Aesthetically, this performance is incredibly promising. It has an astute and definitive palette of blacks, whites and dark greens, with objects rarely falling out of this scheme. This is most visually pleasing. As an extension of this, the organisation of the space, for the most part, is also satisfactory, proving symmetrical, clean and neither under- or overwhelming. Costume adds vigour and also refinement to this performance, complementing character profiles and characterisations as well as quirk and humour (the sonic quality of Gwendolen’s (Pinar Ogun) leather boots, for example) and, again, the overall aesthetic. My only issue here, however, is the lack of coherency across the costumes, comparing satin dress-shirts, rhinestoned cardigans and skirts to coquettish and gothic lace dresses, platform boots and leather jackets, for example. There lacks in these costumes a sense of time and collective profile, in this way. Visuals are intrinsic to this performance, yet what they communicate is often dubious. The first most blatant visual element that I will write about is the figure of the maid (Nea Cornér). Director Aylin Bozok makes a bold decision in having Cornér present constantly throughout the performance, tucked away in the corner, eavesdropping on if not watching the action that occurs. We are made to think of Cornér not as a character or person but as a mystical bystander, a powerful, nay magical, and influential figure, rearranging the space and moving the other characters across the stage without their knowing, all through a kind of telekinesis. This is a very deliberate and particular decision, and it is one that complicates our reading of the dramatic text. My question is, quite simply: why? What is she adding to the performance if not visual appeal? How is this sorcery moving the performance along in a way in which its absence would squander it? In fact, the deliberateness of having Cornér always on stage means that our readings of scenes in which she is not present becomes complicated. As I wrote, she is primarily presented as a kind of otherworldly and inhuman entity, controlling the fates of all of the characters, and yet her significance is overlooked in certain scenes, primarily those involving Cecily (Glykeria Dimou). Why is such an integral figure absented here? Is she not in control of the entire plot, only aspects of it? Only certain characters? It seems as though the aim here was just to add some mysticism and intrigue rather than anything thoughtful, meaningful and texturised. When characters are magnetised or teleported, for lack of a better term, onto the stage, a pattern emerges: actors intend to appear weightless, floaty or puppet-like, assuming their positions in the space, and when the teleportation is finished, the characters all scream, in shock of their new surroundings or of the sudden realisation of a new presence in the space. Yet, this pattern seems superfluous and simply for humour. The characters immediately move on from their shock, and the scene resumes as though nothing has happened. I am not looking for an explanation here — repetition is enough to add tone and texture, and so I am not concerned necessarily with why this could be a reasonable style for this performance — my concern remains, instead, directed towards why this particular manner of expression was decided upon for this performance. The mysticism here is incomplete, faltering and inconsistent. What is more, it is fruitless, resulting in nothing and projected from nowhere. And all this coming from the figure of the maid is a decision connoting a very specific, unexpectable subversion of power, and this connotation is far too particularised to be ignored by the plot in the way it is. Such patterns and routines compose another element integral to this performance. As with the routine outlined above, there are two others I would like to draw attention to surrounding the character of Gwendolen that add absolutely nothing but quick-fire humour: one involves overdramatic, sexual interactions between her and John (Louis Pottier), most notably in Lady Bracknell’s (Ece Ozdemiroglu) presence; the other concerns the rigid pattern of behaviour she demonstrates when sitting down on the sofa, taking her time to decide, rather pointlessly and deliberately, on which part of the sofa to sit before sticking one leg out and adjusting the position of her glasses upon her face. Routines such as these are particularly distractive from the dramatic text because they are nothing but tonal, concerned with the overall mood and feel of scenes as opposed to the development of plot and character. The sheer volume of such routines, these two being prime examples, means that this subtraction from plot, in particular, is severe. It is incredibly difficult throughout the entire performance to really focus on the actual action of the play, and events start to lose their integrity. Rather than being used to complement the plot, to add texture and tone to an articulate and clear dramatic text, these moments of humour, much like with the mysticism mentioned above, are used as the very material itself. The plot becomes supplementary, nay superfluous, almost. This first example of Gwendolen’s routines is a prime example of this, as rather important information is subtracted from due to her and John’s loud and outlandish interactions. However, these routines also start to lose their integrity as they are overplayed, this being particularly true to this latter example of Gwendolen’s routines which starts out as endearing and timely but which becomes more of a rule that Ogun must follow, one which fades into the background of busy scenes and which becomes time-consuming laborious and tiresome. With the comedic quality of these declining, there is little else on stage to propel the performance along. This is this performance’s weakest point by far. In fact, the performance starts to become incredibly predictable, and even this persistent comedy seems to give up on itself until the performance is nothing but humdrum motions. What is more, momentum is consistently and deliberately thwarted throughout this performance, with utterly unnecessary moments such as one metatheatrical scenario, again repeated far too often, where we find the maid obstructing the movements of the other characters, sprawling out on the sofa on which they are going to sit, for example. Here, the scene comes to a halt, and the actors look at her expectantly until she moves, and the last line is repeated and the scene continues as before. These moments are needless and ineffably subtractive, as are others where characters mispronounce something and are corrected in difficulty by the rest of the cast or start delivering their lines in what is presumably their own language, only to be stopped by another to restart in English. This brings me on to the discourse [supposedly] surrounding the play. The cast consisting ‘purposefully’ of immigrants, this production professes to comment on the difficulty immigrants face in their integration into British culture, and I imagine that Pan Productions believe these moments of interruption, distraction, fallibility and correction to be successfully evocative of this discourse…they are not. There is absolutely nothing which links this performance to the social realities of immigration, beyond a few intentional mispronunciations and the use of other languages. I can definitely see how these elements have been inspired –– for example, delivering lines in one’s own language being representative of a faltering code-switching, an unintentional and unrealised slip of the mother tongue, so to speak — but the intended message behind or inspiration behind such elements does not equate what the messages actually are or what is actually being communicated. Until these moments arise, in fact, it is incredibly easy to forget that this performance has anything to do with immigration whatsoever. Even if these moments were more articulate, what exactly are the focal aspects here of immigration and integration into British society? It remains unclear. As explained above, this text is adapted primarily for comedy, not for discursiveness. Perhaps the additions made should not be these comical [and vapid] routines and interactions but additions that complement the motives behind this performance. Otherwise, we are left with a very peculiar image of immigrants, that they are mystical entities with telekinetic powers or overly sexual persons, that their main issues in settling into British culture revolve around dated British ideals of suitability for marriage. This performance lacks an incredible amount of focus and drive. Its intentions do not come through in any way shape or form, and it remains simply a wacky and peculiar staging of a well-known play, comical and endearing turned repetitive and lacklustre. It would be better to use the playtext as a skeletal frame for exploration into immigrant realities. This does not necessarily have to be serious and weighty; it could also be rather satirical. There are so many features of this play which would make for marvellous exposure of immigrant life in Britain or for critiques on British culture’s inflexibility towards immigrants: John’s countryman/city-dweller could be used to critique the binarism of native/foreigner; Lady Bracknell’s obsession with marriage could expose how immigrants relate to one another, socially as well as romantically, and to suchlike British institutions; John’s being born in a handbag could lead to discourses on the importance attributed in social ideology to birthplace and resulting xenophobia. Again, I am not asking for a profound exploration into this but for clarity. There is a massive friction between aim and execution. It seems as though this narrative of immigration is an artistic overthought, more significant and seemly in the minds of the performance’s creators than anything materialised on stage. There is a lot of fictionality in this performance which dampens its readability as a poignant piece of theatre. Characters are far too caricaturistic, the text is ill-tailored and simply whimsical, and the focus on the dated life of the upper-class exacerbates the lack of contemporary study. Moving on to characterisation, actors are, on the whole, engaging and cogent performers. Engagingness is more a problem concerning the text and its content, rather than performer capability. However, when routines are not relied on, and especially when the stage consists only of a few actors, energy is enabled to fall considerably. Performers are definitely in need of more vitality in places. The use of space is alright, but I would pay attention to how often Cornér faces away from the audience. If her presence really is so negligible and pointless that she should have her back to us throughout the entirety of some scenes, it would be better to omit her completely from them. Another note I have for Cornér is that I had absolutely no idea she played two characters, Lane and Merriman. Again, a lack of articulacy and conceptualisation; Cornér is simply representative throughout of a ghostly maid and nothing else. Some final notes on tech. Music (composed by Andrea Boccadoro), though highly simple –– yet, this is not necessarily a bad thing –– retains clarity and theme. Despite its lack of significance and its irrelevance to the text, I must admit that I do really enjoy the motif conceived for this production, but this is obviously subjective. Lighting (designed by Morgan Richards) could be far more focused and articulate but, on the whole, is satisfactory. I will say that it would be far more visually pleasing for this particular performance, however, to have lighting rise from a blackout or deeply coloured wash than from a lower intensity to a higher one in natural lighting states. The use of sound (designed by Neil Mckeown) is utterly incoherent. Why all the characters are represented by a particular sound, such as a bell strike for Lady Bracknell and a cawing crow for Cecily, I have not the slightest idea. An ill-conceived and fruitless addition, not to mention only used twice or thrice in the performance. However, I imagine this is more of a directorial issue. Sound also failed to coincide with action on stage successfully very frequently. “A rather enjoyable performance but one whose superficiality and repetitiveness becomes hard to stomach.”

