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A modern story of love, doubt, obsession and art, Cover My Tracks, directed by Max Webster and performed at the Old Vic Theatre, is an outstanding and unmissable piece of contemporary theatre. This is truly one of the best performances I have seen for a very long time. Written beautifully by David Greig, Cover My Tracks focuses on the disappearance of rock band songwriter Frank (Charlie Fink) and, moreover, its effect on the protagonist, Sarah (Jade Anouka). Whilst somewhat unnaturalistic in places in performance, Greig's language is expressive, allusive and visceral, encapsulated well by the incredible performance by Anouka. This writing is paired efficaciously with the equally evocative — and sometimes provocative — lyrics to the songs written by Charlie Fink played throughout. I shall start with music by saying that these songs had character and personality, sweet, romantic, lost and comical. Whilst, I must admit, there was a pinch of vocals that were out of key, Fink seldom faltered in his vocal performance. His voice was mellifluous and melodic and carried the music's personality. Any potential repetitiveness of his playing the guitar was alleviated by synthesised strings, and I felt this was a careful and beneficial decision. Though the music operated within a clear genre, I could not help but feel it was at times samey, using the same chord progressions, some songs sounding similar to their precedent, but this was not too much of an issue. This play has been likened to gig theatre, and I can see where this is coming from. The very first scene, Fink enters, guitar in hands and sits upon a chair behind a readied microphone. The audience hesitantly applauded — a clear indication that the room could sense a different type of set-up from the usual play. And this sense mainly came from the staging: a raised platform, and floor lights and a chord of light bulbs lying on the floor in front. And when Fink was left alone on stage, his solitude and personal lyrics created an essence of intimacy, one which could, indeed, be found at a gig. Moreover, I felt that these moments also served as a clever interlude between 'scenes', creating a sense of the passing of time for Sarah as well as relieving the audience of a demanding, physical and energetic narrative. This brings me on to characterisation. Anouka's performance was astounding. She managed to capture a vast range of emotions, seamlessly flowing between each one without awkward over-performance — a trap so easy for actors to fall into. Whilst her portrayal of anger was perhaps a bit too shouty sometimes, her transformation from one character to another was captivating, humorous and charming. The odd slip-up where one of her caricatures' voices would merge with her true character's, but this was rare. Her costume - blue dungarees, boots - conjured a childlike innocence, capturing her ponderous, obliging and sweet personality. It also gave her a sense of playfulness, complementing her gestures of climbing, dancing, and intensifying her moments of depression, lying on the edge of the stage, curled up in a ball. As for Frank's character, I felt that a real consideration of his presence was lacking quite a bit. As it stood, Frank was constantly on stage, sometimes looking at Sarah whilst she spoke to him; other times, looking away. And as he spoke he would make miniature expressions. I felt that it would have been more effective to stick with either looking or not looking at Sarah, emoting fully or not at all. I felt that the ambiguity of his being dead or alive could have been played with more, Having him silhouetted, facing away, or unlit and re-lit in specific moments would have served the nature of his elusiveness more. In other words, his presence came across as confused and ineffective. He needed either to have been presented on stage as an emotionless voice, speaking fragments from past conversations, or as a detailed moving image pulled from her memory. Additionally, as for his costume, I felt that a suit was not too reminiscent of a rock singer...the idea of their lack of interaction and static co-existence on stage, however, I felt, was most effective. As for visuals, props were kept to a serious minimum in this performance, which complemented Anouka's energy, and lighting (designed by Lee Curran) served as another reminder of that "gig" feel: cold blues and sharp whites. I thought the lighting at the end of the performance was particularly effective. The blues disappeared, representing a closure that had come to be for Sarah, and we were left with a natural wash. And when she took back to the guitar, the blue tints returned as though the memories of her performances were coming back to her. Very effective. Overall, I felt that this was a marvellous performance. Jade Anouka's characterisation of Sarah was incredible. The writing of both the play itself and the music was visual and transporting. The only downers were the bipartite pattern that this play fell into — monologues from Anouka, and solos from Fink and the (non-)presence of Frank. A must-see, I believe! "Utterly captivating!"

Isabella Nefar lies on stage as Salomé, her legs bent to her chest, her body suffocated by a translucent-white sheet. Accompanying this image, a drone of chimes and bells. This was the first image of a visceral and ritualistic Salomé, written and directed by Yaël Farber and performed at the National Theatre in London. I must first commend Lubana al Quntar and Yasmin Levy for their exceptional vocals. Not only did their magnificent voices help to initiate and maintain the play's transportation into the Middle East, but they also significantly intensified the drama of the play as well. This paired effectively with the dramatic droning and drumming of music (composed by Adam Cork), and with the use of spoken Hebrew throughout the play (most used by Ramzi Choukair, playing Iokanaan, and translated in large text on a screen at the back of the stage), which both contextualised and catalysed the action. Similar to the impressive vocals of the Women of Song is the physicality of Theo TJ Lowe playing Yeshua. Watching him skulk, slide, slither and dance around the stage like a mystical, malevolent Arabian merchant was completely mesmerising. Every part of his body locked into place for this role, and this was highly commendable. This brings me on to the visual elements of this performance which were very gripping, especially in regards to staging. It is always satisfying to see weather on stage. In this play, downpours of rain and sand added an alluring quality whilst effectively communicating Salomé's identity as a sort of totality, a force, a figuration of a nameless entity. What was most interesting, however, was the fragmentation of the narrative, not only in the writing but on stage as well. Having Nameless (Olwen Fouéré) constantly onlooking and sometimes even mirroring the action gave the play a very narrative-based, nostalgic and educative feel, linking us to the biblical aspects of the story. This was even more effective in regards to the rest of the staging. Especially towards the beginning, scenes tended to be scattered around the stage, and combined with a constant rotation of the stage, this gave the play – and plot – a sense of motion, causing the eye to dart across the action frequently whilst further alluding to the rotation of the world and Salome's relation to its progression. Furthermore, the use of sand added an efficacious texture to the performance,. Completely scattered across the stage, it caused a fine dust to puff and spit from every object and dress. Its most effective uses, however, came from the spilling of Iokanaan's blood which was represented by red sand falling from Nameless's fist, and Salomé's self- cleansing ritual using sand after her body having been sullied by the touch of Herod (Paul Chahidi). These moments were clever and fruitful. Other moments, however, were perhaps unimaginative. For example, there was a repetitive use of freeze-frames, slow motion and, what I can only describe as, a basic physical theatre (this involved Salomé being pulled by the ensemble from side to side by her arms – I found this very displeasing and corny...and this happened twice). Additionally, forming the majority of the dialogue in the play was a poor use of stichomythia to build a dramatic tension. This was majorly overused and became predictable and over-dramatic towards the latter part of the play. Along with moments that worked and moments that did not, there were a few moments that almost worked, or, rather, seemed as though they had the potential to. An example of this would be towards the end of the performance where Nefar stands high, holding two of several enormous drapes, representative of the Dead Sea. The notion of her possessing and controlling this sea serves as a very powerful and poignant image; however, I felt that it was executed very poorly. Salomé runs on the spot in an infantile manner, her arms flailing around, causing the drapes to wade through the air. Whilst the movement of the drapes had high visceral as well as sonic qualities, Salomé's movements juxtaposed this greatly and ruined the image for me. As for characterisation, all performers were good and collectively subscribed to an identical performance style. I felt that their performance would have been more gripping, though, without the overused stichomythia I mentioned earlier. I would like to draw attention to the physical demands of this performance. These include those from simulating drowning, to submitting one's face to a downpour of water and sand, to being completely unclothed on stage. These exertions are commendable and admirable and prove for captivating theatre. These moments were hence points of high interest and awe. Yaël Farber has made some innovative changes to the original play. And most of all, I commend the refreshing take on the Dance of the Seven Veils which Farber portrays as a delicate and allegorical moment of poignancy, as opposed to how it is usually conveyed: striptease-like and lustful. However, she did claim in an interview with the National Theatre that her interest was "to place her back in the centre of her own story", where she has always been a minor element of other figures' stories. I do not feel this was achieved. I think the fragmented nature of the script, the silence of Salomé herself and the high focus on the ill-intentions of lascivious and belligerent men throughout took away from Salomé quite considerably. "Visually astounding, but unpolished in places." Photography property of National Theatre London. Credit: Johan Persson.

