SEARCH MY SITE

To watch this performance for free, click here. This review will consider Έρως / Eros, a collection in celebration of Greek and British poetry, conceived and directed by Anastasia Revi and produced by Theatre Lab Company. This is part of a “poetry marathon” for which poets and enthusiasts can record their own readings of poetry in any language and send them to theatrelabco@gmail.com, along with the poem title, author and publish date, to be considered for inclusion in subsequent collections. Hence, it should be well noted that this review can only consider this specific performance and not the overall series. I shall start first with the manner in which the poems in this performance are presented. The poems, all linked under the theme of Eros — a fact I shall return to later — are delivered adequately by performers, but performativity does vary across the cast, with expressivity, energy and emotion coming naturally to some and not so blatantly to others. The poems’ order of presentation, however, is very good. It was a good decision not to structure the poems by alternating between the two languages (Greek, English, Greek, etc.), as this could have become rather repetitive. Similarly, the editing (Yiannis Costopoulos) allows for varied compositions of the speakers on screen without changing its style with every single poem. This would have become rather too eclectic and chaotic if this was the case; however, as it stands, there is enough variation to keep intrigue yet to maintain overall aesthetic. I would just recommend a few significant things: removing the CGI of lighting discharge across Johan Buckingham’s eyes, as this is too disparate stylistically to the rest of the performance; cleaning up transitions where our view of performers who have just spoken is abruptly stopped and replaced by footage of them with their eyes closed, before the shrinking box has reached its destination — perhaps I would add a fade transition here within this box, if nothing else; and, finally, a reorganisation of the final shot so as to have Denise Moreno looking into the camera as have all of the poets before her. On the topic of Moreno’s performance, I move on to the coherency of the poems in this collection. I fail to see why an extract of a play, namely Crave by Sarah Kane, appeared in this collection. Albeit rather poetic, this extract is not poetry, nor does it profess to be. It is dramatic verse and should not be included in this collection. More significantly, though, the overall theme of love seems far too vague to unite the poems in this performance, given that some poems refer to love as a concept or form whilst others refer to erotic and sensual love, amour-propre and enlightenment, or unrequited admiration of another. There is thus an all-too-extreme diversity in the definition of love provided by this performance, meaning also that the relevance of the specified, titular love type, Eros, becomes rather questionable. I imagine that this is because of the selection process; perhaps more specificity is needed in the requirements of the poems sent in. However, though this is perhaps a coincidence, then, there is a good unity in terms of perspective: the chosen poems all address their objects directly and actively, and it is easy to get a sense that the performers are talking from ‘their own’ heartfelt perspectives, of their own agency — intensified by the view of the other performers functioning as passive listeners, seeming unquestioningly attentive, their eyes closed, their silence unbroken. Additionally, such an inclusion of the other performers helps to create a sense of relaxation yet awareness. This is most effective for a lot of the poems, but, again, becomes questionable for the more ‘aggressive’ or erotic — ‘Sappho 31’, for instance. Nevertheless, I particularly enjoy the inclusion of closeups during Matthew Wade’s performance of ‘In Summer’s Heat’ by Christopher Marlowe. This segment allows for a certain scopophilia, presenting the most decorative of the masks and makeup worn by the performers — upon which I shall elaborate shortly — and forcing us to concentrate intimately on the eyes and the lips, which is certainly in line with the performance’s theme. I would just have chosen a different performer than Eva Simatou in the bottom-left, as her look is not as ornamented as the others in this segment, and so she stands out too distinctly as pedestrian and plain. Furthermore, I would have another performer fill in for one of our views of Helen Bang, for too much attention is drawn to her in having her on screen twice simultaneously, from two different angles. I should note here, however, that Wade’s inelaborate look does not subtract here, for he is the one enabling this scopophilia and performing a poem detailing the beauty of his object. So, this is acceptable, but better attention to detail should be shown to the rest of this composition. Such visuals in this performance are, indeed, striking, but most decisions behind them, if any exist, do not come through, for me. I fail to comprehend the significance, for example, of the Columbine masks. They definitely unite the performers, but under what premise? Besides, the red lipstick on their lips is enough to do this alone. Perhaps the intention was to allude to the coquettishness, passion and seductive prowess characteristic of the Commedia dell’arte’s stock character, Columbina. However, this does not coincide with such poems as Kiki Dimoula’s ‘The Plural Form’ or Ruth Pitter’s ‘The Plain Facts’, to name a few. Another, more contemporary, function of a Columbine mask, of course, is to conceal identity, which serves to destroy that aforementioned direct perspective we are given throughout. The masks are also inconsistent, from the mask-replacing makeup worn by Georgios Iatrou to Evi Sarmi’s torn-up tights, better resembling a balaclava than a mask, to the, frankly, rather ridiculous surgical mask worn by Omiros Poulakis with cut-out eyeholes. I am sure this latter felt very politically inspired at the time of conception, but it simply looks like the unrefined work of a resourceful child. Not only are the masks inconsistent in this way, but they are also all terribly ill-fitting; they simply look uncomfortable, as though the masks must be digging into the performers’ eyes, unwantedly caressing their lashes. In summary, the masks are simply an awful, unnecessary and unthoughtful decision. Overall, this performance has a lot of potential but falls short with its lack of cohesive visuals and lack of a more particularised theme. I would definitely be very interested to see how Revi would organise this on stage as opposed to on screen, as the editing decisions certainly provide a different experience for audiences and are notably heavily relied upon — though, this is not an issue for this current virtual performance. I would urge creatives to better conceive how the poems are presented alongside one another and what visual cues we as an audience receive. I would also ensure that all performers share the same amount of vigour and conviction as one another. “A good performance with good potential but lacking sincere coherency.”

Before starting this review, I shall note that this performance is a work in progress and is hence subject to change. In this zany and kooky play, Courtney McMahon uses beige walls and navy sofas as a synecdoche for her childhood memories as the daughter of a foster carer. She relates a bitter nostalgia where sweet reminiscence becomes tinged by the negative or by the confused and limited understanding of a child. Prepping her audience with memories of her childhood dog and its sudden passing, McMahon recounts the incomplete relationships she had formed with her foster siblings. The set design (by Niamh Parker-Whitehead) for this performance is particularly playful. With its secret hatches and ability to rotate, the set's dynamism and (positive) low-quality/arts-and-crafts feel really is evocative of a child's imagination at home, especially with the main centrepiece being a stack of those all-too-familiar cardboard boxes. There is a sense of playfulness and discovery, as we learn that there is yet another piece on the other side of the cardboard tower or another item to be found in the navy boxes. However, this endless supply of props becomes rather subtractive after a while. Every single story seems to superfluously coincide with an item of some sort. This disallows the stories to breathe in the spectators’ imagination by limiting them to yet another synecdoche. Not only were some stories stifled in this way but also by the stories which preceded or succeeded them. The performance's structure became somewhat bipartite: happy memory turns to sad memory turns to happy memory, etc. This became predictable but also led to some unoriginal stylistic choices, primarily with tech. The sound of white noise, another popular and hence overused motif, featured quite heavily in this performance, and practically all gleeful songs and moments would take a turn for the worst and become muffled and consumed by it. Tech also coincided with the problem of pacing which I shall elaborate on later. Moments like the ‘You’ve Been Framed’ theme tune and a recording of Ant and Dec were tautological when sided with McMahon’s description of watching the two shows. Other songs were cut much too prematurely and others lasted too long. The best use of tech for pacing but also for that happy-to-sad breakdown was the end of the ‘Last Christmas’ sequence. This is exemplary of a dramatic transformation from one emotional mode to another. Its drawn-out nature made for an unignorable change in atmosphere, aided by the change in lighting state, as opposed to the other mood changes which were far too quick and unimpactful. The words ‘overuse’ and synecdoche' do become characteristics of this, but that is not to say that the performance is predictable. The stories are interesting and engaging, but I am not too sure if they are informative enough. There is a propensity in this performance to tend towards over-informing the audience on the more insignificant things and under-informing on the more important. For example, a good portion of the performance is dedicated to the dog and to karaoke, but their bearing on the rest of the content is not so immediate. Karaoke scenes were particularly impertinent and omittable for me. This is mainly due to the performance's tendency towards audience interaction. If it is not utterly indispensable to the performance, or if the performance can survive without it, audience interaction should not be a feature and is a surefire and needless way to make for a stylistic disconnect. For instance, McMahon's whispering to an audience member in the front row, asking her to look after a box for her: who is this benefitting? The back row cannot hear it, it is not carrying the performance forward nor establishing a mode of audience address. As for the karaoke scenes, McMahon’s coercing the audience to join in with her so as to not, embarrassedly, sing alone felt less like a warranted and progressive interaction but a moment of unwanted fragility and tension, however successful her coercions were. Certain images, such as her riding a child-sized bike, much too small for her, which was a playful and disjointed visualisation of her childhood, were squandered by random outbursts, like attempting to shock, yet again, a front-row audience member by riding the child’s bike in front of her and barking abruptly in her face. These are all unnecessary moments that simply dampen the efficacy of an otherwise quite fruitful script. This brings me on to characterisation. McMahon provides her audience with a very lovable persona. She is witty, energised and pensive. However, there lacks a sense of fixedness. With the memories being so fragmented and achronological, it is crucial to have a persona whose personality, character, traits and motives are immediately, directly and quickly comprehensible. Only presenting perceptions and experiences of the external world means that there is little personality to go off of for their narrator. This causes a problem for feeling emotion for other characters as well as for Courtney, which I will also elaborate on in a while, but it also means that our guide through the stories is opaque and so it is difficult to see how these things are affecting her and hence how we should be feeling as an audience. This lack of fixedness is also present in both McMahon’s speech types and physicality. Her speech type meanders through vernacular and colloquial to poetic to standardised, and this makes for an unstable reading of her. Her physicalIty is just as vulnerable in this way: McMahon is quite stiff and motionless through most of the performance, letting the objects and narrative do the descriptions for her. This is then met with a certain volatility where she is suddenly dancing all over the place or randomly turning away from the audience and screaming. She becomes erratic in these moments. This volatility is hard to digest. As for the writing, this text has some very successful and funny elements, but these were not allowed to be fully digested in places. This was due mostly to pacing but also because of the rapid and haphazard succession of scenes and scene types. I would recommend noting what certain areas and features are trying to accomplish. If it is lightheartedness or comedy, allow for time for this to be digested as such before shooting off to the next feature. Ironically, for a performance supposedly about McMahon’s experiences with being the daughter of a foster carer, this was only one, supplementary theme scattered through the performance. It seemed as though this narrative was lost to an abundance of other types of loss, settings, childhood memories and those unyielding karaoke scenes. The lack of clear-cut focus meant that one particularly political passage was not so hard-hitting or convincing, but this is a combination of the content and the writing itself. Not much was being said, and the way it was being said was not particularly moving, either. Similarly, the audience were not given enough information about Jess, which is important as McMahon decides to end her performance with an ominous supposition about her. This suspense, mystery and strong empathy are not earned, as Jess has not been significant enough in the narrative, and so the ending’s impact is extremely slight and dissatisfying. It would be more fitting, as the performance stands, to have a conclusion of McMahon’s memories, to see how these affect her presently or how she has grown or regressed because of them. That is the correct ending this performance leans towards, which I am quite sure is not the desired. “Not a performance that does what it sets out to do, but an endearing, enjoyable and unique performance, nevertheless.”

