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.”

Degenerate Fox perform The Dirty Thirty, a compilation of thirty micro-plays, weekly at the Rosemary Branch Theatre. No two performances are ever the same, as this compilation is edited every single time, with five plays deemed the weakest, or those that have been running for too long, being removed and replaced every week, meaning that this theatre company dedicatedly refine and contemporise their art on a regular basis. This review will consider the performance of 7th March, a performance in honour of International Wom[x]n’s Day. The first thing I would note concerns the introduction to the performance and, more importantly, the explanation of the ‘rules’. Put simply, there are thirty micro-plays, each with its own title, and all numbered from one to thirty. The audience members call out the number they want, and the first and loudest takes presidency. One of thirty numbered pieces of paper is pulled down from a washing line strung high Downstage from wall to wall. Upon it is written the title of that micro-play, reminding the cast of which one to perform. The performers get ready, the title is “called”, and the micro-play we have all decided upon begins. Whilst I understand that the majority of audience members are regulars and would understand these [strangely named] ‘rules’, and whilst these rules are altogether plain and simple once understood, their explanation, voiced on this particular night by Aiden, is frustratingly void of detail and remains utterly confounding. Understanding this structure is crucial to the performance, and if, as they purport, The Degenerate Fox want to include the audience as much as possible and have them run the night, as it were, this format should definitely be far better elucidated. With the company doing this on a weekly basis, one would imagine that a quick and clear explanation of the performance’s format would be rather second nature to the performers. The second thing I would draw attention to concerns what happens before the performance. Before the audience enter, they are greeted by a blasé Jack sat behind a counter, asking each of them their name before writing another, completely different name upon a piece of paper, below ‘Hello, my name is…’. Not only does this feel rather bouncer-esque and somewhat overly formalised and confrontational, it again is very ill-communicated. One would imagine, in light of the performance’s homage, that these names are all in honour of female role models or influential women either forgotten in history or important to our society and its development [although, I was obviously not able to see if all of the names were names of women]. However, the significance of this is minimised, because it remains unmarked, unarticulated. It just seems as though an odd interaction with a quirky result. More importantly, this makes for another complication in respect to the neofuturist concerns which the company profess to have [more on this later]. The Degenerate Fox claim to be very much anti-illusion, encouraging their audience to be their true selves and professing to do the very same as well. To have very little eye contact from Jack and to have him ask our names, then simply ignore them and ascribe us completely new identity seems somewhat of a backtrack from this. Whilst audience engagement is encouraged, with performers requesting that members of the audience scream out the micro-play numbers, as detailed above, and whilst there is a professed absence of a fourth wall, full audience immersion, and a great sense of “community” amongst performers and spectators, there is very little opportunity for audience members to include themselves in the bustle and action, verbally or, indeed, physically. This is not an issue in itself but becomes problematic when acknowledging what the performers make their audience out to be compared to what the audience are actually permitted to be. Again, it also makes for a complication with the neofuturistic approach to theatremaking, which I shall now detail… From the very beginning, The Degenerate Fox performers declare themselves neo-futurists. It becomes clear as the performance unfurls that the company share their values with The New York Neo-Futurists, from general aesthetic and the notable use of the washing line to the manner in which they structure their performances, e.g. with the “menu” of plays — harking back to the dawn of futurist cooking — to working ethos. This ethos is one which demands that performers be authentically themselves and that the theatre they produce be non-illusory, i.e. their work should not make use of psychological realism or transport the audience to fictional wonderlands through plot and character but should, instead, be not merely a mirror to but a part of the real world, where actors are people and the theatre is…just that, a theatre. For the majority of the performance, this trajectory is achieved wonderfully. Right from the start, this concept of non-illusion is articulated distinctly through certain clear artistic decisions. First, we have Jack’s greeting, then we enter into a deliberately understated stage in which we catch the performers setting up in preparation for the performance, and, of course, there are the transitions between micro-plays during which we see performers race to ready themselves in the shortest of time for the next scenes, using the time to joke amongst themselves and with us. However, on that note, I should just mention that momentum is permitted to fall quite frequently during these transitions, with performers overusing the same jokes (such as Jack’s feeling hot under the polyester dress he is wearing) or, at times, not doing anything at all, remaining silent and