This review will consider Generation Arts's The Happy Theory at the Yard Theatre in London, directed by Ali Godfrey. I will first start by saying that this performance most certainly encapsulated the essences of a range of emotions, from awkwardness, to sadness, to frustration, to happiness. And I most certainly left the venue feeling elated. This performance successfully interrogated what it is to be happy. Characterisation was good all round, and an especially good performance came from Robert O'Reilly, Kyrae Patterson, and Helder Fernandes. In some places, characterisations were perhaps hyperactive from the entire cast, and whilst the characters' dialect represented the average argot of modern London youth, a lot of dialogue came across as staged or wooden, as opposed to naturalistic. In terms of acting style, I found this to be quite confused. This performance had a stylised beginning preceding a realistic style of acting, interlaced with moments of dance or physical theatre. Whilst the latter of these three aided in fastening the momentum of the performance, I couldn't help but find it unnecessary and unrelated. Whilst the plot was mirrored in some dances, and whilst the repeated slow motion lifting of chairs above the head was potentially evocative of education/systematisation and its relationship with euphoria and personal/professional development, I felt this was perhaps a bit too much of a stretch. Furthermore, mixing the mimic visuals of dance with actual props also seemed somewhat misguided, and little things, such as empty phone cases for phones, and writing pads that were empty, took away from the possible illusions of the piece. However, in areas, the physical aspects of the performance did, of course, serve the action effectively: a bustling ensemble bumping into Denise (Adrienne Bailey), a flippant and hostile mass at prom. As for the stylised beginning, whilst very comical and endearing, this seemed to have no correlation with the rest of the performance at all, and these things caused the style of the performance to sit uneasily with me. As for costume, this was well reminiscent of modern youth and served the piece well. Lighting complemented the change of styles effectively, but spots could have been sharper in the beginning section and more focused towards the middle in dialogues between Andrew (Zachary Spooner) and Frank (Ike Nwachukwu). As for sound, the use of voice recordings really helped to contextualise and narrate the performance. I found the voices from different age groups was efficacious and made the message of the piece more poignant. The choice of sound along with that of music also helped to anchor the series of dances and movements and situate them well within the imagined space. And finally, for set, the various square patches of vibrant colours alluded effectively to the emotions and sentiments that we so often, as people, attribute to them. The goings-on within the wings could have been better hidden, though. The realistic side of the performance was gripping. There was a refreshing balance of comedy and seriousness, and all performers had honed in their characters very well, giving them set traits and personae. When it comes to the ideas behind the realism, however, the plot could have been more polished. I felt the setting of a two-teacher school environment paired with three main areas of focus (i.e. popularity, technology and cancer) were quite go-to and underdeveloped. Perhaps it would have been worthwhile to take just one of these areas of focus and interrogate it more profoundly. This would have perhaps opened doors to a more playful performance style wherein a theme of happiness could have been profoundly explored using a wider array of performing methods. This was, however, a very enjoyable piece of theatre, and I commend all of the cast members for a deserving performance. Generation Arts is most certainly making theatre with great potential and direction for young theatre-makers and performers. “A versatile performance, though misguided in places.”

This review will consider the new adaptation of Woyzeck, written by Jack Thorne, directed by Joe Murphy, and performed on the stage of the Old Vic Theatre. The role of Woyzeck was played by understudy Theo Solomon on the night I saw this performance. The first most notable aspect of this performance was by far its aesthetics and atmospherics: lighting, music and set design. As for set, the moving grey panels constituted a versatile and ambient feature of the performance. Its geometric movements related effectively to the military elements of the narrative, and its orange illumination when Woyzeck shows Marie the city lights of the Occupied Nation proved its versatility to not only possess a satisfying visual quality but also to be a subtle homage to the Berlin Wall. The only thing I would say was ineffective about these panels were the blood and guts that slowly started to fester within them throughout the second act. I found this highly excessive. Not only did it look tacky, but it seemed to have no reason to be, other than to work a (fallible) shock factor. The lighting was sharp, creating a painful glare, which added a sensory texture to the performance, and a pleasing dark and eerie mist Upstage towards the latter part of the play. The silhouettes of Woyzeck’s Mother produced by it were also very effective. As for music, though, I found these to be lacking, especially in the First Act. The music was very repetitive and monotonous and was used much too frequently in transitions between smaller scenes which it need not have coincided with. Perhaps the monotony was to reflect Woyzeck’s taxing and drumming mental illness, but, for me, it would have been more effective to start with a more peaceful style of music and build to a harsh cacophony by slowly integrating the drones and suchlike. This leads me on to the portrayal of Woyzeck’s mentality. This seemed to have no growth within the narrative, and this was mainly down to Thorne’s adaptation of the original text by Büchner. Where Büchner's original text is so engaging is in its ambiguity in dealing with Woyzeck's mental illness: we understand he is unstable but feel sorry for him; we question if events are real; we feel the world is against him but that he has somewhat created his own problems; and, most of all, we sense Woyzeck's mental state getting worse. In Thorne's version, however, Woyzeck's mental state seems to have no real progression, and the focus seems to be on other characters and their stories as opposed to on Woyzeck himself. For example, the character of Andrews (Andres in the original) has a very large part in this version, whereas his role was much smaller — and his existence, dubious — in the original. What's more, the character of the Drum-Major was only alluded to once in this version and was otherwise completely omitted from the plot. This character accelerated Woyzeck's jealousy and instability in the original, and I felt this was a surprising decision from Thorne. These alterations of the plot took away from Woyzeck's personal narrative for me, but perhaps the most disappointing change came about in the absence of the peas. In this version, Woyzeck is given pills by the doctor. More realistic, yes; but the peas is what gives Woyzeck its odd character, and to replace them with pills which would make him go insane was a very lacklustre and go-to decision. I found the visual representation of his mental degradation to be very crude and unoriginal in places, the worst being the scene with the Omo Washing Powder in which the ensemble walks towards Woyzeck, Downstage Centre, like soulless robots, speaking ominously and ghost-like. I felt this was very poor and unimaginative. One particular thing I did like about this scene, however, was the blood trickling from the Captain's leg. Another successful moment came in the middle of the Second Act where Andrews (Ben Batt) and Maggie (Nancy Carroll) were engaging in sexual intercourse. Having Maggie go under the sheets and return as Marie (Sarah Greene) was very effective. These moments confused our experience of Woyzeck's reality and imagination, and subtle, suspicious elements like these would have been much more haunting and effective than dramatic drones and ominous, ghostly characters. I did enjoy seeing Young Woyzeck sprint around the