To view this performance for free, click here. Natters of Life & Death is a charming short one-woman play written and performed by Ann Hirst and directed by Paul Andrew Goldsmith. The play provides its audience with lighthearted humour, nostalgia, and even comic relief from deeper topics such as ageing bodies, issues surrounding labour, fears about parenting, and shamed female anatomy, but all of this without compromising the endearing comedy it offers throughout. The performance could, indeed, benefit from a few minor adjustments to the script and video editing decisions, but, nevertheless, a lovable watch. Hirst’s comedic timing is brilliant. She is wonderfully expressive and portrays her middle-aged mum character, Davina, with vigour and credibility. Hirst’s movements around the kitchen and her vivified use of the space makes for a constant sense of happening and intrigue, and her actions seem calculated and natural. In terms of characterisation, I would just pay more attention to moments when the character is remembering things [or trying to], but this is mainly earlier on in the performance. The issue here is one of timing; Hirst struggles with her pacing quite regularly in these more serious moments. As I wrote above, her comedic timing is wonderful, but it often feels as though we have moved on far too quickly from other, either neutral or deeper thoughts. It seems unnatural. Structurally, this is a very strong dramatic text. Content flows well from one topic to another, and it is easy to forget the stasis of the kitchen setting that is presented as homely and lived-in. The speech is, in fact, incredibly naturalistic on the whole, which is indicative of definite talent, and comedy definitely seems to come easily to writer Hirst who is able to make light of a very good range of topics. A few scenes, such as Davina imagining herself as the host of a TV show, do seem underseasoned and awkward, and there does seem to be some overreliance upon phone calls to break up the text, but these are hardly worth noting. Nonetheless, I was very impressed by the writing of the telephone conversations as well. It is common for writers to over-inform audiences with these, with characters’ speech often unnecessarily filling in the gaps of what is said on the other side of the line inaudibly to audience members, and hence comprising the scene’s naturalism. However, Hirst’s text surrounding these phone calls is very well tailored and adequately esoteric so as to retain the required naturalism without distancing/confusing the audience. I would just change the text in the phone call with Adam, as the repetitions of what Adam is saying become too regular and structured, leaning into this aforementioned common issue. Still, this esotericism paints a vivid picture of Davina’s life beyond the play, and characters remain informed by our awakened imagination. Remaining on this topic of naturalism, another issue I have pertains to what the phone itself displays — or, rather, fails to display — and how the mobile is handled. The sound of the phone ringing is non-diegetic, and this is most distinct and obnoxiously unnatural. The screen is entirely black, and Hirst uses the middle button of the phone to mime turning it off, which is not how iPhones operate. To solve this, I would have the phone ring in real time, perhaps with the aid of a timer on the phone set to sound like a ringtone and to go off accordingly, or, more preferably, I would simply have Goldsmith ring it on time. If no way can be found to light and darken the screen as though a phone call is incoming or finished, I would make sure to keep the phone out of view — say, keep it on that high shelf, or change camera angles when accepting the call. The lack of naturalism here is easily avoidable and should be a priority to secure, being that telephone conversations recur regularly throughout. It would also be preferable for Davina to excuse herself before each phone call, as we as the audience are led throughout to feel as though we are in the kitchen with her, having a one-way chat, and, as it stands, an audience is made to feel momentarily unimportant, sidelined, forgotten or ignored when Hirst answers the phone. I must admit that this performance does suffer from quite a few technical issues. Indeed, editing is quite harsh in places, but the main issues arise in sound effects and music and in the cutaways. The principal issue with these former items is volume. Music is far too loud and should be lowered significantly. Sound effects are also, as mentioned above, non-diegetic, which creates a sense of unnaturalism — I have mentioned the issue of Davina’s ringtone, but there is also the radio whose volume is, in fact, satisfactory but whose music suddenly disappears once Davina thinks about exploring the possibility of Jason having a Facebook profile. Nevertheless, I should affirm here that the comedy of this scene is splendid: the dramatic, melancholic classical music as Hirst clasps a firm watermelon in her hand and, depressed, informs us of her sad and sagging breasts. It becomes a most refreshingly facetious and hilarious speech. As for the cutaways, it is not until halfway into the performance that their purpose really becomes clear. Initially, for example, we have the inexplicable image of an armadillo rolling into a ball, and there is no explanation as to what relevance this has; there is nothing to ground it in the dramatic text. However, it soon becomes clear, especially after the cutaways to an image of a Vagina Monologues poster or to the “Swearoplane”, that these cutaways serve to dramatise or reflect the absurdity of Davina’s actions or the content of her soliloquies. The armadillo, then, is most likely supposed to be read as a quirky stylisation of Davina bopping briefly below the counter. In the end, these become quite a quirky feature of the play, but they do certainly need to be better introduced. Perhaps Davina mentions at the beginning, before any images at all are presented to us, that random vignettes and visions pop into her head, or something similar. Such an introduction as to what function these cutaways have for both her and us as spectators would better contextualise them within the dramatic text. However, I do think including video footage instead of still images is preferable — Patrick Star’s exploding head, for instance, versus the stubborn image of an unmoving stir fry. I would also make sure that sound accompanies them all, just as it does these two — though, again, at a much lower volume than they are currently — and that they are snappy, quick flashes that inform the text, rather than lengthy stills that subtract from it, like the image of the dishevelled sofa or those of the jute rug or the TV. In fact, these latter images are superfluous; instead, the images that are seemingly irrelevant but related thematically are those which should be included. Technically, then, this is certainly not a perfect performance, but, again, Hirst’s charming characterisation and vitality throughout certainly outweigh any pedantic cons. Overall, an endearing and simply loveable performance from beginning to end. Certainly worth a watch to uplift you on an afternoon in lockdown. “A delightful, wholesome treat.”