John O’Connor performs Charles Dickens’s original text of A Christmas Carol in a touring one-man show directed by Peter Craze. This review will consider the performance of the 23rd at the Greenwich Theatre. This is not a particularly captivating performance, though it does certainly have its areas of interest. I shall start with these. Though I might call these the bare minimum, this performance provides us with a solid basis for our own imaginations to run wild. This is captured not only through O’Connor’s multi-roling and various mimes and voices but through the use of lighting, sound and projected images. Mimed gestures and sound effects produced by O’Connor himself are most certainly evocative, providing not only a sense of transportation but a certain comedy and quirk as well — although, all of this remains truer of the middle-end of the play, as I shall detail later. The use of space is, for the most part, adequate, and the multi-function of certain set pieces makes for rather dynamic visuals, bringing life into the components of the stage and the stage itself. Projections in particular, though simple, echo location sufficiently and transport us from an otherwise static and unimaginative set. Now, on to the not-so-positives. The set (designed by Tom Paris) consists of two large cases which are opened to reveal their innards as fake bookshelves, and a projection screen that sits between them. There is also a high table, a chair and the only prop, a book. The problem here is that the set, rigid and unmoving, provides the actor with little possibility for interaction, and hence, any interactions with the set that are to be had become repetitive, predictable and bland. If the actor/performer and the action presented are both captivating enough, this stasis does not necessarily become an issue. In this performance, however, an issue it most definitely was. Disappearing behind the set, simply to return in front of the projection screen — oftentimes with very little change in persona, physicality or character, or none whatsoever, even — the opening/closing and readings of the book and, most irritatingly, the disassembling and reassembling of the high table and its topper; all of these actions are too banal and bland to be effective, nay enjoyable, in their repetition, and this performance begins, erroneously, to rely on them. My very first confusion with set, however, was actually the titling projected onto the screen at the overture and during the interval. The screen reads, ‘Written & Performed by Charles Dickens’. I am aware that Dickens may have performed this play himself, but the suggestion here is that we are to consider the current performer, O’Connor, as Dickens himself. There is nothing else beyond this title to concretise or evidence this, and it seems most unnecessary and incongruous with the text. O’Connor functions as nothing but a simple narrator; he is not caricaturising or even vaguely representing Dickens’s figure. So, why the subtitle reads, ‘Performed by Charles Dickens’ is beyond my comprehension. Perhaps I have missed a symbolism somewhere, or I have completely missed the point…I doubt it. All features must be deliberate, coherent and meaningful, especially at the very beginning of a performance. When O’Connor finally enters, I find his performance to be most dissatisfying. Again, O’Connor seems to do the bare minimum to be classed as performing, his voices for different characters being far too indistinct and unchanging, and his physicality being, for the vast majority of his performance, negligible and weak. Even his very first action — which entails him entering the stage and present himself head-on to the audience before raising a hand but in a jerk of memory to turn and open the bookcases behind him — demonstrates both lack of energy and of originality. I find this beginning to be incredibly unfortunate, dilute and boring. This gesture is needless, just a weak and awkward display of incongruous metatheatre, and the bookcase is so uninspiring that the slight build-up permitted here is anticlimactic: “What could he have forgotten? What is he doing? What is in the case? …Oh.” Having O'Connor organise his set in this way adds nothing but outmoded comedy, and the bookcases should be open to start with. In fact, to keep to the topic of O’Connor’s gestures, I find issues with many of these throughout the beginning–middle of the performance. For the most part, O’Connor performs with clasped hands, making short-lived and irregular gestures every now and then which supposedly intend to complement his lines. These are far too infrequent, however, and seem as though after-thoughts, unimpactful and ill-conceived. As alluded to before, when he is portraying varying characters, there is certainly a change in physicality and expression, yet this is very, very slight for most characters besides the character of Scrooge. For these reasons, I would have liked to see more dynamism in O’Connor’s performance, more vitality but, more importantly, a more embracive assumption of characters. This does gradually change throughout the performance, and our actor does become more and more physical, gesticulative and active. This is almost what I would like to see throughout, yet energy is still very much lacking. Also, this shift/development in energy just means that the very former part of the performance seems simply disjointed from the latter, visually and emphatically imbalanced if placed side by side. Another issue I have with O’Connor’s performance concerns a danger I associate closely with solo performances: oftentimes, when portraying multiple characters alone, a performer will look from side to side, and this incessant back-and-forth motion becomes utterly jarring and irritating to watch. This danger certainly bared itself in this performance. Usually, if this were a shorter production or a minor feature of this performance, I would recommend drawing attention to this peculiarity through a self-conscious melodrama or something of that calibre, but for this performance, I recommend performing deliberately and clearly straight out to the audience, head-on, rather than from side to side. This would have also limited the amount of time O’Connor spent with his back turned to front-row audience members, primarily Stage Right but, indeed, also Stage Left. Perhaps this would not have been so jarring, however, if characters were much better articulated through demeanour, physicality and voice as opposed to movement. The text does allow for quite an amount of monotony if there is not enough variation in performance, and this needs to be better understood for this performance to be more successful. However, as I have mentioned, energy and momentum did improve as the play went on, but it was rather too late, for me. When O’Connor’s portrayal of female characters is wilder and louder than his portrayal of the Christmas Ghosts, it is clear that there is definitely a problem. There is certainly, in this way, a failure to understand which aspects of characters, which gestures and which tones to stress, caricaturise and draw attention to. On this site, I frequently include, where appropriate, audience reactions or feedback/comments to reflect receptions of a performance that are beyond my personal experience. It is without bias, then, that I must admit here that the audience seemed to enjoy this performance a lot more than I did, demonstrating this with stillness, laughter and an utterly roaring applause. Whilst four audience members did noticeably leave during the interval, to not return, this number does not compare to the vast majority who seemed to bear a very positive response. “A most underwhelming performance, stagnant and lacking depth.”

Written by Niamh de Valera, The Christmas Quest is a delightful performance for families and children. It is currently performing at the Blue Elephant Theatre. This performance really works the imagination of its young audience, from the usual Christmas tales to magical devices, talking teddies and enchanted worlds. Not only is the content very fruitful in this way, but there is also an interactivity to this performance. Children are able to post letters, which they have completed prior to the performance, with sentences to finish and a drawing of Santa to colour, and play a vital role in securing that the Christmas Quest be successful, forming bridges over chasms and encouraging the characters with a Christmassy rendition of ‘Jingle Bells’ and, of course, reindeer dancing. However, the danger with encouraging such interaction from an audience of children is, of course, that excitement may overcome them and cause them to lose focus and calm. This definitely proves to be somewhat problematic in this performance for two reasons. The first is that there are no real cues or implemented tactics to calm the children. One quick solution to this is to fascinate or mesmerise the children. Overstimulating visuals or sounds tend to both magnetise and stupefy young children, and this makes for a more receptive spectation. This could be achieved through lighting or through set, the letter machine being a perfect site for both of these, or slow music also tends to do this, but I do not think that would be particularly congruous stylistically with this performance, nor would that complement time — the performance’s duration only being one hour. The second reason concerns energy and style. Energy remains incredibly high, particularly in the very beginning of the performance, which is wonderful, but it does mean that it is difficult to come down from the high, as it were. The shift between interactive and self-contained scenes is unmarked and hence relatively unrecognisable, and, furthermore, there are many mixed signals as to whether the children are allowed to interact or not. Popping up again and again in various locations around the stage before darting back behind the curtains, Ruby the Reindeer (Amelia Parillon) waves cheekily and furtively at the children as they settle in the space. Meanwhile, Elliot the Elf (Santiago Del Fosco) interacts with audience members, even asking one child to ‘look after’ the Elf Phone which is placed beneath them. This setup is, of course, emphasising the interactive quality of this performance. When Ruby finally enters for good and converses with the Elf — for a period of time I would deem far too long to hold a child’s attention successfully — it is intended that the children listen to their conversation intently. Besides a few initial smiles out to the audience, this scene is completely self-contained. This beginning has permitted energy to build considerably amongst the children…yet, where does this energy go? When the children are intended to remain passive spectators during this conversation, they are obviously most likely to become restless and disruptive. Restlessness was definitely true of the young audience that I witnessed. I would definitely recommend a revision of style for this performance. Scenes should progress from interactive to self-contained and vice versa fluidly and clearly and should not leave an audience second-guessing or unsure of their function. I would recommend that scenes in this particular performance always retain a sense of interactivity yet through asides, glances to the audience, and a third-person narrative. Whilst moments such as Ruby’s introduction should be delivered to the children directly, conversations and other longer pieces of speech should be self-contained yet delivered as if direct audience address. This would entail angling oneself to be always facing the audience and reacting overdramatically and self-referentially, all whilst speaking to one another in the third person (think pantomime but without the extravagance). For the most part, it was clear that Parillon and Del Fosco were deliberately trying to face the audience. In a more naturalistic and adult-oriented performance, facing away would not be too great an issue, but for a performance like this, such traditional rules of theatre apply strictly. In the very beginning, there is definitely an attempt to calm the audience. Elliot remarks how wonderfully the children are organising themselves and how attentive and quiet they are being, a condition and tone they are very well accustomed to in education institutions and so will respond to more readily over other techniques. On the morning I saw this performance, this was somewhat effective…initially. Ruby’s appearances soon caught the attention of the children, and an indirect game of ‘It’s behind you’ ensues, shortly after which Elliot demands their attention once more. Not only is Del Fosco’s control of the environment compromised by the added excitement of spotting Ruby, but there is, again, mixed messages: are the children supposed to be listening attentively to Elliot or screaming for having seen Ruby? This latter is seemingly made acceptable by an enabling Elliot. So, omitted tactics to help maintain order, calm and focus potentially make this performance rather thorny. Yet, this thorniness is met with a comprehensive plot and very endearing characters. Through a magical, Christmassy lens, the plot successfully presents a clear story structure: context, problem, solution, conclusion. Simplicity is good here for a children’s production, and the linear, progressive structure followed is one a child at this age can recognise very well. The two characters, Elliot and Ruby, start off as distinctly different: Elliot is organised, meticulous and intelligent; Ruby is bubbly, lighthearted and somewhat dopy. Not the seemliest pair, these two characters end up joining forces and saving the magical crystal together, along with their sidekick, Teddy. This trio are very lovable and consistently remind the audience that friendship pervades all with the initial exclusion and final integration of Teddy. Such narrative developments, however, are not communicated in the best way. There seem to be core messages that the play is trying to convey, such as this one which teaches the children to never exclude one another despite their differences, yet these are given little stage time and are not made to be anywhere near prominent enough. I mentioned that the plot was easy to follow, and this is true on a fundamental and conceptual level, yet even this is rather complicated in its overall expression. The main thing that would complicate a reading of this performance for a young audience is the script’s language register. Words like ‘translated’, ‘process’, ‘excluded’, and, later, the deliberate addition of ‘suitable projectile’, are used much too frequently in this performance. What is more, when they are used — usually by Elliot — there is no change in persona or tone. When Elliot explains that the two will need a ‘suitable projectile’ to get the crystal down from a height, for example, despite his relatively pedestrian pacing, there is no change in his persona, nor is any attention drawn to the fact that he is utilising such complex vocabulary; this is just naturalised in the dramatic text. This joke falls especially flat, given that Elliot speaks this way regularly, anyway, and so any such change in register is utterly undetectable. Ruby follows this particular example with “Did anyone understand any of that?”, to which the children on the morning I attended the performance quite confidently replied, “No!” Despite the fact that the desired effect would not be the same amongst such a young audience, this was, evidently, intentional. Yet, this does not speak for the rest of the performance where this sort of language is used. Standing up tall, one finger in the air, talking more pronouncedly, all whilst looking at the audience — or some other dramatic physical shift of this nature — would enable children to understand, rather paradoxically, that they are not meant to understand, and this would have been better in this example. Personally, I would have simply stayed away from any such language altogether. Tone and diction are far more important than language, especially for children. All of this being said, the two performers were very good, and their energies and physicalities were equally as fruitful. When crucial for safety, these performers are admittedly rather good at managing the children and stopping them from running down the stairs in excitement to join the bridge-building team, for example. It is more with the preemption of behaviours that this dramatic text struggles, at the conceptualisation stage. The performers use space very well, making for both dimension and an immersive feel. I will say, however, that Del Fosco lends far too much time to the front row in his interactions, particularly the front row to his right, for some reason. ‘Silliness’ is a strongpoint for these performers (the squatting and the puffing of the cheeks when trying to reassemble the crystal, the hopscotching and side-dancing, the run-jumping, the break-dancing, etc.), yet I would have liked to see more of this — again, far too much time was given to dialogue. This performance makes for some captivating and transportive imagery, and this needs to be further accentuated. This brings me on to set (designed by Stuart Glover). The letter machine was an absolutely wonderful, if somewhat utilitarian, feature. Its usability and functionality were positively awe-inspiring, and its quirky features, most namely the ball and ramps, were equally endearing. I would just have liked to see more prominence and articulacy in its design. I could perhaps make out a bird’s nest, but there was no clear and distinct ornamentation which I felt limited the appeal and magic of the machine beyond its title and concept. For such a large contraption there was relatively little spectacularity. Maybe some Christmas ornaments or figurines, even some extra tinsel and ribbons or some rainbow glitter, could have heightened the visual effect amongst the children. However, this set requires utility over beauty, and so this is less of an issue. Its function as a collection point for letters to Santa is most magical alone. I will say, though, that the machine is very ill-communicated to the audience, especially the nature of the antennae on top of it — just what thoughts, and whose thoughts, for that matter, are translated into letters? As for lighting (also designed by Stuart Glover), this could be a lot more dynamic and a lot sharper in its focus but was sufficient. The blue wash was evocative alone to transport us to an icy cave, if a little too simplistic. Costume (designed by Jacqui Livingston), however, was just right. One final note on music. I found music to be extremely incongruous with this performance. Not only did it lack a sense of coherency and theme, but it also made use of far too many genres, from pop music to techno club music. This was not in any way befitting of a performance for children, nor was it very Christmassy. Overall, this performance is definitely very enjoyable. It demonstrates successful imagination and contains some excitable features. It is definitely strong in both its concept and design. However, a lot more thought needs to go into tailoring the script for the minds of the very young. Not only does the performance need to do this to make for a more orderly spectatorship but mainly for comprehensibility. Similarly, performers could also be better equipped with tactics to manage a young audience’s focus. “Conceptually, a wonderful, intriguing and pretty performance for young children; just in need of more tailoring insofar as communication.”