stage, his Mother's silhouette dimly outlined Upstage, as this captured fragments of Woyzeck's memory. I found this was effective. However, when these moments were overused, having characters continuously run on and off stage, one after the other, it quickly lost its effect. This was a very crude and literal portrayal of thoughts running through Woyzeck's mind, and I found it was very repetitive and predictable. Similarly, towards the end of the play, when Woyzeck lies upon the ground, and, one by one, each character enters, says something 'dramatic' to him, and leaves — boring and lacklustre. The stage fighting I thought was awkward and unrealistic, mainly on Solomon's behalf, and the decision to have Woyzeck break the fourth wall in a monologue directed to the audience, looming over his child's [visibly empty] crib, I felt was unnecessary. I would have much preferred it be to directed to the baby — and to have seen, at least, the outline of a baby in the crib.... A more imaginative approach resides in a scene wherein the Doctor (Darrell D'Silva) speaks in German, abrasive and domineering. This was a very effective way to stupefy the audience whilst simultaneously displaying Woyzeck's high confusion. Even the way Silva handled the fake cat in this scene gave it the impression of being real, which I commend. When this German speech was used again in another scene, however, the effect was lost. Perhaps the most powerful moment, however, was the choice to have Carroll as Maggie/Woyzeck's Mother breastfeed Woyzeck. This was a perverse, almost Artaudian moment of high significance, forcing the idea of a natural and innocent act of provision from a mother's breast to fuse with that of sexual, self-depreciative acts. The vocal confusion of the gender of Woyzeck and Marie's child was also efficacious and complemented the hesitancy intended for the audience. In terms of characterisation, there were certainly some good performances…and some very bad ones. Carroll tackled and distinguished the characters of Maggie and Woyzeck's Mother very well, and this decision to have Maggie, a whore, mirror Woyzeck's Mother was a very clever and effective one. The Captain (Stefan Rhodri), however, I cannot say the same for. Rhodri spoke his lines quickly and nigh-on emotionlessly, leaving no space for naturalistic pauses or to recognise Woyzeck's responses before criticising them; although, this did improve as the play progressed. I could understand why this would be a conscious decision: to show the Captain's egotism, authority and status, but it was executed poorly. Then, we have Woyzeck reacting to the Captain. As throughout the entire production, there was little to no change in Solomon's characterisation. Solomon's changes from frustration to submission to sadness and to regret were very minor. Whilst I would not expect an exaggerative performance, for this too would have been shoddy, some transformation is necessary. Towards the end, as with Rhodri, this did improve. I do recognise that Solomon was an understudy, but this is the main role of the play. Batt, however, I felt, captured the new role of Andrews extremely well, lifting this newfound role off of the page with great success. Greene, whilst otherwise satisfactory, lacked a lot of tension in her body in parts which caused for a bad performance. This was particular to the several — again, overused — moments wherein Marie was restrained/strangled by Woyzeck. “A good piece of theatre but insipid in terms of drama.”

Presenting themes of feminism, violation of the law, and discriminative and abusive treatment of employees by business-owners, NSFW is an engaging and prosperous play. Written by Lucy Kirkwood, and directed by Matthew Neubauer, this play was performed at The Lion and Unicorn Theatre in London. I will first consider set and aesthetic. Nearly every element of this set was interacted with at some point during the play, proving an efficacious and decisive choice of design, and those that were not interacted with textured the stage with informative subtext. For example, The 'Get Shit Done' slogan as part of the Doghouse sign, hinting well at the very type of company the fictional Doghouse is, or the notes made on the flip-chart, underlining humour and raunchy details behind Doghouse projects. Symbolism was even to be taken from within the transitions, such as the page-turning of the calendar by Sam (Joe Callanan). Transitions, however, seemed somewhat too energised. Whilst I understand that Neubauer perhaps wanted to keep the energy of the busy magazine companies flowing throughout the duration of the play, these transitions would have worked better, I feel, without the rush. That is to say, a constant high energy was somewhat difficult to handle at some points, and a series of transitions where the audience have time to relax a little and take in what they've just watched would have been better. The rhythmic music and running across the stage just after a manic realisation in the first scene, it all seemed too high an energy to uphold. Another thing worth revising is the use of props. There were many moments involving drinks during this performance, and every drink proved to have an awkward quality to it: the coffee cups, the water for Mr Bradshaw, all cups were clearly empty whilst they flew across the stage, and performers' mimes of drinking were awkwardly quick and unrealistic. This seems like a petty area of focus, but these moments of awkward mime removed a certain illusion from the play, especially with Miranda (Grace Arnold)'s champagne glass then being contradictorily full in the last scene. Tiny moments like these, though petty, cause for discontinuity and awkward speciation. Characterisation for this performance was good. The outlandish characters of the play provide a difficult array of personae to get to grips with, but performers met this task well with comprehension and energy. The momentum of the play was never lost. I would like to note, however, that in comparison to all other performers, Laura Pieters, playing Charlotte, was inarguably lacking. There were even moments where I questioned whether Pieters was acting at all; for example, during the first scene, it is clear that Charlotte is egotistically demonstrating a sarcasm or acerbity towards other characters, chiefly Rupert (Chris Alldridge), but this sarcasm was made extremely unclear by Pieters due to complete lack of expressivity. Another of the moments that caught my attention most harshly was her exit during the second scene. It was only inferable by other characters' influence on the scene, and by the physical act of her leaving, that Aidan (Alexander Lopez) had upset Charlotte with his remarks. This, among many moments, was completely missed in Pieter's performance. Perhaps some performers over-performed during certain scenes, creating a series of animated caricatures, namely Sam and Miranda, which conflicted somewhat with a more realistic energy from Lopez and Matt Aldridge (playing Mr Bradshaw), but, on the whole, nearly all performers were coherent and engaging. One moment that stood out sorely for me was Miranda's dance/ritual towards the end of the last scene. In Kirkwood's script, I feel that the reason this moment is so integral is in the normality in which actions are executed. To elaborate, whilst singing and dancing plays a part in Kirkwood's script, I feel more attention should be drawn to the products Miranda is using, as opposed to highlighting a goofy and musical side of Miranda's character. Playing the music aloud would have been better, in my opinion, for this takes away from the spectators having to imagine the song she is listening to and deciphering it from her movements. Whilst she should dance and sing at points, this should not be made the main focal point of the scene. Moments of watching her, in silence, apply the products with the music playing aloud from the computer would have been more poignant for this. Again, referring to what I said about transitions, this also enables the energy to calm, to sit well with the audience, a break from Miranda's exhausting eccentricity. The choice of music for this scene, however, I felt appropriate and had the potential to be very poignant, once I had deciphered what song it was. “A good interpretation and execution of dramatic text but needing polish in places.”

