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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.”

On entering the house, the atmosphere is solemn and cold. The set, its furnishings, suggest that this is the house of an upper-class and affluent family. This is further accentuated by an interaction between a reluctant servant, Nancy (Grace Howard), slumped in an armchair — most symbolically, the Mistress’s armchair — and her boss, Elizabeth (Rebecca Ashley), who quickly rushes her on to vacuum the room. Her command, alongside her harsh, supervisory glares, quickly and productively introduces us to a theme of subservience and submission. Yet, within this overture, I find my first disappointment. There is an enormous lack of naturalism in the theatre of late, something my recent reviews have dealt with consistently. This performance is no different, and its overture serves as a precursor to the fallible naturalism we will see throughout its entirety. Elizabeth’s command is gesticulative, almost melodramatic; it is a visual representation of an interaction rather than a veritable interaction. Moments like this between Nancy and Elizabeth are repeated sporadically throughout the performance, and it causes for a bizarre overlay of style. I imagine that director Imy Wyatt Corner did not wish to add any further dialogues or lines, however slight, to the script (text by Patrick Hamilton), yet this is a most fallible and weak decision if true. There is no reason why this and other interactions could not have been more naturalistic. Even if these moments were necessary to remain silent, Elizabeth could have given a strict, implicit stare or a sharp suggestive gesture, rather than an over-energised performance of mime. Nancy then starts to vacuum, yet this remains limited to one particular area of the floor. Would she really continue to vacuum the same spot for such a prolonged amount of time? Would she not either start to vacuum but only until Elizabeth leaves, or complete the entire errand but with lethargy and reluctance? If she was so unenthused by her chores, I doubt she would take up so much of her time running the errand so carelessly. I hope that it is clear how these small, seemingly insignificant moments demonstrate a profound lack of awareness of both realism and naturalism. Visually, this is a wonderful overture, yet its content is drab and ineffective. Nothing should be staged as a filler, especially the first few moments of a performance; everything must have pertinence, poignancy and purpose. On to the main action of the play. We are introduced to the world of the play by Elizabeth who states that the story takes place in the late 19th century. Straightaway, I have issues. Why, for costume (styled by Katie Tucker), are there trench coats, polycotton dresses, a modern interpretation of an Elizabethan top for Nancy and, later, velvet jackets? For set (designed by Kate Halstead), why is there a desk lamp, a glass photo frame (containing artwork equally incongruous with the time period) and a filing cabinet? There are many, many inconsistencies in regards to the time period that really force a stretch of the imagination. This stretch becomes rather extensive. We are asked to imagine that the lamps dotted around the room are all, in fact, gaslights, that the filing cabinet is actually a bureau. I fail to understand why either the script was not adapted to meet the physical and material reality of the performance or vice versa. Even the smallest of props — a coloured newspaper, for example (coloured press and images in newspapers not appearing until a century later) — collides with the world we are told to imagine. And this was something identified by quite a large number of perplexed audience members, besides me. The only thing remotely Victorian was Elizabeth’s high heel. Then, to add insult to injury, we have the acting. I have religiously shied away from using the word ‘terrible’ to describe an actor’s performance, but there is simply no better adjective to describe Jordan Wallace’s portrayal of Jack. Wallace had no awareness of pace, rhythm or tone, ignoring the quality of language in his lines. He would also speed through these, not leaving enough time for their impact or organicness. An example of this is when Jack asks Elizabeth if anything is missing in the room, meaning, of course, the portrait he himself has hidden. Before Ashley had time to even tilt her head, Wallace immediately moved to his next line, asking her what she had noticed in her scan of the room. He was utterly unable to play off of the other actors and assumed incongruous, modern traits, like sniffing, tilting his head or kissing his teeth. These traits progressively became his sole characteristics, particularly when reacting to other actors. Character profiles should deepen and, in the case of this play, darken and become more mysterious, not blander and more predictable. Jemima Murphy’s characterisation of Bella was only slightly stronger, her versatility being primarily rooted in more stage time and more varied lines. Her upright posture, gasps and shaking head became very much overused. Whilst she had a slightly better grip on the naturalism in the delivery of her lines, this was still nowhere near perfect. The most polished of the cast remained Joe McArdle, who clearly had a very clear grasp on his character, demonstrating good capability. Yet, there were still aspects of his performance that seemed repetitive and ill-conceived as well, most notably his repetitive arm gestures when explaining things to Bella or his constant running to and fro to retrieve his jacket for no purpose whatsoever but to stick it somewhere else in the room. His cockiness, which ultimately transformed into a comedic and, in this way, an effective and his most endearing trait, was still rather superfluous, for me, though I do understand that these last two remain as editorial or directorial issues. In other words, both the writing’s character development and the actors’ characterisations were extremely poor. For new writing, I normally consider the playtext itself, but as this play is a revival, it would be unnecessary for me to do so. I would, however, urge director Imy Wyatt Corner to adapt certain areas of the text that make it seem less potent or more whimsical. Bella, for example, is represented from the very beginning as far too malleable; it seems unlikely that — or, rather, unclear as to why — Bella would so readily see herself as “mental” and believe everything Jack says, having a “mental mother” not quite being sufficient reasoning alone, or