MEGA is enchanting. Created by Alex Milne and performed at the Tristan Bates Theatre, its lovable characters and twists make it an absolute treat to watch. All actresses clearly understood the text and portrayed their characters incredibly well. They were all fabulously engaging and convincing, and their physicalities and voices made their characters believable. There were only a few minor slip-ups on lines or moments where the text could have been handled better, and these did not subtract at all from the readability or intrigue of the performance. Overall, all actresses were absolutely outstanding. For a performance with a very minimal set, actors were incredibly captivating, though I do think there was an over-reliance on certain items in places, though this becomes more of an editorial or directorial issue. For example, as soon as the tablets were first introduced, they started to frequent the stage quite regularly in consecutive scenes. These should have been allowed to enter the space in an uninvasive way so that the audience consider it as just a simple, everyday household medication that Angela uses. As the plot starts to thicken, as it were, then would be a good time to reintroduce them with another character, though it becomes a nuisance to see all characters have a turn at the tablets which became rather irksome. Bird also handled her stones far too much which muted her otherwise very idiosyncratic and rich performance. I should also note that all other props, such as the ‘Ribena’, were used authentically, whereas Angela's bowl of food in the first scene, where all characters first meet in the play, is empty. Moments like these destroy realism and should be avoided. A simple piece of apple crumble, as stated to be the food she was eating, would have corrected this. Conversely, whilst turned-off phones or visibly inactive ones usually nullify phone calls on stage, I think this fact should have been stressed for Brandy's telephone conversations and juxtaposed with the real telephone conversation she has with, whom I presume to be, her mother, to texturise even more her delusion. As for the dramatic text itself, the writing blended these three utterly different characters into one setting so violently well. However, it could do with some editing, and some scenes could be cut either for their unnecessariness, for the way they slow the momentum of the performance, or for the way they offset its style. In certain moments, speech seems too unrealistic, and not in its typical quirky way; it seems robotic, staged and as if implanted as a ‘buffer’ or ‘filler’ until better things are able to surface. For example, moments like when Tabatha (Casey Bird) and Brandy (Alex Milne) gossip about Angela (Kirsty King) to the side of the stage. Here, the speech is particularly robotic and elaborate, yet we do not seem to learn anything new about Tabatha, and the style has also changed from dialogues to removed asides. I felt that there could have been more complications in the plot, particularly for Angela's character. It is not until the very end that we only get a hint of the truth behind her psychosis, but it is still unclear as to whether she is, in fact, a princess or not, which means the truth has not been at all disclosed. Whilst I understand that the particular nature of these characters’ illnesses mean that they are locked in a certain perception of the world, that there is rarely any change in their realities, the outside world still exists, and so moments where regurgitation and repetition of material, which did occur towards the middle of the play, should have been replaced with allusive and questionable complications like those towards the end of the play where we start to realise the truth behind Brandy's delusion. More subtlety and insidiousness is key to the betterment of this performance, I believe. There are also a few moments of discontinuity that make it difficult to place the mentality of the characters. For example, it is weird that Brandy should say that her mother really liked her songs but then that she was showing disapproval off to her mentality. Moreover, it is too literal for her to list all the giveaway comments that her mother had made (comments like “When are you going to stop all of this?” which demonstrate the contradictory opinions/thoughts of an outsider); these should have been fewer and more insidious. It is good that we do not find out where the characters really are, but it is unclear if the characters themselves understand their setting. Whilst Brandy and Angela supposedly understand the reality of what I shall call the Institution, which is made clear in their critiques of Brandy’s understanding of it, they are still institutionalised themselves, and so their understandings cannot be completely accurate. It is unclear what the characters think of the Institution, how they place themselves within it, especially for Angela who makes little to no comments on it. Finally, tech. Lighting was very simple, using only fades and blackouts until the very end of the performance where multicoloured washes engulfed the stage as though a disco. This last state, combined with the decelerating audio, was most peculiar. It would have been effective if this sort of technical breakdown was staggered throughout the performance — in transitions, for instance, which were, instead, silent — but alone it had no real pertinence. It was also a moment that went on for much too long; the audio should have started at the lyrics: a simple decelerated ‘Disco-dancing with the lights down low’, and blackout. Transitions could have perhaps been a little quicker, and sound should start at the same volume it intends to drop down to when the actresses are speaking. To conclude, a very, very good performance but in need of more subtleties and textures. There is a lot of mystery already, and intrigue is not the problem, it is more about how this mystery is constructed and represented throughout the entirety of the play rather than sporadically, in certain scenes. Some content is too blunt and literal and other content is not allowed to breathe and mature quite enough. “A captivating and rich must-see performance.”

This review will consider Girls with Jokes, a night of stand up comedy recently performed at the King’s Head Theatre in London. Comedians included, in set order: Sarah Tattersall, Kat Ronson, Katerina Robinson and Victoria Garofalides. Perhaps the most important thing after jokes and punchlines in standup comedy is persona: the little idiosyncrasies, the personality, the habits and speech patterns that we so regularly associate with our favourite comedians. This is important because it gives the audience an understanding of who this person is or what they might say next – especially useful when alternative interpretations or character POVs are at play – and permits the comedian to earn engagement, respectability and charisma. In other words, a persona makes people want to listen. There is a difference, however, between persona and character. Not all comedians must have a character but all must have a persona. I write all of this because this crucial element was severely absent from all of these comedians’ work, with the short exception of Garofalides. Garofalides presents her audience with a licentious, abusive and drug addict-esque persona, veering closer towards an outrageous character. She uses this persona to generate a semantic field, something which was hit-and-miss for other comedians, which an audience can instantly acknowledge and easily comprehend. This enables the audience to focus solely on the humour, rather than on trying to work out what she’s about, so to speak. Garofalides should be used as an exemplar of how persona can and should be used as a grounding touchstone from which humour can be successfully and coherently generated. It is important to note here that I am not suggesting the other comedians need be as caricatural or as debase, but that they focus on their delivery style: not necessarily what the jokes are but how the jokes are conveyed. As for Robinson, whilst persona was still rather lacking, her jokes were very good. She was aware of the sociopolitical context of her stories and of how the majority of the audience would interpret them and was able to use this knowledge to form a relatable and identifiable comedic palette. Ronson’s humour was slightly less refined and her material seemed to extend to many different areas of thinking, making her overall work confused. I will say, however, that her blunt and hard-hitting introduction to her set was excellent. Tattersall’s material, unfortunately, was all over the place, and there was not a clearcut thread running through it all to tie it together. This was met with a nervous and introverted stage presence and a range of jokes which did not quite hit the mark. All comedians decided to use – what is presented as – autobiographical material, primarily [ex-]boyfriends and sexuality. Even this warrants, again, a persona. It is impossible to present one’s “true” self (especially on stage), and so appropriate personae are needed to extract anecdotes and experiences from one’s life. No-one wants to hear someone prattle on about their ex (something even acknowledged by the comedians themselves several times) unless it is felt that there is something to gain from it, e.g. the way this comedian gesticulates or articulates this story makes it worth listening to. When one is dealing with personal material, it must be seen to come from a person, someone who reacts to things in a certain, specified way, and this way becomes humorous. This was almost achieved by Tattersall when she demonstrates that her techniques for getting over the loss of her ex are really techniques to get him back. This denotes an obsessive/needy person who has not gotten over their ex and whose ridiculous actions the audience can laugh about, and this is effective. Not only was personality lacking for the comedians but for the night itself. There was clearly a theme of sex and body, freedom and youth, yet these failed to come together as one coherent performance. There was a lack of structure, and the beginning and end seemed much too abrupt and ungiving. An audience wants to feel as though they have gained something from the performance, that the performance was for them and them only; as it stood, this lack of ceremony, which would have surfaced in a proper intro and outro, made it feel as though there was little given to the audience to appreciate their time. It was much too rushed, clamorous and disorganised. I would recommend a main comedian who hosts the night or just a clearer introduction of what is to come. This would have added personality to the night. It did feel as though this night was some sort of rehearsal simply experimenting on its audience, benefitting in its rapidness its performers more than its spectators, and this was accentuated by having the performers sit off stage, watching the performance from within the audience. I would recommend that the comedians leave the performance space completely or, at least, sit on a bench on stage together. Sitting in the audience makes for both awkward entrances and exits but also for a seeming disengagement on the performers’ behalf. All comedians had good energy and, on the whole, a good sense of timing, but I must admit that there are many minor faux pas in this performance which all add up to create a hectic sense of unpreparedness and bad quality. For example: checking watches; writing prompts on wrists; saying, “What else can I say?”. There was also a massive problem with projection and diction, unaided by the quiet and tetchy microphone. I suppose this was down to nerves, for which I highly suggest some group calming techniques before going on stage, but these became quite impedimentary and dampened what could otherwise have been snappy, potent punchlines. “Unfortunately, quite unmemorable, if humorous in places.”