This review will consider Pussy Liberty, written by Valerie Isaiah Sadoh, directed by Diana Mumbi, and performed at The Bread and Roses Theatre. I shall start off by saying that the writing for this performance was very unnaturalistic. Dialogue was over-informative and lengthy as opposed to realistic, which jarred against a "realistic" style of acting and plot. Whilst there were a vast amount of political tones to this play, the loud declaration of characters' opinions felt odd in their setting. Perhaps it would have made more sense for at least the one character of Blaire (Marie Myrie) to talk in this way, but for George (Kyran Mitchell-Nanton), for example, to also speak in this manner, listing incessantly the roles of the dominant and powerful man, simply makes for dialogue strange to the human tongue. Either the writing should make for naturalistic characters with political undertones and subtext — again, perhaps with the exception of the main character — or it should be conceived more artistically with performers serving to personify themes in lieu of being them. As it stood, this play seemed lost amongst the realms of politicisation and psychological realism. It was awkwardly split between two contrasting narratives: one focusing on the psychological effects of sexual abuse on a girl, and the other concentrating on feminism. Presenting just one would have sufficed. On to the subject of performance. With the exception of Anabelle Broad (playing Halle), all characterisations were hugely poor. Unaided by the unclad writing of the dialogue, the physicality and expressivity of the performers were highly lacking. There were a countless amount of slip-ups on lines from both Broad and Mitchell-Nanton, and the overall energy was low. Furthermore, the character of the Nurse (Kellie McCord) was particularly confusing for me. I felt that using a psychiatrist was a very banal and uncreative way to access and convey Blaire's subconscious, and combined with an unnaturally robotic delivery, this was an even less effective decision. Having the Nurse seated amongst the audience was an okay idea, but I felt it would have been much more successful for her to be behind the audience, permitting her voice to penetrate and travel through them, accentuating the "subconscious" vibe. Also, having her sat in the front row was not only awkward for scenes in which she was not needed, but it prohibited the world of the play from generating the desired effect of leaking off of the stage; rather, it forced it to remain very much self-contained. Then, there's the character of the Narrator (Julia Xavier Stier). Whilst I felt her constant onstage presence was an interesting idea, I was joined by a few audience members I spoke with after the performance in feeling perplexed as to her purpose. On one hand, she seemed to represent Blaire's thoughts — until the very end when it became 'apparent' that she was, in fact, Sophie, a girl Blaire knew in her adolescence who was perhaps subjected to the same sexual abuse (a conclusion I found it extremely unrealistic and unprofessional for a psychiatrist to come to…); and on the other, she seemed to represent the theme and agenda of feminism itself. Then, there are her lines which are repeated and developed upon every time she speaks. These repetitions felt most fallible. Either she should have no development at all and be a mysterious, omniscient presence with, perhaps, a line or two to summarise and clarify her representations at the end; or she should be a complete character with a coherent development. As it was, her presence felt very embryonic and confused, torn between the two narratives of the play. Everything in this play just felt extremely cluttered — even down to the superfluous high heels in the front corner of the stage. The linear narrative of Blaire's abuse vs the theme of feminism [with hints of "menism"]; the uncertain role of the Narrator vs an odd mix of opinionated yet uni-layered characters; everything just felt so confused. Whilst I note the minor link between the two splitting narratives, it was not strong enough for this to be an area of poignant focus. “An unoriginal and underdeveloped piece of theatre.”

Each twin sharing the same heart, Twitch and Polo's story takes us to the waves of an island special to their childhood. This is the basis of Hot Mess, written by Ella Hickson, directed by Julian Bruton and Jay Patel, and performed at the Lion and Unicorn Theatre. This play is a glorious symbiosis of performance styles, demonstrating how fragmentation, realism and abstraction can meld coherently and excitingly in modern theatre. These styles gave structure and layering to the performance. Polo (Timothy Renouf)'s narrating over scenes about Twitch (Katrina Allen)'s past relationships; monologues, soliloquies and split-scenes; a nonlinear narrative; and realistic conversations all used language in an effective and fluid way to tell the twins' story. Perhaps a little unnaturalistic, but this play created its own world in this unnaturalism, specifically for the wildness of Jacks (Natalia Titcomb)'s character, and held its structure in its return to these styles throughout the play. The overture of the performance was warm and endearing: Twitch and Polo laughing and joking, making a line of rocks upstage, and Twitch singing along to 'Hey, Soul Sister' by Train. Furthermore, the twins making the line of rocks, which would later represent the tide, drew a subtle and clever line itself between Billy's death and the twins' relationship which led to it. Symbolism was used subtly and efficaciously throughout this performance, and I was specifically intrigued by the use of the cup of water used to recount the story of the twins' heart. I thought this was a refreshing and effective use of symbolism. Characterisation was good in this performance; however, there were slight choices I felt took away somewhat from the performance. Renouf's physicality I felt was too restrictive in places. For example, in the overture, whilst Allen chose a playful and energetic performance style — which I felt suited the overture the most in its glee — Renouf seemed to be straight-faced and tense, despite joking and throwing and catching the pebbles with Allen. This made for awkwardness in some moments, particularly in scenes with Titcomb, who chose a highly energetic performance style. It was almost dubious that they would be friends in some scenes. This did, however, suit his scenes narrating Twitch's love affairs. As for Allen, character was good, despite the awkward lyricalness in the writing of her monologues, but one moment of fallibility would be towards the beginning of the play where she speaks of her growing relationship with Billy (Gareth Balai), quoting what he has said to her, using an American accent. This accent blended in with her "normal" voice and was lost. Whilst I felt Titcomb's physicality to be somewhat impertinent to the performance at times, it was truly a hilarious and remarkable choice of character, making for an effective and funny performance. As for Balai, whilst his characterisation was okay, I felt that the choice of having him seem nervous to talk to Twitch at the beginning conflicted greatly with his confident promiscuity and overall bombastic personality. The writing I felt possessed good versatility, facilitating successfully a wide range of styles. However, I felt that some of the writing was too unnaturalistic, particularly Twitch's lines which felt lodged between informative articulacy and informal chitchat. The choice to have her sing, for too long a time, I felt, was also very odd and awkward. It seemed very unnecessary and random, particularly towards the end of the performance when she sings, stood between Billy and Polo. I felt the cyclicality of the narrative was cliché but that this did not take too much away from the efficacy of the play; but murder I felt sat uneasily with the narrative and felt as though a random shock factor. Whilst I understood that there was a dark undertone in explications of Twitch's past relationships and the way in which she attached herself to others, I felt this was not enough to contextualise murder. The style felt too lighthearted and fluffy for a murder to somehow take place. And whilst I felt the subtlety of not showing Billy's body was refreshing, this subtlety added to the awkwardness of this abrupt murder as an ending. Lastly, there were a few moments where momentum was lost, and this was mainly due to the conflict in performance styles: Jacks having a sizeable monologue towards the end of the performance followed straight after by a drawn-out, restricted monologue by Polo let the energy drop. Not to mention that his sudden quick sprint towards off-stage after this monologue felt very odd and out of place. The last thing I will draw attention to is the relationship between the performers (specifically, Titcomb) and audience members. This was particular to the club scene. The play thus far had created a self-contained world — especially by drawing a line between the audience and the stage — and to have the performers run through the audience only to run straight back as a transition was very messy for me. As there had not been — and would not be again — any explicit audience interaction, this choice of breaking that self-containment felt very unnecessary and awkward to me. Even more awkward was the choice to have Twitch directly interact with the audience members. Whilst, indeed, being funny, it simply felt extremely incoherent with the rest of the performance. And it seemed to last too long, drawing more unwanted attention to itself. Despite these few moments of inefficacy, this performance was a highly qualitative piece of modern theatre. “A play of quality, depth and intrigue.”