sufficiently drawn from. There is no progression; we do not see what makes this abuse plausible, how, in such little time, it has gotten to this level of manipulation and why Bella is so subservient and mouldable to a husband she has practically just met and knows very little about. There needs to be something far stronger and demonstrative to contextualise this manipulation. Suddenly, there is a leprechaun, dressed in green, searching for treasure and offering Bella whisky. I relate him to a leprechaun because of how abruptly and impertinently he is thrown into the narrative — much like how I introduce him here — as though a mystical, omniscient figure whose appearance retains no seeming relevance or likelihood. This element plays into a very dated and overdramatic style of theatrical performance which seems most irregular on a stage today, especially with the realistic and undramatic setup in which this performance births it. I would be careful to consider how the visual aspects of a performance combine with acting style to generate [in]coherency. With Wallace and Murphy’s acting styles, however disparate and unnaturalistic, aiming deliberately towards realism, this shift in performance style becomes most off-putting. The theme of abuse remains original in the manner in which it exposes itself, yet this is squandered by surrounding, vapid content. There remain many features Corner could omit. For example, Jack’s comparisons of Nancy and Bella’s attractiveness are very particularised and effective, yet Jack’s sexual interaction with Nancy is incredibly unnecessary and subtracts from the narrative, again a feature of a dated form of theatre. It would be better to see Nancy as a mere pawn in Jack’s games, as having no significance to him whatsoever, just a tool to use to toy with Bella’s mind. But more importantly than features such as this, to pair manipulation and emotional abuse with the case of a jewellery thief is most counterproductive to what Corner states is her cause of interest in this play. This is not a harrowing representation of abuse, this is not a text which enlightens, exposes, educates or vilifies, it is a text which simply uses a woman’s abuse as one of several malicious traits of an abhorrent, thieving villain. It does not give us insight into any contemporary reality but, instead, appropriates suffering for intrigue and depth of plot. Failure to edit is failure to perfect. All in all, this performance remains incredibly unsure of itself, containing confused styles, content and materials. The acting is, unfortunately, mediocre at best, and the text provides a dated view of women, mental health and inspector drama. I would urge Corner to consider both the messages and the particularity of the text more carefully, to force a better articulacy from performers and from the text. “A performance with an intriguing concept yet with poor and confused articulacy.”

Making use of very current sociopolitical themes, A New Dawn is a very entertaining play that follows the story of fictional politician Emma, her love life, political fame and scandal. It is definitely, as promoted, a play that toys with trust, creating not only distrust between the three characters, Emma (Sue Appleby), Lucy (Sarah Leigh) and Jon (Mark Donald), but between these characters and the audience itself. The writing is, on the whole, very good. It is insidious in its revelations, providing us with loops and twists but also with multifaceted or conniving characters who seem innocent or helpful but, in fact, hide behind deceitful secrets. In this way, the text is very intriguing and manifold. It also provides us with a sufficient personal and collective history of the characters, one which unravels and becomes progressively complex. However, I would note that the way the characters both relate to one another and detail this relationship to the audience is quite repetitious. It usually involves one character mentioning in passing a memory, deliberately evoking one or using one as the material of a snide remark or verbal attack; this memory of this moment, period or event is then recalled by the other character; then, it is detailed, rather conspicuously and meticulously to the audience. This manner of expression occurs regularly throughout the text, eliminating any naturalism. In natural speech, we do not tend to remember things together with others in such detail; when we share histories, however large or small, with other people, we tend to relate these memories to one another by referring only to one or two aspects of the tale, and our counterpart quickly catches on, and the moment is brief, flitting. If each character has to explain the memory in full for the other characters to understand, this does the exact opposite of demonstrating togetherness and shared pasts, for if they were so close (or so vocally disparate), they would both retain these memories clearly. This is a very common mistake in writing, particularly for theatre and film, and it should be noted that connotations, memories and remarks can, indeed, be esoteric and outside of an audience’s comprehension — as long as this is not overdone, of course. Writer Oliver Kendall should not be scared to write language more naturalistically or language which sometimes makes for inside jokes and closed dialogue, for example, that is of limited understanding to the audience but which provides this wanted sense of shared history. There is quite a good degree of believability in terms of the specificity of specialist vocabulary required for a play involving media and press, yet I would note that the fictionality of Emma’s political party was most definitely detectable. I think a lot more effort could have gone into making Emma’s party, objectives and overall manifesto much more detailed, elaborate and hence convincing. Finally, though I really do love the conclusion of the play and the final, reconciliatory moment we witness between Emma and Lucy — a most powerful and complex moment — I feel that the addition of an affair between Lucy and Jon was just that tad too much. This addition really limits the world of the play to these three characters where it really ought to be expanded and made more dimensional in many aspects. Writing aside, I shall move on to characterisation. I do not feel the acting was particularly magnificent in this performance, though this is partially due to the aforementioned lack of naturalism in the dramatic text itself. I find myself particularly disappointed with Leigh’s characterisation, who clearly struggles to portray sarcasm or acerbity convincingly. Her