distant. Nevertheless, these moments teem with personality and vigour, overall. Performers even make sure to promote their social media accounts to audience members, both to contextualise the play in the present day and to heighten the fact that these are real people before us who exist beyond the stage, not mere transient, fictional characters. So, who are these real people? And what are we presented of them? The performers in this company are all members of the queer/LGBT+ community. They hence possess very particular perspectives on and connections with gender, sexuality and its discourses, making them a perfect advocate for Women’s International Day, it would seem. And what a better way to start than with ‘Autoboobographies’, a most powerful, poignant and thought-provoking micro-play that presents sound clips of various women detailing their differing relationships to their breasts, before the only performer on stage, Lauren, makes a quirky yet significantly celebratory boob-print portrait that will hang on the back wall of the black box for the rest of the performance, all as chance would have it! The cast seem like the best advocates, then, yet the presented narratives on gender — at least, for this particular performance — remain highly rudimentary and uninformative, primarily focusing on Aiden’s self-identification as a woman…and…well, that’s pretty much it. “I can be a woman if I want” is really the extent of the narrative provided here, across all applicable micro-plays. The performers could do a lot more with the experience and knowledge they have, creating strong messages founded by the required intellect and understanding, to really celebrate and empower queer and LGBT+ people as distinctly needed and to educate the unenlightened. The material surrounding this is simply too shallow. Gender and sexuality aside, these performers are all wonderful, energised and vitalised performers, full of personality, drive and a palpable passion. I would just like to see a lot more from Aiden who remains a distinct anomaly in the group, dawdling aimlessly around the stage, competing fallibly with Sergio to call the scenes, failing to keep in time with [a very simple] rhythm in one particular micro-play, and appearing generally indecisive and unsure of herself. I should stress that the company possess a very significant and powerful initiative but that this is sometimes compromised by the fictional elements in certain scenes (my head goes to ‘How I Imagine Jack Has Felt…’ and ‘Charity Shop Chic’ as examples for this). Nevertheless, the initiative is, overall, well communicated and well executed. One important feature of this performance is its ability to take historical events, figures, contexts, etc. and demonstrate, on the whole, their relationship to and lasting effect upon the modern day (an example of this being ‘Lucy Locket…’). I shall finish by noting the tech-heaviness of this performance. Comprising an extreme amount of cues, presumably pre-organised in order to be picked at random, tech is operated with expert management. Graham is certainly very skilled. Yet, with tech manages to remain absolutely complementary and not too intense or overused. It is definitely most successful. Overall, this is an extremely promising performance, proving an incredible versatility, expressing very positive sociopolitical values and deriving from a highly intelligent and radical initiative. “A clever, politically-charged performance with a most unique premise, envisaging great social change.”

This review will consider V&V, written and directed by Misha Pinnington and currently performing at The Vaults Studio, London, as part of The VAULT Festival. I have mixed feelings about this performance, mainly because this performance itself offers two very different stories with their unique readings. Whilst both study the romantic correspondences between a pair of women, the two remain completely disparate narratives with completely different significances. One narrative [referred to below as the historical narrative] imagines the epistolary correspondences between Virginia Woolf (Heather Wilkins) and Vita Sackville-West (EM Williams); the other [referred to below as the modern narrative], the text-message communications between fictional characters Lottie (also Wilkins) and Mia (also Williams) via a modern dating app. The creators make rather retrospective and overanalytical comparisons between communications of romance in the 20th century and those of the modern world. Implied are the dissimilarities between the clarity, simplicity and heartfelt passion offered by traditional letter writing and the ambiguity, duplicity and bluntness of modern text talk. Whilst this is a clear and comprehensive trajectory, it is one utterly lost in the way it is explored through this performance. It is an aim which the play itself does not communicate, with the two stories seeming completely disconnected and unrelated, and with no extra measures beyond mere dialogue taken to convey message, purpose or meaning. There is a confusion between aim and inspiration, and this demonstrates itself in the material we are presented. With the aim so confused and ill-communicated, so is the reasoning behind placing the two narratives alongside one another. For a large number of reasons, only some of which I will detail in this review, the narratives remain very disparate, their relationship remaining confused and unclear. In this respect, overall reading is certainly skewed. The first reason these narratives remain so dissonant has to do with the extending significance of the characters. Lottie and Mia are fictional characters, imagined personae that echo the conceived average experience of communicators on modern dating