When I first entered the studio, I was greeted with a wonderful aesthetic: a square stage with raised walls, the interiors of which appeared as stone; Samuel Ranger (playing Declan) sat in the corner, holding his legs to his chest; and low, macabre lighting. The music, a sort of rhythmic drone which played constantly throughout the whole of the performance, added a repetitive, taxing and mysterious undertone. However, almost as soon as the play began, it felt less effective. There were certain choices made that I felt unoriginal. For example, Ranger’s walking-on-the-grid, which, yes, seemed somewhat well-integrated into the performance, seemingly elongating Declan’s prison sentence, but it seemed as well to lose its character when both prisoners made this same movement. It became less of a quirk of Declan’s to cope with his captivity, and, rather, a quick and easy metaphor to introduce the passing of time and an evasion from ennui. Another moment which hinted towards the passing of time but in an ineffective way was, for example, when Ranger sings ‘99 Bottles of Beer’. It would, of course, be effective to sing this repetitively in a manner which demonstrated Declan’s slow breakdown. However, Ranger sang this in a rather upbeat fashion. When he did, finally, ‘break down’ towards the end of the song, the breakdowns seemed almost too rehearsed and identical. It needed some variation. Each verse was sung in the same way, and it felt more of an attempt towards dramatic effect and, to an extent, comedy, rather than a true and realistic representation of the character and his thoughts. This was especially true when he restarted the song in the same cheery way. As for characterisation, both actors lacked energy in places. Ranger was extremely monotonal, from his expressions of paranoia to that of his character's personal identity when talking to Topher (Conor Cook), to his screaming. This was a similar case for Cook who, whilst being only the slightest bit more refined in his physicality, seemed to be much better at performing scenes of fear and supplication than scenes of serious integrity. But I felt that this was perhaps also due to a restriction provided by the text (written by James McAndrew). Whilst repetition would have been effective in creating a sense of time and place, there seemed to be an overuse of repetition concerning the dialogue as well. Characters would repeat the same lines again and again, especially Topher’s line, ‘I know these people’. This line in particular made it difficult for me to comprehend the relationship between the two characters. As it was said in practically every scene, I could not understand why Declan - who was supposedly so paranoid and anxious about the intentions of Topher and hence who would have sussed things like this out from the very beginning, being in such a mindset - would have not realised this sooner. This development of plot felt inefficacious because it seemed obvious to me from the very beginning. It was not a natural development, nor a type of dramatic irony, but a sort of inherent, obvious part of the plot. Most of the dialogue, in fact, was repetitive and banal, seemingly used just to create an easy, stereotypical (and overused) sense of mystery: "What do they want?", "You don't know what they're capable of." The plot twist at the end, however, was most effective, mostly because it was not hinted at continuously like this former plot development. However, the rest of the plot seemed so texture-less for me that I couldn’t help but feel underwhelmed by this end. It was a marvellous twist, but I was so, unfortunately, uninvested that the effect wasn’t as powerful as it could have been. Problems also arose in the transitions. The actors were extremely heavy on their feet, making the transitions - the loud whirring sound effects excluded - very noisy, and this took away from the action and suspense. This was also unaided by the lighting. At first, the lighting was impeccable. The bright lights on the audience not only alluded to a pressing interrogation but also cloaked the actors’ movements during transitions. However, around the fifth or sixth transition, the pace of scenes started to quicken and the eyes were already adjusted to a bright light. This made the lighting less effective and actors became visible. It would have been better to trick the mind into thinking that the eyes had to readjust, by simply brightening the lights progressively during transitions. The bustling; the visible sliding from out of the corners of the set; the waiting in the positions they will be found in in the next scene; these took away from both the element of surprise but also the world of the play itself. However, whilst I tend to dislike music that is played throughout a performance, the music was very effective in establishing a suspenseful and perceptible passing of time. During the transitions, the music was changed to an eerie and unrelenting whir, making the play easier to digest and giving variation to an otherwise univocal pace. It should be noted that the audience of the night I went seemed to love the performance. However, I also got the impression that these spectators were familiar with the performers or with the theatremakers themselves, by the way they spoke of the actors, suggesting that the spectator-audience relationship had an effect on their response. It was hence hard for me to engage with their reactions as I would have with members of the general, unknowing public. They all mentioned a “double plot twist” and were very enthused by this. But, as I mentioned, whilst I did feel that the second was quite powerful in itself (even if it was underwhelming due to its precedents), the first wasn’t a plot twist at all, rather an obvious and banalised yet unrealistic ‘development’. “A good direction but in need of redrafting and of variation in performance.”