Written and directed by Conor Mitchell and produced by the Belfast Ensemble, The Musician is an enjoyable operatic retelling of the famous medieval tale of The Pied Pier of Hamlin. The performance is preceded by a short introduction. I shall start here. Whilst the host definitely has good diction and stage presence, and vitality and vigour in her performance, the introduction itself is rather irrelevant to the performance that follows. Aesthetically, noting the huge orange Y and the host’s orange and white costume, there is nothing to prepare us for what is to come, and with very little information being provided, not even what the host’s name is, it just becomes rather pointless and, if anything, subtractive. It should be removed. Furthermore, we see in this introduction our first of many errors involving lighting: the host falls short of the spotlight, remaining completely out of view when reaching it, which makes for a jarring edit (editing by Josh Mulhall) when cutting to the next shot. One must stand on the very downstage edge of a spotlight, not in its middle, which allows the entire performer’s body to be lit, rather than just the feet… Introduction out of the way, let us move on to the main performance. We are first presented with a short overture by the 16-piece orchestra (led by Clare Hadwen and conducted by Tom Brady). The music (composed by Conor Mitchell), though lacking any memorable motif, is very well composed and pleasing. All musicians are, indeed, very talented and commendable. But then we move on to the narrator, Matthew Cavan, and our first major issue arises in editorial and directorial decisions. The narrator is known as The Traveller, though there is no indication whatsoever throughout the rest of the performance that this is, indeed, his role. At the very beginning, he holds a map and sits down for a sandwich and a game of I Spy –– how very horror-like… –– and this is unfortunately all we see of his travels. There is no explanation as to where he is going or what the purpose of his journey is, and so the function of this becomes negligible and hence deletable. It would have been a lot more effective for The Traveller to have been a mere narrator, a mysterious figure, one who is concerned only with the telling of his story. I instantly think of the well-known TV series ‘Grizzly Tales for Gruesome Kids’ and the character and function of the narrator in this series. Something more comparable to this would have been good in this performance. The main issue with this theme of travelling — or lake thereof — is in the fact that the Belfast Ensemble clearly want us to feel as though we are in a theatre when watching this virtual performance, noting the stripped-back set design (also by Conor Mitchell) and the film’s various compositions (cameras operated by Michael Foster, Chris Eva and Will Archer). So…are we travelling, or are we in a theatre? If it is, indeed, the latter, a better composition should be examined, for only the tip of The Traveller’s seat is in view, and the stage is out of focus, making this composition all the more questionable. I fail to see why The Traveller was not simply on the stage to begin with, shrouded in darkness but for a suffocative spotlight of his own. Our relationship with the world of the play, our role, and our context is dysfunctional here and should be better managed. What is more, during this scene, the stage is too harshly lit (lighting by Mary Tumelty), making it feel almost like the beginnings of a technical rehearsal, rather than the beginning of a performance. Aesthetically, this opening is incredibly displeasing. I mentioned that The Traveller should have been on stage from the beginning, and another reason I say this is because of how his role develops. The Traveller becomes a secondary character, which is most jarring, considering it means that we often miss out on key events and actions in the narrative, replaced, instead, by his mere retelling. If he is so involved in the story, especially given the revelation of his significance at the end, he should surely be more integral from the start. Even more jarring is how he just ends up on the stage, after being in the stalls. This preferable mysteriousness I mentioned above would enable him to glide in and out of the narrative, clearly distinct from its telling. As it stands, he just appears out of nowhere but in a most casual and unmarked way. His entrances should, instead, be more mystical and intriguing. How he appears in the performance will be something I come back to later in this review, but now I shall mention another factor that causes a friction between The Traveller and the world of the musical: his costume (costume design by Laura Firby). The Traveller’s bright-red suit, complete with shoes and a tie of the same colour, contrasts greatly with the otherwise pale and bleak set design. Considering his relation to the story, one would expect a more pertinent costume. And surely, he should put on the sewn-together coats at the end, once his identity is revealed, no? Instead, The Traveller simply stands out like a sore thumb — not what we would expect from a narrator! I imagine the red is to symbolise blood, as this is a horror opera, but the relevance is far too understated. Besides, as mentioned above, as it currently stands, The Traveller’s role is made not to be horrific but to invitingly tell a tale. But The Traveller’s costume is not the only one with which I have difficulty. Costume is an odd one in this production. We see a mixture of modern and early to mid-20th century dress, with The Boy, supposedly homeless and orphaned, wearing what seems to be a modern reimagining of the remains of 20th-century school attire. All together, the visuals are completely off, and the characters seem to exist independently of each other’s time periods. But this is perhaps an issue caused directly by the dramatic text that aims to present ‘a medieval story told in a 21st century way’. Well, The Traveller’s suit is a rather contemporary visual, but beyond that, there is nothing particularly 21st-century about orphaned, homeless children around the marketplace and the condemning of witchcraft. Edits need to be made here. Either present the story as it has been told, as the product of a distant era, or rework the tale to fit a modern world. As it stands currently, it is nonsensical. Turning our focus away from the intricacies of the dramatic text and towards the performers, our main character, The Boy, is played by Sarah Richmond. Richmond’s physicality and energy are superb. She is gesticulative and emotive, and her character is thus made very legible and accessible. With the intended audience being children of six years of age and up, and with opera being particularly difficult for children to follow, this level of expressivity is needed. However, there are a few moments where this physicality does fall flat — I think especially to the dance scene wherein The Boy first discovers music and dances to its tunes. Perhaps a directorial issue, Richmond’s dancing is…non-existent, really. I would use the word ‘flailing’, but this implies more energetic movement than what was demonstrated in this scene. The Traveller describes it as ‘dancing on air’, but aimless, untailored and awkward-looking movement is perhaps the best description. This should be a scene that invokes awe and splendour; instead, it just seems like The Boy does not know what to do with himself or is in pain, circling The Musician like an over-enthused, ridiculous sumo wrestler preparing for his weak attack. Nevertheless, moments like these ignored, an excellent performance from Richmond who sang clearly and wonderfully throughout. The same cannot be said for Rebecca Murphy who plays The Vile Little Girl. It simply feels as though Murphy is doing the bare minimum, going through all the necessary movements needed to get her paycheque at the end. Her diction is bad quite regularly, though her voice is adequate, despite her overuse of vibrato, and her expressivity is completely non-existent. Watching Richmond and Murphy perform alongside one another, it is as though we are watching two separate performances. Whether in her confession scene, where she reveals she has tricked The Boy, or in her tantrum when not getting enough attention, Murphy is simply too stiff and restrictive in her movements. Better fluidity and transformativity is urgently needed. Even when she is being mauled close to death by the rats, Murphy simply kneels at the back of the stage calmly and applies the red paint onto her body and face in a way most matter-of-fact, and this is precisely what I mean by doing the bare minimum. She is still visible, still under attack, yet…nothing. She needs to be constantly moving, wriggling, slathering the paint over her body and face as though the paint is the rats itself and she is trying to swat them off. Find a creative way to perform this otherwise bland sort of action! If it was not for the narration, even in grand scenes like this, one would have absolutely no idea what is happening in some scenes. A simply boring performance from Murphy. If only she emoted as often as she licked her lips between lyrics, the kind of tick one should learn to discard as a performer on stage. As for Paul Carey Jones, playing The Musician, expressivity is also lacking. This is a mystical character, a magical and intriguing figure, mysterious and wise, he should be presented as such, not just as an ordinary and stubborn man with a flute. He is the titular character, after all, and so should be represented a lot more vibrantly. And I should mention costume here too, as something more than a bland brown coat and suit would have aided this transformation. Jones often falls flat, missing his notes, particularly in the latter part of the performance, and his diction when singing his lower tones becomes simply diabolical; it is a struggle to have any idea what is being sung for an adult, let alone a child of six. Jones also has a duet with Cavan, and it seems as though Cavan has a history in musical theatre, rather than in opera. Regardless of whether or not this is the case, the singing styles of the two performers clash drastically, and this should have been something addressed by vocal coaches and the director. The duet is absolutely horrendous, and it is impossible to salvage a sense of rhythm or tune and equally impossible to fathom what either of them are singing about. However, I should note that this is an issue not specific to just this duet but to practically all moments where performers sing simultaneously. There are some key problems that need to be addressed in this performance. These range from minor refinements — such as making sure the first mouse is hidden well in Richmond’s pocket before the second is produced under Murphy’s foot; changing the rabbit puppet to be less cartoony and resemble something slightly more serious, as the mouse puppet does; having Richmond throw her bag off stage herself, rather than passing it to Cavan, who plays an otherworldly narrator who is supposed to have no contact with the characters whatsoever; removing an illusion-shattering cutaway to the flutist in the orchestra playing when we should be seeing The Boy play, instead; or sticking down Jones’s overly visible lavalier microphone — to more drastic elements, one major one being that aforementioned replacement of performed action with The Traveller’s storytelling. The character of The Mouse is already introduced when Maeve McGreevy portrays his dancing –– a wonderful, if perhaps a little long, dance choreographed by Jennifer Rooney –– and so it is surprising that McGreevy is not used again when The Mouse is said to have made its scurrying way to The Vile Little Girl’s house. Instead, we are simply told that he does so by The Traveller in a rhythmic poem. Similarly, when The Musician expresses that talent is required for The Boy to play the flute, The Traveller tells us what next was said and how…even though the characters are right there to show us themselves. Show; Don’t Tell, one of the key rules of an energised and entertaining performance, is broken regularly. This needs to be reconsidered, especially noting, again, that this is a performance for children. As for this scene, when The Boy finally plays the flute, this rule is soon followed, and we finally see The Boy puffing and tooting until a tune inevitably comes out, but this melodrama should have come earlier and is but all too late. After performing the role of the crowd, the Butcher and the Nun, interacting with The Musician, The Traveller then says that an enthralled public come to watch The Boy play…and then he disappears and leaves Richmond to mime the flute alone in a spotlight. This level of inconsistency as to what function The Traveller plays needs to be addressed. As a side note, one relationship I do like, however, between the characters and The Traveller is that they all [for the majority of the musical] sing whilst he speaks. This is a good technique to divide the ‘real’ world, wherein The Traveller resides, and the world of the story. A final note on the projections (designed and operated by Gavin Peden). Whilst the low angle used in the market scene is effective in symbolising The Boy’s insignificance to passersby, the same should not be implied once The Vile Little Girl and The Musician enter the stage. Presumably, the feet we see passing in the footage are those of the market crowd, and these are supposed to fall still, enthralled by The Musician’s work. Thus, the visuals here do not match up with the new action on stage. I would change the angle presented not only for this reason but because the stage is so small, suffocated already by the surrounding orchestra, and so becomes simply dwarfed, along with the performers atop it, by the overbearing overhead screen. I would also change the low angle in the meadow footage too. Similarly, we have the projection of The Traveller’s face as he watches The Boy from above. When it is just the eye, and not the face, I think this is a very powerful image, but having The Traveller both present on stage and on screen is a weird visual, particularly when the eyes start to lose The Boy on stage. This should have been better choreographed. I should also mention Cavan’s gloomy lack of emotion in this footage; his overlooking seems ominous, which is something he does not represent elsewhere. The footage simply presents him in a way most out of character. Then, there are the armies of mice and rats projected onto the floor. These could be better refined, but it stands as a wonderful idea, a good visual and a clever way of animating what would otherwise remain an immobile plushy toy. Lastly, the words ‘talent’ and ‘Hell’ being projected onto the screen is an odd decision –– perhaps fire would have been better for this latter — not to mention because talent is a theme so easily overlooked in this text, garnered by a few simple puffs in a flute. All being said, this is by no means an awful production, just one that needs a lot of very basic spadework. It has the grounds to be an exceptional performance but currently relies too much on its audience’s imagination. The two main salvific elements of this musical are Richmond’s characterisation and the overall plot. Whilst there is an issue in the aforementioned attempt to modernise the tale and in the dysfunction of The Traveller, the dramatic text is very strong, clear and entertaining. It provides a good origin story for the Pied Piper of Hamlin, and its text is easy to follow, with lyrics (libretto also by Conor Mitchell) being simple, which is good, given its intended audience. “A wonderful dramatic text, but a performance in need of restructuring, refining and some recasting.”