apps; whereas, the characters of Virginia and Vita represent real-life people, de-contextualised historical figures of whom we have knowledge and understanding that pre-exist and transcend the dramatic text. Already, in the text’s most crude form, we have a friction in the conceptualisation of these characters and in their relatability and hence in their stories. As audiences, we are naturally drawn to the familiar, and in this instance, we are drawn to the figures of Virginia and Vita in this latter narrative and to the experience and context of dating apps in the former; our focus remains imbalanced in this way. In comparing the ways romance is expressed in the past vs in the present, it would make sense to depict either two real correspondences or two imagined ones that are, indeed, rooted in custom and social reality. To explore the romance conveyed in the historical correspondences between Woolf and Sackville-West through a made-up and fictitious romance and to weigh these against each other cannot make for a convincing, conclusive and accurate verdict. We learn nothing and explore nothing of this modern narrative if it comprises only ideas already in the heads of the creators’, without drawing from appropriate forms of evidence. In other words, there is no actual exploration occurring here; instead, a mere fiction is being devised to complement the pre-existing theorisations of the creators. This so-called “exploration” is thus flawed from the very beginning. I should also mention here that this fictionality makes it very difficult to digest the material at the very end of the play. Whilst the story of the modern couple ends in a mere breakup, the story of Virginia and Vita ends in a tragic and long-preempted suicide, intensified by its historicity. Suicide for one ending seems rather drastic and exaggerative compared to a mere sad breakup for the other, and this makes for a disequilibrium in the emotionality of the narratives. Very much related to this is the issue of context. We are presented with a very inconsistent sense of time and location. The time period within which Lottie and Mia’s story operates is marked quite distinctly, with contemporary language, the incorporation of technology (both the dating apps and the use of the projection screen, which I shall elaborate on later) and the exposure of current social values and customs, as outlined in the online articles and expressed through the characters’ inner dialogues — e.g. when characters worry about if they have left enough time before replying, in order to not appear desperate. However, what is there to mark the time period of this narrative, besides a few mentions of location and the figures of Woolf and Sackville-West? We are forced to rely on our own [perhaps incomplete or crude] knowledge of these persons and the time period they inhabited. With the times and their contexts being key to this play’s cross-case analysis, one would think that they would be much better elucidated, nay fundamental to both stories and their presentations and not just implied. Language, too, obviously plays a huge part in this disparity, one offering short and direct communication and the other offering loquacious prose. This difference of language is not so much a problem in itself, as it both distinguishes the narratives and reflects the times in question well, making for clarity and legibility, but the use of two very different languages, each with their own level of complexity of vocabulary, worsens the existing friction between the two narratives. Woolf and Sackville-West are not just generic letter-writers of the 20th century. Being poets, the language these women use retains a certain poeticism that stylises the dialogue in a way unequalled by the language used in Lottie and Mia’s communications which, conversely, do represent a generic modern speech. Not only does the modern narrative present us with modern text speech but also with the language of articles and with inner monologues which present inner speech as well as social speech in an unrestrained and fluid manner. Comparing the unique, particularised, poetic writings of Virginia and Vita against the more general, basilectal speech produced by Lottie and Mia compromises any accuracy or sincerity in conclusions about time-specific communications of romance. Movement plays an equally integral role. The movements for the historical couple are stylised, relational, robotic; for the modern couple, these are a lot more fluid and expansive, seeing the performers making real use of the stage’s geography, hiding behind the projection screen, sitting on chairs, lying on the floor. Again, movement styles do differentiate narratives well, but this differentiation enlarges what already seems like a great distance between the two narratives. Furthermore, towards the very end of the play, these movement styles seem to become unpronounced, blending into one another; it becomes rather unclear, particularly with Virginia and Vita’s writings seemingly losing their verbosity to some degree, as to which characters/stories are being portrayed. I must admit that this is a frequent issue in the latter half of the performance. And then there’s what I shall call the ‘dog sequence’ which demonstrates a completely different performance style of its own, seeing Williams on her knees and begging like a puppy and Wilkins controlling her actions with mystified, serpentine hand gestures. This dog sequence is really the only thing we are presented in the historical narrative that strays away from its unchanging articulation through dialogue and movement. The modern narrative, however, is articulated through many means: dialogue, exaggerative physicality, audience interaction, the use of the projection screen, the