I have seen quite a few shows produced by Theatre Peckham and its young actor-training programme, and I must admit that this performance was rather disappointing, knowing what is usually achieved. I shall start with what is first presented to the audience: set. Set was definitely very wild in its design, and this was not necessarily a negative thing. It had a bright and vibrant colour scheme, met with various patterns and geometries, and this was definitely eye-catching and otherworldly. The addition of blacklight patterns –– invisible painted plant and vine designs which illuminate under blacklight to signify what I shall call the "Upper World" –– was definitely awe-inspiring and magical and of just the right amount so as not to be under-/overwhelming. The main issue I have with this set, however, is that it remained far too stationary. There was an extreme lack of workability, meaning that interactions with it were either impossible or unseemly. There was an overuse of curtains across gaps through which props and articles were passed, and these were far too rigid, meaning that hands on the other side were often visible. On that note, certain sections of the stage were far too translucent. The overall height of the set was also considerably short, and these two facts together meant that it was oftentimes the case that actors or stagehands could be seen backstage, passing across from wing to wing or readying items for the next scene. This is all highly destructive of illusion and must be avoided. Unless about to enter the stage, performers should keep well distanced from the set and, most obviously, well out of sight. The first character to enter the stage is Mrs Trott (Michael Bertenshaw). Bertenshaw enters slowly and nonchalantly, only to sit to the side of the stage and softly play a ukulele. A small "Oh, I didn't see you there!", and the performance beings. This is a most dissatisfying beginning. The Pantomime Dame continues to be a vital and, above all, self-mockingly gaudy and ostentatious feature of a pantomime. They are ludicrous in both their attire and attitude. In this opening, Bertenshaw does not seem, unfortunately, to fit the bill. I imagine that the comedic value of this opening was supposed to be rooted in this nonchalance, that we would find the severity and self-accepting nature of Mrs Trott’s entrance to be hilarious enough. Timing, I am afraid, is what made this so displeasing. To start with this particular stock character is a bold decision in itself, particularly as, especially even in this performance, she is by no means a main character, be it a narrator or other, but a comic character. I would recommend something extra to really draw attention to her character’s ridiculousness, with thought to comedic timing but, more importantly, to the element of surprise. Perhaps dramatic fairytale music, melodious and dainty to contrast with her butch appearance. Perhaps she comes out backwards, adjusts the curtain primly and turns to reveal her subversive manly features. In all circumstances imaginable, the ludicrousness of this stock character must be emphasised in a most ostentatious way; she should only be accepted into the narrative once this farcical and dramatic introduction has been carried out. As for the ukulele, this must also subvert expectations in order to be seen as comical. It should be whipped out from nowhere once Mrs Trott is seated, and Mrs Trott should ready herself for a complex and intricate musical rendition, all but for the sound of a tinny string. The song that follows is much too slow, not in terms of rhythm but in terms of the time it consumes. The pace of this beginning is rather dreadful, I must say, and there is very little to give us an idea of who Mrs Trott actually is, besides a title and a few not-particularly-impressive jokes. However, this improves significantly as the performance goes on, and Mrs Trott becomes a much more cogent feature of the performance. Jokes become much better tailored, and comedic timing improves considerably. I should emphasise here that my issue is not with Bertenshaw’s performance, per se, as I found him to be a most convincing and talented performer; my issue is more with what is being asked of him by the writing (Paul Sirett) itself. I found the writing to be doing the bare minimum to qualify as a pantomime. It expects its audience to understand the key features of pantomimes, to participate as and where necessary, and this ignores that the bulk of the audience will be children, and, very likely, children who have not yet seen any pantomimes. Classic callings, such as boos and awws are just expected of the audience in this performance, and there are no appropriate cues. For example, typical phrases such as "Oh, yes we are!" are worked into dialogue ambiguously and unemphatically, and it is simply expected that audience members will just catch on and join in in the usual pantomimic way; there are no gestures, no preparation, nothing. This pantomime omits classic components such as ghost scenes, slosh scenes, chase scenes, etc. and actually starts to become more like a self-contained play with semi-frequent audience interaction. Audience participation is a story unto itself. Getting audience members to come up onto the stage is generally extremely laborious to set up, anyway, not to mention time-consuming. The result must therefore be qualitative and productive. It was not. Late in the performance, audience members are gathered for a line-up and are quickly dismissed one by one. And that pretty much sums that up. Again, there is no extraneous effort, just the bare minimum. The last two interactions are particularly lacklustre, as Biz (Michael Gonsalves) simply states that those audience members are too big and begs Buzz not to choose them. The use of innuendoes and adult humour is fruitful, and the text makes for a clever repertoire of wordplay. Also effective are jokes which subvert expectation, such as the line "I've lost the buzz, Biz" or Mrs Trott’s "three-point turn", as are satirical jokes with a sociopolitical nature, such as Mrs Trott’s comment on the absence and promise of police. However, I must say that some of these became somewhat overused. There are definitely moments of hilarity in this performance, one personal favourite being Henrietta’s (Tamara McKoy-Patterson) rather explosive and glorious egg-laying, and actors definitely make this otherwise thorny text as enjoyable as possible. Yet, again, issues do often arise with comedic timing, one good example of this being Dizzy’s (Luis Gustavo Silva Navarro) final entrance, where characters before him are greeted and hugged by Mrs Trott and he, being invisible to them, is ignored and hence dejected. This gag is permitted to fade into the background, just as equally unmarked others. Why Jack has an imaginary friend in the first place, however, is rather questionable, as is the presence of a few other characters. Dizzy even disappears for a huge part of the text, and the narrative of his disappearance because Jack is “too old now” — despite there being relatively no real passing of time — is just entirely irrelevant and unnecessary. A similar fate takes the Young Detective who, really, does no detecting whatsoever and whose only ultimate function seems to be to act as the love interest of Jack — not a particularly progressive message for young audiences: a young female character carrying the illusion of liberty, empowerment and adventure yet who succumbs to being a damsel in distress, then, finally, a reward/trophy of sorts and simultaneously an object of desire… In fact, the way many characters are introduced into and attached to the plot is something I find particularly irksome in this performance. Shaun the Poet’s character, for example –– played by a wonderful and estimable young actor –– seems to just appear into the narrative without any real pertinence. Given that he appears so frequently and that he possesses the magic beans which, of course, are later traded for Jack’s cow, one would assume that his character would be better worked into the story and made to be more fundamental. He seems to take on the role of a narrator but comments on the less important features of the story, appears irregularly, and is only introduced towards the middle of the first half. It even takes a while for Biz and Buzz to really concretise themselves as the villains of this performance, their actions definitely speaking louder than their words. With these characters, we find a similar problem as mentioned earlier in this review when considering Mrs Trott’s entrance. There is no sense of drama in their entrances and exits, and especially no time allotted for calling. How these characters relate to the text is furthermore complicated by Biz’s yearning to be good, to stop her evildoings and open a B&B by the beach. This yearning is completely unspoken of again until the very end of the performance, and Biz continues to be evil without any sincere hesitation. Again, a remarkable young performer — in fact, one of the best for her age — but whose character remains an incoherent and unconvincing element to this struggling and, frankly, extremely poor text. On the topic of actors, acting abilities are good in this performance, and it is the sheer energy and vitality that these actors possess that make it watchable. I was delighted to see the children play an integral role, as seldom the case, with children even having leading roles. This programme is certainly composed of great, talented and endearing young performers, and all are delightful to watch. A few final notes on props, costume and tech. Props certainly could have been more ridiculous in this performance and composed a spectrum from effective to awful, awful being the use of the quilt as a sheet of pastry to wrap up Mrs Fleece (Yinka Williams), for example, or, in that same scene, the practically invisible hand-ties around the Cow and the Young Detective. As for costume, I found this to be particularly mismatched, with costumes such as Mrs Trott’s second frock or Mrs Fleece’s dress and wig, being especially elaborate and well-tailored, contrasting against Harpo’s (Kitty Hollingsworth) eyesore of a dress or the Young Detective’s particularly pedestrian top and skirt. Headpieces and other articles also persisted to fall off, signalling a poor consideration of assemblage. I did find, however, the ogre suit to be quirky and original. An editorial issue again, and a rather negligible comment, but I do fail to see why there is an ogre and not a giant as in the original tale. At first, I thought this a rather clever way of getting around presenting a giant on stage; I thought that the ogre would be a great, human-sized replacement, but then, enter the GIGANTIC ogre, and I find myself rather bemused as to why the tale was changed in the first place (or not changed back). Leading me on to tech, I do have a comment as well on the ogre’s microphone, on a prominent stand and pressed against the ogre’s face. This was most unseemly and could have been avoided by an out-of-sight microphone with an increased gain, if setting up a bodyworn microphone really was that difficult. On this topic, microphones were not attached/positioned correctly, and this made for persistent rustlings throughout the performance. Volume also presented its issues, particularly over the loud music. Music was very well composed (by Wayne Nunes and Perry Melius), yet songs were particularly unmemorable, especially those unrepeated and practically irrelevant. This is also due to the consistent issue with volume levels, however, with the music being much too loud and vocals being far too quiet. Regarding irrelevant songs, I am completely confounded as to why Harpo, a rather negligible character up until this point at the very end of the performance, completely commandeers the stage for the show’s finale, with her ‘Scene Queen’ song [which could have benefited from better diction from Hollingsworth]. Why this song was not about Jack, and why Harpo so acceptably nominates herself as the queen of the scene, I have absolutely no idea. I will say, however, that this is the best choreographed scene. Otherwise, on the whole, choreography was rather good, but scenes lacking specific choreographed movement for the background ensemble, in particular, suffered because of it. One particularly mesmerising use of sound was during the transitional scene involving the growing beanstalk. This was most transportive, particularly with the use of lighting. In this scene, as with a few others, lights spin into the audience, and this makes for a most immersive experience. The stroboscopic lighting [which SHOULD come with a pre-warning for those with epilepsy and suchlike conditions, particularly with an audience of children], also taking to the audience when the beanstalk is cut and the ogre killed, is very effective, too; it is just worrying that the only efficacy in this scene came from the lighting alone and nothing else. Sound did not add up with action whilst Jack axes the beanstalk down, and plot-wise, nothing really happens in this scene; were are just to accept that the ogre is dead, with very little information other than a simple declaration of this fact to go off of. Then, cue the show-stealing Scene Queen… This was an ending most lacking in impact. “Capable performers and effective visuals make this performance watchable; otherwise, an unfortunate car crash.”