This review will consider Week 4’s instalment of the West End Drive In. Our first performance is by Hiba Elchikhe, and what can I say? Well…the curtsy at the end was good? Other than that, Elchikhe regularly performed throughout this production with a breathy, faltering vibrato and what I can only explain as guttural explosions as found in this opening song on the word ‘flown’ in the lyric, ‘He has FLOWN too close to the sun’. Moving quickly on to Matthew Corke. Another performer, just like last week, who just stands there, energyless, lacking any physicality, hoping his wavering vocals will do the work for him. Choosing songs that do not match his voice type, Corke sounds simply terrible when delivering higher-pitched or low-toned notes, his voice faltering and breaking, and this seems to be a propensity shared amongst all of these so-called star performers, something also true of last week’s performers too. When crescendoing, Corke fails to move his microphone away from his mouth; this repeated flaw certainly needs work. However, saying this, overall, when singing in mid-range, his voice is very pleasing to the ear, and I can thankfully say that his rendition of ‘Sandy’ from Grease was pitch-perfect, even if he missed his cue at the beginning — a mixture of his fault and that of the technicians cueing the music; again, as last week, communications need to be tighter in regard to technicians knowing when performers have actually reached the stage. Trevor Dion Nicholas was also…mediocre. His diction was disgraceful in places, his voice often sounded forced and breathy, and I was incredibly dissatisfied when Shenay Holmes revealed that he had been wanting to perform ‘Be Prepared’ from Disney’s The Lion King since he was a child, and THAT is what we get: a low-energy performance lacking movement and vitality. I was disappointed that his first song was the fourth slow song in a row! What a way to start a West End production! Perhaps it was different to be there in the moment…and perhaps there are many audience members who like one slow song after another. However, the two disinterested children who took, instead, to playing It, running around the car park in a supposedly socially distanced and COVID-safe environment [a nod to how well guest safety is really managed], might inform us otherwise. I must admit, though, vocally, he is a very strong performer with a good voice, but these singing and performing fundamentals need to be addressed first. This week, there are still very fundamental issues with organisation, my main frustration being with crew and cast members standing visibly off stage, having a quick natter whilst a performance ensues. If you are not on stage, remain unseen! Surely, I should not need to comment on that basic rule. Similarly, we have Corke trying to hide on the edge of the stage –– I have no idea why; he was in plain sight — before his duet with Elchikhe, as if waiting for an introduction or something… And heaven knows why it was decided that for the production’s birthday, the tiresomely long, full version of ‘The Time Warp’ should be included for the audience to repeat the dance moves to over and over again for over four minutes straight. Finally, though: no pop songs, no songs from film musicals! Finally, we have a line-up that actually fits the purpose of the production… I spoke too soon; there is one at the end: Trevor Dion Nicholas sings the audience out with ‘I’m Still Standing’ by Elton John –– your guess as to what significance that song has in this production is as good as mine! –– before one last encore from Holmes…which was the same song as last week. I cannot stress enough that Holmes, as was the case last week, is really the shining beacon of hope for this production. The other performers should really study her stage presence and energy. Though hosting techniques did become rather repetitive this week, and whilst introductions before songs are becoming increasingly vapid and seem to be sponsored by Disney Plus with its countless references, Holmes’s performance abilities are simply divine. An engaging, captivating and dynamic performer with an astounding voice and vocal range. My only other criticisms would be to just be aware of how instructions to the audience come across, as sometimes, for some reason, her tone sounded rather acerbic and patronising –– but this was rare –– and secondly, if something is introduced to the audience, it must have purpose, and so when the audience are asked, ‘Who misses theatre? Put your hands up if you miss theatre!’, this should not be something to quickly move on from but something that steers content on to something else. Additionally, I cannot express my frustration well enough with how many times the audience were asked to ‘make some noise’…perhaps there was a reason they were so silent?! I cannot think of a performance during this production, including in Holmes’s segments, wherein the audience were not told to do this. It became highly repetitive and, frankly, irksome. Again, this week, no visuals to comment on. No costume, no lights, no set, no props… Nothing of visual appeal, not so much as a stage light or a fragment of confetti. Overall, once again, a very disappointing production. “A vapid production worsening as the weeks go by.”

Birds and Bees, written by Charlie Josephine and directed by Rob Watt, attempts to examine key social discourses around sex, sexuality and gender by which our teenagers of today find themselves ineluctably entoiled. Whilst it presents the most common schools of thinking — feminism and intersectionality, queer theory, etc. — its message is rather lost through inconsistency of style and character and through misalignment of theory vs execution. This is an enjoyable performance but could be a lot stronger. I shall start with the acting. On the whole, the actors’ performances were very good, dampened mainly by errors of style and rhetoric in writing, as I shall detail later. However, the biggest issue I have with all of the performers’ acting styles is that they teeter far too often and too irregularly between ‘naturalistic’ and caricaturistic. Whilst all have high and engaging energy, it is channelled inconsistently throughout, with moments of extreme dynamism feeling incredibly unrealistic, garish and, frankly, cheesy. The biggest problem I have with the acting, though, is in timing. Be it comedic or dramatic, timing in this performance is simply excruciating at times, but it is not so simple to say that it is because of the actors themselves; it is clearly, conversely, a combination of directorial and editorial as well as actor-driven errors. The key issue with timing arises in dialogue, specifically when characters are interrupting one another. There are often large pauses between one actor speaking and another’s interruption, and this needs to be a lot tighter. Moments like when Aarron (Ike Bennett) first interrupts Maisey (Ida Regan), for example, also demonstrate the actors’ inability to think for themselves in terms of the naturalism needed in the text: Regan’s line ‘I’ve had a clean slate for five years until today, until you decided to—’. The inflection Regan places at the end of this line, on the word ‘to’ is to imply that she is giving Bennett his cue to interrupt her. A brief pause follows, and then Bennett decides to chime in — albeit too late. Errors like this are constant throughout but could be easily remedied. Actors, as should have been the case here for Bennett, should not await the end of another’s line to jump in but should be prepared to start their interruption a few words before. Additionally, in moments like these, it should be expected that Regan would take it upon herself not to hint in her intonation that it is another actor’s cue but to make up the rest of the line and to keep talking until the other cottons on and interrupts when they have not already done so, in order to both keep a naturalistic flow and to avoid such awkward tensions. This may strike one as pedantic at first, but these moments must be slick in order to convey the desired naturalism and to prevent audiences from perceiving falterings in the dramatic text and ultimately being turned off by it — especially in the repetition of such errors. Pursuing the theme of naturalism specifically, I also mentioned that the problem is editorial as well. Take the first main argument between Aarron and Leilah (Narisha Lawson), for example — performed very well by Lawson. Aarron’s lines as he tries to get a word in are limited to three or four, insignificant and not to mention repetitive, words: ‘Wait, hang on—‘, ‘I was trying—‘, ‘Look, I tried—‘, ‘Well, yeah, I know—‘, ‘Well, yeah, I—‘. This becomes too poetic and structured and does not follow the characteristics of real and natural speech. In real life, people talk over each other. Once they are interrupted more than twice and have a propensity to be silenced by those interrupting them, one finds that the speaker becomes silent altogether and understands that their battle is not worth fighting; otherwise, they carry on angrily and talk over the speaker, their volume increasing, their gestures becoming more restricted and forceful — not represented by Bennett’s flailing around the table. More attention should be given to refining these somewhat minor patterns that make up an incredible portion of the text. Away from the lexical and more towards character psychology, there are also inconsistencies in terms of the specific relationships characters share but also in their political thinking and general behaviour patterns. The most intrusive example of this centres on the character of Billy (EM Williams) and their interactions with Aarron. Clearly, Leilah and Billy know each other, and by the ease with which the characters interact with one another and the fact that Aarron is Leilah’s boyfriend, we can infer that Billy and Aarron must know each other, too. Billy starts by talking about queer sex, and we see that Aarron is made uncomfortable by this, but it is simply a mere discomfort. When Billy states that they identify neither as a girl nor a boy, Aarron’s reaction is violent and intimidating — though, in both the text and Bennett’s performance, such a violent reaction seems to come too late after Billy’s admission — and Aarron proceeds to call Billy a ‘freak’. If someone has such homophobic/transphobic beliefs and feels the confidence to bully the subject of their phobias, it is unlikely that they would stay silent when queer sex — the most blatant of queer topics — should arise. As I wrote above, the characters obviously know each other, and so it is also confusing as to why this would be a revelation for Aarron, especially considering how openly, bluntly and militantly Billy voices their views. Billy is clearly intimidated by this interaction, backing away, lowering their head, and they later also jump aback off their chair when angering Aarron by informing him that his friend, Jack, is in hospital…yet, they continue to speak about queer topics. As soon as there is a sense of such a lack of safety in an environment, a queer person who is likely to be intimidated in such a manner would most likely not continue to voice their opinions in the fear of being attacked, especially without so much as glancing over to see if the danger persists. However, more importantly, I doubt very much that someone as political as Billy, who has no problem vocalising their views to whomever they meet, and who continues to do so after this intimidation, as I have just written, would back down so easily. These irregularities make for a huge illegibility in character, and the characters thus become fickle, vapid, voiceless and compromised over time. And this is not an issue specific to Billy’s character. Somehow, Maisey’s ‘reductionist’ and what one might refer to as white feminist or TERF and heteronormative views of sex are all thrown out of the window later… After shaming Cherrelle’s ‘stupidity’ and ‘attention-seeking’ in her sexting, or, in fact, an entire number of girls when she says that all some girls do is ‘just stay here and get pregnant’ and ‘ruin their education’ too busy ‘gossiping’ and prioritising their social life, Maisey performs a huge poem — more on that shortly — talking about how women are shamed