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.”

In this review: Summary: The Twilight Hour 'Misfortune' 'Take the Wheel' 'Smart Home' 'The Human Touch' 'Pie in the Sky' 'Can I Change My Mind?' I have said before that compound theatre, performances composed of several playlets, seems to be one poignant way forward for the dramatic arts. Not only is the audience's attention span increased but an ability to present a wide range of performance styles and stories under one strong theme is engendered as well. Before I begin this review, I must commend theatre production company Second Self's work in making this performance a reality. It is never easy to stage multiple plays, no matter how short each of them may be, and this should be recognised. This particular production, The Twilight Hour, comprised six playlets. These include: 'Misfortune', 'Take the Wheel', 'Smart Home', 'The Human Touch', 'Pie in the Sky', and 'Can I Change My Mind?'. I shall start by reviewing the overall night and then each individual playlet one by one. The Twilight Hour I do not usually mention audience layout, but I feel that for this performance, this is necessary. For this performance, each audience member is given a laminated piece of paper with a number printed on it corresponding to a preassigned table in the auditorium. These tables are reminiscent of dining theatre. I am mentioning this because I felt that this not only created an unnecessary spatial narrative but also cluttered the auditorium, which was particularly problematic in moments where actors walked through the audience. Seat allocation, when done in this manner, is more suitable for didactic theatre or game theatre wherein audience layout plays a very particular role. The tables, whilst a nice idea, caused the house to seem hemmed-in. This was the same, or more so, for those sat on the raised platform at the back of the auditorium. Unwanted pressures could have been caused within the audience in this layout, where a simple end-on would have sufficed. Audience layout aside, this performance definitely had some very likeable qualities…but also some avoidable issues. Despite a very minimal set, reused from play to play, each short play managed to convey its world through its own definitive, and hence effective, aesthetic. This was enhanced by a somewhat efficacious lighting design and with various props - although, these regularly felt overused. As for performance style, there tended to be a lot of needless mime and direct audience address. If one wishes to address the audience, this must be for a very, very precise reason. For example, one might, in the case of didactic theatre again, address spectators to evoke their opinions or judgements which would help the progression of the performance in terms of its focus and direction. To address the audience without clear significance and reason, however, should always be avoided, as this takes away from the self-contained and inherent world of the play whilst also creating a sense of tension amongst a now-unsettled audience. Additionally, certain actors' energies juxtaposed too harshly with those of others. This led to a confused performance style that teetered between mime, melodrama, naturalism and simply wooden acting. In considering this performance's style, one inevitably lands at the character of the Host, played by Matthew MacLachlan, the lines for whom were written by Andrew Crook. MacLachlan, whose chosen voice was reminiscent of a sort of American vampire, took on this role rather well, consistent and energetic throughout. I will say, however, that I found it too difficult to differentiate MacLachlan's Host from his initial character, Barry. I felt that he should have either continued as Barry throughout the performance or have taken on a completely different persona. The Host's occasional talk of Barry in the third person simply drew more attention to the lack of movement from one character to another. Also worth noting about the Host is his regular mini magic tricks. Whilst these were, as magic is, endearing, I could not help but feel that they were rather out of place in this performance, employed simply for easy mystery and shock factor, having no real significance or relevance in the play. “A good night, if lacking some topographical and performative refinement.” 'Misfortune' Written by Mark Harvey Levine. Directed by William Ribo. As alluded to in my summary of the night itself, Matthew MacLachlan's characterisation of Barry was extremely peculiar, in quite a positive way. I think an issue arises, however, in the range of acting styles of all three onstage performers. Whilst MacLachlan went for a more caricaturistic approach, I could not help but feel that Ruchi Ranjan's characterisation of Stephanie was rather lacklustre. There was a definite problem with intonation, motivation and change of mood. For example, there is a moment towards the end of this short play where Stephanie picks up a knife from her table and accuses Barry of cheating. Whilst this could have been comical, Ranjan's 'dramatic' and somewhat random change of attitude seemed very incongruous with the plot's natural flow. Then, we have Rachel Fenwick (playing the waitress, Cindy) who performed much more naturalistically. Whilst I felt that Fenwick's expressions of exasperation or frustration were rather wooden, the rest of her performance was realistic. This interplay of extreme, naturalistic and underdone made the overall performance very mismatched and inarticulate. There were also moments in this short play that I found rather clumsy. For example, Fenwick's miming of serving other customers seemed as though a lazy ode to the setting of a restaurant. If