions with which everything is invested that raises the level of this solo show with a succession of laugh-out-loud situations and one-liners delivered with precision.Patterson says of his show: “It’s a story that I feel is important to tell, and I hope it will make people laugh, cry and think. Ultimately, it’s about the discovery of queer joy and all the love and silliness that brings - even though getting there can be tough.” And there you have it. Look out for this play; it will be an experience to cherish.

Two lives come together in an unlikely match. Dan is a carpenter; Geordie through and through who is on the mend after a heart attack. Katie has just arrived from London. She finally has a council house for herself and the kids even though its meant moving to an unknown part of the country where she doesn’t know her way around and has no friends or family. This stage version of the BAFTA and Palme D’or award-winning 2016 film, I, Daniel Blake, by Ken Loach and Paul Laverty is an adaptation by Dave Johns who won the Best Actor award at the British Independent Film Awards and Best Newcomer at the EMPIRE Awards for his performance in the title role. He has clearly brought his profound understanding of the play to this stunning production. His skills as an actor and comedian have clearly played into the creation of a script that drives the strong characters, infuses scenes with humanity and balances the tragic within the cheerful. As Ken Loach has said, “This story is more relevant now than ever. And who better to put it on stage than Dave Johns, the original Daniel Blake?”I, Daniel Blake is a social critique that reaches to the heart of the staggering disconnect between the fine words of self-aggrandising Tory politicians and the realities of life for people caught in the bureaucratic minefield of unemployment, housing and benefits claims. The elected elite are poignantly condemned by the their own mouths. As we hear extracts from speeches by the likes of Cameron, Johnson, Coffey and May their words appear on the back wall, equally elevated. Meanwhile, we continue to observes the struggles of Dan and Katie whose lives remain untouched by the rhetoric.Bryony Corrigan plays single mum Katie with simplicity and passion; a woman just trying to do the best for herself and her daughter, Daisy (Jodie Wild). Having missed a job-seekers appointment and unable to afford housing in London, a place is found for her in Newcastle which she acccepts to give them both a roof over their heads and the prospect of a secure future. She sacrifices their life in the capital, the city they know so well, to become strangers in an alien environment. Here she goes to unimagined lengths to put bread on the table. Corrigan relates her predicament with heart-rending honesty and grim resignation in a performance that would move the hardest of hearts.The warmth, hospitality and generosity of the locals up north is personified in the character of Daniel by David Nellist, who is a natural for the part. Originally from Wallsend, wedged between Newcastle and North Shields, his father worked in the shipyards. This is not just another acting job for him; it's as much a contribution to the sort of social campaigning of which the region is proud. Prior to the play’s tour he cycled 350 miles from London to Newcastle to raise awareness of the national crisis in food poverty. During rehearsals he was regularly seen at Newcastle’s West End Foodbank, having previously volunteered at his local food bank in Clapton, London, during the pandemic. Daniel’s heart condition renders him unable to work on doctor’s orders. Though not an uncommon reason to be out of work, it seems to come as a surprise to those administering benefits and allowances for the unemployed and job seekers and conflicts with their own Work and Capability Assessment about which they did not consult his doctor. He decides to appeal and becomes trapped in the demands and procedures of the system. Janine Leigh does a convincing job as the claimants officer, talking the talk of a well-rehearsed script that spouts terms and conditions while raising barriers and failing to meet the needs of clients. As Daniel goes round in circles trying to resolve his predicament he has a chance meeting with Katie whom he befriends and assists. It’s a life-changing encounter for them both.Kema Sikazwe (aka Kema Kay), who was spotted by Ken Loach on a visit to Newcastle, enthusiastically reprises his role from the film as China, a young wheeler-dealer merchant also befriended by Daniel, who takes to the streets with his dodgy trainers, revealing how the young and imaginative inventively try to survive. Meanwhile down at the local garden centre Harry Edwards (Micky Cochrane), the owner offers a glimmer of employment hope for Daniel that comes to nothing when the benefits system again gets in the way. Cochrane adeptly portrays the an initially likeable and helpful character who then turns nasty when Daniel is unable to take up the job offer. Without understanding Daniel’s predicament he labels him a benefits’ scrounger. In contrast, Wild, in her stage debut, movingly portrays the struggling daughter and turns out to be the one who lifts Daniel out of his depression.The Joseph Rowntree Foundation 2022 Poverty Report stated that some 14.5 million people are living in poverty in the UK. Four years earlier, The challenges of this situation, highlighted in I, Daniel Blake, were dismissed by the then Work and Pensions Secretary, Damian Green, who simply pointed out that the film was a ‘work of fiction’, as though that made everything OK. Since then then the state of affairs has deteriorated. More than ever this play is a massive indictment of Tory government policy and the realities of life for people caught in the bureaucratic minefield of unemployment and benefits claims and those who can’t even contemplate becoming embroiled in it. Brilliant performances and direction create a distressing and deeply moving piece of social theatre that brings this message home.

With horrific events occurring around the world, The White Factory at The Marylebone Theatre, written by Dmitry Glukhovsky’s and directed by Maxim Didenko comes as a poignant reminder of the misery and conflict that individuals and nations have visited upon each other. As Russian Jews who are political exiles and vehemently outspoken critics of Putin and the war against Ukraine, these two men bring intimate experience to the subject of this gripping tragedy. Set over several decades, The White Factory explores the life of Yosef Kaufman (Mark Quartley). Unlike his wife Rivka (Pearl Chanda) and their children, who were sent away on a train never to return, he survived the holocaust in the Polish city of Lodz. As he tries to build a future with his new family in 1960’s Brooklyn, he is haunted by his wartime experiences and relives the torment of decisions he was forced to take. Quartley captures that torment and anguish in the many situations that beset him with his family and the authorities. He’s matched by Chanda who as his wife, a mother and a daughter captures the struggles of holding a family together. They have two young boys whose innocence is delightfully played out by two pairings of either Paul-Hector Antoine and Aron Yacobi as Hector or Leo Franky and Lucas Allermann as Volf. Meanwhile. Adrian Schiller as their grandfather, meanwhile, embodies the tiredness of an old man who has been through too much in life to have to face what is happening now.Lodz enjoyed a special position amongst occupied cities in which the Jewish quarters were often simply ransacked and razed to the ground and its inhabitants sent to concentration camps. The Lodz ghetto became a manufacturing centre where buildings were converted to meet the ever-increasing demands of the German army. The eponymous workplace was a former Catholic church, its name coming from the white feather pillows the labourers made. The image is taken up in Galya Solodovnikova’s startling white-light geometric,sliding stadium frame with brilliant white interior in which the action takes place. It responds to the purity of lighting by Alex Musgrave and forms the perfect screen for Oleg Mikhailov’s projections. Julian Starr adds to the clinical setting with a subtly understated and softly haunting soundscape that has a plaintive piano motif repeated throughout. All elements of this production combine to create a deeply moving and profoundly thought-provoking drama. The city's commandant is Wilhelm Koppe, forcefully and mercilessly played by James Garnon, often in a manner of someone who believes he is doing good. he places individuals and community leaders in an unenviable position. Is it a betrayal of your people if you join the Ghetto police, so that at least they they are under the supervision of their own? Should Chaim Rumkowski (also played by Adrian Schiller) have accepted the appointment as Elder and become part of the Nazi machine? At least he can speak in an official capacity to both sides even if he has no freedom to decide the ultimate message. Does his respectability make him any less a collaborator when he is trying to make up the ever-rising numbers for deportation to the camps in order to meet targets set by his masters? Would the alternatives be even worse than what they currently have? At least for now some are still living. Schiller embodies all these questionings and the associated rationalisations of his position as a man simply doing what he thinks best and dealing with the consequences.In the hushed atmosphere of the auditorium created by this chilling scenario we are left to reflect. Can we ever be so bold as to condemn or judge the actions of those placed in impossible situations of which we have no experience and that defy imagination? Can we ever trust those in authority to stand by their word and do as they promise? Where would we stand and what we do if confronted by anything similar? The play has enough issues to stoke the fires of debate for far longer than just the journey home.

Is Exeter University emerging as the new powerhouse in student musical groups on the Edinburgh Fringe? Let’s not complicate this - the answer is simply but emphatically Yes.I warm up for the big show with a visit to SemiToned Presents: Castaway (16.05, theSpace Triplex). SemiToned are an Exeter University a cappella group. They meld together a number of songs around a fun story - they have crashlanded on an island and elements of this experience prompt their songs. Their chat is cheesy but fun, enabling us to meet them all individually through their antics, and they harmonise beautifully. Ollie Baker stands out to me for his beatboxing. A wonderful start to an afternoon of Exeter student musical performance, I think to myself. I’m ready for their Show Choir now, I think to myself. How wrong I am.You can never be ready for the shining eyes, power ballads and sensational dancing of the magical A Night At The Musicals - Spotlights Show Choir, Exeter’s phenomenal show choir. Think Glee, but in series three when they win nationals. Mixed together with Vocal Adrenaline and the Warblers. With all of NYADA chucked in.From the second the company hits the stage, they never stop, with classy number after classy number - from Dear Evan Hansen, Wicked, Mamma Mia, Fame, Greatest Showman, Les Miserables - the hits just keep on coming. And this lot have more energy than the Blackpool Illuminations. By the end of the show, I am completely exhausted just watching them. They all sing beautifully, they all dance elegantly, they have individual expression and collective synchronicity. They hold absolutely nothing back. Their use of space is something the England rugby team could learn from. There is a wonderful fusion of masculinity and femininity, not least in the Fame section where we see cartwheeling girls and high kicking boys, amidst an explosion of self-expression through movement. The final 25 have been sifted through two rounds of auditions from around 100 original applicants, and their quality shines through all parts of their performance.Behind the 16 talented girls and nine extraordinary boys who rock the stage, there is a phenomenal creative team. Supported by Assistant Producer Marie-Louise Kelly, the team is led by English graduate Poppy Thomas as Creative Producer - boy is she creative and boy does she produce. Her Company Technical Manager is physics graduate Lewis Covey-Crump. He is astronomically good. Admittedly, there are a few technical problems with sound that need to be sorted out before the second show but mics for thirty six in the rush of a Fringe get-in would stretch a professional technician on the first performance, let alone a student physicist. The lighting, on the other hand, is absolutely sumptuous from the get-go. I know it will be special when the lights go down just after the band start playing - a classy start to the show and so it continues. The choreographers have done a phenomenal job putting together this show in just one three hour session on the morning of the first performance, with no other rehearsals in the past three months. The dance steps are sharp and crisp, the groups are moved around the stage beautifully, and the synchronisation is as clean as hell. I would like to see a few bowler hats for the Bob Fosse bits but hey, I’ll let that go. One choreographer, Harriet Philips, is a Drama student from Cardiff High School. The other choreographer, Magsie Knowles, went to Esher College. Two hugely talented women from two state schools. Musical Director Edward Marshall has traded the beautiful chapel of St Edward’s, Ware, for a band of eleven, and they sound just as jazzy as they should. Eight cheers for the Creatives.Spotlights works under the umbrella organisation of Exeter University Footlights and stage three shows a year, a Showcase for one night only, and a two night run at Exeter’s Phoenix Theatre. This beggars belief - on this showing, we need to see more of this group everywhere.Spotlights is a show made up of 45 stars and that is how many I wish I could give them. Then there is SemiToned and I haven’t even got yet to the Illuminations (Soundtrack Of A Breakup, 13.35, theSpace Niddry St), the other Exeter a cappella group. And who knows what else they have up here? One of Spotlights' songs is The Winner Takes It All. The winner this year is undoubtedly the one who takes in all of Exeter University’s student musical shows, because they are ruling this aspect of the Fringe.

There are many aspects to the brilliance of this show, but the greatest revelation is the singing. Every song is brought to new life and character in this production. The director, Barrie Kosky, considers Weill to be as important to music theatre as Wagner, and the priority given to the music pays off wonderfully. The musical director Adam Benzwi has done an astonishing job in maintaining our expectations of the songs, while allowing tempo changes from the orchestra to let the songs breathe with the singers’ performances and interpretation. And what singing!With such a superb cast throughout, it is invidious to point out individuals - but I’m going to anyway. Cynthia Micas as Polly, not only brings clarity and control but superbly manages the character’s duality of wise-eyed cynic and wide-eyed lover. Bettina Hoppe as Ginny-Jenny provides us with real depth of character in her singing. She has a great line in barely noticeable suppressed anger, which wonderfully undercuts Macheath’s nostalgia in The Pimp’s Song. And I’ll mention Amelie Willberg’s skilful comic screeching as Lucy. In the programme notes, Kosky writes about Weil’s break with the Wagnerian tradition – and this idea is given wicked scope when Lucy is accompanied by a piano in mock répétiteur style as she caterwauls ‘operatically.’ Of course, this production isn’t simply about the music. Kosky does not take Brecht’s words as a sacred text. He strips out or supplements as required (introducing a new character of ‘Soho Moon’ as a wryly detached observer, for example).The delicious cynicism of the show, where morality is purely an intellectual game, and the characters don’t have the luxury of behaving as anything other than self-interested animals, is used to great comic effect. Macheath is completely dominated by his appetites. (He is captured to be hanged because instead of fleeing Berlin, he spends his time ‘comforting’ the local prostitutes.) No one is shocked or offended by his bad behaviour. It is expected. Macheath’s two brides are passionate about resenting each other, but they hardly give Macheath’s cheating a mention.The refrains of Mack the Knife detail Macheath's deed as a brutal murderer, and for much of the show his face is blotted with the blood of a policeman he knifed. Yet he thinks of himself as a lovable rogue, and – well – we all go along with it.Kosky’s production has a particular focus on love - but only narcissistic self-love. Macheath, especially, expects everyone should love him by god-given right. (There is a certain contemporary political relevance in this.) Never has an actor been so committed to milking audience applause. And this revival and refreshment of The Threepenny Opera fully deserves that applause.

Let’s just get this out the way: Colin Cloud’s After Dark is the most powerful, impressive and poignant magic and mentalist show I’ve ever seen.Now for the review (with no major spoilers)…As I line up outside the McEwan Hall, the excitement is palpable. The excited chat from the group behind me is wild. The potential of being brought on stage, having embarrassing secrets revealed or potentially being hypnotised seems too much for them. As we enter, we’re given paper fortune tellers and the opportunity to write a secret to put in a locked box on the stage. So far, so nerve-wracking. The charismatic Colin Cloud strides on stage, his first Edinburgh show in four years, and immediately hangs a prediction envelope high above the audience. The show continues with a wonderfully impressive IMDB-based celebrity routine which gets the whole audience involved and an eerily accurate reverse-hypnosis routine with a pocket-watch and random – random! – numbers on a calculator. One of Cloud's methods of asking for volunteers was getting a sense of names through letters on the fortune teller. About 45 minutes into After Dark, I heard three words booming over the microphone:‘Where’s James Macfarlane?’ Yes, I, along with three other people, was chosen to go on stage to help with a razor sharp routine (my 12-year-old self was gleefully excited, whilst my very present 32-year-old self was panicking slightly). Not only did I help with the routine, but Cloud also revealed my cat-related secret. Still no clue how this happened – the box of secrets was locked! And in full view of the audience the entire time!I don’t think there are enough adjectives and superlatives I can use to describe the power and impact that the final 15 minutes of the show had on me and several other members of the audience. Cloud had promised that he would be revealing ‘his biggest secret yet’ (which I won’t divulge here. I don’t reveal other people’s secrets – who am I? Colin Cloud?) This section is structured to perfection and we as an audience were absolutely hooked. That’s all I can really say without giving anything away.After Dark is a triumph of the highest order. For the next few nights, Colin Cloud will be the hottest ticket in town. His passion, honesty, vulnerability, showmanship and humour are on full display during this jaw-droppingly clever hour. Oh my goodness, go and see this show - it's a five-star masterpiece.

“If you like dick and hate tories this is the show for you” – Reuben Kaye 2023I was gagged from start to finish, Reuben Kaye is one of the best performers I have seen at this year’s Fringe. A voice that will knock your bloody socks off and the dirtiest humour (that he only gets away with because he’s so stun). I was laughing and clapping like a deranged woman throughout. Kaye once again explains all that’s wrong in our patriarchal prejudiced world all through a wee song and dance.Kaye talks about his coming out to his father, gender politics, and much more with a sprinkle of glitter. This quasi stand-up cabaret has all the hilarity of a typical comedy set but with a refreshing leftist, political awareness. Backed by a whole band Kaye stomps the stage with all the charisma, uniqueness, nerve and talent to start a clinic. I was genuinely blown away by his voice, so powerful with the inflections of Freddy Mercury and the stage presence of Gaga if she were a tall white Australian man.Kaye’s humour is intelligent with a lot of political chat that may peev right wingers off, this show is informative camp, a true celebration of queer people and an example of beauty through adversity.This glamazon stuns the Fringe again this year with the show being sold out on night 1 and a standing ovation at the end and rightfully so, an hour of comedy, cabaret and clarity.I would recommend this show to everyone, gay or straight, politically left… or not… Reuben Kaye is mesmerising.

The thing on the floor as you walk into Dance Base’s Studio One – this year under the Assembly umbrella – is not paper. You might think it is, but it’s definitely not. It’s a sculpture, a costume, and a piece of art that comes to uncanny life in motion. Uruguayan-Canadian dancer and choreographer Bettina Szabo is alone on stage – a captivating presence – but as she describes in the post-show speech, Habitat is a profoundly collaborative work. Her costume, semi-wearable sculptural scene-partner, lighting, and sound shape and define the performance in deep and inextricable ways. The designers make use of everything the studio has to offer, from a deep and genuine black out to surround sound speakers, to spectacular effect.Szabo is clearly an incredible dancer, but few of her movements during this performance read as “dance.” They are too creaturely, too close to the hermit crab described in the show’s blurb. If the metaphor to her experience of migration remained opaque to me, I certainly didn’t mind – just watching her, lit very closely in otherwise total darkness – was more than enough. Her face was only visible for a few brief moments. Her strength was used only to serve the performance; her commitment was total. The sound design added immeasurably to the immersion. Szabo wore a microphone that added her breathing to the mix, tying the music and scuttling crab noises even closer to the performance. It was genuinely unclear to me to what degree certain sounds came from her or the sculpture she manipulated, from effects applied to those sounds, or from pre-recorded material; a sure sign of an expert design. The sonic impact heightened the visual impact, and the two together kept me watching and listening incredibly closely right through the 45-minute run time, to the point that it felt like meditation. If you want an oasis of sound, shape, and colour in the midst of the busy festival, Habitat would be the perfect destination.

Throwing the gauntlet down and challenging dominant narratives on women’s need to be vulnerable to be loved, Helen Bauer’s Grand Supreme Darling Princess is an incredibly empowering hour that analyses the problems with this mindset, and gives us confidence to be who we are instead of who someone else might want us to be.Bauer criticises gender roles, especially the Disney princess mindset of needing to be saved by a man. She rips away the rose-tinted and romanticised glasses through mockery and personal anecdotes to indicate how vulnerability is the furthest thing from an opportunity to allow a man to save you. Bauer makes these intricate connections and moves between topics very quickly to the point where we can be listening to the opportunities of British school trips and end up at the development of Disney films. Her ability to wrap up a set with a grand fantasy is highly entertaining and brilliant, because not only is it a nod to everything that came before, but she leaves the show on such a triumphant and defiant note that we cannot help but feel completely electrified as we leave the venue.I have used the word empowering already to describe Grand Supreme Darling Princess but it is and beyond that, it's just something that everything needs to hear. Something clicks for us when we watch Bauer and hear what she has to say, because even though she’s making quick-witted jokes, the underlying subtext is incredibly important. Because there is just so much pressure on us to fit into a certain image or personality to make us more palpable, it's really comforting to hear from someone who tells us the opposite. Bauer has the immense task of undoing years of conditioning in just an hour. And it’s just so nice and helpful to hear that we don’t have to be a certain way, that the problem is not us, that we don't have to make ourselves fit. Everyone needs to hear what Bauer has to say.Bauer dissects the issues with society and its internalised pressures on women, as well as how it influences perceptions on how a woman should act. The framing of this analysis as a comedy show allows the underlying subtext come to the forefront. In Grand Supreme Darling Princess, Bauer shows us all that we should own our Big Dictator Energy.

Snippets of newsreels fill the Haldane theatre as we take our seats. A cluttered stage offers glimpses of characters about to be revealed – perhaps an age, or an occupation. They are, it’s quickly apparent, representations of individuals whose accumulated losses are often shown in the News: minimised to statistics, or else heeded at largely once they have altered the system, like the generational impact of decades-long economic decline in middle America making headlines on Trump’s election. This bright spotlight of attention, followed by a move to more current affairs, cannot house the individual experience of grief. For Jessica Munna’s polemic narrator, the personal is political, and loss is the all-consuming elephant in the room. Her one-woman show explores these ideas in five character monologues from across the United States.These meticulously researched vignettes are plotted with great sensitivity from within various parts of a socio-political engine of loss: debt, opioid addiction, displacement. If they sometimes come across as a bit on the nose, then perhaps that self-awareness is part of the point Munna wishes to drive home. Her considerable range as a writer and performer is on full display as she pours herself into each new voice and physicality and colloquialisms with warmth and skill. The Appalachian Miner’s stoic erudition and awareness (and annoyance) and how people like us will see her contrast sharply with the Traveller’s bubbly, vivacious invitation to share her pride and delight in her family’s story. Each character address us in Brechtian style. They demand that we see them in the context of and in spite of lost dreams or jobs, and that we hold space for the sardonically funny and the gut wrenchingly sad (both abound). It’s at times an exposing position to be in as an audience member, but one I’m grateful to have experienced.As uptight stoicism gives way to pain, and hints of if not systemic change then communal resilience emerge, Munna’s play doesn’t attempt to give closure to the dizzying questions it opens up. What it does create is a gripping, vulnerable and heartfelt a call to make time for one another’s loss in our own conversations. This piece of theatre hangs around under your fingernails long after you’ve left the theatre.

Prepare for a sidesplitting and heartwarming comedic adventure in the must-see Soup Group: Art Show!; an exceptional masterpiece. From the moment Phil O'Shea and James McIntosh step onto the stage, their dynamic partnership becomes evident as they deliver an explosion of visual jokes and creative mayhem that's bound to leave you in stitches.The synergy between Phil O'Shea and James McIntosh is truly remarkable, a testament to how they complement each other perfectly. Their ability to seamlessly blend surrealism, realism, and clowning results in a harmonious comedic symphony that resonates across all ages. This unique blend of humour makes the show an ideal outing for families seeking uproarious laughter and delightful entertainment that transcends generations.Prepare to be utterly captivated by James McIntosh's exceptional creative prowess. Breaking the norms of clowning with fearlessness, he injects witty commentary and an impeccable sense of comedic awareness that is engaging and induces grinning from ear to ear. This meta-structural device acts as the spark that infuses the show with a series of delightfully funny moments from start to finishThe chemistry between James McIntosh and Phil O'Shea is reminiscent of iconic duos, but their brand of comedy is as fresh and exhilarating as a sip of cool tea. Comparisons to early Vic and Bob sketches merely scratch the surface. Their combined talents create an atmosphere of unadulterated fun and unpredictable hilarity that's as invigorating as a peppermint-infused breeze on a warm summer day. As they expertly explore the joy of creativity on stage, you'll find yourself immersed in a delightful whirlwind of movement and play. Their seamless interaction with the audience adds an element of surprise that's as exhilarating as a breeze on a warm summer day.If you're seeking a comedy experience that's as invigorating as a breath of air, look no further than than Soup Group: Art Show!. From start to finish, the experience is not just joyously silly, but also wonderfully inspiring. are guaranteed. Prepare for an evening of delightful surprises that's exciting and filled with laughter, fun, and moments that will leave you feeling light-hearted and cheerful, with cheeks aching.

Voloz Collective’s production of The Man Who Thought He Knew Too Much is a masterclass in physical theatre. This gripping story combines mystery, farce, acrobatics and mime in a cinematic viewing experience that takes your breath away.Set in the chic 1960s, the play follows Roger, a Frenchman working in a New York advertising agency, and his entanglement in global assassination attempts that turns his ordered world into outrageous chaos. With the exception of Roger, the suit-clad company expertly multirole throughout the show, manifesting a vast range of extraordinary characters whilst simultaneously physically reenacting their constantly changing environment. The cast’s physicality is faultless: they transition from moment to moment using effortless movement, supporting one another by creating human structures that act as the scenic milieux for the play. Their bodies emote beautifully, speaking the complex language of the play with wonderful fluency.One of the most remarkable aspects of the show is the actors’ accent work and multilingual dialogue. The cast transport Roger to Paris, Dallas, London, Siberia and a Norwegian fishing boat in the North Sea, all of which receive their own distinct portrayal in the heightened style of physical theatre. Imitating birdsong, phones ringing and lasers buzzing, the cast are not alone in their impressive vocal agility. Frederick Waxman’s live music accompaniment takes the show to the next level, accentuating marvellous moments of tension, suspense and calamity.As well as being unbelievably entertaining, the play also considers some thought-provoking themes. As the audience suspend their disbelief through Roger’s miraculous ability to survive adverse circumstances, one considers the randomness of the universe and how one insignificant event can change the course of a lifetime.It is astounding how just five people can make such captivating theatre. As the show comes to an end, one is left in awe of the company’s immense talent. The Man Who Thought He Knew Too Much is truly theatre at its finest.

From the moment Zach Zucker's comedy alter ego Jack Tucker walks out on stage to introduce Stamptown, the audience knows they're in for something truly special. Some shows claim to be the biggest and best party on the Fringe - this one actually delivers!Zach is truly an incomparable compere. As polished a physical comedian as one can hope to see, it's no surprise he was trained at the world's leading clown school, Gaulier. After ten Edinburgh Fringes, I can't recall seeing a host create such consistent laughter, and seeing his pratfalls is worth the entry fee alone. He generates justifiably huge reactions - climbing scaffolding, faking conflict with audience members, and establishing running gags embellished by epic sound effects - and holds us in the palm of his hand from the outset.Even before the show starts, we're warmed up by the energetic roller-skating bubbler Dylan Woodley, with upbeat dance moves and two faceless backing dancers creating random mayhem to keep the audience a-buzzing.Other acts on the bill include the spellbindingly energetic burlesque hula hooper Anna Fisher; quirky anticomedian Ikechukwu Ufomadu, who promises to be one of the breakthrough acts of this Fringe; and quality musical comedy character Michelle Brasier. There are also random interventions from audience plants, an act who desparately wants to come out and 'be spooy' for a couple of minutes, and a recurring live reviewer who lampoons the show at various intervals.Aside from Tucker, there are two real stand-out acts - among the biggest names in live physical comedy right now. Firstly, Courtney Pauroso, whose malfunctioning sex robot character Vanessa 5000, is as convincing and hilarious a robot as a human is capable of being. As with most impeccable physical comedy, prose cannot do her justice, and if you're intrigued then pop Vanessa 5000 high on your watchlist as it's guaranteed to be a humdinger.This applies doubly so to the headline act - 2017 Best Newcomer, Powerpuff Girl and future comedy legend Natalie Palamides. Her set The Virgin - too gruesome to even give an overview here, caused outbursts of hysterics and a dry heave or two, such is Natalie's way. She isn't performing her own show this year, but her directorial debut The Amazing Banana Brothers should be on everyone's radar.In a festival where many mixed bill shows try half-heartedly to put together a genuine party experience, Stamptown succeeds where others fail. If you want a good time on a weekend evening this August, Zach and his team will tick all your boxes, and then some.

Attempting to retell the story of someone as iconic of the modern age as Steve Jobs will naturally present a challenge, particularly as books and films have combed over every aspect of his life in incredibly fine detail. However Joel Goodman and Stephen Smith comfortably rise to this challenge, putting on a performance as captivating as any of Jobs’ conference appearances, with some of the finest musical and technical talent on display.Recounting Jobs’ life story, from his adoption through to the founding of Apple computers and ultimately the development of the Mac and iPhone, Smith’s performance as Jobs not only gets the lookalike down brilliantly, but is able to capture the mannerisms of the man himself, easily drawing you into every aspect of his life and getting across the passion felt by Jobs over his work. Combined with an incredibly strong vocal talent, and an enrapturing soundtrack that ranged from songs concerning Jobs’ feelings towards his adoption, his elation at his success with Apple or his joys taking LSD in his youth, Smith is able to bring a large amount of humour and raw emotion to a story so often concerned with just success.No mention of Jobs can come without talking about his technology, something that even the set cannot escape. There are four iMacs on stage and Smith seamlessly interacts with these throughout the show, bringing in their visuals effectively, be they setting the date or playing some of Apple's most iconic advertising. Such usage of technology within the set complements Smith’s acting marvellously. Combined with a script interlaced with natural references to every aspect of both Jobs' and Apple's histories, Joel Goodman’s work acts as a wonderful love letter to the development of one of the most important computer forces in history.Putting on a one-man show with the scale required for a musical is itself a challenge, much more when the subject matter is a figure as titanic as Steve Jobs. Early Morning Productions is able to knock it out of the park with a technical and dramatic marvel more than worth the watch and something which should easily be a part of everyone’s Fringe planners.

Iain Dale’s ALL TALK political interviews have in recent years become something of a regular fixture of the Fringe circuit. These insights into the most grotesque and – one hopes – unintentional of all entertainments allow us a window into a range of Westminster perspectives: Dale is nothing if not eclectic.Now well recovered from his nasty hip break a few months ago, Dale stage manages his guests from a simple staging at the EICC, inviting them to tell their stories and engage with audience questions.Jeremy Corbyn and Len McCluskey may be an appropriate pair to share a stage; but what might have surprised the audience was that their appearance was, primarily, to publicise their new book Poetry for the Many.There are few public figures to arouse such strong feelings as Jeremy Corbyn. Even now, three years on from his resignation as leader of the Labour Party, his name is inevitably the one trumpeted by opposing sides desperate to score some sort of political capital. It is also the one disenfranchised Labour voters cling to as a life raft on a sea of centrism. But however divided the country might remain about the political merits of this unholy jam maker, manhole cover collector, and peace advocate; it would surely take a churl of monumental proportions to argue that his mission to open poetry to a wider audience is anything other than entirely worthy.In a forthcoming anthology, Corbyn and former Unite General Secretary Len McCluskey have collated a range of works from the well-trodden to the less known: and an enticing list of contributors include Melissa Benn, Rob Delaney, Julie Hesmondhalgh, Ken Loach, Francesca Martinez, Maxine Peake, Michael Rosen and Alexei Sayle.Corbyn himself being something of an aficionado of the poetic form is perhaps not wholly unexpected. But that ‘Red Len’, that veteran of the dockyards and serial battle talks, also turns out to be something of a literary old softie is a quite delicious revelation. In a voice cracking with emotion, McCluskey read some of the poems which have touched him personally, illustrating precisely why poetry must not be locked away in a gilded cage but be set free to fly into the imaginations of anyone who cares to engage with it.There will be something in this volume to touch everyone, regardless of their poetic pedigree: I was particularly interested in the story of the largely unknown Juana de la Cruz, whose seventeenth century poems have a strong resonance today.And of course, there was something for everyone too in this all-too brief hour with their heroes. It is unlikely that many will fork out to attend this sort of shindig without a keen interest in the speakers, so the success rate among the audience at Dale’s shows, regardless of the guest, is certain to be high. In this case - judging by the reception from the audience and selfie-hunters - sky-high.

Seeing the stars spangling Chicago based company Aloft Circus Arts’ posters for Brave Space, last year’s hit, you might wonder – is it as good as all that? The answer is yes, beyond any shadow of a doubt. Brave Space is completely unique in the circus genre, a hard thing to achieve, and is well worth getting up early for its 11:00 show time.Aloft’s watchword seems to be ‘trust’ – it’s a quality that pervades the experience of their shows. They trust each other, they trust their equipment and their skills, and they trust the audience enough to bring us quite literally into the show, giving clear and effective instructions to volunteers to help support the artists quite literally flying through the air. What that trust engenders is nothing less than rapturous attention from the audience, from three to 103. While this is not a “kid’s show”, the children in the audience were as wide eyed and attentive as the rest of us.Brave Space takes place in and around a white circus tent that the company builds and takes down during the performance, inside Circus Hub’s The Beauty. The space inside is close and warm and intimate, but never crowded or overwhelming. The music isn’t too loud, the performers are generous and friendly, and – to this reviewer’s immense joy – there is no cheering. Brave Space allows only for applause at the end of an act. More than any circus I have seen, it is an artistic experience that neither demands nor leaves room for raucous noise.That is not to say, however, that cheering would not be justified. Brave Space contains act after act of spectacular circus, including two that are genuinely unlike anything I have experienced before. The first is an already impressive doubles act on an aerial sling, with one performer joining with the apparatus to support the other. What makes it mind-blowing, however, is that the audience are invited to lie down on the floor looking up at them. The viewing angle is so fresh I found my mind genuinely struggling to comprehend what I was seeing – sometimes it seemed the performers were moving up and down, sometimes along a horizontal plane, and sometimes seemingly both at once. It was an utterly unique experience.The other act (with the audience right-side up again) was a group aerials act on a custom vertical apparatus I struggle to even describe – imagine that an aerial rope unwound into many, many yarn-like strands that could be grouped or split at will. Almost the entire company participated, and by halfway through I felt I had absolutely no way of knowing what on earth was going to happen next. Despite all the circus I have seen, I simply had no relevant frame of reference. It was magical.Brave Space is closing soon, so it will be (hopefully) another year before many, many more people can experience its magic – the balancing, the hula-hooping and juggling, the mind-bending aerials, and the beauty of an incredibly cohesive, joyous group of performers pushing the limits of the genre. Make sure you’re one of them.

A black hole is a place where gravity pulls so much that even light can’t get out. The same effect can be observed by being subjected to the raw magnetism of Reuben Kaye. And just like in space, weird things can creep out of the Kaye Hole, the unbuttoned late-night variety show. Even before the show, Reuben Kaye is greeting, hugging and posing at the door, welcoming each and every one of us home. Kaye is outright disarming and utterly charming, and all I can think of is: God he’s tall. Kaye is the absolute show-stopper dripping with raw sexuality – both male and female – that is unique to the cabaret circuit. Or in his own words, just like Cruella de Vil if she competed in shotput. There are two sides to Reuben Kaye, the devilish, foulmouthed and dangerous Mr Hyde, and Dr Jekyll, who wants to save the world – and conquer it, of course. When Covid hit, Kaye was one of the first cabaret stars to start making reassuring – albeit wine-induced – social media videos to entertain lockdown-stricken fans. Just in case you think his character lacks depth, you should check out his TED Talk. He is also vocal about educating children on queerness and learning to embrace variety. From the moment Kaye blazed on stage, it was clear that The Kaye Hole was going to be an electrifying extravaganza. Reuben's energy was as infectious as ever, and his larger-than-life personality filled everyone with excitement. Announcing the room a safe place for dangerous people, tucked carelessly in a skin-tight, butt-revealing dress, Kaye belted out the opening number followed up by a rollercoaster of emotions only he knows how to deliver. From British politics to being harassed by bigoted religious groups, Kaye’s sharp tongue kept us in stiches. On the opening night the first guest act was Jarret Dewey from Party Ghost with a graceful aerial acrobatics number. Next, we were treated to the steaming hot Nathan Knowles from Circa, who gave Magic Mike a run for his money by delivering pizza mouth to mouth. Sikisa proved to be a witty stand-up comedian, immigration layer and an energetic burlesque performer showcasing her multiple assets. A local talent David Colvin delivered a great musical number was performed by commanding his bagpipes into an impressive Thunderstruck. Just when you thought you couldn’t gravitate any further into the abyss, the final act blew the socket. I’m not a big fan of hula hoop acts, as they tend to be a bit tedious, but this was unlike nothing I’ve ever seen. Tara Boom’s performance was a fabulously filthy encore number, spinning her hoops stark naked, with a head mounted popcorn machine, smeared in butter, sprinkling salt from down under and spilling popcorn everywhere and causing absolute mayhem and delight. There was simply nowhere to go from there.Reuben Kaye’s larger than life presence made The Kaye Hole much more than a mundane cabaret show; a celebration of art, acceptance and self-expression. Kaye dared us to continue to see art from people that don’t look like us and don’t think like us. The only problem with black holes is that everything else is in danger of being sucked into them, even the guest acts. Reuben Kaye's captivating presence, impeccable talent and genuine connection with the audience makes him impossible to outstage. In space, black holes only appear when a star is dying, but this one is just getting warmed up. Reuben Kaye is well on his way to intergalactic stardom. Bless him.

The play follows Billy, a young man whose love of football is the dominant feature in his life, religiously attending every match day without fail. After falling into a rougher crowd, Billy and his best friend Adam find themselves engaging in increasingly extreme behaviour that starts to dominate their lives.It is clear from the beginning that Hill carries the energy of an entire fanbase as he storms the stage with power and passion, creating the riotous atmosphere of a crowd. His storytelling is captivating and demands attention, conveying Billy’s love of football with great intensity and vigour. This helps the audience understand his obsession with belonging as he attempts to impress his fellow supporters in stunts of toxic masculinity.The writing is splendid, echoing the likes of ‘Dear England’ and ‘Death of England’. Hill’s depiction of football culture is both scarily accurate and shocking, highlighting the dangerous and addictive nature of becoming a ‘hard core’ fan. The demanding script is further elevated by Hill’s unwavering confidence on stage, earnestly effusing anger so consistently that it is almost absurd, which is hysterical to watch. He is without a doubt committed to his character, who comes across as wholly authentic and three dimensional. The audience guffaw with laughter when Billy takes a culture trip to the theatre, which I won’t spoil, but is an absolute sight to behold. The comic timing in both the script and in Hill’s performance is spot on.Some additional touches make this play soar, such as the clever use of music and Hill’s polished movement and physicality that aids the momentum and storytelling. The directorial decisions were very strong throughout the piece, much to the credit of director Sean Turner and dramaturg Jake Vithana.Most importantly, this play evocatively tells a story of one man’s experience of imposed masculinity, violence and herd mentality. Hill highlights the dangers of any extremist pastime, and how easy it can be to become caught up in their currents, often obscuring the pain and hurt that you or those around you are experiencing. Why I Stuck A Flare Up My Arse For England is a gem of a play and a true highlight of Fringe. Alex Hill is definitely one to watch.

If you’ve ever been to a surprise party, you know the awkward anticipation of waiting for the guest of honour to arrive. In Sophie’s Surprise 29th, the cast do an excellent job of getting that awkwardness going from the very start by clambering over us as we enter the Spiegeltent. Party hits are playing and party hats are being issued, glitter and Lynx Body Spray is being liberally applied to anyone who stays still long enough, and a shady character is apparently dealing what appear to be Jammie Dodgers. It’s clear from the outset that this is going to be an epic party. We don’t have to wait long for the birthday girl to arrive though. Sophie is introduced in the person of a seemingly random audience member who must be credited with how cool she is with suddenly being the centre of attention in an opening dance/acrobatics routine that sets the stage for a crazy hour of circus, comedy, and chaos. Young company, Three Legged Race Productions has created a show that stands out by being so joyfully crass that you can’t help but love it. The concept is simple: we’re at a party, possibly in the late 90’s/early 2000’s, with a selection of misfits and weirdos. There’s a chav, a goth, a party girl, the “ugly” girl, the cool chick, and the drug dealer. Each character is clearly defined from the outset, and all play their roles to perfection. But there’s circus alongside the comedy and each performer does an excellent job of showing off their skills. Standout moments include an effortless straps routine by Cornelius Atkinson’s Goth character. He holds his moribund expression for the whole piece before delighting the birthday girl and the audience with a reading of his Twilight erotic fan fiction. Nathan Redwood Price and Isis Clegg-Vinell astound with a classic roller-skate act that hits all the speedy stunts you’d expect and is momentarily derailed with a cute moment where Price hangs a lantern on the class stereotypes on display. It’s a funny and self-aware moment that allows the audience of “liberal elites” to continue along the wild ride without any social guilt. Katharine Arnold’s Ugly Duckling character gets to shine in a high-energy aerial hoop performance that takes place after her inevitable 1980’s romcom makeover. Nella Niva embodies the chaotic party girl with some frantic acrobatics on giant gym balls while Sam Goodburn does his very best to steal the show with a combination of clowning, biscuit juggling, and a unicycle routine that’s unlike any I’ve ever seen. A crowd-pleasing moment sees Price’s Chav, all bravado and body spray competes with Atkinson’s Goth for the love (or at least, lust) of Clegg-Vinell in an act where hand to hand is mixed with trapeze. It’s a fantastic routine that showed off the strength and skills of all three although I would have loved to see Clegg-Vinell base the boys. But to be honest, every act in this show is a standout moment. How could it not be with a cast of alumni from Cirque du Soleil, No Fit State, and Ecole Superieure des Arts de Bruxelles. I never particularly enjoy parties, I’m too shy and always end up nursing a warm beer in the corner or spending the whole night petting the dog. However, if Sophie’s friends decide to throw a surprise 30th, I’ll be there with my party hat on.

Bob Marley – How Reggae Changed the World is a show that is not only thought-provoking but stirs emotion too. In an intimate set up, singer/songwriter Duane Forrest calls attention to your eyes, ears and heart as he performs songs such as No Woman, No Cry and other reggae classics. Just one man and his guitar, yet his voice – so powerful and organic – inspired a sense of calmness of the mind and I couldn’t help but fixate on the sound; it was almost entrancing.Based on Forrest’s musical ability alone, the show is already brilliant, but the information he shares about the roots of reggae; Bob Marley’s life; the meaning behind certain songs, and what these songs mean to him personally and many others, makes it much more than a musical performance. It feels like a historical lesson, a love letter to not only the genre of reggae and Bob Marley but also to a younger Duane Forrest who struggled to embrace his Black, Jamaican heritage yet sought self-acceptance and self-love through his love for Bob Marley and his music.If I could use a Bob Marley quote to describe the show ‘Let’s get together and feel alright’ comes to mind. Forrest encourages the crowd to join in to ‘get together’ creating a genuine connection between performer and viewer, and you certainly feel more than ‘alright’ by the end. Forrest plays classic Bob Marley songs in a stripped back yet passionate way, adding his own flare to each song. For such a small set up it will amaze you how touched you feel by the end.I left this show with a full heart and an educated mind – Forrest really uses his vocal talent to pass on his knowledge and love for reggae to others. My only complaint was that I didn’t want it to end!More people should know about this show, it was touching, and Duane Forrest truly has an awe-inspiring musical talent.

Duel Reality is circus theatre brought to you by The 7 Fingers. What sets it apart from traditional circus is the company’s mesmerising use of big emotions to tell the basics of a story. In this case, we have the recognisable beats of Romeo and Juliet, which turned out to be an excellent choice.This was a real treat for me, and I highly recommend you catch this before it’s too late. The soundtrack is exhilarating, the performers are charismatic and the stunts had my hands rushing to cover my mouth every minute or so. I couldn’t be sure whose palms were more sore by the end – the performers’, or mine after all that furious clapping.Upon entering, the audience is given a coloured fabric bracelet, blue or red, and told to sit on one side or the other with the rest of the blues or reds. And I don’t want to spoil the genius way the show begins, but I will tell you to expect the unexpected… and to remain calm.When a ‘fight’ breaks out between the blues (the Capulets, I presume) and the reds (the Montagues) it quickly escalates into a refereed contest of bravado, seeing who chickens out first in a series of death-defying acts. This is interspersed with quotes from the original text, spoken by each performer into handheld mics, in the style of pro wrestlers riling up their side of the crowd, or getting us to boo the rival team. Great fun!It holds all the electricity of a big sporting match where the passions run high, and eventually, pair of lovers emerge from the ‘two households’, reaching for each other but being held back in clever circus fashion. Our Romeo and Juliet fight to be together in beautiful acrobatics and dance, producing some gorgeous images in seemingly impossible positions.There is a huge variety of circus acts, all cleverly framed to give the impression of a city brawl, a masquerade party, incarceration and a duel between two longstanding foes that, of course, ‘goes too far’.I absolutely loved watching this. If only there was a recording of my reactions which, I think, would make anyone rush to see it. Be warned if you are sitting in the front row, however, as I definitely saw at least two audience members get bumped by wayward hula hoops.

The show is performed by a brilliant pair of queer, tumbling, absurdist clowns. It's a thigh slapping good time. Xhloe Rice and Natasha Roland are our pair of clowns and the full team includes their lighting designer. The pair paint clown make-up on their faces and get to work.We are mostly in the world of the Rodeo, from the perspective of Dale the Rodeo clown, who's working hard to be a cowboy one day, but right now is near the bottom rung of the hierarchy at play. Startlingly, an equally leather clad, cowboy boot wearing a mirror of him ia following Dale. This figure turns out to be Dale’s shadow, and he is talking to him and he has lots of questions. Rather than waiting for Godot, these two are trying to work out who was the opportunistic arsonist that set fire to the rodeo, and thankfully we get slightly more answers than in a Beckett play. The piece is gloriously playful with gender and examining the extremely masculine world of the rodeo.The chemistry between the performers is a delight to behold, best put to use when rapidly changing between characters and stuffing perspectives, giving the cast the chance to flex their acting range. The budding friendship which grows into flirting between the two is charming and heartwarming. The plot of the piece has been extremely well thought though with no moment left unchallenged. The meta meditations on storytelling as a structure and the economic and financial struggle of performers feel on very receptive ears for an Edinburgh Fringe audience.The performance manages to strike the balance of being both shabby and scrappy and slick. With the excellent costume and visual look of the piece, alongside dystopian edits to perfect songs to soundtrack the show. The staging is in the round and the piece simply sings in that staging, it gives the performers extra dimensions to tumble and fall and move. To avoid spoilers I will simply say I didn’t want the show to end and I wanted more.

You'll begin this show painfully aware that you’re sitting in the hall of a secondary school. However, you'll leave feeling like you’ve just sat through a West End show. Captivate Theatre put on what can only be described as a flawless performance of The Hunchback of Notre Dame. This is a stage adaptation of the Disney film of the same name, which uses Alan Menken’s music and Stephen Schwartz’s lyrics. Set in 16th Century Paris and telling the story of the hunchback, Quasimodo, this is a tale of love, anguish, betrayal, and most importantly whether a monster is what is on the outside or within.From the beginning the ensemble sent shivers down my spine with a rendition of the choral opening number. Their vocals were captivatingly powerful, their harmonies noticeably perfect, and it was hard to find a fault from this point onwards. The ensemble cast filled the stage with character which otherwise had a very simple, but curiously effective, set. Although just scaffolding, the set allowed the characters to travel to all necessary locations with ease and without the audience getting lost once. There were two standout performances from Auden McGrath and Lewis Kerr. McGrath, playing Frollo, has a voice that sits perfectly for the low, booming tone that was required. He performed and dictated like a seasoned professional and his relationship and performance across from the rest of the cast was key to this piece’s success. Kerr was also exceptional in his performance of Quasimodo, his voice fell into deep, powerful baritone notes and soared in his tenor range, whilst his movement across the stage was just as dynamic. The energy he brought to the role was captivating and of the utmost quality.A mention must also go to Camila Lopez, who rose to the challenge of the female protagonist of the piece, Esmeralda. Her acting was heart-breakingly believable and her solos left goosebumps tingling on my back. Hamish Coles put on a visceral performance as Phoebus de Martin, the main love interest of Esmerelda. His voice was strong and commanding throughout and he brought out much of the comedy in his character. The King of Roma, the final character that must be mentioned, was played to perfection by Hudson Scheel. His mannerisms and physicality perfectly encapsulated the sneaky, cocky, but damaged character he was emulating.This is a show that must not be missed if you have any interest in seeing a West End level performance in a venue no different to your old school hall.

Whisky and Witches sees the combination of Danish-born Christine Kammerer’s musical forte with the whimsical storytelling of Jane Ross. Both whisky specialists, the fledgling duo – whose act has only been showcased for little over a year – does not fit the parameters of a traditional whisky tasting, sidelining staidness and jargon for a lively and interactive experience. The show is tripartite in its approach: whisky tasting from the Mythical Beasts range; storytelling that leans towards the history of witchcraft; and lastly music courtesy of Kammerer, whose original compositions delve into a variety of mythology from Norse and Celtic folklore, to further afield with Chinese legends and African deities. A cornucopia of whisky lies before us arranged in a small horse shoe as candle light adorns the walls of the cellar of Mother Superior, and with a small tinkling of teaspoon on glass our hosts begin us on our journey through tawny woods, salt-kissed beaches, and peat slathered islands. We begin with Glenrothes 15 (NyamiNyami), a sweet dram of juicy lemon and marmalade. Ross’ unique, theatrical description bypasses standard tasting notes, instead opting to evoke images and anecdotes. It is around here we are treated to our first musical number by Kammerer with the acapella chant Ran’s Daughters. Kammerer’s music is ethereal and dreamlike by nature, particularly on the likes of the popular folksong The Mermaid’s Croon where the Viking musicologist’s vocals meld gracefully with the accompanying stringed arpeggio melody, lapping gently like the waves off the coast of Luskentyre, but bold and boisterous when demanded of her. The second dram of the evening Kilchoman 15 (The Water Horse) does not disappoint, offering a peaty yet mellow tipple. This is quickly succeeded by the soft smokiness of Ardmore 14 (The Dryad), and it is here that Ross’ encyclopaedic knowledge of whisky and her apt way of painting vivid imagery become clearer. Coupling this with Kammerer's lyre lullaby Eversong, its evident to see how the hosts' apt choice of whisky and song pairings demonstrates their expertise in finding the perfect synsthesia between lore-rich music and powerful whisky. As the semi-circle of glasses begin to empty, we return again to Islay with Caol Ila 15 (Qilin), where this dark caramel-coloured dram serves as a great accompaniment to Allure of Will O’ the Wisp – a spectral, haunting number that lives up to the witchy sentiments. Our eighth song of the evening The Water Horse’s Lullaby is a bass drum-driven number with a wind wood backing that climbs up and down the pentatonic scale, echoing elements of Chinese gugin music and casting the listener’s mind to high beaten mountains and stormy shores. Appropriately, we arrive at our final dram of the evening: the Islay-based Port Charlotte 14 (Qilin). Once an independent distiller, Port Charlotte is now produced by fellow Islay-distiller Bruichladdich. At 57.8%, this boisterous peat monster is not for the faint hearted, but is nonetheless a memorable dram to end the evening on as we finish with Kammerer's commendable original composition Carry Me Home.With a runtime of two hours, one might be forgiven for viewing this act as a risky investment of time, particularly when five cask-strength drams are on the cards that can dull senses, lower attention spans and loosen lips amongst the more rambunctious audience members. But when you factor in just how much they deliver, it’s not hard to see why they’ve sold out five of their previous shows. And more importantly, as our hosts remind us on the nature of whisky, any investment takes time to mature and appreciate. The back and forth between Kammerer and Ross is a rolling Cuillin Ridge, continually undulating between comedic and serious as the hosts carefully navigate the history of witch trials, mythology and distillation. In this sense, Whisky and Witches succeeds in its celebration of the link between femininity and spirits, both metaphysical and alcoholic, capturing the essence of the supernatural and the psychoactive in short microcosms, encouraging the audience to utilise their imagination with the hosts’ expert blend of whisky, storytelling and song.

Our first impression when seeing Antonio! is that it’s chaotic and hedonistic, a impression that is quickly proven to be correct, but in a gloriously celebratory way. The band, Fools For Love led by Antonio (WIliam Duignan), takes us through the story of Antionio - an amalgamation of William Shakespeare’s heroes (and villains), as he searches for love and acceptance and takes control of the narrative and tells us the true stories behind the classic comedies such as The Merchant of Venice, Twelfth Night and Much Ado About Nothing. Antonio! is a thorough and triumphant analysis of love and what it means and the forms that it can take, using the medium of Shakespeare to challenge his definition of love, and to reclaim a character’ story who seems to have drawn the Bard’s ire. This show gives Shakespeare the Six treatment and seeks to redefine what we know about love. Each song is deeply ingrained in the rock genre, and contains such emotional intensity in its lyrics, that we are almost overwhelmed by the culminative performance that we see onstage. The actor-musicianship is spectacular as each member of the band takes on a role in Antonio’s story, and their energy and joy is barely contained by the venue itself. It uses Shakespeare’s best-known and loved comedies to analyse and teach us about the different forms that love can take, what a healthy relationship can look like and what we ourselves deserve. In doing so it becomes a celebration of queer love and identity, as well as a font of positivity and non-conformism. It’s really inspiring to have healthy messaging that we can take away and apply to our own lives. There’s no doubt that Antonio! is going places. After all, It’s the cult classic that we all deserve.

By the time the lipstick went on, I was hooked. Which is remarkable, because by the time the lipstick went on, Maureen herself hadn’t quite arrived yet. Writer and performer Jonny Hawkins had simply appeared on the brocaded stage and explained that this show was not a biography of his friend Maureen, but rather was an amalgamation and a tribute to her and the whole class of older, indomitable, glamourous women whom they knew and loved. With that, they started dropping into character, and a moment later, Maureen settled into her chair.When I say brocaded, by the way, I mean brocaded, from the very top of House of Oz’s two story space in the King’s Hall all the way to the footlights, very much including the armchair and side table that formed the only set. The lush patterning transformed and dominated the space, much like the woman who it instantly evoked. Such visual richness is rare at the Fringe and is a great credit to designer Isobel Hudson and the venue, House of Oz. It’s not the only way Maureen breaks the Fringe mold – the show is 80 full minutes. It’s an unusual choice, but I personally wouldn’t give up a single one of them, and I’m glad Hawkins and House of Oz didn’t either.What the confidence exuded by the run time, the set, and Hawkins’ unhurried performance achieves is a feeling I’m sure will be familiar to many – the feeling of sitting across from an older relative, or perhaps a family friend, who is holding court. If you’re a smiling young man in the front row, you might especially feel that way. There isn’t so much audience interaction as there is a spilling over of the conversation into the first few rows. And it does feel like a conversation even though Maureen does all the talking, which is a remarkable accomplishment, oft attempted but rarely achieved. Maureen transcends time and space, weaving stories of her life planted in a fourth-floor apartment in an ever-changing neighborhood.I feel unusually and deeply resistant to saying much of anything else about the content of Maureen. Its essence is the feeling of love – the love of Hawkins for their friends, the love of Maureen for hers, and the immediate and rapturous love of the audience for Maureen, may she live forever. The gift that Hawkins and co-creator Nell Ranney give us is a beautiful reminder to live our lives to the fullest, to love fiercely, and to make that visit we’ve been promising to make to the older people in our lives. Absolutely do not miss it.