regularly for their bodies and, more importantly, their sexual bodies, stating that she herself is ‘[taught to] hate my desires so much, I ignore what I’m needing’… It seems in these examples as though characters are not used as representations of real people with consistent emotions, feelings and beliefs; instead, they are used haphazardly as vapid tools to simply get across the socio-political thinkings of the play. Two main things happen in this poem and in the preceding stylised scene involving Leilah and Aarron: a huge and overwhelming transformation of performance style, and the introduction of heretofore-unspoken sub-themes of in-/fidelity, masturbation, menstruation…and these seem like a huge afterthought. Now halfway into the performance, such a radical shift in performance style is unwieldy and ineffective; it starts to feel as though we are watching a different performance altogether. Camp performance and extravagant dance, the introduction of poetry and spoken word, the drastic shift in lighting states and the use of tableaux vivants, all of this seems to come out of nowhere and strip the performance bare of its narrative in its rampage. ‘Breakdowns’, as I shall refer to them — where characters become anxious, angry, uncomfortable or ‘triggered’ and where lighting states and editing style change in accompaniment with scratching/thundering sound effects — become a regular occurrence and start to fill in for narrative and linear action until they replace them altogether later in the play. What was first a narrative-based play focused on the sociopolitical clashes of four opinionated and well-informed characters becomes a stylised and interpretive, mime-based performance. We now have multi-roling, microphones, a bombardment of poetry — and rather awful poetry, at that, in favour of rhyme in lieu of poignancy — and it simply feels too chaotic. Along with the last-minute additions of these new themes, catalysed in a late scene in the play where the four characters gather together, sat upon the tabletops and recite some overly energetic, out-of-character and even-more-awful poetry, this shift utterly dilutes, nay destroys, any worthwhile message to be taken from this performance. I fail to understand why we spent so much time building up an understanding of these characters and their stories, and their relation to their friend’s sexting — which, really, becomes a completely ignorable feature in the text with no effect on plot development whatsoever — if it was all just to be simply forgotten to this chaos of poetry and repetitive social discourse… Oh, and now we’re breaking the fourth wall as well! All sense of character and plot is completely lost, and it is easy to feel cheated out of money and time. It is not explained, for example, why queerphobic Aarron is now best friends with Billy, going so far as to ask them if his girlfriend, Leilah, is OK before approaching her himself, or why any of them are so close at the end, for that matter. Why is he now all over Billy’s politics, telling them they’re really good at voicing their opinions? I still have no idea what Leilah got so worked up about at the end, resulting in her anxiety attack — and I took it upon myself to watch it twice! What made Maisey confess to setting them all up or feel the need to connive against the teachers in writing the new speech for the next assembly? These are all questions that such a total avoidance of narrative leaves unanswered. It feels as if this dramatic text was failing to come to some sort of impactful, climactic and thought-provoking resolution and so blindly launched at its audience every single theatrical technique it could think of, to the detriment of the ending it wanted. Either it should have pursued a hyper-stylised performance from the very beginning, or the narrative-based text should have been left to function alone. It takes immense skill to blend the two together, and I am not convinced that such skill is present here, but I would start by recommending all loose ties be drawn together in the narrative, to leave no unanswered questions about character or plot, before stylisation gets involved with the subject matter and themes of the text. It is perfectly acceptable to use characters to present situations and themes that can then be broken down and drawn out by stylisation, but this is not what happens here. It was a terrible decision to then return to the narrative after these stylised scenes, having left out so much information about it, expecting the audience to be distant spectators, then engaged thinkers, then re-distanced again. Above all, the message we are left with is far too confused and unparticularised to feel impactful. There is an important distinction that this text fails to make, which is that between sex, sexual liberation and sexual education. The three are, indeed, interrelated to some degree, but they are dealt with in this text as though they are in direct relation with one another, as though one inevitably affects the other in crude and inelaborate ways. Some food for thought, for example, would be the distinction between anatomy classes on female genitalia vs lessons on masturbation — a distinction this text fails to make. All of this being said, however, the performers’ energy is high throughout. Visuals are engaging, and stylised scenes, however irrelevant in terms of the performance’s structure, are well organised, for the most part, when considered alone. The minimalistic and symmetrical set is pleasing to the eye and designed well enough to capture the imagination without distracting from the text, particularly the linear strips of white upon the floor which serve to chart the topography of the classroom and its surrounding architecture. And I must also note the attention to detail in props: a handwritten speech, a working mobile phone, and an actual drawing for Billy to work on are nice touches. However, again, one can see how this level of naturalism is in direct competition with the miming elsewhere and the ‘location changes’ achieved by a reorganisation of the tables, which requires a lot more imagination from the audience’s part. I cannot say that this performance is boring, because it is not. It is a fun watch, but its politics are all over the place, and its structure and style are incredibly ill-conceived. “An enjoyable performance but fraught with stylistic and structural inconsistencies.” Photography credit: Helen Murray.

This performance was part of the Wild Shenanigans Comedy Festival, staged at the Blue Elephant Theatre. It should be noted that this performance is a work in progress. Hence, this review cannot speak conclusively of its potential. A humorous duo take to the stage. One is dressed delicately in a black dress and shoal; the other, in a bulky, stout bouffon suit. They dance, their angular or fluid movements juxtaposing one another, before setting the scene of a funeral: the funeral of Anna Karenina. This is an overture surging with comedy. We Must Live appropriates Leo Tolstoy’s fictional character, Anna Karenina in a whirlwind of disorder, chaos, buffoonery and jokes. Even the performers, Julia Masli and Tatiana Collet-Apraxine, the so-called Pushkinettes are at ends with each other — one stern and decisive, the other clumsy and just happy to be there. This chaotic nature is a good tone for this work which lends its audience a faulty, broken world of havoc and distress. For its absurdity and unpredictability (at least, towards the beginning), this performance is most commendable. But this havoc is in need of definition. It seems to be limitless, covering such an array of topics and materials, even changing its structure several times, that the performance begins to lack a clear voice, personality and depth. The two have certainly refined their buffoonery very well but perhaps need to work slightly more on persona, the two personae I mentioned in the introduction of this review seeming to be unfixed and preliminary. Whilst oversized pants, for example, are immediately hilarious and point us directly to the world of the bouffon and the clown, the question of why becomes a problem for this performance. Other than creating a ridiculous silhouette, this bold decision really has little significance in this performance or for Masli’s persona. The two performers also laugh at themselves and the material quite regularly, which makes for a certain disconnection between the performer and the performance. It is unclear if the performance wants its audience to consider them as unwilling or short-falling puppets led by Anna, especially in the latter part of the performance where Anna’s voiceover plays such a big role in guiding them, or if this is unintentional and the performers are just laughing at their own work. Either way, it is worth noting that seriousness drives humour, and it is always funnier to see something so ridiculous done with severity and/or ostentatious pride. This principle was definitely understood, however, in the overture. This performance does run the risk of presenting a superfluity of unnecessary items like the tickets handed out to the audience members or certain veils, different, for example, from the rope and accordion which are interacted with decisively, creating a narrative and a mood, especially in their repetitive usage. Whilst I can see how inspirations have been drawn from Tolstoy’s novel and other representations of Anna Karenina, I think that the problem lies in the presentation of this thinking and of the character of Anna herself within this performance. To an average audience who would not necessarily understand these connections, the performance becomes very vague and dry. It is the duty of the performers to narrate the significance of and to elucidate such stories and characters, the so-called crux of this work, before deconstructing them, in order to give the performance a coherency and comprehensibility. Anna was used as a gateway into comedy, rather than the other way around, and this was clear in her manifold representatives: a personified coffin (a table), both of performers themselves, and a voiceover. I found it difficult to comprehend, for instance, how spitting water at each other related to Anna, or Masli's monstrous breaking out of the black bag, for that matter — however comical and mesmerising in their strangeness. Dance plays quite a large role in this performance, I imagine as an ode to quite recent interpretations of Anna Karenina, and it is certainly very funny initially, especially in the overture. But it soon becomes a very monotonous and untactful device and is relied on too heavily, gaining almost the status of a filler. The theme of nationality, from the moment one performer declares she is Russian and the other, French, plays a large role as well, from the accordion to the representation of a traditional Russian funeral to the recitals of Chekhov. This expands both the themes of the performance to a cultural sphere and the character of Anna to literary canons. I hope it is becoming clear now that the subject matter treated in this performance was very haphazard and inconsistent. It felt as though this performance hadn’t found its feet at all but served almost as a showcase of a huge variety of works. I personally had a strong liking towards this buffoonery we see at the beginning of the performance. I believe it would be better to refine the comedic/bouffon personae and to use these to explore a variety of settings, subjects and, with care, cultural peculiarities. Even the description of this performance, which details the celebrities "sitting amongst the audience", contrasts with the performance itself which definitely omits these details. I should also make a last note that audience interactions were quite cheap and ineffective and need not have even featured in this performance. A spectator should only have an active role if this serves as irreplaceable and crucial to the performance. Even absurdity has a predictable, coherent sphere in which it operates. It is crucial to know the limits and bounds and also the nature and the voice of one's performance. I felt that this performance fell short of a clear, coherent and cogent end. “Hilarious and endearing in places; confounding, disappointing, even shambolic in others.”