a character has no need to be on stage, they should not be at all. The dialogue between a customer and a waitress is enough to produce the audience's imagination of a restaurant setting. Having limited her character's movements to simply entering and exiting the stage would have better accentuated the sense of her frustration. Another awkward moment arose in the opening of the cardboard box. To avoid the lid swinging open when it was supposed to be taped shut, as it did, why not actually tape it shut? Opening this with the knife would have been a matter of a mere few seconds added on and would have, again, added to her frustration as well as to the comedic tension of the scene. Little features such as these, as well as empty drinking glasses, take away from the credibility of a performance. The plot of this performance was quite predictable, but this fed into its comedic quality. The end, however, I felt was rather poorly executed and teetered towards dramatic where, in my view, it would have been better as an exaggerated comedy. The minute gunshots and the quiet screams should have been an overdramatic wail and gunfire. The waitress admitting she may have swapped the bill was unneeded, as this was clear anyway. A simple and crude "Oh, sh*t!", blackout, would have done the trick nicely. I would recommend staying far away from literalisation and approaching the work, in this case, more exaggeratedly, permitting the writing to laugh at itself, as it were. This is a style into which the abundance of fortune cookies and MacLachlan's characterisation of Barry - even if this bled into that of the Host - flooded nicely. “A comical premise but needing fastidious work on style and comedic exaggeration.” 'Take the Wheel' Written by Will Cooper. Directed by Rebecca Tenor. I have to say that this play, unfortunately, was my least favourite, placing nothing on stage but the utter basics of a utilitarian dilemma. Beginning with the sound of rain and Mr Business (Kelvin Giles) miming entering a taxi, of which Frank (Hugo Trebels) was the driver, and closing an umbrella, this short play had already made errors for me. The sound (operated by Stu Glover, along with lighting) was poorly controlled at this moment, not muffling at the moment when the 'door' was 'closed' by Giles but a few seconds after, and mime was simply overused in Mr Business entering the taxi and Frank 'driving' it. Mime has a very particular effect and produces a sort of abstraction, drawing upon the audience's imagination but also telling a story in a physical way. When mime precedes a more realistic performance style, it seems wildly out of place. Done in a quick, nonchalant and natural way, mime can perhaps serve a better function alongside naturalistic acting, but, as in this opening, drawn-out and performed mime simply tarnishes the credibility of a performance. I would have suggested other ways for this opening to have been done, but I am afraid I have to say that it would have been better to simply cut it altogether. With the off-putting mime and the constricted and repetitive dialogue due to Mr Business ignoring Frank, this scene just felt unnecessary and bland. It would have been, for me, far more interesting to start with Frank already on stage with Mr Business and Miss TV (Payal Muquesh), being interrogated by them, confused. This would have created more suspense and tension. Where is he? Why is he there? Who are these people? The taxi about to crash would have been implicit and understood through dialogue. As it was, the taxi scene was just rather boring, both technically and rhythmically. As for characterisation, I felt that Giles's performance of Mr Business in the mind of Frank was far too wild, and the same goes for Muquesh's Miss TV. Whilst I understand that this scene is meant to be tense, dramatic and mad, I felt this was a literal interpretation of those adjectives. These contrasted too greatly as well with Trebels's almost nonchalant underperformance. Dialogue was repeated far too often, things like: "He looks confused", and "He doesn't know why he's here", and "Come on, Frank, choose one of us to kill." It seemed to lack depth, and when depth did finally surface, it was in allusions to racism and fatherly love, the latter of which felt an easy and obvious route to go down for Frank's character. The end, with the Copper (Stuart Walker) and the Paramedic (Amina Khan), seemed more tense and dramatic than the main body of this short play. I do not know if the director, Rebecca Tenor, wanted to use two very different performance styles to represent two different worlds, inside and outside Frank's head, but the two did not seem to work, either way. Also, in terms of costume, I could not understand why the Copper was in complete police attire whilst the Paramedic was in average clothes and a hi-vis jacket. The attention to detail of one and not the other seemed very off-putting. Furthermore, whilst the dialogue in this scene was alright, the revelation that Miss TV was, in fact, Frank's daughter just seemed as though the writing was trying to be too dramatic. It had little to no effect. “A rushed piece of theatre with little creativity.” 