I will start by saying that I have mixed views on this performance, primarily because the first half, before the interval, is so enjoyable, and yet the second is utterly shambolic. Where characters and plot are concerned, this is a good performance, but the way these are communicated is fallible and irksome. Momentum is compromised by relentless repetition, and, despite the actors’ unfaltering energies, climax and intrigue decline drastically as the play goes on. All positives that I write later in this review will hence pertain to this first half. I shall start with the one obvious thing that differentiates this play from many others: the use of rules. This definitely provides the play with a unique tone, permitting the audience to understand any subtext quickly and without shattering too steadfastly the theatrical and self-contained quality of the performance. Yet, my issue with these is not so much the idea of such an additional tone but with how this tone complements or aligns with the performance. From very early on in the play, there is a theme of regulation, of order and procedure, communicated both through the theme of a family Christmas gathering but most emphatically through allusions to how Edith (Rosanna Preston) runs Christmas as though a “military camp”. Though very loosely, this does contextualise the use of rules. Beyond this, there is very little to continue to do so. The major problem I have with the use of rules here is in my imagining of the play without them…it would be exactly the same. These rules are more vigorous character traits than restrictions/orders/regulations. They do not add complications to the narrative or to the world of the play, nor do they challenge the way characters interact with each other or the way we understand the characters and their intentions/emotions. Normally, rules are used in performance to guide actors through a performance, to command certain acts or behaviours out of them. In other words, they are the very text of the performance itself. With Rules for Living, however, they feel as though a simple [omittable] overlay which should remain in the conceptualisation stage as but a guide into plot-making and character creations for writer Sam Holcroft. These would lay the groundwork for the text, disguised within it, and forming –– not supplementing –– the material. As mentioned before, the only benefit of having these rules is that they slightly further our understanding of subtext, but this, unfortunately, remains rather limited to Matthew’s character (Adam Hampton Matthews) and the rule that he must sit down [and, later, also eat] in order to lie. Yet, is this not something we could work out without the rules? It seems a bit extreme to communicate something that would be otherwise comprehensible, in this very specific way. There is also no sense of risk, of what might happen if these rules were to be broken, and this remains evident until the very end of the play when the characters oppose the behaviours that have been enforced upon them. In fact, I cannot particularly fathom what we are meant to achieve from this ending. I feel that there is a subtextual meaning to this only clear to its creators, not in any way clarified for spectators. Similar to this is the 'Anarchy Rules' sequence with which I have many issues, but before I move on to this, I would just like to mention two more final issues I have. In terms of presentation, whilst the layout of the rules is slick and clear, the fifth and final rule pertaining to Edith’s character omits a colon and makes no use of colour like the others. This makes for a slight disjointedness in the visual. Then, there is the siren-like sound which occurs alongside the appearance of the rules. This needs to be constant, being that we naturally start to rely on the sound as a signal to the modification of an existing rule or the addition of a new one. Without the sounds, it is simply too easy to miss these amongst the overbearing action on stage. The extra texture and personality they bring to the performance suffer too. As pedantic as all of this seems, it is concerns like these that separate articulate and cogent performances from their opposites. Now, on to this 'Anarchy Rules' sequence. Tensions between the family have been building for some time, and when they reach their maximum, the sequence begins. Images of the maddened characters taking their rules to the extreme, running riot and going crazy, appear on the screen, and, on stage, all hell breaks loose…for perhaps the fifth time. The screen consistently presents a version of the characters which we are not presented on stage, a sort of avatar profile, as if the characters are in a game or a structured altered reality. Why this is exactly is not clear, and this is obviously a problem. That which is presented on stage, however, is quite frankly incredibly tiresome… It is clear very early on in the performance that direction (John Chapman) has been given and taken very well. During the first outburst, all actors have something to do, and there is a veritable variety of things to spectate. This is most commendable, as it is difficult to capture and sustain such vitality and energy in turbulent scenes like this. However, such outbursts, though admittedly not as explosive, occur again and again [and again] in this performance, and as their frequency increases, this spectacularity declines. Energy levels become extremely low, and these outbursts start to find themselves composed of very little. In their sheer abundance, they start to become wildly anti-climactic, as though the text is indefatigably milking every joke it has till the very last droplet. This can be said of many elements to the performance, most notably Matthew’s incessant lying and Carrie’s (Kasia Chodurek) dancing, or, which I shall elaborate on later, exposures of Sheena (Hattie Hahn) and Adam (Dickon Farmar)’s dysfunctional relationship. There is a lot of material that repeats itself, some of which is not especially impactful to begin with, and this makes for a dilute text, referencing that famous saying, less is sometimes more. With this specific sequence, there is not a sufficient amount of information as to what this so-called anarchy signifies. Again, it feels as though a game, but one on which the audience are not made knowledgeable, that a level has been reached and that we are expected to know what this means. Once more, the use of rules becomes obsolete, and we arrive at a point which we could have certainly reached without them. There is no need for an announcement of the anarchy, and the fact that this is deemed necessary signals for me that there is another objective that this performance is attempting to reach but is failing to. A similar thing occurs before this sequence when the rules become 'Live'. The characters seem to be gaining points as the word 'Live', appearing next to their names/rules, is accompanied by a number corresponding to the number of times these rules have been followed. What purpose these scores serve, or what the ambiguous and grammatically questionable 'Live 2' actually means, is again emphatically unclear. I imagine that, given the title, Live symbolises something far greater in the eyes of the play’s creators. Rules also remain Live for ages on end, and yet the characters are dotted around the stage, inactive and silent, failing to follow them. This fact is most true of Sheena’s character. By the time of this final outburst, I personally had lost all interest in the so-called drama of it all. Instead, I found myself rather sad in the consideration of all of the food and drink that this performance must waste on a nightly basis and with such little effect. On that matter, I would emphatically recommend more control in these scenes. However chaotic the action must seem, this should be organised chaos from the actors’ position, and pieces of chicken flying directly into the audience is not particularly organised. Furthermore, having such pieces landing on a spectator is not necessarily a spectator’s idea of a nice evening out at the theatre. On to the acting. Whilst I would have liked to see, where appropriate, more realism from the cast, from all actors besides Preston who remained cogent and convincing as well as capable in her comedy, all actors were true to the exaggerative and particularised language of the text. It is clear that they each understand their characters and their intentions and emotions. As I mentioned before, early on in the performance, each actor has clear activities: Sheena setting the table, Carrie making towers out of chopped carrots, Edith cleaning, etc. There is always something to watch. Towards the end, however, actors are just sat down around the stage, often motionless, waiting for their next cue. If there is really nothing to do in these scenes, and if these do not progress the play or its plot in any way whatsoever, then they should be cut entirely. Speech does seem irregular at times, which is both due to the unnatural patterns in the writing as well as the acting. I do think the text could benefit from some more realism in this respect. There are also little traits that the actors perform frequently which cause friction in the reading of their characters, a prime example of this being that Matthews regularly looks out to the audience after delivering a comical line, almost as though he is delivering it to them in a self-referential sitcom. This breaks illusion and should be avoided. That being said, these actors were certainly hilarious and, for the most part, had comedic timing, something which only suffered due to the lack of timeliness in the chaos of the outbursts. On to the writing –– rules aside, as I think I have elucidated well my opinions on those. Gags and jokes were very successful in this performance. Holfcroft has a very good understanding of comedy and a cogent writing style. However, the writing struggles to find a balance between comical features that add endearment and tone to the text, and crucial features that progress the plot. The actual plot of this play can really be summarised in forty-five minutes’ worth of text, yet all of the action manages to stretch over two hours. There is simply not enough material to make this a sufficiently complex and intricate text for such a duration, and this is evidenced by the text’s speedy resort to underhand and unthoughtful themes. When dealing with particularly sensitive issues, whether pertaining to race or culture, gender or sexuality, mental illness or disability, physical or verbal abuse or any other sensitive issue, dramatic and performance artists retain a particular duty to their public to represent these issues with appropriacy, intellect and consideration. As such, we express, of course, our own social realities, and we must do so with subjectivity and purpose, not with an objective, ignorant gaze which appropriates the suffering of people for humour — or, more ultimately, for commercial gain or notoriety. There is a time and a place for dark comedy, and this should not be used haphazardly or in spite of stylistic incongruity. Performing disability, just for comedic purposes, is inappropriate in this way. For this reason, I find the character of Francis (Tom Tillery) to be insensitive. This character is later used as a site for further [needless] inappropriate themes, most notably sexual abuse when he is revealed as a serial groper. This is not in keeping at all with the rest of the humour in this performance. The main problem here is that Francis has little to no personality. He is reduced to physical inability, to a caricature of illness, and hence lacks identity and personality. This is why, in comedy theory, it is so ‘funny’ to discover that he is a serial sexual abuser, for our expectations are subverted. These jokes are used in passing and are naturalised within the dramatic text, and this is most abhorrent. Themes of sex or themes which disparage minorities or the abject are those which amateur comedians resort to when they have run out of or cannot produce any material, and this is what has clearly happened towards the middle-end of this performance. Other darker themes are used throughout the performance as part of its material, such as Edith’s OCD and resorting to self-medication or Sheena and Adam’s abusive relationship, yet these characters are represented as people with personalities, motives and intents. However caricaturistic, the fact that they have depth to them means that the effects of this humour become less insolent as with Francis and more satirical. However, that is not to say that I found Sheena and Adam’s interactions particularly enjoyable. I think that Adam’s attempts to coerce Sheena to drink retain too much severity, not only in their consistent recurrence in the text but in the way they are portrayed by Farmar. I fail to understand why Adam is attempting to do this in the first place, and so forcefully and persistently. The idea and its execution just seem unpolished and rudimentary. All of this negativity aside, this play is undeniably very comical. Holcroft has successfully engineered a fruitful collection of characters, each with their own redeeming qualities. How these characters’ personality traits cause for frictions between them is most entertaining and well-conceived. Characters are ridiculous and silly, and I mean this in the most positive way. Actors have a remarkable chemistry with one another, and jokes are well articulated and land appropriately. Their energies are definitely commendable and unfaltering, and I will say that this can be said of the second half too; it is the content I find irritating, rather than the way it is expressed. As said before, actors remain true to the language and tone of the text; they are sure of their roles and functions in this way. I would just note that when characterisations become more extreme (dancing wildly, highly intoxicated, raging mad, etc.), these could be much more slick and refined. Actually going mad, without controlled or articulate physicality, is not particularly desirable. The set for this performance is very elaborate and detailed. It is very strong in both its usability and aesthetic intricacy. Complete with cupboards, chairs, fridges, a window and even a dishwasher, this set makes for a great and realistic sense of habitability, allowing for a dynamic range of interactivity with actors. I would just recommend that actors refrain from standing too close to the perimeters of the stage, as this blocks the view of spectators in the front row. Beyond the screen at the back of the stage, tech is used rather sparingly in this performance, and I think this is sensible. When blackouts are finally used, for comedic effect, they are timely and well placed. Music, only utilised during the overture, is pertinent to the mood of the performance, and this is most agreeable. “An enjoyable and comical performance but one whose content turns monotonous, overplayed and lacklustre.” Photography Credit: David Sprecher.