Two bodies meet in a circular LED-lit space, framed by two sinister poppet dolls. These divine monsters, Tamsyn Russell and Rose Philpott, are barely distinguishable, their dark brown hair and bare skin coalescing into one. The anonymous women are held together by a force stronger than identity, longing for each other’s support, but also separation. They move as doppelgänger mirrors, pendulums spring-boarding through stages of ecstatic violence and painful awakening.Aukland’s Foster Group’s hour of awe-inspiring movement is truly special. The company leads its audience through stages of love and despair, effortlessly flowing between the hypnotic, grotesque and acutely comic. The bodies search for freedom is never quite finalised as they clamber over and wrap round each other, limbs without owners.One became two at the instruction of a sanitary, other-worldly clang, which imprisoned the pair amidst flashing white LEDs. This was one of the many moments where soundscapes shaped and structured the performance beautifully. As one woman awakened, the other slumped, dormant and possibly dead. The emerging individual realised her nudity and began to self-consciously cover herself, while tapping the inert body with an inquisitive care. This moment of tenderness grew, suggesting a pride which comes with being ‘awake’, and the duty to carry and revitalise dead weight. It was as if these bodies, in pursuit of a shaky independence, discovered mimetic movement as a means of embracing the uncertainty of their own selves.The performers use of their hair was entrancing. At times, it served as a sight of sovereignty, but also offered the women a means of hiding. As classical bliss synthesised with the deafening noise of construction, both women bent with their heads hanging between wide legs, flicking their hair in wild synchronicity. Later they connected through complete entanglement, twisting with the other’s length, then pulling apart with a sense of finality which dissolved into a fresh sequence.Utilising a mask garnered from beyond the LED circle, the solo portrayal of death and rebirth was eerie and striking. I was captivated, under the spell of this reinvigorated figure that returned to the space with power and force. This, juxtaposed to the unexpected and bizarre costumes that followed, stimulated a sense of confusion that felt expansive and enriching.I am told Double Goer has been in the making for six years and will continue to tour with additional set where possible. The artistry is exceptional, and I feel fortunate to have seen their work.

Christopher Marlowe is forever fated to be associated with his peer and likely chum William Shakespeare. But whereas Shakespeare – at least, according to the accepted mythology – was the geek, the golden boy, the (sometime) family man, the yokel-boy-made-good: Marlowe has become reduced to being known as the spy; the counterspy; the reckless, glamorous, devil-may-care ‘rakehell’ whose brawl over a bar tab saw his own literary genius snuffed out at just 29.In Matchmaker Theatre’s new play, Marlowe emerges from Shakespeare’s shadow to tell – or rather impose – his own tale upon young scholar Laura. She would prefer to be working on her thesis regarding the legacy of Bill’s works: Marlowe is rather keener that she learn once and for who actually penned those immortal lines.The question of authorship regarding the thirty-seven extant Shakespearean plays is of course a happy hunting ground for historical conspiracy. As the play itself notes, the names which have been proposed over the years are legion, and the theories fantastic. This has proved fertile intellectual soil for academics, film-makers, and those with a book to sell but – as Laura herself wonders – does it really matter who put feather to parchment?Well, in this dramatic conceit, it does. And one can certainly empathise with an iteration of Marlowe who is dragging four hundred years of mistaken identity around with him. Four hundred years and an infinity of reputational royalties.As ‘Kit’ Marlowe, Nicholas Thorne is a deliciously louche onstage presence, convincingly drawing an initially sceptical Laura into the web of deceit which – he says – precludes him from being awarded his rightful place as the creator of some of the most beautiful verse ever written. To say more would be to give too much of it away: and the nicely-crafted script deserves its moments of dawning.Thorne is ably supported by Kirsty Eila McIntyre, Adam Buksh and John Kielty in this confident, and well-loved piece, whose belief in itself and the vivid little world of meta theatre created by the cast and creatives is infectious.Do you need to know all that much about the Bard of Avon to ‘get’ it? Not really, no. You might miss out on some of the smugger chuckles from an audience as delighted with their own scholarship as the unfolding plot… but that’s about it.At the very heart of the piece lurks the eternally pondered niggle of the Elizabethan Metropolitan Elite: how on earth did a bumpkin such as Shakespeare have sufficient knowledge or experience of foreign climes to weave some of his most sweeping historical epics when he never ventured much beyond a cheeky bit of apple scrumping in his formative years? Well, you may need to dust off your Googling gloves: for this is a piece which may offer us one answer, but throws up lots and lots of new questions.

Based on one of Grimm’s lesser known fairytales, Godfather Death is a hidden gem and a must-see this Fringe. It is such a great musical that it would be a crime against art if this is the last we see of it. Death may be the great equaliser, but life would only be made the more unfair if we are denied at least a cast recording of the beautiful melodies that make up Jack and Finlay Avison’s score. The story that starts with a divine wager between Death (Andrew Lodge), the Devil and God (Aila Swan), which leads to Death becoming the godfather to the thirteenth child of a poor baker and his wife (Iona Stewart). Disenchanted with what his godfather has shown him, the child becomes a Physician (Jack Mailer) aiming to stop Death in its tracks.The Avison brothers have created such an enthralling musical. It’s just indescribable how absolutely hypnotising the score is; it’s the kind of music that you’d listen to on repeat and keep finding new ways to appreciate the songs as they dispel monumental truths about life, death and the human experience but manage to bring a new light to these eternal truths and communicate them in a way that excites us despite the heaviness of the subject matter. The harmonies in this musical are beautiful, especially when they linger at the edge of a ballad, and create a haunting undercurrent that leads us to imagine and consider how the lyrics then apply to each individual character. A great example of the genius and tongue in cheek gallows humour within this show can be exemplified by the Avison brothers calling a song Everybody Dies and then making it a big jazz number; inspiring in the energy high that it gives us and the slight cognitive dissonance that occurs considering the subject matter.Finlay Avison’s staging uses the small space incredibly creatively and centers Death as a witness and sometime audience member, reinforcing the ‘silent onlooker’ role that the entity plays. The space that the cast have is used economically and there are no unnecessary or extra movements; each little step or placing has a purpose or effect – dramatic or comedic depending on the moment. The design for this show is incredibly simplistic, but like the staging, nothing seems superfluous – most likely due to the size of the venue – but the simplicity increases just how much every indiviudal prop and costume piece mean. The cast are truly astonishing in the talent that they show throughout the hour. With so few of them, we can really see how talented each individual is. Every cast member apart from Lodge plays more than one character, and although we are provided with material indications and clues that their character has changed or that time has passed, even without these aids, we can tell; they truly make sure to separate the entities that they inhabit. Lodge’s Death is a snarky but reliable narrator; you can trust him to tell you the truth even if you might not like it, and Lodge palys to this comic grimness. He’s a constant presence, but that’s the point. Lodge communicates constantly with us in his performance, even when he isn’t speaking, through his mannerisms and micro expressions. He makes Death a very likable and empathetic character whilst shifting to the complte opposite when the moment calls for it. Mailer and Swan make a great comedy double act as the Devil and God and their banter in these roles is incredibly amusing. The emotion on Mailer’s face and voice in Let You Down brings with it a slight heartache because the sheer helplessness that he voices becomes incredibly personal in such an intimate setting; all of this relayed with a voice that seems intent on breaking through the walls of the venue. Swan really takes the saying 'there's no small role' in stride, as she gives a larger than life performance in her role, taaking whatever opportunity that presents itself to play up the comedy and overexaggeration of a role. Stewart kicks off the show with Thirteenth Child, and she displays such a raw power that it sets the tone and the high standard of performance that carries on throughout the rest of the musical. The cast are just brilliant, hopefully we’ll see a lot more of their talents going forward.Despite the subject matter, I have never left a musical in higher spirits, probably from the excitement that I feel thining about this musical’s potential. It ticks every box of a great musical and beyond. It’s hard to think of what else Godfather Death: The Musical needs, for it’s perfect as it is, but it’s hard not to imagine just what it could be and achieve given a bigger stage. Everyone needs to see this show.

From humble beginnings in a downstairs bar in London, originally styling themselves as Friday I’m In Love, Massaoke have certainly ventured a substantial journey in their more than a decade long quest for recognition, playing to crowds up and down the country in their trademark spandex get ups complete with the required stage presence to match. For the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, Massaoke is no stranger, and they return this year with a twist on their classic mass karaoke act by focusing upon a late 20th century set list that pits the 80s against the 90s.Massaoke’s touring band – officially named Rockstar Weekend – are comprised of the energetic and enthusiastic quintet of lead guitarist El Neilio, lead vocalist and pianist Mac Savage, drummer Mat Factor, VJ and vocalist McClean, and Rebel Rye on bass. El Neilio and Savage make for the perfect combination of flamboyant and forceful as leading players on the stage, not taking themselves seriously and involving the audience at every turn. Ensuring no punches are to be pulled, the band ring us in the opening with a dynamic rendition of AC/DC's Thunderstruck before the night truly takes off.The act gives us the all-important riffs, choruses and rhythms we are familiar with in short blasts, trimming the fat of songs rather than play them in their entirety, save a handful of totemic classics. Whilst this may seem like undercutting the point of live music, it offers a unique experience where you swiftly move from head banging to Guns N' Roses to singing along to the catchy and camp lyrics of Barbie Girl, to swaying hands in unison to the renowned power ballad of Total Eclipse of the Heart.Agility is the word here, but this plays into the overall crowd-pleasing strategy of the act itself, one which offers an unrivalled euphoria from hearing everyone’s favourites in rapid succession. All in all, Massaoke 80s vs 90s is true to its name, delivering the audience a thoroughly well-received show that taps into the millennial spirit with tremendously deft aplomb.

Absolutely not what you are expecting. Infinitely better. Rave is an immersive psychedelic experience you can exit at any time, but I highly recommend you don’t. It’ll suck you in and spit you out, arguably as a better person than you arrived.Billed as live music, Rave sets strange expectations for itself. People who come for a rave, hoping to gyrate in a dark room and forget their problems, will be disappointed by the traditional seated arrangement best suited for a piece of introspective theatre. But Rave should certainly be taken in sitting down, as you’re bound to melt into your chair and lose yourself within Pharos’ psychedelic projections.The audience are likely to talk over the visuals to flirt, murmur and order more drinks, but sit up front and their voices become mere echoes to the consuming focus of the screen and music. The takeaway is transient, very much a reflection of your own thoughts, your deepest and darkest desires reflected back to you.To watch Rave is to experience your own humanity. The natural world on screen is overlaid and manipulated. Clouds morph into faces, waves curl into logarithmic spirals, mountains diffuse into fractals, and the line between humanity and nature disappears. You’ll witness the psychedelic implosion of human civilisations through time, returning to the baseline of the enduring natural world to set you straight again.Using waveform technology to pull at the back the layers of our consciousness, Edinburgh-born musician/producer Fraser Lawson (artist name Pharos), converts graphic data into sound, turning waves of light, frequency and amplitude into music and enabling us to make multi-sensory connections with the landscapes on screen.Benefiting also from the insane acoustics of the century-old brick arches of The Caves venue, Rave adds another dimension to the hair-raising percussion, synth and keyboard melodies that speak distinctly to us and our position in the space.With multidimensional trickery and euphoric beats, Lawson teases us into remembering our deepest connections, to Earth as well as the scariest and freest parts of ourselves. But Rave only works if you tune in to the frequency of the artist’s truth, recognising his innate desire to connect with the world around him, and then our own.It’s about the subjectivity of experience, but also the universality of it. As the set draws to a close, the screen subtly zooms out, as if to remind us that this is not real. Then the full screen is restored, and we realise; we are living it – the mind-bending reality that Lawson presents is our own everyday reality, the biggest trip of all.When someone rises at the end of the show and yells ‘that’s dangerous, that’s fucked up’ followed by a woman spontaneously bursting into tears, my review had pretty much written itself. But to lead with that would be to do this piece of art the biggest disservice that anyone could do. So, I’ll just end with it instead.

Ed Byrne breaks the five-star rating system to the point where multiples of stars could be added to this review and it will still not be close enough to what he deserves for this show. Tragedy Plus Time plumbs immeasurable depths of darkness as he tests the eponymous Mark Twain theory, culminating in an anecdote about the darkest joke he has ever told. Despite being warned, the only real way to wrap our head around it is through an involuntary verbal reaction. Such is the nature of this show. It’s a beautifully written and delivered show in a way that carries a lot of emotional weight in its exploration of grief, regret and the intrinsic human behaviour of doubling down when in the wrong, as well as using laughter as a coping mechanism to reflect and navigate between these topics. Watching Byrne perform is like watching the Energiser Bunny do stand-up, as he layers jokes upon each other, ending up in a compounded amalgamation of irony, bouts of sarcasm and acerbic gallows humour. The material gets very dark, in a gradual way that resembles dipping a toe into the water rather than cannonballing in. We’re very much led down a winding path with every tangent serving a purpose to compound a very real and sudden emotional punch. A word like ‘bittersweet’ would be the wrong word to describe Tragedy Plus Time, Byrne's performance and punchlines are more powerful than any adjective could fully do justice, the English language feels limited or ill-equipped to do this show justice. Because of this, the review is somewhat incomplete; the only way to fully understand Tragedy Plus Time is to watch it firsthand. Nobody is performing or writing stand-up comedy like Ed Byrne. There’s a real craftsmanship involved in every aspect of this show. It takes a lot of talent and strength to be able to find that light in the dark, and Byrne uses his show not only to do exactly that, but show us how to as well. If it is the case that laughter and crying are the two extremes of human emotion, Byrne manages to make us do both within a very short space of time. He makes this show relate to us, and on one hand, we are energised into acting and doing better in our own personal lives. On the other, there is also a distinct ache that comes from the involuntary reflective thoughts that are invited in of times that we might have fallen short or been in the wrong. All of these emotions stem from the fact that Byrne is a masterfully skilled comic who is able to evoke as much pathos as laughter throughout his show. The overall mood doesn’t settle, nor is it constantly upbeat. The jokes vary in tone, moving from poignancy to barely concealed rage, to a kind of hopefulness. And maybe that’s just an additional by-product of Byrne’s experiment or part of the show’s purpose, but its presence is what makes this show remarkable.Byrne deserves to get a standing ovation every night for Tragedy Plus Time. There’s actionable wisdom here, and yes, we leave feeling like we can do anything and be better people. It also forces us to contemplate on times when we were all too human, to want to be able to admit that we can be wrong and makes it easier to do so.

In what could be crowned the most uplifting show of the Fringe, The House of Life aka Ben Welch and Laurence Cole from Sheep Soup combine preaching, live music, comedy and all round good vibes in this spectacle-come-religious experience.The show itself is in a category of its own. Welch announces that the audience are going to learn how to find true happiness in an all singing, all grooving hour of self expression, love and harmony. Sheep Soup create soundbites and beats with their loop machine live on stage that are both hilarious and ridiculously catchy. The pair take recordings of the audience’s own stories of love and anger, turning them into sick beats that you want to add to your hype playlist. The dynamic between the pair is beautiful to watch. Welch and Cole create a fresh twist on the traditional sidekick character by emulating the relationship between pastors and assistants in modern Christian Churches. Their voices blend seamlessly, spontaneously harmonising as Welch riffs in between his parodies of self-help motivational speakers. They are completely at home on stage, creating a performance that is incredibly polished, which is an amazing feat considering the improvisational quality to the show. In terms of musical style, The House of Life sound echoes that of Foals or Parcels, but has a soulful edge that invokes gospel-energy. It would be a crime not to mention Welch’s incredible vocal talent, with a voice that is oh so silky and smooth. Cole’s honeyed falsetto balances perfectly with him, creating beautiful melodies.More than just one-off mixed songs and dance-tunes, The House of Life celebrates the good in people and purges our negative energy. You walk in, expecting a parody of a religious service, but instead are struck by Welch and Cole’s earnestness that sneaks in with messages of encouragement, imploring us to work build communities and give love to strangers. If you need a pick-me-up, you are guaranteed to walk away from The House of Life with a spring in your step.

This is the definitive piece of musical theatre for musical theatre lovers. Back to back bangers all about the world and life of musical theatre. They begin the show with a self-deprecating song on opening numbers before going on to sing about ‘super fans’, ‘swings’, ‘divas’ and stars. Every song is catchy, well written, expertly performed and doesn't give you a second to catch your breath before heading into the next number. Jennifer Caldwell, Sev Keoshgerian, Rhiadan Marc, and Julie Yammanee all deliver undeniably professional standard performances with their dance, singing, and acting. They tackle countless characters with ease and slip in and out of being leading parts and support with every song. Their voices are all exceptional as each of them gets at least one song to show off what they are truly capable of. And their what they are capable of is astounding. Sev Keoshgerian for instance has to perform an entire song pretending he is sick, whilst also sounding incredible and it doesn’t mean nothing that this song had the audience in stitches.Much of the credit for the brilliance of this show must go to Alexander S. Bermange. The music is stupendously catchy; as I left the show I could be heard singing ‘I love musicals, musicals’ under my breath over and over again. The lyrics are side-splittingly hilarious with the audience being in hysterics throughout. The music is so well tailored to the audience, they know they’re going to be getting in, that every joke lands and every song is understood and appreciated for the genius that it is.The direction and choreography by Matthew Parker is outstanding. Each routine the performers do is clean and funny and leaves us feeling completely safe in the knowledge that every move will be hit. The stage is used to its fullest and although there are only ever five people on a huge stage at one time it never feels empty.This returning show has countless years ahead of it as I can see it becoming a timeless classic with musical theatre ‘superfans’ and everyday supporters alike. It is delightfully charming yet tremendously funny and is relatable to anyone who loves musical theatre.

I was lucky enough to catch Buffy Revamped when the show toured to the Birmingham REP a few months ago, and upon seeing that it was returning to its roots at the Edinburgh Fringe, I knew I had to go again.If you are even remotely a fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, this is not to be missed. Creator and performer, Brendan Murphy, goes above and beyond in this one-man show, playing Spike (unarguably the best character in the series) who has manifested twenty years after the collapse of Sunnydale to recount the events of all 144 episodes in 70 minutes.Spike leaves no stone unturned, offering his own hilarious take on the other characters and groaning upon remembering their misadventures. Murphy captures perfectly the spirit of everyone’s favourite surly vampire, and somehow manages to do both a good impression and Spike’s impression of the likes of Giles, Xander, Anya, Dru and all the rest.Highlights for me include reducing heartthrob Angel to a simple trench coat, having vengeance-demon Anyanka explain the complicated relationships within the show, and Mayor Wilkins advising us all to ‘wear sunscreen’ – I mean – ‘wear a crucifix’.Spike’s onstage shenanigans are well broken-up by some funny business on the projector screen behind him, and by a handful of brilliantly reworked 90s hits. We are also treated to a bit of audience interaction and superb prop-based humour (even when one such gag involving a giant packet of crisps went awry, he styled it out and made it even funnier).You’d think such a large space would swallow up a one-man show like a Hellmouth, but Murphy fills the cavernous space like a seasoned rockstar, colouring it in with energy and dynamism. Even if you’ve only seen the odd episode here and there, I can highly recommend this production for its densely packed jokes, expertly executed by a true fan of the series.A fang-tastic send-up of a brilliant TV show.

How do you top Trainspotting, the defining film of the ‘90s? You top it by making it live. By forcing you to see, feel and smell heroin addicts in the urban poverty and squalor of Edinburgh. Is there any good reason for anyone to see this play? Who needs reasons when you have heroin?It’s been exactly 30 years since we were told to choose life by Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting. The film, directed by Danny Boyle, came out three years later and plunged Ewan MacGregor into stardom. In its tenth anniversary run at the Fringe circuit, Trainspotting Live is as ballsy as ever. It is still the most uncompromising and controversial show you are likely to see anywhere. It captures the spirit of the original story to the teeth and repackages it into an immersive production that is just as relevant in today’s society.Even though the warnings are clearly spelled out for you: full nudity, offensive language, strobe lighting, interactive behaviour, triggering themes, nothing will prepare you for the shock of entering the venue. You walk straight into an underground rave with all the characters charging around seemingly spaced out of their heads. Renton goes into his iconic monologue while the other actors are barging up and down the isles. They might just as well be flirting with you, taking the piss out of you, wrapping their arms round you, shouting abuse at your face, snatching your drink or staggering drunkenly on you.There were genuine screaks of horror each time some form of bodily discharge was chucked at us – and it happened a lot. But come on, this is Trainspotting, what did you expect? Best not come to the show dressed in your best outfit, that’s for sure. The word immersive gets thrown around a lot when describing theatre productions. Trainspotting, however, is fully immersive – you get dragged into its ugly abyss whether you like it or not. Just like it should be when creating this cult underworld. The tone remains suitably offensive, violent and dangerous throughout the supercharged and adrenaline filled 75-minute performance.All your favourite characters and memorable scenes are there, and the energy of the cast is off the scale. The two that stand out the most are Andrew Barrett as Renton, playing painfully vividly his numerous cold turkeys, including the notorious shitstorm toilet scene, and Oliver Sublet as Begpie, with a striking physical presence, and having his comical mental meltdowns every two minutes. Another striking scene with darker undertones is the death of Sick Boy’s and Allison’s baby daughter.This show is definitely not for everyone. It shocks, offends and brutalises the hell out of you, but if you are a fan of Trainspotting, it will take you down on a glorious memory lane. Irvine Welch himself says: ‘This is the best way to experience Trainspotting. I was shocked, and I wrote the f*cking thing!' I wouldn’t dare to disagree with him. I choose life.

A huge amount of fun and laughs are to be had with James Cook’s new stand-up show, Anonymously Viral. I consider myself to be a bit of a comedy snob, having consumed far too much of the stuff over the years, and now only the best and cleverest jokes really tickle me. But I was treated to a genuine laugh every ten seconds for one speedy hour while watching this routine.What I particularly love about Anonymously Viral is how very focused it is on the one bizarre event in Cook’s recent past. He introduces us to a single satirical tweet he posted in September 2022, and then gives us a hilarious tour of its journey to becoming a viral sensation.With the help of the screen behind him, we get a visual story that navigates a world of internet trolls, thieves, and snipes from commenters who simply did not get the joke. James Cook has struck gold with this theme and it makes for rich ground upon which he crafts a vast array of brilliant comments on the nature of social media and the funny differences between the platforms. The audience was loving it and we were rarely free from lingering giggles.If you’re not well-versed in the ways of Twitter, Facebook or TikTok, never fear. A brief explanation of every internet phenomenon is woven seamlessly through the jokes so no one feels left out. And if you tend to get nervous at the prospect of a comedian picking on you or making fun of you, you can rest assured that James Cook’s comedy stylings are friendly and welcoming, and you won’t get put on the spot. As a very down-to-earth performer, he has an appealingly medium-dry wit that pairs well with the subject matter. Anonymously Viral is a stand-out show of excellent quality that I highly recommend you catch before it goes viral.

Not for the faint of heart or light of stomach, Butchered takes its audience into an absurdist descent of meat and madness. A fringe gem, highly recommended for anyone interested to see what horror theatre can deliver. This two-hander packs a punch from the moment we enter the gloomy damp space, which feels as though it was specifically designed for this production. We meet two women, meticulously following a ritualistic mime of meat preparation. The horror is already there, visceral and disgusting. We hear the meat squelch, grind, and tear, from both an audio soundscape and the live prop. These horrific sounds also extend to the ones the actors produce: hoarse guttural screaming, gurgling, and pained groaning. The soundtrack went straight through my spine; at one point I began to feel physically sick.We see the dirty faces, and grimy, blood-smeared costumes. The women's facial expressions are grotesque and bleak as they wipe their noses and lick their fingers. It truly is a deeply uncomfortable watch. The performers have brilliant onstage chemistry and work seamlessly together, within both the sections of dialogue, and the skillfully crafted physical theatre. Their relationship is intriguing and holds the tension throughout the piece. Listed as a piece of absurdist theatre, it fits well within the genre. The setting is a Waiting for Godot limbo, where the two are preparing the meat for unknown elites above: maybe humans, maybe monsters, this is unclear. As the play goes on, there's increasingly very little that is clear at all. We do not know the who, why, when, or even really what. What we do know is the potent misery and doom of the cycle they are trapped in. Unlike most five star reviews, I can not recommend this show to everyone. It is weird, gruesome and heavily stylised. But if reading this hasn't put you off, then the show could be a real festival highlight… although maybe don't plan on eating any mince for your dinner that night.

My friend greets me in the queue, waving her ticket in the air. She is a novelist, playwright and teacher but more importantly, she is South African. Armed with her local knowledge, we swarm into the venue alongside a huge crowd, rush to well placed seats, and sit down, ready for action. Nothing happens. For quite a while. I point this out to my South African friend who smiles knowingly back at me. “African time”, she says smugly and with evident pride. “Things happen slowly”.Not when the show gets going they don’t. Set in what appears to be a traditional Guinean village, the performance explodes into life with relentless energy and colour. Singing, dancing, whacking big drums, it all happens concurrently to lift us off our seat and hold us gripped for the full hour and a bit more too.Much of the show rested in the powerful physiques of a group of phenomenal gymnasts, who find a wide variety of ways to demonstrate their athleticism, acrobatic prowess and physicality. There are some quite spectacular aerial spins, together with drum sessions that demonstrate both power and rhythm. One performer literally bends over backwards to entertain us, being the sort of contortionist that makes you squeal, watch through your fingers and wonder why, if he can do that, you pull a hamstring walking upstairs.The show celebrates a wide aspect of African village life - there is fishing with long poles and nets, for example, and a thriving market of cloths and necklaces. A couple of giraffes wandering across the stage would finish the look beautifully but there are no animals and no mythology on display, perhaps something of a surprise.At first there are language barriers but the cast increasingly teach us some primitive vocabulary - we learn that naani means four and suli means five in the Susu language of coastal Guinea. Warmth and openness sits naturally with the cast - one performer high-fives a little girl unplanned as he leaves, and their cheeky cheerfulness alternates comfortably with grim-faced determination as they work their way through their spectacular routines.“Welcome to Africa in Edinburgh”, they beam. “Welcome to Africa in Edinburgh”. They are right. This is throbbing, spinning, beautifully balanced and rippling muscular Africa in Edinburgh. My friend loved it. The crowd, standing in ovation, loved it. And I did too.

With riotous stand-up, jaw-dropping improvisation, smashing vocals, enchanting storytelling, sparkles and bubbles, Diamond Goddess Crystal Pussy is jam-packed with delights. It is a gig like no other I have seen.Katy Berry is one of Poseidon’s many demigod children: possessing both goddess and human qualities. She journeys to tap into her inner goddess whilst accepting her human fragility, in a three-step magical ritual enacted for the audience’s own healing.Each step forms a new chapter of the show, with segments of improvised song and stand-up. Throughout the performance, we form a magical bond with Berry: confessing our darkest secrets, which she hysterically turns into raps, musical theatre numbers, and powerful pop songs. The musical ad-libbing is astounding. Her vocal tone is soulful, powerful, and highly impressive, hitting a high range with ease.The stand-up portions of the show are sometimes accompanied by Berry’s pianist (and Billy Joel impersonator) Adrien Pellerin. The music adds an ironic layer of drama and sophistication to her glorious climaxes (particularly because they’re so naughty). Her persona may be a magical goddess, but her feelings are deeply relatable. And her tales of awkward childhood mischief are ludicrously funny.Berry wants us all to unapologetically give our goals and dreams a chance, even if they fail. In her extravagant - borderline psychedelic - manifestation rituals, she uses song and confession to bring everyone together in an uplifting party atmosphere. A personal highlight of mine was when I told her I wanted to be the most famous person in the world, and she sang a song about it.Whatever you do, go to see Diamond Goddess Crystal Pussy. And please take your dad.

Life With Oscar is Nicholas Cohen's brutally honest first person (and occasionally third person) account, detailing his own personal heroes journey from Lewisham, South-east London to Tinseltown. He lays bare his soul and lets you into his inner world, as he gently guides you through his life from childhood up until now — receiving some much needed help where he can and dodging Faustian pacts along the way.Life With Oscar is all about Hollywood... and Nicholas Cohen, and by the plays end you come to realise that both are equally as interesting. One is definitely genuine and the other is remarkably phony — I'll let you guess which is which.He portrays many vastly assorted characters from his life's tale with great comedic prowess, and firmly carries the story arc from beginning to end. Cohen is a comedic and theatrical genius. He had the audience in stitches with his witty jokes and intensely invested with his seedy insider account of the hidden world of Hollywood.Nicholas Cohen is a one man army, needing no assistance (other than that of the lighting engineer). The energy that Nicholas keeps up from start to finish is honestly remarkable, and not only that, he manages to keep the audience fully engaged for the whole 60 minutes duration too.This is a must see if you're interested in Hollywood, fame, glitz, glamour. And you'll come to realise what you already know deep down in your heart — that the limelight ain't all that. So keep your soul handy and save yourself the misery, Cohen did it for you. As a smart man once said, “A wise man learns from others mistakes, whereas a fool only learns from his own”.

Shortlist is a two-hander written by Brian Parks, directed by Margarett Perry, performed by Daniel Llewelyn-Williams and Matthew Boston. It’s an absurdist comedy about two writers who find themselves on the shortlist of a literary prize. In a series of brief, rapid scenes, they keep bumping into each other – accidentally meeting in bookshops, at book signings, at launches and at parties. And they hate each other!This is a long-standing professional rivalry, but they hate each other with a visceral revulsion that can only be born out of self-loathing. To cover this, they both present highly inflated opinions of themselves. And because one writer tends to write populist fiction that sells well and the other writes critically acclaimed fiction that nobody wants to read – the self-aggrandisement of both authors each has a different flavour. They indulge in increasingly ridiculous hyperbole about themselves and their own talents, while dredging the bottom of the barrel, for bitter invectives, and often vicious jibes to throw at the other.At one point, they hear of a literary superstition that previous winners of the prize have always visited the grave of a particular renowned author before the prize is announced. They wonder if visiting the grave would increase their chances of winning. Publicly, they both denounce this as empty superstition. But both writers, hoping that their offering to the competition might be boosted by some supernatural help, secretly head towards the grave to pay homage. They bump into each other, of course, and further ridicule and badinage ensues, and then the pair somehow get lost, and are in danger of being late for the prize-giving ceremony itself. Both writers panic, and this gives way to vulnerability and to some rare moments of mutual affection and dependence. And thus we begin to see the full complexity of this love-hate relationship.After a while, we become aware of how ridiculous it is, that two people who hate each other so much should end up (albeit accidentally) spending so much time in each other’s company. In a room full of crowded people, they will always gravitate towards each other. But why? Is it that they are constantly seeking the killer blow - the cut down to end all cutdowns, the witticism to trump all witticisms? Or is it that projecting our own failures onto another person enables us to somehow feel successful by comparison? After all, for one person to win, someone else has to lose. And this becomes an ugly fight. Or is it that we are drawn towards people we hate because they often present us with an accurate reflection of our own self-worth?In their race to the top, the writers unwittingly find themselves at the bottom. And like the would-be high-status characters in so many plays who attempt the dizzy heights of hierarchy, success and fortune, it’s only when they are brought cruelly crashing down that they learn who they really are.There are many questions to ponder here, and this stylised absurdist form removes us from the familiar trappings of realism and is the perfect vehicle to make us think.Parks writes beautifully – with pace and humour. He shows both fondness and disdain for his own characters. The play is also very clever. Much of the writing is about writing itself. It’s full of quick one-liners and retorts. The tools of the writer - paragraphs, semi colons, adverbs, adjectives, indentations, and of course, the mighty pen - become weaponised in the fracas. Matthew Boston and Daniel Llewelyn-Williams rise to the challenges of the text with perfect timing, emotional dexterity and lots of energy. And for a play that is so text-orientated, it is surprisingly physical. Under the guiding hand of director Margarett Perry, both actors throw themselves around the stage as desperation escalates into farce.The play is an entertaining examination of the fragility of the human ego. One of the highlights of my Fringe this year.

The Hunger is a chilling horror, following mother and daughter Deborah and Megan as they attempt to fend for themselves amid an apocalyptic pandemic. Factory meat has spread a disease across the globe, turning other humans into threats against the two women who have survived by living off the livestock at their farm. The play opens with a blood-curdling scream, appropriately setting the tone for the rest of the piece. I am put on the edge of my seat, and remain enraptured until the final scene. Megan, played by Madeleine Farnhill, is a naive and anxious girl, with a youthful commitment to an innocent approach to morality. Farnhill is excellent from start to finish, executing both subtle nerves and manic rage with firm confidence; I am wholly convinced by her performance. Diseased humans regularly approach the farmhouse, and both actors gaze fixedly behind the audience with such poise and focus so as to create terrifying tension. These moments showcase their acting at its very best, as I feel the urge to check over my shoulder to see if there really is a monster there. Helen Fullerton commands the space with maternal power as Deborah, and at times, feels as intimidating as the incorporeal threats looming over the stage. She showcases an impressive range, treading the line between motherly love and desperate abandon; I am unsure throughout whether to trust or fear her. The portrayal of mother-daughter relationships is where the script finds its strength. Megan approaches her mother with a trepidatious love, whilst Deborah’s actions push us to question how far one can take tough love without becoming cruel. Love is not pure and simple in The Hunger, and the raw, realistic glimpses of struggle between affection and survival is what grounds the script in the hearts of its audience despite the dystopian setting. Director Natalie Simone deserves much praise for her handling of the twist, and how it affects not only the characters themselves but how they view one another; the shift is achieved masterfully in the development of the spatial relationship between Megan and Deborah alone. Both actors hit emotional heights without ever slipping into the histrionic, providing the piece with a moving yet satisfying climax. Despite the small stage, the performance is never made to feel cramped or limited. The set pieces of a kitchen table with two chairs, a sideboard with a window and a food container is enough to immerse us in this disturbing atmosphere. Much of the realism is achieved through the excellent lighting design, shifting from warm sunlight to to eerie blue moonlight, the attention to detail truly pushing this show to brilliance. The Hunger is absolutely a must-see at this year’s Fringe. If you have a craving for something dark and engaging, Studio Four at Assembly George Square is where to go.

They say a picture can tell a thousand words, but it turns out that if it is drawn on cardboard, it can tell a thousand more. The Ice Hole: A Cardboard Comedy tells the story of an actor’s great journey across the globe after being cursed by a mermaid he accidentally caught and fell in love with. Yeah, it sounds strange and it is. This is an hour of pure joy with just two actors and a lifetime’s supply of cardboard on stage. They tell a heartfelt, dizzyingly funny tale. On top of this, most of the dialogue is almost nonsensical, but yet there is nothing difficult to understand from this piece of theatre.They begin the show with a stage full of cardboard props, sets, and signs all in their place. As the show goes along, every piece of cardboard reveals its use and it is magnificent to behold. There are signs to help navigate the unintelligible nonsense that the Actor recounts, shops made entirely of cardboard, mermaid tails and ocean waves; anything you can imagine is on that stage and is made of…you guessed it, cardboard. It is also fair to say that the handling of hundreds of props without fault is to be applauded, as every set change and gag is delivered flawlessly. The Actor sits hilariously in his seat for (almost) the entire show, barely moving when he doesn’t have to and certainly not standing. This leaves his Assistant to scramble around the stage moving every prop, set, and costume to its intended place. All of this leads to the funniest part of the show, which is the dynamic between the Actor and his Assistant, as their hate for each other grows stronger and stronger with each action the other performs.The Ice Hole: A Cardboard Comedy is the pinnacle of physical comedy with a revolutionary take on what cardboard can do within theatre. This is an hour of side-splitting laughter and endless incredulity at what cardboard is truly capable of.

Phil Ellis. Where do I even start with Phil Ellis? Let’s start where he himself starts the show – with a binbag over his head, in a cat costume, with painted on whiskers and singing Jellicle Songs for Jellicle Cats. Do I have your attention yet?Phil Ellis’ Excellent Comedy Show is Ellis’ tenth show at Edinburgh and there’s no doubt that he has earned his sold-out crowd at The Hive at Monkey Barrel. As a performer, Ellis is chaotic and furiously frenzied whilst also giving off very safe ‘weekend dad vibes’. Whether he’s speaking about the last good wink he had or the adventures of his scally grandad, Ellis consistently makes us laugh. The hour is interspersed with songs, performed by Ellis and an impressive live band. Hits such as Starman and Wonderwall are lovingly performed in true Phil Ellis style. Others such as Downtown are hilariously screamed in audience members’ faces (I was lucky enough to be serenaded and am currently laughing writing this as I remember it.) The structure is seemingly non-existent compared to your average comedy show which is what makes this hour so unique. The energy that Ellis creates in the room is so palpably unpredictable, it’s incredible to think that he’s actually in control the entire time. He has the entire audience in the palm of his hand – as if we’re just watching our funniest friend tell the funniest stories… dressed as a cat.From Tik Tok sketches to an incredible improv rap, this show has it all. With this show, I think Phil Ellis may be the first comedian to have completed ‘comedy’ at the Edinburgh Fringe. It’s a surreal and unforgettable hour which firmly cements Phil Ellis as one of the finest and funniest comedians in the UK today.

At at a time when the world has never more needed to heed the whispers of history, when client journalism seeks to sanitise hate speech as a ‘balanced’ opinion, and social media garrulity threatens to trump expertise: then the risible comparison by the American soldier who suggested to a mortally-vulnerable, post-Mauthausen Simon Wiesenthal that life will inevitably comprise two opposing sides “America has Democrats and Republicans… you have Jews and Nazis” seems more horribly apposite than Wiesenthal could ever have realised it might become.Would that we could learn from it.But the world has never much appreciated poking around in the valuable lessons of the past. A little anger, a lot of sadness, and a hefty dollop of performative grief… and we’re done. Exhorted to ‘move on’ and ‘get over it’ with a concerted and mobilised vigour; there seems almost a global compact to pull the duvet right over our heads and hunker down in a fantasy of funny cat videos and celebrity gossip . Whether too terrified of the reality knowingly being hidden, or too far down the propaganda rabbit hole to believe in resurgent forces of evil is largely irrelevant: the moral sleepwalking which arises from this chilling lack of intellectual curiosity or personal responsibility leads us towards the same avoidable place time and again.Wiesenthal, then, and those like him are the rarest of breeds. Someone committed to justice, to taking a stand against the darkest of hearts, and prepared to gamble personal safety in a mission to educate those whose unsophisticated equilibrium is so disturbed by the very notion of wickedness that they choose ignorance over obliteration.Born in 1908 to a Jewish family who had escaped the Russian pogroms, Wiesenthal was working as an engineer and architect when war broke across Europe in 1939. As the subsequent years took their dreadful toll, he and his wife lost a total of eighty-nine family members to the brutal ideologies of the Nazi party. Moved from concentration camp to concentration camp, Wiesenthal was near death when the Mauthausen camp was liberated by USA forces in 1945. And it was there, with red ink smearing his cheeks in a grotesque pretence of health, and weighing just 90lbs that he decided his ‘price’ for remaining alive would be to deputise for those who had been murdered: for the rest of his life. And so he did: becoming the ‘Nazi Hunter’ instrumental in bringing many of the most prolific perpetrators of war crimes to justice in the latter half of the twentieth century. Although quite how instrumental and how much of the time is hard to say, with Wiesenthal’s own memoirs frequently contradicting themselves on the altar of a good story.Christopher C Gibbs brings Wiesenthal to life with gentleness, humour, and a wonderful sense of ordinariness. An international hero he may be to many; but to his wife, he is just the schmuck who needs to remember to bring some milk home. Indeed, this thread of mundanity runs through Tom Dugan’s immaculately constructed script: forcing us all to consider how we will recognise good (or its counterpart) when we see it. Wiesenthal himself is disappointed by a mild-mannered defendant he has brought to trial, demonstrating an almost visceral need to face a ‘monster’ in the dock. It has never felt more important to flag the very real dangers behind this cosiness of evil: those who prefer to believe that Fascism is too aggressive a word to use in relation to contemporary fascistic behaviours should take note.This is not an easy watch. Nor should it be. But it wisely resists the temptation to veer towards the sentimental or sensational. Indeed, the sensitivity and almost matter-of-fact recollection of the Holocaust death count is what allows the horror to resonate about the darkened space. The data, in itself, is sobering. As those of us who have paid our respects at these hell sites can attest, few are cursed with the capacity to fully appreciate the weight of what happened to so very many innocent souls. Which, in itself, promotes an even deeper-rooted feeling of unease which we are desperate – but ultimately doomed not – to reconcile.For while we may cry at the fate of an Anne Frank, or applaud the actions of an Oskar Schindler; a exhaustive realisation of the horrific reality of 11 million dead civilians (Wiesenthal’s preferred statistic, which includes five million gentile executions) is – and arguably should remain – utterly beyond comprehension. Children’s bodies stuffing potholes. Cargo loads of the detritus of human experience. Sheds piled high with hair, and teeth, and prosthetic limbs. On nothing more than the whim of one man and the blind obedience of others.Dogged in his belief that collective responsibility and ‘just following orders’ are no excuse for such crimes; we are invited into some of Wiesenthal’s most famous cases, framed always by the stories of those he is honouring in his work. But whether perpetrator, faithful adherent, tacit facilitator, or valiant opponent: the conscious decision making at the heart of every act looms large in the piece. Indeed, we are all encouraged to consider whether we deserve to be – as Wiesenthal suggests – ‘trusted’ to honour the lives of others and to carry the torch of their existence into our own futures.

There are very few downsides to attending a steampunk musical based on Oscar Wilde’s life, unless you’re a reviewer trying to take discreet notes in the back of the room...The Neon Coven’s original show, OSCAR at The Crown, is dazzling, energetic, and disorientating. With moving stage pieces, face-melting power ballads, and copious amounts of leather, they are taking the Fringe by storm. Sometimes compared to the mind-blowing experience of Six The Musical, which has since transferred to the West End and Broadway, there are some similarities in the production quality and level of talent, but that is where the comparison ends. OSCAR at The Crown is one of a kind. My best attempt to describe it would be a blend of this year’s Eurovision runner up, Beyonce’s Renaissance choreography, and the Buffy The Vampire Slayer musical episode. On entering the Palais du Variete, the performers are already stationed around the room, mingling with the audience and dancing through the crowd. We’re given three rules to follow: wander wherever we want during the show, take as many photos and videos as we like, and a third rule I missed while posting an Instagram Story. The plot follows a group of outsiders sheltering in an apocalyptic future where, somehow, Julie Cooper from The OC has brought about the end of the world. Their only entertainment is to tell the story of Oscar Wilde through song, dance, and — sometimes — lightsabers. The entire cast is bursting with talent, taking on sharp choreographed numbers with ease and displaying a seemingly unlimited vocal range during the very catchy original songs. Mark Mauriello brings a manic energy and intense charisma as Oscar, with a singing style that could be compared to The Darkness frontman, Justin Hawkins. It’s hard to imagine anyone else in the role he originated, seeming uniquely suited to this mixture of flamboyance and vulnerability. There are no weak links in this ensemble, but special mentions go to Elizabeth Chalmers for her emotional closing number and Jamie Cruttenden’s devastatingly sexy moves as Oscar’s lover, Bosie.If at times the story was hard to follow (why is Julie Cooper to blame for the end of the world?), or the lyrics difficult to distinguish among the cacophony of noise, it did not detract from the overall feeling of jubilance. Get your tickets now before you’re asked to fork over big bucks to see it on a professional stage, where it’s no doubt headed.

Magical, spellbinding and unashamedly camp, Tim Murray is Witches is a show unlike any other. Taking the audience through some of the most iconic witches in pop culture herstory (yes that is the correct spelling), Murray dazzles the audience with singing, dancing, improv and thigh-slapping comedy.Clad in a midnight, cloaked gown with green face to match, Murray tells the audience of the confusion he felt as a child when other boys dressed as superheroes and all he wanted was to wear a pointy hat and long brown wig. Witches, he was told, could only be girls. Now, Murray is a teacher in a specialist school for young people experiencing mental health difficulties, and he is surrounded by queer acceptance. It is evident from his vulnerability and compassion that Murray has an incredible ability to connect with others, making them feel supported and comfortable. This is clear from the offset when Murray is quick to break the fourth wall and engage with the audience, much to our delight. This builds a bond between spectator and performer that makes us fully invested in every twist and turn he may take us on.My experience of original songs in comedy routines is, to put it lightly, mixed; however, Murray’s melodies and lyrics are so expertly crafted that I cannot fault them. To write a song that combines musicality, clarity of pronunciation and lyrics that are (and I emphasise) genuinely funny is incredibly difficult, and yet the entire audience cackle with laughter at his musical theatre parodies and eccentric rap. Murray’s closing song that spoke of acceptance and allied friendships as a coven is breathtaking and finishes the performance on a special and touching note.What is truly wonderful about Murray’s performance is his ability to blend so many disciplines into one seamless show. One moment you are bopping to his bonkers songs, the next you are learning about his childhood and cry-laughing at his live reactions to the audience. I confess, upon request I may or may not have told the audience a witchy story that Murray turned into an improvised song with a wonderfully queer narrative… I have no regrets.Tim Murray is Witches is a phenomenal piece of theatre. Even if you don’t know what a witch is, I cannot recommend it enough. His show is truly a shining star in the Fringe sky this year.

Club Life is club promoter Fred Deakin's personal autobiography. To all intents and purposes, it’s a presentation with some music and some slides. But this description, diminishes it - to say the least! The journey begins with Deakin as a teenager, feeling rather out of place at someone’s house party. He resolves to give himself a purpose at the next party by taking some 7" singles along to play for his friends. And thus, a DJ is born!Deakin takes us through his teenage years, and then up to Edinburgh, where he went to university. Edinburgh becomes the test bed for his early forays into club promotion. The story then continues to London where he expands his investigations into what he calls ‘the art form’ of clubbing. This is not a general history of the UK club scene, it is rather a journey that is very personal and specific to Deakin - albeit set against the backdrop of broader trends. In fact, it’s so personal, that he includes pivotal life events - relationships and health issues - that have coloured and influenced his life's choices.Over the years, the clubs move to different venues and change names and music genres - in order to illustrate each iteration, there is a musical interlude when, accompanied by a team of dancers, Deakin resumes his role as a DJ and the audience is invited to join in. We get up, we buy drinks at the bar, and we dance. In this time, the show transforms into a nightclub for about four or five songs before we move on to the next stage of the story. Deakin reminds us that clubs in the 80s, such as The Wag in London, were rather exclusive. They used VIP guest lists and door policies that favoured ‘good-looking’ people. He remembers thinking it was an awful premise for a good night out, and he determined that his clubs would not be like that – they were going to be open and welcoming and inclusive. They would be the antithesis of ‘cool’ and people would be offered a safe, inclusive space, where they could be free. Deakin insists that clubbing is not a frivolous luxury. And of course, gathering to dance has always been an important facet of the human experience. It is at these times we ask ourselves life's most basic existential questions: who am I? and why am I here? And it is vital that, particularly at the age when we transition into adulthood, we are given the opportunity and the space to find out. Dancing is a rite of passage.As Euripides might have said: We ignore Dionysis at our peril!This is a brilliant format and a warm nostalgia hangs over the evening. Deakin himself says that he wishes he could go back and do it all again. He thanks us all at the end and hopes that this evening might have inspired the minds of those charged with finding the future of this art form - whatever that may be.

If you need to restore your faith in what Fringe theatre has to offer, look no further than Eva O’Connor’s Chicken, showing in the Former Women’s Locker room at Summerhall — a subterranean space that makes us all feel a bit like chickens in a coop, as Chicken’s protagonist points out. This protagonist, in fact, is a chicken named after the great Irish liberator Daniel O’Connell, whose complex life story is revealed over the course of this extraordinary one-woman show.Daniel O’Connell (the chicken, not the man) is a self-made rooster, starting out life as a chick in Ireland and moving to the United States to chase his dream as a Hollywood star, getting his ‘big bird break’. O’Connor enters cast in a stark white light, her stunning costume is revealed in all its glorious plumage, showing off the designer’s attention to detail in its complex structure. The magnificence of this costume combined with O’Connor’s unfaltering posture is shockingly similar to that of a real chicken, preparing us for a disturbing encounter with the animal.This one woman show is totally unprecedented, neither falling into the realm of performance art nor resisting the genre’s intensity. Encircled by the audience, O’Connor holds absolute attention for a full hour of monologue, never letting go of her character and the conviction with which she plays the animal.Beyond the show’s hilarious exposition of Hollywood from a chicken’s perspective, O’Connor’s speech literally blurs the bounds between the animal and human, seriously asking us to reconsider our relationship to the animals we eat every day. Yet the sublime fluency of Chicken’s script never attempts to instruct us on what we should or shouldn’t be eating.Although we might leave the room feeling that we have a new relationship to chickens, O’Connor’s performance is primarily stunning in her acting, revealing a rare talent for movement and speech. Her range of emotion is met with an equal measure of dexterity in accents and characters. And Chicken’s script also touches on important ideas about Irish identity, without becoming weighed down with any particular rhetoric. At the show I went to see, the audience felt tangibly enthralled by O’Connor’s charisma, discussing the faultless script as they left. For a production with a relatively obscure blurb and lack of social media presence, this feels like a hidden gem at this year’s Edinburgh Fringe. But don’t be slow — word is spreading, and ‘the world’s most famous cock’ is selling out every night.

Having never seen Alice Fraser before, I was apprehensive about what to expect from her comedy. Would she fall back on jokes about fuckboys and millennial culture for an hour, picking at her flaws for laughs as so many female comics do? I hoped not and was not left disappointed.In fact, Alice Fraser: Twist is sublime, blindly traversing the alien territory of being a mother and a comedian, staying true and funny throughout.Fraser is forced to reveal that she’s not a bad mother, though she does agree that motherhood has changed her; that she never used to be that comic. She never previously discussed body politics or gender, but now she must, for the sake of her sanity.In this way, she talks out on the unfairness of a culture that overvalues the start-up bros of the world while devaluing the mothers who birthed them. Her metaphor about the working world being like having a go on the trampoline is sheer genius, succinctly demonstrating her understanding of how feminism f***ed us, and our children, by forcing us to outsource the world’s most important role - raising children.Having worried that motherhood would make her less funny, Fraser mimics her audience’s own fears. Can she really make childbirth funny we wonder, when it’s all blood, goo and hormones? But, under oath from her friend to tell the birthing story, Fraser summons the courage.What results is both hilarious and moving, and rather than being unrelatable, shows itself to be a fundamental part of our human experience – the origin story of every one of us – yet one that is rarely discussed. In telling her truth, we are forced to see the role of a mother and her value more clearly, without any note of sentimentality or smugness.By breaking up the mature humour with light ad segments – where we’re pitched mad-hat products from an alternative dimension – Fraser creates a show that understands its depth while keeping us – and herself – as comfortable as possible.The five stars then is for the bravery of taking on a subject that NO ONE talks about truthfully, of questioning where value lies in our culture, and of making motherhood funny.Yes, there is a twist and yes, it did make me cry (I never cry).

That humour has rarely trodden a more cobbled path than in recent years makes the mean streets of Edinburgh an especially apposite place for the good, the bad, and the downright ugly of the comedy world to ply their wares.It is a peculiarity of our people that at a time when - by any standards or allegiances - the country is in free-fall, political comedy on television is noticeable by its absence. The days of TW3, Rory Bremner, even the reboot of Spitting Image are over. Even Have I Got News For You seems now to be scheduled in slots which guarantee minimal political shenanigans to expose.Perhaps we are living in different times. Perhaps the rise of DIY satirists on social media plugs the gap. Perhaps shouting at radio phone-ins is sufficient. Perhaps no-one cares anymore.Except of course, we do. Which is why the queue for Matt Forde’s latest Fringe show snakes all the way around the Courtyard, and then some. We have a visceral need not just to puncture the pomposities of those at the top of the Establishment tree; but to know that we are not alone.Forde is the absolute master of his particular craft: and his craft is not to address a party political rally but to throw razor-sharp observations and impersonations at all comers. So yes, there were some moments that didn’t put a snap in my cracker; and yes I would probably personally prefer an entire hour of cathartic Trump and Britain Trump impressions… but this is sort of the point. No one is safe. Forde puts little of himself on show; preferring to turn a wide-eyed astonishment that any allegedly professional politician could be as full of ineptitude as the dopes and chancers we have been lumbered with.The jokes come thick and fast; and land (objectively, at least) every time. The impressions are knicker-wittingly bang on. The vibe is bloke down the pub on an extended, Stella-induced rant you wish you'd filmed. The only problem is that the staff are busy putting the chairs on the tables and there isn’t time for more. I would happily sit and listen for another hour.One of the things no-one ever tells you about getting older is that laughing out loud becomes less and less frequent. The aches, the pains, the endless paperwork are well documented… but that you will have heard almost all of the jokes by the time you are forty is less acknowledged. So to spend an hour in the company of someone who will, so apparently effortlessly, make you belly laugh and feel less morally isolated is quite something. So, if political comedy is your sort of thing, you can call off the search. This is a superb set which - unlike the wallopers Forde so deservedly lampoons - gets it right every single minute.

Making its Fringe debut after winning VAULT Festival ‘Show Of The Week Award’ and Pleasance ‘Pick of the VAULT Award’, Manchester Anthem has been restaged from the linear London tunnel to fit a black box at Pleasance Courtyard. The move somewhat changes its dynamic but the essence of its excellence remains. It’s still a stunning show. Here’s a reminder of what I said previously:This joyously uplifting solo show from Lyle Productions and ramblemill is an unfettered outpouring of humour, storytelling and characterisation from beginning to end, accompanied by flashing lights, pulsating sounds and a first-class high-energy performance.Although labelled as a ‘coming of age play’ that description does it little justice. This is no protracted journey of introverted, navel-gazing discovery, but rather an explosive and revelatory wild weekend in the life of a young man contemplating a life-changing opportunity. But will he take it?Writer Nick Dawkins has taken a simple storyline with a limited time span and packed it with events. This creates a pervading sense of immediacy and urgency within a tight transformative arc. Tommy (Tom Claxton) is a young working-class Mancunian. He lives with his mother. They rarely meet because his shifts as a barista rarely match hers as a nurse, but she leaves him notes and there is clearly a close bond between them. His father left him when he was six. They are rarely in touch, although he features in a scene towards the end. These are simply givens of the situation and never distract from the main thrust of Tommy’s decision-making process. A scholarship granted him a private school education; the start of a process of growth away from his roots, but that’s over now and Tommy is working his last shift before getting ready to take up a place at Oxford University. He will be the first person in his family to attend university, in fact the first in his whole street, but as he says, in a line typical of the play, “Oxford isn’t an interstellar journey away... it’s just south”. Nevertheless, it’s a giant step for him and this is his last weekend up north.Claxton relentlessly moves around stopping to create locations for various happenings, having meetings with his mates and dealing with others who feature in his roller coaster of encounters and events. It’s something of a work-out and director Charlie Norburn has never leaves a dull moment The night at the disco is a perfect example of this. Tommy’s ‘friends’ are there. Claxton has a voice for each and amusing descriptions of them, especially for some of the snobbier brigade who are also going up to Oxford. He locates them on different parts of the dance floor and proceeds to illustrate their different dance techniques and styles with his flexible figure consummately matching character to choreography.It’s not just a physical journey he’s on from place to place. More importantly, it’s an emotional expedition and a quest to find answers to the lingering doubts and suspicions that lurk in his mind. Events mount up as providing evidence Tommy must weigh up before he gets on that train to a new life. In so doing issues of social class loom large; matters of mobility that have nothing to do with physical fitness. Claxton draws us into that mental melting pot so that we go with go with him every step of the way.The nightclub with all its highs ends in a trivial but embarrassing event. He leaves and is thrust back into a world miles away from that set, where we meet more of the people who lives are unrelated to that crowd's privileged existence. Reality sinks in for Tommy and the road he’s travelled on this night’s wild journey finally takes him home. This time his mother is there.A Manchester Anthem, has punchy yet moving, well-structured writing from Dawkins and an outstanding performance from Claxton, who clearly enjoys every minute of this production, giving out assuring vibes that we are in safe hands. Importantly it also has a strong team behind it, from Producer Rebecca Lyle to the creatives: Set and Costume Designer Anna Niamh Gorman, Stage Manager Emily Darley, Lighting Designer Caelan Oran and Sound Designer Sam Baxter; the latter two really having their work cut out in this show with a host of unrelenting changes.Finally the show wouldn’t be complete without some pulsating House Music that goes with the title. No prizes for guessing N-Joi’s, Anthem is his favourite and Manchester Anthem is ours.