'Smart Home' Written by Jake Guastella. Directed by Olivia Stone. In this performance, Nicole Grace's characterisation of Nina was endearing but quite corny. If her monologue denoted sadness, she was sad; frustrated, she was frustrated. There was nothing implied or passive. Everything was very direct. This was perhaps due to the writing, but I believe it still could have been interpreted more fluidly. Ryan O'Grady's characterisation of Graham was OK but also lacked realism in places. Whilst minimal, the set, comprising blankets on the floor and a bag and CDs Stage Right, alluded simply and effectively to an untidy, lived-in house. There were two props, however, I thought took away from the performance's realism. The bag on the floor was taken by Graham who comes for his CDs; however, it would have made more sense and have been more realistic for him to enter with a bag rather than to take the pre-allocated one on the floor. Next, Alexi, a cylinder covered in aluminium foil representative of a smart-machine. Whilst looking nothing like a smart-machine, I felt that it was needless to have a physical representation of Alexi (Tori Perriss). An ominous voice over, looming over the stage and in the audience's minds, would have been far more effective. The concept of this short play was very endearing and likeable. Perhaps the writing and its realisation were a little direct, though. For example, I felt it would have been more effective to hear, as Nina leaves her room to take a bath, a voice message from Graham play aloud, followed by a simple "Message deleted." This would have shifted the focus onto Alexi, better enhancing her treachery. As it stood - with Nina exiting the stage, Graham entering to leave his message and exit again, Nina re-entering - these scene changes served as quick and clumsy transitions, taking away from dramatic flow. “An endearing concept but in need of a more insidious undertone.” 'The Human Touch' Written by David Vazdauskas. Directed by Elif Knight. The most notable thing about this performance was definitely its fiery aesthetic. The red wash provided a rather psychedelic visual to this play, reflecting off of the drinking glasses on the table and reinforced by features such as Lexi's (Elif Knight) LED glasses and bleached-blond wig. This definitely gave the piece an otherworldly feel. As for costume, I felt that there was a nice contrast between the tightness of Lexi's leather outfit and Sam's (Mark Parsons) rather downbeat, childish shorts and T-shirt. Whilst I felt that this captured - what I could grasp of - the characters, I cannot say the same for the dialogue. The writing of this play was very samey throughout. The same premises were touched over and over by the two characters: Lexi's repetitive questions and Sam's reiteration of robots/computers and lack of human interaction. These ideas seemed to swamp the dialogue singlehandedly. Towards the end, however, this univocal dialogue became much more enriched, especially with Lexi's slip-ups in cursing Siri. Both Parson's and Knight's characterisations were quite good, especially with tiny quirks such as Sam's stress ball and Lexi's computer-operating, but this was with the exception of Knight's stiffness towards the end. It seemed as though the closer the revelation of Lexi being a computer came, the stiffer and less naturalistic she became — but not in an effective, computerised way. After having being outed as a computer, Knight also started to speak in a staggered, robotic voice. I felt this was extremely unnecessary. It would have been much more chilling to know that she is a computer yet have her speaking like and seeming as though a human. The physical interaction between the two characters was effective but perhaps lasted too long. Furthermore, Parsons's walking through the audience was incredibly messy, having no effect other than causing audience members to shuffle their chairs fallibly out of the way amongst the other narrow tables and chairs. “Visually powerful and conceptually good but lacking refinement in execution.” 'Pie in the Sky' Written by Susan Goodell. Directed by Layla Se-Eun Kim. This was a very good piece. Though I felt that William's (Ryan Ferrarin) jokes about Flossie quickly lost their comedy in their repetition, all characters had a very clear personality, and the desires of William and Kimberly (Nyiri Karakas) were very distinct and amusing. This is one of two short plays in this collection that really nailed energy. The deadpan personality of Flossie (Kate Havord) and the excitability of William and Kimberly worked well together in concept as in practice. However, that is not to say that there were not certain moments where realism could have been better achieved. The plot was very interesting, if a little unidirectional, and the subliminal significance of the second pie eaten by Kimberly added a nice texture to the ending. Props were used well and when needed - Cindy's notepad, William's phone, the pies, etc. - avoiding that awkward mime or prop-overuse found in the other plays and adding a sense of naturalism to the performance. Dialogue did, however, let this performance down slightly. It was very samey. Furthermore, there was a moment towards the end of this short play where Flossie referenced a doctor who was dining at the restaurant. In reality, this was the Host stood in the audience eating a piece of pie. This physical representation was unnecessary and also added a slight confusion to the Host's character...why is he a doctor? It just seemed that one had noticed a referenced character in the writing and thought that it would be a good idea to use the Host to represent this; yet, a simple gesture to an imaginary doctor elsewhere on the stage, or off, would have sufficed. Other than that, a good performance. “A treat to watch.” 