Written and directed by Bijan Sheibani, The Arrival is currently performing at the Bush Theatre. This is a very powerful play that typifies the sentiments of rejection, loss, heartbreak and trauma. It addresses the [ideological] importance of family, of togetherness and compassion, but, more importantly, of identity and of knowing and appreciating oneself. It is not immediately clear to the audience as to what the premise of Tom (Scott Karim) and Samad’s (Irfan Shamji) relationship is, and this is something I find both admirable and irksome about this play. This fact adds, of course, an intrigue and uniqueness to the text, forcing the audience to apply themselves to the narrative to work out what exactly is transpiring between these characters before them. However, there is a danger with this particular text that the absence of context may make the text too esoteric. Whilst characters are attempting to bond with one another, our lack of context means that we overlook a lot of important first interactions, seeing items such as Tom’s white strand of hair, for example, as quirky and ignorable. This limits our initial reading of the characters and causes us to lose out on quite a lot of the plot’s development. When we find that Tom is slowly being distanced from Samad, the impact is then less powerful, for we do not feel too strong a sense of loss, having not built an especially strong sense of their relationship and the particularity of their intimacy. I found the writing to be particularly repetitive at first, with the dominant structure being as follows: one character asks a brief question, the other says, "Yeah," and this repeats again and again. This follows a specific and overplayed current trend in contemporary writing and lacks both flavour and originality. This structure is repeated far too often, dampening the text considerably. There is also a lack of specificity in some areas; for example, Tom’s fixation on genetics seems rather more like a projection from the views of an outsider on adoption as opposed to an adopted individual. It is also not particularly evidenced, and hence rather unclear, as to why Samad and Tom become distanced in such an extreme way. One could imagine that Tom became rather obsessive and overwhelmed Samad and his family, and yet it seems that they are all so fond of him, Samad even worrying about what Tom’s parents thought of him. This transition needs to be clearer; otherwise, it goes from training in the park together, Tom massaging Samad’s legs, and the two meeting each other’s families, to the two beating each other up outside of Samad’s wedding from which Tom was essentially excluded, and this seems a rather extreme shift. There is, of course, an element to this absence of information regarding Samad distancing Tom that allows us to see all of this from Tom’s perspective, which is quite effective. We are as shocked and bewildered as him. However, I feel that this said implication is too minimal to justify this. Elsewhere, the absence of certain items does seem to benefit this play, such as the absence of other characters and set pieces, drawing extreme focus onto nothing but the two characters themselves. This restriction of what we are presented beyond Tom and Samad is translated into all aspects of the performance, including music, costume, props and movement. Props are only utilised when essential –– when it is impossible to mime [without being laughable] riding a bicycle, for example –– and this makes for a stylistic consistency, where mime is integral and props are a last resort. With a simple addition of club music and a gesture suggestive, for instance, of holding a glass, this performance is successful in casting our imagination to various locations. Movement becomes integral to this performance, and the space itself soon bares its own kinetosphere, with physicality becoming particularly energised and with movements extending off stage and out towards the audience. The characters exercise upon the stage and run and bike-ride around its perimeters. This gives us a sense of motion, rhythm and dimension. Despite being such a large and vacuous space, there is still a sense of containment and hence intimacy. This is emphasised when one character is left alone, or when the two stand or sit close to one another, creating their own, narrow interstices within such an expansive space. Another manner in which this sense of intimacy is created is through the actors’ mirroring of one another. This, however, I find to be most tiresome. Of course, this communicates a sense of familiarity, connecting the two individuals not only in their feelings during the discovery of one another but also in the fact that they are family, as we see that the two share behaviours and articulate their emotions in identical ways, especially in the scene wherein the two demonstrate their anger, take off their shirts and throw them to the ground, all in a boisterous rage. Yet, all of this is not particularly a unique method of storytelling, and with the text being so evocative of that aforementioned contemporary writing trend, the dramatic text, again, loses a sense of uniqueness and personality. In a similar way, movements (directed by Aline David) become very repetitive and lacklustre. It soon becomes evident that there is a limited amount of positions and arrangements that the two can assume, of activities that the two can perform. Shamji’s go-to action seems to become to tie his shoelaces, and acts like these become monotonous to watch. It is rather conspicuous that Sheibani is aware of this sense of repetition and stagnancy in the movement and is attempting to work some variation into it, particularly during the scene involving the bicycle, where Shamji walks around the perimeters of the circular platform, with Karim walking beside him but upon the rotating stage. The two regularly swap places, jumping around each other, swapping directions. It looks…messy. There is a lack of topography as Karim cuts through the diameter of the platform to meet again with a running Shamji or when the two have been going around in circles incessantly for around ten minutes. I would urge Sheibani not to be afraid of stillness, for this can add a particularity and unique articulacy to a text when the text is composed of but nothing else. If the scene if boring, it is not because there is not enough spectacularity but because of the quality and intrigue of the writing. In this scene, I would have preferred the stage to rotate at just the right speed so that the two characters end up walking beside each other considerably fast yet end up covering very little distance. A sort of treadmill effect. Ideally, this treadmill-ing would cease at the end of the scene, when the two will have completed a full circle. Finally, the design of the set (by Samal Blak). Simplistic to the eye yet very technically intricate, this set design is a very brave one. As alluded to earlier, the stage consists essentially of a rotating platform, leaving a rather tight portion of the floor below around its circumference. The vast majority of the action takes place upon this platform. This is particularly effective in demonstrating a fragility between the two characters, having their relationship play out upon, visually speaking, unbalanced ground, seemingly high up from our perspective as seated spectators. It also, of course, creates a sense of a change in location in its movements but also a change in mood, implied by the speed at which the platform rotates. A most dynamic and intelligent design. To conclude, this is a very enjoyable performance, but it follows far too many trends in modern theatre, from structures in text to storytelling techniques in performance, and thus becomes somewhat bland and uninspired, despite material being resonant and powerful. I would urge Sheibani to reconsider not only this but the fluidity and congruity of his text as well, how the plot progresses from one major event to another and how this is portrayed. Overall, communication is not this performance's strongpoint. “A performance with fresh and intelligent content but one presenting this in sometimes unoriginal and lacklustre ways.”

Created by Carolyn Defrin and Abigail Boucher, Kissing Rebellion is currently performing at the Ovalhouse in Kennington, London, as part of the Demolition Party 2019. As a purely exploratory piece of theatre, investigating the relativity, contextuality, viscerality and many subjective significances of kissing, this performance is rather rich and extensive. It encapsulates rather well the multifunction as well as the emotional experience of a kiss, and, in this respect, it is rather holistic and relatable. However, it is the manner in which it does this and the friction between desired effect and actual product that complicates my reading of this performance. Kissing Rebellion is essentially a performance consisting of storytelling, composed of narratives, anecdotes, opinions and memories that relate to one another only through theme [kissing] and the human condition. And it is most effective in the sheer range of experiences it details, from platonic kisses to romantic, from tender and intimate to superficial and ceremonial, from profound and visceral to naturalised and superfluous. It does this primarily through verbatim theatre, presenting to its audience a vast series of recordings in which interviewees elaborate on a very personal or general/social experiences of kissing, or upon the ideals they have associated with kisses themselves, explaining how sexuality, for example, interferes with the want or need to kiss. These recordings serve as either inspiration for or an overlay to the action presented on stage. My issue here, however, is not with these narratives but by whom exactly they are produced. It seems bizarre to me to pair the actors voicing what is apparently ‘their own’ experiences of kissing, with those of the interviewees. This complicates and mystifies the voice of the performance, not only from an auditory perspective, where our ears are unsure as to whether to listen out for a recording or a real voice, but from a dramatic perspective. It becomes difficult to understand what relation the performers bear to the performance: Are they [a version of] themselves, presenting their own anecdotes and additions to the narrative? Or are they representative of those of others, the interviewees? Are they fictional characters with fictional emotions and narratives? Or are they just neutral figures, bodies in a space, embodying the generic and relatable? They cannot –– or, at least, should not –– be all three, as this makes for an overall confused or disparate voice. There is one moment in this performance where these two voices seem to come together, and that is when we are presented a recording of one of the performers themselves with others laughing in the background. This moment finally makes for an alignment between the auditory and the visual, as the performer in question stands on stage with the rest of the ensemble who are, indeed, laughing, all facing away. We are able to cast what we acquire from the recordings onto the action on stage, onto the performers’ otherwise depersonalised bodies. Yet, we are immediately thrown out of this when music starts, accompanied by sexual moaning, and the performers start to undress. Distorting their bodies and moving unnaturally, something very ‘real’ and relatable becomes sensational, stylised and dramatic. This performance continually struggles to find not only its voice but its means of expression, and this is most evidenced, and complicated, by two scenes in particular, one in which one performer details his love for Tom Daley, imagining a kiss with him beside a swimming pool, and another wherein a different performer performs a guitar solo of Leonard Cohen’s ‘I'm Your Man’. In this former scene, there is a plethora of differing theatrical features: direct audience address, use of character, metatheatre and, for the first time in the performance, physical movement. We also see the first and only instrument, a guitar, in this latter scene as the performer sings a seemingly completely unrelated song, performing it in a husky, sexual and deliberately masculine voice. Not only seeming irrelevant and/or exaggerative, these scenes pull from sources beyond the realm of the performance, extending to references to media and culture. This dilutes the material of the performance, and the dramatic text loses, yet again, any specificity and individuality in terms of voice. This performance makes use of a lot of interdisciplinarity, from character representation to singing, to physical movement, to documentary theatre, to dance, to metatheatre, to mime and to the use of verbatim. For a “dance performance”, it is surprising how little dancing there actually is. Dance certainly features in this performance, yet it is just that: a feature. Much more characteristic of this performance is, actually, its [over]use of stillness, tableaux and physical movement. Hence, from the off, there is a thorniness in the way that this performance identifies itself. It fails to organise itself in a stable, clear, coherent and, above all, strategic manner. Having no plot or message and being, for the most part, amoralistic and apolitical, this performance remains purely investigatory, but what is actually being investigated, beyond just the mere concept of kissing, is very limited. Struggling to find its own, unique mode of expression, the dramatic text is littered with language upon language. There are much too many layers to this performance, and it is difficult to some degree to grasp the aim of it through the sheer vastness of its material. All of this being said, there still remain some very poignant images and discourses evoked by this performance, with sexuality and its absence seemingly being of primary concern. Kisses between friends, between males and between females, kisses between imagined lovers and between strangers, sexuality and platonic love appear again and again as key themes until one performer admits that, in fact, he feels no need to kiss due to his asexuality. This is a most progressive and encouraging performance in this respect, making use of a diverse cast of varying nationalities, ethnicities and ages to decode love and its expression amongst humanity. This is definitely a mellowing, endearing and charming performance, but this feeling is mostly generated by the consideration of each scene as stand-alone and separate; when put side by side, all of the scenes seem far too disjointed or depthless. As the performance goes on, content definitely starts to become sillier, and representation becomes too blunt and literal. An example of this is a split-scene in which two performers share a kiss whilst cooking; another pair share a kiss after brushing their teeth beside one another; and another kiss follows a couple watching TV together, with one falling asleep. Again, alone, these are endearing and adorable moments, yet it just feels as though this performance is trying to include every possible context of kissing, saying very little else about these contexts beyond their presentation. This is more the case for short scenes like these, however. Longer scenes, usually consisting of dance, resonate much more and have time to settle, seeming less fruitless and haphazard. Whilst some dances remain rather questionably esoteric against simpler, story-based ones, all dancing is fluid, articulate and seemly, though I would prefer to see more synchronicity in dances that require it. When considering acting, there is a notable imbalance of ability across the ensemble. In the first scene –– which I initially found to be a rather strong opening until seeing the rest of the performance and noting its stylistic incongruity –– there are a few performers who are extremely credible and cogent actors, but the majority remain rather wooden and awkward to watch. There is an utter lack of realism in this performance, which could be acceptable if this first scene did not set the rest up to be so character-based. On to the set. Being part of the Demolition Party, it is required that the set be demolished in some way. For this performance, there is a huge, sandy pit in the middle of the stage. It starts to seem as though this pit exists merely to gain entrance into the festival, being that very little action actually takes place here; in fact, the entire performance could exist without it. Considering this, the aesthetic of this performance is wildly underthought. The industrial look of this performance, with some vine leaves and a few draped curtains, does not do anything in particular to complement this performance. I could make links between flowers and love/passion/beauty, or between the sandy, dilapidated brickwork and a breakdown of memory/associations/narratives, but this just seems 1) too much of a stretch and 2) severely bombastic. Whilst the topography of this performance covers a large amount of the space, this does not feel intelligent or symbolic; it just feels as though this is all simply to avoid the untouched gaping pit, especially in the beginning when the performers are gathered around a long table, cramped in the corner of the room. As for tech, lighting in this production was impeccable, focusing the eye and adding texture to the performance. The use of a blinding light, a row of intense lanterns positioned Upstage and aimed towards the audience, was an interesting choice. It added cyclicality to the performance and gave the feeling of entering into a new, fictive space, though I am not sure how necessary this actually was. Sound was pertinent but regularly ended much too prematurely, most notably just after one performer expresses her desire for the so-called “Kiss of Success”. Cutting short the sound effect of an applauding audience, a rather forceful sound by nature, is much too disruptive. Music, I must say, proved this performance once more to be unsure of itself. I mentioned early on in this review one performer’s rendition of ‘I'm Your Man’, but there are also many other songs, predominantly in other languages, which cause a sense of dissimilitude in this performance. French singer Camille’s song ‘Ta douleur’, for example, used at the end of the performance, is a very particular song with a peculiar artistic vision; its employment in this performance seems unintelligent, as though used just for its rhythm and vaguely for its lyrics. Each element of a performance must have a clear, progressive reasoning, and the only thing these songs add to is a confused style. Perhaps these songs came up in the devising process as songs listened to during kisses, and this is what ‘contextualises’ them. This is the only substantial reason I can think of for the use of these songs, and even this is far too indirect; we as spectators are not made aware of the significance or relevancy of the songs. Overall, there are certainly some powerful and intriguing elements to this performance, but its voice and style remain generally confused and incoherent. This performance still desperately needs to find its feet, still being unsure of itself, its aims and its premise. It envisions itself to be both expository and fictive, to both show and to tell, and, in doing so, it loses its grounding and essence. Is this a relation of real events? Or is this storytelling? Is this meaningful and evocative? Or is it to be taken as simple, endearing entertainment? Containing even elements of didacticism, this performance really needs to expand on its message, to stop using kissing as a simple stimulus for meaningless dramatic snippets but as the clear cause or product of a theatrical investigation. As it stands, there is definitely an exploration unfurling in this performance, and it is perfectly acceptable to present a mere exploration on stage, but there must be something to take away from this as an audience member, something thought-provoking, some sort of conclusion, whether open-ended or not. In this performance, the material is so vast and confused that absolutely no conclusion can be drawn whatsoever other than the fact that kissing exists in many forms. This is not particularly enlightening. From the very beginning, the performance roots itself in both personal and social histories, and this is clearly deliberate, with synopses focusing on the Paris attacks of 2015 and how these apparently inspired the performance, yet, surprisingly, this has absolutely nothing to do with the performance’s content which becomes a mere slideshow of imagined, intimate scenarios, existing perfectly without any reference to these attacks, barring in the overture. This performance starts to lose depth rapidly as it goes on. I would urge Carolyn Defrin and Abigail Boucher to consider more carefully the contents of their performance and how these co-exist rather than any self-proclaimed and esoteric significance beyond the dramatic text. “A performance with some touching and thought-provoking moments, yet one which loses itself to inarticulacy and lack of cohesion.”