At the tender age of thirty, I mostly associate Tony Blair with my very first childhood experiences of politics. So upon entering the auditorium for Tony! The Tony Blair Rock Opera I had fully expected a great number of jokes to fly over my head. This was not the case. Despite not knowing who some of the government’s side-characters were, the jokes themselves are entirely graspable and I found no problems in following the plot.Tony! presents to us the life and deeds of Britain’s turn-of-the-millennium prime minister, Tony Blair, who infamously started four wars. He is played with hilariously puppet-like mannerisms by Jack Whittle, whose sugar-sweet grins and perkiness wouldn’t look out of place in something like The Book of Mormon.He is well supported by an insanely talented cast, all providing a rainbow of larger-than-life characters from Blair’s cabinet and beyond. I particularly enjoyed Phil Sealey’s dancing as Saddam Hussein; Tori Burgess’ mischievous Liverpudlian Cherie Blair; Howard Samuels’ panto sneakiness as Peter Mandelson; Martin Johnston’s brilliantly simple-yet-domineering George W. Bush; Rosie Strobel’s cheerful ‘Kill the Infidels’ song as Osama bin Laden; Sally Cheng’s dirty old man Robin Cook; Emma Jay Thomas’ excellent impression of angelic Princess Diana; and William Hazell’s hilarious Mick Jagger.Every cast member shines with their own light, delivering top-shelf comedy and musical theatre. Direction by Peter Rowe is as slick as could be, with heaps of fun physical gags and a playful set. Harry Hill’s script is hilarious, and offers a refreshingly smart take on dark and controversial subjects, deftly avoiding the most obvious jokes in favour of those that surprise and delight. And Steve Brown’s music and lyrics give a great sense of epic scale to this saga, offering a musical tour of opera, rock, pop and vaudeville.People who were old enough to remember the details of these events and the politicians depicted may have a greater appreciation of some of the more subtle or situational jokes, but anyone my age or younger should still find a huge amount of entertainment here, as everything is well explained and the characters are well introduced, simplified and exaggerated to fantastic comic effect.I had a ball watching this, and highly recommend you don’t miss it.

The simple ‘good vs bad’ narrative is present in just about every aspect of our culture and society. In Villain, Daniel Foxx turns villain narratives and stereotypes on their heads, doing more to show the subjectivity of good and evil than Maleficent ever did. He plays around with the idea of the ‘villain’ as depicted by Disney and dissect his own childhood experiences using the villain aesthetic as a theme to connect the show.Like an ogre, there are so many layers to this show. It explores the villain archetype that we've seen in films, using it as a lens to analyse the root of the meaning behind the euphemism 'gay' and its affect on individuals and society. Foxx’s tone is very dry, sarcastic and at times even detached as he presents logical and step by step analysis to examine the villain stereotypes, which allows him to pick apart the 'good vs evil' narrative that Disney films and fairytales favour. He uses observationist and anecdotal humour to build his stand-up hour, using it to show how much of an impact and harm that such a dichotomy creates. Foxx comes off as very measured and controlled, almost as if he’s saving all of his emotional energy for the songs, which he performs with a lot of heart and intensity.There is an element of musical comedy in this show, and Foxx’s talent is such that anyone who doesn’t like the genre will change their minds once they hear Foxx play. Taking a note from the musical theatre genre, Foxx performs numbers that are equal parts music and comedy, essentially writing satirical lyrics for a ballad. Foxx is a compelling and incredibly talented composer and lyricist, and he performs these incredible character songs that would be completely at home in a Broadway musical. The songs, especially Maybe I’m Wicked, are showstoppers in their own right. Each song takes on a life of its own, communicating a sense of vulnerability as well as a restrained but defiant anger, a clear nod to the ‘villain songs’ that have come before it, a style that neatly fits into the rest of the comedy in this show. It would be such a gift to be able to listen to these songs over and over again.Villain is an extremely important show because in breaking down these archetypes, Foxx shows just how much homophobia is ingrained into our culture, even to this day. After watching Villain, it is practically guaranteed that you’ll never watch another Disney film the same way ever again.

Chloe Petts’ latest hour If You Can’t Say Anything Nice is teeming with insults and slander as she scrutinises rudeness, rage, and her own relationship with anger. From start to finish, Petts’ chilled out demeanour and effortless piss-taking woos the audience, who remain thoroughly on side throughout. The result is an hour of comedy that leaves you with an aching face and a new appreciation for bad tempers. Petts graces the Edinburgh Fringe stage having just completed a UK tour of her first solo show Transience, which laid forward her personal experiences of the tension between gender non-conformism and societal expectations that sought to aid deeper understanding and acceptance amongst UK audiences. Satisfied with the gentle and loving approach, in her new show, Petts seeks to switch tactics, boldly confronting her own tendencies towards machismo and lad culture. What is striking is how Petts combines frankness and subtle critique whilst simultaneously avoiding heated rants about the injustices of the world which, though completely justified, can often dampen the mood of a stand-up show. Instead, the show is gleefully mocking both of the British public and of Petts herself.The moment Petts opens the show, we feel like an old mate of hers, confiding in us whilst simultaneously slagging us off. Thrust into Stockholm syndrome territory, we beg for more, and she continuously delivers. It feels like a treat whenever she turns her attention to us, brimming with quintessential charm as she spontaneously riffs. Her bravado is inherently funny, as is her football obsession and unhinged behaviour at weddings. Petts creates a strong sense of flow in her show, and her vocal dynamism and smooth transitions make her come across as a seasoned professional.If You Can’t Say Anything Nice is an effortless, charming watch that will keep the laughs coming. It would be difficult to argue that Chloe Petts’ show is anything other than a ‘must watch’ at the Fringe this year.

Public looks like it could be the next big musical phenomenon to have passed through the Fringe. Four complete strangers with next to nothing in common find themselves trapped in a public toilet until maintenance can let them out. What follows is a dazzlingly funny and exceptionally well written hour of human connection and interaction with the odd showstopping tune along the way.The characters all appear very real, although they all fulfil a stereotype that you might come to expect in the modern age; anti-woke business man, gen-z personification of cancel culture, etc... They’re all flawed, but charismatic, thoughtful, but selfish. A lot of the characters' personalities can also be attributed to the jaw-dropping skills of all four actors. Each performer sings and acts to a level of skill that can often be hard pressed to find at the Edinburgh Fringe and each is given their moment to shine.Annabel Marlow as Jo, Alicia Corrales as Laura, Hugo Rolland as Finley, and Andrew-Patrick Walker as Andrew all put on an incredible performance with stunning vocals. Walker especially has the tenor voice of angel, which is hilarious and mind-blowing at the same time as you come to find out more about his character.The show touches on sensitive and important topics, such as sexuality, anxiety and the way people interact with these topics. This is done deliberately carefully and sensitively, whilst also never becoming distractingly preachy. They manage this by making the most sensitive and empathetic voice also the most annoying and self-involved. The delicate care they take in making four balanced characters is to be appreciated.The music all has that contemporary, pop/rock musical theatre sound, but still has undeniable originality and each song fits perfectly into its scene. The lyrics are witty, but simple and keep the audience hooked from beginning to end. Public has great potential due to the entire production being created and beautifully formed by professionals.

As Robin Tran walks on stage, she greets us with a warm smile and soft voice. It’s something I wasn’t expecting, having just heard Wheezer as part of her walk-on music. She surprises all of us by revealing her real voice, which completely disarms her audience in The Box at Assembly. Does she want to be a voice for the transgender community? No. Does she want to be a hero for the cause? No. Robin Tran just wants to be her true, unapologetic self – and that’s what she is for the next hour.She gives us a unique insight into her world. As well as being transgender, Tran is also autistic and has ADHD. However, with these admissions, her material never paints her as a victim. Tran says from the outset, she just wants to be a shitty transgender woman (although people might look at her and see a giant baby who found a dress). We hear about her success, or lack thereof, on dating sites, her hilarious porn-watching habits (kick-started by the pandemic) and her ‘aggressively gay’ relationship. With such toxicity online nowadays regarding transgender issues, it’s incredibly refreshing to hear about Tran’s life, unfiltered and uncensored. She’s definitely someone who’s not afraid to talk about uncomfortable things. The Box becomes a safe space to laugh about some of the things we might not fully understand. Tran is in control of the room the entire time and her comic timing is some of the best I’ve seen at this year’s Fringe.Although there are some moments of real pain throughout Don’t Look At Me, Robin Tran balances this with hope. Underneath the stories of her mental health are gleaming moments of hilarity. The laughs in her show represent the warmth that she naturally gives off as a performer. As we reached the end of the moving last act, I realised that this show had made me happier than I was before I came in. Yes, the material was consistently brilliant, but the show touched me on a deeper level. I felt the hope that was so prominent as a theme in the show. It was a real honour to watch and experience this hour.

A microphone stand and a metal pole await a grinning Jay Lafferty as she takes to the stage. The crowd in Sportsmans at Gilded Balloon is excited and pumped up. For me, I feel an overwhelming sense of calm. I have so much trust in Jay as a performer, it’s as if I’ve given the Bahookie comedian free reign from the outset to make me laugh. And, by jings, did she succeed.There’s a lot out there in this year’s Fringe. As Jay astutely points out, a lot of the themes of shows this year are trauma-based. Thus, Jay has decided to make her show all about joy. Whether she’s speaking about the many difficulties of self-help diaries, her experience of ‘spinny room’ or just updating us on poor old Sandra from the morning meeting, Jay weaves an infectious sense of joy through all of her material. The foundations of the show are based upon something joyful too: bettering ourselves as human beings. Jay turned to pole-dancing as a way of changing her life and improving her mental health. If there’s something I absolutely love in general, it’s seeing someone speak about something that they’re passionate about. Although she calls herself ‘the Liz Truss of pole-dancing’, you can tell in Jay’s tone just how much it means to her (even if she injures herself in ways that she didn’t know was possible).For me, the highlight of any Jay Lafferty show is her crowd work. Members of the audience shouldn’t be nervous if Jay picks on them, they should be honoured. Throughout the hour, the crowd interactions are professional, skilful and, most importantly, hilarious. Jay’s talent as an emcee is one of the reasons why she always finishes shows with the audience on her side. Her well-written jokes and brilliant observations are one thing, but it’s her natural charm and personality that win over even the coldest of comedy hearts.Not only did I leave Bahookie laughing, I left feeling joyful and happy! Hearing some of the comments of audience members as they exited, it seems as if they did too. With Bahookie, Jay Lafferty has cemented herself as one of the strongest comedians on the circuit today. It’s a marvel how consistently brilliant her shows are.

The Umbilical Brothers (Shane and David Umbilical) are two multi-award-winning Australian actor-comics who have created a genuinely fresh and modern style of comedy show, combining their writing and performance talents with modern technology that presents limitless potential for creative design. They exploit every possible angle from the concept and push their ideas to the max, and it makes for an unmissable and unforgettable comedy experience.The stage is set with intriguing green screens and cameras, with a large screen displaying videos and livestreams at the back. You’ll want to get there nice and early, because as the audience arrives, the screen is displaying some truly hysterical one liners and sound bites to welcome you in. For minutes, this was consistently roll-on-floor-funny and, if eligible, deserves to sweep all ten places for Funniest Joke on the Fringe. What a way to start a show!The unique (probably - this is the Fringe, after all) premise involves the two stars performing a range of highly creative scenes, transporting themselves onto the streets of Edinburgh, outer space, and everywhere in between. Not only do the Umblilicals invent novel settings, but the mind-blowing special effects in the videos are – quite literally – to die for; expect to see explosions, phenomenal use of props, epic inclusions of audience members in the videos – it's truly a roller-coaster of inventiveness and everything (minus a couple of well-covered techinical hiccups which can be forgiven at the start of the festival) is seemless and played for maximum effect.While the screen is your main focus, you'll want to keep the stage in your peripherals to truly marvel at how the cinematic results are manifested from seemingly mundane activities a few feet below. Like many shows on the Fringe, Shane and David have come up with a great idea. What sets them apart from the compeition is the depths to which they have pillaged it, sparing no expense, nor a creative thought, to truly push the boundaries of what their idea can create. You won't find anything like this on the Fringe, and the high expectations created from the outset never dip for a moment. I've seen 37 shows in three days and when people ask for a recommendation - this is it.

Gripping and emotionally charged, Forests is an experimental Fringe performance not to be missed. This highly visual performance which utilises aerial acrobatics and dance to call attention to the degradation of our native forests was a truly breath-taking experience and one of vital importance in the contemporary socio-political landscape.The first thing you notice upon taking your seat at Forests is the giant, mechanical tree covered in willow branches which takes up the entire performance space, inviting the audience into the sounds and temporality of the rainforest. I enjoyed the immersive atmosphere this created for the piece, and it definitely aids in getting their message across. From the moment the lights go down over the stage, we are met with elegant dance routines and copious intricate stunts that quite literally make me gasp.From there the story turns from one of friendship and nurture of one another and the forest to a tale of destruction. One member of the cast is out to dominate the forest, acting as a metaphor for human greed and consumption, whilst the other two cast members are ambassadors of the tree, trying to save it from being felled. This tension dominates the piece, leading up to a crescendo of sounds and fighting until the tree feller succeeds and the huge metal structure snaps and crashes to the ground. There is a clever moment here where, upon its felling, origami paper birds are released from the tree’s trunk and the cast members offer their fallen bodies to the audience. Each bird is littered with messages of hope from previous audience members. At the end of the performance, we were invited to add our own messages to the birds and deliver them back for the next show. I thought this was a nice touch as it incorporated a personal narrative and connection to an issue that sometimes feels very far away in the UK. Forests is a show that promotes accessibility to an important issue with grace and passion, helping immerse its audience in a narrative that should be on all our agendas.

Starting with a single spotlight shining down like a streetlamp on a romantic Parisian street we see a man and a woman slowly dance in an intimate embrace. N.Ormes draws you into the story of a relationship which is passionate, sensual, and dysfunctional but told entirely through movement and acrobatics.With this spectacular Fringe debut, Montréal-based circus duo Agathe Bisserier and Adrien Malette-Chenier have created a provocative piece of physical theatre which challenges the gender norms of hand-to-hand acrobatics. We see the dynamism between the two performers as they throw each other around the stage with wild abandon. It’s rare enough to see women lift men in circus and it’s usually framed as a showstopper moment, yet N.Ormes sees Malette-Chenier hoisted into the air by the much smaller Bisserier as frequently as we see the reverse and she manages to make it look just as effortless.There’s also humour in the physicality of this piece. Both performers have solo moments where they quite literally get to flex their comic muscles. Malette-Chenier is a natural physical comedian and Bisserier, with her frantic acrobatics, speaks volumes on emotional frustration without saying a word.In a Fringe where you can see Yuck Circus showing that woman can be more than just pretty props and the all-female cast of Brave Space celebrating the strength of women in circus, N.Ormes holds its own. As well as the smashing of preconceptions on gender and relationships, it is also a fantastic piece of circus. There are some amazing stunts in the acrobatics; the solo and duo routines are tightly choreographed and a delight to watch.N.Orms feels like something out of a dream. This is enhanced by the dynamic and dramatic lighting design by Claire Seyller and an entrancing score by Simon Leoza. This show is not to be missed.

Hello Kitty Must Die is a musical adaptation of the Angela S. Choi novel by Gail Rastorfer and Kurt Johns, with music and lyrics by Cecilia Lin and Jessica Wu. The musical is a ruthless and unapologetic examination of stereotype, sexism and violence, comprised of an all-female East-Asian cast.Narrated in the first-person, the story follows Fiona Yu: a thirty-year-old Chinese-American who is caught between the suffocating racial and sexist prejudices of a white patriarchal society and her family’s high expectations. She is longing to destroy the harmful ‘Hello Kitty’ stereotype that infantilises Chinese women, expecting them to be quiet, obedient and sweet. Fiona suffers through her father’s arranged dates, but reconnects with an unconventional friend from her past who helps her find dark new ways to release her anger.The show is dauntless from the outset as Fiona Yu addresses her experience of shame surrounding female sexual pleasure. The cast enter the stage where they remain for the entire performance, multi-rolling as the supporting characters with the exception of Sami Ma as Fiona and Lennox T. Duong as Sean. It is wonderful to see the five carry the show on their shoulders this way, and makes for excellent storytelling. The set is minimal, with a couple of small tables and a few chairs, making the ensemble responsible for creating the environment of each scene. This is done expertly well, and the cast’s energy earns many laughs from the audience. To aid the group’s unity, they wear all black with one element of hot pink, which is simple but effective.The music is fun and punchy, with numbers that are sure to become musical theatre fan favourites. The upbeat tunes have a distinct techno-pop sound in the accompanying soundtrack and are evocative of the anger that women feel at the restrictions and judgements placed on them. The intense score wonderfully supports the message that women are allowed to be angry, and don’t have to fit the ‘Hello Kitty’ mould that they are placed in. What is particularly refreshing is how the show itself is both intersectional and feminist. It is extremely rare to see an all-Asian cast in Western musical theatre, let alone a production that promotes the destruction of harmful Asian stereotypes that has Asian women at its creative core.In the lead role, Sami Ma has an incredible stage presence and she delivers Fiona’s story with boldness and sarcasm, challenging the ‘nice girl’ stereotype that her character is so tired of. What’s more is that the entire cast have extremely impressive vocal strength and their acting is superb, comically transforming into male and female characters with absurd voices and physicalities. You relish in the talent of these women, which is especially poignant as they discuss the favouritism towards boys in China that leaves girls feeling second-rate.Hello Kitty Must Die is the musical we needed. It is incredibly entertaining and an immensely enjoyable watch. It is sure to be a stand out at this year’s Fringe.

Who amongst us hasn’t uttered the phrase, “I can’t believe you’ve done this!?” whilst laughing with a friend over a particularly embarrassing story. Ania Magliano turns this common exchange on its head, and instead her new show - I Can’t Believe You’ve Done This - is a sleek, multiple layered and is all around a brilliant example of what a comedy stand-up hour should be. Throughout this show, there is a sense of quiet triumph, after all it takes a lot of strength to overcome a bad haircut. One thing that is especially clear throughout is the amount of control that Magliano has in her delivery and tone of the material; from the outset it’s a very neatly wrapped up show and we can see the moments of recall, and how she sets different paces of throughout in order to evoke a response from us. The show is built and uses her constant vocalisation of her internal narration and commentary of events creates multiple layers and opportunities for hilarity throughout. She shocks us very early on, which slightly unbalances us but it’s part of her style in the dialogue that she begins with us. Magliano does have a tendency to become waylaid by audience interactions but this is due to her very open and talkative style, as she’s able to neatly incorporate them and make them applciable to her material. The depth and underlying machinations and structures are very measured in the series of steps that she takes us through the various steps of the show. There’s a logical progression which stems from the gentle nudging that occurs from her style of comedy and in hindsight, we can see the breadcrumbs that she sprinkles in order to lead us to her conclusion.In cellophane wrapping of gossip, the phrase I Can’t Believe You’ve Done This lulls us into assuming that we are about to watch a more shallow or lighthearted show than it actually is - instead of a comedian working through their own shortcomings through a series of embarrassing stories, Magliano uses the expression to convey a sense of achievement and a sense of peace of self that we should all strive for. A definite must-see.

Staged in George Square’s magical spiegeltent, YUCK puts a feminist spin on traditional circus, packing out the space with shrieks of laughter.Five women bring their light Aussie humour to the stage, gender-bending with moustaches and flexing their muscles in a hilarious impersonation of body-building lads. Their strength, however, is impressively real as they construct four storey formations, holding one another in complex shapes that defy gravity. In fact, they reinvent traditional ‘strong-man’ postures by standing on one another’s boobs, unafraid to show the audience how far their bodies can go.Each woman in YUCK is a clown as well as a highly skilled circus performer, bringing comedy to her unique tricks ranging from aerial silks to the gruesome ‘human blockhead’. Each scene sheds new light on the tendencies of lad culture, revealing how circus itself is normally implicated in patriarchal understandings of strength and talent. I particularly enjoyed the parody of aerial silks - a typically ‘female’ circus act - which managed to wow the audience with the performer’s dexterity, whilst mocking the typically ethereal mood of aerial acts.In contrast to traditional circus, the performers were open about the pain involved in these exercises, making the struggle into a moment of comedy. The show weaves together vignettes with seamless choreography and musings from drinking culture to menstruation. And like all the best circus shows, there is a sense of narrative that carries through the scenes, moving beyond the intrigue of the acts themselves and asking us how it feels to watch an all-female circus.As an aspiring aerial silks performer, I actually found moments of this show very moving, despite its constant calls for laughter. Although some audience members may be put off by the show’s ‘yucky’ innuendos and interest in bodily fluids, YUCK’s light touch overpowers the gory details. Clowning in this show does not tend to move beyond the scatological. However, the show does touch on something profound in simply showing that women of all shapes and sizes can make incredibly entertaining circus.

Attending John Kearns' show, The Varnishing Days, was an absolute treat that demands to be seen! Right from his entrance, he had us hooked with his distinctive and uproarious performance.Kearns' comedic style defies conventions; a flawless fusion of gut-busting laughter and razor-sharp observations. His musings on fatherhood with a one-year-old hit the sweet spot between relatability and sidesplitting hilarity, forging an instant bond with his audience.Transforming everyday items like bin bags and teatowels into comedic gold was pure genius. We found ourselves in fits of uncontrollable laughter at the simplest things, all thanks to Kearns' impeccable delivery and comedic timing.Drawing parallels between his comedy and a chef unveiling a high-end restaurant was wonderfully surreal yet incredibly entertaining. He seamlessly wove this analogy throughout, leaving us spellbound by his inventiveness and wit. Beyond the laughter, Kearns generously shared valuable insights. Unexpected yet immensely appreciated, his tips on locating Van Gogh's iconic paintings seamlessly merged humour with practical knowledge.Throughout the show, Kearns embraced the unpredictability, keeping us guessing and thoroughly entertained. His commitment and passion for delighting the audience were palpable.The Varnishing Days is an absolute gem in the comedy world, an unmissable experience for those craving an unforgettable night of laughter and entertainment. John Kearns' show is a must-see, and we eagerly await the chance to bask in his brilliance once more!

After over 30 years in the business, impressionist legend Jon Culshaw finally debuts his one-man show at the Edinburgh Fringe. And, boy, it was worth the wait! As Culshaw walked out to the Crossroads theme, I’ll confess to being concerned I might be a decade or two below his target demographic. This was swiftly allayed by a whistlestop tour of the biggest names in (mostly) politics from the past three decades and I barely had to worry about lacking familiarity with his guises for the next hour.As well as the expertly crafted voices, skits, and anecdotes, Culshaw also discusses the science behind vocal manipulation, explaining how he uses his body and voice to perform his subjects and various UK accents. Young thespians would find ample benefit in attending the show just for these insights.Aside from giving performances from many of your musical, sporting, and political heroes (spot the oxymoron), Culshaw brings to life some random and unpredictable events. There's a gangster-rapping Gordon Brown, a Spiderman and Les Miserables mashup, and Shaggy’s shopping list. As Jon seamlessly transitioned from Arctic Monkeys to George Formby, it occurred to me there really is something for everyone.Every impression is spot on, and the variety of ways in which the characters are presented means that the hour really flies by.Seeing Culshaw live, up close, is a reminder of what makes Edinburgh Fringe so special. You can see the stars you’ve watched for years showing off the skills that took them to the top of their industry. This year at Edinburgh, you can also see Jon Culshaw playing Hughie Green in Lena at the Assembly George Square. And if that’s not enough Culshaw for you, check out our interview on Broadway Baby.

Friend, fan, or foe of Gyles Brandreth, there’s probably one thing upon which all can agree: the man simply cannot stop talking. Long-suffering wife Michelle came up with the title of this show, and if anyone should be in the know about how acute his verbal diarrhoea has become, it’s her. I mean, the man holds the Guinness World Record for the longest after-dinner speech for goodness sake. Twelve and a half hours, since you ask. Without a bathroom break. But that’s another story…Look, if you’re not really into hefty name-dropping, monarchical sweaters; a nice big dollop of brown nosing; or plummy vowel sounds… then you should probably give this one a swerve. But for the sort of people who like this sort of thing? Then this is the sort of thing they will like. Nay, adore. Striding on to the stage like a slightly pissed next door neighbour off to the annual village grouse shoot; Brandreth immediately launches into his patter of apparent self-deprecation. His top half - he tells us - is pure Oppenheimer. His lower: all Barbie. Brandreth is nothing if not topical. And this, perhaps, explains the longevity of his appeal. Clearly a precocious child, he has since cleverly inveigled his way into all manner of networks, friendships, and zeitgeists over the years, and a result has the most extraordinary cache of stories about the great, the good, and the downright gruesome. And dang it, the man is funny. Really funny. Arguably more chucklesome for those of us who have actually lived though the horrors of a bakelite avocado rotary dial and heard of Sybil Thorndike; but this is not a matter of opinion. Brandreth is genuinely funny:funny. Okay, so by now, it’s a well-worn schtick we’ve all seen a million times on the telly; and who knows where the deliberately pompous alter-ego ends and the real man begins. I’m not too sure that it matters. The Box Office… and the Mexican Wave of belly laughs don’t lie. It is rare that a Fringe show speeds by without so much as one cursory glance at the time. But this one does. Rotary telephones and theatre history aside, I am probably not the target demographic, and I loved it. There are stories about his childhood, his famous friends, and an opportunity to ask questions, so every show will be different. As he urges the audience at the end to come again, I am sure that several of them may. Buying Fringe tickets may be a lottery, but this is nothing short of a sure-fire winner.

Goya Theatre’s new musical Actually, Love manages to find the sweet spot between being softly tender and incredibly rousing, as it pokes fun at and dismantles various rom-com tropes to show how harmful the genre has been for representations of love, identity and gender.A struggling musician, Alex (Sam Woof) helps Stevie (Jordan Broatch) prepare for an audition for a role in a rom-com. Together the pair expand and imagine what the film may be like, using Stevie’s notes to guide them, and exploring the various tropes like the ‘Gay Best Friend’, the meet-cute and the impact that rom-coms have on our lives.This two-hander show is beautifully simple whilst communicating universal themes and encourages to reflect on our own consumption of the rom-com genre. The action is contained within one location for the most part, as Woof and Broatch lead us through the story, keeping a running commentary throughout each scene. In this way, they point out the harm within the tropes that we’re used to and have most likely internalised at some point in our lives, showing that a rom-com is more than just a bit of fun. Actually, Love follows a similar structure to a regular rom-com - the meet cute, the big fight and reconciliation - but it quickly proves that it’s so much more. This musical genuinely tries to comment on and reclaim the genre that better fits our understanding of gender and identity, and the parallels that it creates with the stereotypical rom-com directly impacts our understanding of the genre. The rom-com within the rom-com is definitely a more unhealthy portrayal of how love ought to be, whilst the story between Alex and Stevie is more indicative of how it actually is.Woof and Broatch are an extremely talented pair, and they manage to bounce off each other’s characters, providing sources of humour and tongue-in-cheek commentary. They banter and bicker as friends do, and just in a short time we come to believe in them and their history. There’s a lot of heart and joy in their performances, and they have an uncanny ability to communicate volumes in every action or song that they do.Actually, Love is a really whole-hearted and vulnerable show, as it takes something personal in order to create and tell such a beautiful and well-developed story in such a short space of time. This musical should be the new blueprint for how we judge and write new rom-coms.

Amy Matthews’ I Feel Like I’m Made of Spiders is a stand-up comedy with an edge. The show is delivered like she’s recounting a series of steps and passing on advice to anyone who needs it.In this show, Matthews shares her inner most vulnerabilities, whilst mintaining a very dry narration throughout. It’s not a dark show, but it feels a little like Pandora’s Box. Matthews is sharing vulnerabilities that are darker shades than what a lot of people would feel comfortable sharing or admitting, but there is an element of hope of throughout, of peace.The tangents that she goes off on are wild, her Anne Boleyn gag is a great example of the rest of her comedy; witty, insanely original but with an underlying commentary about the state of the world. There is an element of hand-holding involved, where Matthews expands on an idea or a joke - executing it with multimedia - and in a short space of time, creates a series of in-jokes with us. She adds an element of theatricality in everything that she does, all of which comes full circle in the end.I Feel Like I’m Made of Spiders is a very vulnerable, honest and personal hour of comedy, where Matthews shares the details of a low point of her life, but adds levity at every point with her almost Shakespearean asides, creating a very enjoyable and funny comedy hour that should be on everyone’s Fringe list.

Oftentimes when you go to a stand-up show, a comedian will attempt or fix or comment on a problem in the world, at least by providing a series of observations that you can’t really disagree with. Ted Hill Tries and Fails to Fix Climate Change does the complete opposite; Hill centres himself and presents a series of ridiculous solutions only to be tempered by his AI assistant, Stephen. Hilarity ensues. Armed with a PowerPoint and David the polar bear, Hill creates a show of in-depth satire that provides relief from the ongoing existential issue of climate change. The comedy stems from the gap between our knowledge on the issue and Hill’s nonsensical presentation that includes solutions that are very far out of the realms of reality. In fact, there’s no room for it or snowflake liberalism here, because if we were actually to carry out Hill’s proposals, snowflakes would no longer exist. When he starts to satirise major polluters, it’s not scathing in the way we’d expect it to be, but with a good-natured joshing that subverts our expectations and sets the tone for the remainder of the show. Ted Hill Tries and Fails to Fix Climate Change is gloriously nihilistic in its approach to the issue at hand. Good-natured and light deprecatory teasing of the occasional audience member only serves to further the point that he is making, and as a recompense, an audience member gets to wear a cool hat, a fair trade. One thing that Hill needs to do is be more confident in himself. Sure, this show doesn’t solve climate change - it’s in the name - but overall, he delivers his material as if he is teasing the issue, his one-liners pack a comedy punch, and he is constantly making a joke in some form. He just needs to stop backtracking and apologising when he thinks things are going wrong - they aren’t - and own the persona that he builds up throughout the show. Stephen the AI support act deserves a special mention. His addition is genuinely hilarious, correcting Hill at every opportunity, and giving the original punchline a boost. Although it is very clear he has put a lot of effort and thought into his solutions for climate change, it’s safe to say that policy makers can safely rule these ‘fixes’ out. Whilst we are left on a rather defeatist note, it puts the problem into perspective, leaving us with one singular truth that we can use to move forward with our lives.

This is a brilliant show.You can stop reading there, if you like, because the next couple of hundred words are just going to stack up the superlatives. But if you want to know exactly why you need to add this to your ‘must-see’ list of Fringe shows this year, stay with me.The fundamental conceit of the piece is that an inclusive theatre group are making a piece about ableism and diversity.So far, so worthy. There are even captions, a BSL interpreter, exhortations to check our privilege and audio descriptions. So if, unlike the rest of us luvvies loafing about the Fringe, this is likely to bring you out in gammony hives; you might prefer to stop at home with one hand down your Y-fronts and another in a packet of Cheerios watching 1970s sitcoms on loop.And yet, this is no dry, earnest piece whose only value lies in earning you Woke Points for sitting though it. It is clever, irreverent, shrewd, naughty, caring, and very very very funny.Its charm and ingenuity lies in the sophisticated way in which the cast juggle their clear passion for equity with a keen acuity for deflating the pompous, risible or just downright cringey. Perhaps aided by the fact that ableism is one of the newer kids on the accessibility block, the jokes are fresh and original, and come thick and fast, spilling over themselves with a wonderful sense of confidence and ownership not always a given at the Fringe.It would be hard not to love this show. In fact, so delighted was one of the audience members in front of me that at many points, it was a toss up as to whether he would trigger an asthma attack, a hernia implosion, or a ventricular episode just by laughing so much.Please, just book the tickets now and go and see this show. Although arguably a niche premise, it is structured to be open for anyone with a healthy sense of humour and intellect. In fact, it really is a motherf**king pleasure.

Temper Theatre’s Home is an environmental displacement, family and imagination. The ensemble of five leads the audience through a young girl's return to her family home, the journey wrought with magical possibility and imminent danger. Imogen must address her painful past and rediscover the ever-present light inside, expressed by the whole team through dynamic movement and a rich audiovisual experience. Home is a delicately constructed tale that refuses to waste words in its richly layered and physical approach.From the beginning, the audience was bombarded by a sense of sheer terror as the evacuated sought refuge and Imogen emerged amidst sirens and a sharp spotlight. Home was already a distant memory engulfed in chaos, with a skull horse head and fragmenting bodies taking us further from any picturesque possibility. We were afforded glimpses into the family dynamics, with characters at times miming in partial synchronicity to the soundscape, communicating with tender and defined gestures that interwove with complex physical sequences. The threat of an impending flood – and its capacity to destroy all sense of stability and family history, begins to divide the nuclear unit as beautifully orchestrated arguments unfold. A broken bridge, an ongoing conversation, children crawling and exploring through magical, untouched wetlands. Hints of meaning emerge, and then are wiped way by fresh emotional streams that capture memory as never quite complete.The company’s exploration of youthful hedonism as a means of escape, juxtaposed the pits of alcoholism, was especially moving. The white snake-like puppet protruding from Imogen’s nostril served as an apt symbol of mental illness, and I loved the way it was reappropriated as a source of joy and creativity in the final stages of the show. Imogen’s desire to forget the past and embrace a pleasure-oriented present, contrasted to her father’s insatiable grief and worsening addiction, captured a relationship of care and obligation that was really heartbreaking.Home felt complete accompanied by an exceptional set and entrancing score. Objects emerged from a perpetually smoky darkness, disappearing again at the hands of a seamless ensemble. The ancestral home, and the way in which it ultimately split, coupled with the sound of pouring rain and thunder, sat at the heart of this story. It was striking to peek into the inner workings of this family through open windows, and watch the structure flipped into various unstable forms, both evoking euphoria and a profoundly naturalistic terror. Amidst an exceptional soundscape, the use of lighting to portray Imogen’s deeply anxious experience of her new home evinced a sadness in the room, while the walls closed in on her as the spotlight focussed.The circularity to this plot transformed the experience of intense shared suffering into hope. Amidst the awful effects of climate change and loss, the magical forest of childhood and imagination lies waiting to be explored again.

In a world where queer characters are often two-dimensional, Cowboys And Lesbians pokes brilliant fun at romantic cliches while creating a sparklingly camp coming-of-age romcom.Nina and Noa are 17-year-old best friends wondering why intrigue and romance only ever happen to other people. Their mockery of tropes about young love and girlhood evolves into a fabulous second narrative unfolding in front of the painted tarpaulin backdrop of Every-Brokeback-Oklahoma-Mountain-Prairie-Ever. It’s a wonderfully camp world populated by mysterious cowboys, moody teenagers and outlandish scenes of peril, and a starting point for the girls to explore their own fantasies and desires.The play evokes a very queer kind of stuckness: fear of pursuing our own happy ending, uncertainty about what that would even look like. As it satirises romantic stereotypes, it also explores the real-life stasis they perpetuate: where “sex-dreams” are about brown jumpers, and “everyone’s a bit queer” becomes a bit of an excuse to avoid expressing or celebrating our queerness to the people we are closest to. Indeed, there is so much unexplored romantic tension between our heroines that you ‘could’ create an entire parallel cowboy universe within it. Billie Esplen’s lively, at times lyrical, writing spans the tensions between these worlds and their characters with ease. It has all of the laser-sharp back-and-forth and emerging romantic tension of Austen and Ephron, but in a voice entirely its own, telling stories that I recognise.This sparkling dialogue really sings in the hands of a fabulous cast. Georgia Vyvyan perfectly captures Noa’s sweetness and enthusiasm, while Julia Pilkington is completely believable as a witty, slightly closed-off Nina. They are immediately realistic and likeable and smart and sardonic: with the brassy exterior and naïve unsureness that reads completely believably. They are both able to transition from naturalistic awkward hugging to over-the-top flirtation at the drop of a hat, while communicating the subtle connections between real-life and fantasy. A standout performance is Pilkington’s show-stopping cowboy: slick, sexy, sidesplittingly funny. As the rosiness of Cowboyland fades to greyer lighting, heavy coats become comfortable yet restricting places to retreat to, really grounding the difference in movement and blocking between the play’s two worlds.All of the show’s elements hang together beautifully to create a queer microcosm resplendent with the angst and charm and silliness of its teenage protagonists. We laughed, we gasped, we completely rooted for Noa and Nina. There was something indescribably joyful, too, about catching glimpses of myself or my friends in their performances and knowing that the people around me were also recognising their experiences: “very real” as a fellow audience member whispered. Queer coming of age is so often glibly touched on, or else portrayed solely as a struggle, that seeing it explored and performed with such vividness and precision was a revelation. 17-year-old me didn’t realise she was missing out on a romcom like this; perhaps that’s exactly Esplen’s point.

There is wonder here in Edinburgh, and it is being ignored. There is beauty and there is fun and there is the kind of hour that, in the words of one of my favourite films "reaches in and puts a string of coloured lights round your heart". It has been 22 years since I sat in a Fringe audience and felt what I felt here today. This is the kind of writing, and performing, and skill and joy and passion that, in this combative, destructive world, we almost never have the privilege to experience.We are, says our fairy friend, “all in the process of becoming”.This spell-binding hour is an other-worldly allegory which, while as seemingly light and delicate as gossamer lace, carries the stories and the hopes of all those who have never felt free to 'become' much less come out to be acknowledged and, even, loved.It might look fey, it might look simplistic, it might look even ridiculous, but it is the kind of hour that can change your world, given a chance.In a time when it seems that the best we can do is shout, and hate, and tweet, and threaten, when we are all about divisions, binary 'you are either for me or against me' divisions, this hour should be seen everywhere. Everywhere.I have always thought of theatre, any theatre, as just make-believe, sometimes aggrandised by set and costumes and whatever else it takes.More important to those who do it than those who see it. Celeste Lecesne creates a magic bubble, that, in the hour, holds the whole audience, but, given the opportunity, could hold the world. It won't. But they are starting. As they pop backwards and forwards through the fourth wall, Celeste makes you believe you can become.Go. Just go. Celeste Lecesne has all the stars I never gave, and the red pencil to make them matter the right way. Poof! may be the loveliest hour of your life.

CHOO CHOO! (Or... Have You Ever Thought About ****** **** *****? (Cos I Have)) is a brightly coloured exploration of mental health and intrusive thoughts in a way that everyone regardless of age can understand and learn about. Written by Nye Russell Thompson and directed by Nerida Bradley, this show is an incredibly accessible, step-by-step introduction and guide to intrusive thoughts, as this show encourages us to reflect on the impact of intrusive thoughts on our own experiences and relationships. Two best friends, Nye (Thompson) and Duncan (Duncan Hallis) spend their days singing and playing games with each other. Whilst they are in the midst of preparing for their holiday, Nye starts becoming affected by intrusive thoughts, and Duncan must find a way to help his friend. CHOO CHOO! (Or... Have You Ever Thought About ****** **** *****? (Cos I Have)) finds a way to discuss this sensitive topic in a thoughtful and playful manner, and gives us a starting point on how we can support our friends. The style that this show takes is one of a children’s programme and uses the simplicity of this form to explain a very complex topic, using the lights, set and costumes to create a vaguely innocent atmosphere to tackle this subject in a way that everyone can understand it. The form that this show takes allows for a gentle and gradual discussion of how intrusive thoughts can impact someone’s life and how we can identify them.Thompson and Hallis have an uncanny ability to play off each other, and the chemistry that they have onstage drives the show forward. They run with the comedy gags as they as the come, committing to the bit as far as it will take them to maintain the light, comedic aesthetic of the show whilst delving into a very heavy and difficult subject to portray and discuss sensitively. Through this show, the pair attempt to normalise how we approach intrusive thoughts specifically, taking baby steps in order to take the conversation up further. Their contrasting personas not only provide an ample opportunity for comedy and humour, but incredibly touching moments of support where the friendship between the pair really shines through. The marked difference and noticeable decline in Thompson’s demeanour impacts the atmosphere of the show considerably, really setting the tone for each moment in the show.This show gives us the tools and building blocks that we need to identify intrusive thoughts and how we can be there for our friends when they themselves have them. This show reminds us that we’re not alone, and that help is there if we need it.

The Chatham House Rule is an agreement which allows those in power to share ideas with impunity: the discussion itself can be reported upon, but names are protected. Designed to facilitate wider discussion without impinging on reputation; it is a sober, thoughtful, Establishment principle… whose secrecy is just begging to be ripped apart.And so it is, in this frantic, immediate, one-man show which sees ‘Host’ being inducted into the rarified atmosphere of a Chatham House Rules event. Where exquisitely pseudonymmed characters - ‘Diana’s Balding Son’, ‘Aggressively Organised’ – mingle at an elite conference. Where Host is employed to curate a cloakroom of Mulberry macs and Birkin bags. To point subserviently towards the loo. To smile at the hands which lit the fuse that burned the country to the ground. A conference which appears to have been convened purely to highlight the fact that we protect the Establishment not just for their own security, but so that we plebeians don’t ever realise how very myopic they actually are. Which probably amounts to the same thing. This might even be the time to mention that one of the pseudonyms is a Fringe regular, and I know this because she stayed in adjacent digs to me for about six Augusts in a row. But I won’t go into further details, because that would might break the rule. I hope she sees the show. I have a sneaking feeling she’d adore it. Louis Rembges is Host: a pink haired fire-cracker with a talent for memes and a tongue which can puncture pomposity at fifty paces. And much of the charm of the piece lies in the contradictions within both character and situation: for this is a piece at once highly surreal and yet utterly grounded in the stark reality of being stranded in a grotty Travelodge with a menacing carpet. It is niche and yet utterly global. It is doubled over with pain; and shot through with hilarity. In short, it is as complex as each of us is: replete with all of our fury, humour, damage, grief and optimism. The script is quite beautifully written: alternating between vibrant linguistic gymnastics, pop media references, and always returning to the angry, poetic pulse which beats at is heart. It is rare to find a text so exquisitely crafted, allowing the character and his situation to breath with a frustrated intelligence which is wholly endearing. Plot spoilers here would indeed spoil the experience for prospective punters; much of the delight of this theatrical pick ‘n’ mix emanating from the originality and unexpected nature of the piece. Suffice it to say that this is a glorious treat for anyone who has ever loved, lost, laughed, or indeed just needed that piquant buzz of social media affirmation.

The works of Tennessee Williams rank as some of the greatest and most iconic plays ever written. The images he forged are so powerful that they continue to cause dramatic and emotional ripples decades on; and the names of his most famous characters are loaded with the complex psychology they were gifted by their creator. The delicacy and raw truth with which Williams crafted the fragility of the human condition continues to provoke an exquisite and intricate sadness: the recurring themes of forbidden love, rejection, frustration, betrayal and mental imbalance seeming to confirm the theory that he explored many of the difficulties of his own life through his scripts.Whether this was a form of catharsis, or an opportunity to educate his audience matters little: his legacy remains heady with an emotionally heavy weight that permeates theatre history.One of the major themes that Williams returned to time and again was that of mental health: a brave and potentially poisonous box office choice at a time when it was considered deeply shameful to admit living with such a condition. Famously, the character of Blanche DuBois cast such a long shadow over its most famous actress – Vivien Leigh – that she suffered one of her not infrequent breakdowns as a result of over-identifying with the faded and damaged Southern Belle she played onstage and screen.It is thought that Williams (born Thomas Lanier Williams) based elements of Blanche’s personality on his older sister Rose; who was also a model for the shy and lonely Laura (The Glass Menagerie) and the terrified and traumatised Catherine (Suddenly Last Summer). And in this powerful new play by The Style Theatre, we can see glimpses of each of these women in the sad ghost of Rose we are introduced to in her care home towards the end of her life.Anne Kidd gives a stellar performance as central characer Rose, a woman whose own mother authorised the lobotomy that promised to still her schizophrenic outbursts and socially unacceptable ‘imaginative’ ways. It was a brutal operation which Tom deemed to have ripped away Rose’s soul, and it would torment him until the end of his days. He obsessively revisited his old diaries to berate his own lack of understanding; used handsome theatre royalties to pay for Rose’s hospital care; and of course, immortalised her troubled soul for posterity in script after heart-aching script.Kidd captures the older Rose’s confused state with subtlety and sensitivity; and there is a horrible poignancy in the wide-eyed vibrancy she displays in her earlier years. There is super support from Helen Katamba multi-rolling as the big-hearted Nurse Felicia and the Williams matriarch worn down by a disappointing husband and an unforgiving life; trying to do the right thing without knowing what on earth that might be.Aron Dochard plays Tom with a discomfiting intensity which evokes the circular burden of anger and impotence he has been forced to navigate on behalf of his sister. He is effective too as Rose’s doomed love interest and a series of doctors who prioritise the ‘quiet life’ strategy above patient care.Clare Cockburn has written a beautifully researched and well-loved piece, which is directed with empathy and sincerity by Patrick Sandford. The whole piece thrums with a Southern Gothic suffocation made all the more smothering by the knowledge that we are witnessing a true story. That of Rose herself, but also of Tom: bravely allowing others acknowledge to their own demons through his work, but never quite absolving himself of his own.

Milo Edwards' comedy is a little like marmalade, but love it or hate it, he is nevertheless a great comedian. Sentimental is the best and clearest example so far of his spark and inherent talent for comedy.Distancing himself from Dickensian characterisations – although Sentimental probably falls somewhere closer to Tennessee Williams – Edwards pushes his abilities as a performer to their fullest extent, adding impressions, prop comedy and an entourage to really hit home the overall messaging in his show about the kindness of strangers and finding the inherent goodness in people. Interspersing stories about his family with observations on British society and politics, Edwards fully explores feelings of nostalgia and sentimentality, and the various way that they are expressed, both positive and negative. His dry tone and off the cuff interjections – that become a running joke – are extremely dark to the point where ‘gallows humour’ doesn’t really cover what he’s doing. Throughout his show, he signposts his material and – whilst admittedly helpful – the purpose behind this part of his material makes the rest of the show funnier as a result, in one of best examples of British spirit.As dark as this show gets, there are equally light-hearted moments which balance them out. In Sentimental, Edwards adapts his onstage persona, not enough to completely change our expectations for this show, but enough to create some chinks in his comedic arsenal that is usually entirely made up of the gap between realism and nihilism. Throughout this show, Edwards pursues avenues of thought and logic right to the end, not balking at the conclusions that these paths might lead him to. Eventually it becomes rather clear that despite this being a stand-up show, Edwards’ fixes are not that far out of the realms of reality from where we are, and if they would be put into practice, not only would he be right but also just something it would be pretty interesting to see happen. In Sentimental, Edwards has really found his voice as a comedian.We leave Sentimental with as close to a warm, fuzzy, hopeful feeling as we can get in this crazy world, more secure in the knowledge that we can always rely on the kindness of strangers.

This is how theatre should be. Difficult. Challenging. Delicate. Beautiful. Haunting. Leaving you with an ache that you cannot reconcile for minutes, hours, days after the event. The stage is busy; nondescript white box shelves lining the back wall; trollies; instruments; microphones. As the piece progresses and every single item is utilised in a highly imaginative and deliberate way you start to appreciate the finesse of the company. The opening introduction from Andres Velasquez is charming and informal; and we are led, with increasing intensity to the final, awful message of the play. One cannot help but contrast Velasquez’s face at the close of the piece to the beginning and ponder the death of his wide smile. Perhaps its own tribute to the gravity of the subject matter and the responsibility to those it seeks to honour; perhaps a reminder that full recovery from intimate knowledge of such events may never be possible. Ephemeral Ensemble use testimonies of Latin American refugees and migrants who have suffered under authoritarian regimes to construct this evocative piece which continues to resonate with the audience long after we have left the theatre. With little reliance on dialogue, and some extraordinary moments of physical theatre; we are guided through the awful reality of forensic archaeologists uncovering the remains of those who who have stood up against human rights abuses. The international company also comprises Eyglo Belafonte and Louise Wilcox who flow and mesh about the stage with an almost unbearable fusion of lightness of technique with weight of understanding. Lighting designer Josephine Tremelling traverses the stage with the performers; creating effects with an interactive immediacy which suggests the very deliberate choices made by those in command. When water washes a portrait and is mingled with drops of blood, we are inevitably reminded that someone, somewhere made that decision to cut off the life of another. Alex Paton’s stunning range of musical underscoring helps to drive the narrative and signpost our locations with exquisite precision; and illuminates one extraordinary puppetry scene which is easily one of the most dramatically articulate and emotionally redolent things I have ever seen on stage. Director Ramon Ayres has created an immaculately wrought experience with care, love and respect evident in every moment. It is apt for a piece which seeks to sustain the legacy of those who have been silenced to continue resonating with the audience long after we have left the theatre... and this one is sure to prove difficult to forget. It is not often that we get the chance to see a piece of theatre at once so utterly beautiful and deeply purposeful; and it is no exaggeration to suggest that watching this will leave a weighty impression on you heart. If you see one show at the Fringe this year; make it this one.

Kieran Hurley's Adults was like being taken for a 1 hour and 20 minute gripping joyride, which consisted of belly laughs and thrills throughout. I loved every minute of it, despite some uncomfortably funny moments.Adults reveals the stark reality of the adult worker industry. And no, not the 9-5 type adult industry (Go see Mike Judge's 1999 flick — Office Space if that's your thing). But the ladies (and men) of the night type adult worker industry (think Scorsese's Taxi Driver; only without De Niro, Judie Foster and Scorsese — but set in modern day Edinburgh, with iPhones and fully consenting adults). A comedic (although sometimes grim) behind-the-scenes look into what goes on the behind closed doors of a brothel in the heart of Edinburgh.Hurley's comedic brilliance is evident, and in full effect here in Adults — the pacing was just right. A fast-paced open, leading to a thrilling edge of your seat second act, which effortlessly paved the way for the tie-it-all-together grand finale. Some of Hurley's finest work indeed.A great mix of characters. However, Conleth Hill's performance really stole the show. With perfect on-beat comedic timing, and a powerful stage presence to match, his vast experience really shines forth in Adults. And you'd expect nothing less from the 2x Olivier award winner. He had the audience in the palm of his hand tonight, waiting and anticipating his every line, set-up and punchline. Great writing from Hurley, GREAT performance from Hill.Dani Heron's performance wasn't too bad either. A stellar performance from Heron, she really knocked it out the park, especially with her two minute long tongue-twisting monologue tearing into the dearly beloved Thomas the Tank Engine. She really embodied the hardened, yet troubled archetype, with a tough exterior and sensitive core (and a razor sharp tongue). A dominating, striking, and heavy hitting performance from Dani Heron — with strawberry yazoo and a dildo on top. An underrated (and understated) performance by Anders Hayward, I'd say, and not a role that many people his age would've taken. He showed great confidence. This is only my second show at the Fringe 2023, although when I first watched The Shawshank Redemption back in 2013 (Yes, I was a bit late), I told a friend that it was the best movie that I'd ever seen. Now I'm not comparing Kieran Hurley's Adults to The Shawshank Redemption, by any means, but if you get the chance definitely go see it.

Watching Dan Tiernan’s Going Under taught me the distinct difference when reviewing comedy between using language like ‘laugh out loud’ or ‘hysterical’ and laughing so much that it hurts, because there was a point in this show where I genuinely went ‘ow’ because of how much my ribs hurt from laughing.This show is all encompassing, as Tiernan moves deftly between subjects mixing self-deprecation with very astute observations which range between commentary on Jehova’s Witnesses or having an owl tattooed on your back.It’s insane to think of this show as his debut, because his aptitude for comedy seems very seasoned as if he’s been coming to the Fringe for years, both in the jokes that he makes and his easy repartee with members of the audience. Tiernan shows such skill in navigating between his jokes, audience interactions and improvised remarks, and part of it is that he knows how to control the room, stopping hecklers right in their tracks. He is a genuinely funny person for whom comedy comes naturally, as is clear from the response that he is able to evoke. Tiernan’s delivery is very charming and friendly, and part of it comes from how he put us at ease right from the start. The jokes are very clear, and the laughter that comes out of us is almost involuntary.Going Under is a very clever show that finds the light-heartedness in the dark. Dan Tiernan is going to be the newcomer to watch this year.

Prepare to be blown away by an evening of non-stop laughter as Mat Ewins takes the stage in his sensational show, Mr TikTok. Ewins proves to be an endlessly inventive comedic powerhouse, leaving us gasping for air with his innovative and hilarious performance.From the very start, Ewins captivates us with his ingenious use of technology. Ad-lib chatbots and impromptu chat messages add an interactive and uproarious dimension to the show. The phone hacking intro is an audacious entrance to the world of Mr TikTok, setting the stage for the rollercoaster of laughter that's about to ensue.Ewins masterfully navigates the realm of heckling, turning it on its head by involving our own phones. The synchronised messages on a keyboard and screen are a stroke of genius, delivering punchlines that leave the room in stitches.But it doesn't stop there. Mat Ewins delves into the bizarre and brilliant, conjuring an alternative universe where baked beans have their own religions and history. This creative concoction is nothing short of comedic gold, showcasing Ewins' unique ability to craft humour out of the most unexpected concepts.Ewins is the type of comedian who could effortlessly go viral with his technological inventions. A man drawing the Mona Lisa with his testicles? Yes, that's just the tip of the iceberg in the whimsical wonderland he creates. Even though distractions momentarily took him off track, Ewins proved his true mastery by seamlessly steering the ship back on course.A testament to his comedic brilliance, Mat Ewins handled an unexpected exit from two audience members with grace and wit. Their misunderstanding of the show's concept was their loss, as they missed out on a masterclass of comedy by a true craftsman.In Mr TikTok, Mat Ewins delivers a show that's not just hilarious, but also a technological marvel. His ability to weave humour and innovation is unparalleled, making every moment of the performance a delightful surprise. If you're seeking a night of laughter that's both inventive and side-splitting, Mr TikTok is an absolute must-see. Five stars are simply not enough to capture the sheer genius and impact of Mat Ewins' comedic tour de force.

Tom Ballard’s It Is I is a bubbly and smugly riotous hour full of puns and political commentary. Ballard doesn't seem to be content to only do a stand-up hour, and by including a self-deprecatory twist throughout his material, he goes from great to exceptional. It Is I starts as an update on Ballard’s own life, before moving onto the state of the world where Ballard pokes fun at how hopeless and unthinkable it all seems.One of Ballard’s talents is that through his observationist style, he is able to keep the energy in the room up no matter how depressing the truth behind some of his material is. This satire of privatisation and deregulation mocks the establishment as thoroughly as it possibly can. As It Is I moves from the political to personal, it really nails home its own anti-monarchist commentary about privilege and the mourning of such privilege. Ballard finds original and thought-provoking sources of humour that comes from his own application and relation to the issues that he discusses and makes fun of. This not only giving us something new to think about as we leave his show but also a new sense of appreciation for what a stand-up hour can encompass.When dealing with an obnoxious heckler, Ballard shows a real degree of grace and good-humour in shutting them down, somehow managing to initially turn an annoyance into a source of ridicule and mockery by working it into his material. When this heckling persists and becomes rather nasty, Ballard firmly shuts it down, and clearly defines the line between funny and offensive.It Is I is a fantastic political hour, and provides a shadenfreude-esque outlet. Ballard has a true knack for providing creative political commentary in his stand-up. The only real option for us after this show is to go and read his book, if only to keep reliving his rallying spirit and good humour.