'Can I Change My Mind?' Written by Jon Platt. Directed by Glenn Gaunt. This was by far the most polished and refined playlet of the night. Characterisation was down to a tee: the flippant professionalism of Dr Alison Cline (Carol Ellis), the cantankerousness and intelligence of Nigel Newton (Chris Coxon), and the cocky idiocy of Jack Sweeney (Barney White). The clear concept of these characters created a depth and variety that was very intriguing and efficacious. Each performer performed with an impressive energy and clear understanding of their character, especially White who performed with high physicality and transformativity. With the exception of Ellis's cheap mime of looking out of the window at the press outside - which could have been replaced with a simple brushing herself down, straightening her clothes, etc. to hint at her reception outside - the performance held a certain naturalism that was captivating and real. Costume fed into character well, a tweed suit for Nigel, a white uniform for Dr Cline and a laid-back tracksuit for Jack. Simplicity for efficacy was definitely inherent in this play, also true of the white aesthetic handed over from Dr Cline's costume, the MacBook and the sheet draped over the chair, which put us simply and effectively in a clinical setting. The writing for this short play was astounding. No dialogue was superfluous and everything seemed to be done for a specific reason. The plot twist of Nigel's mind being copied as opposed to transferred and the idiocy of Jack in failing to understand the surgical procedure and its implications were very clever directions for this story. The writing also gave the impression that there was more to this world than what was realised in play, serving as powerful storytelling. “A very good and upstaging piece of theatre.”

The Orchestra, directed by Kristine Landon-Smitho and currently performing at the Omnibus Theatre, is TeatroLatino’s adaptation of L’Orchestre by Jean Anouilh, translated by Jeremy Sans. Being a farce, there are many unrealistic elements to Anouilh’s text: the instrumentalists’ ability to hear each other speaking over their music, and the extended interludes between their performances; a self-obsessed manager’s lack of care for a dead employee; etc. Farces, particularly absurdist ones like this, require chaos and increasing momentum. Otherwise, they require a certain nonchalance that treats absurd and peculiar goings-on as natural and calculated. In places, this adaptation’s performance style treated this farce appropriately. One particular moment treating this nonchalance, for instance, sees Madame Hortense (Amanda Osborne) hand large sombrero-like hats out to the instrumentalists who put them on without reaction or complaint. This blasé acceptance of something so strange is humorous – and did receive laughter from the audience too. Moments like these were effective. However, on the whole, this adaptation treated the farcical elements of the play rather blandly. Besides Stefania Licari (playing Suzanne Delicias) and Pedro Casarin (playing Monsieur Leon), actors performed rather reservedly, their characterisations and movements simplistic, repetitive and restricted. In this way, the comedy came mostly from the text rather than the performers. For example, whilst their conversation journeyed bizarrely from decorated houses and relationship problems to incontinent, baby-like elderly mothers, Luna Dai (playing Patricia) and Sarah Waddell’s (playing Pamela) personas remained exactly the same throughout: snooty and dismissive, and sober and short. Thus, their performance, more so Dai’s, remained at one level throughout. Their interactions constituting most of the play’s duration, a change in character is imperative to keep the audience both attentive and entertained. The same could be said for Charlotte Laporte (playing Ermeline), who could have become even more animated and fiery in her storytelling, and for Jessica Hulme (playing Leona), whose reactions to Ermeline’s stories could have become more and more expressive. With little lines, physicality is crucial, particularly with the topography of the stage which made action in the back less easily perceptible. If this had been a realistic play, I would say that Amanda Osborne performed frightfully well, but, again, more energy is needed in this circumstance. Diction was also a problem in this performance, especially for Dai but also for Licari. The choice to have the actors play fake instruments to the sound of music (composes by Felix Cross) was a humorous decision. However, whilst this improved towards the end of the performance and speaks less of Sarah Waddell, this miming was not synchronised to the music. This fact could have been humorous if attention was drawn to it, but as it stood, it was simply off-putting. Despite this lack of synchronisation, this miming was also managed far too realistically. It would have been much more comedic to have the performers looking forward, grinning ostentatiously towards the audience, straight after the absurd arguments and mishaps, particularly whilst wearing those ridiculous hats. When needing to converse whilst playing, characters could have then spoken through their teeth. This would have also better served the spotlights (lighting by Angus Chisholm) which felt very unnecessary during these sequences. Only in moments of minute action – e.g. if they were, in fact, talking through their teeth – are spotlights required. Used as they were, the spotlights simply made the orchestra appear broken and temporally nuanced. Finally, the musical sequence in the beginning was far too long. Overall, this performance needed to be more energised. As it stood, actors performed rather minutely and naturalistically, making the ending, an off-stage suicide and a frantic manager running through the audience, seem very out of place stylistically. Characterisation absolutely needed to be boldened and exaggerated with the plot’s progression, and this was not the case. “A humorous performance but in need of energisation and melodrama.” Photography credited to Jacob Malinski.