Before writing this review, I shall note that this performance is one of a short series where its host and its outcome change every night. Therefore, this review, considering the performance of 13th June 2019, cannot speak conclusively of the series in its entirety but only of its structural and performative specificities. The guest host of this night, Brian Lobel, was superb; his comedic timing was perfect, and his energy was boundless. Lobel definitely made this a night to remember and added flavour and vitality to the performance. However, his stumbling over the text became quite frequent, and the excuse, "I'm just so excited", became rather overused and aggravating over time. Similarly, the energy of the performance was enabled to drop at various times due to his inaction; for instance, the long, vapid silences as he writes icons down on a whiteboard for contestants to guess. Moments like these should have been amped with suspenseful/quirky music to keep the energy going or something of that nature. As for the other performers, Emily Aboud, Bisola Alabi and Salome Wagaine, who were also the creatives behind Exceptional Promise, I felt that more opportunities to show and exude personality should have been provided, particularly given that their personalities are the main dictators of the result of the performance where audience members must choose their favourite contestant. Nothing particularly worth mentioning stood out about these performers, but all were sufficiently energised and engaged with the content and material of the performance well, especially Emily Aboud. This performance aimed to depict the lack of security non-British citizens face daily in Britain when seeking and ascertaining residence in this country. This aim was not by any means successful. Using the format of a gameshow to express poignant sociopolitical issues is an intriguing and positively estranging premise, enabling spectators to view a hard-hitting subject through self-reflective, rose-tinted colonialist eyes. By normalising, naturalising and glorifying society's dark ills, spectators are permitted to recognise the corruption behind and the significance and pertinence of these hard-hitting issues. In this performance, however, these issues featured very little, which is odd given their supposed importance. I believe that this performance suffered from a vast lack of research, minimising the sociopolitical voice which so apparently forges and perforates the performance's subject matter, and accentuating a pleasing and harmless gameshow. The performance, though enjoyable, hence felt rather fruitless and did the opposite to what it intended to do; its upbeat tone enabled the pressing issues to pass subtly past identification and to figure, instead of as the heart and the message of the performance, as an undertone or one of just many underlying sub-themes. The issue at hand became, instead, a means to an end of comedy and entertainment... A mere mentioning of 'Article 21' or how bad Lunar House is was not enough to convey any political aims. To me, this just seemed as though yet another reflection of the predominant theme of housing — and housing alone. Other themes of inequality were used in a similar way, most notably in Emily's "plea" where she includes her homosexuality as a reason for the audience to vote for her, claiming that it is unsafe for her to live in other countries as a homosexual. This is, yet again, a surefire way to both discredit and overplay real social issues and should be carefully reconsidered. It is most regressive to use one's homosexuality to gain pity or to produce comedy, as in this performance. This imbalance of clarity and matter was not only reflected in synopses and descriptions of the performance but also in the set which was rather simple in its topography and design. Not only did the overly ostentatious drapes of silver tinsel not cohere visually with the golden ladders and houses, the cottonwool clouds and the black flat-screen TV, but the buzzers were not connected well at all to the tech and often made for awkward pauses where performers either doubted themselves or kept pressing them in the hopes a sound would arise. This dropped the energy quite regularly and minimised the effect of that all-pervasive gameshow style. The rent bench, though obviously an area for the eliminated, was introduced very weakly and seemed incoherent with the performance. Contestants could have simply left the performance space altogether, and the effect would have been exactly the same. The reasons for which contestants remained on stage — and conferred with the host at random intervals — was perplexing to me. I should also probably note that keeping the "property ladder" and the "dream house" so close to the lighting, especially being made with cotton wool, seems like quite a fire hazard to me, though I do not wish to discredit the risk assessments done for this performance. On the topic of tech, the technical aspects were overly complex and again rather fallible in their coherence. The different-colour spots on the contestants were overkill and unnecessary but also rather invisible given the natural wash on the stage. Towards the end of the performance, just after "The Plea", these were the only lights on stage, and their sombre intensity made it very difficult to see the performers. Sound cues were few and far between until the middle-end of the performance where they were used repeatedly and emphatically. This lack of consistency amplified the absence of texture in this performance. As previously noted, tech rarely matched up with buzzers, dialogue and other elements of this performance. Especially with improvisational work, unless precision and timekeeping is perfect, it is imperative — and much more effective — that all tech cues be minimal. Often, tech should be used solely to accentuate existing elements of the performance or of the dramatic text, and rarely to add its own texture and energy to these, both for the performance's and the tech operator's benefit. The role and function of audience participation in this performance should be strictly reconsidered. Whilst Lobel's constant interaction with audience members — especially one in particular to whom he offered a drink of champagne — invited audience participation distinctly and effectively, it is imperative to have control over one's audience, to keep them tame but also to indicate their role emphatically. There were many moments during the performance where spectators shouted out when they were not supposed or where they quite boldly stated their disapproval or confusion with an element of the performance — which, it should be noted, happened increasingly throughout. A threat to subtract points if audience members call out the answers is not enough to elucidate their exact role. Just how ineffective and unclear this participation was was demonstrated in moments, particularly towards the end, where audience votes and opinions dictated the outcome of the performance. These moments were clamorous and loud, and for a performance seemingly depending on audience vote, a more effective way to ascertain the majority's leanings should be devised. The constant audience interaction also subtracted severely from the action and momentum of the performance regularly. I shall end this review on a severe note. To encourage themes of animal abuse or extermination of creatures is vile, revolting and unethical. The structure of the specific round wherein contestants are to recount a horror story at a previous address and for which I imagine that the so-called improvisation has been pre-planned, quite naturally implies a lean towards such themes, as accentuated at the end of the performance where pest control is offered to the final losing contestant and by the host's coercing the audience members to contribute similar stories. This structure and its implications should be sharply reconsidered, and hosts should be better briefed on what themes are acceptable and how far they can stray off of the script. It is not effective, entertaining or challenging to speak of such matters without thorough subversion, satire or self-referential correction. It is not the job of theatre to regress sociopolitical matters and ideologies or to promote immoral and negative anthropocentric activity but to challenge, to critique, to rectify and to ameliorate society's ills. “A very inadequate and incomplete performance failing to meet its objectives or to find its feet, however comical it may be.”