This is a truly splendid play, not only an entertaining and highly engaging performance but compelling and powerful in its themes and the discourse that it evokes. Its articulation of sexual abuse amongst teenagers and of the dangers of technology in their social spheres is not only astute but definitely eye-opening. I will start this review by considering the set (designed by Verity Johnson). Both beautiful in its design and efficient in its usability, this set is slick, dynamic and very creative. The inclusion of artificial grass is a quirky yet effective feature; it not only aids our imagination to leave the stage and be transported to The Pond, a principal location in the story, but it also maintains the theme of millennial disconnection, by which I mean the propensity to see the world indirectly through technology, to have very little kinetic interaction with the physical world. Likewise, props are cleverly scattered around this set to evoke a sense of location — towels and toiletries, blankets and pillows, rucksacks and notebooks — and seem to work themselves in seamlessly to the narrative, each in a designated area of the set left untouched until revealed as the bathroom, a bed, a school desk or the ground in a park. But these props also serve as endearing souvenirs of Alice’s (Robyn Wilson) narrative, features of her story which are then locked away, evoking that sense of shame, of moving forward from the past but through suppression rather than closure. I should note here, however, that having Wilson open these lockers, symbolic of Alice’s opening up about all of her ‘shameful’ secrets, is good in theory but is far too robotic in practice. It becomes rather corny as Wilson opens one locker per line, gazing out to the audience. It is perfectly acceptable to have her back turned to us as she opens these and would look much better if these were opened either more fluidly –– or perhaps frantically, if she stood staring at the now open lockers, her back to us, detailing all the things she told her university flatmate. I still appreciate the symbolism of this act, however. It is impossible to critique this set without also considering its interrelationship with tech. Whilst the chosen lighting (designed by Dan Saggars) does not necessarily correspond with traditional emotion-colour associations, this does not take away from the efficacy of the square panels which share the back wall with the locker spaces. Lighting states change alongside event and mood and, in their multiplicity, generate a sense of movement, development and transformation. Most impressive is the raised lit box representative of the leaked video and the phones it was either taken on or spread through themselves. This is a most dramatic and harrowing use of tech, the rest of the stage darkening as the box becomes a large and consumptive presence Centerstage. Whilst synchronicity with the action on stage could be improved in places, though only in a few, sound (designed by Anna Clock) also adds a wonderful texture to this performance, complementing the action well. The sounds of notifications, received and sent messages, etc. not only generate a technical language for the performance, amplified by Wilson’s simple yet effective accompanying gestures, but they also make for an easier comprehension of the material on our part. I would also like to point out the effective use of a high frequency, something often rather overused in theatre dealing with trauma, pain or [primarily mental] struggles, becoming cliché and dilute. The singular use of this in this performance was timely, effective and striking. Overall, sound was very well designed and congruous with the material of the play. On to the writing by Amy Blakelock. The dramatic text captures Alice’s experience with a certain heaviness. It is a very clear and readable text. Its representation is most precise, accurate and appropriate, and its material is visceral, potent and memorable, making use of sensory as well as descriptive elements, i.e. the smells, sights, tastes and sounds that Alice associates with her memories. The way in which it deals with this type of trauma, affecting a shockingly large (and increasing) number of youths today, demonstrates a clear understanding of the complexity of situations of common sexual abuse amongst teenagers. It cleverly details the effects of toxic masculinity on young girls, the common desire to be loved by the uncaring, and the common seduction by what now even has its own term, a ‘fuck boy’. The text also makes a conscious effort to stay away from a monotonous demonisation of the modern male, both referencing her abusers’ traumas and emotions but also coming to terms with the fact that just hating men in general, as sometimes forced upon women by other women, does not do anything productive for the victim her-/himself. It is clear that a lot of reading has gone into this performance to make for a both convincing and clearcut representation. The text also manages to detail in a most legible and real way the raw anxieties of young teenage girls who are constantly bombarded with oppressive and patriarchal ideals of feminine beauty. We are taken through stages of common thought, most specifically when Alice is preparing for her seeming date the following day, as she turns her attention to her own body in relation to fellow young girls or grown female celebrities, as well as how it will be received not only by others but primarily male others. Nothing is held back, from the often spoken to the unspoken, from cellulite to vaginal tightness and orgasming. These are taboo topics regularly suppressed in our society, especially amongst females and our youth, and the unforgiving naturalisation of these themes and issues is a wonderful, important and impactful element of this performance. On to characterisation. Wilson is a very gripping solo performer who is believable and confident in her characterisation. With her maintaining such a high and unfaltering energy throughout, it is an utter delight to watch her perform. There is, however, a shift in her acting style towards the middle of the performance in her portrayal of secondary characters. Throughout the performance, Wilson uses different, specific gestures to indicate these — a hair flick, a hand on chest or an overly suggestive smoulder — and this is more than enough for us to identify a character change. However, from the moment Wilson portrays the policewoman that questions her on what happened by The Pond, portrayals become very caricaturistic. It is no longer a simple gesture and a change in language use or slight shift in voice but an entirely different accent and a full bodily characterisation. This is much too abrupt and drastic a change and makes for a disjointed characterisation style. It would be better to stick with one, keeping in mind that both are equally effective but different in the effects they produce. I would like to note, however, that this first, subtler characterisation type is in danger of becoming rather repetitive. The quirkiness of the gesture-led multi-roling becomes somewhat predictable in its pattern and hence slowly loses its initial effect. I cannot brush over this scene involving the policewoman. In this scene, there is a huge shift in the performance. As she delivers the policewoman’s lines, Wilson’s movements become robotic, fragmented and suggestive, rather than fluid and realistic, projecting from a contemporary strand of dance. Such use of movement is not repeated anywhere else in this performance, making this singular use completely incongruous stylistically. It feels as if this movement was a rash decision, that the effect it would have or the emotion it was expressing was considered as impactful and necessary but that how this style of movement coincides with the rest of the performance was not so carefully considered. Despite these very few notes, there are very few negatives to take from this performance. It is so articulate, reasoned and intellectual that any further remarks I do have remain simply pedantic, such as keep the action to the parameters of the stage (when a stage is so clearly outlined, it is bizarre to have the body exit it at any point like Wilson’s legs often did when she was sat far downstage). Honestly, a very thought-provoking and intelligent piece of theatre. “A truly impeccable and profound performance; enjoyable, engrossing and possessing a raw significance.”

What crisis, indeed? Unfortunately, I shall begin this review as I mean to continue it: this performance was utterly shambolic. There was a clear lack of organisation and refinement throughout its entirety, making itself one of the most lacklustre and disorderly performances I have seen. One of the unique selling points of game theatre is its ability to utterly immerse participants in a complex world with clear and gratifying objectives, punishments and rewards. A successful piece of game theatre is engaging, entertaining, critical and consequential, demanding that participants use their intellect and apply themselves both mentally and physically, oftentimes exploring the physical world of the game, asking questions, retrieving information, negotiating, etc. I can safely say that I, and other participants that I watched incessantly, endured this entire performance without doing a single thing. In this performance, it is commonplace to see so-called participants sitting on the edges of the action, awaiting their next instruction which will not come for the next ten minutes or so. Many spectators remain either confused by an overwhelming and utterly unfruitful erraticism (which I shall return to later) or simply bored out of their wits, making polite and awkward conversation with one another to kill time –– in other words, performing the mundane and trivial that they could do anywhere else where one would need to wait and converse with strangers. I am not a shy individual nor a particularly uncommitted one, and so somehow managing to fade into the background in this performance was especially representative of its quality, for me. From the very beginning through to the very end, countless audience members were complaining either about having understood nothing or about having nothing to do, and, from talking to them, it was clear that these were individuals with a high understanding of history and politics, individuals who would have been engaged had the circumstances been correct. All of this cannot be said for all participants, however, for there was definitely a minimum of three on the night I saw the performance who had a wonderful time, but it is extremely clear as to why… Throughout the performance, certain individuals are delegated to do certain tasks (take phone calls, talk with press, negotiate with other teams, etc.), and it just so happens that the vast majority of these tasks were carried out by these same few individuals whilst the rest of us and our actions were to become supplementary and inconsequential. In this way, the material of this performance is incredibly imbalanced, press seemingly having the most input in this performance, particularly towards the end where their efforts culminate in radio and television interviews. For reasons I shall further explain shortly, I cannot write conclusively on any other ‘Sectors’ in this performance beyond the Economics Sector, as I was not able to explore these, but I will comment on the number of options available in the areas I was involved in or witnessed. I shall start with the first round, during which I was sat at the press and negotiations table. Here, three individuals (those who would become the main delegates throughout the performance) were assigned the role of members of press, and two others were designated negotiators. This was a table of five, leaving three people without a concrete task — myself included. Whilst common sense would simply have us three join in as assistants or advisors to these chosen ones, it soon became evident that this was not possible. The negotiators were almost immediately called away to another team to…well, I imagine to negotiate, leaving us back at the table, task-less. This is when my fellow teammates at the time declared how confounded they were by what was going on and how nothing seemed tangible, clear or sensical –– most probably because they felt excluded from the action. My original intention was to spend some time with each performer at each section in the room to provide a review that would be as holistic as possible. Yet, it turned out that I would be stuck with my second choice for the rest of the performance. This is why I cannot speak conclusively of other Sectors. My second choice happened to be to join the Economics Sector, and, quite frankly, I am incredibly glad that I did end up here, because I cannot imagine how insanely bored I might have been elsewhere. My reason for being content here, however, was not because it was particularly riveting in itself or because I found the options/action to be engaging and challenging. Instead, it was because of two things: 1) my team were so comical and outlandish, and 2) I was put with Karen (played by Zoe Flint).  