projections of text messages and the projections of text… The scene wherein the characters detail the “different types of sexting” sees Williams and Wilkins assume very different roles. They are no longer readably Lottie and Mia but are informants. The two perform beside one another, together, where they have remained up to this point distinctly separated and will continue to be so when this scene comes to a close. Elements like this which inform us of the social context surrounding the characters are not equated in the presentation of the historical narrative. The projections, of course, have a function of their own, providing a distinct visual language also unavailable to us with the historical couple. Yet, they also provide us with a non-human method of storytelling, being technical elements, where the historical narrative relies emphatically on the human voice and body for its telling. Here, we find a colossal stylistic incongruity. I should also take this opportunity to note the danger of projecting text which is intended to match character dialogue. If an actor makes but one mistake, mispronouncing or misreading their lines, this is immediately noted in the mind of the spectator, much like when reading subtitles on a TV that do not match the action. As this play went on, such errors became rather particular to the actors, primarily Wilkins. I would recommend line recall be tighter for this reason. Projections also became increasingly off-centre, and this made for a most unseemly effect during the aforementioned ‘types of sexting’ scene. There is no excuse for misplacing the screen, with white taping marking appropriate positions most conspicuously upon the floor. Projections also lag at times and pre-empt lines at others. I mentioned audience interaction as something which defamiliarises the narratives, and this is the final reason I shall give as to why the narratives remain so disparate. From very early on in the modern narrative, Wilkins and Williams — though, mainly Williams, which naturally causes us to give her more attention — interact directly with audience members, not only relaying to them directly the thoughts of their characters but requesting that they have an input in the play, singling them out as the objects of chat-up line practice, asking if phrases seem appropriate or too heavy. Where is this in the historical narrative? Are we to imagine that Virginia and Vita write their letters without hesitation or practice, without self-censorship and overanalysis? Where are the redrafts and discarded versions of the letters? Audience interaction is also used, less directly, in the overture which sees Wilkins sat upright in a chair Upstage Centre, glaring at us as we enter the house, her head tilting upwards, from left to right, as though looking down upon us. The overture communicates confrontation, connoting also superiority, dignity and pride. This has absolutely nothing to do with the story, or stories, that follow. It feels as though the vast majority of the decisions made in this performance are for temporary effect and do not consider what will be communicated overall when these decisions are lain side by side to be viewed as a complete entity –– a play. Most elements, on paper, seem promising and artistic decisions made for each narrative alone are rational, logical, sensible and clear, but what connects all of the material we are presented remains completely elusive and unarticulated. I think, for instance, that the modern narrative does exemplify well how dating apps have equated a sort of gaming culture, with prospective partners playing hard to get, as it were, limiting expressions of their personalities and assuming various personae to seem “cool”, “edgy” and “mysterious” and hence more appealing, more attractive. In this way, as self-contained pieces, these narratives are, for the most part, accessible and successful, but the significant elements which relate them with one another, those elements that compel the creators to present these narratives alongside one another, need to be better teased out and highlighted for us. As it stands, it feels as though we are watching two completely different plays, and with such stark differences in the imagination, dimensionality, energy and personality that births the narratives, our interest can only favour one narrative over the other. We are forced to see them as very separate entities, for the reasons I list above. I would urge Pinnington to reconsider how, for example, language, movement and technical elements [amongst others] can be used to pair and align the two narratives together rather than to differentiate them, and how this can complement or reinvent our reading of them. As for acting, Williams and Wilkins are rather good actresses, remaining, for the most part of the play, credible and energised. As Lottie and Mia, they are both hilarious and convincing, but I would recommend a brush-up on their portrayals of Virginia and Vita. It is clear, particularly with Williams, that the language offered in the historical narrative sits unnaturally and uncomfortably with these actresses. Credibility is lost to an awkward over-drama. I would just like to finish with a final note on lighting. Detectable even in the photographs above, the tones used in the lighting’s design are very simple and non-overbearing, being, of course, complementary with one another, yet they remain so deep, rich and dynamic. Design undoubtedly complements the performance as it is, but, again, the use of natural lighting vs these rich-coloured washes distinguishes the narratives at too great a cost. Nevertheless, a fine design. “An enjoyable performance but one which suffers from significant inarticulacy.” Photography Credit: Ali Wright.