Who lives in a pineapple on a tour of the UK? Well it’s Nickelodeon's The SpongeBob Musical based on the cartoon series by Stephen Hillenberg. This musical is the result of a collaborative effort of artists such as John Legend, Panic! At The Disco and David Bowie, with additional lyrics and music by Jonathan Coulton and Tom Kitt respectively. Under the direction of Tara Overfield Wilkinson this musical keeps in the spirit of the cartoon whilst creating its own tornado of hyperactivity and joyful spirit in the auditorium. Travel under the sea to Bikini Bottom where SpongeBob SquarePants (Lewis Cornay) lives in a pineapple and spends his day working at the Krusty Krab and hanging out with his BFFF Patrick Star (Irfan Damani). His routine is interrupted when Mount Humongous threatens to erupt, destroying Bikini Bottom. Together with Patrick, Sandy Cheeks (Chrissie Bhima) - the town’s local scientist and resident squirrel - SpongeBob races to save the town whilst Sheldon J. Plankton (Divina de Campo) uses the crisis to try and enact one of their evil schemes. There’s a lot of nostalgia whilst watching The Spongebob Musical, but with Overfield Wilkinson’s direction this doesn’t overspill into sadness or longing, but rather a positive bittersweetness as we’re able to enjoy a tenet of our childhood media consumption with new eyes. There’s something in this musical for everyone from its high stakes plot to the odd political satirical comment amongst the vibrancy of Bikini Bottom and its denizens. Every effort has been taken to recreate Spongebob Squarepants onstage, and the level of detail in every aspect of this musical is astonishing to the point where it appears as if the creative team has gone out of their way to trigger and lead us down memory lane to when we ourselves may have watched Spongebob’s antics. If it’s in the cartoon, the creative team have recreated it onstage. The best example of this is Ben Harrison’s sound design which adds to the overall comedy in The Spongebob Musical exponentially. The live-sound effects play an important role in incorporating more cartoonishness in the musical in the light-hearted relief that it brings. Steve Howell’s set design finds a way to be lightweight and easily manoeuvrable -necessary for a tour - but also takes into account The Spongebob Musical’s staging which scenes more often than not need to be able to accommodate the entire cast. It balances its cartoonish nature with functionality, drawing inspiration from the cartoon as far as realistic methods allow. Like the plot, the set incorporates current issues, just enough to provide food for thought. This is best exemplified in the volcano - Mount Humongous - whose plastic bottles which does closely resemble the bumpy and uneven terrain of an actual volcano under Ben Bull’s lighting design. However, after noticing this detail it is difficult to shake the all too possible implication that even Bikini Bottom did not escape the damage humanity has inflicted on the environment. It’s a great example of the multiple layers of meaning in every part of this musical and how it caters to everyone; on one hand it’s the Spongebob Squarepants that we all know and love but there’s an additional maturity directed to fans of the cartoon who have grown up. There are different levels of ingenuity in Sarah Mercadé’s design because in addition to just dressing the characters in their iconic outfits, but also go so far as to build the sea creatures themselves. She keeps to the spirit of each character’s outfits whilst adding her own twist, whether it’s adding a small detail in the form of an additional pattern or just the fabric she uses, adding additional layers of appreciation and understanding of these characters.This musical is incredibly character-driven and the cast’s awareness and execution of each role is impeccable and precise. We really couldn’t ask for a better Spongebob than Cornay. He truly becomes the character, not only from his mannerisms or affected voice, but the way he just radiates optimism throughout the show, even during (Just a) Simple Sponge, an ‘I Want’ song that really shows the depths that this musical is willing to dive into.The Spongebob Musical is a love-letter to the source material which is clear in every inside joke and callback - both the actors and the creative team care so much and have put in a lot of effort to do the cartoon justice. It’s the perfect marriage between musical and cartoon; there’s a clear utilisation of musical theatre trope and style whilst still embracing the whimsical nature of the source material. It’s hard to fully describe the feelings of delight and reminiscence this musical evokes, but it’s safe to say that with this tour, Overfield Wilkinson has ushered Spongebob Squarepants into a new age.

A few hours before I was meant to see Andrew Stein’s Disruption, the New York Times posted an article about how the Biden administration is relying on AI companies to self-regulate themselves. Apart from the many examples of why this is a very bad idea, after watching this show, it’s hard not to feel a genuine fear at the implications of this, especially when taking into consideration what we know now about tech companies and how they use our data. Let’s just say that by the interval, I was debating at a minimum deleting my social media accounts.This show demonstrates the threat that AI presents and the lack of control and freedom that comes with its monetisation. The story starts with Nick (Oliver Alvin-Wilson) asking his group of friends to invest in his new algorithm, but then uses the difficulties each couple is having- Paul (Nick Read) and Jill’s (Mika Simmons) marriage, Barry (Kevin Shen) and Mia’s (Rosanna Hyland) wavering on whether to buy a brownstone and Suzie (Debbie Korley) and Ben’s (Nathaniel Curtis) differing stances on having children - to both teach and use the AI to sway their lives in a particular direction. Disruption showcases the debates and various arguments for and against the prevalence and increasing use of AI in our lives, using the thin veneer of utilitarianism to expose the murky depths of its ethical implications.Part of the tension that Stein and Hersh Ellis’ direction creates comes from how we relate this play to our own context and consumption of media. Most of us will be aware of a fictional or non-fictional monetization of hubris, like Jurassic Park and the OceanGate Titan submersible among others. And what Stein has pinpointed is that AI is just another disruption that follows the same pattern as the previous examples; that is, individuals asking the question whether they could rather than should. It's an incredibly intense and atmospheric show. Stein has written a very thorough drama, always giving us enough information to instil doubt as events unfold, scattering throwaway bits of dialogue that circle back at a later moment. It’s a naturalistic piece, so once we buy into something as mundane as the relationships dynamics of the characters, we are ready to believe in the applications of reality in the dystopian sci-fi plot. From the very beginning, Disruption has a quality that makes it appear more like a film than a play; there is just something very familiar and cinematographic about it. The entire creative team plays a role in maintaining this effect as a collective, with the separate entities blending into a technically intense moment. It is one of those shows where everything just fits incredibly well, both in bringing the characters to life and of furthering the believability of the show. Robbie Butler’s lighting design, Asaf Zohar’s composition and sound design and Leanne Pinder’s movement create these moments that appear to be a halfway point between naturalism and stylisation. Ellis uses the understated luxury and monochrome of Zoe Hurwitz’s set to create these distinct cutaway scenes, even though the actors themselves are in very close proximity, occasionally remaining on the stage.The cast really peel back the layers contained in these characters and they do bring them to life. Their portrayals are incredibly natural, and each character becomes real to us. Never have I had such a visceral dislike of a character before Alvin-Wilson’s portrayal of Nick. He shows the complexities and competing motivations that Nick has, but there is just something incredibly slimy about Alvin-Wilson’s manipulation as the character. Many times, I found myself actively rooting against him whenever he came onstage. This role really showcases Alvin-Wilson’s talent, in that he is able to provoke such an extreme reaction. Disruption is an aptly named show that is a disruption in itself, as it most definitely disrupts our sense of calm and peace. It’s just incredibly unsettling to the point where we can’t stop thinking about the level of detail in the plot that creates implications within the subtext of the play; we just don’t know enough to be completely certain of the reality that the characters exist in. It’s not all wrapped up in a bow, and Stein uses that feeling of discomfort to force us to seriously think about - not only Disruption itself - but of a future with artificial intelligence.

This revival of Ken Ludwig’s celebration of George and Ira Gershwin’s music takes us on a full-throttle ride through American classics and culture, brightening up the stage like the 4th of July. Directed and choreographed by Susan Stroman, Crazy for You is a light, witty, and grand show that tap dances right into our hearts.Set during the Great Depression of the 1930s, Crazy for You focuses on Bobby Child (Charlie Stemp), a bank clerk with a desire to be a professional dancer, who is sent on business to Deadrock, Nevada. Whilst there he teams up with Polly Baker (Carly Anderson) in a last-ditch attempt to save the town’s theatre from foreclosure. What follows is a combination of spirited high-jinks, sweeping musical numbers, and dance routines that conjure up memories of Hollywood’s Golden Age. Stroman taps into the slapstick humour of the show, and the cast never miss an opportunity to play out a moment of ridiculousness. Her choreography mimics the songs, letting the music take the lead, showing a rationality and appreciation for the Gershwins’ music. It’s a fantastic display of classical ballroom dancing and intricacy of footwork, especially in the large-scale, tap-dancing numbers. The creative team reflect the spirit of the Golden Age.  Ken Billington’s lighting indicates when moments take place in reality or in Bobby’s imagination. Beowulf Boritt’s scenic design drops starkly contrast the show’s two locations: draping Deadrock in corrugated iron extending to the wings, making it appear brighter than New York. The supporting cast dance with incredible precision and clarity. Each number is a whirlwind of activity. But where to start describing Stemp’s sheer talent? His footwork is incredibly nimble. At times, he seems to glide across the stage. To call Stemp a modern-day Fred Astaire wouldn’t fully encapsulate his sheer talent for dance. His raw, natural ability shows he is a once-in-a-generation dancer, without need of comparison. And he has an easy chemistry with Polly Anderson's clear-voiced love interest, Polly.Crazy For You was a phenomenon when it first opened on Broadway in 1992 and it remains one today. It’s the very best of 20th century culture right here in the 21st, made from what the American Dream should be.

Playwright Philip Ridley seems to be enjoying a resurgence at the moment; not that he has ever been out of fashion. This year we’ve had The Poltergeist (2020) at the Arcola Theatre and Leaves of Glass (2007) at the Park Theatre and. Now we have Vincent River (2000) at Greenwich Theatre directed by James Haddrell, the venue's Artistic Director. Commenting on the play, Haddrell observes, “Philip Ridley’s voice is unique in theatre, fusing the heart-breaking realism of a contemporary dramatist with the symbolism of a visual artist and the lyricism of a poet.” Ridley is massively supportive towards companies putting on his plays and here, as elsewhere, he has made himself available for advice, consultation and comment. Haddrell points out that it’s clearly a thrill and obvious bonus “to have Philip on hand both in and out of the rehearsal room to make sure we tell the story the way he intended”.The action of this two-hander takes place in realtime, a device that heightens the impact of the already intense and emotionally charged dialogue. Anita (Kerrie Taylor) at the age of 53 has just changed address and a few boxes of possessions are scattered around the floor of the lifeless sitting room in Dagenham, where the windows are still whitewashed and the only furniture is a dull sofa, a dark carpet a small drawer unit with a lamp and an occasional table. It’s probably the most lifeless set Alice Carroll has ever been asked to design, but it reflects how very little is left in Anita’s life and dramatically ensures that there is nothing to distract from the centrality of the two characters and their conversation.She’s moved following the ghastly death of her son in a vicious attack in some local toilets; a homophobic hate crime that has left her dazed, not just because of the loss of her teenage boy but because she was not aware of his homosexuality. Added to this is the mystery of the boy who was watching her house and movements and who has followed her to the new place and is now standing in front of her. Neither knows what to expect from the looming confrontation that proves to be movingly uncomfortable for them and dramatically gripping for us.Bursting with bitterness, resentment and grief, Taylor tears into the young lad with a tirade of questions, like an aggressive investigating officer or cross-examining barrister. Alice wants to who he is, what he knows about her son and why he’s not just come straight to her instead of hanging around for days. The air is electric. Davey (Brandon Kimaryo) is aged just 17; desperately nervous, hesitant and unwilling just to blurt out everything he knows. The pair adapt to each other. Alice mellows with the help of several gins; Davey becomes more relaxed and is forced to join her in a gin. “I don’t drink,” he protests. “You do now,” she retorts. She is in complete control of the situation as gradually she ekes out his story which he unfolds in a measured drip-feed of information about himself and her son. Now there are moments of lightness and understanding as the humanity of each comes to the fore.The chemistry between Taylor and Kimaryo palpable. The casting is inspired. Taylor went to drama school but left a month early to go on tour. Then she secured a part in Brookside, did another play and ended up in Hollyoaks which, along with other TV roles kept her busy for years. In fact she went for 23 years without setting foot on a stage. After braving an audition she was given the lead in A Taste of Honey at the now closed Oldham Coliseum. As she observes, “... it’s sometimes quite hard when people see you as a soap actor to get seen for theatre”. After that she moved on to perform in the Caryl Churchill collection at Greenwich Theatre and then the Theatre's Pinter this April. “I’ve now gone back to my first love,” she says, and that love shows, as does the wealth of experience in character portrayal those soaps gave her. As Anita, she embodies the character’s emotional turmoil and creates a wealth of contrasts from the tyrannical to the tender; from the mother grieving at the loss of her only son to the woman finding strength in stories from the past. Indeed, the play is a masterpiece of the redemptive power of storytelling; of letting out all the bottled-up baggage and finding release.Kimaryo knows just how to deliver this. Still in his last term at Guildford School of Acting credit must go to Haddrell for bravely casting a newbie in such a massively demanding role, but apparently Kimaryo’s audition left him in no doubt about his ability to carry off the role. His judgement has been vindicated. Traversing the emotional spectrum, Kimaryo has a presence and delivery that should come from years of experience, but he is clearly comfortably at home expressing the emotional turmoil that Davey is experiencing. He renders the opening-up of his character to perfection and masters a monologue, that runs to pages and would be a challenge for any actor, with consummate ease and compelling conviction. His is a stunning debut performance.Ridley’s writing combined with Haddrell’s direction and the performances of Taylor and Kimaryo make for a captivating and emotionally draining ninety minutes that evokes a profound and melancholy, “Wow”. Prepare to be immersed in an absorbing tragedy and be rewarded with the very best that live theatre has to offer.

Across the street from Moulin Rouge lies a slice of understated elegance that is Brasserie Zedel. A short flight of stairs down, lies Crazy Coqs, a darkened art deco cabaret club that transports us back to the speakeasy time when diamonds were a girl's best friend. WE half expect Liza Minnelli or Édith Piaf to step onstage and perform a song that touches your very soul. It is in this venue that Christopher Staines takes the stage with BOUM! C’est Chantastique, a cabaret that provides a redefinition of classic songs from the catalogues of Charles Trenet, Yves Montand and Jacques Brel; songs that make us laugh, cry and reflect on what it means to be alive. With new translations (and the occasional lyric) by Staines and accompanied on the piano by Jason Carr, this cabaret is a perfect mix and balance of all of its components; the English and French, comedy and solemnity, original and traditional. It’s a beautiful cabaret that comes together neatly, having enough of everything so at no point does it feel like soemthing is missing.This cabaret is the culmination of Staines’ crusade to provide more accurate English translations of these classic chansons than the ones that came before and made famous by the likes of Bobby Darin. It’s clear when he’s telling us about these songs and their composers that they hold a special place in his heart, making the fact that he’s sharing them with us all the more special. He takes us from Sous le Ciel de Paris to La Mer, to the heart and soul in songs like J’arrive and Ne Quitte Pas, a journey that is interspersed with songs inspired by classic chansons but with an original twist, turning La Bicyclette into a mishap-filled holiday to Paris and his own self-parody in Chrissie, Staines’ salute to Jacque Brel’s La Chanson de Jackie.Within the songs, Staines seamlessly switches between English to French and back, often within the same song, so we get to experience the songs in their original form whilst also giving us a form that we fully understand. He manages to infuse comedy in his performance, whether as part of his performance or in the background that he provides to us about them, all the while guiding us by the hand through these songs. But there are some things in this set that surpass language, and Staines communicates them extremely well, leaning into the intention behind the words. Staines’ voice is very well suited to these songs, and we get the impression that we are listening to a live performances of a golden age recording. If these songs are scratching beneath the surface of humanity, then Staines’ performance brings the scratchings into the light.This cabaret is both for long-time fans of the chanson and for those discovering the style for the first time. It is one of the many things throughout the evening that Staines does well; he makes these songs accessible for everyone who wants to hear them. BOUM! C’est Chantastique is a nostalgic celebration of the chanson, and certainly y’a d’la joie to be here.

Dan Wye and Robyn Herfellow join forces to create a special gem for the Speigeltent at this year's Fringe. Fusing Herfellow's fierce keyboard skills, with stand-up, psychic mediumship, drag and song, Seayonce: The Res-Erection is a show that is universally accessible, entertaining and has a good storyline linking all these different genres together. Seayonce (to her annoyance) is brought back to the Fringe in order to make the biggest Res-Erection of her career, relaunching her as the best Ghost Whisperer in town. By 'communicating with the dead' and sharing bits of her life, alongside Lesley Anne's 'killer' musical skills and dry wit, we see an insight into life on an alternative plain as fears and more are confronted and explored.Wye portrays Seayonce with a wit that makes even the hardest of hearts melt. He oozes glamour, giving a sense of Tim Curry's Frank-N-Furter from The Rocky Horror Picture Show, fused with Glenn Close in Sunset Boulevard purely from the black turban with a pendular diamond representing the third eye and sparkle from a long flowing gown. The humour is filled with extremely quick to trot punchlines with the right amount of cheesy gags thrown in, yet it comes across as cleverly researched and respectful in the sense of what you would expect from a medium on platform - whilst playfully satirising the spirit world with sassy attitude and a lot of audience interaction.As for Herfellow's Lesley Anne, their skills on the keyboard are filled with beautiful notes and perfect comedically timed deflection as they create the perfect atmosphere needed to summon the spirits to raise everyone's energy and hopes. Unlike Wye's floaty and quick humour, Herfellow balances this out with a more down to earth and harsh approach to comedy that is reminiscent of Richard O'Brian's Riff Raff and EastEnders' Dot Cotton that catches you off guard. As they shares his insights on life, there is an element of cynicism and honesty that is engrossing to watch as the story unfolds. Let's just say that if you were to meet this person on a dark night in real life, you might want to run away. Here though, Herfellow has just the right energy to take on this vibrant character, without distracting from the action.Together, Wye and Herfellow are the perfect drag duo that transcend comedic talent. Add to the cauldron a dash of originality, elements of Paul O'Grady's humour as Lily Savage and musical theatre that create a show that is unlike any other on the circuit. Expect a mishmash of spiritual mayhem and fun to last a lifetime.

From the outset, Danny Rubin and Tim Minchin’s Groundhog Day appears to be part of the trend to turn classic films into musicals. But after watching this musical, it's imporrible to dismiss it as such. Directed by Matthew Warchus, Groundhog Day presents itself as an adaptation set on evoking feelings of nostalgia, but instead takes a sharp turn towards a visualization of the philosophical debate about how to live a good life. Set against the backdrop of the American holiday, Groundhog Day, during which a groundhog - Punxsutawney Phil - is taken out of its burrow and used to predict whether there will be six more weeks of winter or an early spring. Phil Collins (Andy Karl) is sent by his news station to cover the holiday, and finds himself stuck in an endless loop, repeating the same day over and over again. In Micnhin's score, each character appears to have their own genre or style of music that they speak through, capturing their personality through the use or absence of acoustic melodies. This ability and focus on character is particularly clear during If I Had My Time Again, a duet between Phil and Rita (Tanisha Spring), whose contrasting melodies captures each character’s personality and outlook on life perfectly. This song is generally indicative of Minchin’s skill as a composer; taking every opportunity for comedy and contrasting this with whole-hearted optimism, whilst delving into philosophical ideas. Minchins’ score is a great study in character, for example indicating through music who Phil is and setting him apart from everyone else from the start. Every song intersects with Rubin’s book to show the passage of time in this circular narrative, balancing the development of the narrative and character at the same time. It’s particularly interesting how Minchin and Rubin allow us to see Phil from both Phil’s own perspective and others seem him; neither viewpoint shows him as anything but terrible, and this icontinuously condemns this character. The design of this show is conveniently simplistic, giving us a taste of the context that frames each scene and adding to the circular nature of the show, but also creating these visually stunning moments onstage that normally we might only find in films. This couldn’t be achieved without Paul Kieve's illusions that make us think that Karl is one place, before having him appear somewhere else. These illusions are baffling and are impossible dissect, meaning that we really can't come up with a better explanation for what happens apart from ‘theatre magic’. Hugh Valstone’s lighting design predominantly uses gel washes from the back, either in a block colour or the American red, white and blue tricolour to fill the stage, and draws our eyes to the characters as well as act as an extension of the set. This dramatically changes in particular during Philandering and If I Had My Time Again, songs which represent a shift in Phil’s character development and strategy to living life in the loop. The festival lights during the latter song create moment that is filled with so much hope and love. It's so beautiful and enchanting when they light up. Simon Baker’s sound design plays an important role in the show, as it is responsible for indicating the restarting of the time loop. The blare of the alarm clock radio leads the musical, and becomes an important association for us.Rob Howell's repeating motif that is introduced at the start is a creative and stylistic detail in a set that stays true to the ‘small town’ nature of Punxsutawney. The rotating set allows for the recreation of moments that otherwise would be difficult, if not impossible, to replicate on stage, for example using miniature houses and vehicles to show a movie-like car chase in a tongue-in-cheek lightheartedness that fits with the tone of the musical. Karl reprises his role as Phil, and it is difficult to picture anyone else in the role. He is a very talented voice actor with a remarkable ability to convey a lot about the character through his careful command of tone - we can clearly hear every emotion in his voice from his thinly-veiled contempt at the beginning to the fatigue, friendliness and affection towards the end, a marked change. He guides us through the character arc, and eventually wins us over despite how much he leans into the awfulness of the character, to the point of shocking and disgusting us with how terrible he is. He fills in the gaps that the various cut scenes leave out; we don’t always see the effort behind Phil’s actions all the time, but there’s an implicitness in Karl’s performance, showing us the change, effort and time that he experiences. There is a marked difference in Karl's performance during the entire musical (espeically the comparison between how the character was in the beginnign and end), but even the difference between how Karl acts between Day 1, Day 2 and Day 3 is incredibly amusing, as we witness the gradual deterioration of his sanity and composure as Phil is forced to come to terms with his new reality. Rita is such a normal character, who is completely different from Phil Collins in that we naturally like her because she is a decent person. Spring is a welcome breath of fresh air from Phil’s terribleness, and there are moments where she manages to imbue us with a sense of hope and ability to believe in the inherent goodness of people, despite what we know about Phil. She has an astounding ability to charm us with her performance and makes us believe in what she says, something that comes into full force during If I Had My Time Again. Everything about this musical is proof as to why the film Groundhog Day is considered a timeless classic 30 years on. It’s a show about life, how to live well and the importance of connection with other people, which is incredibly uplifting to watch. This is a show to see again, and again. And again.

Norse myths, legends and... wrestling? You may think that the combination of these contradicting styles of storytelling and sport would not work in this context, but Mythological Theatre proves us wrong by bringing stories that these days, unless you deliberately seek them out for a more spiritual discovery, are not often told.. until now! After watching this show, we discover something that both Norse enthusiasts such as myself and absolute newbies to this genre will adore.Ed Gamester created Mythos: Ragnarok after twenty years of being a professional wrestler, stuntman and more. He not only wrote, produced and directed it, but also starred as Odin himself. The clear passion and work that has gone into this spectacular production not only shows the amount of research done to enable the show to happen, but by using his professional skills and calling upon other professional wrestlers to make up this exciting cast, taps into the brutal, harsh reality of violence and war of days gone by. His Odin is shown as someone who, despite knowing his fate, is reckless and will do anything to maintain his own power. Gamester's powerful performance, writing, direction and wrestling skills combine to set the bar high for theatre as we know it going forward in an extremely fun, dynamic and exciting way that is accessible for everyone watching. One cannot credit that this is his first ever theatre show. It comes across as something that has been on the go for twenty years or more.But Mythos: Ragnarok would not be possible for the equally amazing team that makes up all the Gods and Goddesses involved. They include Sam Gardiner (Borr/Fenrir), Michael Reece (the amazing trickster Loki), Rachel Seagroatt (Gullveg), Beau Charles (Baldr), Maddison Myles (the fiery Goddess of War Freyja) and many more that change every night, so you never get the same experience of the wrestler performers each time.There are no weak performances here, but strong ones and extremely well choreographed fights that are likewise engaging, yet shocking to watch. The difference between normal stage combat and wrestling is that all the contact made is real. No staged contact... real! All this adds to the horror of what could have evolved in Norse Tales with no edited bits. Special mentions have to go to Reece and Myles for their intense portrayals of Loki and Freyja at this point, as they did not hold back in anything they did. Reece gave us one of the best Loki's I've seen in a long time as he played every trick in the book to get his own way, whilst Myles had exactly the right amount of scaremongering and brutal honesty as she paved the way for Freyja's victory. Mythological Theatre are the only theatre company in the UK that hires professional wrestlers for their shows and are the ones to watch for more exciting things to come.

The Brontë Sisters as writers changed the literary world as we know it. The Victorian era was full of literature that loved to shock, insinuate and more - as long as you were male. Using male pseudonyms to begin with, this band of three released classics such as Jane Eyre (Charlotte Brontë), Wuthering Heights (Emily Brontë) and The Tennant of Wildfell Hall (Anne Brontë) and challenged everyone's mindset with what may well have been psychologically sizzling underneath the surface. Polly Teale's Bronte looks at this unique family's historical roots; how they lived, wrote and viewed the world.Brighton Little Theatre takes on this insightful text of Teale's with such vigour. Each character we see has clearly been researched in great detail and they come to life on stage. The sets are beautifully constructed so that we immediately visualise the Brontës in their kitchen, or on the moors, or living in their heads. The combination of the cast building the set, the direction and choreography of Nettie Sheridan and Myles Locke's detailed lighting adds to the atmosphere the sisters created, as well as the almost fluid differentiation of each stage space we see as it evolves.But really, it is the strong cast that makes Bronte come to life. Everyone doubles up to not only represent the Brontës themselves, but the real life people who influenced their most famous characters, as well as people like Catherine Earnshaw, Heathcliff, Jane Eyre, Mr Rochester and more. Polly Jones (Emily), Lois Regan (Anne) and Joanna Aykroyd (Charlotte) portray the three sisters with such truthful performances and a closeness that shows complete trust between them. This enables them to show a family that has the capability of being creative in their own little worlds one moment, but stubborn enough to be capable of being angry without saying much.Steven Adams takes on the roles of Patrick Brontë (the father), as well as Mr Rochester, Constantin Heger and Arthur Bell Nicholls. Each one is shown sensitively with subtle characteristic changes to differentiate between all of them. But it is Patrick who is particularly performed with dexterity and harshness, that we can see a potential influence for people like Rochester in Jane Eyre, as he comes across as complicated, yet respected. Joining him is Joseph Bentley who takes on the troubled sibling Bramwell, alongside Heathcliff and Arthur Huntingdon. Bentley is one to watch as he takes us on the emotional journey Bramwell has with alcohol and drug addiction, as well as mounting debt. He does this with such immersive strength that each character he plays is so different from one another and is sensitively moving each time he metaphorically falls off a cliff.However, it is Ella Jay Morley's Catherine Earnshaw and Bertha Mason who beautifully symbolises the sexual suppression of the Brontë's era, as well as the frustration of not being able to have a voice. Her stimulating performance brings everyone together to make sure all are heard in their own way and is a joy to watch.Whether you are aware of the Brontës or not, this is a text to be discovered and explored.

Martin Sherman's Rose is already an award-winning production that received widespread critical acclaim during its sell-out runs at the Hope Mill Theatre, Manchester, and the Park Theatre, London. Now at the Ambassadors Theatre for only 28 performances, that success looks set to be repeated.The dramatic potential and appeal of a one-woman show is already on full display just a few streets away, where Sheridan Smith is brilliantly playing a sold-out run of Shirley Valentine. Both plays explore how a woman deals with the hand she is dealt in life, yet they could not be further apart in terms of content: the one focussed on disaffected domesticity, the other confronting some of the greatest tragedies and population movements of the twentieth century. Dame Maureen Lipman once again assumes the weighty mantle of the eponymous Rose. As with Shirley Valentine, it’s appropriate that the play takes the name of the person around whom everything revolves. Rose is the heart of this monologue and, in a directorial triumph for Scott Le Crass, nothing detracts from Lipman’s presence, centre-stage, as she sits on a bench throughout two acts, using only arm gestures, head turns, looks and the occasional leg movements to reinforce her words. There’s a perfectly logical reason for this staging: Rose is observing shiva, not just for one deceased person but seemingly for an endless stream of people who keep passing away. But it’s still a brave move to keep her there and it takes someone of Lipman’s story-telling calibre to pull it off. She is so immersed in the character it’s hard at times to remember that this is not her own story; the informal, conversational style of delivery is such that we might be guests in her home where she is simply relating her life story. If she weren’t devotionally tied to the bench, you might expect her to get up and make us all a cup of tea. But then as a Jewish woman it is her story, not in the detail but in the common inheritance of a persecuted people, of families, all of whom know the meaning of suffering and the many who tried to forge a new existence in strange land.The same is true for Sherman who grounded this work of fiction in his own family’s movements that began when they left Yaltushkav, the shtetl that was then in Russia and is now in Ukraine. He could never have imagined that his throw-away line about that country would resonate with such force nearly a quarter of a century after he wrote it, or that the plight of refugees would be a topic of heated political debate, nor indeed that wars and pogroms would be destroying town and villages in the same way the Nazis razed Yaltushkav to the ground, leaving only a memory. But it’s memories that sustain cultures and communities and people like Rose, who can look back with tears and laughter at events that moved her family from mainland Europe to almost settle in Palestine (before it became Israel), only to be put back on the boat and transported to England, before finally starting yet another life in the USA.La Crass and Lipman demonstrate that you don’t need to do much to a great script and gripping story except respect its integrity, give weight to its words, and tell it with sincerity. But this is theatre and there’s a set, sound and lighting. Working collaboratively as always with the director and actor, no one in that team has lost sight of the centrality of the character and the story; nothing detracts and all elements support and enhance. Designer David Shields’ abstract diamond platform, whose point reaches out to the audience, is reminiscent of the geometric layout of Chana Gitla Kowalska Shtetl, illustrated in the programme The two white walls, meeting at an acute angle, provide a screen for a rainbow of plain, coloured projections from Lighting Designer Jane Lalljee. These evoke moods but avoid the temptation to be representational, appearing and fading like Rose’s memories as an accompaniment to the narrative. This subtle, suggestive approach is borne out in a delicately understated sound design by Juian Starr. What a joy it is to have sounds in the background, at times almost imperceptible, that pay homage to the actor’s role and the supremacy of the text as opposed to drowning both out. Starr aligns his soundscape with events in the story, but again the low level of volume reinforces the idea of past happenings that are distant memories.Towards the end, events move quickly and life in the New World, with its hotel businesses and gangsters, together with tales of her son’s life on a kibbutz and her daughter’s overtly political forays, is portrayed in stark contrast to what has gone before. It’s another chapter, which could be a play in itself, but it’s also a reminder of how people are forced to move on and take life in their stride.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is frankly remarkable. Jethro Compton’s book, lyrics and direction alongside Darren Clark’s music, own lyrics and orchestrations weave together a musical that speaks from the heart about belonging, acceptance, and love. Based on the short story by F Scott Fitzgerald, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button follows the titular character, Benjamin Button (Jamie Parker), a man who is born at the end of his life and keeps getting progressively younger. After falling for Elowen Keene (Molly Osborne), Benjamin leaves his village, and goes on a journey to search for a home and love whilst battling his internalization of otherness. This musical is not a faithful adaptation of Fitzgerald’s short story, but rather takes the original concept of the source text a step further, making it an uplifting tale about self-love and overcoming difficulties rather than dwelling on society’s fear of the ‘other’ and propriety. In fact, it does more in its 2 hours than Fitzgerald in 20 pages (give or take), for Fitzgerald seems to condemn Benjamin Button to misery, whilst this musical tries to lift him out of it. Compton and Clarke have taken the central idea of Benjamin Button and made it their own, transferring the story from the antebellum Deep South to north Cornwall, jumping forward in time from 1860 to 1918, and adding additional thematic relevance and depth to Benjamin and Elowen’s relationship - the expansion of which adds to the bittersweetness of this adaptation. They’ve made the story their own and in doing so have improved upon it. Compton and Clark’s score provides a very clear example on the power of storytelling and myth, building on a trend started by Dave Malloy and Anaїs Mitchell of creating overwhelming musical soundscapes, using the cast to drive the musical forward through narration and accompaniment. The score is as elemental as the sea, with the pair showing a mastery of the genre, moving between different traditional and folk music tropes, from dark and ethereal melodies that haunt our subconscious like The Kraken’s Lullaby to upbeat, foot-stamping jigs like When E’re She Looked at Me, to whispered love songs and gravelly voiced longings for home. The score brings a lot of clarity to the themes and motifs explored in the show, from the exploration of self-acceptance and society, but also uses recurring elemental symbols like time, the moon and the sea as a representation of the characters themselves. Compton and Clark are explicit in what they are trying to say with this musical, adding depth where Fitzgerald’s story lacks. They’ve created an overwhelming, acoustic harmony; a thunderous determination and demand to be heard. The creative team has built their design on recurring motifs in this musical, essentially focalizing the unstoppable forces of nature. From the start, Luke Swaffield’s sound design envelops us with the sound of the sea; waves crashing, seagulls crying which contextualizes the action for us and sets the stage for the story to come. Swaffield’s sound design adds extra details throughout the musical, inserting realism in an otherwise mystical show. Anna Kelsey’s costume design makes the cast into a swirling whole of greens and blues that are a blend of being period-specific - especially noticeable in the design for the male cast members - whilst also layering materials that are inspired by the land and sea, whether it’s netting or rope-like patterns and even scales. Kelsey’s costume design is also the main way in which we see the progression of Benjamin’s de-ageing, an unexpectedly simple and elegant series of transitions that are incredibly effective. With Chi-San Howard’s choreography, the green and blue-clad cast mimic the sea, the constant observer of Benjamin’s story, as they spin around the stage, rising and falling like the waves. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button uses actor-musicianship in order to build its folk atmosphere. The songs require the cast to act as narrators and signpost the progression of the story, whether it’s to give more narrative detail or to give us a glimpse into the character’s mind at a particular moment, switching from individual characters to a chorus, borrowing from the oral tradition of storytelling. With their high-energy movements and playing, they look like a community having fun, an energy that breaks the 4th wall and leaves us in higher spirits than before. Parker is truly tremendous as Benjamin Button; it’s a complicated role but he makes the de-ageing process look so seamless and natural. Even though he’s helped along by costume and make-up, there’s a gradual change in his demeanour, voice and movements that makes this process noticeable. There’s an innate goodness in his being, especially in his interactions with Osborne, a settled happiness that is endearing and sweet. At no point does he lose the weight that Benjamin’s secret has on him. It's subtle, but we can tell that it’s there, which is why his performance causes feelings of anticipation in us, almost as if we, like Benjamin, are waiting for something to go wrong. In this way, Parker makes us feel what the character feels, and the fact that we are emotionally in step with the character makes us empathize with him, and our hearts hurt. But seeing Benjamin’s transformation at the end is really touching; Parker has really outdone himself in this role. In Fitzgerald’s short story, Benjamin Button marries a woman who is shallow, unlikeable, and makes his life miserable. None of this can be used to describe Elowen, nor Osborne’s performance. She just radiates warmth, light and love, and yes it helps that she is dressed in warm colours as opposed to the rest of the cast, but from her first appearance we can just tell why Benjamin is drawn to her. Osborne has a mischievousness in her performance, a lilt that goes beyond her Cornish accent. And although her character’s ageing process is linear, she still emanates goodness, but with an emphasized sense of serene tenderness. The character is almost like an embodiment of hope and home for Benjamin, and Osborne’s performance really personifies that feeling for all of us. This musical has turned this story from a pop culture reference into folklore. The cast creates a whirlwind of activity onstage; just constant fast and furious motion onstage that is visually overwhelming. We learn from this musical and it provides us with insight into our own lives, making The Curious Case of Benjamin Button more than a must-see musical, but an imperative for everyone to watch, for there is nothing out there that is quite like this show.

Making the move from its seven-year residency at the Lyric Theatre, Showstopper! The Improvised Musical has opened at the Cambridge Theatre, its new home, where the team will be doing one or two shows per month on a Monday evening, except in August when the whole outfit transfers to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe for a month long run.The opening night, as might have been expected, was a mind-blowing demonstration of the art form they have perfected and which seems to have a cult following. The lady in the seat next to me was seeing her ninth show, which is not the same as seeing the same show nine times, because every one is different and if you can shout loud enough, or just manage to attract the compères' attention, you can have a say in creating the production. Here’s how it works.The band is on stage and The Writer (Dylan Emery) enters. The phone rings and a guy called Cameron (of course) says he’s in need of a new show. The Writer explains that by chance he has a creative team around him at this very moment and he promises to deliver in two hours. Now we move into action. He needs a setting for the show and invites suggestions. Some are humorously dismissed but a shortlist is drawn up. Tonight’s options are an Aeroplane, Basingstoke, the Central Line and the Chelsea Flower Show. Then, as each one is called out, we shout loudly in support of our choice. Aeroplane and Basingstoke (which received a lone shriek) are eliminated, leaving two. The final shout-off sees the Central Line win the vote by a narrow margin.Next it’s time to decide the styles in which the show should be performed. A similar process sees four make it onto the board: Oklahoma, Cole Porter, Avenue Q and Tim Minchin. Now the show needs a name and from amongst the suggestion, overwhelmingly Scarlet Fever is the preferred title. The framework established, it's time to bring on the ensemble who, after a short bout of dialogue, establish that they are all here to catch the 7.42 which becomes the opening chorus number, as though this were a finely-rehearsed long-running show. Thereafter, the dialogue hots up, people meet, events occur and songs such as Don’t Cross the Line, Lost and Found, and It’s Me, It’s Me take us into a love story and the plight of those who don’t find romance. With the mention of Rosie O’Donnell from somewhere in the audience, we go down the track of Hollywood celebrities with a fun-poking impersonation of her along with Michael Caine and Al Pacino et al. It’s fascinating to observe how a mere mention or interjection can divert the whole course of the story, reaching a junction that poses the question, “How did we get here?” If the whole thing seems to be going off the rails then The Writer is always there to interject, change drivers and even suggest a new departure. “This feels like a Sondheim moment.” Cue another song and another style. During the interval many in the audience have taken up the invitation to Tweet further suggestions to The Writer and before we know it we are immersed in a frantic scene involving Tinder and listening to This is My Favourite Carriage and Love on the Central Line in an arousing finale.The show poses challenges all round, and with a band and singers on stage it’s hard to work out who’s following who. The fact is, the team have been working together for so long and have developed such synchronicity that it’s not a question that arises. With their vast musical talents and performing skills they just know where things are going and create, quite literally, in harmony. Behind the scenes, hours of rehearsals and training ensure that very little can go wrong, and who would know anyway? (See my article below for an insight). The company has enough members to ring the changes on who will perform on the night. The same lady next to me pointed out two of her favourites; she’ll be there again to catch the others at her tenth visit!With 1,200 shows performed since its inception in 2008, Showstopper! The Improvised Musical has become awash with accolades, not least that of being the first ever long-form improv show to have a full West End run and to be nominated for and win an Olivier Award. Each unique performance validates the acclaim these hugely talented performers receive and explains why people go back time and again to see them. Why not join the club? You might see your own show performed in the West End and you'll certainly enjoy a cornucopia of creativity.It's called improvised because it really is!

Written and directed by Gintare Parulyte, Lovefool is certainly unmissable. This show mixes tongue in cheek humour with incredibly deep and moving moments, using an array of mediums to tell a familiar story and develop a character who could quite literally step off the stage into reality. Lovefool starts on a rather comedic note, a tone that is set by an old health class video, which is a disarming start that has us chuckling at its outdatedness. This show follows Grace (Kristin Winters), a struggling actress who goes above and beyond to receive love and validation from the men that she encounters at this time. Throughout the show we learn about her as a person and her experiences as she learns to process her trauma and learn how to love herself. In between scenes, David Gaspar has interspersed vintage home videos and recordings about relationships, gender stereotypes, and family dynamics. We never see the men that Grace interacts with, but between Gaspar’s recordings and Winters’ performance they might as well be right in front of us, they are just so real. We can picture the misogynistic contempt of the American producer, the condescension of the priest and the calmness of her therapist, they become incredibly life-like figures and representations of the themes Parulyte explores in her text. Parulyte has created a fully fleshed character who feels incredibly familiar, using a stream of consciousness approach to take us through the story. And when you see the world through the eyes of a single character, what they say becomes extremely personal to us. There are so many thematic details within the text that we don’t have to look hard to find, it’s a web of meaning that gives us just enough to piece together the subtext, without being explicit about it. Parulyte has a great command of language that sets us on this emotional journey with Grace, one that we become completely wrapped up in. As Grace, Winters leads us down a winding narrative path in her performance, evolving from a snarky almost dislikable character into one that we not only admire for taking control of her life and finding her self-worth, but we empathise with and admire for her strength. Winters’ occasional snarky narration in between more subdued moments creates effortlessly dark humoristic light relief, before turning 180 degrees as the character reveals more about herself and past. Her dry sarcasm turns descriptions of completely mundane moments and side-comments into an opportunity for laughter. Throughout this show, Winters showcases her ability to really control the inflection and tone of her voice, going so far as to subtly give us a heads-up as to when something is not quite right, where we as an outside viewer are alerted to problematic behaviuors and moments, even if the character herself is not always aware of them. There’s a moment where Winters goes into the audience and asks us a series of questions that encourages us to be vulnerable, something that is daunting in a room full of strangers. But it speaks to her performance as well as Parulyte’s writing that we’re given room for our answers to be anonymous in the ‘you or someone you know’ way. They create an incredibly safe space that makes us feel like we’re not alone. And Winters’ quiet support means that as the questions go on, we feel more comfortable putting our hands up when they apply to us. It’s a really nice moment of camaraderie that you really don’t see a lot of, a much-needed release in a supportive setting. Winters makes us feel seen. It is emotionally difficult to watch Lovefool, because the writing and Winters’ performance is incredibly raw, and hits us to our core. It’s probably the best lesson in empathy there is. It’s a poignant piece that doesn’t let the solemnity of the events and issues explored stop the quick wit and snarkiness of the character from coming through, which is probably why it feels so real. It’s such a genuinely emotive piece, and there is no doubt that Lovefool will be the belle of the proverbial fringe ball.

Picture the scene.. 1930's Berlin. An underground club awaits an eager audience for the show to begin. A solitary German soldier in typical World War I uniform is on stage, hooking the audience from his simple presence while a cavalcade of sound effects, guns, bombs and more set the scene. Behind him is a simple projection that quotes part of the famous poem of the era - On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month of 1918. Immediately we see his shell-shock and panic, setting the backdrop for a completely different scenario. We then switch to the heart of the play called Fabulett 1933. A show that is reminiscent of the infamous musical Cabaret with a duo of piano player and a rather fetishly glamorous Emcee, sharing his personal life as an artist and the life of the real life underground club 'Fabulett'. This place was home to those who identified as queer, lesbian, gender-neutral and anything in between during an era which was troubled due to same-sex relationships being frowned upon, yet at the same time was part of the accepted way of living when official backs were deliberately turned.Michael Trauffer creates this special show to celebrate these individuals who risked their lives to just be authentically themselves, as well as pay a subtle nod to those today who are wanting to be free. Using a mixture of fiction and fact, Trauffer pays tribute to real life figures who made a difference in this culture, including Dr Magnus Hirschfeld (also known as Auntie Magnesia to those who knew him well). Hirschfield was one of the first in his field to explore the idea of changing sex via surgery. Whilst this is more accepted today, back then Hirschfield was classed as the 'Einstein of Sex' as he explored this new territory. Our lovable Emcee does the same here by taking us through his troubled relationships with his parents when he first starts wearing his mother's clothes at the age of eight. Trauffer cleverly integrates several genres to indicate fragile mindsets of people of his kind, such as musical theatre, cabaret, Brecht and monologues using himself as the main link to connect with the audience. Whilst he brings the glamour, sass and magic of the Emcee to the surface, he gradually reveals what really happens behind the scenes of a performer of this kind. It's not an easy journey, but it's one we engage with on not just the entertainment factor (musically accompanied by James Hall). It's the strong, impactful emotional journey that is the real hook into his mind.With amazing outfits, songs and comedic timing, Trauffer and Hall make the perfect couple as we learn all the secrets behind the 'glitz' of this infamous performance space that closed in 1933 and what it's really like to be different. This is not just a show. This is an awakening.

Lady Bracknell...a force to be reckoned with in Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest. But what is her real story? This is something that December Hall Actors Theatre and writer, director, and performer Paul Doust explores in such immense detail that Lady Bracknell becomes more than just Algernon Moncreiff's aunt and Gwendolyn's mother. She becomes someone that the majority of people can relate to on more levels as a human being, using the inspiration and magic of Wilde's writing.The first thing we notice when we first enter the theatre is a simple set of a table clothed table and chair in luxurious velvet turquoise. On the table is the most exquisite bunch of flowers and a sophisticated glass and decanter set. The combination of these props and set create the lavish lifestyle Bracknell is used to, yet keeps everything focused on the one thing she loves to talk about: herself. We also hear in the beginning of the play the last few lines of The Importance of Being Earnest when the titular role realises his importance. However, the mood immediately changes when Doust slowly enters as Bracknell, commanding your attention in silence until she is ready to speak. What then emerges is an extremely powerful exploration of how Bracknell came to be, shared in an extremely candid, frank and hilariously charming way that pays homage to Wilde himself. Doust intricately pieces the clues together like a detective to discover Bracknell's humble beginnings, all from a specific clue in the original play in which she says quite clearly that she was not wealthy before she got married. So, why not make her a child who was poor yet full of ambition, with parents who didn't pay much attention to her? An extremely poignant line of note here is what Bracknell says after she reveals that she found loneliness freeing: "To show you care is weak!" This is said with such strength and suppressed emotion that you begin to wonder how much her mental health has really been impacted. Doust then takes us into a world of entertainment when Bracknell finds herself as a stage manager of a local theatre, toying with the idea of acting too, then meeting Lord Bracknell her future husband. Interestingly, the angle she takes before accepting his proposal is that she wants to enjoy the fantasy before the reality hits. This bold choice shows for a brief moment yet again the state of Bracknell's mind over time as it becomes fragile and an escapist of reality which Doust portrays so well, whilst staying true to the original character's observational quick wit.What Doust does so well in particular is weave an intricate web of deceit, doppelgängers and how she really knows Mr Thomas James Cardew... I however am not going to give this away, as to really get to know Bracknell, you are cordially invited to take tea and cucumber sandwiches as you have the honour of meeting her.Doust's performance of Bracknell is reminiscent of David Suchet's version from 2015 and is a masterclass in writing, performance and wit. This is definitely to be experienced to be believed.

So you think you know Great Expectations' Miss Havisham? Think again! Emulat8 Theatre brings an extremely bold and fresh new viewpoint to an iconic Dickens' character, who vows revenge on all mankind after being abandoned on her wedding day. In this version, we never get to see Pip or her ward Estelle, with the focus on her being forced to confront her past. How did she become the bitter, twisted person we have come to know so well? This is the question that the writer and performer of Havisham herself, Heather Alexander, asks. She, under the insightful direction of Dominique Gerrard, gets answers to the questions that are normally only hinted at.Through Alexander's complete immersion in this complex character, we see Havisham growing up in a world led by men that is at times confusing for the young girl as she experiences church, religion, literature and more whilst trying to find her place. With no mother to look after her, Alexander painstakingly shifts between the positively joyful young woman with limitless hope, due to inherit Sallis House, to the cold-hearted mistress we see in the original novel. Doing it this way highlights the fragile state Havisham has been left in, not only making all who see it understand why she becomes the way she is, but it gives the perfect amount of room to feel every single emotion that she feels, as the reflections become more and more difficult to handle. Alexander conveys these difficult emotions expertly without losing the essence of what Dickens originally created - especially through simple use of white sheets, wooden boxes and a book or two indicating her room, lost in her fantasy world, and her physicality as she shifts between a scared young girl trying to hide as she questions what being bad is and the stillness of a woman who is shut down emotionally.A particular highlight is the symbolism of Havisham's trauma in the Greek myth Medusa, which the young version of our heroine reads about, believing her an angel and drawing her for school homework. Medusa in the original myth was taken advantage of by a sea god and was unjustly punished for being 'a bad person', as she slept with him (the reality was she was raped). The transition between Havisham's journey of being in love with Compeyson, to being taken advantage of by him again and again is so heartbreaking that she in turn becomes her own version of Medusa. A horrifying reality, yes, but one that Alexander's sterling performance emphasizes, in turn encourages everyone to be on her side, empowering us to empathize in catharsis. This is a hard skill to achieve, but Alexander seems to unlock her own demons in Havisham, as well as her own angelic side and is a breathtaking sight to behold on stage.Powerful, tense, heartbreaking.

Philip Ridley’s multi-layered, complex and highly acclaimed story Leaves of Glass is breathtakingly revived by director Max Harrison in collaboration with Lidless Theatre in a mind-twisting production at The Park Theatre. Premiered at the Soho Theatre in 2007 the intervening years have added more awareness of issues surrounding the darkest revelation in the play and of mental health in general, which is central to its storyline.Set in Ridley’s home territory, members of this ensemble deliver in accents that make the location of this East End drama unmistakable. Congratulations to Dialect Coach Mary Howland on securing that front. Steven (Ned Costello) has the air of a wheeler-dealer merchant, although he has a seemingly respectable line of business in graffiti-cleaning, for which there seems to be a big demand. However, he doesn’t get his own hands dirty; can’t spoil the fitted white shirt, but he does have plenty of patter on the phone. While Steven is ostensibly settled in his marriage, he has demons lurking within and nightmarish visions of the boy involved in a near-tragic car accident. Like the rest of the family he also has to cope with the loss of his father; an ongoing grieving process for all of them. He’s five years older than his brother Barry (Joseph Potter) and has always kept an eye out for him, or so we are led to believe. Their dad’s death sent Barry down a path of alcoholism and drugs, if he wasn’t already going that way. He’s a mess, but is now reforming and Steven gives him the odd job to do. If only what’s etched in their heads were as easy to remove as the graffiti, all their lives might be easier.The boys have a strong bond, but it doesn’t prevent disagreements and even violent exchanges when grim truths from the past are brought into the open. Fight Consultant Sam Angell and Fight and Intimacy Coordinator Lawrence Carmichael have brilliantly packed some frighteningly intense outbursts of aggression into the confines of the intimate space in the round. Costello comes over as a smooth talker but also plays the provocateur, unless he is alone, and then in classic soliloquy style he reveals aspects of the inner man and the denial and twisted interpretation of events he persists in. We never have those moments with his brother. His feelings and emotions are out in the open. Potter has passion, intensity and conviction in delivering Ridley’s text, which he interprets as brilliantly here as he did in his recent highly acclaimed performance in Poltergeist.Mum Liz (Kacey Ainsworth) did her best to raise them as good lads, especially after her husband’s death. Ainsworth creates a classic no-nonsense matriarch who gives the impression her own mother might well have known the Kray twins. When things go wrong, as they often do, she is always there. Liz has developed an all-embracing excuse for someone’s behaviour that distances the issue and avoids her having to confront what might turn into something unpleasant; it will be that ‘fluey-bug thing’, which seems to be quite a common complaint. As Steven’s wife, Debbie, Katie Bulchholz portrays a level of normality that comes as something of a relief, though she does have an obsession about (non-existent) rats in the basement. She is increasingly preoccupied with her pregnancy, which adds to the turmoil and reveals yet another side to the increasingly deep and mysterious Steve as suspicions abound concerning her fidelity and his. Questions concerning whose version of events or stories to believe permeate the play and are posed at every turn in the narrative. As soon as one brother raises his credibility, it is torn down, often by the other one. The familial condition of ‘secrets and lies’ is rife. The title of the play comes from the leaves of glass that hang on a beautiful tree ornament that we are told Steven bought for his mother when he was in his teens. It wasn’t cheap and it’s always been a mystery to Liz as to where he got the money to buy it, along with the further expense of purchasing more leaves to add to it on a fairly regular basis for quite a while. There’s a very good reason why he’s never told her, and that story unfolds in a major confrontation between the boys in the darkness of the basement. The palpable tension in this scene is heightened by the dimmest of lighting; no more than a glow accompanied a burning candelabra, imaginatively devised, along with all the other mood-setting lighting, by Alex Lewer. Sound Designer Sam Glossop has the same success with effects at many points where the mysterious and mental conditions come to the fore. Darkness permeates the story and it pervades the Kit Hinchcliffe’s set, from the walls of the theatre, to the four black benches and the shiny black floor. The creatives have combined to provide atmospheres that accommodate the memories, with which this play abounds, and that bring hours of joy or haunt and torture for a lifetime. Harrison, with Assistant Director Katarina Fuller, has created a triumphant dramatic exploration of memory, manipulation and mental health, through a directorial strategy that respects the actors, their insights and interpretations and involves them deeply in the process. Credit must also go to producer Zoe Waldon and Casting Consultant Nadine Rennie for her part in assembling this stunning quartet of actors so perfectly suited to their demanding roles.

If you had the opportunity to be your most authentic self... If you could excel at one thing for the rest of your life in exchange with the Devil for your soul, would you take it? This is is the concept that Third Pier Theatre's Daniel Hird (James Napier) and Jen McGregor (writer and director) explore in exciting new writing Old Bones. Four hundred years ago, Napier was constantly in his brother's successful shadow, until one day whilst in a bored, drunken stupor, he summons the Devil himself. After that fateful day when he wins a dice game against the keeper of hell, James Napier travels the world forever hoping to lose and finally rest in eternity.One might think that this is an overused concept of the Devil wanting your soul in exchange for something else; but here, Hird and McGregor turn the concept on its head by not only exploring the biggest price to pay - what would actually happen if you did win - but cleverly fusing fiction and real life historical events of witchcraft, devil worship and more with a small hint of immersive interaction with the audience to bring Napier's story to life.Using this kind of fusion is a huge risk, as well as picking on members of the audience to be part of the story due to the fact the suspense and mystery for a tale such as this can be lost. But it is not the case here. McGregor's writing is seamless, timeless and creates the perfect scenario for our lost narrator, beautifully blurring the lines between fiction and reality that nothing is questioned at all. The magic of her writing and her sharp direction of Hird's sterling performance heightens the supernatural elements needed to draw the audience in. So much so, if someone is chosen to join our protagonist on stage, again, nothing is questioned due to the powerful and engaging story telling prowess of Hird. He draws everyone in never missing a beat and has a strong emotional journey as he gradually lets us in to his ever lasting torment, as he discovers love, manipulation and more.The set is simple - a small painted picture of his brother four hundred years ago, a single wooden chair, red sheets thrown over objects such as a candle to create intensity and a pack of playing cards indicating gambling risks and a lust for throwing everyting to chance. Using these simple things, as well as Hird's charm and physicalised performances to indicate sea travel, nearly drowning and more, easily creates a world that fits comfortably between this world and the next. Not only that, the vocal dynamics Hird uses to weave a spell over us and keep us interested is engaging. Ranging between bitterness, happiness and sadness with the perfect amount of breathing space to comprehend the horror the Devil puts him through despite not always being present.Old Bones is a breath of fresh air with the right amount of fantasy, history, comedy and suspense.