Unable to review the first two weekly performances of the West End Drive In, I start reviewing three weeks in, with the expectation, given that we are now halfway into the show’s run (19th February to 21st March), to be absolutely blown away by West End talent, by professionals at the top of their game… this was not the case. The West End Drive In is highly disappointing, I must say. Talent seems to be fleeting; organisation — from camera operation to staging to music cues — is, in places, rather dreadful, with a total lack of preparation for British weather and how this might affect performance; a clear lack of rehearsal; and a devastatingly bland and jumbled lineup of music lacking theme, structure and relevance. But there is one beacon of hope, someone of whom I shall speak very highly in this review, and that is the hostess, Shenay Holmes. Holmes knows not only how to hype up a crowd but is a tremendous performer, bringing vitality, energy and experienced and intelligent vocals to the stage. It is clear as to why she has been chosen to host. The only thing I would quickly add here is that introductions of the performances to come often need to be a lot more particularised and tailored. However, when she first enters onto the stage, the choice of music she sings is…interesting. On the West End Drive In website and in advertisements, descriptions state: ‘Each week stars from the biggest West End shows will perform your favourite musical theatre hits – live on stage!’ Nowhere in descriptions does it state that pop songs shall be sung…and so I think it is perfectly viable to be confused when Holmes starts to sing ’Single Ladies’ by Beyoncé, or when Sophie Evans later sings ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’. In fact, songs that don’t originate from the West End come up quite frequently in this performance, with songs like ‘Part of Your World’ from Disney’s The Little Mermaid or ‘Let It Go’ from Frozen. What is surprising to me where Frozen songs are concerned is that there is no mention whatsoever of Frozen the Musical purported to hit the stage in August this year. Instead, the focus remains on Holmes’s love for Disney Plus, making the song rather irrelevant to the show’s cause. Famous songs from musical films are not the same as musical numbers from the West End, nor are pop songs, and so it is very easy, considering that guests spend up to £71.55 per ticket (not including food that may be purchased on-site) to feel cheated out of their money. I was simply confounded as to why there were not more actual West End musical numbers…did we buckle under copyright legislations? Did we not know that many musicals? What happened?! Wanting to know if I’d missed anything, I went through the process of purchasing a ticket to see what the ordinary non-press-ticket-holder would see, and there was no mention whatsoever of which ‘stars’ would be performing on this night, nor was there any mention that nearly all of the songs would be taken from the musical Wicked, with almost all performers originating from its cast. Instead, the description reads (noting also the quotation referenced above): ‘Previous guests include stars from The Lion King, Hamilton, Les Miserables, Everybody’s Talking About Jamie, Six, Waitress, Phantom Of The Opera, Wicked and many more [sic]’. All of the limited information we are provided seems to hint that we are to expect a night full of classic hits from various West End musicals, a concert full of songs from these various musicals listed and perhaps ‘many more’. A night full of Wicked songs, as good as that sounds, is not what is advertised when purchasing a ticket. I would recommend this be changed but also that future guests be aware that performances might be very limited in terms of content –– and that you might simply be in for a night of songs from Disney films! Most West End stars play the same role continuously every night for multiple years in a row, and this really shows when the so-called stars in this performance chance their luck and sing something from a musical in which they have not performed officially themselves. Otherwise strong singers and performers seem to have thrown themselves out of their comfort zones, and not to mention their vocal ranges, to tackle songs with which we would, and perhaps should, never associate them. It becomes clear quite early on in this performance that training is what makes their voices so melodious elsewhere and that stars of Wicked, for example, should probably stick to Wicked songs, or, at the very least, get a second opinion before bringing a personal favourite to the stage with very little evidence of rehearsal. This brings me to a certain pet peeve involving Sophie Evans specifically. Evans misses her cue for her first song, then makes fun of the fact that she has missed her cue, then, in a duet, turns to Alice Fearn and says, ‘I hope I remember the words’, to which Fearn replies, ‘So do I’. This is an outrageous display of nonchalance and complete lack of professionalism and preparation. Guests do not want to pay over £70 for an ex-Wicked star who has been ‘caught off guard’ and forgotten her lyrics! And thankfully, she had not, but we would expect at least one rehearsal before taking to the stage after grabbing our money… Music cues on the whole are often ill organised, in fact; I would recommend waiting until performers have actually reached the stage before starting the music! As referenced above, I had problems with all of the singers’ vocals, barring Holmes. Laura Pick missed her notes regularly throughout the entirety of the performance, her voice often cracking when her pitch changed; Emma Hatton, also missing her notes in places, had bad diction, her voice fading off prematurely after crescendoes; and Alice Fearn replaced ‘belting’ with shouting in her subpar rendition of ‘Let It Go’. Aesthetically, the West End Drive In does not offer very much. Other than an odd and seemingly irrelevant secluded section filled with disco-balls and buried in the top-right back wall of the stage, there is little to catch the eye. I was also displeased to find that there was no roof on the stage… Why was this a problem? Well, it meant that performers had to hold umbrellas. With the exception of one performance from Hatton, which I shall detail shortly, all performers –– again, excluding Holmes –– had such little physicality, and this was particularly the case for Fearn who emoted only through one flat-palmed hand. This meant that now holding an umbrella, all performers simply swayed from side to side, like a pathetic dad dance at a family disco. These are West End performers; I would expect more than a side-step and an outreaching hand. There is no costume, no lighting, no props –– which, in theory, would be fine, but it just means that there is so little to serve as visual appeal. Back to that one performance by Hatton. This is a rendition of ‘No Good Deed’ from [you guessed it…] Wicked. Rather unintentionally, I presume, Hatton’s viridescent dress billowed in the wind as she sang –– in key! –– with high energy and emotion. The only song in the entire production sung by the guest stars that actually had a repertoire of meaningful movement and vitality as well as visual appeal, not to mention that Hatton actually changed her dresses between songs. Some sense of aesthetic was really nice to salvage here. Although, perhaps this should come more naturally to a performance, rather than being alluded to by Hatton: “Definitely the right dress for that song, wasn’t it?” Such successful moments should feel a lot more intentional and organic, not a jokey surprise to the performer. What is more, it is a shame that Fearn could not match this performance with the more-significant, awaited rendition of ‘Defying Gravity’. I should probably mention here, too, that the rain not only affected the side-stepping performers but also the camera… After we witness the second camera struggling to find that very same secluded section of the stage, even though the previous performance had taken place in that exact location, the first camera ends up covered in rain. Really?! No rain cover, no hood? People are expected to pay £15 for a camera that cannot find its subject, another blurred by rain, and performers who cannot hold a note…? Dreadful. Overall, an alright afternoon to ‘get your groove on’ to some music, so to speak, but nothing worth the money or journey in the rain. The sort of calmer local park charity vibe where talking to a friend, walking a dog or having a go at the lucky dip holds more interest than the otherwise background and ambient music on stage. In other words, bring a book to keep yourself entertained. “A dreadfully plain and disorganised production that really ought to up its game.”

As the audience unfurl into the studio, they are met with a desk swamped with boxes and papers, and a bookcase stacked with books on Tony Benn which later find themselves in Philip Bretherton's (playing Tony) hands, leaking into the space. Bretherton then enters through a door at the back of the stage holding a mug, wobbling towards the desk. Immediately, the set has clearly and effectively put us in the study of a mature intellectual gentleman, but there is also a sense of homeliness; this is not a typical working office. For this, the set design was successful, if a little static, especially with one dominant lighting state. Though my attention is drawn to that egocentric collection of books. With the crowded desk and bookcase, we have an image of Tony Benn being surrounded by his own intellectual work — which is, of course, congruous with the plot which sees Tony reflecting on achievements, memoirs and histories — but already there is a sense of self-importance, arrogance and saintliness, a notion which I shall return to towards the end of this review. It is worth noting here that all of these books had the same two covers, further intensifying this arrogance. It is important to carefully consider, if this was not, and I imagine it was not, the intended impact, that everything put on stage has significance and meaning and should not be seen as haphazard or for ease. I did mention that this set was rather static, but certain scenes, e.g. the mimetic use of the torch and the changing of the lightbulb during the power cut, helped to displace and refocus the spectator’s otherwise stationary gaze. However, this stasis meant that momentum relied heavily on dialogue and also tech. Before I continue to the writing, however, I shall first talk about characterisation. Bretherton's characterisation provided a quirky and idiosyncratic reading of Tony Benn’s personality. The manner in which he spoke, his voice and intonation, seemed uncannily similar to and representative of the real Tony Benn’s. His fragile, feeble and jittery physicality was charming as well as piteous, though I am not sure how representative this was of Benn himself who, as far as I can tell, was rather stable in his mobility until the end of his life. There were a few moments that could have been made clearer. One of these is centred primarily around Bretherton's sight line and mode of address. Until the middle of the play, I had not realised that Tony was recording his memoirs into the dictaphone; instead, I read this as Tony speaking to his late wife, Caroline, in a spiritual or reflective manner — either that or an overt soliloquy. I thought this because Bretherton's eyes simply remained fixated upon the desk until every so often where he addressed his soliloquies to the audience. There was no introduction to what he was actually doing. This is a major problem. A quick salutation at the beginning to introduce this dictation or a more decisive and less ‘floaty’ address would have solved this problem. I only realised the real intention of this when Tony began flipping the tapes, leaning forward and addressing the dictaphone directly. Furthermore, with scenes such as the ‘seat-case’ scene, it is difficult to gauge if certain narratives are flashbacks or more dictated anecdotes. This distinction would have been facilitated by a change in lighting state. On to the writing (Andy Barrett). The writing for this play was appropriately anecdotal. Barrett successfully captured the vulnerability and soft, intimate side of an otherwise powerful and opaque public figure, and his writing is certainly endearing and potent. There is a sense of relatability as we see the personal reflections and humanly quotidian of a now somewhat elusive persona. However, without the few displacements that I mentioned earlier, the structure is rather monotonous and heavy. Whilst the vast majority of the text is reflective and essentially nostalgic, there are moments that seem intrinsically different. These moments depict Benn as preachy and dictator-like. Whilst the real Benn himself was definitely strong-willed, outspoken and a definite leader, this aspect seems out of place in the setting of this particular play as he is leaving his memoirs for his children. Perhaps this recurrent and severe change was due to characterisation and was heavier than intended, but this seems not to be the case. I believe this vulnerability and lovability of Tony Benn was perhaps a little over-romanticised, both through the writing and characterisation but even through the set. The play certainly fixated upon his peculiarities and eccentricities as he marvels at outmoded apparatuses, rummages for breakfast bananas, and fumbles along the stage in a ‘Say NO Poll Tax 1381’ T-shirt concealed by a robe. I also mentioned earlier in this review Bretherton's use of the torch during the power cut, and this was accompanied by a short sequence of childish mime. These elements noted, I cannot be sure how much of Tony’s figure is rooted in authentic, factual and biographical material and how much is an imagination or glorification of a politician who, so it seems, shares the same views as the play’s creators. The writing constantly shifts focus from anecdotal to political, and not in a cohesive, fluid manner. It is difficult to understand the reason for the focus of this character and the objective of the play. Is this the representation of an interpretation of a political figure or is Tony Benn being used as a vehicle for airing political matters? I sense that these conflicting representations are perhaps a matter of secondhand experience through media and written representations of the real Tony Benn. Whilst I understand that it is impossible to separate Benn from his political engagements and hence believe that these should feature in his representation, I think that there is a tension in whether the dramatic text is a voice of didacticism or of partial celebration and reminiscence. This play definitely appealed to a maturer audience with the reception of dialectical, ironic or comedic references being subjective to experience. For these visibly avid spectators, the play seemed to be highly successful and powerful both in its content and delivery. Perhaps I am a little biased in my reviewing, but judging the play on the performance’s execution, coherency and technical efficacy alone, I can only let surface any inconsistencies or irregularities, those which I have mentioned. “A quirky and intimate performance but one which struggles to convey a clear and thorough objective.”