The full title of this performance is: Connie Wookey: Denied Under Section 221(g) of the Immigration and Nationality Act. I will start rather enigmatically by stating that I have mixed feelings about this show. Whilst, overall, I enjoyed it, I found it rather convoluted and confused. Its purpose and aims seemed unpolished and fruitless, yet its comedy and character were endearing and delightful. The initial mise-en-scène is not much to look at: a wooden train and toy aeroplane suspended from a “kid’s” keyboard and two piles of toy planes on either side. Connie Wookey, writer, director and performer of this show, stands behind the keyboard, with a head-worn microphone, its cable conspicuously — and rather hideously — trailing down her back and off the stage. Hanging behind her, a cardboard ‘Air Canada’ sign. Yet, as bland as this aesthetic was, it bore little hindrance to Wookey's performance. This was mainly due to her comical persona but also the aid of lighting which made for dynamic and energised visuals. Through an ‘autobiographical’ narrative, Wookey details the problems, troubles and distresses she has experienced with air travel. This narrative pivots on two main sub-narratives. In the first, we learn that Wookey’s family member had died in a plane crash, and we are presented the disaster Wookey experiences in travelling by aeroplane to his funeral. The second details Wookey’s denial to leave the country at an American airport. How these two relate to one another is self-explanatory; however, what confuses me is how they relate to feminist narratives of marches and borderline sexual harassment…these sub-narratives seem to go on a tangent, departing from the main focal point of the show. Whilst I would understand, and encourage, the versatility of style and material to keep an audience’s attention, these jumps felt much too incongruous. The main difficulty for me, however, was the tripartition of this show. The material quickly becomes predictable: a recount of an air travel-related disaster followed by a rendition of a pop song of which Wookey has changed the lyrics, then a recount of a somewhat impertinent personal experience. I found myself unable to grasp the significance of pop songs. As the piano arrangements themselves were rather dull, comprising only simple chord progressions, it was the vocals and renewed lyrics that carried the drama of the songs. I find it perplexing, then, as to why pop songs were used as opposed to new, original songs. This would have added quirk and personality whilst reducing the banality of the tunes we all already know. The use of pop songs simply extended the narrative to a multitude of other voices (pop stars’ voices), subtracting from Wookey’s own voice and adding a complex layer of allusions and references incongruous to the main focus of the show. I mentioned that lighting aided the narrative. Lighting had a rather semiotic purpose in this show, expanding or reducing the performance space: to the whole stage, to the house, to the ‘Air Canada’ sign… This was particularly effective in enhancing visual sequences such as Wookey utilisation of a small LED light, and helicopter and aeroplane toys as figures to describe an event in which a helicopter took pictures of the underside of her plane. For the most part, especially in moments like these, Wookey's performance was endearing and humorous. Her material was political and somewhat satirical but not too harsh. Wookey cleverly takes her audience through unfurling tales of lived experience with a bubbly and loveable persona. Wookey draws attention to aspects of everyday life, although the overarching voice piercing through this show is rather quiet. Some decisions were, indeed, quite weak and fruitless, such as the conclusion of the performance: under each audience member’s seat was a small flying glider to be assembled and thrown down to Wookey on her command. This moment was playful and mirrored Wookey's high-spiritedness, somewhat congruous with the audience interaction that had taken place throughout the show, but it was simply quite awkward. The time it took to assemble it, the switch to audience participation, etc. It was an odd if joyous decision. Yet, the majority of material, despite its repeated lack of interrelation, was highly enjoyable. To summarise, I would advise a re-evaluation of performance aims. How interrelated is the material? How seamlessly do the sub-narratives flow into each other and project from their encompassing narrative? What relationship do I sustain with my audience, and does this change too drastically at any point? “Comedic and endearing yet gritty. In need of a reduction of material.”