It is not the function or importance of Karen that makes her such a wonderful feature — mainly because I find her character’s purpose and significance to be quite badly conceived, as do I most of the others — but Flint’s abilities as an actress. For moments when momentum started to dip, or when we had absolutely nothing to do, Flint came equipped with improvisations, regaling us with various aspects of her life: her dog, a mixed breed she had rescued from the shelter, or her boyfriend, Enrique, who was awaiting her return from work to cook her a paella. Her hidden stash of biscuits that she was willing to share with us, her favourite pencil sharpener, her errands awaiting her at home, all of these features that Flint had clearly added to Karen herself made for an utterly delightful characterisation. Armed with a monotone voice, a nonchalant demeanour and an “impartial” political stance, Karen was the most put-together and successful where character concepts are concerned. There were various reasons as to why I found the Economics Sector to be otherwise underwhelming or fallible. One, unfortunately, was to do with Flint. Despite the sheer lovableness of her character, I must admit that Flint was particularly bad at leading the team in an orderly and commanding fashion, and this became more and more evident as the play went on. This accentuated how confusing the Sector was. We were utterly bombarded with options to choose from, and this number only increased. There should have been a gradual development in the complexity and significance of these, not only for dramatic purposes but also for ease of comprehension on the audience’s part. Perhaps my biggest peeve, though, was that it was clear that our actions had very little effect on the world of the play, as the vast majority of our decisions as a group were, frankly, rather stupid, and yet nothing bad seemed to come of them. I believe it was, again, this inconsequentiality but also a lack of order and motivation that led my group, rather in their own right, to take the game very lightly and to make deliberately irrational and vapid decisions. There was a clear lack of drive, which is understandable, given the fact that it seems that there is nothing in it for us — we do not understand what we are working towards, nor do we feel a sense of reward or achievement, or punishment and loss, attributable to our actions. A related issue pertains to the lack of identity of the spectators. It is clear that the importance of this was either overseen or an afterthought, the only ascribed identities being those written on the cards given out at the beginning of the performance. These detail which 'Department' we are from, details that are merely brushed over by Tom Black who has does nothing but read a pre-prepared, albeit humorous, punchline for each of them. The Departments are never spoken of again after this, rendering the whole thing superfluous and hence disappointing. Content and concept aside, I shall now focus on the acting. This is actually not too bad. The actors seem to really understand their roles and duties as well as the supposed outcomes of our actions and how they are to react to them. They are all, for the most part, able to improvise rather well, despite this improvisation being oftentimes tucked away in the corners of the room, falling on deaf ears or having little reception from the audience members. There were a few times, however, particularly towards the end when actors were changing the set for the next sequence and must have thought that spectators were sufficiently distracted, where actors visibly came out of character, primarily to communicate with one another. This is not so good. There is also a sheer lack of consistency where acting style is concerned. As made clear earlier, Karen was a personal favourite but also a character distinctly favoured by the rest of the audience who were very vocal about finding her amusing or endearing. Yet, her character type is emphatically different to the rest of the cast’s. Karen is highly caricaturistic, comedic, eccentric and, above all, unbearably slow (in a most positive and endearing way). Hence, she seems wildly out of place in a performance about a national crisis where all other characters are so blatantly flustered, serious, active and quick-paced. The only other actress who echoes this character type is Chloe Mashiter when she is portraying the Economics Advisor –– an ill-conceived character, given that we are supposed to be the specialists. As for set, I have mixed feelings. I enjoy the fact that the entire space was decked with props, posters, phones, etc., making for a sense of intricacy and realism, but there is a lack of consistency in design, with furniture, in particular, being evocative of very different time periods. The inclusion of working televisions, radios and telephones, and, later, a working TV studio was particularly impressive, yet the volume and quality of these were insanely low. I should also note that it is preferable to have pictures on the TV screen which correspond with the action of the play. There is an incredible amount that this play needs to work out. I mentioned earlier the erraticism of this performance. Ironically, the entire performance was very calamitous, and not in the dramatic game theatre way. It quickly became difficult to focus on what the real issues and material of this performance actually were. Whilst being briefed on main events, it was not uncommon to have other actors on the phone just to the side or having interactions with one another, or even altercations. Then, there was the lack of comedic timing –– a good example of this being the repetitive use of the swear jar, which was actually rather funny the first time, but when things are, supposedly, becoming severe and critical, it is not really the time to add a joke in. There were many suchlike jarring moments, and this It was difficult to progress in the tasks at hand because someone would be called away to deal with something else, or someone from another team would interrupt us with an ‘urgent’ [but, really, utterly inane] matter. All in all, a rather terrible performance, I must admit. Its strongest feature is its secretive side-door entrance, and I am afraid that is where the engaging drama ends. “A shambolic piece of theatre, disorganised, ineffective and awfully conceived.”

Essentially, this performance divides itself into three sections, the first and second alternating between one another before moving on to the third. The first sees the two characters (played by Rachel Mars and Greg Wohead) address plot-holes in various movies; then, the second, using narration and literal storytelling, imagines scenarios which decode and demystify these plot-holes; finally, the third sees a shift in the entire performance as the characters speak to each other via epistolary monologues, detailing the plot-holes in their own personal lives (aspects of their own identities that do not add up) and imagining scenarios that would ‘fix’ these. It is this third section that I have the most trouble with and which, in my opinion, causes the efficacy of this performance to drop immensely. The first two sections are completely impersonal. Mars and Wohead act as narrators, completing [in third-person] stories which we as spectators recognise as texts which pre-exist that of the performance. In other words, the two remain rather removed from the content, and the content is able to exist with no reference to them or aspects of their personae whatsoever. This changes in the third section. Whilst there is still an element of the fictional, with Wohead imagining what his death will be like in the future, or with Mars reimagining a breakup with an ex, the tone and scope of the material has changed dramatically. These are now completely self-contained [hi]stories, seemingly autobiographical and non-fictional, stories which we have no prior access to, stories which deal with human ordeals –– death, love, fear, hope, deceit and self-reflection -– stories which possess an altogether different tone to how a mouse might have helped fictional character Andy Dufresne escape from prison in The Shawshank Redemption. This shift is far too extreme. Moreover, there is also a dramatic and incoherent shift in tech. To chart such shifts, however, I must start with the overture, as the lack of consistency where tech is concerned is not limited to the transition between the second and third sections but surfaces sporadically throughout the performance. The overture involves the two performers ascending and descending consecutively from the gaps in the floor, gradually and smoothly, stern-faced, as though a harrowing game of whack-a-mole. The space is dimly lit and filled with smoke, there are screens above either side of the U-shaped audience, droning and suspenseful sci-fi music and, later, when the performers are exploring the chasms and lifts of the gaps in the floor, stroboscopic lighting (all lighting designed by Nao Nagai). This is a very energised and busy use of tech. Yet, the action which follows uses tech minimally. For the first section, the performance space is flooded with natural lighting and there is no music, and for the second, the lighting is simply dimmed, a single [indeed, sometimes pulsating] spotlight is used, there is a mic and some –– albeit not the most congruous  –– music to add to the drama of the stories being told. Whilst I understand that the whimsical and somewhat self-mocking humour present in the first and second sections is definitely present in this overture, from a technical and stylistic standpoint, there is still a massive disconnect here in the material we are presented. Yet, I must admit that the tech still remains cogent, powerful and sleek throughout…that is until the third section. This section sees the implementation of a green screen, something which I find utterly unnecessary and irrelevant to include in this performance. As I will mention again later, the gaping holes in the floor are slowly covered by large lime green boards, and the performance space is slowly transformed into a green screen studio in preparation for the third section. This green backing is then replaced by a simple image on the screens above our heads. To my mind, this green screen has absolutely no place in this performance. The overall graphic looks cheap and low-quality with the keying being imprecise and unseemly but most especially with the superimposed animation of flames which slowly consume the screens –– and why the teapot and cups are also green, becoming oddly and pre-emptively invisible, and making the performers look as if they are partaking in a sort of sad children’s tea party mime, is beyond me. Besides looking aesthetically displeasing, the only real function it seems to have is demonstrating that Mars and Wohead are communicating with one another from different locations, but this is clear already within the dialogue; a green screen to communicate just this seems wildly excessive. It seems to me as though this is a new avenue or tool that the two performers are fixated on working with, that this is an unseasoned, fledging concept that should stay in the rehearsal space, if not upon the drawing board, and that Mars and Wohead have not considered this tool alongside the content of their performance carefully enough. What is the green screen actually bringing to the performance? Can the performance exist without it? If the answers to these are 'Nothing' and 'Yes', then it should be omitted. The ending then seems to completely undo the work that has been done in the third section, depersonalising the content once more as Mars and Wohead attempt first to disappear through the hole in the back wall but fail before successfully disappearing through the floor –– a gag in reference to the first story we are told where Dufresne disappears through a postered hole in his prison cell. The writing hence seems to be all over the place in terms of both its focus and style. Whilst there remains moments of comedy, there is also a large shift in mode as well, as the performance becomes damper and more intendedly meaningful, as opposed to being funny for the sake of it as it seems to be in the previous sections. I would urge Mars and Wohead not to be afraid of writing a script that uses these movie plot-holes and reimaginings as its sole material. This would make for a structured performance with a sense of consistency, rhythm and pattern yet not without dynamism and creativity, being that the stories will remain complex and different from one another. I think that, conceptually speaking, in its simplest form, the idea to transition from the study of plot-holes in movies to that of the plot-holes in one’s own life is not too great a jump and could be very fluid and coherent, yet the amount of detail given to these movies in the second section makes them far too integral to the performance’s text and makes it difficult to move away from them. When we do then move away from them completely and shift the focus to the performers themselves, we feel as though we have lost something, that we have compromised a sense of direction and recognisable structure. I would like to finish with notes on design. Set is truly magnificent, both in its conceptualisation and in its physicality. The way in which it is utilised in this performance, as a cavernous labyrinth of sorts to be explored by the performers, is equally mesmerising. I really do enjoy the idea of the hole being covered as the stories are completed, but their need to be covered by the backing of a green screen is, again, unnecessary. Paired with heavy yet intelligent and articulate tech, we can really get a sense of adventure in this space. The only issue I really have with this set is not so much with the set itself but the way in which it is managed in two specific moments. The first of these moments is at the very beginning, when the audience are first entering the space. Two ushers guard the large gaps in the floor that extend into the audience space, yet there is no pre-warning for the audience that these gaps exist in the first place. All it takes is one eager, unobservant or particularly transgressive audience member to rush past the ushers whilst they are distracted in guiding others to their seats as they frequently were, and quite a nasty accident could happen. More precautions when dealing with members of the public should be taken, particularly if the room is deliberately dimly lit [or when the floor is nonexistent!]. The second moment I have issues with is when the final green boards are being lain across the gaps in the floor. This board enters into one side of the audience space very obtrusively –– again, with no pre-warning –– obliging audience members to literally lift their feet off of the floor and pull them to their chest. This fails to consider audience members who might have a physical disability which ushers may fail to notice in order to direct them to sit elsewhere, and I would strongly advise against something so unnecessarily obtrusive. From a theatrical point of view, this also makes for an unwanted self-referentiality, as when the set piece bleeds into the audience space, so do the performers who have to lift it, and this means interacting with audience members, something which an otherwise self-contained piece of theatre as this should not do. As pedantic as these issues seem, they are rather fundamental and should be addressed very early on in the performance’s conceptualisation. Inconsistencies and mishaps aside, I would like to end on a positive note. Mars and Wohead are strong performers, convincing and high-energy. They command their material well, are well trained in comedic timing and can clearly generate some very powerful, dynamic and hilarious narratives. Their storytelling ability is impeccable in this sense, and what else is theatre for if not to tell stories? “A very astute and entertaining piece of theatre but one which loses its way quite wildly halfway through.”