Written by Anna Wheatley and directed by Jessica Daniels, Beige is a most heartwarming and cogent performance, representing the queer experience, for the most part, with clarity and precision. The play remains both emotional and encouraging, informative and entertaining. A good play, indeed. There do remain, however, many areas of this play that require further attention and refinement. One of these is the use of space and its significances. The stage is divided into three sections by white floor tape, the middle section being the widest and the main playing area. The significance of this is that the two sections on either side are designated “offstage” areas where offstage performers await their cues or interactions with the performers on stage, interactions such as handing over props. It is clear that there is a certain realism and defictionalisation that is desired here, and this is intensified with the direct audience addresses which occur from the very opening of the play throughout. When Ema Thane (playing Alex) enters the stage from within the audience, only to check, perhaps with no actual purpose, the technical equipment and set pieces dotted around the sides of the stage before interacting directly with audience members, Thane both defictionalises the space and makes for a relationship and engagement with spectators, meaning that the content we witness within this space will retain more poignancy, relatability and “realness”. However, this mode of performance is utterly compromised by the fictionality of the play. As soon as the music that is playing during the opening comes to a stop, Thane returns to the stage and portrays the character of Alex. The lighting (Hector Murray) changes completely, and direct audience address, one which solicits a vocal response, is no longer particular to the performance. The interactions that the offstage performers have with the onstage are just as fictional — drastically so, in fact — with one example being the pretence of inserting a CD into a player wherein an onstage performer simply hands over a CD retrieved from the other side of the stage, the second hand is placed over the CD as though the pickup of a record player, and music starts to play over the speakers. This is a most unseemly feature, especially when the CD or its case are dropped, as by Sukey Willis (playing Erin) on the night I saw the performance, and most inconsistent, given that Thane simply puts the CD in a box for the third and last time round, instead of in an offstage performer’s hand. With Jahvel Hall having a seat reserved for him in the front row of the audience, to sit beside an unsuspecting spectator, the title of ‘offstage’ is extremified but to no avail. So, there is a deliberate defictionalisation yet this is compromised by the use of what one might call Aristotelian Drama. This denotes that the performance is most unsure of its mode and style: is this a didactic, message-based piece of theatre, or is this simply a hedonistic one? These defictionalisations do not bode well at all with the most part of the play. This is of concern not only to mode and style but to the audience who will inevitably feel unaware of their role and function in a space which interchanges consistently from interactive and distant, and we find evidence of this in the so-called comedy scenes wherein Thane grabs a microphone and talks to the audience, just as in the opening of the play. Whilst this does gradually improves with each of these scenes, the audience are definitely more reticent, hesitant and resistive at first towards interaction. I would urge Magna to reconsider what this use of space and the boundaries offered or broken by this usage are communicating, what effect these have and if these effects are too disparate, as I believe they are. These are important considerations to be had. On to the writing’s content. This text provides us with a cogent argument for an increase in the understanding of non-binary gender identities, particularly in schools. We are reminded of the key challenges that queer persons face in day-to-day life, from which toilets they feel brave enough to tackle one day to the assault and hate incidents they will face during another. With items such as this former being implicit, evoked in a quick, passing transition, and others, like this latter, being crucial to plot, the content certainly covers a good amount of queer gender-related subjects in as much detail as it sees fit for each. Sexuality is also covered, albeit in less detail, bringing with it its own challenges in regards to relationships and the negative and punitive responses/perceptions that certain romantic partners may have when dating a queer person. Of particular importance in this text is the response of the long-term partner who witnesses the blossoming and the assumption of true identity of their queer other half over a long course of time, a development they might mistakenly deem as “attention-seeking”, “indecisive”, “confused” or “over the top”. These aforementioned comedy scenes, however, seem to retain less poignancy. Some notable and informative matters are definitely raised in these scenes, such as the discouraging inclusion of negatives in queer identity descriptors such as the ‘non-’ in ‘non-binary’ –– as Alex puts it, “No-one wants ‘non-’ in their identity” –– but the overall content of these scenes remains somewhat unnecessary and vapid. I find what I shall call the Interrogation scenes, where Alex is told to curtsy and bow, to be effective at first but rather bland in their repetition. When the “Interrogators” stray away from this formula and start to talk to Alex as though characters later on in the play, I find their significance to be far too esoteric and complicated. Most importantly, and most heartwarmingly, the play succeeds in presenting us with the perfect style of parenting for queer children. Alex's mother, Lila (Jordan Whyte), is completely unfazed by Alex's “unconventional” dress, behaviour and manner, nay she is militantly supportive of and defensive for these, standing up for her child against those who deem them too nonconformist, and excited for developments in their identity, such as getting a new