NB: In this review, as the characters are named after the performers, I have used forenames to refer to the former and surnames to the latter, for purposes of distinction. A hurried, nervous and excitable duo, Jonathan Parr and Eleanor Neylon (playing characters of the same name) welcome the audience into the Bread and Roses Theatre, ushering them to their seats and providing wine in plastic cups. Upon a bench covered in blue plastic wrap, a disinterested and casual Laura Vivio. She leafs through a plastic wallet, sat next to a table with plastic Evian bottles across from a large plastic sculpture veiled by a plastic bin bag. The word 'plastic' was used a lot there, you say? That is nothing compared to the explosive visual we are left with at the end of the performance when the precious sculpture is ripped to shreds and births heaps of plastic onto the stage, utterly swamping it with bottles, dishes and bags. The Enemies is a play born from a certain anthropocenic political era. But was this the message behind the play or a theme that propelled it along? The busy and interactive introduction to this play designates two things: 1. There is a direct relationship between the audience and the performer, as the audience are directly addressed; and 2. This play is to be one of high energy. Unfortunately, for me, both of these were lost almost immediately. When one decides to have a specific relationship with an audience, it is crucial to maintain this for continuity purposes as well as to ascertain that the audience know their role within the performance. Are they listeners who must be active and on their feet, engaging with the performers? Or are they passive spectators, witnesses to the action? I can only assume by the content of the performance, and by the ending in particular, that the premise of plastic consumption was to be tackled in a didactic, educative way. Do I feel that the performer-audience relationship facilitated this, however? No. Whilst the performers directly addressed the audience at the very beginning and sporadically throughout, there were huge portions of the play that shifted the focus from immersive and 'real' to distanced and fictitious. After Jonathan and Eleanor have anxiously (un)settled the audience, Laura, on stage, stands and declares that she cannot go on with the presentation for she has realised some facts that work against its cause. For a good while after this moment, there is a failure to acknowledge the audience. The fourth wall is built, so to speak, and a dialogue and narrative that distance the audience from the action ensue: the characters speak of 'the public' (i.e. the audience) who 'have yet to arrive', and an exclusive conversation begins between the characters as they dispute each other's opinions and debate the need to release newfound information. For a long while, the audience are made to watch the relationships between these characters unfurl and to hear a discussion they should not be hearing — as they have 'not yet arrived'…even though they have just been welcomed into the space and invited to ask for more wine whenever desired! A recognition of the audience is reinstated again and again as the characters interact with the audience, farcically offering even more wine, but this just makes it all the more unclear as to what the function of the audience is. As the play develops, the narrative turns its focus to the relationships between the characters: we learn that Eleanor and Laura are sisters; we see Eleanor manipulating Jonathan to side with her, tempting him with a proposition of work with The Times; and so on. However, these relationships further complicate the message — if there is, indeed, one — of the play. It is difficult to work out if the play is inspired by current actualities concerning plastic and the environment, speculating the lives of people living within such a sociopolitical context; or if the play is aiming to politicise and educate the audience on such hard-hitting moral matters. As I alluded to before, at the end of the performance, Laura has a speech that Vivio delivers standing in the middle of the audience. With her back to a great portion of them and directing it above the audience's heads, Vivio says, in summary, that we are brave if we stand by what we believe in alone and continue to do our bit [to better the environment]. So, this performance was meant to be educative! So, why the superfluous narratives amongst the information? Furthermore, if I am frank, not much information was really given. We learned one or two statistics, but the rest of the dialogue was highly repetitive and composed simply of arguments between Laura and Eleanor. The other thing I mentioned was the energy of the performers, which brings me on to characterisation and the characters themselves. This high energy at the beginning came to a peak at the end but faltered throughout. There was a stark contrast between Neylon and Parr's loud and frantic characterisation and Vivio's quiet and somewhat dry characterisation which drew attention to itself. Despite their energies, however, Neylon and Parr often fell short of depicting the intentions of their characters, for me. It was extremely difficult to work out, for example, at what moment Jonathan's opinion was changed by either Eleanor or Laura. Taking the example of Eleanor's bribing Jonathan with a work placement for