Women all have a vulva. This is not to be shamed, but celebrated. This is the powerful message from the cast of Wet. A cabaret show with a difference. One that fuses education, comedy, monologues, cabaret and dance to create a special evening that takes us through the many different stages of being a woman. From contraception, menstruation, pregnancy and menopause and beyond, every single aspect of the vulva was covered in a way that was not only entertaining, but educational and inclusive to all sexes.Wet had the fusional flavour of The Rocky Horror Show (at the very beginning in particular as the iconic film scene of the lips speaking was referenced with purple lipstick instead of red and a powerful monologue instead of the song Science Fiction), Eve Ensler's The Vagina Monologues and the cabaret outline with five female MC's smoothly linking every section together. With it being led by women specialising in many different genres of performance, the show had so many layers to experience. One of which was a saucy science lecture that explored Quantum Physics in relation to the female orgasm. This was a risky choice to make due to the possibility that the audience could have switched off at any given point. However, the lecture was not only intelligently portrayed, but it was naughty and suggestive without stepping out of line. Plus the ingenius usage of an abandoned cardboard box painted up to make it look like a machine that put science and pleasure together as their female volunteer stepped in to be experimented on with other saucy scientists exploring the scientific journey of what makes the vulva react the way it does. It not only gave the show a new dimention, but it felt like we experienced the journey with that willing volunteer, which lead to a more than satisfying payoff when it finished.This and other well constructed sketches not only entertained, but Wet had many moving moments as well. Such as a dramatic dance sequence that explored the relationship with the female body using nothing except a thin mannequin as a companion. It dared to show how all of us as a human race actually wish to be a certain way because of how things like the media, fashion and more subtly suggest to us. So much so, that relationship can become negative and destroy all confidence in ourselves, rather than being authentic. Also, a mother in the audience got chosen to be read a letter to. It celebrated all mothers and how amazing they were and still are. Although she was chosen, the way it was written was an extremely clever universal tool that reached out to all mothers, grandmothers, mums to be and those who naturally nurture others.Wet is not just a cabaret show. It's a hidden gem to stimulate us and experience feminine magic.

This stunning production is an ideal example of how to use the unique ability of dance to emphasise and refocus on different aspects of a classic drama.In Tennessee Williams's play, the catastrophes of Blanche’s history are merely reported. In this ballet we see them – and there is no holding back on the Southern Gothic aspects of the play. In Act I, we see Blanche as a young girl, modest and innocent as she is courted by Alan, her true and greatest love; we see the death of her family members, and the fall of the House of DuBois. We see the revelation of Alan’s homosexuality and the tangled relationships between Blanche, Alan, and his lover. We see Alan’s suicide. Blanche descends into alcohol dependency, promiscuity and degradation with scenes that break the heart.Already heartbroken by Act I, for me, Act II loses some of its pathos. But the production makes up for this by making visual the inner life and mental breakdown of Blanche – idealised fantasies of previous relationships escalate into a full-blown Hollywood style musical, and at the end, reveal to the audience a surreal vision of the sinister-tinged, nightmare logic of Blanche’s psychosis. These transformations are supported by Nicola Turner’s set design which brilliantly combines ‘realistic’ scenery with elements that utilise the audience’s imagination – moving from busy cityscapes to the claustrophobia of Stella’s flat, with mere beer crates being used to evoke the supernatural, or a nightclub scene or to document a sweaty, hassled commuter journey.Needed moments of relief from the intensity and claustrophobia of Act II are provided by the fun crowd scenes, ranging from a Lindy Hop style dance scene to the comic elements of Mitch’s courtship of Blanche.The principals not only carry the dancing, but I’d also like to call out the quality of the acting. On the night I saw the show, Ryoichi Hirano played Stanley not only with the required physical and animal presence, but in his solo also managed to make you feel there was more to Stanley than simply a brute. Bethany Kinsley-Garner was superb at conveying Stella’s conflicting feelings for Stanley and Blanche, and Jerome Barnes as Mitch was by turns comic, touching and brutal. Finally, Marge Hendrick was devastating in conveying the different elements of Blanche and the pathos of the character. The score by Peter Salem uses jazz styles of the period. Act I is more orchestrally aligned, while Act II uses the brassy jazz themes appropriate to working class popular music of the period. Ella Fitzgerald’s Paper Moon – a song about longing to turn a fantasy of love into reality – is used to show the conflict between Stanley and Blanche. The score then uses variations on that tune as a motif to movingly chart Blanche’s decline.Tennessee Williams was originally going to call the play The Moth, representing Blanche as a moth to a flame, and this visual motif is used to bookend the ballet, with the bare light bulb used to emphasise scenes of danger for Blanche within the action.The show is on tour across Scotland (performances at Orkney and Stornoway to come) and Scottish Ballet and their sponsors should be congratulated on achieving what is a significant logistical and costly feat.This award winning show was first performed in 2012, with choreography by Annabelle Lopez Ocho, and it was last performed eight years ago in the US. This is a very worthy revival and demonstrates again how Scottish Ballet are building a truly enviable repertoire of dances.

The Artistic Director might have changed but the Orange Tree Theatre continues to resurrect plays from eras that many houses might shun. Last year outgoing Director Paul Miller completed his series of Shaw productions with the fabulously amusing Arms and the Man. Now, Tom Littler, newly arrived from Jermyn Street Theatre, has chosen Somerset Maugham’s equally humorous The Circle as his debut work, and what a joy it is.It’s only when a director decides to delve into the past and launch a revival of a work that may have languished for years that we are reminded of the greatness of men such as these and in particular their command of language, extensive vocabularies and exquisite sentence structure. They might have engaged in the occasional ‘damn’ but characters were otherwise able to express themselves fully without recourse to endless swearing and obscenities. The Circle, first produced at the Haymarket Theatre in March 1921, is an opportunity to revel in a linguistically rich period piece, full of wit and humour.By that time, Maugham was an established author and playwright. 1908 saw four plays of his running contemporaneously in the West End. While his language caused no offence, his plots did not always go down well among the upper classes, whose lives were riddled with social indiscretions, affairs. divorces, camouflages and hypocrisies. Maugham, who spent a lifetime hiding, denying and yet flaunting his homosexuality, depending on where he was and with whom, was only too well aware of this, but it didn’t stop him from exposing the lives of the well-to-do.The action takes place over the course of a day in an elegant family home in Aston-Adey, Dorset, delightfully brought to life with tasteful period furniture by Designer Louie Whitemore, that allows for ease of movement around the pieces and space for the card table to be opened up. Arnold Champion-Cheney (Pete Ashmore) enters and is clearly agitated. He stares at a figurine, picks it up and returns it to the precise location from which George Murray (Robert Maskell), his butler, has just removed it. Pacing up and down he contemplates the arrival of his mother, Lady Catherine ‘Kitty’ Champion-Cheney (Jane Asher) and her partner, Lord ‘Hughie’ Porteus (Nicholas Le Prevost) with whom she eloped thirty years ago. Arnold is her only child, but they have not met since she abandoned him and his father Clive Champion-Cheney (Clive Francis) to go off with Lord Porteus. The impending difficult reunion is exacerbated by coinciding with a visit from his father, who is staying in the lodge on the estate. His wife, Elizabeth Champion-Cheney (Olivia Vinall), provides him no comfort, as she is enthusiastically welcoming the arrival of the woman who sacrificed all for love and defied the social mores of the day. As will soon be revealed the realities of Kittie’s life turned out to be less than idyllic and the couple have spent a lifetime of merely tolerating each other, which adds to the tension in the house. Their circumstances are of particular interest to Elizabeth as she is currently enamoured of Arnold’s friend, Edward ‘Teddie’ Luton (Chirag Benedict Lobo), a planter in the Federated Malay States. Will history repeat itself? The answer to that comes in the last moments of the play which entices to the very end with the back and forth of the, “Will she, won’t she?” question. For those concerned with the unravelling of plot there is an entertaining sufficiency, but for modern audiences it surely plays second fiddle to the writing and the impeccable delivery by this superbly cast ensemble. Maugham once observed, 'Words have weight, sound, and appearance; it is only by considering these that you can write a sentence that is good to look at and good to listen to'. One might add that it is only by understanding this that justice can be done to the text by those performing it. Leading this art is the veteran Francis, wittily sardonic and relishing lines that are almost asides, but delivered with a cutting edge, never forgetting the power of the pause to heighten the anticipation. He injects the humour at every opportunity as does Le Prevost who creates a mumbling, chuntering, henpecked man who has clearly learned the art of living and coping with his wife and is resigned to his fate. Asher, in contrast oozes class and self-confidence, dominating scenes as befits her character, holding forth with flawless articulation. The others similarly sustain the style and manners of their class, but it is the casting of Lobo that provides an aural contrast and also serves as a reminder that this was the period of Empire. Presumably the part could be cast as a young, white colonial careerist, instead we have a youthful brown man of Indian-Portuguese descent with a natural Indian accent energetically moving around professing his love for Elizabeth. It’s easy to see why he stirs the spirit of excitement and adventure in her.Dressed in his cricket whites he stands out in Whitemore’s overall design which features some stunning outfits for Asher. Costume Supervisor Evelien Van Camp has ensured that the fits are perfect and that the vivid colours create a stunning presence which, of course, Asher knows how to exude. Lighting by Chris McDonnell gives added vibrancy and also carefully enhances the passage of time and the varying moods of the room. Playing gently in the background is a rich rural soundscape from Sound Designer Max Pappenheim, that has the singing of birds and the muted woofs of a distant dog interspersed among the music of the period. The production is a triumph for all the creatives involved. Director Tom Littler has created a masterpiece of naturalism that plays to the intimacy of the theatre, performed in the round and utilising the four doorways onto the floor to give the impression of a large country house that extends into the gardens and beyond the confines of this one room. Ted Morgan, in his biography, Somerset Maugham, claims The Circle as ‘the first of Maugham's plays to be booed’, implying that others came later. The reason according to The Times newspaper of the day was the very last scene: ‘a bold ending – too bold, apparently, for some orthodox moralists in the gallery last night – but approved, we think, by the more mundane majority in the house’. If that was the case, then Littler has deservedly attracted that audience, who rather than being ‘mundane’ are perhaps discerning and show their appreciation with rapturous applause.

Noah McCreadie has scored a triumph with his debut play Getaway/Runaway and the intimacy of the King’s Head Theatre provides the perfect setting for this intense drama from Shot In The Dark Theatre CompanyFour characters sit on chairs against the rear wall of the thrust stage. They are motionless, intently gazing into the dimly lit void in front of them. Each will become embroiled in the uncomfortable family gathering that will soon ensue. For now, they can merely reflect upon their pasts, anticipate the imminent encounters and wonder what their futures might hold. Mark (Chris Moore), whose bi-polar wife left him when he went to prison, has recently been released, though he will never be free from the fear of going back to the alcoholism which previously consumed him. He’s living with his new partner, Alice (Coline Atterbury), a woman who shrouds herself in mystery and probably has a history that is better left unexplored, judging by some of her comments. Her manner is unnerving and leaves room for endless speculation. Rising from their seats Mark’s two children arrive one after the other. They are going to stay with their estranged father (and by default, Alice) for the first time since his release. Given their uneasy previous relationship with him that meeting could prove difficult in itself, but Eliot (Nye Occomore) brings with him the burden of currently being accused of rape by his ex-girlfriend. His sister, Saoirse (Kiera Murray), is rather the odd one out in this quartet; she is actually fairly normal, with nothing major going on, nor anything to hide, except dealing with her family She has just to carry the baggage of being surrounded by the others.Awkward moments abound in this drama that is full of suspense and has the unnerving edge of a Hitchcock thriller, riddled with power games, gaslighting and dysfunctionality. McCreadie wrote the initial draft in his last term at the Oxford School of Drama, since when it has emerged with revisions via an intense period of research and development combined with workshops that elicited widespread input. The benefits of this process shine through. The language is focussed and economical and the storyline tightly structured. Each character fills out in a drip-feed of revelations and the dynamic passes from one to the other as insights emerge. There are moments of humour; repartee gives relief from the sustained intensity, but they are passing, as the complexity of each character builds up and the story progresses. McCreadie speaks enthusiastically of being partnered with Hannah McLeod as co-director in this staging, who skilfully directed the company’s debut production, Cheer Up Slug at the Bread and Roses Theatre, Clapham. The doubling has added to the insights brought to the production and heightened the sensitivities that play out in the intense sixty minutes. Getaway/Runaway has the fervour of closely-knit team with members who understand and compliment each other. There are fine performances throughout. Occomore exudes a troubled demeanour that gives him an air of mystery even before we know the full extent of his problems. Murray reaches out to him with sisterly concern but she also shows the stress of the situation that's complicated by having to deal with her father and that woman. However she knows her father well, but still depairs at his situation while Moore captures the regrets of a man whose life went wrong and who continues to live with the guilt. Atterbury, meanwhile, portrays the most puzzling of characters, relishing the release of snippets from her past while remaining an enigma. Her revelations simply beg more questions while her currents motives are shrouded and probably cause for suspicion. She merits a play of her own; we’re all begging to know more.Added to this must be an appreciation of the evocative original score and sound design by Johnny Edwards. It’s simbiosis with the text is a vital part of the production and is present throughout. At times it lingers hauntingly in the background sustaining the air of creepy mystery and nervous suspense that permeates the play, but there are also moments of dramatic crescendos that rise to accompany arguments and scenes of personal torment, before fading again to a pianissimo that keeps us on edge. It’s another triumph in itself.In one understated description of the play McCreadie describes it merely as ‘a twisted and darkly comedic family drama’. The simplicity of that statement, whilst true, does no justice to what is a haunting and captivating exploration of the human psyche.

A fast pace and some hilarious banter about their names, how to pronounce and spell them, gets Barry McStay’s Breeding off to an immediately engaging and rip-roaring start that says, “You’re going to be in for a treat,” and it does not disappoint.Not only did Barry McStay write the play, he also plays Eoin who has a chance encounter with Zeb, played by Dan Nicholson. You can have some fun with friends on the very precise enunciation of their handles. The two of them ooze that casual and endearing bonhomie that makes you want to immediately be part of their social set, not that we know anything about their mates, because this hour or so is tightly focussed on the overriding concern of the two guys and their relationship with the woman who can fulfill or thwart their burning ambition. No time is wasted on getting to the heart of the matter. There’s a chance meeting, nervous introductions, an impassioned snog and before you know it they've moved in with each other and have been married for two years. In their settled existence they have everything except a family and so they decide to embark on what turns out to be the tortuous path of adopting a child. As they point out, the ease with which straight couples can breed and churn out sprogs seems highly irresponsible compared to the hurdles or tests, examinations, interviews and determinations for worthiness and suitability that people trying to adopt have go through and that’s before you filter in the the gay ingredient. They are confident, however, that their balanced relationship will provide the perfect environment for a child to grow up in. Zeb will be the fun daddy and Eoin will be the serious daddy. All they have to do now is to persuade Beth, the social worker, and those behind her on the boards, committees and assessment panels who make the decision. Aamira Challenger is charming and empathetic, sensitively guiding them through the process, herself knowing how protracted, intrusive and frustrating it can be. As they progress through the stages the couple become increasingly close to her. But how will it all end? Well, this is not simply a play about how the adoption system works, though it provides an educational insight into that. With a couple of twists, it turns into a deeply moving drama that confronts tragedy and welcomes redemption. Director Matthew Iliffe navigates this path with sensitivity and draws out performances from a trio that is well-cast, thanks to Casting Consultant, Nadine Rennie CDG, and who manage the dynamics of the script in a way that flows from the comedy to the functional narrative and through the complex denouement without jarring. The team of creatives is also clearly in tune with his vision. Intimacy Director Jess Tucker-Boyd has clearly given the cast the security and ease of working together that allows for the generation of emotional intensity, and inevitably Sound Designer Julian Starr, reflects and enhances the moods and transitions unobtrusively yet supportively, working in harmony with Lighting Designer Ryan Joseph Stafford who achieves the same results. Add a simple, functional set and credible costumes from Ceci Calf and the smooth work of Stage Manager Lamesha Ruddock and you have a production that oozes accomplishment in every department.McStay’s success here follows on from his triumph in Vespertilio and puts him in that happy band of writers to look out for, but it's the director, actors and creative team who have fashioned his vision for Breeding into a tremendously enjoyable and moving tragi-comedy.

As the audience enter the auditorium at the Scottish Storytelling Centre, the four storytellers are already on stage: poet Janette Ayachi, powerhouse crime author Val McDermid, burlesque artist Tom Harlow and producer and host for the evening Turan Ali. Tonight is a celebration of queerness, otherness and full on sluttery.Ali steps up first in a fabulous velvet jacket and tartan trousers and announces that we’ll hear eight queer stories – two from each guest – as well as some shorter, micro stories. This introduction puts me at ease and sets the tone for the whole evening. It’s apparent that Ali is so incredibly proud of this night. It’s a genuine pleasure for him to be here with us tonight, sharing these tales. After the first micro story of the night from Ali, a failed hook-up with a slutty sailor, our first storytelling is introduced – the magnificent Janette Ayachi. Her two stories over the course of the evening track her love life from university to the present day and the discovery of her queerness. The sections from Ayachi are unapologetically vulnerable and fresh. There’s something hypnotic about her vernacular. It’s almost as if the audience needs to take a few moments to properly tune into the way she expresses herself. However, once we’re on that frequency, Ayachi becomes a presence that when speaking, everyone is quiet – not out of politeness but out of fascination. Next up is Tom Harlow who presents himself as “a culmination of all his father’s failures”. Dressed in wonderful leopard print that would put Kat Slater to shame, his first tale is an intimate story about identity which involves a lot of Disney films (mostly The Little Mermaid), trauma and his parents. It’s a story that really touched me, as another gay man in his early thirties, and I’m sure many of the audience members based on much of the marvellous reactions he received. His second story was a brave tale of combating the anti-trans trolls on Twitter and how that led him to attempt to become the gayest thing at Disneyland Florida. It was both hilarious and touching.Turan Ali is our next storyteller. Titled Freefalling and Flushed With Success, his stories are incredibly well scripted and thought out. When he’s not producing this evening or shows for the BBC, Ali is a stand-up comic, and you can tell. He understands comic timing and how to tell an effective story. The audience hangs on his every word in his first story, as he describes his Austrian friend, an “assertive insertive” literally hanging on to a hunky hook-up for dear life. His second story, one of ‘discovery’ shall we say, includes a hilarious section about a teenage Ali attempting to explain some adult content to his puritanical Austrian mother. Much like the best stand-up comedians, this material has been tried, tested and perfected for an audience by Ali. It was a joy to watch.Val McDermid tells our final stories. Her first tale was a love story rooted in 1980s Sheffield but ending up in the far away regions of New Zealand. The second was more personal and turned out to be more of something that we would expect from a McDermid novel: a story of betrayal and revenge as she reminded us that we can be blinded by love. Even though McDermid initially admitted that she was out of her comfort zone with this form of public speaking, it was still a masterclass in storytelling and the audience was wowed. Queer Folks’ Tales is a note perfect evening filled with warmth and queer joy. There’s also a wonderful realisation that everyone in the space, no matter who they are, is accepted for being themselves. The audience was celebrated for being themselves as we heard some individual micro stories from them after the interval. The night is not about status, it’s about togetherness. This was further solidified after Tom Harlow’s first story when he turned to Val McDermid and said “I can’t believe I’m on the bill with you.” She responded with “No – I can’t believe I’m on the bill with you!” For me, this was the moment when the evening turned from being a show to a shared experience. This is the type of evening that I wish I had growing up as a queer person and I can only imagine it will go from strength to strength.

If you are looking for a remarkable piece of unusual drama then the Hampstead Theatre’s production of little scratch is now being presented by New Diorama in their perfectly-suited theatre. It’s bold and brave to the point of stirring incredulity that something so powerful can be created from such stark simplicity. The secret is in the complexity of the text and its delivery.The blackened stage has two white tables set apart from each other. On them are collections of items which will be incorporated into the performance as a source of sound effects and often some amusement. A scrubbing brush is scratched, a packet of crisps is opened and noisily crunched, cereals in a bowl are munched and water is gargled and gurgled as teeth are cleaned and it’s even drunk.Four microphone stand across the front of the stage as though set up for a backing group in a recording studio. Four actors emerge from the wings dressed in a mix of greys and blacks and take up their positions behind the mics where they stand for the hundred minute run. A light shines down from above each of them, courtesy of lighting designer Bethany Gupwell, for they are the ensemble of leads who will take us through the narrative. The star of the of the show is the unseen woman to whom all of their words relate, leaving us free to create our own image of her. There is also another powerful presence in the form of an evocative soundscape devised by Melanie Wilson that plays throughout.If you imagine all the things that might go through your head during the course of a day then you will have a feel for this play. Think of the conversations you have with your self; the myriad observations you make on people who pass by you; the bewilderment you experience when you look at what someone is doing; the memories you conjure up; the reminders you give yourself; the plans you make; the reflections on mundane activities; the thoughts about family, friends and loved ones and maybe a recent tragedy you’ve experienced the memory of which will not go away. Add to this the context of a self-harming woman who contemplates telling her boyfriend that she has been raped by the boss who is still present at work. Imagine this stream of consciousness vocalised in multiple short sentences, words and sounds as though put together as musical score for a quartet, with each voice precisely cued, sometimes solo but also overlapping with the other voices in a chorus, at times in unison or harmony but very often discordantly interrupting each other. Katie Mitchell has been meticulous in crafting the complex text written by Miriam Battye, which was adapted from Rebecca Watson’s book. Timing the entrance of each actor’s voice with such precision creates an effect akin to a musical work. Apart from learning this minefield of language the cast of Eleanor Henderson, Eve Ponsonby, Rebekah Murrell, Ragevan Vasan rise to the enormous challenge of imbuing it with a string of emotions that capture the changing moods and circumstances of the twenty-four hour period over which it is set. It’s a remarkable feat.The play is a work like no other, that places demands on those seeing it to remain focussed and attentive; to listen, listen, listen. To do so is breathtakingly and stunningly rewarding.

It’s not every day that you see your imagination augmented by the stage adaptation of a book. Instinct would suggest that it's too limiting. Joel Horwood’s adaptation of Neil Gaiman’s The Ocean at the End of the Lane proves that this isn't true, bringing with it a spark that turns the stage into a mirror of our own understanding. It is like seeing your imagination play out in front of you, the effect so enrapturing that you forget that you are surrounded by other people. It’s as if it’s there only for you. Directed by Katy Rudd, The Ocean at the End of the Lane recounts the introduction of magic into reality, as the Boy (Keir Ogilvy) remembers moments of his childhood: meeting Lettie Hempstock (Millie Hikasa) and her family just as the malign spirit Skarthach (Charlie Brooks) wreaks havoc on his family. There’s so much to learn from this show, from what Gaiman has written, it challenges our perspective and leaves us with more questions than answers. Gaiman has a truly magnificent way of crashing realism and surrealism together, and then pointing to the consequences of such an event, but in between he reveals some important truths about human nature and perspectives. The book brings about such intense feelings with every word, and Rudd and Horwood have done a spectacular job of ensuring those same emotions translate to the stage, that we feel the immediacy of Gaiman’s words breaking through the fourth wall.Gaiman’s words appear truly at home in a theatre, as the magic of his storytelling is brought to life. The technical aspects of the show are pushed to their limits, showing us why we call it ‘theatre magic’. The combination of every aspect recreates the vibrancy of Gaiman’s book, and it works like an enchantment - you can’t look away even if you wanted to. Everything is incredibly precise and immaculate, and what happens onstage is magic - there’s no other way to explain it. There is an otherworldliness that creeps in gradually that is created by the tech; from Jherek Biscoff’s composition, whether it’s the more tribal beat that is set against the Hempstock’s conjuring or the etherealness of the ocean, the music adds a certain richness to these moments, making the action appear more like a personal memory than a play. This is augmented by Paule Constable’s lighting design, which creates deliberate spaces for the characters. It is used to show the difference between the ordinary and extraordinary, and we can see the melding of the two through the use of the lighting. The light traps and confines the cast, creating certain associations that we learn to distrust, before exploding into brighter than life colours, a clever progression that coupled with the sound design and Steven Hoggett’s movement creates moments that leave us in sheer astonishment and wonder. The cast’s ability to recreate the precision of these moments are amazing, because it does seem like one misstep and it would all fall apart. This is especially true of Brooks’ introduction as Ursula and Hikasa’s banishing spell - it is in these intense moments where their acting mettle is tested that they shine the most. The Hempstocks are the most amusing characters equally due to what they say and how they say it. There is a matter of factness in the delivery of certain lines that creates a strangeness that encourages us to laugh not necessarily in the face of the darkness that the story delved into, but in spite of itThe Ocean at the End of the Lane takes us through the looking glass to the places where dark things lurk, and most importantly, shows us how we can beat them. The boy goes through a crucible in this show, and so do we, discovering facets of ourselves that we may not know exist. This is a breathtaking show that deserves to stick around as long as Old Mrs Hempstock.

We start with an empty stage adorned with punk memorabilia, ready for a grunge-femme concert. We end with tears and laughter; inspired to visit a sex therapist, start a band and smash the patriarchy. Led by director Celine Lowenthal and producer Emma Blackman, this is the captivating power of Sugar Coat and its remarkably talented team.The play blends chatty monologues and immersive scenes with rousing pop-punk performances, taking us on a journey through the ups and downs of a young woman's life. The central character is a challenging role, requiring an actor with incredible emotional versatility, comedic timing and fiery singing to carry the play's themes. Fortunately, Dani Heron fits the bill perfectly. She is magnetic as the unnamed protagonist, engaging the audience with relentless eye contact and boundless energy throughout the interval-less play. It is an unforgettable performance.Heron is supported by four multi-talented multi-rollers. Rachel Barnes is so versatile that she must surely be three separate people in real life: the changes to her posture and voice make her mother, therapist, and ‘lovely lesbian’ totally distinct. Eve De Leon Allen is endlessly charming as one half of a polyamorous couple, with a remarkable singing voice. Sarah Workman is hilarious as teenage boyfriend Dean. Their delivery of texts during a confusing relationship scenario, “wot… lol?”, had us in stitches while conveying a sweet, sad vulnerability. Anya Pearson is a master of the guitar with a rare sense of vulnerability in her performance. A slight sense of surprise at the loving reception she received was the only sign of this being her acting debut; it is surely an avenue she will continue to explore.Never off the stage, these actor-musicians also make up the rest of the band and play their instruments live. With constant interaction between bandmates, from shared smiles to guitar riffs and distinct choreography for each song, I felt like I was at a real gig, discovering a band on the rise.The songs won’t stay in your head for days, but that's not the point. Led by co-musical directors Lilly Pollard and Anya Pearson, the music is emotional, raw, and often angry, amplifying the emotion behind each joy and trauma of our frontwoman's life. When my brain froze at a serious event on stage, ranging from rape to miscarriage, the songs brought emotional release.The power of Sugar Coat lies in exploring extraordinary issues that happen all too often to ordinary people. First revealing the cost of silence, it finds hope in the possibility of healing, the power of honesty, and the impact of kindness in return. Yet, it also highlights that these events occur alongside everyday experiences, such as meeting weird housemates, admiring hot boys and excelling in your exams. Life does not stop at trauma, nor does trauma stop within life. Lowenthal should feel proud of their bold, creative direction. The play creates a nuanced, varied and realistic portrayal of the human experience I have seen nowhere else. Compliments must also go to the secret sixth member of the band: the lighting, designed by Martha Godfrey. Impressive enough to feel like a concert at the O2 but thoughtful enough to never overwhelm the emotion on stage, it was the most creative I have ever seen in a smaller venue. I was particularly obsessed with the large, colour-changing letters spelling out “Sugar Coat” at the back of Ruth Badila’s impressive set. The technical team did an extraordinary job of timing hundreds of lighting cues in addition to managing the sound to perfection. Overall, Sugar Coat is a tour de force of gig theatre. Finding the perfect balance between hilarity and emotional impact, Sugar Coat is a must-see for anyone looking for a powerful and unique theatre experience.

Two main questions flit through your mind as you watch SpitLip’s Operation Mincemeat - firstly ‘God it’s brilliant,’ followed quickly by, ‘how are they allowed to do that?’ But the beauty of Operation Mincemeat is that neither its characters or composers - David Cumming, Natasha Hidgson, Zoë Roberts and Felix Hagan - ask permission. With this musical the four have created a daring, ridiculous and unapologetic piece of theatre that leaves us completely credulous in trying to understand just how on earth they created something so sensational and pulled it off. With direction by Robert Hastie and choreography by Jenny Arnold, Operation Mincemeat is a musical about the British intelligence operation of the same name. Led by Ewen Montagu (Hodgson) and Charles Cholmondeley (Cumming), they orchestrate a plan to trick the Germans into thinking the British are planning to invade Sardinia, in the luckiest, unimaginable way possible. You simply can’t make this stuff up. SpitLip has created a show that has an incredible emotional range, enough to give us whiplash, and theyre very good at showing how much the plan could have gone wrong, and how it nearly did. The songs are unforgettable and all of them add to the insanity of this musical and completely hold their own, even though at times it appears SpitLip is in competition with itself to make the next number even better. There’s so much silly humour and self-awareness in this musical, that veers into the slapstick whilst respecting the tone of the context. The comedy is insanely clever and absurd; this musical is a fun space that challenges but doesn’t look to offend in the name of being funny. There’s just so much going on all at once, it’s such an amazing experience to watch it. It’s an incredibly well-written musical, managing to have fun with the source material whilst understanding the gravity of its context. Because there’s a solemnity underpinning the show, despite the high-energy mockery, only doing so in the situations and to the people that deserve it. This solemnity is in the very felt presence of Bill Martin - because he is there, you can feel him throughout the show, meeting him as you would any other character. He’s the sixth member of the cast, and the way that he’s written in is a work of incredible skill, maturity and respect. With Operation Mincemeat, SpitLip has proven themselves a creative and comedy force to be reckoned with. The atmospheric lighting of Mark Henderson's design brings us in and out of the contrasting and varying emotions. He appears to push the limits of what lighting can do in a musical with very entertaining results. Ben Stones’ set and costume design is deceptively simple and keeps surprising us as the show goes on. His designs are incredibly elegant and detailed, especially the costumes that have a dexterity and dazzle that adds another layer to the comedy and characters. Considering the pace of the costume changes, such attention to detail not helps us track the various characters over the course of the show, but make the changes appear all the more visually entertaining. The cast of five work incredibly well together, making the fun and joy in their performances is abundantly clear. Through their performance it’s easy to get caught up in the more ‘fun’ aspects of the operation, the glitz and glamor and upbeat dance numbers, bringing a shock to our systems when the tone shifts. The cast’s portrayals of their different characters is incredibly skilled, and we end up meeting a range of personas from caricatures with sly winks to real people who impress upon us the gravity of the task. The speed and ability to completely change instantly from one character to another is astonishing, best exemplified in Just For Tonight, where two contrasting scenes and orchestrations harmonize, yet stand apart before simultaneously increasing in speed and franticness as the tension mounts. The entire cast is extremely talented and they’re performances are spectacular in just about every way that they can be. An honourable mention goes to Jak Malone who, like the others members of the cast oscillates between the serious and satirical, playing characters that range from Hester Leggett to Willie Watkins. But he really shines during the more grounded moments, where he takes on a quiet emotional dignity that spills over to us in Dear Bill, which is such a beautiful song, I don't think I've ever heard a silence like the one during this song. You’d have to be dead inside not to be moved by his performance. But Malone's brief appearances as the Captain of H.M.S. Seraph, Norman Jewell is where the context really hit home for me. Because up to that point, most of the action has been incredibly high-energy, witty repartee, and it's really easy to get swept up in the Ewen Montagu of it all, due to Hodgson's charmingly fun performance that carries so much confidence that nothing can deter her, not even a mic malfunction. But the sheer decency that Malone's character shows, just a bit more respect, care and humanity of that goodbye to Bill, really highlights the calousness of the 'hero' of the story. Operation Mincemeat is the closest thing we have to a British Hamilton - taking a piece of history that is so embedded in the national consciousness and identity and making it into a high-spirited, accessible musical that every so often ridicules its source material. However, SpitLip has created a musical surpasses even this comparison, because it is just so much more. Unfortunately five stars is the limit, I would happily give many more.

Hilarious, satirical, superbly staged and brilliantly performed, Accidental Death of an Anarchist has hit the Lyric, Hammersmith in an explosion of theatricality following its sensational success at the Sheffield Playhouse.From the outset it’s as though a starter gun has been fired for a race that goes at the speed of a 100m sprint but sustains the excitement of that pace for a couple of hours. Setting the tempo is Daniel Rigby (Maniac), from whom words flow in torrents and yet whose speeches are delivered with such precise enunciation that nothing is lost. The only way a line might be missed is as it’s drowned out by outbursts of extended laughter, which if he were to wait every time for them to fully subside would have us there till the early hours. The lunacy of the play is set on the third and subsequently the fourth floor of police headquarters. (Even the transition from one floor to the other is amusingly clever; its the same set with a twist in which Designer Anna Reid has cleverly captured institutional blandness.) The events follow on from the death of a falsely-accused anarchist whilst in police interrogation. Debate rages over whether the young man, whose body was found on the pavement outside the building, accidentally fell from the window, was pushed or committed suicide. The police have two versions of the incident on their files, making them more or less complicit in his defenestration, depending on which you prefer. Enter The Maniac who has been brought in on charges of impersonation, something at which he subsequently proves to be an expert. However, he has a defence for any and every charge they can bring: he is legally certified as insane and has a framed copy of the certificate to prove it. Lest anyone be in doubt, believes that ‘all the world’s a stage’ and that he is called upon to live a life of performance in front of the populous, who are his audience. Unable to resist the thrilling opportunities presented by his current situation, he immerses himself into the police investigation of the anarchist’s death by disguising himself firstly as the judge, who insists the case be reopened, then as a forensic expert and finally as a bishop. He thus performs to an audience both on and off stage with a broken fourth wall.The play has its origins in the death of Giuseppe 'Pino' Pinelli, aged forty-one, a well-known member of anarchist organisations in Milan who ‘fell’ from a window while in police detention following a deadly bomb explosion in the city in 1969. Following investigations into police behaviour his death was declared to be an accident and he was posthumously cleared of any involvement when others were found to be responsible. The event caused huge controversy and Dario Fo along with his wife Franca Rame penned this play as an excoriating farce about the functioning of the police force.Fo was not precious about his work and encouraged translators (in this case Tom Basden) and directors (here Daniel Raggett) to adapt his plays to the circumstances of the day; an attitude he espoused from the commedia dell'arte of his native country. Basden has embraced Fo’s wish wholeheartedly. The play is now set in London and is replete with direct references to police scandals, botched investigations and the criticisms of what goes on behind the walls of police stations. These references pack a punch and are speedily interwoven with all the blatant humour to which they stand out in stark contrast. Their brazen inclusion as exemplars of ineptitude shock and amuse at the same time. The same cannot be said for the chilling statistics of deaths in custody and the paltry number of charges brought against officers, displayed after the final curtain. We might laugh at the follies of the Force but for those caught up in the reality of them it is anything but a joke.For the cast, all the nonsense is taken very seriously, of course, for maximum effect, starting with Howard Ward who, as Inspector Burton, thinks he has a simple investigation to carry out of the sort he has done a thousand times before. He’s clearly risen in rank from the days when he was PC Plod, but has retained something of the manner, hence it takes very little time for him to be out of his depth and enraged by the non-conformity of The Maniac. Meanwhile, Tony Gardner gives the impression that Superintendent Curry’s boots never walked the streets, but that rather he had contacts in all the right places to elevate him above his level of competence. Po-faced and struggling to remember which version of events he is currently adhering to, his open reminders to himself of the current cover-up are, of course, amusing but also ring very true of many in authority. Between these two officers, other levels of incompetence are occupied by an endearing, Asian-looking (his family are actually from Grenada) Shane David-Joseph as Constable Joseph and Jordan Metcalfe as Detective Daisy. In the latter’s case the name probably says it all. How could he possibly be taken seriously? Metcalfe, as something of a fall guy, supplies plenty of evidence of the officer’s ineptitude. David-Joseph, apart from accentuating the Met’s inclusivity and the nature of its multi-racial task force, also hints that some retain a semblance of sanity despite the fools who surround them, though that probably won’t last, as his moments of contributing to the fray suggest. Which leaves Ruby Thomas, who in contrast to others, enters with a demeanour of privilege from another world to brandish her limited journalistic skills as Fi Phelan and also become embroiled in the chaos. The casting chemistry is explosive. Rigby, however, is the man in charge and around whom everything revolves and by whom the frenetic pace is determine. Accolades should shower upon him for this performance, as they should for Basden for his hilarious, penetrating and contemporary adaptation and Raggett for directing a block-buster show. ’When Fo was warded the 1997 Nobel Prize in Literature, the committee commended him as one "who emulates the jesters of the Middle Ages in scourging authority and upholding the dignity of the downtrodden”. Oh that he were still with us! But at least we can be thankful that his radical theatrical tradition is being perpetuated in productions such as this.

The setting for Lucy Beresford-Knox’s Burn, could hardly be better. The Pit at the Vault Festival has exposed brick walls and an arched ceiling; all the makings of a dark, dank prison that sets the scene for an intense encounter between Queen Mary I (Frankie Hyde-Peace) and Thomas Cranmer (Kelvin Giles).Cranmer’s hey-day is over. The servant of Henry VIII and Edward VI, who was appointed Archbishop of Canterbury, has failed to manoeuvre his way from being the leading light of the newly-formed Church of England and author of the Book of Common Prayer, to a man who could not credibly change his position to serve the Catholic Queen. The country had reverted to it’s old traditions and as a reformer he has now spent two years confined for treason and heresy, of which his Thirty-Nine Articles stand testimony. The bright ceremonial robes of ecclesiastical office along with all the pomp and ceremonies have been stripped away. Giles appears in the simpler period robes of a commoner with the suggestion Doctor of Divinity. His Cranmer is humble and dejected; a shadow of his former self, yet still possessed of his intellect and the hope that he can escape the fate that awaits him. He’s apologetic and willing to recant; to concede to the errors he has made and to seek forgiveness for having led the nation astray.Mary, however, is having none of it. Under a different monarch he might have talked his way out of the situation, but his is lost cause. The two engage in conversation while moving their pieces on a chess board. The Game of Kings could not be more appropriate in its silent symbolism.The monarch and the bishop vie for supremacy, but the latter is now just another pawn in the power struggle that grips the country. Hyde-Peace has regal presence, dressed in glistening black that has all the overtones of having come prepared for a funeral. Cranmer can never win this game and ultimately she has no need to win an argument; his plight is non negotiable. She is the Queen and by her order he will be executed.Yet we know that in just two years the same fate will await her. The tide is already turning for her. A chalk-board proclaims "Mary I of England was a strong, handsome queen. Intelligent, independent, and a powerful woman. She will forever be remembered as such”. Her fine attributes and positive qualities are one by one wiped off and crossed out to be replaced with their opposites that become her legacy which forever lables her as 'Bloody Mary'. Hyde-Peace shows Mary increasingly tormented by her weaknesses and the public’s growing negative perception of her. Cranmer may not have the upper hand but he knows how to inflict pain and turn the screw. She remains in control, however, dominating the encounter, though the other element in the play, that of her being a woman, is also ever-present. As the words are changed it’s hard not to think that it’s a device that would only work if the stereotypical failings of her sex were able to be deployed. As the first woman on the throne of England she was not excused the misogyny of the centuries and the need to placate men. She might win this battle with Cranmer, but that war would still not be won even centuries later.Beresford-Knox’s script captures the gravitas of the situation, is immersed in history, without being didactic, and captures the humanity of two people raised to positions they must defend, but who are otherwise ordinary people with the same feelings and emotions as the peasants on the street and Director Sophie Wilson gives these full reign. There is no hint of the simplicity that would come from creating a good guy and bad guy, but rather of teamwork that has created a production that is delicately nuanced, finely balanced and completely captivating.This Beresford-Knox’s debut play and it marks and outstanding entry into the world of script-writing. She has found a niche in which her understanding of characters, historical research and style of writing are moulded into powerful and captivating theatre.

Willy Russell’s iconic one-woman play Shirley Valentine premiered on the stage in 1986. Sheridan Smith had been born just five years earlier, in 1981. She has now reached the required age to take on the part, and we are blessed as she could have easily been born to play this role. It is a perfect match of actress and character.Smith plays Shirley Valentine as if we have simultaneously just met her and know her intimately. We, the audience, are there as reliably as her kitchen wall whilst also needing to be told exactly how her friends and family fit into her life. It is a fine line to tread, though Smith accomplishes it easily. The show opens with Shirley in her kitchen. The design by Paul Wills is simple yet elegant showing hints of rooms – and life – beyond the kitchen. His task is more complex than a lot of set designers as this room has to function for the famous cooking of egg and chips. The act two set was stunning to behold. A special mention must also go out to the costuming by Paul Wills (again) and Jessica Dixon as her outfits matched wonderfully with the sets – and lighting by Lucy Carter – to create a sumptuous image to marvel at. The entire visual spectacle had unity and integrity throughout and so credit must go to director Matthew Dunster.It is, however, Sheridan Smith’s moment. The warmth displayed is engaging from start to finish. On the night I watched there was a very loud and well timed cackle from an audience member rather early on in the show. Smith remained in character whilst acknowledging the laugh in such the way the entire audience burst into applause and laughter simultaneously. It was an early indicator that we were in very safe hands for the next couple of hours. It’s rare to feel that everyone around you is able to find something in the play that speaks to them, but that happened in this theatre. It is the nature of Willy Russell’s play that it has an affinity with the human psyche and the desires that we all share. By the end of the night I was moved, all those around me were moved and possibly even Smith herself was moved by the audience reaction that followed. This is one of those shows that will live long in the memory. Masterfully written, beautifully staged and exceptionally performed.

Unless it has the sophistication of a Sondheim, or the renown and heritage of a Rodgers and Hammerstein, it’s rare to see a musical on a National Theatre stage.Some plays do come with the occasional song added, but usually just as a side dish. You wouldn’t categorise a Threepenny Opera with a Thriller, or a Wuthering Heights with a Wicked. Not a great portent for new musical, Standing at the Sky’s Edge. The Sheffield Crucible’s 2019 production finally makes its delayed London transfer… to play the National’s Olivier. It won’t help when the memory of the National’s last foray into new musicals, Hex, must still linger backstage like a fart in a lift.However, the worry is unnecessary. This is what a new musical should be. It feels fresh and contemporary, but with all the elements that make for classic musical theatre. Visually stunning and directed with a balletic finesse, you’ll laugh, you’ll cry, and you’ll be blown away by the powerhouse of singing talent in front of you.Filled with spiritThe show’s appeal may not be immediately clear. As a title, Standing at the Sky’s Edge sounds more fitting for a suicide note than a musical medley. Even the posters make it look as dreary as a John Osborne revival. The location is the not particularly glamorous Park Hill housing estate in Sheffield. It was one of many tower block dominated buildings hurriedly, and shoddily, erected across the UK in the 1950s and 60s. Trust me, things are not as bleak as this may suggest. Sure, it is more real life than Happy Ever Afters. But it is a slice of recent history, not fiction. And yes, you may shed a tear or two. But hey, it’s a musical, waddaya expect? Ultimately this is a show that bursts with spirit and energy. It leaves you feeling excited just to be at the theatre. Local setting, global storyThree timelines run concurrently, each unfolding during a key time in Park Hill’s development. Human faces given to moments we’ve stored in our heads. Human emotions shown in struggles we’ve stored in our hearts. The first is when these ‘streets in the sky’ represented a post-war Britain, filled with hope. They showed a Britain not clambering unsteadily to its feet but reaching upwards to the heavens. Then a few decades on, when Park Hill had evolved from a beloved beacon of society to a bothersome blemish on its behind. A time when the name became shorthand for the unwanted, the unwashed, and the unsafe. Finally, a few decades more, when blocks were rebuilt, refurbished, and rebadged as apartments. Existing tenants moved on or were moved out. Young professionals moved in. Park Hill became Parkhill. The events, the challenges, the politics… different specifics for different timelines. But through them all, we hear the heartbeat of hope. The closeness of Park Hill has led Yorkshire residents to fall in love with the show already. But, like the Liverpool of Blood Brothers and the Newcastle of Billy Elliott, it’s a local setting for a global story.A Tale of ‘Three’ Cities Large digital cubes fly in to tick off the years on each timeline as scenes play alongside each other. It’s a tale of three cities as we see three sets of residents arriving at, living in and leaving the same flat. Covering 1960 to 1989 are young newly-weds: youngest-ever-foreman-and-proud-breadwinner, Harry and too-spirited-to-be-just-a-housewife, Rose.Robert Lonsdale’s haunting voice gives chills as he declines alongside his steelworks employer. Rachael Wooding has a fighting spirit even as she moves herself – and us – to tears when singing. They have a son……who becomes Jimmy (Samuel Jordan), a tender lost soul with a rock-star voice. He falls in love with Joy (Faith Omele): resident from 1989 to 2004 and the charge of her cousins George (Baker Makasa, who is the first to bring the audience to its feet with his rousing rendition of Tonight the Streets are Ours) and Grace (Deborah Tracy). This family are escaped from war-torn Liberia, and housed in Park Hill during its time of dilapidation. In this supposed refuge, they are immediately taught that to stay safe, they must stay inside and the door should stay locked. Omele effortlessly ages Joy from a confused, frightened teen, to a young mother for whom the estate becomes home. Only when tragedy strikes does she finally leave with her daughter……who becomes Connie (Bobbie Little), and metaphorically watches over the residents. In another nod to Willy Russell’s classic, she narrates in fourth wall breaking verse. Connie is also the agent letting the property to……London lesbian Poppy (Alex Young) taking the now regenerated apartment in 2015 as she tries to escape a painful break-up. Poppy is desperate to be loved, to be liked, to not be lonely. Despite this suffocating self-pity, Young makes it impossible not to warm to her. Her voice also contrasts beautifully in duets with the Winehouse-esque qualities of returning girlfriend Nikki (Maimuna Memon). And there is plenty of fun to be had in her scenes with her (and everyone’s) mother (Nicola Sloane) who can’t disguise an edge of judgement when offering support.Looked at individually, the characters and their respective arcs don’t offer many surprises. Played together they provide dynamism and pace. Scenes overlap and flow into, around, and over each other. One time, the three sets of residents sit at the same dinner table, sharing the same bottle of Henderson’s Relish, but remaining clearly decades apart. Lines blur between Chris Bush’s direction and Lynne Page’s choreography: tightly marked movement that remains languidly smooth and hypnotic.StunningRichard Hawley’s music isn’t an obvious choice for what is, ultimately, a jukebox musical. Chances are if you’re a Dad in your early 40s with a stash of NMEs stored in the attic, you will already know Hawley. If not, think 50s rockabilly with echoes of country tied together by a string of 90s angst. You can see why the back catalogue of the ex-Pulp and ex-Longpigs singer may be atypical for the genre. As you’d expect, some songs are woven into the storylines and sang by the respective characters. But others are delivered as narrative asides; inspired by and underscoring the events rather than developing the story. These are the times your heart gets pumping. One, two, or a chorus from the cast take to the stage – not as characters – and deliver performances befitting a gig finale. The most phenomenally strong voices you’re likely to hear outside a concert venue, give the songs new life. Not ‘musical theatre’ voices, but each possessing a unique quality and singing style for which they could be individually renowned.To be clear, this isn’t a group of actors who can sing. This is a group of people who could easily be recording artists. Along with those already named, special mention must go to Darragh Cowley, David McKechnie and Rachael Louise Miller. Stunning. Stunning. Stunning. Built for theatreThis is a show built for theatre. (Though no doubt it will also be a film before the decade is out.) The stage looks like it has been created for the sole purpose of housing Ben Stones’ set. Capturing the Brutalism seen on new buildings of the time (looking at you, National Theatre), Sheffield’s Park Hill is a sprawling mass of concrete blocks, balconies, and walkways. Every inch of the space is used to full effect but never crowded. Page’s sublime choreography is the embodiment of emotion as the entire cast merge and divide as time progresses. Standing at the Sky’s Edge is a must-see show. It reminds you of hope. It reminds you of the power of tomorrow. And it reminds you of the need to carry tissues with you during shows like this. If we put aside more recent memories, we may remember musicals at the National Theatre a little differently. We may recall a shortlist of successes that includes Hadestown, London Road and Jerry Springer: The Opera. That shortlist has just got longer. See Standing at the Sky’s Edge now. Enjoy the bragging rights when it is still playing theatres in years to come.

That’s Not my Name falls into almost every category of art, or none of it: its own individual masterpiece of mess. It isn't any normal show, which is exactly the point: deconstructing what 'normal' is.From the beginning, I felt as though I was taken into Sammy Trotman’s brain, and told to witness and interact with it. There's not a linear plot to the story, but a collection of topics and personal stories ranging from privilege, generational trauma, mental health’s effect on relationships,and a little hint of Sigmund Freud. It pushes us into the deep end, head-first; no apologies, no embarrassment, simply raw truth. Which, if I were to guess, is a freeing experience for Trotman to tell her story, her way.Trotman wears her self-awareness on her sleeve, giving us a seemingly unbiased encapsulation of her personality flaws. You want to root for her, and yet at the same time, she reveals the bad things she’s done to the people in her life. It's a consistent push and pull of where empathy starts and ends, and how one can be challenged to forgive. Her behavior starkly switches with the click of a lighting change. She can be volatile, empathetically asking us for help, or offering someone crisps, within a few minutes. It's consistently exciting, yet slightly uncomfortable at times, with the unexpectedness of which Sammy I would be met with in the following lines. My emotional reactions proved this was effective, offering a look inside the emotional journey of living with several personality disorders, and forced me to watch the chaos unfold in an open and non judgmental way.That’s Not My Name made me rethink commonly misconstrued terms like insane, mad, sociopath, and the misunderstanding of Dissociative Identity Disorder: a disorder that is so commonly misrepresented in the media with movies like Split (“No, I do not crawl on the ceiling….yet” - Sammy Trotman). At times she speaks directly towards the institutions of psychiatry, looking toward a mounted stage light that directly shone onto her; an incredibly powerful image of the individual reckoning with the 'big-man' figures head on. With all of the consistent chaos and hilarity, it makes the calm moments all the more powerful. That being said, I was glad to be on a rollercoaster ride of the unexpected. I never knew I wanted to go from beautiful prose to singing a pop-song wearing only a Sainsbury’s bag until this show.As an audience, we were not let off easy. Trotman consistently questions and involves us in the story-telling. In a society where people are so easily uncomfortable with mental health disorders, this show forces us to reckon with the reality of our broken system and ourselves. That’s Not My Name is the type of the show that completely alters what theatre is expected to be. It’s the type of theatre that should be made in 2023, and should be seen.

A breath of theatrical fresh is often much needed at big fringe-style events and it can currently be found at the Vault Festival in A Manchester Anthem. This joyously uplifting solo show from Lyle Productions and ramblemill, performed in the Cage, is an unfettered outpouring of humour, storytelling and characterisation from beginning to end accompanied by flashing lights, pulsating sounds and a first-class high-energy performance.Although labelled as a ‘coming of age play’ that description does it little justice. This is no protracted journey of introverted, navel-gazing discovery, but rather an explosive and revelatory wild weekend in the life of a young man contemplating a life-changing opportunity. But will he take it? Writer Nick Dawkins has taken a simple storyline with a limited time span and packed it with events. This creates a pervading sense of immediacy and urgency within a tight transformative arc. Tommy (Tom Claxton) is a young working-class Mancunian. He lives with his mother. They rarely meet because his shifts as a barista rarely match hers as a nurse, but she leaves him notes and there is clearly a close bond between them. His father left him when he was six. They are rarely in touch, although he features in a scene towards the end. These are simply givens of the situation and never distract from the main thrust of Tommy’s decision-making process. A scholarship granted him a private school education; the start of a process of growth away from his roots, but that’s over now and Tommy is working his last shift before getting ready to take up a place at Oxford University. He will be the first person in his family to attend university, in fact the first in his whole street, but as he says, in a line typical of the play, “Oxford isn’t an interstellar journey away... it’s just south”. Nevertheless, it’s a giant step for him and this is his last weekend up north.Talking of which, at 6’2” (188cm) Claxton is used to taking big strides, which he needs to do, given the dimensions of the stage. On first sight it looks a potential disaster for a monologue. With audience on three sides and measuring 5.63m wide by 2.98m deep it’s a long way from one end to the other and a lone character seated in the middle would have difficulty in making contact with half the people. Amazingly, is seems perfectly suited to this play and Claxton’s proportions. He is able to relentlessly move about, dashing from one end to the other, stopping to create locations for various happenings, having meetings with his mates and dealing with others who feature in his roller coaster of encounters and events. It’s something of a work-out and director Charlie Norburn has used this demanding configuration to maximum effect, leaving never a dull moment and requiring us to follow Claxton wherever he goes. The night at the disco is a perfect example of this. Tommy’s ‘friends’ are there. Claxton has a voice for each and amusing descriptions of them, especially for some of the snobbier brigade who are also going up to Oxford. He locates them on different parts of the dance floor and proceeds to illustrate their different dance techniques and styles with his flexible figure consummately matching character to choreography. It’s not just a physical journey he’s on from place to place. More importantly, it’s an emotional expedition and a quest to find answers to the lingering doubts and suspicions that lurk in his mind. Events mount up as providing evidence Tommy must weigh up before he gets on that train to a new life. In so doing issues of social class loom large; matters of mobility that have nothing to do with physical fitness. Claxton draws us into that mental melting pot so that we go with go with him every step of the way.The nightclub with all its highs ends in a trivial but embarrassing event. He leaves and is thrust back into a world miles away from that set, where we meet more of the people who lives are unrelated to that crowd's privileged existence. Reality sinks in for Tommy and the road he’s travelled on this night’s wild journey finally takes him home. This time his mother is there.A Manchester Anthem, has punchy yet moving, well-structured writing from Dawkins and an outstanding performance from Claxton, who clearly enjoys every minute of this production, giving out assuring vibes that we are in safe hands. Importantly it also has a strong team behind it, from Producer Rebecca Lyle to the creatives: Set and Costume Designer Anna Niamh Gorman, Stage Manager Emily Darley, Lighting Designer Caelan Oran and Sound Designer Sam Baxter; the latter two really having their work cut out in this show with a host of unrelenting changes.Finally the show wouldn’t be complete without some pulsating House Music that goes with the title. No prizes for guessing N-Joi, Anthem. Tommy loves it! Join him in the grungy labrynth at Vault and ‘Feel the melody that's in the air’. Enjoy.

Writing a positive review is quite difficult without using hyperbole, and in the spirit of Pierre Novellie’s Why Can’t I Just Enjoy Things, it is prudent to at least attempt to do so. A relatively cynical observationist, Novellie creates a show that forces us to confront some disappointing truths about reality and the subjectivity of experiencing enjoyment. Novellie has the ability to describe every aspect of the mundane, and turn it into the type of joke that stems from having to confront a disappointing reality. But we’re not laughing to scare away a feeling of depression, but rather in agreement, as Novellie presents us with ideas that seek to find absurdity in the mundane. There are moments in this set that are quite daring, in an ‘I can’t believe he said that’ kind of way, but these moments of shock are quite tempered by the fact that there is a discernible truth behind everything Novellie says. He says it in such a straightforward and honest matter that comes off as rather world weary and adds fuel to the proverbial comedic fire. It’s an interesting structure; it’s an observationist set wrapped up in an anecdote which veers off in several unexpected directions, a tangent with embellishments if you like; a show so convoluted that when Novellie starts to explain his train of thought, I gave up very quickly trying to track it in my notes, because there is so much to each point in his thought progression that no one but Novellie could make it all make sense. In this way, it is a completely unexpected set, after all it is not every day that you come across a comedian who reviews products and tenets of the everyday in such an entertaining and creative way that could easily put critics out of work. Over the course of the show, Novellie answers the question at the heart of his show in a way that is bound to capture our thoughts and imaginations for the forseeable future. Every so often a comedian performs a set that is so intelligently written and mesmerising that it not only gives us a glimpse into their own life, but gives us an opportunity to take a really hard look at ourselves, our actions and ultimately what we want. Because what Novellie discusses in the show - whether it’s about the different way we express joy or the true disappointments of a meal deal sandwich - is in its own way, applicable to every member of the audience. This is the power of Novellie’s comedy, the fact that he creates a space to allow us to reflect and learn. It is rare that I leave a stand-up show with a to do list and a self-improvement kick. Did this show shatter my place in the universe? Honestly, I’m not sure, as there is something profound in Why Can’t I Just Enjoy Things? that just sticks with you afterwards, so much so that I am still trying to fully understand myself. Why Can’t I Just Enjoy Things? is more than just 6/10 or fine. It’s the laughing crying emoji or ‘throwing up, crying, dead’. Whatever language you use, saying that this is an amazing show that comes from a very sophisticated and intelligent comedic mind isn’t an exaggeration. If most things are just middling, Novellie’s comedy is an exception to the rule.