partner. However, there is a drastic change of focus that compromises the content of this play, where Lila suddenly and erroneously becomes the main –– if not only –– focal point of the story. We end with a letter from Lila, one in which she playfully recounts the embarrassing experience of getting locked outside of the house, naked and needing to get to work. Until the end, all information presented about Lila has been presented solely to progress Alex’s story. Everything from her divorce with Alex’s father to her therapy dancing is all intended to inform us of Alex’s character or situation or to help the character of Alex themselves. Her death thus seems far too extreme a change in focus, unrelated to the content we are shown hitherto. This performance is the perfect context to voice profound discourses surrounding gender and sexuality and queerness. Whist a good amount of ground is covered, there is so much more that this performance could touch upon. This performance does touch upon the aspect of inexpressibility of gender that so many queer persons experience, the unavailability or incomplete nature of words to describe gender identity and the resulting feelings of [the displeasingly named] gender dysphoria; however, its manner of doing so is most repetitive and simplistic and hence remains uninformative. When asked why they feels this way, particularly by the Interrogators, Alex becomes distressed and speechless, caving in on themselves frustratedly; it would be beneficial for us as audience members to see Alex overcome this difficulty and find an appropriate and all-encompassing way to express themselves. Furthermore, the queer experience is notably subjective, and I would like to see this stressed more in this performance, to have a more particularised representation beyond the standard and generic. As for the writing itself, the register of language used is, at first, rather unstable, seeing dialogue between Alex and Lila, in particular, incorporating overly descriptive vocabulary. The overall language of the text later becomes much more naturalistic and stomachable. This imbalance is something I would be aware of, editing the script to make for a more fluid and consistent register throughout the text. Acting is very good in this performance, though I would have liked to have seen a lot more vigour and credibility in Hall’s characterisation of Dean and more transformativity when performers multi-role or when Alex is portrayed at different ages. There is an undeniable onstage chemistry between Thane and Whyte, and this certainly works in the play’s favour. The cast remain enjoyable and convincing, and the material that Thane has prepared for moments of audience interaction is also very promising, minimising any tension that could occur. The success of the set (designed by Ica Niemz) is somewhat questionable, as alluded to above, in both its aesthetic and function, and there is a definite overuse of props which frequently prove themselves to be problematic and unmanageable. However, I must say that this set’s organisation makes for very seamless and slick transitions, and the plastic pipe structure proves itself to be a most versatile and imaginative set piece. Lighting aids the performance well, separating scenes smoothly and providing atmosphere and dimension. Costume (also designed by Niemz) is equally appropriate, yet the attire chosen for the teachers, played by Hall and Willis, are most strange, indeed. “A compelling and emotional performance but one in need of a certain tidying.”

The Refuge provides its audience with an intriguing gothic tale of mystery, love, betrayal and murder. Its potential certainly remains very promising, but there are many refinements that need to be made in order to make this performance richer and more compelling. I shall start with plot. There is a huge inconsistency in the focus of this text. Clare’s (Sheena May) relationship with Paul (Jason Denyer) and Paul’s affair with Emma (Catherine Allison) remain the focal points of the plot throughout, yet this is complicated by the over-inclusion of other content. There is simply too much material aiming to be crammed into a single one-hour performance, and this means that material remains rushed, impetuous, unfinalised and open-ended, overall, and that these original focal points lose their credibility and significance. Both story and narrative become convoluted and unfocused in this way. One predominant reason for this confusion of content is the inclusion of gothic material. At first, gothic elements are simply stylistic, contextualising and informing both the material and our readings of it: bad weather conditions; eerie, secluded and treacherous geographies; etc. However, once Clare sets foot in the hotel, these elements become less evocative and stylistic, and more integral to the story. We find that the hotel is haunted, and Clare is repeatedly teased by the presence of spirits, the sound of their scratchings and the tellings of their hauntings. I imagine that this theme of haunting is to demonstrate that Clare is still haunted by her reckless, murderous actions of the past, but, if this is, indeed, the case, this is most inarticulate, as it is not Clare that is haunted, per se, but, rather, the hotel itself. The fact that the hotel is haunted is something oft-repeated amongst the characters and implied most notably by Emma who remembers ghost-hunting guests who once came to stay, readily equipped to set up cameras around the building. In this way, the haunting remains unparticularised, generic, unspecific to Clare and her situation or past. In other words, the haunted hotel is simply another [irrelevant] feature of the text, a simple eerie location to house the more important action. Yet, this is complicated when the scratching that Clare has been hearing [for an unreasonable and unrealistic period of time for such a short message] is revealed upon a slate in the corner of a room to be the sound of a message being written, supposedly by the haunting spirit: ‘GET OUT’. This theme of haunting loses its title as a mere ‘theme’, and haunting becomes a concrete and unignorable event in the story. Then, a real ghost, an apparition of Tom’s