The Times, Parr portrays Jonathan as utterly uninterested, making sarcastic and witty remarks. Then, suddenly, in the next scene, he is happily siding with Eleanor. But why was Eleanor's bribe so convincing, anyway? The open blouse would imply that Eleanor manipulates Jonathan through seduction, yet Neylon did not perform seductively, nor did she perform with a deceitful tone in her voice for us to say that she even manipulated him. Anger came too quickly for the two, as well, particularly for Neylon who would often erupt abruptly at Vivio. Though, I do believe this was due to the writing (by Laura Dorn) to some degree. As I mentioned before, the dialogue was extremely repetitive, a constant back and forth between Laura and the other two without any truly in-depth facts or opinions. The narrative seemed to focus primarily on their bitchy oneupmanship, which stilted the performance. Perhaps a directorial decision, however, was the stylised scene towards the end. Suddenly, Neylon is on her knees beside Parr staring up at Vivio. They are in a triangle formation. The performer at the front states their line and then they all swap anti-clockwise. After a few rotations, they start speaking certain phrases simultaneously. This was perhaps the crux of the political message of the play, but, if I am honest, I was so bewildered by the sudden change of performance style and by the growing volume of the ensemble that this message was quickly lost. And then we quickly go back to Eleanor asking Laura to retract all of her statements in order to work for the company again… On the whole, whilst this play had comedic elements — witty comebacks and an idealised plastic sculpture spilling tens of bottles onto the stage — everything about its performance style and aims was confused. Was it exaggerative and chaotic? Realistic? Stylised? Immersive? Distanced? Was it didactic and factual or dramatic and fictive? It was extremely difficult for me to allocate a clear and singular adjective to this performance, and that is what let it down the most. It felt as though it were a regurgitation of an anthropocenic dilemma mixed with fictive drama, not at all convincing. It is perfectly fine to rid a play of character, to have performers who simply embody and convey political messages. This, I feel, would have been a better angle for this performance. If not, then the entire play should have been the meeting, aiming to inform its audience, or a self-contained performance that followed the lives of two factory workers and a scientist dealing with the ills of plastic consumption. “A play hoping to set foot in a common domain yet approaching it hurriedly without true attention to potential reception.”

In this review: Summary: Secrets 'Only Professionally' 'It Was Funny the First Time' 'Just How It Is' 'Mote in Your Eye' Secrets, a night of new writing, produced by Jodi Burgess and taking place at The Lion and Unicorn Theatre in London, showcased four playwrights' pieces: 'Only Professionally', 'It Was Funny the First Time', 'Just How It Is', and 'Mote in Your Eye'. I will first start with a general overview of the night and then review each piece separately. Secrets This night was enjoyable. The overarching theme of secrets perforated every piece well, whether directly or indirectly. I would say that the theme was explored rather blandly through 'Mote in Your Eye' and 'It Was Funny the First Time', with the go-tos of secret sexualities and murders, but this had no serious impact on the enjoyability of the night. Overall, characterisation was good, and each piece had its own style and personality, feeding into its individual narrative effectively. An interesting selection. I would perhaps have considered set a tad more scrupulously, however, particularly for the extract from Megan Fellows's Telo, 'Just How It Is'. The mise-en-scène for this piece was by far superior to the others, being prop-heavy, involving technology, and having specific costume choices and a more elaborate set. Whilst this, indeed, worked well for this piece, it perhaps made the other pieces somewhat dull-looking in comparison. Yes, this piece relied more heavily on props and set than the other, more character-based pieces, but this would be something to consider. It just seemed odd, for me, to have a fully-polished extract amongst self-contained writings, and to have it treated differently in this way. Scene transitions were smooth, keeping the momentum of the night going, and lighting, in its on-off simplicity; was effective and aided this smoothness well. “A thematic and endearing night.” 'Only Professionally' by Gregory Skulnick Director: Velenzia Spearpoint Cast: Hayley Osborne (Actor) and Helen Jessica Liggat (Casting Director) This piece was very comical. The contrast of an upbeat enthusiast and an acerbic pessimist made for an interesting and engaging duo. Furthermore, the overhanging theme of nudity and rape was successful in creating an unsettling atmosphere, especially towards the end — the writing served well in this. Whilst there were the odd slip-ups on lines from Liggat, the two maintained a good characterisation throughout, each seeming to understand well their characters and their motives. The piece was very well-written, and despite its quite unnaturalistic dialogue, it maintained the small world it had created efficaciously. I liked that the Casting Director's intentions were somewhat blurred — was she a sexual abuser, or a victim of sexual abuse? And I felt this added to that unnerving ending. The only thing I felt was perhaps underworked was the Actor's progression (or, rather, regression) into accepting to forget her dignity and strip for the Casting Director. There seemed to be no real lead-up to this. Whilst the Casting Director wasn't particularly manipulative or suggestive with her words, the Actor seemed to suddenly obey her. Perhaps it was out of fear that she did this. If so, this was not clear. “A very poignant and disarming piece.” 