This action-packed play written and performed by 7th Sense Theatre was good in many aspects, progressing away from the quotidian errors of the average theatre to create a rather effective and lively world. I will start with set. This was a good representation of how minimal set can be efficacious and imaginative. Whilst the same blocks and the same table were used in nearly every scene, never once did the stage feel static or lifeless. This was due to the set changes between scenes but the orchestration of transitions and the use of props. Transitions were immediate; as soon as the performers in one scene exited, the performers in the next scene entered. This kept an active momentum and fluidity. However, I will note that it is very important to allow an audience to breathe and to digest the action they have seen — especially with a play like this, comprising many characters and a fragmented plot, which I shall return to later. As for props, red powder and what seemed to be flour emulated dirt and smoke well on stage, adding a visual layer to the performance. The use of real food, such as the pie in the beginning of the play and the birthday cake, added a true sense of realism to the performance. These elements compose a book from which a lot of theatre-makers could take a leaf! Realism was lost, however, in the acting style. Whilst the performance style (the mood of the performance itself) was fluid and, overall, congruous — again, a rarity that must be praised — the acting style (the way in which the actors give life to their characters) was rather inconsistent. At the beginning and end of the performance, with the actors sat in a line on blocks perpendicular to and facing the audience, the dialogue that ensues is fragmented and distilled. The scenes that come between these, however, are a mixture of realistic and abstractive. Because monologues were utilised from the first scenes throughout, the theme of abstraction sat well within the performance; however, it was the way in which the actors teetered between naturalistic and distanced in their characterisations that made it difficult to connect with them. There was a certain woodenness to their performances which crept in quite regularly, particularly in monologues. There was a lack of expressivity and transformativity in places where actors seemed to be simply saying their lines at certain points. Also, certain other decisions seemed rather odd to me, such as certain characters' inevitable moving of the blocks whenever they entered the stage. The only time that the performance style dipped, for me, was in the Birthday Scene, where the lighting changes to a colder tone and the performers move downstage in slow-motion, only for one of them to be shot and dragged off of the stage. Yes, this was a powerful scene if isolated, though a little reminiscent of an elementary physical theatre, but together with the rest of the performance, this scene was very out of place and overly dramatic in comparison. This was the only moment, really, that performance style suffered; other than this, this play held a sound momentum. This moment was the only time lighting was really changed, which is not a bad thing at all but did accentuate that breathless quality of action after action. The only other thing to say about lighting concerns its coverage of the stage. Stage Right was mostly in darkness which became a problem when it was difficult to understand if a character was on stage or off whilst motionless, looking on at the action, stood in the darkness. As for plot, I must admit that I fail to see the depth that this performance has declared itself to have. The play apparently pivots on the effects of PTSD on soldiers and their relationships with others. However, I felt that the topics and themes covered by the play extended further than this, from life (and love life) on the battlefield to peoples' reactions when discovering that a relative wishes to enlist himself in the army. These extensions took away from what the main message of the play was proposed to be. An exploration into one or two themes — the lack of support and understanding that a returning soldier receives from his relatives, or the way in which a soldier handles death in battle, for example — would have definitely made for a much deeper investigation into soldiering. As it stood, the main point of exploration for this play felt weak and confused. The trigger of the dog barking was the deepest this play got, but even this was brushed over. As a result of this superficial investigation, the play seemed to produce simply inattentive and unoriginal themes. I enjoyed the cyclicality of the plot and its fragmentation, specifically towards the end. The writing was, on the whole, realistic, effective and, in places, comedic as well, which definitely helped in forming an audience-character bond during the performance. Whilst not as thorough as it has made itself out to be, this performance was very entertaining and, on the whole, well put together. “A fluid and active response to involvement in the army but lacking investigative depth.”

King's Shakespeare Company brings a charming and modern revival of William Shakespeare's Comedy of Errors to the stage of The Cockpit in London. A true delight to watch. Ignoring plot, I will start with characterisation. This play held a range of characterisation and performing abilities, but a problem arose here when finding an acting style. Certain actors were highly energetic, veering towards slapstick at points and playing their role ridiculously and exaggeratedly — in a good way — whilst other actors chose to perform in a more reserved and naturalistic way. Whilst both were good, the former having the upper hand, this mix made the acting style rather confused. I suppose this did play into the absurdity of the play, but nevertheless, it did take away from the integrity of the performance. Either all characters should be physicalised realistically or as a caricature; there should never be a mixture of the two or an uncertainty in the collective acting style. There were a few moments where certain actors seemed to stumble ever so slightly on a line or forget a predefined movement. For example, Jonathan Combey (playing Dromio of Syracuse) forgetting to duck along with the rest of the ensemble as Camille Hainsworth-Staples (playing Adriana) waves a spear in his direction. There were also moments when the language did not quite add up to the physicalisation. I would also note that Molly Gearen's (playing the Courtesan) accent was teetering on historical inaccuracy but also subtraction from the world of the play. Overall, however, a very good performance from everyone, particularly Hainsworth-Staples and Laurence Beal (playing Antipholus of Syracuse) who both performed with high and delightful energy. Comedy was, of course, a large criterion for this play to meet, and I have to say, it was met wonderfully. The comedy was mostly achieved in the slapstick aspects of the performance but also in little peculiarities unique to this production. The decision to give the two stagehands (Owen Smith and Shaun Harper) personalities was very effective and humorous, drawing upon a metatheatrical comedy. I did feel it a little dampening, however, to have these stagehands then became extras in the play. I felt it was better to have them as independent gimmicks, an added texture to the performance to liven transitions. Although, I enjoyed that their absurdity was carried into these new personae. The sexual innuendoes were amusing, as were the lovestruck glances to the audience as characters were taken away in the hands of another. However, what made this effective was its subtle and allusive nature; hence, Adam Walker-Kavanagh's (playing Aegeon) explicit sword/phallus joke towards the end of the performance was a step too far, incurring as a result little audience response. One large problem I had with this performance is its lack of cohesion between the dramatic text and theatrical components. This was produced predominantly by the choices of music and of costume. The use of pop music and other music which one would find at a nightclub made for a sonic layer which was far too modern. (It is also worth mentioning here that the music during transitions was often poorly operated, playing over the dialogue of entering characters when most transitions were too short and meant that music was needless, anyway). As for costume, there was a shambolic mix of period dress and modern suits...and multicoloured socks. It was simply difficult to deduce what type of world this play was attempting to be reflective of. Moreover, whilst I will note the decisive similarities between a traditional Shakespearean theatre and this production, such as the thrust stage, reminiscent of the round, the house lights, reminiscent of daylight in an open-air theatre, I must also note that this had no real effect. Additionally, there was the odd choice to have actors stand close to the audience or in the paths dividing them. Whilst these components were emulative of traditional Elizabethan playhouses, this had no effect and was hence unnecessary. This lack of cohesion was also quite pertinent to the props used. Whilst certain properties, such as the ring and the chain, were realistic and pertinent to the period, others were most bewildering: marmite jars, keyrings and keys. It is easy to purchase items which appear olden and outmoded. Whilst the foam swords and spear could have added to the comedy, a simple de-labelling of the marmite jar and a purchase of an old-looking key could have sufficed effectively. Certain topographical choices were also off-putting. The choice to have the Courtesan sat offstage, amongst the audience, watching the action throughout the former part of the play, for example, was one of no effect and hence one I found to be out of place. In addition to this, there was the go-to decision to have Aemilia (Aine Maher) raised behind the ensemble who then stared above the audience to symbolise their looking up at her. These are very specific choices and should be made in accordance with the performance; I felt they were not. All of this said, this was a refreshing revival of a Shakespeare play. All actors performed with good energy and good characterisation, if a little difficult to blend together. Overall, performers seemed to understand their lines — a task quite difficult for most actors nowadays — and this must be commended. This play was most definitely an example of how good performance can carry a play, without visual effects and extravagant staging. “A pleasant and exhilarating performance, if a little unrefined in regards to its theatrical constituents.”