brother (Peter Jeffries), is revealed — another event, only, this time, one which brings us to the end of the narrative, one which has a palpable impact on the story, jerking Clare’s memory of her reckless driving, and closing the play. Yet, what relationship does Tom’s brother’s ghost have to the spirit which haunts the hotel? To our knowledge: none. It is a mistake to think that the trivial and negligible theme of ghost hauntings specific to the setting of the hotel contextualises this final apparition which will have such a decisive role in the story; the two are completely unrelated beyond mere motif. And this is without mentioning how awkward and unimpressive this apparition scene is, with Jeffries simply standing still in Tom’s brother’s red shirt, his hair across his face. More imagination is necessary here. Beyond the doubtful inclusion of ghosts, we are left with an array of unclosed material, of questions that are not born out of intrigue and suspense but out of incompletion or inconsistency of plot: Why did Emma switch to helping Clare after agreeing to murder her? Her reasoning, that she did not know what Paul was capable of, seems unrealistic considering that she knew Paul had murdered Emma’s father. And why did he kill her father in the first place? Why is the hotel haunted and by whom? This, one would imagine, would be of particular importance to divulge. What is the significance of the photo album that Molly shows Clare, and of the people in these photographs? This seems completely unnecessary, a most unprogressive, needless and, frankly, boring scene. Had Clare passed the café before or not? It remains both ill-communicated and unlikely that Clare would have been to the town before, given that there is nothing there for her. What is the money that Paul has been swindling Clare even for? Perhaps these all have profound and detailed answers in the creators’ minds, but to an audience, these items together simply seem highly convoluted and far-fetched, unsubstantiated and rash. The question remains: is this a ghost story or a story about heartbreak, deception and murder? Again, the focal points throughout this play remain the relationship and the affair, meaning that the ending leaves us with a great sense of dissatisfaction. These focal points are simply discarded for the solving of a murder in which we have rather little interest. Emma is just left behind at the hotel; Paul is dead; and Emma is a murderer… It seems as though this longevitous buildup of deceit, betrayal, lust and love is compromised by these hasty events, as though a certain shock factor was wrongly favoured in lieu of coherency and continuity. To end with exposing Clare as Tom’s brother’s murderer signifies that we are desired to think of this murder as the crux of the story. Then, why does this feature so little in the plot? The various, disparate materials which constitute this text make for a very confused reading, but that is not to say that they are all terrible in themselves. The ideas are there, however unpolished they are, and definitely have the potential to combine well. For this reason, I would urge a complete reworking and fine-tuning of the text, making sure that all of the elements presented function alongside one another, that all scenes and characters have relevance and significance, that nothing is discardable or negligible. I would also recommend extending this play so as to allow the various materials to breathe and mature, to give them enough time to take their full effect; or, I would recommend deleting features completely, acknowledging that these will not work in tandem with one another without clever and in-depth revision. The acting in this performance, I am afraid, ranges from mediocre to good, with Jeffries and Eliza McClelland remaining the most convincing and invigorated performers. I must say that I was particularly disappointed with Denyer who remains utterly unconvincing and unenergised. Once he is exposed as a cheat, Paul’s insincerity should be stressed not only through our understanding of events but through Denyer’s portrayal of him. We should be able to read deceit and manipulativeness in Denyer’s speech and gestures; instead, he remains just as wooden and ungiving as before. This problem is shared with Allison when her character, Emma, suddenly and unpersuasively changes sides to help Clare escape. The lack of energy, of desperation, makes the sudden switch seem unconvincing; in fact, it makes it seem as though part of a plan, a trap, and when this proves not to be the case, the effect is most underwhelming. There is a certain stasis in performativity amongst the majority of the cast, a lack of vigour, zest and passion. It is the text that does most of the work for these, dare I say, rather lifeless actors. Beyond physicality, there is the lack of naturalism in the delivery of lines as well as the stumbling over lines which occurs just enough times to be noticeable and irksome. Notably, all of this is not just a histrionic issue but one editorial (writing by Lynne O'Sullivan) and directorial (Gigi Robarts as director) as well. There should never, unless deliberate, be an extensive amount of stillness or calmness in a play, and this text and its direction make for a particularly fixed and unvarying setup. As for technical components, I must note that sound is particularly awful. It remains far too synthesised and loud, not to mention limited to only one side of the stage, and this is most subtractive. I mentioned earlier that the time given to the sound of the spirit’s scratching is unreasonable considering the short message produced, and sound plays a huge role in this, with the scratching being noticeably fast. Surely, the message, completed with such speedy ease, would be finished in no time. This is a good representation for the lack of realism in sound. Music, however, complemented transitions and faded appropriately. I would have liked the lighting to have gone easier on the blackouts, but I note that this is somewhat due to the lack of imagination in the writing, with power cuts being an overused item. “A passable piece of theatre relying far too heavily on shock and pre-existing style and motif.”