'It Was Funny the First Time' by Ben Francis Director: Elizabeth Sian Crockett Cast: Dickon Farmar (Geoff) This piece I had mixed feelings about. The letter-writing I felt was a nice touch, subtly alluding to a sort of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy technique that Geoff might be being asked to try out. Additionally, linking the letter back to his beloved was an effective revelation, enabling us to share in his remorseful love. Its constant presence on the table was also effective in its demand to be recognised. The writing of the script itself, though I felt it possessed a somewhat naturalistic quality overall, felt unoriginal and staggered. Serial killers are so easily stereotyped in theatre, and I feel this was the case for this piece. The unsettled, volatile and erratic mind-frame of Geoff I felt to be typical, and this was further drawn attention to by Farmar's acting style. I felt it would have been more unnerving if Farmar had characterised Geoff more naturally. That is to say, if Geoff was presented as a character who spoke of his actions as completely harmless and normal, as opposed to shouting in an incessant rage, it would be more off-putting for spectators to watch; it would seem eerier and more confounding. However, Farmar's erraticism, I felt, took away from any poignancy and flew towards a mania with which it was hard to grapple and empathise (in a macabre way — for it is this comprehension that an audience would find unsettling in reflection, both on the performance and on their reactions to it). Perhaps if the characterisation had been muted a little, the writing would have worked, but, for me, it just felt too energetic. “A piece with potential but needing rework.” 'Just How It Is' - An Extract from Telo by Megan Fellows Director: Kennedy Bloomer Cast: Parys Jordan (Upstart) Thomas Mailand (Politician) As mentioned in my review of the night overall, the set for this piece was the most polished, and this, indeed, aided the performance. The dominatrix costume was comical and contrasted well with the drama of their situation and the seriousness of their occupations. Additionally, the countdown projected behind the stage added a slight tension whilst also adding a humorous texture to the anxious and time-keeping character of the Politician. As for performance, I found both of the actors' characterisations to be a little off, especially towards the end of the performance, for some reason. They both seemed rather wooden, especially Jordan; and whilst Mailand's characterisation was strong at first, his emotivity seemed to stiffen as the piece went on. The writing was good, but perhaps too focused on allusions to other characters and circumstances — though this may come across differently within the perception of the entire script, being simply an extract. Its plot was engaging and comical, and it definitely felt like an event in a sequence of scenes, which is what one would expect from an extract of a play. “Intriguing but lacking some vitality.” 'Mote in Your Eye' by Alexis Boddy Director: Jodi Burgess Cast: Sian Eleanor (Gillian) I must start by saying that the writing and concept for this piece were both superb. The mismatch texturing of monologues really captured Gillian's thought processes and the snippets of her memories as they came to her. These monologues all being pertinent to the same topic, all angles of Gillian's opinions on the matter of her sexuality and its reception were covered. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for Eleanor's performance. Her acting style felt too energetic in certain places, and yet somehow she did not convey a single change in her thought process in others. It was only through the writing that the change of memories came through. Perhaps this was a decision made by Burgess to show that the memories are merging into one climactic distress, but I felt it difficult to engage with the material because of this. Of course, I would not have preferred an overdramatic change between thoughts, as this would have also been tiring to watch, but some variation is required. A specific moment I felt to be most fallible, however, was one in which the sound effect of a car speeding off was played. Seeing as the rest of the piece had been voice-heavy, this sound effect seemed very out of place and as though from nowhere. Additionally, there was the appearance of Sonia at the end of the soliloquy. The two shared a smile and a hug, and the lights dimmed. Whilst somewhat cute in itself, the action seemed very unnecessary and just awkward, especially as Sonia had only been mentioned late into the piece. The sudden emergence of a character who wasn't strictly essential to the narrative hence seemed a little odd. “A clever piece of writing but under-executed.”