Poisoned Polluted is currently performing at the Old Red Lion Theatre in London. I shall start first with the writing. A contemporary dramatic text, writer, producer and actress, Kathryn O’Reilly manages to capture in her writing an incredible amount of detail in very short and staccato lines. The writing definitely has a favourable amount of depth and intricacy and, where more poetic and fluid language is used, the effect is gratifying. A fine piece of literature.  However, there is a certain clunkiness to the text in areas, most noticeably when these succinct and definitive lines are suddenly paired with loquacious monologues. These monologues seem to force themselves rather brusquely into the writing, seeming unnatural and disjointed. There is a certain indecisiveness in this text, primarily in regards to its rhythm which causes for a rather unsteady beginning wherein we are presented three very different styles of speech: stylised (or abstracted) speech; then a slightly more fluid, realistic speech; and then, finally, lengthy and rather poetic and literary monologues. When Her (Anna Doolan) then addresses the audience in another, dramatic form of monologuing, combined with Sister’s physical movements around the stage, our understanding of style, of the manner in which this performance wishes to express itself, is further challenged and unsettled. The introduction of the children’s apparent grooming seems rather casual in the writing, and not in a way that would represent the casualness in which this would have been conducted but in a fashion which treats it as a strange yet omittable feature of the story, one which seems to have no significance other than to estrange and shock. This means that when this feature turns out to be an integral part of the story, or at least of Her’s story, the impact and significance is minimised. Either this should be a slow, insidious build-up, where joyous childhood memories become tainted, sullied and uncomfortable; or this shit of mood should be abrupt, dark and harrowing, a sudden turn of events, a painful realisation in an adult’s mature reflection. Had this have been more definitely communicated, however, I believe that the way this is left unspoken of throughout the play, only to return a few times and to ultimately result in conflict between the sisters, is a very well-conceived, accurate and intelligent decision. The manner in which this feature is revealed also means that it is not clear if this is something of which Her is becoming more and more recognisant as she grows older, something budding in her mind which she will later express to or question Sister on, or something that she had always known and had kept from Sister out of fear or commanded secrecy. This absence of information is detrimental to our reading of the play, in this way. It obscures our reading of Her’s emotions, feelings psychology and mind. Sister’s drug addiction, on the other hand, is most efficaciously implemented into the narrative. What is clearly, in retrospect, a manifestation of behaviours, feelings and mindsets resulting from such is cleverly worked into the narrative as though normal and banal conversation. The revelation is a slow burn, if you will. Thus, when it is made clearer that Sister is, in fact, taking drugs, the revelation feels congruous and coherent; we are able to apply what we have learned about her character to our new reading of her. The only thing I would say that is negative about this narrative feature is that its representation is not particularly original or mindful, in that there is nothing particular or nuanced about Sister’s addiction that is not cliché, beyond expression through dance. This leads me well on to movement (directed by Sophie Shaw). I found the movement in this performance to be particularly stiff and unseemly. First, there is the running around the stage, to all of its four corners. Being a forceful, energised movement, abruptly cutting it off makes it seems both visually unappealing and incomplete. To continuously stop such a vitalised action in its tracks makes the action seem indolent, as though its motions are being carried out lethargically to get the process over and done with. Every action must have a result or a point of arrival, a destination, unless there is a deliberately counteractive movement that cuts it off and takes hold of the motion, as it were. Here, there was no such sense of consequence, completion or deliberate incompletion, just awkward, unfinalised movements. There is not, I believe, enough utilisable space on this particular stage, both due to its size and its layout, and I recognise this as something which would inhibit the flourishing of these movements. The next integral movement is a rather violent and demonstrative sequence where Sister expresses her sense of pressure, turmoil and distress. Though I would say that this sequence was, initially, rather unoriginal in its head-holding and body-crunching, and whilst I would note that this entire sequence was executed very stiffly by O'Reilly, I will say that this held a very varied and articulate repertoire. That bodily fluidity is key here, however, and I would urge O'Reilly to work on this, as this same stiffness is what rendered the running ineffective too. Small and minute movements, however, seeming better conceived, were highly fluent, endearing and transportive. I refer primarily to the hand movements around and across each other’s faces that Doolan and O'Reilly perform. Moments like these add texture, tone and subtext to the play, strengthening both its appeal and its believability as an existing world, with the use of an esoteric language that only the two characters and the performance itself understand. On to characterisation. Doolan and O'Reilly have a peculiar yet engaging chemistry in this performance. They portray their characters well and are, overall, well recognisant of their characters’ emotions and intents. However, there is very little physical variation in their performance, and I feel that the text often carries them along to a certain degree. For example, the characters are shown at various years of age throughout the text, sometimes teenagers, sometimes older. This is purely inferable by the dialogue in this performance, with very little change in physicality –– if any at all. There is also little shift between Doolan’s narration of the play and her speech as Her within it, and I would have liked to have seen a stronger emotional range from her, especially in the early scenes. As for theatrical components, I found set (designed by Mayou Trikerioti) to be very evocative. Symbolising expansiveness and, furthermore, loss, the mosaic-like backdrop of the forest conveyed a sense of space and also of memory. Being composed of many printed pieces of paper, and slightly misaligned, it seemed as though this was an image recreated by the minds of the characters in its vividness yet also its decadence. I would just be conscious of how well these pieces of paper are mounted to the wall, as a few of them were falling off of the flat, which was most unbefitting. The use of the chairs was, for the most part, quite clunky. This was because of their organisation, the two actresses bumping into one another a few times whilst organising them. Costume (also designed by Mayou Trikerioti) was coherent and effectively representative of the personality of the characters: youthful, childish and playful for Her, and rather blunt, butch and inelaborate for Sister. Lighting (Benny Goodman) drew focus very well and was not overwhelming despite its volatility and high usage, though it could have benefitted from a sharper focus in places. Lastly, sound (Nicola Chang) was very well designed and congruous with the performance. On the whole, theatrical components were more than satisfactory. Overall, this is a very rich piece of theatre, one dealing with many interconnected, harsh themes. I would just be hyperaware of how the text is articulating itself both in writing and on stage and of the articulacy of the movements in this particular production. “A gripping piece of theatre with a harrowing undertone but in need of some tweaking here and there.”

This performance appropriates the figure of Catherine Howard (Kathryn Howard in the play) as a synecdoche for the abused, objectified and prejudiced female. Through her subjection, it explores misogyny, sexism, social classifications, silenced cries and sexual abuse. Yet, despite how broad this seems, and despite the extending poignancy of some of Kathryn monologues, this exploration is not particularly profound or enlightening. The material of this play primarily comprises behaviours indirectly attributed with misogyny today, focusing more on the widespread effects sexism has on the social realities of women in its induction of gossiping, competitiveness, self-discrimination and inward/outward prejudice, primarily concerning itself with beauty, grace and sexuality. This play also depicts, though with little depth and particularity, how these norms mature within the female psyche over time, how the status of women is quickly understood as of primordial importance, the first item of deliberation in any social interaction. Yet, this play primarily concerns itself with both female solidarity and conflict. One aspect of this I rather favour is when newcomers with the name Kathryn are told that they share their name with around five others and that other names retain a stronger uniqueness and hence specialness. This is one way in which this performance successfully nullifies any sense of individuality, ascribing to all women a singular collective identity which they must find ways of differentiating themselves from (in this case, by finding different nicknames). Then, there is the use of a chorus (movement directed by Emmanuela Lia). This provides an excellent ground for demonstrating Kathryn’s isolation, with her being oftentimes still in the centre of their bustling, as well as the themes of female solidarity, and secrets and rumours. This latter is represented well by the clandestine exchange of red letters amongst the chorus, their backs turned to us, the letters becoming overwhelming in their amount. I also want to note here the efficacy of having these letters actually written upon, rather than plain which is usually a common oversight in theatre. However, I would have preferred them to not be so visible until this exchange, vibrantly red and glaring at us through the pocket of Emmanuela Lia’s (playing Kit) white blouse for the entire play before their use. Unfortunately, the chorus is not always used effectively in this performance. Lines were awkwardly divided amongst the chorus members, which worsened progressively as the play went on, and movements became very repetitive and hence very bland. Seeming quite strong at first, this fate was most disappointing. Movements also started to become rather sloppy, where walking on the grid was concerned; what should have been sharp directional changes or straight walks became corner-cutting wobbles, and synchronicity was vastly lacking in places. I must admit that this play could definitely have benefitted from a larger performance space, its movements being rather large and overbearing in comparison. However, I feel that the problem resides more in an inability to tailor the movement to the existing space, rather than the other way around. The decision to have the chorus break apart sporadically, for its members to multi-role as both narrators and characters in the story, felt much too disconnected. One reason for this is the disparate shift in writing style between chorus member and character, and another is that the topography continually suggested that the chorus would be reassembled, that these character interactions were temporary and insignificant in the grand scheme of things. This latter made it seem as though the chorus members were each representing characters rather than embodying them, making the very material of the play seem distanced from us. This brings me on to characterisation. The acting style in this performance was extremely invariant, having two main modes: bitchy and dictatorial, and sorrowful and oppressed. These modes applied to all characters except for Kit, making her incredibly incongruous with the rest of the characters. All actresses started to show rather rigid patterns of behaviour as the play went on, certain gestures, stances and postures. Rather rapidly, the performance lost any vigour and impact. Being minute and somewhat robotic in its repetitiveness, movement in general again made character interactions seem stagnant and much too similar. I believe this invariant characterisation was not wholly down to the capabilities of the actresses but mainly down to the writing of the play itself. Characters are written very similarly in this text, again with the rather blatant exception of Kit. Character interactions are mostly born of preexisting tensions which only grow momentum until one character, having been lectured by the other for some time, outbursts, suppresses the other and leaves with a certain heavy yet hurt pride. I mentioned before that the speech of the chorus was very dissimilar stylistically to that of the characters, and this definitely translated itself into the performance. All actress — but most noticeably Lia and Srabani Sen (playing Isabelle), due mostly to the incessantly emotional and nervous nature of their characters — failed to find a feasible balance between realism and stylised representation or narration. It is a large jump to switch from still, robotic and staccato to realistic and fluid, and this jump should be subtler and better worked into the script. It is not only dialogue but the content of the writing which becomes repetitive and hence, frankly, rather boring and shallow. Towards the middle of the play, the same themes (predominantly those of sexual abuse and spread secrets) start to become the only material that this play works with, and it does so in the same way over and over. There is an utter lack of depth in the material provided, despite the harrowing nature of what it alludes to or represents. The modes of expression, choral speech and monologues, become overused, samey and drab, and the repetition of particular thematic phrases (“people are talking about me/you” being one of these) adds to this sense of stasis and stagnancy. I know for sure that this sense of monotony was perceived by other audience members, with several visibly daydreaming, becoming restless, sighing or even falling asleep. I would be careful as to how the dramatic text expresses itself both in script and on stage and make sure that there is a sufficient and engaging variation of and depth to themes and their articulations. On to the technical. Music was most off-putting in this performance, pairing soft and playful classical music with tragic content and leaking into scenes that could have vastly benefitted from some silence. This was a problem most particular to the latter part of the performance, where music was, presumably, utilised to add a sense of tragedy and emotion but, instead, simply subtracted from the work in its superfluity and stylistic incoherency. Lighting was rather the same. With the operator being quite loud, I was able to hear just how many cues there were, a ridiculous number for a performance of this length and size. What is more, these cues barely changed the overall lighting state and were just needless. Props were kept at a minimum in this performance, the only props being the red letters, and I think this suited it well; this performance is so heavily movement-based that I feel props would subtract from the focus on voice and the body. The lack of period dress, where costume is concerned, also aided the style of the writing, being assembled adequately enough to evoke the sense of the Tudor period. The hair ribbons, however, I felt looked most unbefitting and messy, an odd accessory that gradually fell off of the performers’ heads as the performance went on. I cannot imagine what this was meant to achieve. Lastly, set. Again, a good choice to leave the set minimal, yet I felt that the drawn windows –– the only piece of set, besides the wooden bench –– were far too cartoonistic. That being said, conceptually, they offered plenty for the imagination. The bench, despite being very simple, added a sense of depth and architecture to the space. It was a good decision to use this sparingly, however, but perhaps it was a little too overused for moping, seated Kathryn. Overall, this performance has quite a strong foundation, but it has yet to find uniqueness, variety and depth in its voice. Its few strengths are recycled over and over until they become its entirety, making for shallow content overall. Style is a big issue for this play, both for the writing and staging as for the pairing of physical and technical components. I would urge both writer Catherine Hiscock and director Alex Pearson to consider conceiving new ways to express the narrative, rather than relying on traditional theatrical storytelling techniques. The use of a chorus, for example: whilst I feel that this play definitely benefits from third-party narration, I think the use of a chorus specifically is not the best choice for this particular play. I think the decision to use a chorus was made without meticulous consideration of how style mode would be affected and was used for its storytelling aspect more than its poignancy or status as a theatrical device. “A difficult play to engage with, due to its lack of variety, stylistic coherency, and depth.”