True to its title, Beautiful, this musical relates the story of singer and songwriter Carole King. Performed at the Aldwych Theatre in London, I found this to be an enjoyable and light musical. I will start with a short analysis of characterisation. All performances were strong in this performance, each actor was believable, be they with small parts or large, and all encapsulated the starry 50’s television theme. Whilst the writing and American accents were, at parts, cheesy – as most musicals are – the majority of lines were carried with a good comprehension of objective and great expression. Perhaps the only place where characterisation lacked was in expression of confusion or distress, and this lowered the melancholic tones of certain scenes, particularly those involving Matthew Seadon-Young, for this performer’s expression of confusion was the most unrealistic. I mentioned that a component of this musical was its starry television theme, and this was something highly notable and engaging in this musical. The harsh spotlights and deep tones of pink and blue gave the stage a reminiscent feel, leaning towards the popular music videos of the 1950's. Effective. However, perhaps a little too harsh, in regards to the lighting, for parts best kept hidden, like actors hiding or talking behind flats, and the structures of stage wagons, were often visible in the lights’ intensities. On to the music. The music was undeniably catchy and along with the dancing – well-choreographed by Josh Prince – portrayed the characteristics of groups like The Drifters and The Shirelles highly efficaciously. However, it was often the case that, when at the piano, playing an immense part in this production, characters often visibly mimed using the instrument, their hands hovering wildly above the keys. This took away from the realism of it, for me. Additionally, a scene at the beginning of the musical, where we are introduced to the music publishers and the office of Donnie Krishner, was executed with a low energy. This scene comprised an array of instrumentalists, vocalists and musician scattered around the stage on varying levels. Whilst this created an interesting dynamism and visual, constant cutaways made focus too directed and elaborated an otherwise high-energy scene. Moreover, a moment where all performers took a quick and melodramatic swig of a glass, cup, or whatever they had nearby, was very lacking due to an absence of synchronisation – some characters didn’t even lift their drinks – and little moments like this, glimpses of the stage wagons, and visible mimes, take away from the effervescence of a scene, and this was something that happened regularly. Not to mention, a lot of the music was pre-recorded – clear, as the orchestral pit was visible in the harsh lights – and this was rather disappointing, especially given its frequency and conspicuousness. I would say that this was also the calmest musical I have seen. Whilst there were certainly dance sections, these seemed to be rather stiff or centred to specific places in the stage. Furthermore, a lot of the numbers took place on the piano, where a layering of Carole’s version (for example) and the version of the singer who would later perform it would have perhaps more effective. I say this because it was quite predictable: Carole would sing a song, and in the following scene, a group of singers would take it on. And this was an over-repeated pattern. This repetition was also characteristic of an overly recurring joke throughout – a singer appearing on the side of the stage to sing dramatically and cheesily to the audience. Overused. However, it is perhaps this calmness that makes it effective for its audience, being that it is clearly targeting a mature spectator who had grown up around this style of music and performance. Nevertheless, all potential audience types must obviously be considered. Saying this, moments of classic theatrical wizardry – quick changes, instant transitions, snow on stage, etc. - certainly added an exciting layer to this. The use of dual scenes – although seldom used – also added a nice change to the predictability. Overall, this performance is very enjoyable, but predictable in parts and, sometimes, simply messy. But, for its targeted audience, it is effective. “Enjoyable but predictable and calm.”

This virtual performance is part of the Living Records Festival and is available online now. To watch it, click here. Dance of a Million Pieces engages with philosophical thought and sensory memory to interrogate the essence of the self, its personality and spiritual nature, and the intense and multifaceted nature of life itself. It explores relationships we share with others, and their transient qualities, and how the human condition, emotion, attachment and psychology can become entwined with the difficulty of letting go of those we love. Written and performed by Cary Crankson and Gemma Rogers, with sound design by Rafiel Diogo, this work presents engaging philosophical dichotomies that are close to many of our hearts: the material world and the supernatural realm, love and violence, life and death, illness and health, peace and suffering, and hope and despair. The dramatic text is a dialogue between Endy, who is in a coma, and her partner, Mion. The text is successful in prompting the mystifying and confused atmosphere of the unconscious realm that we imagine the action to take place in, and it does so through the effective lack of contextual information. It is never made entirely clear, for example, as to whether the voices we hear are Endy’s memories of past conversations; if Mion has somehow ‘astrologically projected’ to meet with Endy in a higher state of consciousness, so to speak; or if the two are, indeed, having a conversation in real time (perhaps we are to imagine that Mion is speaking at Endy’s bedside, and she is replying to him in her mind). The various allusions made throughout the text keep such a context unnoted, nay masked, and this makes for a most intriguing text. In terms of the writing’s structure, a true sense of plot develops towards the early middle of the dramatic text, with the beginning of the text being fragmented and non-linear, presenting various and seemingly unrelated vignettes of ‘memories’ and speech. I believe this is done with a good recognition of time and its potential effect in alienating the audience too far. Crankson and Rogers have timed it well so as to not lose our interest within the sheer discombobulation caused by the somewhat disparate contents of the text. This is good. Though I do believe this demystification could have been even sooner, it provides sufficient context to better read the rest of the performance. However, in regard to the writing’s content, quite a bit of improvement could be made. There is a theme of adventure and exploration of natural spaces, and this becomes quite cumbersome and predictable at times. A sense of adventure is rather integral to our reading of Endy’s character and, in particular, to our reading of her spiritual perception of herself, what she views as the journey of her ‘soul’, as it were’, her ‘spirit’ or her ‘essence’. It is, indeed, effective to re-present this theme throughout the text, but perhaps a more creative means could be conceived than a literal adventure up a mountain, or trudging through the snow or braving torrential rain. It simply becomes rather predictable and rather vapid with such repetition. It is also easy at times to feel as though Endy has no profound feelings towards Mion, that his love for her is unrequited. She seems to have adopted a wise and spiritual mentality in her coma, and any expressions of her difficulty in leaving him are replaced with reasons as to why she must go. Whilst she communicates the memories she has with Mion and how she felt with him at those times, this can easily be interpreted as merely part of her worldly and sagacious perspective on life, which is presented not as something new she has acquired in her coma but as something integral to her view on life. More specificity in expressions of Mion’s feelings, and a direct communication about her passing and its effects on their relationship might enable the theme of ‘letting go’ to be further elucidated. As it stands, there is an element of coldness that is simply gradually digested and reluctantly understood by Mion, which seems unrealistic considering how explosive and dramatic he has been for a