There are many stories that are lost or hidden from view, and George Takei’s Allegiance takes one of the shameful moments in American history - the incarceration of Japanese-American citizens in internment camps - and brings it into the light of day. With music and lyrics by Jay Kuo and directed by Tara Overfield Wilkinson, this musical is a bittersweet story of family, identity and love set against an all too familiar backdrop of racism, hate and war.Told through the eyes of an older Sam Kimura (George Takei), Allegiance tracks the lives of the Kimura family, as their world is turned upside down with the attacks on Pearl Harbour and their incarceration along with other Japanese-American citizens in internment camps during World War II. It is against this period of history that the musical follows the relationships and conflicts between Samy Kimura (Telly Leung), his sister Kei (Aynrand Ferrer), Tatsuo (Masashi Fujimoto) and Oji-Chan (Takei) as they survive the reality that is forced upon them.The creative team have managed to bridge the shades between the light and dark elements of this musical, managing to push the relationships between the characters to the forefront. This is especially noticeable in Kuo’s score, which heavily utilizes musical tropes, creating a dichotomy between the overall setting of the internment camp and the upbeat musical numbers. This ‘big band Broadway sound’ is frequently mixed with traditional Japanese folk music, creating a distinctly harmonious and haunting sound. The repeating melodies, in particular that of Gaman, becomes almost an act of rebellion as it goes from a reminder, to a rallying cry. Nic Farman’s lighting design, like most of the show, is grounded in naturalism, from bright yellows that shift to bluer tones as the lights track the progression of the day and time. One absolutely striking moment is during Nothing in Our Way, where Kei and Frankie Suzuki (Patrick Munday) sing about their future together away from the camp, and whilst it is a beautifully romantic duet, Farman’s lighting increases the tension surrounding the pair during this song, and we cannot help feel the fear of discovery mixed with hope and tenderness that emanates from Ferrer and Munday.The cast are constantly on the move, creating a sense of community with their performances. Each song reaches new heights in terms of energy and talent. It is hard to give a proper commendation to the entire cast in their respective roles, only because describing the beauty of this story and their role in it is difficult to do justice fully without giving too much away. The best way to give the ovation that their performances deserve is to place it fully in the category of timeless beautiful things, a category reserved only for the most special works of art. Leung plays the role of young Sammy with an almost puppy-ish buoyancy that lends itself to an innocence that we cannot help but find endearing. His sheer energy and bright tenor brings an earnestness to Leung's performance that we cannot help but wanting to protect and root for his success, and maybe that is part of the tragedy in this show. Only the hardest of hearts wouldn’t soften at Ferrer’s performance of Higher, and even then it seems likely that they would. Because Ferrer’s performance is so moving, so heartfelt and captivating that we cannot help but be struck dumb by her singing, in only that we can’t believe our ears. A rare talent, hopefully Ferrer’s rendition will be recorded, only so that we can listen to her sing this song over and over again. There is something incredibly comforting about Takei's presence on the stage. There is wisdom and humour in his delivery that serves to lighten the tension before it becomes unbearable, making comments that we cannot help but smile at, and bringing some relief. It is incredibly easy to distance yourself from history, but having Takei onstage, and seeing him perform in a show that is based on his own experiences, makes Allegiance all the more urgent and touching.Allegiance is not big or flashy, it doesn’t hide behind special effects. It’s a grounded, raw and human tale based on historical events that uses only the power of great acting and theatre bring the immediacy of the ugly scars of history that we can trace forward to our own time. This musical’s strength is in its narrative, in the cast’s ability to convey the depth and darkness of the events shown even while performing a high-energy musical number, and showing the joy and love between their characters. Because of this, Allegiance is one of the most - if not the most - important musicals currently playing on the West End.

When Charles Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol, I am sure he didn’t realise the power his novel would have in the centuries that followed. Fast forward to now, it is hard to not find a production of the classic novel, whether it is on stage or a blockbuster rendition by The Muppets; the story has reached and been loved by millions. So how can such a global phenomenon be adaptable for a modern generation? Make way for Ghosted: Another F***ing Christmas Carol.Set in a modern date lettings agency we meet Bobbie Cratchet, the letting agent assistant to owner Eloisa Scrooge. Eloisa (Natalie Boakye), like all renditions, is a cruel and heartless character who only cares for their own benefit and finances. Even when tenants are coming into her office with issues such as broken plumbing and a whole wall missing from their house (yes, that was said), Scrooge tells their tenants to deal with it or risk being evicted on Christmas Day. Scrooge even acts in a similar manner to Bobbie by forcing her to work on Christmas Day. However we are in modern times so at least she can work from home! Bobbie (Nikki Biddington) is suddenly possessed by the ghost of Eloisa’s old business partner Marley who proclaims that she will be visited by three spirits at the strike of the clock on each hour from midnight and setting the tone for the remainder of the play.Here in Scrooge's home, we meet the prophesied guests: the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future, all played by the wonderfully charming Christopher Lane. Each rendition of Scrooge’s timeline is brought to life with great wit and absurdity. Who would have thought that the best way to make Eloisa Scrooge come to terms with their wrongdoings would be to drag her to filth on everything she has done, and continues to do and how these actions will eventually lead to her demise. Lane makes each spirit a different rendition of the other yet still pokes hilarity into our faces as they make jabs at Eloisa throughout her life until she can find a way to right her wrongdoings.The cast must be commended for their dedication to the production from start to finish. Natalie Boakye is phenomenal as the ill-hearted Scrooge and is wonderfully contrasted by Nikki Biddington who depicts the modern-day worker struggling to make ends meet whilst trying to balance their work and home life from the demands of their appalling employer. Christopher Lane showcases their fabulous versatility and continues to maintain their professionalism even when switching between pink, red and black leather puffer jackets! Finally, praise must be given to Liam McHugh who, like Lane, portrays a variety of characters throughout the production yet plays them all with great intent and realism. It is hard to believe he went from playing an NHS nurse to a bratty fourteen-year-old who just wants to play XBOX in the course of a scene change! This quartet is perhaps one of the best castings I have seen in a very long time.Ghosted is a non-stop adventure filled with heart and stocking fillers of laughter that celebrates being queer. It is hard not to be overcome with fits of hysterics and this is what makes this production so special- it is genuinely hilarious. It takes the traditional normalities of the most well-known Christmas story and completely flips them whilst introducing celebrations of queerness and LGBTQ influences. Each actor thrives on their own, yet collectively as an ensemble they are unstoppable; a piece of genius, unlike anything I have ever seen before. What is also interesting to note is that this is the first production of A Christmas Carol (that I have seen), that completely switches the gender of both Scrooge and Cratchit. This subtle change elevates the performance and the ingenuity with which it is carried out as an adaptation for a modern generation is admirable.

Carrying the banner call of Strike!, Alan Menken and Jack Feldman’s Newsies becomes the call to action that we need to hear. An absolutely electrifying show to watch, this revitalised musical is an example of the very best of musical theatre. In response to Joseph Pulitzer (Cameron Blakely) increasing the price of newspapers, the newsies go on strike led by Jack Kelly (Michael Ahomka-Lindsay), and Davey (Ryan Kopel) in order to protest their working conditions. Aided by Katherine Plumber (Bronté Barbé) they show the impact that organisation and unions can have, and what happens when younger generations fight for their place at the table. Newsies is more than it appears on the surface, more than the impressive score and the physical dexterity of its choreography; it rises above any particular time period, and speaks to consistencies and experiences across generations, and for that it will always remain relevant. Matt Cole’s direction spells the issues of the show out for us; this is a story of the danger of monopolies, the importance of organisation and the power of the many against the interests of the few. Cole makes this show a protest in of itself, and a clarion call for all who wish to fight against the injustices they see in their world. The choreography is elegant, and pushes the cast’s abilities to create show-stopping numbers (quite literally twice during Seize the Day) where we cannot help but be amazed by the cast’s dancing and stamina. At times it is used to emphasise phrases and orchestral builds in the music, like the continuous pirouettes during the phrase ‘one for all and all for one’, that appeared to mimic the waves in the vocal line. The score itself makes the musical what it is. Feldman’s lyrics churn over in your mind for days after, incredibly memorable in the little turns of phrase that he adopts. There’s a paradox that occurs, where the simplicity of the words meets the longevity and commonality of the emotions and struggle that they encapsulate, which when added to Menken’s score creates musical moments that possess so much majesty that you have to stop, savour and then process in order to enjoy it fully. Menken is by far one of the kindest composers of our time, both to performers and audiences. For the former, the tune is carried by the orchestra (in Newsies it is a trumpet’s job to act almost like a military bugle which stands out and soars above the rest of the orchestrations). For the latter, we have the joy of hearing extremely satisfying and full-bodied harmonies that leave shivers down our spines. Menken’s ability to capture the mood in the moment is extraordinary, moving from almost hopeful, to more militant to playful and defiant at the drop of a hat (or newsies bag). The majesty of this production of Newsies is amplified by its immersive nature; the setting becomes the streets of New York in a way that you would only find in the real city itself. Morgan Large’s set is incredibly imposing and industrial, which is exemplified in the fire escape that takes centre stage, looming above every scene and that looks so grim that you can’t help imaging the rust and the slickness created by the exposure to the elements that would normally come with it. Large deserves credit for authenticity, for if you have to choose one architectural element to represent New York, a fire escape would probably be it. Natalie Pryce’s costume reflects each character extremely well, adding to their roles and personalities. On the one hand, all the newsies are dressed in drab shades - except for the revolutionary leader Jack who has a red shirt (a great use of the colour associations) - at first glance, creating a uniformity when they come together, unless you look closely and spot the different patterns and styles that they wear. Katherine’s costume provides the most details about her character; an understated yet formal outfit that plays around with gender norms down to its blue colour, turning the binary upside down to suggest that she doesn’t conform to what is expected of women during this time period. It’s these clever thought-provoking details that add layer upon layer of meaning to this musical, contributing to its cultural importance. Where to start with the cast, their performance is beyond words, simply for the sheer joy that watching them perform brings. The fact that we are surrounded on all sides by the cast, have them sing in our face and watch them run around the theatre, adds a sense of urgency, but also acts like a time machine taking us back to the events surrounding the actual newsie strikes in 1899, as if we are there ourselves. Each musical number takes on new heights, as if they set a challenge to outdo their performance in the previous song. Katherine is an ever-present figure on the stage, watching from the shadows, which initially makes her seem passive, but Barbé’s performance shows that she’s anything but. Words like headstrong or ambitious could be used to encapsulate her performance, but that would be an oversimplificaiton, as we see in songs like Watch What Happens. Barbé infuses so much hope, wonder and sheer determination in everything she does that she makes Katherine more than just a potential love-interest watching from the sidelines. Ahomka-Lindsay manages to give Jack Kelly new life, playing to the youthful mischievousness and goodness of the character. There is an emphasis on the character’s youthfulness in his interpretation; the more extreme emotions of anger and sadness come off more as petulance, as Ahomka-Lindsay does not have a particular edge about him. Ahomka-Lindsay has a very clear, emotive tenor, and the wistfulness in each note of Santa Fe is not lost on us, in fact it is such a pleading, cry for help that it speaks to our own struggles and views on the world. He is voicing our own railings, and for that we cannot help but reach out to him. Newsies is timeless, and it will remain one of the most impressive feats of art for years to come. Seize the day and head over to the Troubadour Theatre, for Newsies is the event of the year and mandatory viewing for all.

From the bright lights of Live at the Apollo to the chaotic evenings of Edinburgh’s International Fringe Festival, we now see Tom Stade take on his epic stand-up comedy tour around the UK for 2022/23. It is here, in the Leicester Square Theatre where we see his tour Tom Stade: The High Life come to London. As we take our seats, we hear the blissful rasp of Tom’s voice echoing through the theatre as he introduces his supporting act: Gareth Mutch. For someone to accompany any stand-up act is definitely a challenge, however Mutch effortlessly plays the part well and shines valiantly within his own set. A well known face from the Edinburgh Fringe scene, it is clear to see the passion in his performance and the joy he brings from stand-up. With such conviction in everything he says- it is hard to take him seriously when he is. From obscure questioning, to antics from his lockdown experience (such as the joys of living with your parents… again) – it is refreshing to see a comic give their all and continue to carry the first half of the production in their stride. Mutch is definitely a comic to keep an eye out for on the horizon and this critic will be looking forward to reviewing his own show when he inevitably ends up in Leicester Square Theatre.Soon after Mutch’s set, we are given a moment to recover and grab a few beveragino’s before Mr. Stade takes the stage. Then just like a lion’s roar, he appears on the stage to a thunderous applause from the audience. It is clear to see that Mr. Stade was right where he needed to be.Tom Stade is an absolute powerhouse of comedy. With his use of coming timing and intuition, he cleverly formulates his humour with such structure and intelligence which leaves you in stitches from all the laughing. The whole set came and went in a flash yet it felt as though we could all listen to him for days and not get bored of what he has to offer. His canadian wit merged with his spanking new white suit jacket really makes Tom Stade feel like the world's funniest Al Pachino impersonator. And like Al Pachino did with his machine gun, Stade floored the audience into absolute hysterics. Stade pokes humour at the idea of generational differences. From getting older and looking forward to the kids leaving the nest to the social media obsession of the millennial generation. Tom challenges the audience to let go and not find offense from every comment made- pushing through the micro analysis of what someone says and just have a laugh. It is clear to see that Tom Stade is a veteran comedian that has no means of slowing down. No one is safe throughout his set. Whether you are a violent heckler or a silent attendee- be sure Stade will find a reason to jab a bit of fun at you. His set is thrilling, engaging, stomach hurting and genuinely funny. It is difficult to fault him. His comedy styling is absolutely flawless.This tour is a testament to Stade’s career for everything he has worked towards to achieve and will continue to achieve. I urge everyone to see Tom Stade with his upcoming tour dates for 2023- he will definitely not disappoint. Comedy was made to entertain and strike fun during the toughest of times. This can not be more true from both comedians. Tom Stade: The High Road is the perfect escape from the troubles of the real world.

Oh Yes I Am, at the Bread and Roses Theatre, is a musical comedyset in a retirement home for actors. It is here where we are introduced to our protagonist of the evening, Hector Hanley, OBE (Kevin West).Hector is a national treasure from the world of pantomime, now recalling his tales in his institutional care home to an imaginary audience. Suffering from dementia, Hector highlights the highs and lows of the life he has lived, taking us through his childhood, romantic interests, becoming a famous pantomime dame and the trials and tribulations from his adolescence to now. Accompanied by his ”enthused” carer (Sam Dania), it is apparent that Hector is engrossed with his recollections as he struggles to make sense of the reality around him.Written by Mike Stocks & James Cleeve and directed by Mike Stocks, Oh Yes I Am is a witty and emotional musical with a clever balance of light and shade that follows Hector through his journey of reality and memories. Thes are blended with the addition of original musical numbers that perfectly play into the pantomime-esque behaviors of Hector's life and career. The show brilliantly keeps you on the edge of your seat with the unplanned chaos of where each story takes you. That is, if you could finish a story without Hector being interrupted by the world around him.Throughout Hector’s tales, we are introduced to several different characters, from his mother and father to his agent, cousin and lover; all unique individuals with different styles and personalities and yet all played by one actor. Sam Dania must be commended for his dedication to each portrayal. Dania performs with such realism and intent that as we follow Hector’s stories, the memories are further brought to life with Dania by his side. Oh Yes I Am really brings to light the talent of Sam Dania and proves that you don’t alway need to have a large ensemble but just the right actors to play the parts of many.Kevin West is the epitome of a great actor for not only being able to keep us in the palm of his hand throughout the performance but for the respect he gives to playing a character with dementia. For many, this portrayal may have felt close to the bone. Perhaps many people may not have seen Hector on stage but instead they saw their friends, family and any other loved ones who have been affected by this illness. The dedication to his character was flawless and switching between his older and younger self was an excellent performance that moved the story along so smoothly. The production focuses on key elements of love and loss. From Hector’s estranged relationship with his father, to the death of his mother. It is clear from the onset that Hector only wants to do well and achieve greatness. As Hector struggles to come to terms with his sexuality, we see him rise from the ashes of rejection to fame and stardom within the pantomime world. Along the way he creates friends out of enemies and a lover out of his friends.Oh Yes, I Am sparks, feelings of joy, even in the moments of sadness. Both of the actors on stage knew exactly how to make every scene feel like a personal memory; from the conviction brought forward by Hector and his struggle with dementia to the versatility of Sam Dania who played several different characters throughout. You could really feel the ebb and flow between both actors come across with such grace and professionalism. It was as if I were part of Hector’s family, trying to make sense of how to help him but feeling lost when I couldn't.If this performance has taught me anything, it is to be kind, reach out and value friendships and loved ones and above all else to let life be your pantomime, always fun and never too serious and above all else to remember that the show must go on.

There’s a delightful anecdote about George Bernard Shaw at one of the early performances of Arms and the Man. Amidst tumultuous applause, he was brought onto the stage. A lone voice booed him. Shaw turned to the man and said, "My dear fellow, I quite agree with you, but what are we two against so many?" This riposte gives an insight into the man’s wit, sense of humour and desire to embrace all people. There was no such dissent at the Orange Tree Theatre, Richmond, where the play is running until mid January, just a similarly rapturous reception for Paul Miller’s final production as the theatre’s Artistic Director. Miller, as a leading exponent of Shaw, boldly takes on the play, stretching its comedy to the limits whilst retaining its emotional integrity. This is his sixth Shaw play at the theatre, so he knows the man very well and has developed the ability to reach into the heart of the man and the depths of his works. The play was first performed in April 1894. Shaw was aged 38, making it one of his earliest plays. It was an immediate success and has remained so ever since. George Orwell regarded it as ‘probably the wittiest play he ever wrote, the most flawless technically, and in spite of being a very light comedy, the most telling’. It’s set during the Serbo-Bulgarian War (November 1885 to March 1886). and although a period piece there is nothing dated about it. Rather, it is an early example of the later British tradition of situation comedy with melodrama used to accentuate its critique of the folly of war and the foolishness of those who engage in it. It also highlights the absurdities of social stratification and illustrates the nature of human frailty, pretence and hypocrisy, particularly where romance is concerned.It is around these themes that the story is woven. The beautiful Raina (Rebecca Collingwood) enjoys a privileged life as the daughter of Major Petkoff (Jonathan Tafler) and his wife Catherine (Miranda Foster). She is in love with Sergius (Alex Bhat), the swashbuckling hero of the Bulgarian army whose victory in the Battle of Slivnitsa decided the war’s outcome, though not without some controversy regarding his tactics. Here Shaw puts in one of his digs at the whole military business: “I won the battle the wrong way when our worthy Russian generals were losing it the right way”. Bhat’s performance and stature make comparisons with John Cleese inevitable and he's just as funny. His triumph somewhat diminished, upon his return, Sergius has other battles to win. As Lysander said, “The course of true love never did run smooth”. While he was away Raina encountered Bluntschli (Alex Waldmann) a charming major and mercenary who sought refuge in her house. Waldmann brilliantly captures the idealism and cynicism of the man and with the seductive presence he gives to Bluntschli it is no wonder he ignites a flame in her. Meanwhile, downstairs, the dutiful manservant Nicola (Jonah Russell) has designs on the feisty yet very attractive maid Louka, (Kemi Awoderu) to whom Sergius is also attracted, despite his upstairs situation. Russell captures the traditional subservient and dutiful essence of his position which he stoutly defends against the rebellious and challenging socialism that Awoderu delivers with passion. Leave it to Shaw to give his women powerful roles and the intellect and ability to assert themselves.Comical situations arise, worthy of a classic Whitehall farce, and the spot-on delivery of lines with impeccable timing by all the cast makes for some hilarious moments that provoke outbursts of laughter in response to the most brilliantly devised humour. Foster frantically manages the surprise return of Bluntschli in a classic front door entrance and backdoor exit, while Tafler delivers the most amusing elderly bafflement concerning his disappearing overcoat and the mystery of the photograph to which we know the answers. Staged in the round, Miller, from years of experience, knows how to manage this space. He assigns skilled manoeuvres to the cast, dare one say with military precision, that ensures the flow of movement and that no side of the audience is left out of the action.Much of this is facilitated by Simon Daw’s set design, which changes for each of the three acts as the play moves around the house. Between the bed and the dresser there is ample space for Collingwood to excitedly run around during Raina’s conversations with her mother and Bluntschli. Other sets similarly accommodate action and, of course, Petkoff has his favourite chair in which to sit. Working with Deputy Stage Manager Julia Crammer and Assistant Stage Manager Jamie Craker the team has created some authentic touches. The large icon on the bedroom wall provides the religious context and the library, to which the family make repeated reference as a symbol of their wealth, learning and status, is revealed as a bookcase, but with the attention to detail of all the spines having been overwritten with titles in Cyrillic. All of this is sensitively lit by Lighting Designer Mark Doubleday with Sound Designer & Composer Elizabeth Purnell adding classical music and effects to enhance the mood and remind us of the battles raging in the streets.The obscure Serbo-Bulgarian War might be distant but the social situations it created must surely live on today in Ukraine, bringing this work into our own age. The values that Shaw promotes and the observations he made are also as valid now as when he scripted the play. Sergius explains, “Soldiering, my dear madam, is the coward's art of attacking mercilessly when you are strong, and keeping out of harm's way when you are weak. That is the whole secret of successful fighting. Get your enemy at a disadvantage; and never, on any account, fight him on equal terms”. And as Raina points out, when the war is over, “What glory is there in killing wretched fugitives?”The play has nothing to do with Christmas, but in the season of pantomimes it's a production that is by no means out of place. Congratulations to all concerned for dusting down this play and bringing it to life as a brilliant and joyous gift for all lovers of theatre.

We’ll never know what, if anything, Shakespeare was on when he wrote A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but the team at Intermission Youth Theatre have based their ‘Shakespeare Remix’ firmly in the world of hallucinatory drugs with a brilliantly devised piece they’ve called MSND. Full marks for the title alone.It’s available only at Chelsea Theatre, where a versatile fairytale woodland fills the stage, courtesy of designer Delyth Evans, magically lit by Julian McCready who has mixed colours to give some of the hottest shades ever seen on stage, though perhaps on many a trip. There is nothing sacred about the text here and where famous lines from other plays fit the bill they are comically introduced. The script is treated as an old garment from which pieces have been cut out and onto which patches on themes of identity, relationships, and substance abuse have been sewn to create a new style that retains the structure and some of the finer points of the original. The language used by the actors in the passages they have devised is street talk, though often poetic; a sharp reminder that Shakespeare spoke and wrote in the language of his day; his works were accessible to the people and Intermission Youth take us back to that time.The original play is complex, if not confusing, so here is what the company has to say about this version, pretty much verbatim. After abusing Titania’s trust, Oberon is refused access to his daughter, Asia. His best friend, Puck, tries to cheer him up and when a new drug hits the street he sees this as the perfect opportunity. But this isn’t any old drug, this is MSND. Once taken, it is believed you inherit special powers, including the ability to speak Shakespeare. Oberon is convinced that with the help of this drug, he can get to Asia, but, unbeknown to him, Titania also stumbles upon MSND, so has powers of her own! The temptation of the drug lures them to the playground, where they take on the role of King and Queen of the fairies. Or maybe they are just high? Meanwhile, school is out for the summer and Lysander, Demetrius, Theseus and Egeus place some names in a hat. Whoever they pick, they must bed, before the showcase tomorrow evening. Things turn ugly, however, when Egeus discovers that his sister, Hermia is in the hat. To win the bet, the boys persuade the girls to follow them into the playground. Also rehearsing in the playground are a group of performers, determined to put on a good evening of entertainment for their school showcase. They too stumble upon MSND. After much coming and going, many explanations and in the light of new understandings all is ultimately resolved.The team that last year gave us the thrilling Juliet and Romeo remains very much the same. For those not familiar with the company, and anyone who is passionate about theatre should be, Sir Mark Rylance, who is on the Board of Trustees and deeply involved in its work, explains, “Intermission Youth is a sanctuary for youth. It is a safe place to do unsafe things like express your feelings truly, depend upon others, trust in yourself, and play Shakespeare plays as if they were made for you this morning. Under the genius direction of Darren Raymond, IY has for fifteen years created the most lively, original productions of Shakespeare plays that I have witnessed in London. This is Shakespeare liberated from its time and brought to life in the culture, wit, and wild soul life of London’s young and too often excluded generation”.The result is a high-energy production, that is a joy to watch; full of wit, repartee and humour but not afraid to engage in more solemn moments and to drive home its message. There’s never a dull moment as a cast that exudes confidence covers every inch of the stage, standing on boxes, leaping from one to the other, embracing the poles, peering through windows and occupying the throne-like built-in chair while using the aisles for exits and entrances. The everyday clothes keep it rooted in the present, but Costume Designer Caitlin Clarke has had some fun with the special outfits as required and her colours are well-matched. An extended creative team consists of Assistant Director Nana Antwi-Nyanin, Stage Manager Elisabeth Tooms, who has plenty to keep her busy, Raymond’s executive Assistant Olivia Fraser and Producer Patrick Glackin. There are twenty actors in the group and they all feature in both Cast 1 and Cast 2 which alternate, giving maximum performing opportunities to the whole ensemble.Intermission Youth was set up in 2008. Their aim remains unchanged: ‘to help transform the lives of disadvantaged youth aged between16-25yo, young people living in deprivation and experiencing high levels of anti-social behaviour, family breakdown, dependency, and criminality. They believe that constant support, nurture, and care in a young person's life can give them the confidence and belief to make positive choices and change the course of their lives’. And it works. This year I spoke to several actors I’d met last year and others who have been through the experience of Intermission Youth. Their stories of transformed lives and opportunities opened up confirm everything the company says. Imagine what could be achieved if every borough, town and city had an Intermission Youth!

The royal affair that is Diana: The Untold and Untrue Story, is the most unhinged piece of theatre in existence. Raucously funny and overly ridiculous, this reimagining is as iconic as Princess Di herself. This exercise of overexaggeration is incredibly meta in its use of our own knowledge of real-life events against us, as it mocks our expectations and recreates events as if Princess Diana were narrating them herself.Using the audience to take on additional roles, Princess Diana (Linus Karp) takes us through the events of her life, from her very birth and marriage to Prince Charles (Joseph Martin), and imagines her life beyond that ill-fated tunnel in Paris. This show continually uses stereotypes and preconceived notions on everyone from the Queen to Princess Diana herself to show how harmful and binary media narratives about Princess Diana are.Making fun of the public’s obsession with Lady Diana whilst still being sympathetic about how it affected her, Karp plays on tropes and pop culture that serve to illustrate the independent spirit of Princess Di. The overexaggerated, chaotic and self-aware nature of this show enhances notable pop culture moments with Karp’s own unique twist. So much shade is thrown at the establishment that we cannot help but be thoroughly entertained. It’s a show that contradicts itself, in that it presents itself as a fantasy, but has so much reality in it that it’s hard not to want to accept it as how events actually played out. The many little details that depend on the audience’s knowledge of the Royal Family add to its nonsensical nature, and only a genius with a touch of madness could make this show have the effect that it does. Only someone with Karp’s level of talent could pull it off.Truly the people's Princess, Karp’s performance is enhanced by Amy Pitt’s designs which recreates some of Diana’s most notable looks, from her wedding to revenge dress. The way in which Karp uses the various props adds layers to the show. We are told that it’s a recreation, but the added reality of the sequence of events makes their appearance all the funnier. It’s hard to believe that we are seeing exactly what is happening onstage, mainly because it is quite insane, and uses so many different elements to both mock and comment on the media’s obsession with Lady Diana. Everything that Karp does in this show comes with a slight wink and a nudge, making us both a part of the joke and the joke itself. His portrayal of Lady Diana very much shows us that the English rose has thorns. A special commendation goes to Martin for his performance as Camilla. Some things you just can’t unsee, and going forward his characterisation of her is the only one that should be accepted.Whether it’s playing with our preconceived notions about the royal family, or making fun of conspiracy theories, this show is the most entertaining media about the monarchy that exists so far. A show where the laughter is literally non-stop, Diana: The Untold and Untrue Story is a must-see for everyone. A marvelous example of the talent of Linus Karp and Awkward Prods, this show is a ringing endorsement for anything that they do in the future.

Jamie Sefton delivers a passionate, comprehensive and incredibly well researched performance in A Thousand Sons. In 1952 the UK tested its first atomic bomb. The young soldiers who took part were used as guinea pigs and were never warned about the dangers involved in what they were doing.As a young service man on Christmas Island, Bertrand Cooper describes the shared emotions in the run up to the detonation, the lack of safety equipment and clothing and afterwards of feeling the bones in his hands through closed eyes. It was harrowing experience for many young service men.The details of these events have been powerfully constructed and explained through what appears to be a biographical perspective. However, Sefton is clearly not old enough to have been anywhere near these catastrophic events.The shocking statistics Sefton details throughout the performance are disgraceful. Around 22,000 service men and their families were left with lasting illnesses and life threatening conditions from their loyal service to the United Kingdom, without any acknowledgement or thank you from the Government up to the present time.Sefton has given the Veterans involved in these horrific events a voice and platform for audiences to hearof these atrocities and take away a greater understanding of the events. It is an education about the impact on the men’s health and the recurring damage it has had in the succeeding seventy years. Now, he says, they deserve official recognition along with an overdue apology.The information and emotional impact the of this forty-five minute performance will undoubtedly leave a lasting impression on many. I fail to see that anyone could not be moved by these devastating events and left disgusted by the lack of official acknowledgement.

When the setting for your play is the basement of a London pub, where better to perform than at Barons Court Theatre which is located in the basement of the west London pub aptly named The Curtain’s Up?A Butcher of Distinction is a quite extraordinary play by Rob Hayes, which, as far as anyone can tell, has lain dormant since its premier at the King’s Head, Islingon, in 2011, having been hastily switched from the Cock Tavern which had been forced to close down. Quite why it has not surfaced more often is a mystery. Perhaps it doesn’t fit too neatly into a specific box or address the many social issues and personal causes that have to come to be the material of so much current theatre. What it possesses in that domian, by way of exploring abuse, is also no more than a storyline ingredient dealt with non-judgementally if vividly. Playwrights often mentioned in the same breath as Hayes include Pinter, Orton, Beckett, Ionesco and Adamov. Black comedy, surrealism, theatre of the absurd and gothic horrror are invoked in various measures to create this gripping tale that starts with comedic playfulness and follows an ever-chilling path to a grim denouement.Not every detail of the story is filled in, which leaves ample opportunity for those who like to speculate about the background details and experiences of the characters. The broad sweep is that non-identical twins Hartley (Connor McCrory) and Hugo (Joseph Ryan-Hughes), having spent years in the countryside where they were kept in isolation by an abusive father and presumably a compicit mother, now find themselves in the London basement where their father hung out for weeks at time engaged in activities that come to light only with the arrival of Teddy (Ethan Reid). They are searching among the detritus of their father’s existence in the hope of finding the wealth that he must surely have left them following his death and that of their mother. With their family home already sold, success in this area is imperative for the orphaned boys. Rather than finding wealth, they are informed by Teddy that their father owed him money and that if they cannot pay the substantial debt he will find other ways in which their personal assets can be used. As Teddy threateningly explains, “I provided your father with things money can’t buy. And now he’s left me the most priceless gift of all. His most precious possessions”. But further twists abound and ultimately the two boys, one of whom professes to be a goatheard and the other a butcher (or was that just a childhood game of fantasy they played?), eventually manage to turn the tide of events.The chemistry that exists between McCrory and Ryan-Hughes is so profound as to suggest that they could well be twins in real life and it’s matched by the investment each makes in his role. As the first-born, by ten minutes, Hartley has the upper hand, which McCrory establishes from the outset in his control of the situation and giving of instructions. Ryan Hughes gives Hugo a submissive and slightly dumb air that makes him the obvious target or the first advances of Teddy, but under pressure he can also rage. Reid makes a frightening entrance and with his height dominates the claustrophobic cellar, at first amicable, then menacing and finally villainous. As his behaviour becomes more sinister, so the boys’ fear and sense of impending terror becomes tangible. By the end, however, it is Teddy who is on the receiving end and Reid mirrors the dread that previously befell the young lads. Within the space of some eighty minutes, through stunningly accomplished performances, they have turned comedy into tragedy and a dream into a nightmare.Director Macadie Amoroso brings out the best in three actors who know how to immerse theselves in a role. Within the tight confines of the basement platform she uses every inch of space to create a production full of movement and that makes use of all the opportunities afforded by Laura Mugford’s busy set of junk. She has done a brilliant job in drawing out nuanced performances from a highly talented cast.This team has created a dramatic triumph for Just a Regular House productions. It’s as emotionally draining as it is rewarding, with a huge wow factor that can leave you gasping for a breath of crisp autumn air and probably a shot of something stronger. Both are available upstairs from the sinister cellar.

Mundane is not a word that could be used to describe Elf Lyons’ Raven. Disturbing, certainly. Unhinged? But of course, but in an overly impish and gleeful way as Lyons leads us like Pennywise through her Stephen King inspired show. There’s a lot to unpack in this show, but all of it comes together in an amalgam of controlled (and at times uncontrolled) rage as Lyons names and shows us her monsters, from Kevin Bacon to Karens on the train. Sometimes smashing fruit is just smashing fruit, but in Raven, there is more to everything than initially meets the eye.By spinning an intricate narrative web, Lyons completely owns the stage and audience, keeping us on tenterhooks throughout. She constantly surprises us with the direction of the narrative arc, despite her signposting and even telling us what we should expect, and what happens goes beyond our wildest imaginations and emotional competency (personally I am still not over Chapter 3). There’s no ‘just’ when describing Lyons’ show, because she has completely re-written the rules and set the standard for playing with an audience’s expectations. Using the full range of the technical abilities of the Soho Theatre, Lyons’ storytelling manages to bring the immediacy and tension of a horror story without losing any of the more comedic aspects, changing the atmosphere of the space suddenly and almost on a whim to suit her. Raven not only balances the horror and comedy well, and although there is a degree of separation in Lyons’ emotional vulnerability, she manages to turn it into a reassuring lesson of cathartic destruction.Having trained in mime at École Philippe Gaulier, Lyons has an incredible amount of control over her body and the characters that she embodies. There is an elegance and preciseness to her physical comedy that adds a daintiness to her typically brash demeanour and storytelling. Choosing from a selection of accents, vocal qualities and physicality, every role that Lyons takes on is unusual and mysterious in that very specific way that we encounter in horror stories, which makes us all the more wary of the characters. The level of detail in Raven is amazing, to the point where the show is filled with layers upon layers without it feeling overwhelming or losing any meaning. Her control over us is as cosmic as that of the marionette strings that she keeps on her characters. Whether you find Lyons horrifyingly comic or comically horrifying, Raven is a story for the ages. This show is incredibly accessible, even to those not entirely familiar with the Stephen King universe or just aren’t fans of horror. With Raven, Lyons provides us with the tools that we need to fight our monsters. Laughter may not always slay them, but she proves that it’s enough to at least keep them at bay. One thing is absolutely clear; Elf Lyons is a monster of a performer, and she is beautiful.

If you have a spare hour, thirty quid, and can travel to London’s West End, I urge you to get a ticket for My Son’s a Queer (but what can you do?). No matter who you are. And do it quickly. This very limited run at the Garrick Theatre ends on 6 November. I say “no matter who you are” because it’s likely the title will have already made you decide if this show is for you. And that decision may well be wrong. And one you could regret.What’s in a name?As a title, My Son’s a Queer (but what can you do?) isn’t that theatre-audience friendly. For a start, it’s too long. Only six of the Top 50 Broadway shows have titles longer than three words. And we abbreviate most of those to give us (The) Phantom (of the Opera), La Cage (aux Folles), and Fiddler (on the Roof).More importantly, the title is clearly polarising. The wordiness will attract a specific – possibly marginalised – audience. The explicit reference to queerness. The more implicit nod to theatricality. (If the title has a rhythm that rings bells but you’re not sure why, listen to Les Misérables. It echoes a line from Beggars at the Feast sang by villains the Thenardiers. ‘Here comes a prince, there goes a Jew, this one’s a queer but what can you do)’. Such specificity is understandable when the source material is autobiographical as it is here. But it comes at the cost of reaching a wider market.Precocious to PersonalThe son of My Son’s a Queer is writer and performer Rob Madge. As we are ‘accidentally’ reminded, Madge has since given acclaimed performances as Les Miz’s Gavroche and Michael Banks in Mary Poppins. It is their memory of childhood joy and how the structures of grown-up society try to take that joy away. Interspersing fantasy with home movie footage, school report cards with show-stopping belters, the show feels both extravagant and intimate. Key to this is Madge’s performance, which can sway from precocious to personal in an instant. It has a conversational charm that has you nestling in the comfort of Rob’s palm. For those who label themselves queer, or ‘friends of…’, there are many relatable memories. Same-sex childhood crushes. An innate shyness at not being able to fit in. A desire to show off and be the centre of attention. And there’s plenty more theatrical in-jokes for those performing in the West End’s various ensembles. Most of these err just on the right side of mainstream, such as when seven is defined as “Henry VIII’s six wives, plus swing”. Some, like a rehearsal timetable drawn up to include a sitzprobe, are clearly local jokes for local people. (FYI - a sitzprobe is a rehearsal where the singers sing with the orchestra for the first time). But it’s much more than that.You don’t need to be out-and-proud to be moved by the stories of a loving family. You don’t have to know A Chorus Line to enjoy the step-step-step-ball-change dance moves. And you don’t have to listen to Elaine Paige on Sunday to be roused by the key-changes in songs that sound like first act showstoppers.Extraordinary ordinarinessClips of the Madge family home movies are played on a large TV screen, dominating the everyday living-room set. Never showy or elaborate, their normality is what makes the show so relatable. At times, very funny. At times, very moving. You will literally be laughing one minute, before noticing you’re choking back a tear the next. We see Rob as a child, demanding screen-time whilst producing extravagant pieces of living-room theatre for the family to ‘enjoy’. We see pub-loving, rugby-fan Dad, constantly berated by Rob for missing cues or fluffing lines. Dad is the fully complicit victim of Rob’s perfection-driven bullying. Ordered to stay out of sight as he manoeuvres the harness that makes Rob as Tinkerbell ‘fly’, you could say Dad is the literal wind beneath his son’s wings.We see Granny Grimble – the name Granny already taken on Equity. When Rob is confused by the Disney store’s division of things for boys and girls, Granny has the solution. She makes the wool wig for Rob to be Ariel and the yellow dress to be Belle. And we see the whole family. School reports warn that Rob’s predilection for the 'imaginative play area' would limit their ability to make friends. In response, we see Rob’s grandparents revealing the theatre they have spent months making so their world can flourish.This is not an extraordinary family doing extraordinary things. The story is not told as a struggle through childhood, where every day brought with it a new battle to fight. This is about extraordinary ordinariness. It reminds us that the things that give your child enjoyment should be encouraged. All you need to do is normalise the unusual.Life-affirmingIn the opening lines, Rob tells us this show is unashamedly ‘queer’. It’s for every little boy who would rather put on a wig and a dress than don a pair of football boots. It’s for every little girl who lends her brother make-up so she can wear his football boots instead. And it’s for the parents of all these children.And it is.But it’s also much more than that. And anyone who excludes themselves from seeing this because they don’t fit into that group is missing out on a truly wonderful, life-affirming piece of theatre.Towards the end of the show, there appears to be a recent edit to the script. Barely noticeable, it suggests that the title may be changing for its next outing from My Son’s a Queer to My Child’s a Queer. Losing the gender-specificity makes sense for a show that makes a strong argument against such labels.There would be merit in going one step further. Simply call it My Child. It gets to what I see as the show’s true heart; the importance of individuality. Sure, that individuality may well happen to be borne of queerness. It might also lead to one defining as non-binary. And it could be a sign of a theatricality that eventually evolves into a life in theatre. Assuming it comes with a talent like Rob’s (and face it, not all talent is equal).But it may not be a sign of any of these things. After all, isn’t individuality, by its very definition, about the individual? And this goes back to my first point. This isn’t just a queer show about being queer for people who (already) embrace queerness. Sorry Rob. This is a show for people who want to embrace life.

As far as shows set during the Regency era go, Christian Brighty’s Playboy is not only the most ambitious, but also the best representation of dramas set in this period. This show breathes new life into the genre, mixing classicism with modernity. Putting his own twist on well-known classics, Brighty uses an astonishing amount of wit and the sheer force of his talent creates a regency-period (lust) story that we are only too eager to get behind.Co-written by Amy Greaves and directed by Ben Clark, Playboy tells the tale of Lord Christian Brighty (played by Christian Brighty), a rake that would have even shocked Byron. After deciding to change his ways and find love, Lord Brighty meets the Duchess Jessica (voiced by Amy Greaves) at a ball and sets out on a quest to be worthy of her hand and win her father’s approval. In this high-spirited tale of lust and love, we are forced to question our own assumptions and romanticisation of the behaviours, characters and tropes that we are so used to seeing between the pages of books and on our screens.There has never been a show quite like Playboy. It challenges us and the dominant narratives and stereotypes that are hidden by the distance that period dramas create, and we have Brighty and Greaves to thank for it; Brighty for conquering and leaning into the over exaggerated personality of Lord Christian, and Greaves for her voice of reason. The use of language to nudge us into a joke to win us over - from outright euphemism and over exaggeration to subtle changes and references - is the kind of astonishing devic that makes you sit for a minute to process the joke because of how unbelievably clever it is; the kind that stays with you for weeks after, that you remember when your mind wanders and makes you shake your head and smile. That is the power of Lord Christian Brighty.Brighty plays with our expectations, punning his way through the show, which only serves to emphasize the originality of the story by twisting well-known cultural moments and making them his own. We expect him to be the romantic lead, and because of this we excuse his behavior towards us because despite his obvious flaws, we don’t have a reason to expect him to be unreliable. After all, he’s the charming, snobbish and morally gray character that we have been taught to love.We’re drawn to the character, to the overly Byronic nature – lake scene and all – of Lord Christian, because there is a hope that he will become a Mr Darcy, a character that we have consistently been taught is the ideal. And although at times the story is fantastical and ridiculous, as evidenced by the array of props that Brighty uses – from Cupid’s arrows to letters delivered by penguins and the whole navy episode – we cannot help but be enchanted. It’s a Regency-era comedy featuring a character who has been honest about exactly how awful he is, but we root for him because we believe he can change for love. We know this story all too well, it draws us in despite how riddled it is with red flags, but we don’t notice because Brighty’s spark hides them beneath a layer of luxurious debauchery and swagger. It is frankly impressive how much we excuse the actions of the character, but this is exactly the problem that Brighty’s Playboy is trying to highlight. In his own way, Brighty is teaching us to recognise and challenge problematic stereotypes, giving us tools that we can put to use in our own lives and relationships.Brighty and Greaves have made their mark and set the standard for what we should expect from Regency period comedies and dramas going forwards. A tale as old as time, Playboy is a great homage to the works and aesthetic of the Regency era. Hopefully this is just the beginning of Lord Christian Brighty’s antics on the stage.

The frantic moto perpetuo of Philip Glass’s Rubric fills the auditorium as an overture to Philip Ridley’s breathtaking work, The Poltergeist, at the Arcola Theatre. The music permeates the body and lingers in the mind throughout the play. Although switched off as soon as the performance begins, it haunts the action throughout and exists as a memory that accompanies the action. It’s no add-on, but perhaps one of the most carefully chosen pieces of music to ever introduce a drama. The Poltergeist is one of many works that Ridley wrote during and around the period of the Pandemic. It was live-streamed internationally from Southwark Playhouse in November 2020. He, along with director Wiebke Green and actor Joseph Potter created that version and have now delivered the stage debut courtesy of Flying Colours Productions. The trio know each other well, and it shows. The level of intimate synchronicity is evident throughout this piece. Here are three enormously talented creatives working as one with a clear focus and unity of purpose that alone can create such a stunning production. The Arcola, in a description that cuts to the bones of this play, says this ‘one-man show is about art, family, memory, and being haunted by the life we never lived’. Indeed it is, but that stark description belies the rich depths of writing that allow Sasha, the lone character, to expose the tormented mind that is manifestly on the verge of a breakdown and to so vividly portray the characters that surround him.Potter plays them all. Through physical and verbal contortions he moves rapidly from one person to the next in exchanges that begin to explain his tormented condition. He takes on the voices, the accents, the mannerisms and postures of family, friends and neighbours, each sharply defined and given a location by Green, who uses every inch of space and tightly choreographs the whole work which is unobtrusively, but supportivley lit by Chuma Emembolu.Perhaps Sasha's life started out too well, when his artistic endeavours had him hailed as an art-world prodigy at the age of fifteen. In those days celebrities wanted to buy his paintings and he dreamed of being a superstar. Now he lives in a run-down flat, with his out-of-work boyfriend, and is an unknown. There was a turning point, an event which changed him, but it is one that others might have overcome and handle differently. His reactions to it reveal a mind that was probably already starting to go its own way. As a potentially unstable narrator of his life the accuracy of his accounts are perhaps questionable, but they are, nevertheless, real to him.There’s an image he creates in the opening lines when he wakes up with a headache; something that is not unusual for him. He wipes the steam from the bathroom mirror and says, “I look exactly like I feel. Hunted by hyenas. A nightmare. I have them a lot”. Potter captures this in the animated, relentless movement and the impassioned speed with which he delivers much of the text. He is a man possessed. Is he running away from the hyenas, trying to escape or is he running with them as one of the pack in pursuit of something that will sustain him? Is he laughing with them or at them? Whatever is going on in Sasha’s mind he behaves as one both hunted and haunted by what is in his mind; a man engaged in frenzied inner thoughts and impassioned outward expressions, always seemingly racing from one to another.Potter has all the skills necessary to create and sustain a one-hander and here they have been drawn out in Green’s fearless direction, enabling him to display them in abundance. Together they have given life to Ridley’s exuberant writing, lifting it from the page to the stage in a textbook collaboration that demonstrates what can be achieved when the great work together. Quite simply a tour de force.

Whilst productions do as much as they can to immerse audiences in the aesthetic of shows from the start, nothing can compare to the auditory and visual sensation of pastel that kick off But I’m a Cheerleader.Life is not all pink picket fences for 17 year old Megan (Jessica Aubrey) in Bill Augustin and Andrew Abrams’ adaptation of this cult classic, who is lifted out of her perfect life and shipped off to the rehabilitation center True Directions by her parents. There she meets Graham (Megan Hill), who shows Megan how to find acceptance with who she is and that life is more colourful than pink and blue.Directed by Tania Azevedo, this musical is a light-hearted celebration of LGBTQ+ spaces and identity, whilst drawing attention to perpetuating erasure and vilification of the LGBTQ+ community by conservatives. Azevedo’s direction subtly brings attention to the political context and harsh realities of the rehabilitation center without overshadowing and dampening the coming of age story that is taking place before us. Her use of 4th wall breaks and the technical side of the production - in particular the quick costume changes as cast members switch characters - adds a tongue in cheek mocking undercurrent to the action. Augustin and Abrahms’ decision to use cheer chants to bookend scenes is a creative and hilarious way to signpost action but also adds to the development of our perception of the characters. The pair manage to balance sarcasm and genuineness in the libretto, creating amusing moments in the intensity of some songs like Step 2: Pink and Blue and Perfect Little World which contrast to the earnestness and triumphant Seeing New Colors. David Shields’ set and costume design mockingly emphasizes the binary that is imposed in the show and reality, to the point of over-exaggeration and ridicule. Seeing this musical more than 20 years on, the 90s aesthetic of But I’m a Cheerleader could be considered foreign and outdated to a lot of us, and Shields takes this a step further in his pink and blue uniformity that is almost 1950s-esque in the brightness and constraint that the uniforms imply, only to be undermined by details of individualism as the musical progresses. The almost candy-cane like palette for True Directions is a sickeningly sweet and innocent backdrop to the action, something that we immediately distrust - as we should - and it is astonishing how much of a visceral reaction Shields’ design produces.There is a playfulness to the show that the cast executes with a wink and a nudge to us, as if the characters themselves are in on the joke. It’s a great adaptation in that there is a cheesiness to it, but at no point do the tropes appear in any way overused or tired. The little ways that the cast manage to fit in character quirks into their movement and changes between characters makes it all seem ridiculous but in a completely grave manner. As Megan, Aubrey keeps a Sandra Dee-like sweetness and innocence throughout, only to surpass expectations and wow us over with the sheer power of her voice. To see her character progression as she incrementally shows more confidence in her performance, changing her vocal styles to suit this development. The hope and self-fulfillment in Seeing New Colors gives us an incredible rush, which is surpassed by her performance of Graham’s Kiss, that is jaw-dropping in of itself. Hill also plays on our assumptions in their interpretation of Graham. Their general aloofness and rebellious attitude is intriguing, but it’s not until their performance of If That’s What it Takes do we really see the depth and complexity of their character. Hill has a stunning alto register that breathes real emotion into every note and word that they perform, to the point where we just learn so much about the character. It is breath-taking to see Aubrey and Hill perform and to witness the range of their talent.But I’m a Cheerleader is inspirational, and leaves us with a restlessness that comes from wanting to make a change in our own lives. This musical possesses a lot of joy despite the reality of the issues that it explores. Like its characters, But I'm a Cheerleader breaks all boundaries, both imagined and not. Completely unmissable, hopefully this is the beginning But I’m a Cheerleader’s journey to becoming a musical classic.

The proverb blood is thicker than water is often used to prioritise family bonds over all else. The full saying is the blood of the convenant is thicker than the water of the womb, that is the bonds that we make by choice are stronger than those that bind us to family, a saying that drives to the heart of Steve Waters’ adaptation of Bertolt Brecht’s The Caucasian Chalk Circle. The true meaning of the full saying comes to the forefront and is translated into a tale of love in all of its forms, set against the cold backdrop of a UN refugee centre. Directed by Christopher Haydon, the dark, bleak and shabby background of the setting lets the themes of the play and actors’ performance shine. A story within a story, the main narrative of The Caucasian Chalk Circle tells the story of Grusha Vashnadze (Carrie Hope Fletcher), who after a coup in Gruzinia that results in the execution of the Governor, flees with his son, Michael (Daniel Aiden Matembe) after the Governor’s Wife (Joanna Kirkland) abandons him. The Caucasian Chalk Circle is the story of Grusha’s treacherous journey to the home of her brother Lavrenti (Shiv Rabheru), as she is chased by supporters of the plotters who want Michael. The Singer (Zoe West) narrates the story, leading the cast into folk song and acting as a guide and a conscience that allows us to see into Grusha’s mind as she grapples with self-preservation and her sense of duty. The framing of The Caucasian Chalk Circle creates some distance between us and Grusha’s story, but the modernity of the initial setting creates an urgency that we cannot help but respond to. Just as Brecht used the Nazi occupation of Europe to frame the initial play, Waters uses the current refugee crisis and war in Ukraine (an offhanded ‘are they Russian?’ comment by Fletcher in reference to the Singer is not lost on us) to personify the large-scale ethnic conflict and arguments on a smaller scale with the characters onstage. Waters has not changed Brecht’s play, just re-contextualised it - just as the Singer does - in a way that we can understand the issues explored.Beyond the setting of the refugee crisis, there are other modern parallels to be made. The characters in the story are archetypes we are all too familiar with; the privileged rulers who are deaf to the pleas of the masses, the wealthy motivated by protecting their assets and rejecting anyone not part of their circle. The realistic incorporation of the most basic scale of human suffering created by Haydon’s direction creates a real sense of injustice, of anger. His direction emphasises Grusha’s warmth, humanity and love against the background of self-interest and survivalism, leading to questions about human nature. Oli Townsend’s set and costumes create a sharp contrast between the traditional and modern aspects of the design, making associations and comparisons between characters as we see the different aesthetics used. Townsend never takes us out of the refugee centre, utilising bed frames and the boxes of supplies above the stage to create a relative dichotomy; we are aware that what we are seeing is a play or a folk tale, but the realism in the background of the refugee centre means that it may as well be a story that we hear about on the news. In total The Caucasian Chalk Circle has 50 characters split among nine actors, but there is a duality and almost intechangeable nature to each actors' roles; who they are in the context of the refugee centre and who they are in the story. For example Joanna Kirkland’s UN worker becomes the Governor’s Wife, both people in privileged positions that are higher than everyone else hierarchically and separate from the suffering. In Grusha, Haydon’s direction and Fletcher’s talent as a performer meet to create the beating heart of this show, and going forward, Fletcher’s adaptation of the role should go down in theatre legend. Fletcher shows such intensity in her emotions that it spills over to us, and makes us incredibly aware of our own wellbeing and instincts. For Grusha is the only active character; Fletcher chooses the role whilst the other roles are imposed upon the ensemble by the Singer. From that point on Fletcher appears almost defiant in the face of the circumstances faced by the character. For a majority of the performance, she is acting to a teddy bear, a mere representation of a child, so it only speaks to her immense talent as an actress that she is able to generate such feelings of love and pathos in us in what is essentially a vacuum. Fletcher shows such tenderness, such love in her performance we can’t help but feel a tug of yearning. We feel her conflict, her heightened sense of injustice, her furious passion and protectiveness as and when required. Through her we learn the lessons of Brecht, that the universe does eventually balance out, despite the intrinsically hostile nature of the collective world. Jonathan Slinger’s Azdak is the personification of this, and whilst it takes a minute to process the logic behind his words, his disillusionment with the system and world that he’s in mirrors our own. Slinger cleverly hides the wisdom of the character behind his jester-like performance, but it just goes to show that an ordinary man is an honest man. The Caucasian Chalk Circle is about war, the different types of people we see in a crisis, about helping others when everything falls to chaos and what really matters when everything else is lost. In this raw and emotional tale about putting aside your own needs to help someone more vulnerable than you, we cannot help but see where we, our governments and representatives fall short. There are lessons to be learned here, and if we do, the world will be much better for it.