Written by Robert Holtom, directed by Tom Wright and performed at the Network Theatre, Dumbledore Is So Gay is most definitely an enjoyable play, but there remain some key areas that need to be reworked. My first issue with the text is its lack of incorporation of Harry Potter (HP) material. One would imagine, especially with the name of a key character of the series, Albus Dumbledore, making its way into the very title of the play, that HP-related material would be a hallmark of and inseparable from this performance; this is, most strangely, not the case. Whilst references are made semi-consistently to HP characters, the Wizarding World and the overall franchise, there is very little to truly concretise these as crucial to the narrative. However, when least expected, Rowling’s idea of the Time Turner suddenly becomes a key storytelling tool to recall/rework plot, and we find the franchise playing a crucial role in constituting the play’s structure and events. Yet, once the Time Turner has done its part, HP takes a backseat once again… This imbalance of HP-related material and non-HP-related material makes for a peculiar and unstable reading of the text. HP-related content is not worked into the text in such a way that it complements or progresses narrative and plot but, instead, is used on the sideline for comedic effect, and this is most unseemly. I would recommend either working this better into this text or scrapping it completely. To replace the Time Turner with a simple "If only I could do it all over again" would have the exact same outcome here; nothing would be affected, and this is definitely an issue. The story should function in such a way where it would not be able to progress without these items. Jack’s (Alex Britt) being a Hufflepuff is something I find to have promise, however. Within the HP fandom, being a Hufflepuff is a rather plain and second-rate ascribable identity, remaining stigmatised and oft-denigrated, and it is something that Jack initially presents himself as awkward about, shy of, ashamed of, etc. Yet, by the end of the play, he is assuming his identity as a Hufflepuff boldly and proudly, despite its connotations amongst other HP fans, and this serves as a good pop culture analogy for people assuming their identities as homosexual or queer, one which promotes self-empowerment despite social prejudices seemingly out of one’s control. This is definitely a feature of this performance but still remains a very minor item. I think this play would benefit, if it were to continue to promote reliance upon these HP references, from utilising more features like this and concretising them as vital aspects/messages of the text. The same can be said of Jack’s focus on Dumbledore as the only gay character who then also ends up dead, an example of lack of representation in mainstream entertainment. This is something touched upon by the text but made to be fleeting, insignificant. On to acting. The actors are each very engaging and perform with high energy and vigour, yet there are still other, more basic practices that they need to be conscious to implement, such as holding for audience laughter –– a notable and recurrent issue –– or coming out of character to smile or laugh to themselves, this latter being most particular to Britt. Charlotte Dowding (playing Gemma and others) definitely proves herself to be quite a versatile actress, assuming her various roles with refinement and articulacy, and I particularly favour –– as did the majority of audience members, so it seemed –– the scene wherein she plays both Gemma and Jack’s mother at the same time. This play certainly allows for a humorous self-referentiality where multi-roling is concerned, drawing deliberate metatheatrical attention to the technique, and this is most fruitful and comedic. On the other hand, Max Percy (playing Olly and others) struggles at times with his transformativity, his characterisations sometimes blending into one another, but when his characters are more refined, they are most certainly credible and absorbing. Britt remains consistently engaging and endearing throughout but could benefit from slightly more zest and emotional specificity in places. I would like to have seen more emotion from the actors who present very caricaturised characters, making the more serious scenes, and their severity, awkward or difficult to read. However, this is just as much an editorial/directorial issue, with comedy and fast pace being fundamental to the dramatic text, and with serious and hard-hitting content such as suicide or vitriolage being [sometimes improperly] skimmed over. On the topic of writing, I will note that I was most pleased that there were variations with each repetition of the story, besides the radical changes in plot. However, it irks me –– once again –– that homosexuality and its resulting experiences are synonymous with suffering, pain and shame and the overcoming of these. Whilst there are certainly very heartwarming moments in this play, particularly where shame and prejudices are rejected, there remains a sense of bleakness. The focus on shame becomes rather condemning at times, particularly through the representation of lascivious behaviour, and content remains somewhat unoriginal and unimaginative, despite its seemingly unique premise. However, comedy is certainly the strongpoint of this text, both in the traditional sense, which provides us with a sense of resolution and catharsis, and in relation to wit and humour. This is certainly an uplifting play, overall, especially with its loveable, if rather unexceptional and caricatured, characters. As for the aesthetics, the wooden block stools and bench make for a clean, versatile and dimensional playing area, yet I find the metal netting to be a strange aesthetic decision. As for lighting (designed by Rory Heaton), there remain far too many cues, making for complicated visuals which oftentimes drown the stage with one coloured wash after another. A most rudimentary design. “A good performance but in need of some rethinking and realignment in both structure and content.”