good part of the text, barricading himself into the room with her, denigrating the hospital system… More development is needed in the way the two come to terms with Endy’s passing if the piece’s content is to better match its intention. Whilst this friction exists in our reading between the relationship Endy and Mion have now vs what their relationship has been thus far and how it has developed into the former from the latter, the memories of their past that are communicated ground us well to understand their relation to one another. Mion’s speech is very staccato and short compared to Endy’s, who goes into greater detail about how she is feeling, and this is good considering we are [supposedly] in Endy’s head, experiencing Mion through her experiences and memories of him, and this also enables his actions and words to be illogical and jumbled at times. For a good while from the beginning, we hear only Mion, as though we are hearing an array of audio clips from Endy’s memory of him, and this is successful in pretexting and framing their relationship and the contents of the performance. More superficially there is the symbolism in the characters’ names: Endy and Mion, are a subtle and unmarked reference to the Greek myth of shepherd (or king, in some myths) Endymion who, in some versions of the myth, was kept sleeping by Zeus’s powers by Selene’s request. Selene is said to have obsessed over his physical appearance, watching over his body every night whilst he slept. This relates rather well to this text wherein Endy is kept alive in her coma by a persistent and desperate Mion, despite Endy’s family’s efforts to ‘pull the plug’, as it were. Additionally, though perhaps this was an unconscious artistic decision here, this myth, like many others, has various different tellings — of course, there’s the version noted above, where Selene’s impassioned mania leads her to request Endymion’s eternal sleep, but then in other versions, Zeus grants Endymion his own personal wish for perpetual sleep, for he is both lazy or wishes to remain youthful forever. In yet other versions, the spell is a punishment from Zeus for sleeping with his wife, Hera. This multiplicity relates extremely well to the multiverse theory offered in the dramatic text, and the theme of self-perpetuation and the eternalisation of youth relates nicely with Endy’s concern with having enough time to find all of the multiple aspects of herself and her true ‘essence’ and how to make the most of the life she has. So, at first glance, this naming of the characters seems rather corny, but it is, in fact, a very intelligent decision. As for acting, Crankson and Rogers deliver a good vocal performance, overall. Emotion and feeling are made adequately clear in tone and general delivery; however, there is a slight lack of naturalism in certain scenes [note the difference between what is realistic and what is naturalistic]. Moments of tension between the characters, in particular, could be stronger and snappier, but, overall, when the actors perform their monologues, delivery is strong. The second most important aspect of this piece is the visuals (also by Crankson) we are presented with. As for these, I find a similar issue to that I found with the writing’s content. For a good while from the start, the images are more implicit and stand-alone and serve to contextualise the dialogue; for example, we have no explicit reference to a hospital or Endy and Mion’s situation, and the images of X-Rays, hospital corridors, hands intertwined, a beating heart, combined with the sounds of an ECG, all take us to the scene immediately and effectively. Yet, as the text progresses, the images become exact evocations from the characters’ speech. The word ‘rain’ and we see ‘rain’, the word ‘bar’ and we see a bar, the word ‘jungle’ and we see a jungle…the images become too literal and obvious, and the performance loses its escapist and hallucinatory qualities. It is easy to feel disengaged at times for this reason and to just wait to see what images of ‘watching a sunset’ might come up as a literal representation. I have two principal issues with the images, however. The first is the lack of coherent style uniting them all. We see a mixture of CGI animation, still photography and live action footage, and the overall aesthetic of the performance becomes quickly confused. It begins to feel, especially noting what I have in the previous paragraph, as though Crankson was simply grabbing whatever stock footage he could find without little thought to how they might appear when combined all together. But the second and more irking issue is the inclusion of footage presenting random individuals throughout. One could argue that having so many figures and faces helps to depersonalise the images to such a degree where the figures start to represent the human as opposed to the individuals shot in the footage themselves. However, I would argue that a better way to present these images would be to include footage of silhouettes, shadows and such nondescript figures; this would allow us to project what we imagine of Endy and Mion onto the figures we see whilst allowing for our transportation to the spaces desired by the text. Including so many different people just alienates the images from the characters in the text; we need the focus to remain exclusively on Endy and Mion, and this cannot be achieved whilst we see tens of others. This is without mentioning the potential ethical debate to be had on the bizarre cultural appropriation towards the beginning of the text, which really has nothing to do with the text itself, used in unethical error along with Mion’s meditative humming and throat singing. I imagine this was to create a sense of the otherworldly and the spiritual… I would ask the creatives to do some research into orientalism, particularly where Asia is concerned. I would also note that it is perfectly acceptable to include moments where we see nothing, just a simple dark screen –– something that one would comprehend as the potential experience of a comatose patient. This would break up the series of images, and perhaps the ‘scenes’, both giving us an occasional, well-earned break from the chaos of Endy’s mind and limiting what becomes, at times, an unnecessary constancy of images. I should stress, however, that the idea of the images –– and, indeed, a great number of those presented –– are very good in capturing the fleeting, hallucinatory realm of the [partially] unconscious, even if they do cause the performance to veer closer towards film than theatre… Depending on how this is executed on a theatrical site, I am not sure how many audiences one could keep with just the projections of images and the sound of two people’s voices in this way. As for the sound design, this is very strong. The subtle constancy of sound effects and music is very effective and definitely evocative of the semi-lucid state most of us have experienced when half-falling asleep or in pain-induced delirium, etc. The violence of the sound effects — those of rain, explosions — paired with the calmer cracklings of fire and the tweeting of birds makes for a design of depth and dynamism. I have some difficulty with the echoes applied to the actors’ voices at times, however. For the majority of the performance, there is no issue, and it is actually very atmospheric and powerful, but it does sound at times as though simply a bad recording, picking up the echoes of the room, as opposed to the voices echoing themselves. The echo needs to be a lot crisper in these moments, in other words, without the general background noise we can hear from time to time and with slightly less reverberation. I was disappointed that the binaural technology was not better used as well; the effects of this would have been very fruitful for this performance. Overall, this is a very effective performance born intelligently from the times we find ourselves in currently. It reflects elegantly upon mortality and fear and upon the larger, unfathomable aspects of our existence, and upon subjects of more intrinsic value than the material and the generic. It does so through a very articulate, intriguing and philosophical postmodernist lens, with an emphasis on the self and its spirit. In presenting only two characters, it focuses this ‘self-centred’ philosophy onto the relationship between the self and the other in a most riveting way. “A visceral, competent and intelligent text.”