Helen Bauer’s Madam Good Tit is a not-so-wholesome coming-of-age set that provides a deep dive into everything from Bauer’s various high school personalities to deeply problematic societal norms and the truth about self-care. Supported by the acerbic, incredibly blunt and generally brilliant Ruth Hunter, Bauer is certainly right about at least one thing. It is all Dido’s fault.Revelling in the odd moments of shadenfreude that we can only hope to grasp as they come into our life, throughout the set, Bauer shows off the confident and brash tenor of her humour. She may label herself 'basic', but Bauer has an incredible flair for performance, in which her immense self-awareness and the accuracy of her self-diagnosis of being a leading lady is reflected. With probing social commentary on the real lessons we learn from Disney princesses and incredibly personal anecdotes, we see how accurate Bauer’s self described acute degree of caring is, but in an inspirational way that stems from an extreme amount of confidence that we can only wish to aspire to. Poking fun at everything from gender norms to toxic diet culture, Bauer’s witty and upbeat commentary is interspersed with a rationality that puts a new twist on how we see the world.Bauer takes a unique stance on very important issues that no one else seems to be discussing. Constantly playing and over-exaggerating the stereotypes and popular culture that have informed her own life and personality, Bauer reminds us of the ridiculousness of the world that we exist in. With a tongue-in-cheek twist to the current trend of turning a comedy stand-up set into a vehicle of catharsis, Bauer leaves us with an important set of guidelines to consider and move forward with as we go about our lives. With her finger on the pulse of society, her parting words are the most inspiring of the entire set, proving once and for all how thoughtful and well-put together her set is. If antyhing, Bauer gives us a challenge to live up to.An awe-inspiring personality with a touch of comedy star-quality, Bauer performs a show that is the stand-up equivalent to a chef’s kiss. Apart from Bauer’s description of how crying on a plane should happen, nothing is or can be more perfect than Madam Good Tit.

Rhys Nicholson must have been pushing down the material in Rhys! Rhys! Rhys! for a long time, for this show is certainly a diamond. This stand-up performance is a belly-aching set of hijinks and quick-witted commentary from one of the most dapper comedians to grace the stage.A veritable Miranda, Nicholson imparts advice on life through clever quips which are the kind of things we deserve to see on throw cushions and generally asks the important questions, like whether straight men are okay (from Nicholson’s anecdotes we can only assume that the jury is still out on that one). There is almost an elf-like quality to Nicholson’s performance, as they toy with us and our expectations, emphasizing parts of their performance through physical comedy. Darting around the stage like a ball of energy, Nicholson weaves a web of stories ranging from their childhood in Newcastle to the maintenance time of their 30s, and the life barnacles that come with them. This show is best described as essentially a series of well-thought streams of consciousness containing practically epiphanic observations. Possessing a confidence they attribute to straight, white, male comedians with podcasts, Nicholson keeps a lightning fast pace, never skipping beat whilst managing to tactfully riff, sidestep and temper our assumptions of any double entendres that may pertain to current affairs.An incredibly revealing and high-spirited act, Rhys! Rhys! Rhys! is an incredibly memorable stand-up performance that keeps us laughing beyond the allocated hour. Not only a god to 11am gym patrons, but to anyone witnessing their performance, hopefully this is the one thing that Nicholson doesn't regret, for every second of every laugh is worth the resulting shortness of breath and aching in the ribs that occur as a result.

Taking self-deprecating humour to another level, Tom Walker’s Javelin is a rather eclectic series of observations and character-based narratives, through which runs a relatively concerning episodic of Walker’s (imagined?) time as a javelin athlete. Mixing stand up with mime, for anyone going to see this show, a paper bag is an essential item, as the sheer absurdity of the show is enough for anyone to fall prey to perpetual and hysterical laughter. Taking regular breaks to comment upon his own show and how it’s going, Walker is incredibly attuned to our reactions, possessing the rare ability to improvise fluently. By refusing to take any praise that he believes is not worthy, Walker manages to come up with a clever gag. When the person onstage is actively telling you that they don’t think they’re good, the most natural urge is to contradict them, especially if they have proven up to that point that they are wrong. A rather creative use of the mime format, Walker’s ‘Bull in the China Shop’ saga is rather wholesome and endearing, but as it turns out, incredibly characteristic of Walker’s approach to comedy in a rather ridiculous way. Walker is incredibly expressive in his manner as he shows us the story set to Kevin Macleod’s Bach’s Prelude in C, the music and action clicking incredibly well. We can only guess at exactly what’s going on at any particular moment in the story, but Walker gives us enough to fill in the blanks using all the comedic techniques in his toolbox to subvert our assumptions of punchlines. The sleekness of these moments is exemplified and repeated throughout the show, creating a snowball effect of hilarity. The hardest part of any review is the star rating. Often a show sits between two values, and even when you settle on one, certainty is hard to come by. But it takes a special kind of show, a special kind of talent - that Walker without a doubt possesses - to make you absolutely certain of what the show deserves while you are still watching. Javelin is just generally some good, clean fun. It’s silly, rather chaotic and a little insane. But then there is no great genius without a touch of madness. The perfect memorial to Herman Cain, it’s incredibly difficult not to like this show.

Stunning, imaginative, inspired, colourful, amusing, brilliantly performed and beautifully sung, this Trial By Jury is Gilbert and Sullivan at its very best.Always keen to take a dig at the establishment, the duo latched onto the offence of breach of promise of marriage as the subject for what became their shortest operetta and just happens to have the perfect running time for the Fringe. It was first performed in 1875 and became an immediate hit. The common law tort was repealed in 1971, so Velocirapture Productions (alumni and students members of Cambridge University G & S Society and few friends) have set their show in the year 1968. This has worked out extremely well in terms of costume which are in an array of colours and designs from the period, greatly cheering up the traditional dullness of Victorian attire. Everyone looks stunning with the ladies in pretty frocks and dresses and the all-male jury, retained from original, in jackets worthy of a regatta.The arrogant Edwin (Seb Blount) has been summoned to court by his ex-fiancée, Angelina (Tiffany Charnley). The stern Usher (James Ward) calls for silence in court and the battle ensues to see for whom justice will be done. It soon becomes evident that the proceedings will be far from impartial. The jury is manifestly biased, encouraged by the usher who says they can ignore what the ‘ruffianly defendant’ has to say. Hence, they greet him with hostility in some splendidly directed group movements. Meanwhile the Defendant admits that Angelina bored him and so he took up with another woman. The Learned Judge (Christian Longstaff) enters in vivid red robes, but in a wonderfully entertaining comic twist he seems to be the most youthful person on stage rather than the elderly gentleman who would normally play the part. He sings of his rise to power and admits to his own shortcomings in the same manner as the Defendant. Abandoning the usual wedding dress, Angelina arrives in a stunning black cocktail dress and the proceedings continue with some clever humour that must make this the most amusing Trial By Jury ever performed. Dramas abound in the ensuing quite ludicrous court case before everything is resolved to everyone’s satisfaction and ‘joy unbounded’ reigns.The large cast is tightly and imaginatively directed by Tiffany Charnley who says, “Our setting has allowed us to remove the character of Angelina from a position of victim in this trial, to a more powerful role who manipulates this outdated law to her own advantage”. One of the musical challenges for the show proved to be reducing a score written for full orchestra to one with only eight players and half the number of parts. Musical Director, Robert Nicholas, says: “[we] had to carefully select the instruments to best cover the textures and harmonies in the original score, whilst [still] producing a voluminous but easily blended sound. As the conductor, I am not exempt from multitasking, aiming to also cover the bass drum, cymbals, triangle and, occasionally, second violin!” Together they keep everything moving at a cracking pace and the quality of the acting and singing is outstanding throughout. The full-cast rendition of the highly complex A Nice Dilemma We Have Here sound like something out of grand opera. It’s hard to imagine that Gilbert and Sullivan themselves would not be thrilled with this production and delighted to see that comedic musical satire is still thriving and being performed to this level of excellence.

This show revolves around a fairly well-trodden premise: idealistic young creative seeks similar to make beautiful art with. Whether a black and white ‘let’s put on a show’ romp starring Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney, Ricky Gervais’ Extras, Episodes, Tootsie... or all the way back to A Midsummer Night’s Dream… the idiosyncrasies of the theatrical world have always played well to audiences and proved rich pickings for a poised satirical pen.In Patrick O’Brien’s The Last Romantic, our naïve utopian is James Wright: a sweet, strong-jawed English actor navigating the absurdity of the Hollywood machine. Trudging through the soul-destroying rounds of auditions, zero-respect gigs and humiliating personal appearances makes him realise that it’s not just that he wants to retain some semblance of professional integrity in Tinsel Town; but that he will also need to reshape the inexorable grip exercised by the hollow, the superficial, and the bankable in order to make that happen.James’ odyssey through the echoing vaults of shattered dreams is made more bearable by the fortuitous appearance of Julia Smith who soon becomes his writing partner. And together, they begin to take on the establishment…This is a well-constructed piece which fluctuates between the absurd and the naturalistic much in the way that the Arts world itself does. There are nods to great works, lowbrow rubbish, sex pests and reality TV: and, in a strong cast, a particularly outstanding turn by Lizzie Hart as a foul-mouthed theatrical agent. Artsy types always enjoy luxuriating in a meta analysis of their own world, and The Last Romantic has particular resonance at an Arts event where audiences – especially at a time of collective belt-tightening – can tend to frequent known commercial entities seemingly irrespective of merit, leaving emerging talent desperate for even the smallest sniff of a paying bum on a seat.But the dramatic world is one of the few industries in which talent, work ethic, qualification and experience do not result in assured promotion; and this production focuses on how the ladder-pulling elite remain fixated on a somewhat sinister insistence that new talent must ‘pay dues’. These dues seem to involve a professional prostitution which our hero manages to resist… but at a cost which is redolent of a modernised, televised, coked-up 1984.The Last Romantic is an energetic piece which capitalises on the bounce and glow of its cast; and it is beyond refreshing to see such anarchic young performances where confidence in their own abilities is not, in fact, wildly misplaced. It is hilarious, wise, preposterous and all too real: and above all, a warning to us all that following dreams may result in living a nightmare.

Early in Samsara two hooded figures from different cultures meet in a desolate landscape, only sparsely populated by stricken metallic figurines being slowly consumed by gathering sand. What follows is a triumphant and transcendent exploration of the earthly and divine as dancer-choreographers Aakash Odedra and Hu Shenyuan present ancient traditions and timeless ideas through the prism of contemporary dance.The show is ostensibly based on the 16th century Chinese novel Journey to the West, the sprawling legend-based epic which sees a Buddhist monk and his disciples travel from China to India in search of ancient religious texts. The links to that original tale are broadly thematic and conceptual rather than narrative. Corporeal matters such as cross-cultural conflict, communication, and eventual cooperation evolve into dizzyingly well-realised representations of spiritual transcendence, power, imbalance and eventual harmony.These ideas of transformation are conveyed through a series of spectacular sequences which show off the prodigious abilities of the two performers. They arrive on stage speaking different physical languages. Well versed in classical traditional dancing styles from China and India respectively, each dancer brings something different to the performance as Hu’s otherworldly fluidity and Odedra’s powerful motions interact at first cautiously amidst shifting spotlights. It’s a visually arresting piece of dance which swiftly develops into a stylised fight sequence which falls only slightly short of the ferociously energetic live drumming of prodigiously talented percussionist Beibei Wang.This drumming, and the rest of the scoring of the piece, is another great strength of Samsara. The blend of both recorded and live performances perfectly backgrounds the dance, with beautifully articulated music creating a vital auditory substrate in which the mesmeric action of the dancers can flourish; from an ominous, drone heavy start, to soaring optimism and spiritual attainment to wistful and healing harmony, often attended to by the seemingly flawless vocal prowess of singer Nicki Wells. It’s a striking work on many levels.Towards the end of Samsara, sand streams from above the stage, shimmering in the light as it flies from the two dancers and the show reaches an elegant and poignant finale. Maybe the sand itself is a symbolic representation of the Buddhist concept of suffering; it does get everywhere. Maybe the cycle of suffering can be broken by the exuberant power of cultural symbiosis. They’re just a couple of immaterial thoughts provoked by this frequently breath-taking display of technical skill and artistic beauty.

Damnation has never been so fun in Joe McNeice’s adaptation of Diva: Live from Hell. This one-man show is devilishly delightful in all that it does, a cabaret-style musical hellraiser that there is no way in the seven circles that anyone should miss.We are taken to the ‘Seventh Circle’ cabaret, where Desmond Channing (Luke Bayer) tells us about the events leading up to his death, as he and the Ronald Reagan High School drama club prepare for their fall musical. Events take a dark turn when newcomer, Evan (Bayer) starts to replace him and take over the club. In this carefully crafted show, Desmond shows and tells us why there is no way in hell why he would just let that happen.Creating hell on earth isn't easy, and McNeice's creativity and vision has brought the seventh circle to life. By recreating a mundane highschool backdrop that is underscored with a dark and almost industrial-like atmosphere that hangs over the action like smog, at no point during the show can we escape the hell-scape that lurks underneath. From Alexander Sage Oyen’s orchestrations to Alistair Lindsay’s lighting design, everything contains a hellish flair that every so often reminds us that we are in fact all roasting in the deepest pit (not literally, the Turbine Theatre has very good air conditioning).Raising more than a little hell, Bayer is an inferno, powering everything around him with a demonic and contagious energy as if the hounds of hell themselves were snapping at his heels. He owns the stage, his presence stretching out into the auditorium and holding us in his infernal grasp throughout the show. Continuously interacting with the band and techies supporting him, it is amazing to watch Bayer work and control everything around him, literally going mad with the power. Bayer's voice turns every number into a showstopper, shedding the skins of the various characters as he goes. His descent into madness is so incremental and cleverly disguised that it isn’t noticeable until it is, becoming a veritable devil before our eyes. There is no room to question whether Desmond Channing is a reliable narrator, there is a devilish glint in Bayer’s eye throughout his performance that convinces us that he is telling us the entire truth.A damn good time, Diva: Live from Hell is worth going to the ends of the earth for. Well, Battersea but close enough. Completely wicked from start to end, Dante dare miss this show.

10 years on from its 2012 Fringe debut, La Merda remains raw and relevant. Christian Ceresoli’s script offers a unique dissection of a female actor’s consciousness from childhood through to the precipice of celebrity. Layered commentaries unfold on Italian nationalism, the lamentation of a patriarchal golden age, contemporary bulimic consumerism, and the pervasive experience of female bodily objectification. Performed by Silvia Gallerano, with her bare body atop a raised stool in Summerhall’s sinister Demonstration Room, the audience was shocked into submission by her confronting dynamism.Gallerano’s virtuoso technique excluded the possibility of generic narration so common to one-person performances. Tying a web of images together, she whispered and shook, sang and screamed her way through a polyphony of voices, delivering each via a hand-held microphone. The characters she channelled were both compelling caricatures and starkly real representations. It was as if each threatened to overwhelm the sporadically vincible woman at any moment, slicing away at her determined autonomy unless she overcame them first.An initial technical malfunction accompanied by a panting dog that stunk of piss added to the preview’s special atmosphere as she sat like a subject about to be experimented upon. Gallerano’s ability to handle this specific set of circumstances and, indeed, to incorporate these happenings into the performance itself was testament to her inspiring skill. La Merda seemed inherently bound to her daring style, her ability to channel the abject and express the fragments of shit which make up everyday life. Everything and nothing was regurgitated through her body, which remained stuck to the seat and yet seemed to constantly change.The stark lighting and lack of sound design, apart from Gallerano’s bracingly unique voice, were hardly noticeable since her performance filled the space, moving beyond the stage and penetrating the audience, who remained hypnotised by her figure throughout the play. This barren image, alongside the cyclical nihilism of Ceresoli’s writing, seemed to communicate the most basic essence of theatre itself: a confrontation with the violence of being alive.

An electrifying production, Scottish Ballet’s Coppélia, reimagined with robots and a new story that only nods to the original, is not just for sci-fi fans but addresses the serious questions of our time: our relationship with technology, truth vs. reality (which might be a nod to the corrupting effects of social media) and, most importantly, the ethical implications of creating artificial humans. The essential question of the original Coppélia remains: what happens if someone falls in love with a nonhuman or half human creation, i.e. with a false reality?An astounding mix of media, this show is choreographed by Jessica Wright and Morgann Runacre-Temple (Jess and Morgs) with all new moves (not the famous Petipa’s). It combines film that has been previously recorded and is live projected on a screen above, spoken text written by Jeff James, and music composed by Mikael Karlsson and Michael P Atkinson. Although there are jumping off points from the original Delibes’ score, it's completely innovative with a mix of live orchestra and electronic soundscapes.Film and live dance interact and it is fascinating to see how what appears on stage looks different on screen. The roving cameraman, Rimbaud Patron, also a dancer, interacts his moves with those of the other dancers. At times it is unclear what is pre-recorded and what is live, and there is some fun when the virtual reality of another screen descends to the stage and live dancers appear to jump in and out of it.Swanhilda, superbly danced by Constance Devernay, is a curious journalist with the padded shoulders of an '80s power suit who wants to penetrate the secrets of 'NuLife', Dr Coppélius’ laboratory. We enter a vast, empty set of a grey and white world; technicians in white coats, pastel-coloured staff who work all hours then party together, their life consumed by their workplace. It is a brilliant portrayal of IT life, hinting at Silicon/Uncanny Valley. They slavishly worship their CEO, Dr Coppélius, who is distinctly uncanny, danced by a fiendish, narcissistic and mesmerising Bruno Micchiardi. He is dressed all in black with a polo neck, reminiscent of the late Steve Jobs. Micciardi’s hands creeping over his desk are particularly sinister as Swanhilda/Devernay interviews him. But it’s not all sinister, there is also a humorous vignette of his body-building sessions.As Swanhilda explores the laboratory at night, she discovers an array of robotic body parts: torsos, heads and, most disturbingly, a tray with a row of fingers are laid out - Sami Fendall, the Art Director’s, brilliant inventions. Robots in striking costumes of white plastic body parts, designed by Annemarie Woods, perform spell-binding dance throughout. The most memorable is when they are standing one behind the other, manipulating long artificial arms where the impression is of a car factory assembly line.The choreography is cleverly varied; an opening pas de deux between Swanhilda and her boyfriend Franz (Simon Schilgen) suggests a normal human relationship, but gradually a spiky aggressiveness appears in Swanhilda’s challenging interview with the doctor as it becomes clear he accepts no responsibility for his creations. The weird beats of the party scene are danced with '80s style moves, but as the relationship between Swanhilda and the doctor develops the music darkens, and the choreography of their duets becomes startling with unusual extensions and turns reminiscent of Wayne McGregor (whose company Wright danced with for 11 years).The show steadily becomes more exciting and dark as Swanhilda enters the body of the robot and seduces the doctor. The millions of robot clones multiplying on screen and spilling out into the stage’s walls is a stunning climax to the show, as is the dramatic coup; Swanhilda leaving the doctor inside the onstage screen suspended in a virtual reality for ever. Brilliant! I wish the ballet had ended there but, of course, we had to see Franz and Swanhilda reunited in their normal human relationship. Oh well.

The rhythm of the tango underpins Los Guardiola - The Comedy of Tango in this superb production from Musique et Toile, but the show is much broader than the one dance form. There is much going on in this remarkable combination of dance and movement interspersed with mime sequences that hark back to the era of black and white movies and Charlie Chaplin and that draws on their expertise in commedia dell’arte.The multidisciplinary show has been performed in Paris for over six years. The work is divided into seven scenes, each introduced with its name presented on a chalkboard by Marcelo Guardiola, who is from Argentina. In the dance routines he is joined by the Italian Giorgia Marchiori. They are both performers and choreographers who create a fantasy world of encounters, hopes and disappointmenst in playful vignettes that are frequently amusing.The opening sequence, The Barrel Organ, goes back to the origins of the Tango in a comedic performance set in the streets of Buenos Aires and establishes the light-hearted approach to the subject.The Emigrant is a clear visualisation of the boat journey taken by a young Italian woman to meet a local Argentinian and is followed by The Bachelor Flat. It’s performed on a box which is a metaphor for a bulin, an apartment used for sexual encounters inspired by the famous apartment in Buenos Aires on the second floor of 348 Avenue Corrientes. Arising from the tango Noches de Colón, The Fall tells of the rise and fall of a Porteño dandy in the 1920s who went from nobleman to beggar. It also includes a section from Ravel’s Bolero.If you have ever been to a milonga, you will appreciate the competitiveness of being the best and most spectacular in the salon. In To Each Their Own Tango the woman is invited to dance by a cabeceo, a head gesture that lures her to him. Who knows where it may lead? Perhaps to the next piece, Betrayal, underpinned by Iván Díez’s 1930 poem Amablemente (Kindly). The great singer Edmundo Rivero put the words to music in 1963: He found her in the room and in the arms of another / But, calm and collected, he said to the seducer: / You can leave, the man is not guilty in situations like this. Enough said about machismo.The fantasy Paper Heart concludes the set, bringing to life the poem Corazón de Papel by Alberto Franco: Little rag doll / Dressed as Pierrot, / Though you have no soul / I want only you / Since I know you'll always / Be faithful to me, / Little rag doll, / with a paper heart.An array of black and white costumes and masks enhances these performances along with a host of musical extracts. But it is the carefully crafted dance routines, cleverly and imaginatively constructed, combined with precise execution that rightly stand out. Here, tango is transformed into brilliant theatre.

It’s a day like any other. On the street are four anonymous individuals walking through the city. They are at home in their surroundings and they readily follow the etiquette prescribed for pedestrians, especially when crossing the road. They know what good conduct is and that they should be well-behaved at all times. That is until one of them decides to rebel and WALK-MAN by Don Gnu comes into its own.Soon the tediousness of everyday routines is shattered as a series of edgy stunts performed with muscular physicality repeatedly change the landscape, especially that of the zebra crossing. The dance choreography is integrated into a succession of movements that place the black and white boards into multiple configurations from their traditional format to springboards for leaps, tumbles and acrobatic feats. The options for assembling the planks seem endless with the floor design in a constant state of transformation. The ways in which they are moved often provide moments of amusement reminiscent of early slapstick comedy or those times when you meet someone on the street who is coming directly towards you and you both move in the same direction in a failed attempt to avoid each other. Worse still you might just shoulder bang the approaching innocent and each rebound from the collision. The momentum is sustained throughout and the art of precisely placing the boards and positioning them is never lost. This is everday life transformed into design and artistry. This original work comes courtesy of the company’s founders, the choreographers Jannik Elkær and Kristoffer Louis Andrup Pedersen. It all makes for a fabulously entertaining show that is rooted in the skills of contemporary dance and physical theatre. You will never cross the street in the same way again!

Electric, animated, compelling. These are some of the many words that I could use to describe Jack Holden’s Cruise, directed by Bronagh Lagan. Holden’s words and performance contain so much meaning and emotion in them that all I could do as a reviewer was sit, listen and try to absorb as much as I could. Because this show is an experience in itself. Set during a shift at the LGBTQ+ charity, Switchboard, Cruise is a collection of stories told from the perspective of Michael (Jack Holden) as he navigates the clubs and nightlife of 1980s Soho and the people who he meets along the way that help him to cope with love and loss, culminating in his self-declared ‘last night on Earth’. Switching between past and present, Holden grounds us in the story, making sure we are able to distinguish between the two. Between Prema Mehta’s lighting and John Patrick Elliott’s sound design, a Williams-esque dream landscape is created, from neon lights that would normally fit anywhere else but a stage, but look right at home in Mehta’s design; to the synth beats and live music that create a backdrop and beat to Holden’s narrative. The industrial feeling of the neon and otherwordliness of the music create a dichotomy that emphasise some of the more emotional and powerful moments, of which there are many. Holden’s words and performance is unbelievable. Filled with intense highs and intense lows, there is a certain wryness and humour throughout, even in the saddest moments. Holden uses every literary tool at his disposal, his mastery of language only rivalling that of Shakespeare. He’s a natural storyteller, seen in the way that he creates an incredibly rich world for us, filled with places and characters that take on their own appearance, quirks and personalities, that it’s hard to believe that it’s not just Holden up on the stage. It’s intensely spectacular the way Holden manages to play on our emotions, evoking extreme pathos in the simplest of lines or moments. He has a boundless, restless energy, which we can see as he takes on the immense physical task of the performance, from the endless movement to climbing different parts of Nik Corrall’s set as he takes us into the heart of 1980s Soho from thin air. Cruise is frankly unbelievable. There’s a magic, an otherworldliness that is created, making this show extremely hard to shake it off once it ends. An Angels in America for a new age, Cruise is most definitely one of the best pieces of theatre that I have had the honour to watch.

Liz Lochhead’s slick modern take on a sadly relevant ancient tale is brought to life with intelligent staging and a ferociously powerful central performance from Adura Onashile. Directed by RSC alumnus Michael Boyd, this latest National Theatre of Scotland production of Medea is a fabulous success.Onashile plays the titular protagonist, that figure from Greek mythology who saved Jason, leader of the Argonauts, was vital in his success in retrieving the fabled Golden Fleece, and who was betrayed by him when she made her way back to the hero’s home as his wife. The story picks up as that betrayal unfurls and takes flight on Medea’s unbridled pain and rage.The well-worn story of a woman cast aside, and the tragic cost of the violent revenge she wreaks, is granted new life by both Lochhead’s script, which draws energy from the fantastic rhythms and power of Scots, and a string of strong performances. From Stephen McCole’s Kreon, who’s sharp suit is the thin cloak of civilisation draped over a brutish ruler, to Robert Jack’s Jason, a charming and smarmy gaslighter of the highest (or lowest) order, there are performances of note throughout. Special mention must be made for the Chorus, a ten-strong group of women who inject passion, wisdom and pathos into every scene they’re in, both universalising and elevating the shocking acts that Medea both suffers and perpetrates.However, it is Onashile who holds the stage most commandingly. In a formidably towering performance she delivers rage, sorrow, sharp wits, doubt and pride. Whether expressed through razor sharp dialogue, wordless cries, or the subtle shift of her shoulders, the performance is never less than captivating.Greek tragedy translated into contemporary language and performed on a stage and set which could loosely be described as Elizabethan-industrial? It’s an ambitious and alluring concept from the off, and one which is executed superbly by cast and crew. The staging of the show may guarantee a standing ovation every night, but there’s no doubt it is worth every applause. This is theatre-making with real substance.

Saltire Sky Theatre have lived up to all the expectations they raised following 1902, their smash hit of last year’s Fringe that won them the Broadway Baby Bobby Award and Off West End Award in the OffFest category.It was a hard act to follow, but having left the Hibs ground behind him, as far as writing is concerned, Nathan Scott-Dunn has found new turf in the Edinburgh drugs scene with his latest play Bits ‘N’ Pieces, an even more high-octane production, full of action, comedy and tragedy, which each member of the cast draws out, embraces and contributes to in abundance. Scott-Dunn also directs and appears in the show. That’s the sort of combination of roles that can often lead to disaster, but such is his talent that he carries all three off with masterly inspiration.The party is already in full swing as we enter, buy a drink at the bar and choose a seat. The performance is in the round so wherever you sit you’ll be immersed in the proceedings. The disco lights swirl and the techno music pumps out thanks to DJ Emma Hussain. Be prepared to take part and enter into conversation with the odd dealer. Once the floor is clear three friends emerge who have grown up together and are as close as brothers.Matty (Calum Manchip), Dougie (Sandy Bain) and Tommy (Nathan Scott-Dunn) recount their times together, engage in mockery, reveal dream-worlds of ambition mixed with all their failures and shortcomings. The dialogue is fast and loud. If you’re not a local, or at least from Scotland, you’ll need to tune your ear. This is full-on Leith you’re listening to. There are no compromises and it’s exhilarating. It’s the mundane banter of everyday life with all its highs and lows, of which there are many more to come in both categories, yet it is revealing and informative, fleshing out the characters and it's filled with punchy wit and rapid ripostes that provoke laugh-out-loud appreciation.Tommy is perhaps the senior member of the trio; after all he has a real job which he’s sustained for some years, unlike Dougie whose expertise lies in being a delivery boy in between periods of unemployment and idleness. Matty is the would-be ambitious one who actually makes the move to escape the confines of his life and join the RAF. No sooner is his application successful than he collides with the harsh reality of his decision and is called to Afghanistan. There’s just time for the boys to give him a send-off party. The timing coincides with the first-ever rave to be held in Usher Hall. If you don’t know it, look it up and you’ll see how outrageously ground-breaking this would be. It’s the source of much amusement.They make it to the gig, and the rest of us join in the party. But it’s not long before the whole thing goes dreadfully wrong. When the lights go down and the noise subsides, in what amounts to act two, calamitous events that reach to the heart of group loyalties and family relationships occur. We’ve already met Dougie’s mother, Mandy (Emily Drewett) and Matty’s mother (Christie Russell-Brown) but now they come into their own as full blown-characters assimilated into the core of the plot.The dark denouement reflects the outcome of the company’s research time spent with support workers within the NHS across different platforms and specialities, and their partner charity Crew 2000 ‘to ensure the script is rooted in authenticity and prevent the spread of false information’. Without preaching, the play comes with a strong message that reaches out not just to audiences but that will be heard in schools and prisons in specially developed performances and workshops.Note the awe-inspiring change to poetic metre and rhyming couplets that heightens the message towards the end. It's just one of many elements that makes Bits ‘N’ Pieces rock-solid entertainment and a stunning manifestation of the art of writing, acting and making contact with your audience. Its vibrant, visceral and vehement piece of theatre. Note also that 1902 can be seen again this year, so if you missed it in previous years you can now combine it with Bits ‘N’ Pieces to make a full night out in Leith. It’s worth every minute.

Lekker. It’s a superb word, South African slang for “great” or “nice”. And when five South African boys are presenting 45 minutes of performance pieces largely from Shakespeare and Dylan Thomas, it is great to hear them say “lekke” at least once because it reveals that they are doing it in a truly South African style. And they really are. Five young Springboks showing us just how young actors should perform, with stage presence, honesty and charm.We are presented with five South African 18 year olds from Diocesan College (aka Bishops) in Cape Town, a private all-boys school well known for its rugby, cricket and music. Not to put too fine a point on it, the five of them look like the second and back row of the rugby team, all well over six foot, with cauliflower ears and a good build for scrummaging. And they do all indeed play rugby for the “Wild Boys”, the School’s infamous 4th team. At one point, hilariously, they pack down as a front row. But believe me, these boys also know how to act.The group are here to explore what it means to be a young male South African in the 21st century, navigating masculinity and strength while exploring identity, acceptance and belonging. They do so through a succession of monologues and duologues from their Metric exams, with some well selected text to speak, often from Shakespeare. What shrewdly chosen lines experienced drama teacher Wayne Tucker has given them. Is there any better advice than “Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line”? And more people should be told “you are a dweezil”. Some lines are jaw dropping (“what the hell does a black man know about flying a kite”) and others moving (strapping 18 year old says “I was here for some insulin”). The highlight is a piece by South African playwright Paul Slapolepszy called “Boo to the Moon”, where a young man seeks excuses not to join the army and fight. The texts explore every possible facet of young masculinity.And now to the cast. All five actors are crackerjack. Lance Brilus shows terrific physical control as he moves in to touch the ‘man-fish’ of Shakespeare’s Tempest amidst a well delivered speech. James Du Preez impresses in his cheeky goblet change and monologue. Thomas Mason engages us well in his analysis of a useless afternoon. And Thomas Barton is a highly accomplished young actor, thoughtful, interesting and honest. But the Oscar perhaps goes to Murrough Epstein, whose performance throughout explores an emerging sexuality with deftness and courage. Every contribution is electric, from ‘Untouched’ to ‘Car crash’ to his Puckish finish. There is surely another facet to growing up as a young South African male explored in his performance that could be too easily brushed aside for other foci. The five work well as a group too, knowing when to step forward and when to keep quiet and still. The ‘off-camera’ poses are sometimes casual and cool but the best ones are totally ridiculous (the hand-stand, for example) since the performers always carry them off with complete commitment and no pretention, the most refreshing feature of everything they do. It is an approach to performance that is honest and true to their age and background. The talk sounds natural but you hear every word. The costumes are spot on too. All the shoes are the same but the rest of their costumes express individuality, one with baggy black trousers and another with ripped jeans.If you want to see how young people should stage a piece of theatre, this is it. These performers are really, really lekker.

It took little time for Assembly’s Spielgeltent Palais Du Variété to evolve into a glittering exhibition of luminous flair and seduction, teased out by one of Drag Race’s most revered names. Winner of both Season 5 of Ru Paul’s Drag Race and Season 7 of Drag Race All Stars, Jinkx Monsoon’s Fringe debut does all but exceed expectations, showcasing a vocally-formidable act both pleasing to the eye and ripe with laughter. Still Got It! features all of the hallmarks of a racy, chic drag routine, from brazen wit to debaucherously sexual innuendoes. Nonetheless, Monsoon’s visual material doesn’t resort to extreme shock value antics to garner laughs as some of her Drag Race peers have been guilty of in the past but carries a subversive sassiness throughout – raunchy, no question, but graceful when demanded of her, adhering to her musical theatre styled roots. Accompanying her on piano is the delightful and whimsical Major Scales, whose jovial pragmatism stands to keep Monsoon's vices in check. Indeed, some of the act’s best material resides in the hilarious love-hate relationship between Scales and Monsoon, where the musical prodigy acts as the Portlander’s moral compass, reprimanding the queen should she delve too deep into on-stage alcohol or drug-fuelled decadence. The instrumental talents of Scales is matched only by the superb vocals of Monsoon who exhibits a diverse range, capable of hitting a strikingly low bass on the likes of the jazzy Just Me from her 2018 album The Ginger Snapped, to reaching a powerful mezzo-soprano on a classy rendition of Sondheim’s I Never Do Anything Twice. All this she does with a powerful stride around the stage in her ruby red sequin dress, magnified by a skilful audio and lighting team. Her interaction with her audience is playful yet commanding: she promotes healthy messages on self-acceptance, yet spares no hecklers from scorn should they attempt to steal her spotlight. And as for her Scottish accent, she’s nae bad at all, earning her the respect of the audience. Whilst Monsoon’s act is inherently a cabaret she does not shy away from social commentary, sparing time for inter-number discussions on mental health, the difficulties faced by the transgender community and impending planetary destruction in light of global warming, concluding that planetary exodus is the only solution. Rather fittingly, Monsoon sees us off with a stunning rendition of Life On Mars to rapturous applause, concluding a dazzling affair that serves to deliver the very best of what international drag has to offer.

There’s a famous quote from the film The Third Man. “In Italy, for thirty years under the Borgias, they had warfare, terror, murder and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had brotherly love, they had five hundred years of democracy and peace – and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.” It’s wrong, of course. The cuckoo clock is generally through to have been invented in Bavaria. But Brave Space proves its entire theory is wrong too.That’s because Brave Space isn’t art created from strife, but art created from joy and defined by teamwork. From the very beginning, you are warmly welcomed into the venue and politely informed of the ground rules, which included being asked to wear a mask to help protect an immune-compromised member of the all-female troupe and each other. From here on in we become part of their community and are invited into their intimate blanket created space.If you were lucky enough to have one in your primary school, playing with a parachute was one of the best parts of PE. Brave Space starts with a light violet coloured blanket that is similar to a large parachute or tent. The troupe start the performance underneath this material, with the audience in a circle around them. They begin to undulate, creating spikes and ripples with increasing intensity, as if you’re watching stalactites and stalagmites form in supersonic speed. Before long, a woman emerges, rising high above everyone, with the material wrapped around her, creating the illusion of a giant skirt. For a moment she seems like a giant Queen, a modern Boudicca. Then she descends, becomes another member of the white-clad troupe, and the acrobatics begin.Everything the troupe performs, from spinning in a cyr wheel, to duo trapeze, to balancing on the very ends of poles, is completed with love and support. The performers smile broadly throughout, radiating joy, and in between movements there are hugs: are the women lovers, sisters, friends? The specifics don’t matter, the love displayed is pure and unconditional. If a hoop is occasionally dropped whilst juggling, it’s quickly picked up, their smile unbroken. That love is shared with the audience too, who are brought in to assist with certain stunts. They might be asked to simply pull on a rope, or hold a hula-hoop, but the message is clear: we trust you to be a valued part of our community. Brave Space won’t be right for everyone. You need to feel comfortable with standing up or sitting on the floor for extended periods of time, packed in next to other audience members in an enclosed space. But that doesn’t mean that they don’t try to help you: chairs are available upon request before the show.The impressive acrobatics wowed the audience from young to old, particular the trapeze work which really showcases the skill and strength of the performers. Aside from the talent displayed, what sets this apart from any other circus show is the warm and fuzzy feeling they’ve managed to create in their giant cosy blanket fort. In a world that feels more divisive and separated and full of worry than ever, sitting under a blanket next to strangers whose eyes are lit up with wonder is a beautiful thing. The ultimate message of Brave Space? Danger and fear exist, but love can conquer all.

You’d be forgiven for raising an eyebrow at the provocative title Olives and Blowjobs at Space Triplex. Unforgivable, however, would be to miss it. Ollie Maddigan’s 70-minute tour de force of ecstasy, emotion and grief, refracted through a kaleidoscopic teenage mind, is quickly becoming a Fringe highlight - and deservedly so!Taking its cue from the likes of Fleabag, the one-man confessional style is challenging for the best of performers. The play revolves around a 15-year-old coming to terms with his mother’s death, his father’s neglect and struggles with unemployment, drugs, alcohol, therapy and consent. How to square this, then, with the howling laughter that fills the theatre when Ollie begins to speak and move? Clad in a crumpled school uniform, there is something casual about Ollie’s acting style that puts an audience at ease to discuss even the most intense of subjects. And perhaps most importantly, Ollie appears to truly enjoy himself on stage, so we laugh alongside his teenage overreactions, caricatures of highschool friends and imitations of the unintelligible - but iconic - adolescent grunt.As his cocky defensiveness burns itself out, however, Ollie’s monologue reaches its visceral climax, and it is moving to see male emotion struggle within a cage of stoicism and self-doubt. Ollie is at his best when he holds back his most intense outbursts for just the right moment, resisting the urge to thrash and rage until words can no longer do justice to hisfeelings. PTSD? Our protagonist apologises: “Sorry guys… silly thoughts.”Ollie’s knack for witty yet authentic writing is coupled with excellent staging that serves the story without distracting. Flashes of light book-end the play’s ebbs and flows for a rhythmical, finely-tuned pacing. Footage from Ollie’s family recordings play as he himself sits with us and watches them back, making for a hard-hitting reminder of the play’s basis in reality. Audience clustered around a young man with a very minimal set - a projector, a chair, and a water bottle occasionally doubling as a microphone - Olives and Blowjobs is a reminder of how few frills are needed when a true talent commands the stage. Olives and Blowjobs, is perhaps not helped much by the title, but as a tightly-packed exploration of the paradoxes and pulsations of growing up, it is difficult to overestimate. And the flow of tears from many who witnessed it speaks for itself.

Edinburgh Fringe is a hub of unique and wild shows, contrasting genres and varieties of themes crunched into a tight hour. Even a theatrical neo-burlesque silent physical comedy show might not sound all that remarkable. Until you had a whooole world full of sexy, smoky, soapy bubbly mayhem.The Bubble Show for Adults team consists of renowned bubbleologist Kurt Murray and highly versatile physical performer Iulia Benze. Both are 'soapremely' talented. One could be forgiven for assuming that an hourlong bubble show might drag or get repetitive, but not only do they fill the hour with non-stop fun and variety, they also introduce updates in both the narrative and bubblicious content to warrant repeat visits from fans from previous fringes.They open the mostly wordless show in breathtaking costumes, with Kurt demonstrating his physical comedy expertise and mastery of bubble manipulation. Now, you’d expect the stunning and, at times, physics-defying bubbles to upstage both performers. But despite all the wonderment and magic of the mystical suds, it’s pretty hard to take your eyes off the impeccable Iulia, whose spellbinding performance is an absolute masterclass of physical comedy.The first sketch is an adorably romantic tale that quickly treads the line between erotic and grotesque; when they put ‘for Adults’ in the show title, it’s more than a mere marketing ploy! The updated narrative is joined by a glorious silhouette scene, alongside a few other fresh and reworked set pieces. The range of gizmos and gadgets employed in the show to create indescribable effects with bubbles of all sizes, types and behaviours ensures mouths are agape and ‘Ooh’s and ‘Aah’s involuntary.With nudity, sexual themes and more bubbles than you can shake your rubber ducky at, this show does exactly what it says on the label, eking every sud out of its potential, and then some. So, for a bubble show like no other, go and (NB: brace yourself for terrible pun) POP along today.

In a big top tent, ten performers, upon a brilliant white, circular stage, perform a series of ever more amazing acts of acrobalance, tumbling, throws, and aerial skills. Costuming is simple: at first the cast are clad in lycra shorts and cropped tops before transitioning to sweaters and pants, before finally appearing in sheer body stockings which accentuate the vulnerability and yet the strength of the performers.The physicality of the cast is phenomenal. They throw each other around the stage with what seems like reckless abandon but there’s a sense of an easy trust between them. It’s also beautiful to see that this acrobalance show has no gender imbalance. We see men being lifted by women, women showing amazing feats of strength, and all of the cast being vulnerable and delicate. The choreography is incredibly tight, the action is non-stop, and the score by Ori Lichtik perfectly accompanies the action. At one point the cast break into a frenetic dance which seems to infect the whole performance with a frantic energy. A straps routine feels like it could be an entire contemporary dance piece in its own right and the few moments of quiet only serve to counterpoint the breathless energy of the performance. There are also some brilliant moments of perfectly timed playful slapstick comedy in amongst the spectacle.In their previous show, Humans, Circa set out to push the physical limits of what a person is capable of. 2.0 is a leap forward where Circa seems determined to push the limits of contemporary circus close to that line where it crosses over into dance. Undoubtedly, Humans 2.0 is contemporary circus at its finest. It’s poetic, entrancing, beautiful, and exhilarating. It is simply a triumph.

Gosh this is good. Gently told, beautifully written, truthfully enacted, a devastating study of character and relationship.Dublin writer Mark Aylward certainly knows how to put words together to build a story. Most of his sentences have four words or fewer but, gently and steadily, he stitches them together to make a tapestry. Master wordsmiths like this certainly know how to make the small words add up. Aylward turns little tributaries into roaring oceans. The story gently emerges from a simple setting; a young couple, Richard and Hannah, are brought together by attraction, then ripped apart by decisions. The young man’s older self watches throughout, played as ‘the old man’, damning his own youthful infatuation, to his drink-addled mind misguided and inexplicable. But what would the old man himself do if he could be taken back to that moment of first love and look again into the temptress’ emerald green eyes?Aylward formed 3 Pint Productions with two acting buddies to realise this piece and boy did he choose shrewdly. Dubliner Martin Brennan has been doing this sort of thing for years and goodness me, it shows. What a wonderful performance as the old man, playing both sot and fury, one moment rolling and staggering around the stage, too drunk to stand (or perhaps too tired, too agonised), the next clasping his hands to his ears, unable to listen. We can almost smell the whiskey on his breath. Alan Grant, from Kells, builds the character of Richard gently but sure-footedly to that climactic moment where he lets rip in a thunderous exchange with the old man. What a wonderful concept, that we should angrily defy criticisms that we make, masters in hindsight, of our younger selves. Recent ICMT graduate and fine actress Shelley Gibson completes the trio to realise the character of Hannah. A dark haired, green-eyed Irish siren, Gibson takes us moment by moment on Hannah’s emotional rollercoaster in a completely convincing way. She delivers a series of soulful monologues on sofa beds, on clementine oranges, on what’s for dinner. It is a wonderful onstage trio who turn up and down the heat beautifully to glide us through the story, always gripped, often uncertain and ultimately shaken.In the play, Hannah says her fantasy is to kiss Albert Finney on a yacht in the Med. My fantasy is to come to the Fringe and watch productions like this. Roaring of the Voices? These ones purr.

Any one person show relies heavily on the performance of the central cast member and the quality of the script, luckily The Poetical Life of Philomena McGuiness is blessed with excellent examples of both.This show focuses on the story of the eponymous Philomena as she ventures from her home town in Ireland to train as a nurse, moving to London and then following the troops to Normandy for the 1944 D-day landings. As you would expect from a narrative covering the war years, the story is laced with tragedy and heartbreak, but a skilful script from Joshua King ensures that humour and wit are always on hand to lighten the mood.Jasmin Gleeson gives a masterful performance as Nurse McGuiness, effortlessly portraying the changing attitudes of a young girl who may well start out as “flighty” but through the course of the play is transformed by her experiences. Gleeson does well to avoid cliché as she tells Philomena’s story with nuance and concern, her performance showing a love of the character and a deep emotional connection to the material. We also see Gleeson’s range as she transforms herself in to Philomena’s friend Mary, various doctors, matrons and head nurses, doing so whilst maintaining a clear distinction between the roles.The simplicity of the staging, just a nurse, a table and a bottle of whiskey, belies the rich and detailed world that the play creates. The audience are drawn a convincing portrayal of life in wartime London through a well-crafted script, a phenomenal performance and some skilful use of lighting.Located in the Greenside venue on Infirmary Street, The Poetical Life of Philomena McGuiness deserves an engaged and thoughtful audience. It’s a piece of excellent drama, enacted with skill and care by an actor with enormous flair and ability. The well written script allows Gleeson the chance to demonstrate her obvious ability and delivers an experience which is at once charming, funny, soulful and heartfelt. If you leave this play feeling anything other than touched and inspired, then you are probably not breathing.

Virtuostic, one dark, the other light bursting with irrepressible humour, this contrasting double bill Us choreographed by Zoë Ashe-Browne and Stroke Through the Tail by Marguerite Donlon from Ballet Ireland may well be the stand-out show at this year’s Dance Base Fringe. A daring assertion as it’s the first piece this reviewer has seen but there’s no doubt as to its exquisite excellence.Ballet Ireland is the only professional ballet company in Ireland though the brilliant dancers are international. Both pieces are by female choreographers, of whom there are few enough and it is interesting how this female sensibility informs the first piece in particular.Us reflects on displacement from home. Noises off suggest a train station, people, whether migrants, refugees or asylum abandoned in a place of transit. Zoë Ashe-Browne's choreography is startling, full of angular, unexpected poses, hugely experimental and exciting informed by her classical ballet experience as a dancer but also studying under modernists like her mentor, Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui, Alain Platel and Crystal Pite.The dancers bring their own experiences of having to adapt to a new country and living with people who are initially strangers and having to get on. The men jostle with each other, there’s rivalry and a frightening moment when the group lift the female dancer and almost drop her into the audience. A sense of abandonment, dislocation and loss pervades the piece. Unfortunately, the lack of emotional connection between the dancers means that the audience fails to empathise with them until we understand that the dancers’ numbness is indeed intentional. This is redeemed when a woman cradles a bundle, suggesting a baby, only for her to shake it out and we see it’s only a shawl, symbolising her loss.The second piece, Strokes Through the Tail choreographed by Marguerite Donlin could not be more different. Danced to Mozart’s Symphony No 40 in G minor, echoing its mood and beats minutely, is a sassy, irreverent take on all the tropes of classical ballet including a nod to Swan Lake, the men wearing long white tutus, their hands folded in front, as they mince the instantly recognizable cygnets’ dance – but there is much more as the dancers bring their own individuality to the fore and we get to know them as characters. The only female, danced by Kesi Olley-Dorey, is in black long-tails, with a wonderfully expressive face, adding knowing looks to the audience as she bosses the males about. This laugh-out-loud piece is also technically impressive, showing Donlon’s choreographic influence from William Forsythe and Meg Stuart.You are guaranteed to leave the auditorium uplifted.

When flyered for Matthew Gouldesbrough’s new play Truth / Reconciliation, I was told I could expect “serious theatre” from the Elegy group. Projected onto the back of the stage as I entered was a similarly bold claim: “THIS IS GOOD THEATRE.” Can you forgive me for being sceptical?It’s cliché to say you left the theatre with goosebumps, but this much is true for Truth / Reconciliation. In a small, blackbox room with cameras and projectors, the sheer intensity of Gouldesbrough’s writing and direction is hard to evade.There is an element of spectacle to his direction, as the actors operate cameras to project back their faces – now distorted – onto the back wall of the stage. It’s more than clever: it is uncanny, even terrifying, to watch two versions of the same face at once move slightly out-of-sync. And with words that speak of quantum physics and theatre itself, this tech never feels tokenistic. Strangely alchemical, it wrings the script for all its worth.As for the actors, I have never seen a greater example of theatre as physical labour. Hannah Morrison (Bea) and Jake Felts (Alex) speak and move with such power and intensity that flashes of humour take you by surprise – “I’m ho-ho-homeless” – while poetry cascades from their mouths. The effect is something like Sarah Kane’s Crave, pushed further with sound and light and intensity. It is easy to look past the occasional incoherent sentence when so much is gained from the energy behind it, but the best moments of the play are the duologues between the two after so much careful dancing around each other.WIth tactful conversations about the theatre industry - casting couches, intimacy coordinators – Truth / Reconciliation is a must-see for anyone at the Fringe. Seriously good theatre.

If someone happened to wander into the Scottish Storytelling Centre in Edinburgh knowing nothing about Puppet State Theatre Company’s The Man Who Planted Trees, they’d certainly be surprised to know that the same production they'd encountered has been performed for over 15 years in countries all around the world. Having proven itself beyond timeless and still very much alive, the company's stage adaptation of Jean Giono’s allegorical short story retells the tale of a shepherd who plants trees, acorn by acorn, until he quietly transforms a barren wasteland into a paradise of new life.This endlessly comforting production combines the oral tradition of storytelling with the theatrical form of puppetry, freeing the imagination through the power of a good story, well told. The tellers, two men with an expertise in play, serve the tale as our narrators and puppeteers. They are joined by Dog, an amusingly humorous and inquisitive puppet that provides comedic levity, as well as an accessible way for the show’s younger audience members to understand the story’s larger ideas about continued hope in the face of destruction, political corruption, and personal failure.Despite the text’s ability to easily evoke imagery, not all is left up to the imagination as this fully sensorial experience consistently delights with folksy music, miniature models, calming soundscapes, and breezy aromas of nature. Even more remarkable is the transformation that magically occurs when the set, at first various degrees of appearing wooden, subtly turns into the greenery of fresh life, an “indisputable symbol of resurrection” as part of an ending that holds the audience in complete awe. The story teaches patience — an all too rare characteristic of life today — not only in the gradual spreading of the shepherd's forest, but also through the inviting performances of our two storytellers who seem to be in no hurry to do anything other than tell their story through brilliant simplicity, a dash of wit, and a relaxed sincererty of tone. The precise puppeteering of the shepherd exemplifies great generosity, purely for the sake of creating a better world. Perhaps it's not how one can ease their own life, but instead how a single gesture can grow beyond a lifetime.The Man Who Planted Trees is an ordinary tale told with extraordinary beauty; a reminder that in spite of everything, life is not completely hopeless. If you close your eyes, you might still hear the creak of a wooden chair or the chirping of nearby birds. You might feel the wind blow across your face, or even catch a whiff of lavender or mint. But if you listen, truly listen, you may find yourself altogether transported to the shepherd’s forest, forever blessed by the shade of its leaves.

To write that Dear Little Loz is an exploration of one woman’s search for love is to risk diminishing its scope, power and understanding of the human condition. For this is no singleton farce of big knickers, amusing incidents with ski lifts, and increasingly deranged machinations to meet 'The One', but a nuanced and incredibly real tale of how one person has come to recognise who they are and the human connection they need to thrive.It’s Victoria Wood meets Fleabag meets Corrie meets our own best friends, and although redolent with echoes of those female voices who have gone before, always remains entirely authentic. It is rare to meet a piece of new writing which creates a sense of poetic domesticity without plummeting into the sentimental or crashingly dull, but writer / performer Lauren-Nicole Mayes delivers a script as thought-provoking as it is sharp.Mayes is an endearing stage presence, able to switch between emotional and literal situations with ease, and holding the audience easily in the palm of her manicured hand. But it is the strength and subtlety of her writing and the potency of her linguistic and emotional register which envelopes us all in her search for that most basic need: to be (at least) noticed. There is a significant voice emerging here, whether liberally sprinkling delicious references to 2000s pop culture or trying to persuade herself that the clearly-hopeless Dave might be a ‘keeper’; and one well worth investing in this Fringe.

Death is sad enough, but growing up seems worse. At least that’s a message that could easily be taken from A Eulogy for Roman. An incredibly poetic performance, we get to know Milo (Brendan George) and Roman really well over the course of this one man show.It’s in the style of a eulogy (as the name suggests), but there are moments where a stream of consciousness overtakes prepared remarks. We can see genuine joy when George talks about specific memories with Roman, and our proximity to him means that we are incredibly influenced by his emotions over the course of the show. We help George through the acceptance part of grief, which, as we see, is the most difficult part of the grieving process by completing the challenges on his and Roman’s Life Points List (plus, plus, plus). And it is genuinely a lot of fun and wholesome, and George is entirely respectful of the audience’s comfort level, but still manages to bring together even the most reluctant of us.What George creates is inspiring, and A Eulogy for Roman is just that. It's a moment of hope. This show is full of heart, and that is entirely down to George. He is phenomenal to watch, balancing and reacting to both the story and to us. This is a beautiful piece of writing, that is made so much more by George himself, not only as an actor but as a person. We can see that he is reaching out with his whole heart to us, and the show grows and stays with us beyond his performance because of it.It is about growing up, in a sort of desperate way, where the realisation that it’s happened has come too late. This show is incredibly bittersweet; it mixes the happiness of life and being alive with a sense of loss because it recognises the more yon live, the more you are likely to. In this way A Eulogy for Roman transcends the limits of the stage.

Paul Sinha is probably best known as one of Bradley Walsh’s TV team of ‘Chasers’: a characterful crew of six champion quizzers whose aim is to stop four plucky hopefuls getting to the big cash prize first. For over a decade, these brains have tantalised the nation at teatime, helped create Twitter storms of outrage whenever the ‘lower’ offer is taken, and become major personalities in their own rights.Regular viewers will know that alongside his impressive quizzing credentials on and off-screen (Sinha was crowned British Quiz Champion in 2019), he is also both a Doctor and a standup comedian. It’s an intriguing combination, and perhaps lies at the heart of his widespread appeal. For Sinha simply cannot be pigeon-holed and continues to surprise and delight in everything he does; his formidable memory skills worn so lightly and with such self-effacement that we can’t even label him a smug git to assuage our own feelings of contrasted inadequacy.These eclectic life choices are the source material for his ‘Once Sinha Lifetime’ tour, kicking off at the Fringe this summer. It is a sparkling hour, replete with family anecdotes, dodgy University choices, insights and quips about his relatively recent Parkinson's diagnosis, and a particularly glorious recreation of his first ever standup gig.Comedy is subjective. It always will be. And it is in the nature of the beast that not every joke will land every time to every audience. Perfection can never really exist; but if it did, for me at least, it would sound an awful lot like this.It is a set as combative and bolshy as it is conspiratorial and cosy: and - in one of the highest compliments I can offer – is reminiscent of the comics I watched during the 1980s, when I was just starting to appreciate the power of comedy as a political tool. But despite our parliamentary landscape having never been riper with such low-hanging comedy fruit, searing excoriation of the Establishment has given way to a somewhat goofier modus operandi by too many with the voice to help change things. The righteous anger underpinning much of Sinha’s rhetoric is life giving, and his ability to skewer pomposity and social inequality weaves a much-needed sense of optimism and camaraderie in a world increasingly weary of manufactured culture wars.Packed with goodies and not a moment of padding or superfluity, this is easily the funniest and most gratifying standup I have seen in two decades of Fringing.

The power and poise of a 20th century cultural icon is brought to brilliant life by Apphia Campbell in Black is the Color of My Voice, a deeply moving mix of music and theatre. Intelligent narrative choices and a resonant performance from an exceptional talent make for a dazzling exploration of the life and times of the prodigiously talented and often troubled musician, Nina Simone.Campbell, who also wrote the play, has elected to avoid a straight retelling of the story of Simone. The audience is presented not with Nina, but with Mena Bordeaux, a woman alone in a stripped down room conducting a one way conversation with her late father. It’s a deft artistic sidestep, allowing Campbell to “free the actress to use her voice in its most authentic and powerful state” and escape the pressure of trying to impersonate the unique.Bordeaux is the lens through which the life of a musical genius is explored, and like her real-world counterpart she leads an existence which is sometimes sweet but all too often bitter. As she continues her unrequited conversation, formative events from her life are explored in words and song. There is the innocent joy of a child prodigy embracing music, and the sweet sorrow which lingers after young love fades.There’s also fear and anger, with domestic abuse and the grinding oppression of racism injecting fear and anger into the life of a young woman growing up in a deeply divided and febrile America. Though the violence of individuals and society weigh heavy on Bordeaux she meets every challenge with irrepressible artistic power. A litany of harrowing moments are processed and balanced by songs tracing the well-worn path from Gospel to Blues via a far less trodden diversion through classical music. These songs are performed expertly by Campbell who shows tremendous control and versatility in her singing.By the end of the play, the many sorrows of Mena’s life are redeemed spiritually and artistically through music, with a powerful rendition of Feeling Good. It’s a powerful denouement, even if it can’t completely dispel the righteous anger which much of the rest of this excellent drama inspires.

Earwig is an engaging and classy piece which tells the story of entomologist Marigold Webb, trapped in a loveless marriage and a society as uncomfortable with her deafness as it is her gender. Bereft of a father’s financial protection, and juggling a silly mother and prat of a husband, Marigold finds some solace in the order of her insect world and the support of her one true friend.Marigold is a composite of several women whose contributions to science have remained as largely neglected in history as they were at the time, and Time & Again theatre company specialise in shining a light on these forgotten stories and their ongoing relevance.The narrative is deftly woven through use of the spoken word, projections, mime and British Sign Language. It covers historic attitudes to deafness and equality with depth and insight but there is a lightness threaded through the production which seems to emanate from Marigold’s indefatigable spirit. Jazz music and the use of silent movie title cards evokes a strong sense of the 1927 period, and the cleverly crafted script suggests the brittle conversational style whilst retaining immediacy for a modern audience. Crucially, the show is accessible too for a Deaf, deaf or hard of hearing audience, with some performances being interpreted into BSL.The cast are able to convey significant emotional scope and draw us into their lives with ease; whilst the messages inherent in both the text and subtext are fully communicated with style and understanding. Earwig is a rather beautiful little play, which, although primarily focusing on Marigold’s particular story, is a lesson to all of us to remain true to ourselves and search for beauty in unexpected places.

Chris Bush, Miranda Cooper and Jennifer Decilveo’s Fantastically Great Women Who Changed the World is in one word, a celebration. Incredibly upbeat and colourful, there is so much to learn from this musical.After losing sight of her class on a school trip, Jade (Kudzai Mangombe) sneaks into an off-limits part of the museum. Meeting figures like Frida Kahlo (Jade Kennedy), Mary Seacole (Renée Lamb), Mary Anning (Christina Modestou), Emmeline Pankhurst (Kirstie Skivington), and others who challenged and excelled in male dominated fields, Jade learns valuable lessons about standing up for the things that matter, making your voice heard and creating a world of colour from reality.Cooper and Devilveo’s score is as varied as it comes, utilising different pop tropes to create an empowering and catchy score. Each song contains an incredible amount of information about the various historical figures that we meet, to the point where it is impossible to leave this musical without learning something new, whether about history or yourself. It is hard to pick a favourite song, because each one just makes us want to get up and dance along, to the point where it is hard to sit still from the second-hand excitement and energy we get from the actors onstage. Joanna Scotcher’s set and costume design are filled with hidden details and modernisations that fit the characters and overall aesthetic of the musical perfectly. From Emmeline Pankhurt’s purple, white and green military uniform to Frida Kahlo’s floral print butterfly-like skirts, each costume contains a larger than life element that drastically changes the atmosphere and completes each moment that occurs onstage.The cast of Fantastically Great Women Who Changed the World is incredibly powerful and talented, and most definitely one of the best ensembles since Six. To be able to deliver such a high-energy, driven and mind-blowing performance whilst constantly moving and switching between characters is entirely awe-inspiring. Hopefully this musical and cast will find a home on the West End in time for next year’s Olivier Awards.Fantastically Great Women Who Changed the World is an incredibly thorough and entertaining overview of how women have excelled in different areas. In a way, this musical is a culmination of the various legacies women have left behind, and this musical shows us how we can use them as a source of inspiration for ourselves. Taking aim at the patriarchy in an incredibly vibrant way, this Fantastically Great Women Who Changed the World should be mandatory viewing for everyone.

Jason Slavick’s Yellow Bird Chase shows us that the best children’s shows have something for everyone, whether it is the gibberish of the language, the compelling storyline or On My Own sung entirely in yo ho's.Capitano Marco Cantolopo del Potrudo (Jesse Garlick), Poodge (Glen Moore) and Tootles McBargelhorn (Rachel Weise) are working on a maintenance site when they spot a yellow bird. This turns into a high-spirited chase over land, sea, islands, mountains and mines in order to catch the bird. It’s a relatively simple story, but has a lot of heart, and watching the adventure fills us with joy. Building their world largely from cleaning supplies, the actors put on a captivating performance, proving that so much can be done with very little. This show does stretch the limits of our imagination, as we are encouraged to change our view of a certain item as soon as the need for something else arises. From turning an oil drum from a boat into a well, we cannot help but be drawn into the chase. It’s almost aesthetically and narratively cartoon-esque, and as the characters take on many challenges in pursuit of their goal, you can almost see all sorts of squiggly lines emanating from them.With slow-balanced humour and slapstick, it is truly amazing how the story develops. The actors keep us engaged and on our toes; everything that they do is larger than life, interacting with us to help them on their journey. It is hard to stop our eyes from turning into saucers from the Yellow Bird Chase.This is the perfect show for children. It is colourful, filled with wholesome moments and brightness. There is a warmth that emanates from every aspect of this show, which makes it incredible.

Award-winning Polish performer Piotr Sikora has created a beautiful hour of family storytelling which uses clowning, mime, ukulele and audience participation to paint the journey of Boy and his search for friendship.For Boy’s great friend Paddington has taken off on a solo adventure, and Boy is finding their separation all but unbearable. He potters about, being responsible and loving, nodding to his acquaintances in the park, measuring out his life in coffee spoons, and longing for the little bear to return home.It is a sweet and engaging performance, in which Sikora offers a multi-layered narrative – ostensibly about Boy and his travels – which will chime with anyone who has ever been brave enough to love without condition. He tackles how those overwhelming feelings of attachment we have as children hint at our healthiness in adult relationships; how real the inanimate can become to those who wish it so; how desperately deep those unreciprocated bonds forged with fictitious characters can be; and how we will go to the ends of the earth for those who are special to us.It is a clever and heart-warming piece which showcases a deft and symbolic use of props and comedic interaction. At its heart though, it is an uncomplicated love letter to the inner child in all of us, and a reminder to checkin with the glorious technicolour with which we once viewed the world.

Unassuming at the start, A V Brodrenkova and Aimee Dickinson’s Foundations quickly breaks all boundaries and assumptions. A heartwarming tale of friendship, family, growing up and acceptance, this piece of theatre is an incredible tapestry of movement and puppetry that makes the darkness of the stage and the world, a little brighter.After years of hearing stories about robots in an underground factory from her Aunt Yann (Hannah Lydon), MJ (Charlie Culley) stumbles into a liminal space between the human factory where she works and the Underground, where she meets Pins (Olivia Swain). The two grow closer as they teach and learn about each other, breaking assumptions on what it means to be human or robot. It is a simple yet incredibly beautiful premise full of love, hope, and bittersweetness that is compounded by the cast’s storytelling abilities. It is hard not to look at the action onstage with a sense of childlike wonder. This is a show for everyone, although it seems that the older you are, the bigger the emotional payoff, as there is a yearning created that makes us want to to escape to MJ and Pins' bubble, where mundane things like rain are extraordinary and where music box dances exist.From Brodrenkova’s puppets that are incredibly expressive in themselves (supplemented by Swain and Rory Gee’s performance) to Josh Powell’s sound design that is incredibly detailed, for example when MJ first finds the robots, everything goes towards recreating an industrial landscape. The synchronicity of the movement is fascinating, simply in the way that the cast make the space that they are inhabiting seem bigger, and are able to show so much without having to resort to dialogue.It’s tear-jerking and beautiful to watch the friendship develop between MJ and Pins and seeing them learn from each other, because it’s so innocent and childlike, removed from interference. Foundations is true to its name, and this show finds the beauty in the ordinary.

Of the 39 shows I saw in three and a half days this Fringe, the biggest gamble and least familiarity was Randy Feltface. Selected purely for its image and title, I sat in a packed-out lecture hall with mild expectations. From the moment the show began and the crowd erupted into uproarious applause at the merest glimpse of purple, it became apparent that I had stumbled upon a cult gem, and it didn't take long to discover why.The show kicks off with a high production musical number, seeing the titular Mr Feltface take on the guise of various stages in the evolutionary process. By the time the song ends and our star appears on his platform, he already holds the audience in the palm of his paw.The next hour sees Randy taking us on a meandering journey through what it's like to be the only creature of his species, with many a random pitstop along the way into his hilarious and unique take on numerous aspects of society.In Randy, you are getting a comedian of the highest order, mastering a wide variety of comical techniques, from cheesy puns to engrossing rant-and-raves, and highbrow societal commentaries. Not only is the writing top notch, but the personality injected into the star through the pinpoint perfect inflection of operator Heath McIvor makes Randy one of the boldest and most refined comedy characters in live entertainment.Of course, with all puppetry, the true measure of success lies in the puppeteering, and this is where Feltface truly stands out. The sheer depth and range of the physicality achieved through merely one moving arm and opposable jaw simply can't be justified in prose. Were Randy a human, his physical comedy would likely be compared to greats such as Lee Evans and Jim Carrey. He can go from intense calm to manic explosion at any given moment, conveying every nuance of the most gifted storyteller. Nowhere is this more evident than in his graphic reenactment of a modern action film scene in the second half of the show.Randy Feltface: Alien of Extraordinary Ability is an ambitious extravaganza that utterly triumphs in every aspect. The rapport McIvor builds with an audience he can't even see is remarkable, with fourth wall breaks and ad libs to rival the greatest of comedians (his response to finding out someone flipped him off while leaving early was priceless). I've not stopped talking about it since and have been urging everyone (you included) to go see it.

Alexander S. Bermange gives us a bright, witty, pithy and, at times, cleverly waspish revue taking a joyful pop at all things musical. From painful singers to insufferable divas no aspect of musical theatre is left unridiculed and, in Bermange’s talented hands, we’re given an endearing smorgasbord of songs in the grand tradition of musical revue echoing those shows of the fifties, Flanders and Swan, perhaps - the like of which we rarely see these days.Four highly talented triple threaters grasp the material by the scruff of the neck and deploy it with charm, charisma and style gliding through a litany of some of those eternal, infernal internal rhymes with practised panache defying their young years. Luke Harley, Hannah Taylor, Harry Winchester, Alice Ellen Wright coalesce into a unified quartet tasked with a vast array of characters, moods, tones and notes and all of which they tackle with aplomb. It’s a joyful, happy show with clever ideas and original observations masterfully delivered. Whoever noticed Google also spells Go Ogle? Our writer and composer did and the show is packed with similar insightful and bright epigrams, puns and vibrant gags packed into some dazzling music.And he plays the keyboard, too.It’s a lovely, kind and endearing show which, while deftly skirting copyright laws, manages to name check nearly every musical in the Broadway canon and half the fun is spotting them. Do I get points for spotting a reference to The Most Happy Fella? It’s not all for musical geeks, like me, though. There’s more than enough material to satisfy those with only a passing knowledge of the subject.All this together with Joanna Goodwin’s seamlessly perfect direction and choreography creates an evening of diverting and engaging joy, sharp satire and simply, undiluted fun. Go see!

NewsRevue – the world’s longest running comedy show – is as central to the Fringe experience as overpriced artisan burgers and destroying rainforests with unwanted flyers. Happily though, its consistency is rather funnier and less heavy on the pocket. For at a time when the cost of a show matters more than ever, it is reassuring to be able to recommend something that delivers every. single. time.NewsRevue describes itself as an all-kicking, idol-burning comedy, updated every week by a crack team of writers. It is known by its legion of Fringe fans for delivering sketch after brilliantly observed sketch and for skewering the more ridiculous elements of society with unforgiving linguistic brilliance. And look, before we get all Liz Truss about it, it’s not their fault who nominates themselves for Nobber of the year with every waking breath: they’re just picking over the scraps.Political comedy isn’t for everyone. But it matters. And at a time when peaceful protestations are threatened and potential Prime Ministers suggest re-education facilities for those disagreeing with them, it matters more than ever. So, although this will be one of the funniest hours you’ll spend at the Fringe this year, bear in mind that the audience whoops and cheers aren’t solely because they’re being entertained; but because of the intoxicative balm that their own observations are being mirrored, because they’re being licensed to dissent en masse. That this troop of strangers suggest they’re not alone.Our team of four preposterously talented actor/singers hop between characters and situations with all the pliancy of a Junior Minister defending the latest cabinet shenanigans; switching wigs and ties and silly hats with delicious abandon. There is something about NewsRevue’s trademark intelligence and absurdity which elicits the purity of reaction we had as children watching Play Away (or insert own childhood TV memory here), and which will keep the punters returning year after excruciatingly-observed year.

With a plastic fork in hand (not a preference, all part of the show), the Crains Lecture Hall of Summerhall, a former home of learning for the students of the University of Edinburgh, is a fitting place for an aquatic exploration into gender identity and queerness. This is what will certainly await you when you find Something in The Water. A mesmerising, darkly comical, one person show from the mind of queer trans writer, actor and puppeteer S.E. Grummett of Saskatoon, Canada who brings the award-winning show to the Edinburgh for their spectacular Festival Fringe debut.In the titular role of Grumms, a person gendered as a girl transformed into a non-binary squid person, Grummett brings an unmatched, otherworldly, ecstatic energy from their first breath to their final bow. With use of a projector, sketchbook, dolls and a trusty squid, they weave a tale of curiosity, experimentation, transformation and understanding. The whole journey is so life-affirming, it's relatable, thoughtful and certainly leave you feeling good. The use of projection especially, encompassing the smallest of details and creative art within Grumms Storytelling Sketchbook to the wider oceanic moments faced by Grumms, works so well and really helps add to the stellar performance by Grummett. This is a very interactive show with entertaining, playful, fun and thought-provoking moments of participation. Even those who despise the very minimal notion of participation will find these engagements with the naïve and comical Grumms well worth it. Additionally, I feel this show should be commended for its accessibility with a number of signed, captioned and relaxed performances available during their Fringe run along with supporting Relaxed Performance Guide which is available via the Summerhall Website. The Festival Fringe has always been a bastion for understanding, creativity, humour and most of all, a place to embrace that which is different. This show is pure Fringe, utterly spectacular! A celebration of those who don’t always fit, those who often feel ostracised and those who are trying to find themselves. A heart pouring journey of discovery and queer self-love which would move the coldest of souls and make the hardest of audiences cry. Haste ye back to Edinburgh Fringe!

Sexy Brain is Tiff Stevenson’s tenth Edinburgh show – a mighty feat for any comedian. The main question any comic in this position will be asking themselves is, how they can offer fresh material but at the same time keep the unique voice that they’ve built up over the years? Luckily with this show, this potential problem was never an issue. This is Tiff Stevenson at her finest.It's a bold start from Stevenson, who comes out on stage and proclaims that she is a sexually independent woman in her forties. She’s strong, she’s confident, nothing stands in her way. Nothing, it seems, apart from her “sexy brain” – her term for her ADHD. It seems to affect a lot of her life and we hear a few examples throughout. Some are brilliantly constructed, lengthy journeys through her thought process. Others are simple and quick one liners – including a brilliantly cringe-worthy example in front of her step-son which got some suberb reactions in the room.As with past shows, there is a strong feminist message that runs throughout. This is the unique voice that Stevenson has built in her previous work. Her material is not only funny, but engaging and thought provoking. Whether she’s taking issue with the culture surrounding ‘Karens' or simply looking out for the wellbeing of leading actresses in movies, the audience is engrossed. This is one of the strengths of the show. I noticed that, not only were people laughing, but smiling in recognition and nodding along to some very well-made points. Honestly, I’m surprised there weren’t at least three applause breaks in this show.What’s really lovely about Sexy Brain is that Tiff Stevenson has built a show around a condition that some may think of as a weakness and turned it into an almighty strength. Her material surrounding getting older as a woman, her femininity and her gender didn’t come from a place of victimhood. It came from a place of power. For the entire hour, she was charge of the room. I could have easily, and happily, listened to more for much longer. Sexy Brain is an absolute belter of a show.

I reviewed Forde’s 2019 show Brexit, Pursued by a Bear and wrote of how his political comedy was as therapeutically valuable as it was satirically satisfying. I wrote of Forde’s caustic and angry analysis of the apocalyptic state of the nation, how the audience’s laughter seemed to epitomise a sense of small victory in the fight for some semblance of truth and decency, and how everyone in that room seemed desperate to find something to laugh about at a time of impending national crisis.In 2019, Forde was angry. He took our collective rage and used it to ignite a sweeping political bonfire of the vanities. His set was just glorious. Then Covid happened. And Partygate happened. And incident after shabby little incident at home and abroad happened… and all our righteous indignation now seems both quaint and somehow admirable when set against the 2022 backdrop of unremitting stupidity, corruption and division sitting at the heart of our democracy.It is the same Matt Forde standing before us as three years ago: as razor-sharp and excoriating as ever, but with a weariness and frustration to be underestimated at peril. A weariness which cries ‘WTF’ with every fresh news story. A weariness at an increasingly absurd world in which anything can happen: from Liz Truss almost certainly becoming Prime Minister to punters taking their baby to a comedy show.The irritation which insinuates its way throughout this show inspires some fabulous gags: Starmer, Sturgeon, Trump, trains, football, Frank Skinner… the cast is extensive and the observations acute. It is a truth universally acknowledged that in seeking to please everyone, a performer will fail to please anyone at all; but Forde treads quite a careful line whilst splattering pretty much all-comers with an eye almost judgemental enough to feature on Squid Game.I loved it. But to be fair, I'm anybody's for a jam doughnut, some shared betes noires (who ARE those wallopers who stop dead at the top of escalators?) and a half-way decent impersonation of the malevolent scarecrow currently squatting in Number 10. One of the most bizarre things about ageing – and something no-one ever tells you – is that belly laughs become rarer. I suppose because we've already laughed long and loud at so many things that something has to be really special to tickle our jaded funny bones. But in this casually majestic hour of political catharsis the laughs come thick and fast: and it seems appropriately emblematic of the topsy turvy times we are living in that the standup comedian provides the most rational voice of all amidst the clowns to the left of him and the jokers to the right.

BriTANick is an American sketch comedy duo made up of Brian McElhaney and Nick Koche, and they quickly assure us that their name (a combination of ‘Brian’, ‘Nick’ and ‘Titanic’) means absolutely nothing.Within the course of one hour we get an absolutely world-class Fringe performance. Performing in what is basically a box on the edge of George Square, Brian and Nick have crafted a seamless production which somehow combines a sharp and witty script with the energy and chaos of an improvised show. Every moment is perfectly primed to get the biggest laugh possible. This is the Beyoncé: Formation Tour’of sketch comedy.We’re given a prankster ghost who impersonates dead relatives, a slam poetry night that gets derailed by a disappointing customer service experience, both sides of a romantic airport chase, and many more scenes that I won’t mention in case I ruin the surprise. Regular callbacks to previous sketches make the whole audience feel in on some kind of private joke, despite having only been here for 20 minutes. Through it all we get little interludes of personal information about the performers and their reactions to various life events, culminating in the greatest plot twist the world has ever known (at least in the context of this show).This is SNL if they had more time to rehearse, this is Foil, Arms & Hogg if they were American, this is five stars worth of material that deserves its own TV series. So far their smaller venue has sold out, but you still have time to book a seat at the extra performance on Sunday, August 21st! Don’t walk, run to see these comedic legends before they head back across the Atlantic.

As the crescendo of complaints and controversy was rising over the comedy circuit I was persuaded to abandon the safe confines of the theatre category and go in at the deep end, so to speak, by seeing Elaine Miller’s Viva Your Vulva. She’s the one who’s been spat at in the street, received abusive comments and had some fellow comics turn their back on her.What is all the fuss about I wondered? Miller’s is no run-of-the-mill show. In her professional capacity, she sees hundreds of women who have issues ‘down below’. Many come reluctantly, in fear and deeply embarrassed, so the first part of her job is to put them at ease and a few laughs don’t go wrong in that situation. This show, and Gusset Grippers that preceded it, was written because she was shocked to find how many women knew so little about their bodies, from naming the parts to being confused about the difference between their vagina and their vulva and all the layers in between. I’m told that when I say ‘women’ I mean cis women. In an interview with the Scottish Daily Express, Miller pointed out that her show ‘is about anyone with female anatomy, including trans men and non-binary individuals’ This has somehow managed to upset those she doesn’t include. "I think my crime is that it's only about female people and I don't mention trans women at all because they are not relevant to the topic,” she said. It’s rather like going to a wine-tasting and complaining that nothing was said about beer, though that analogy will probably get me into trouble as well. As a gay cis man I didn’t feel in any way offended, marginalised or excluded by the content of her show. And why should I be, just because it's not about me? Instead I laughed at lines that made reference to (cis?) men and the humour with which she manages to teach. She took me to places I’ve never been and will never venture. I am the richer for what I’ve learned and I had a jolly good laugh too. I’ve used loads of visual aids in my time and taught thousands of classes and this is a first-rate lesson that conveys more in an hour than weeks of sex-ed in school. It’s direct, clearly explained, ingeniously illustrated and very funny. She also makes herself available in the bar afterwards for anyone to follow up on what she said.Does she know what she’s talking about? You bet. You don’t need to be highly qualified in anything to be a comedian unless your aim is to educate, enlighten and inform about a specialised topic, which is what Miller does. She’s a member of Pelvic, Obstetric and Gynaecological Physiotherapy, the Health and Care Professions Council, the Association for Continence Advice, The Pelvic Floor Society, the International Continence Society and a Fellow of the Chartered Society of Physiotherapists. It’s a rare talent that can unite accumulated expertise, a life-time’s devotion to women’s health and the ability to perform comedy into a show that both entertains and instructs.

Riotous, hilarious, alternately bonkers and clever The Strange Undoing of Prudencia Hart written by David Greig and co-created with Wils Wilson, has it all: folk music, especially ballads, crazy physical theatre, audience participation (not too worrying), and a ghostly (devilish) frisson. It is a great yarn, in the tradition of Scottish play and story-telling reminiscent of Burns’ Tam Lin, at a cracking pace and it too, amazingly, rhymes throughout.A revival of a National Theatre of Scotland commission in 2011, now refined and revamped, this show is a Royal Lyceum Edinburgh and Double M Arts co-production. Originally designed to take place in pubs, it retains this feel even in the 18th century grandeur of the Playfair Library which turns out to be a surprisingly fit setting in the second act. The audience sit at tables with the cast rushing about between them. (Brilliant movement directed by Janice Parker.) A warning, sit at the edge if you don’t like audience participation.Prudencia Hart, a strong performance by Charlene Boyd, is an uptight collector of folklore and especially ballads, dressed like a prim librarian on her way to Kelso, a remote town in the Scottish Borders to attend a conference to read her PhD on ‘The Typography of Hell’. Taunted by her rival Colin Syme (a multi-talented Ewan Black), who is so full of himself ‘he’d eat himself if he was a biscuit’, sidelined by the other snooty structuralist academics, she wants to return home but she is trapped by snow. (Much audience participation.) And so begins her undoing. Forced to go to a riotous folk session in a pub, where she is bullied to sing, she flees out into the snow. A sudden silence and the world turns eerie. As she searches for a B and B, the owner, whose eyes have a fiendish fire, comes to greet her. It is the midwinter solstice and midnight, a time when the gates of Hell open in an Asda car park (nice touch that) and it is, of course, the Devil, an impressive performance by Gavin Jon Wright.The rambunctious exuberance of the first act with musicians dressed in cowboy style like so many folk bands, comes to a memorable end with a soulful rendition of Bert Jansch’s Black Waterside sung movingly by Natali McCleary in Gaelic style, much decoration, half notes and slides, sending shivers down your back. This mood continues in the second act where the Devil keeps Prudencia in his library, which delights her since there’s every book about folklore in the world, and the Playfair comes into its own.How Prudencia becomes totally undone, falling for the Devil and how the Devil himself is undone ensues and there are interesting musings about the nature of love and poetry and how rhyme can undo you. Prudencia’s cold exterior in the first act melts and Charlene Boyd’s emotional transformation is beautifully acted, unravelling like her hair. Later she reveals what a beautiful singing voice she has. Gavin Jon Wright performs with multi-faceted subtlety so one begins to feel sorry for the Devil.Talking of which, look out for amusing rhymes such as ‘yobbish/snobbish’; ‘a fatal wooing that was her undoing’ and towards the end the only one rude one ‘verse/erse’. This light touch prevents the rhyme becoming too heavy-handed and is an impressive achievement. The addition of Tartan Army football chants, Wembley 1970, (audience participation) is a comic masterpiece, especially when Colin Symes (Ewan Black) becomes a karaoke hero, a cross between Tom Jones and Tam Lin.An uplifting show, whose mood will stay with you. But as you exit, don’t forget to study the portraits lining the walls above the grand staircase.

Sometimes you’ve just got to listen to your balls.Police Cops: The Musical is a parody-style tale of an all-American boy who joins the Police Cops to avenge his sister’s death and be the “best damn Police Cop ever”. It’s a chaotic combination of a Naked Gun movie and Starkid musical, and is so jam-packed with jokes, puns, innuendos, and quips that you could probably go see it four or five nights in a row and still catch something new each time. Police Cops, made up of Zachary Hunt, Nathan Parkinson and Tom Roe, is a regular staple at the Fringe, but their collaboration with composers Ian Coulter and Bobby Goulder have taken their comedy to a whole new level. In a show like this, you might expect the music to be more of a last-minute addition, but Coulter and Goulder’s score is perfectly themed for the ‘80s buddy cop genre. The lyrics are as ridiculous as you might expect from this group, while at times being oddly inspiring: “They could do a backflip but they don’t want to.” The song Now You’re An ‘80s Cop is a similar brand of humour to Lonely Island’s Cool Guys Don’t Look at Explosions, and if that doesn’t sell it I don’t know what will.Gabriella Leon and Miztli Rose round out this five-person cast, which somehow feels like a team of 20 as those talented actors bounce from character to character within the space of seconds – at one point changing costumes behind an American flag. There is so much movement throughout the show, and the choreography feels like a mixture of gymnastics, clownery, stunt work and interpretive dance. Call me a sucker for a gimmick, but if one man is standing on another man’s shoulders at the end of a musical number I am going to clap.The audience went crazy for all the creative ways Police Cops used props and physical comedy – particularly a scene with a floating table in the saloon (you had to be there). Other comic moments went by so quickly they probably didn’t get the credit they deserved, like a criminal’s head exploding in a balloon pop during a shoot-out. There’s so much visual genius that can’t be described in a review, so you’ll just have to trust me that it was all perfectly timed and executed.If you want to watch a manic fever dream of ‘80s cop montages and musical escapades, including a live electric guitar solo during a high-speed car chase, look no further. There’s still time to go see the best thing on at Fringe 2022!

It must be a baker’s dozen years since Scottish author, playwright and performer Alan Bissett first introduced us to Moira Bell, his much-loved tribute to the hard-working, hard-playing, straight-talking working class women who surrounded him during his Falkirk upbringing. In this third – and apparently final – collection of monologues, we again find Moira ready to take on the world and its sister—and still sharing every moment with her best pal, Babs.The unseen, unheard Babs is, of course, ultimately just a theatrical device; someone for Moira to talk to instead of talking directly to the audience. Yet, on this occasion there’s an added frisson early on that this believably long-established relationship could be taken away from Moira, thanks to Covid-19 and Scottish Government instructions for everyone to stay at home. Of course, Moira’s back-to-the-wall willingness to take on all-comers is the constant powerhouse of Alan Bissett’s humour, but it’s clear he’s increasingly fascinated by the genuine subtleties of the woman now she’s 50 years old. Part of the attraction of Moira as a character – if not as a real-life neighbour – has always been her varying degrees of self-awareness; here, on more than one occasion, she’s occasionally pulled up short by momentarily seeing herself as others do. If she pauses for thought, though, it doesn’t follow that she immediately changes her behaviour. She still sees little point in most of Scotland outside of Falkirk, but following more than a year in lockdown – and also a year “on the wagon” – she has certainly become more aware of the passage of time and everyone’s ultimate mortality.As with the two previous shows, Bissett performs alone on stage as Moira with no attempt to drag it up like some Scottish answer to Mrs Brown’s Boys. Nevertheless, she is undeniably in the room, with Bissett’s performance honed and subtly guided once again by director Sacha Kyle. Story changes are indicated by no more than a brief dip of the lights, and a change of seat on stage. Yes, Bissett slips easily into other supporting characters – generally the poor men Moira runs into – but he never loses his focus, and is always in the moment with all the characters.Much of Bissett’s work – especially his novels – is about Scottish, working class men, but Moira clearly offers him a different angle to talk about the world. Not least because, while she may not be the most knowledgeable woman in the world – there’s a great joke about the Carpenters which deserves its repeated usage – Moira’s smart, and occasionally profound: not least about how, one day, all the strangeness of lockdown will just be a faded memory.

Dealing with grief is something that is very difficult because it’s so personal and particular to the individual. Deconstructing that same grief and turning it into a comedy show is not only more difficult still, but also incredibly brave. Sam Morrison is that brave individual who’s taken on this task. The end result is one of the most powerful and fearless hours of comedy you’ll see this Fringe.As we begin, Morrison introduces the real heart of the show – his partner Jonathan, who tragically passed away from Covid during the pandemic. After a joke, which Morrison states is a “litmus test” to see how we react as an audience, the show really gets going and Morrison is in full control of the room. Grief, as Morrison states, is not linear. It seems the show is a bit like that too. At times, the material switches between anecdotes of a trip to Provincetown before the couple met, and the aftermath of Jonathan’s death, including a moving story where Morrison sits alone on a beach on their anniversary. It sounds like a risk to have such a non-linear set up, but there’s so much emotional weight behind these routines that the audience is engaged and willing to accompany Morrison on this journey through his grief.There is an authenticity to Morrison’s performance that shines through. He has a seat with him on stage and every so often, he’ll sit down to speak about Jonathan. It’s touching and also creates a connection between Morrison and the audience that goes beyond what I’ve seen other performers do this year. He becomes a friend that we want to support, listen to and help in any way we can. Throughout, Morrison reminds us that he’s grateful that we came to the show because it means he gets to talk about Jonathan. He also reminds us that he's written this show as a means to help his grief process – he wants to be doing this. Whether he’s talking about it in the room or in one of his three gay widow support groups (he’s currently winning at all three), it’s all part of the journey.The whole show is a real honour to sit through. Coming together to speak about trauma (or as Morrison defines it “unmonetised content”) is such a healthy experience. Not only is this an affecting show with a wonderfully satisfactory conclusion, it’s unapologetically queer, filled with love and hilariously funny.

With a forensic talent for pinpointing the precise foibles, flaws and faults of a character and an uncanny capacity for evoking their vocal DNA, Jon Culshaw gives new life to one of show business’s most enduring and endearing stars, Les Dawson. Every nuance, tick and inflection is reproduced from a performer who has clearly gone beyond his remit and spent hours on his homework. It is at times eerie. For the impression alone it is worth the price of the ticket, but there is so much more. A brash, bold set dominated by an unblinking television set on which we glimpse other personalities and characters from Culshaw’s vast palette - Alan Whicker, Hughie Green and most delightful, and accurate of all, Cissie and Ada - those two creations of Les and Roy Barraclough who comment on the action like a drag Greek chorus and regularly deploy meta-insight on the course and structure of the play – “It’s very nebulous. Just clench!” Tim Whitnall’s play is an affectionate homage to Dawson reminding us not only of his comic skills but also of his propensity for verbose loquaciousness decorating his monologues with an erudition far beyond the capacity of his contemporaries coupled with an autodidactic verve for learning. The play is woven kindly and delicately with witty paraphrases and pastiches of Dawson’s style and many direct quotes ending on one of his most famous monologues.Bob Golding’s assured and inventive direction brings the whole together with the experience and confidence of a comedy veteran. The trio of creatives gives us something both delightful, insightful and simply entertaining. All three are at the top of their game and the sum of the parts is one of the best shows you’ll see in Edinburgh this year!

There’s not really any way to describe how much I enjoyed Glenn Moore’s show other than to say that by the halfway point, I had put my notepad away and was just enjoying the ride.Silly, captivating, at times blissfully chaotic, the set is an absolute joy to sit through. Built around the last two years of Moore’s life and his uncertainties on whether or not to progress with his career or to have a baby with his partner, the gags are belly-achingly funny with hardly any time for the audience to catch their breath before the next gag comes along. At times, I found myself still audibly laughing from jokes made five minutes earlier that I was still replaying in my head. Even now, I sit writing this with a huge grin on my face.Throughout the hour, Moore is consistently brilliant. Whether he’s telling us about his bad Wi-Fi issues during lockdown, his fears for his child or simply asking a question such as “how do fridges work?”, everything is just extraordinarily funny. But it’s his Basil Fawlty-esque rant towards the end of his set that reminds me that it takes a very talented performer to appear so physically frenzied. You can tell a lot of work has gone into this hour. Not simply the jokes, but the performance, delivery and timing – all of which are impeccable.This is an absolutely astounding show. I can’t say more than that. The audience were in awe the whole time. Catch it while you still can.

Tomatoes erotic? Yes, erotic, silly, surreal, constantly surprising, Tomato, a physical theatre piece by dancer/choreographer Chou Kuan-Jou is brilliant. Witty, original, exquisitely crafted and it may initially leave you hot under the collar. Much nudity and explicit content – this is not for under 16s. However, part performance and part live camera documenting the event, it soon becomes clear this is a multi-faceted, clever critique of sexuality with a feminist perspective.A cage full of tomatoes sits on stage and one is at first afraid they may end up being thrown at the audience. But fear not. It is the cast (two males and one female) who will indulge in a tomato fight, but that is to jump ahead. At first we are given a lecture by Tseng Zito, a commanding performance, on how to choose the best tomato: its weight, its shape, firmness etc while this is filmed by an androgynous person (Ne Chi Wai) in a hooded white plastic boiler suit. When the lecturer starts to peel the tomato, Chou Kuan-Jou in flimsy pink slip gyrates to a Billie Holliday track – the usual ‘he done me wrong’ victim theme. Her back to us, Chou hugs herself, her hands appearing around her shoulders as if being embraced. Pulling her slip over her head, there’s a shocking revelation: a tomato held between her legs. Even more shocking, when you know in Taiwan a tomato cut open symbolises the vagina, its juiciness, red like blood.A fest of sensuality ensues where the cast revel in the smell, the taste and the soft but firm feel like a baby’s skin of a tomato as they stroke one over their whole bodies. Sexuality is portrayed, not through the male gaze, reducing women to objects or victims nor to the sado-masochism of porn, but sexuality as sensuality where not only the female is liberated but the male lecturer is ecstatic discovering a new pleasure. The androgenous character now strips off the boilersuit he has been hiding in, to own his own – possibly gay – sexuality. This is a bold, brave piece and huge fun. You will never look at tomatoes in the same way again.

For the last eighteen years Out of the Blue has built a vibrant reputation as one of the finest acapella groups at Edinburgh. Not only great singing but a bright and endearing sense of self deprecating humour and some smart choreography. First appearing in 2003, Out of the Blue – consisting a rolling cast of graduates and undergraduates from various Oxford Universities (hence the blue reference) – have made the annual pilgrimage up north making their home in the George Aikman Theatre every day at 3pm. The eclectic selection of modern and old pop classics fuses together deftly and adroitly creating a delightful anthology which flies by in moments leaving a warm, glowing sense of satisfaction and happiness. It’s a show which really epitomes what the Fringe is about. 13 young guys with no other agenda than the sheer joy of performing drawn from all corners of the world coming together to raise money for their chosen children’s hospice and creating such a swell of joy as to be irresistible. I’m Still Standing, How Deep is Your Love and many other pop songs unknown to this wizened old critic are all given the OOTB treatment and a big acapella hug embraces them all. The unity, the harmony, the communal delight is palpable in both cast and audience and though the latter was limited in size (it’s early days and the Fringe is only just kicking off) their satisfaction was tangible and the boy’s enthusiasm was infectious.And if you want a finale to whoop along to with delirious happiness they have created something wonderful. I’m giving nothing away when I say it is a montage homage to one of the greatest bands on the planet. Oh, and there’s tap dancing. Slap bang in the middle of a close harmony show a pair of tap shoes are donned and, to the accompaniment of some top quality beat boxing, give us a dazzling display of footwork. What’s not to like?I’ve been watching Out of the Blue on and off since my first year in 2007 and without doubt they continue to prove themselves the heart of the festival and the spirit of the Fringe. Faultless, joyful and simply, happily kind. Go spend and a hour of your time in their company.

Watching No Place Like Home was an experience unlike any other I’ve had so far at the Fringe. A show that fuses spoken word, projections, music and dance, it depicts the story of two men on a night out in a gay club. On the surface they're both very different, but the story brings out the similarities in them that unite them as victims to a different narrative, this one written by society.The complexity of Roberts’ performance which encapsulated the playful, yet at times brutal tones of the language which only continued to grow throughout. I was floored by the true craftsmanship that went into the visual composition binding projection and shadow with the on-stage choreographed movement, and I commend the bravery and skill that it takes to pull off a performance of that level on a completely bare stage with the only prop being a hat!I feel as though, on the surface it doesn’t resemble what you may expect from a five-star show, however, as someone who normally always has something to criticise about the performances I watch (no matter how trivial), I must confess there was nothing about this production that I could justifiably argue against. I believe, in part, this may be because the style of the show, something I am unable to pin down to one word, meant that any of the usual critiques I would make were fully justified in relation to the conceptual design and genre of this unique experience. It felt almost as if you were watching a video or a film, but simultaneously aware of the fact that you were sitting in a theatre, with the performer there in front of you.This style of performance may not be everybody’s cup of tea, but no mater your personal preferences, the quality of writing, performance, and design in No Place Like Home must be recognised. Deeply emotional and visually stunning, there are certainly many moments from this production that will stay with me for a very long time.

Brown Boys Swim is Karim Khan’s hilarious, touching tale of best friends Kash and Mohsen learning how to swim for a pool party. The relationship between Kash and Mohsen is so refreshingly organic, and is developed in such a natural way that we believe they have been friends for years without them explicitly having to tell us so. Varun Raj as Kash is astounding, displaying his youthful lack of shame masterfully, whilst also aptly expressing his want to fit in and be accepted by the society around him. He has an electric chemistry with Anish Roy as Mohsen, whose portrayal of Kash’s more reluctant counterpart is highly impressive, exuding all the nervous anxiety and standoffish energy of a youth stuck on the perimeter of his community. Their relationship is well rounded and grounded in reality, as they play around, argue and support each other; their characters go through satisfying and intriguing arcs. Both actors seem to be bursting at the seams with emotion, dynamism and the sense of having something to say, from their fantastic physicality to their exceptional vocal skills. As the narrative begins to darken, the writing conveys its strength through its handling of racism, islamophobia, and the cruel choice one must make between their culture and religion – and being accepted in the society they live in. Both Muslim, Kash and Mohsen are confronted with judgment and discrimination throughout the play, and their differing attitudes to these challenges is what ruptures their relationship; we are presented with the harsh reality of what ethnic minorities and immigrants suffer through in a culture not designed for their success and inclusion. The emotional and topical range of this play is incredible, and had me on the edge of my seat.The use of set and lighting is expertly handled, adding to the immersive quality of the play. A long, tiled bar is moved across the stage and is used as the edge of the swimming pool, the changing room and a multitude of other settings. This works with the gorgeous blue tones of the lights above to create the believable effect of water. The bar lights up and compliments the music used throughout, enveloping us in the characters’ story.Brown Boys Swim is truly breathtaking, a masterpiece of friendship and tragedy which you must not miss!

Theatre has proved one of the greatest allies of those seeking to speak to truth to power throughout the ages. It is, and should be, dangerous; amplifying the words that nobody else is prepared to even whisper. Anything less, however gratifyingly fluffy and escapist, is not theatre but a different creature: an entertainment. Valid and valued, yes. But life-altering? World-changing? Unlikely.Look at any list of the greatest plays ever written and you will see humanity writ large: each, in their own way, lighting a beacon to pass from ear to ear and generation to generation. And there is simply something about watching a character move through a story in front of our eyes which is more likely to elicit a call to arms than reading cold hard words on a newspaper page. And so, Tim Walker’s Bloody Difficult Women – about the brief tenure of Theresa May as Prime Minister and Gina Miller as one of the thorns in her side - should be required viewing not because it is funny (although it is), and not because it records the unresolved female fight against male puppeteers (although it does), but because it brings the bones of truth to light.Bloody Difficult Women – the title is taken from the sobriquet coined for Theresa May by former minister Ken Clarke – chronicles the febrile post-Brexit landscape in the UK and how both women fought to cling to their own sense of duty, belief and self against monumental emotional odds, institutional misogyny and governmental machinations.When a 52% majority voted to leave the European Union in 2016, it required ‘Article 50’ to be invoked to set the wheels for this withdrawal into action. May wanted to prove that although not in favour of the result, she was prepared to do this in order to uphold the will of the people. Miller wanted to ensure that Parliament was consulted rather than the decision be taken by Executive command. The childish foot-stamping and incitement to violence unleashed by some reports of the ensuing court case may not have proved journalism’s finest hour; but will certainly aid A Level exam students of future years to plot the most salient moments of decline in the standards of public political discourse.If it is hard now to remember a time when the country was not divided according to degrees of EU loyalty, then this play will take you back to those pyretic days of 2016 which – ignoble and iniquitous though they were – now seem almost quaint set against the backdrop of Prime Ministerial candidates falling over themselves to promise fewer and fewer opportunities to register dissent.Bloody Difficult Women, then, is a vitally important piece. But don’t take my word for it. For just as totalitarian regimes throughout time have banned theatre and burned books, this production comes with the badge of honour of having dodged legal threats to get it stopped in its tracks. Because it seems that for some at the top of the UK establishment tree, ‘free speech’ is only worth protecting when they are attacking: not when their own actions become a matter of public record.For whilst writer Tim Walker states that he was keen to follow the Chekhov maxim to create neither about ‘good’ or ‘bad’ but just ‘people’, there is no doubting that Daily Mail editor Paul Dacre doesn’t emerge from this interpretation smelling of roses. It is a very funny, highly engaging performance by Andrew Woodall, which centres on Dacre’s tantrums when his belligerent headlines fail to gain the traction he desires (essentially out of the EU and into the House of Lords). Yes: that Paul Dacre. The Paul Dacre who was until recently in the frame to become Ofcom Chairman. The Paul Dacre who may well get his ermine wet-dream realised in Johnson’s resignation (Dis)Honours list. Think it stinks? This is the play for you.Although… listening to audience members as they shuffled off into George Street after the show, it was fascinating to catch snippets of conversation from those who had had no idea of the shenanigans surrounding this low point of the Brexit fallout. Many had followed the story closely, of course; but there were open mouths and shaking heads, incredulous that one man could wield such influence over not just the electorate but the government of the day. And therein lies, I would argue, the raison d’etre for the play. For whilst, of course, there is a goodly imaginative thread (three of the characters are not real people but representations of self-interest, ambition and conscience) the script is rooted in a truth we all need to know.Not that this is a dry 90 minutes. It is packed with gags from start to finish, and the exceptional cast zip through the unedifying episode with a deftness of touch which keeps us hooked throughout.Of the other characterisations of living people, Jessica Turner is emotionally angular as Theresa May: damned if she does or doesn’t. And whilst history will surely be rather kinder to her than those airless days of her Premiership; this is not so much an early Renaissance as a more fleshed-out representation of her spiky public persona. Decent enough, human enough, but on a parallel moral track that Miller can never quite reconcile. Rita Estevanovich presents Gina Miller as quietly secure, drawing on huge inner reserves of strength, her husband, and memories of previous defeat to take on a challenge that may win a public victory at terrible personal cost. As Alan Miller, the solid (and largely) nurturing husband, Adam Jackson-Smith has some of the best lines; – though I suspect that we may disagree about whether friendships are worth losing over politics. In more representative roles, Graham Seed – always excellent – brings a vulnerability and sadness to a predatory Whitehall Mandarin; and George Jones represents the extent to which two younger characters are prepared to bend in the face of unacceptable professional pressure.Directed by Stephen Unwin, this play is refreshingly bloody and wonderfully difficult. It refuses to be silent: is uncompromising, mouthy, unrepentant… and exactly what we all need to hear.

This is not a nice Fringe for comedy. It is riven with division and seems in thrall to the semi-professional sufferers and their life stories, happy to substitute self-satisfied self-obsession for craft, talent and laughs. But still insistent that it is comedy. Because that gets you more attention.Imagine then, my delight at being misdirected into Activities of Daily Living, a show that turns out to be theatre, and getting to spend an hour in the company of Joanna Lipari.In fact, if you are reading this within walking distance of Gilded Balloon Teviot and you can get there by 1.45pm, just stop reading now and give yourself this hour which will, to quote novelist Jane Rule, “reach in and put a string of lights round your heart.”Her Sicilian father and Czech mother must have made the perfect genetic mix, because so much of what Lipari has cannot be learned. It is a kind of calm, intelligent star quality. You cannot take your eyes off her. You do not want to miss a word she says. She is spell-binding.Her theme is her life, all 73 well-lived years of it. Every single self-obsessed baby performer filling an hour of my life with the perceived problems of theirs need to come and see this beautiful show. Through rape and the 1960s, when men were men and REALLY knew how to discriminate against women, through love and loss, marriage, Montana and death, past Mayan fetishes and elves and twig men on a tree of life to snot, swollen feet and the social invisibility of the older woman, we follow this incredible actress, with the gentle voice and the truth in her eyes.Lipari creates her own world not just in words and memories, but in adorable, minimal animations projected behind her, with which she interacts.This is a show where a beautiful, creative, talented, charismatic woman pretty much gives the gift of her incredible life to you, all wrapped up in silken threads of humour, and writing and performance skill. I have never sat in an audience and felt quite so… the only word I can think of is 'honoured' to be there.

Award-winning writer and actor Rob Ward returns to the Fringe with his latest creation The MP, Aunty Mandy & Me. His previous play Gypsy Queen did the rounds to considerable acclaim and now his talent has been recognised in a Peter Shaffer commission through the National Theatre to write a play for Leicester’s Curve Theatre.A man with a fixation for railway engines is likely to have other issues in life. The Mallard did make 126 mph in 1928, creating the steam speed record that has never been surpassed, but running around your sitting room with a Hornby model of it at Dom’s age seems a little excessive. He’s also a would-be presence on social media, if only people would respond to him. On the gay scene, of which there isn’t any in his quiet northern village, he’s not helped by his name which is contrary to his being a sub. He’d love to be part of the big-city gay set, but he doesn’t live there and his levels of anxiety and ineptitude would probably prevent him from going out anyway. Then there’s his mum, who hilariously must be the only woman to have a gay son and for her to be the one who takes the MDMA, the Aunty Mandy of the title, as if Dom doesn’t have enough to cope with.Now the news has come through that his local railway station is to be closed and he becomes the outraged, furious and devastated Dom who feels compelled to seek the support of his MP in a battle to save the line. To his amazement the man turns out to be a friend of Dorothy and the one who will turn his world upside down. He is soon working as his intern and engaging in sexual activities that he had never imagined in his wildest dreams. Added to the mix is a bisexual member of the campaign team who further complicates matters. And all this in Brinton!The tight staging, which makes for an intimate production, nevertheless allows space for locations to be established. There is a soundscape that enhances the moods and imagery and a fabulous lighting design that uses colour to give added intensity to some of the wilder moments, especially between the clubbing and bedroom scenes. Two large diffusers either side of the stage provide stunning effects with purple-blue hues creating a haunting surreal aura and the impression that Dom, in his imagination, is entering into the glam world of celebs. Thanks to Will Monks and Lain Armstrong for thisThese effects all contribute to the milieu, but this is Ward's show. His clear enunciation and Wirral twang make him instantly appealing and the voices he creates for the various characters capture the essence of them. He also establishes an air of mystery as to where all this is going, varying the pace and balancing narrative with conversation interjected with a good measure of wit.The MP, Aunty Mandy & Me is a gripping story brilliantly told.

From House of Cards writer Bill Cain and The Shark is Broken director Guy Masterson, 9 Circles is a brilliantly performed, harrowing psychological thriller that would be shocking as a work of fiction.That it is based on the real-life story of Steven Dale Green, a repatriated US Army Private accused of war crimes, makes it all the more shocking and distressing.Conceptually based on Dante’s 9 Circles of Hell, Private Daniel Reeves (Joshua Collins) is a conscript to the army who would never have passed the normal entry requirements given his previous convictions in his home town of Midland Texas, but the US is desperate for soldiers to serve in Iraq. Military training has successfully turned this teenager from the middle of nowhere into a coldblooded killing machine with unquestioning devotion to his oath of allegiance. For him, everyone is the enemy and he would kill them all if he had his way, including civilian men, women and children. Any sense of humanity, morality, and right and wrong with which he entered into service has been rapidly eroded. Now he finds himself facing discharge from the company to which he is devoted and subsequently a trial for a string of appalling war crimes that he can hardly comprehend. He is trapped in the progression of circles that will determine his ultimate fate.Collins gives a stunning, tightly focussed performance. He captures the militarily drilled persona of Reeves, a young man in an alien world that he barely understands, given to simplistic interpretations of circumstances; handling them with no-nonsense if often misguided directness. “A personality disorder can be an advantage in certain circumstances”, he says. But while it might provide some insight into the awkward logic he espouses it won’t be enough to save him, despite the efforts of others. Daniel Bowerbank appears with militaristic precision as the Lieutenant who sets the scene for what is to follow and later appears as the Pastor who out of his own troubled past attempts to bring comfort and salvation to Reeves. Samara Neely Cohen as the Female Lawyer, Shrink and Prosecution creates three distinct roles that illustrate some of the forces that come to bear on Reeves; the stern, the sympathetic and the aggressive. Completing the cast, David Calvitto gives two equally impassioned performances in which he encapsulates the legal mind and the manner of traditional courtroom delivery as the Army Attorney and Civilian Lawyer. Between them, they highlight the conundrums, contradictions and hypocrisies of war.Credit has to be given to the rest of the team: Set Design by Duncan Henderson; Lighting design by Tom Turner; Sound & Composition by Jack Arnold and Movement by Mark Baldwin OBE. Between them, they provide the setting for 9 Circles which is stunning in its haunting simplicity. A mood of inescapable impending tragedy is created as Reeves is encircled in rings of light that trap him as certainly as the events themselves.Although we are reminded many times of the brutally mortal acts Reeves committed, seen through his eyes it’s difficult not to feel a degree of sympathy for the boy who left life in the desert oilfields of Texas to greet death in the desert oilfields of Iraq.

Pip Utton really is extraordinary. The Fringe staple - much respected for his one-man shows about as diverse a cast of characters as Hitler, Einstein, Churchill, Bacon, Thatcher, Dickens – is a byword for class and consistency.In this year’s treat, Utton takes on Bob Dylan and within seconds, we are entranced by the soft accent, signature curls and effortless rapport with the audience who, for the concept of the piece, are treated as tame journalists enjoying a private audience in Dylan’s dressing room.This amble through the biographical nuggets of Dylan’s life, shruggingly offered with a bemused disregard for the hero worship which has followed him throughout his career, is pinpointedly precise in its apparent nonchalance. Utton’s delivery is so immaculately naturalistic that one forgets this is a show at all: rapt by Dylan’s understated charm, our time is spent revelling in his modest anecdotes for what they are rather than marvel at the artistry of his characterisation.We hear of Dylan’s start in life, his musical influences, his easy sympathy for others and unease with icon status. His celebrity titbits are juicy and informative (we want to hear more about his friendship with 'Lenny' Cohen); his reaction to oft-parroted questions gently irritable. There is a bewildered benevolence running through the characterisation which although not unexpected, is nevertheless endearing for one so majestically lauded.There is a reason that Utton can boast years worth of five star reviews Fringe after Fringe after Fringe; and this particular show is not just a testament to his skill, or even to Dylan's ongoing magnetism, but a magnificent exemplification of the power of the one man show.

We are told from the start that America’s history is one of violence, and of wars. This is mostly true but Morna Young’s Americana: a Murder Ballad shows us that it’s more complicated than that; it’s a history of Americans committing violence against other Americans, then sensationalising this ingrained violence to justify its continued existence. We’re drawn in by the spectacle, the nationalism, the red, white and blue as the cast sings the refrain, welcome to Americana, home of liberty, o Americana, the land of the free, which slowly becomes more and more threatening as it repeats. Told through the medium of murder ballad and filled with gallows humour in the form of colloquialisms that revolve around guns, we are taken through the stories of 11 highschool drama kids, as each takes on the role of the Shooter, in an endless cycle of violence that is controlled by the faceless Writer (Cole Wagner). The individuality of the characters develop as their stories are told, which gives them the power to fight back and control the narrative. The message is clear: these kids aren’t statistics nor are they labels. They are individuals who the system, or in this case the cycle and the Writer, have failed. Everything from the start is vaguely threatening, but the extent of it does not immediately hit. There is an element of gothic ruralness that hangs over us like the sword of Damocles itself, mostly due to the style of music which is intensely country and uses different vocal qualities that not only adds to the storytelling but also adds increasing foreboding to the lyrics. We feel what the characters feel and that sense of impending doom, constantly waiting for something to happen is difficult enough for 75 minutes. These feelings are emphasised by the red, white, blue and game of shadows that make up Benny Goodman's lighting design. The staging and immersive nature of the piece makes us question our role in this cycle; whether Number 11/ Rose (Zoe Prior) in confronting the Writer is confronting us, the system, or both.The most important thing about Americana: a Murder Ballad is that it is real. It’s real life immortalised in a cycle of songs and violence, and there are levels of analyses to peel back. This show is dripping with parallels between what is onstage and what is reality, to the point where even the staunchest supporter of the 2nd Amendment may be uncomfortable.This show would not have the impact that it has on us if it were not for the talent of the cast. From playing instruments to singing unaccompanied, there is a sense of camaraderie and support that appears to stem from an unfortunate commonality. Their performance comes from a place of authenticity and makes us listen. They confront us with their reality in a way that is meant to horrify and make us think, but also brings hope that if it makes others horrrified and think, maybe things will change.Words have power, but it depends on who wields it. Nothing that I report as a bystander (because that’s what we become during this show) will be as meaningful and immediately bone-chilling as what you will see and hear at Americana: a Murder Ballad. Because this is a political piece of theatre that challenges the very fabric of American society and its exceptionalism. Genuine thoughts and prayers that we will see more of this show in the future.