performance became rather one-note — that is until the end of the performance when Lucy moves away from bitterness and frustration and towards sorrow and dejection. These emotions Leigh captured very well. Otherwise, I would also have liked to see more emotional range from Appleby and a more hard-hitting shift in persona from Donald when it is revealed that his character is behind Emma's scandal. Donald was rather repetitive in his approach to his character in this respect. Overall, all actors seemed to lack a certain vigour in their performance, repeating gestures and movements and retaining very similar proximities with one another. This generated an unwanted sense of stagnancy. A more dynamic use of space would have allowed for a much livelier and animated piece of theatre. A similar, bigger problem for all actors, again concerning movement, is that they each have a tendency in this play to face forwards, rarely showing their backs to the audience. Seeming very deliberate, I would urge that their movements be less strict and more fluid in this way. Again, as it stands, this takes away from any realism — not to mention this is a very bland and crude performance style. I do understand, however, that these are most likely issues projecting from directorial decisions (play directed by Layla Madanat). The ending, as mentioned above, saw a vast improvement from Appleby and Leigh, from the moment Lucy begins to trust, even empathise with Emma. I believe this is both down to a change in mood and rhythm but also a change in emotion; both actresses are clearly more gifted in expressing profound grief and complexity of mind. I must stress here that this cast is not terrible but simply watchable; more depth in both the writing of their characters and their own characterisations could really refine this play. A few notes on tech. Sound (designed by Jason Williams) constituted the majority of tech in this performance, composed of political interviews, reports and speeches. This definitely generated a sense of the bustle and pandemonium surrounding Emma, yet I would say that it was slightly incongruous stylistically with the performance, particularly with the pulsing lights, being that lighting (designed by Ed Lees) remained otherwise consistent throughout. I would also note that when Emma and Lucy listen to the radio, it is, yet again, unrealistic for them to tune in at the very beginning of the report. It was a good decision to not change lighting states throughout the performance, however, and sound was well designed and recorded. Finally, set (designed by Madanat and Rebecca Kendall). This was a very well designed set, simplistic yet detailed enough to represent location and space. The colour scheme for Lucy’s living room was particularly bold and eye-catching, and the overall design was modern…yet, I’m not so sure if this is befitting of Lucy’s character. It is slightly too polished for her, I would say, slightly too neat and minimal. Small things like the letter, for example: would this really be propped up so finely in plain sight? Or would it be on top of the bookshelf, perhaps on one of the books, in fact, or on top of the coffee table, even? It seemed too presumptuous to place it so conspicuously as it was. Again, I would just be aware of how the space the set creates is used as well. The area downstage where the large white rug sits is a lovely, broad and stretched space that I feel more action could be enacted in. Too much of the action takes place further upstage, and moving it downwards would create more of a sense of urgency and business. Overall, this is a good and enjoyable performance. Its structure is promising and coherent; I would just be aware of finer, more pedantic elements, viz. naturalistic speech and action, use of space, realism of motives and events… “A good play, intriguing and topical; just in need of slight modifications.”

I shall start by saying that this is not the strongest performance, but it certainly has budding potential. There is a lot to be reworked, rethought and refined, and there is a huge issue with naturalism and focus, yet, once pace has picked up and style has improved, the denouement is, indeed, rather robust and sorrowful. A problem not unique to this performance and one which my reviews have dealt with quite a lot recently is that there is a sheer lack of naturalism. This lack of naturalism is presented not only through the writing of the dramatic text itself but through the actors’ rather unpolished characterisations as well. I will start first with the writing (play written by B C Allen). This play persistently gives too much airtime to trivial and insignificant items, mostly in an attempt to demonstrate shared histories amongst the characters. Some good examples of this are the manner in which the characters detail Ben’s (Brett Allen) failure to pay the bill at The Ivy, which coincides along with the equally unnecessary and flavourless recount of the washing machine story, or Alex’s (Andre Skeete) ex’s pregnancy. This text aims to give much too much detail about past events to make the characters’ lives seem fuller, more intricate and more interconnected. This is both unnecessary, given that friends and couples already denote intimacy and shared history, but also too emphatic and hence unnaturalistic. But it is not just the fact that these events are over-elaborated upon but the way in which they are so sedulously prised out of the characters, unearthing a plethora of bland and flitting emotions: the constant repetition of interrogative phrases, “How so?”, “Like?” and “Well?”; Cat’s (Natasha Redhead) bashfulness and embarrassment whenever the slightest memory is brought up; and, most of all, Alex’s failure to remember or understand any of the memories discussed. For a text which aims to demonstrate a past and togetherness amongst these friends, it seems bizarre that it should present Alex as knowing or remembering so little. Clearly, they are not as close as the text aims for us to believe. Then, there is the problem with registers. These do not tend to take into consideration the character profiles. One very pronounced example of this is when Ben, a cockney geezer of sorts, recalls a location he often frequented as a child and refers to it rather nonchalantly as “an incredible place for adventure”. This register of language is undeniably higher than the [broken] register he uses throughout the rest of the text, making for a certain friction in his character. This is not, it would seem, something Ben would say. Perhaps “an incredible place to run around and explore” or, even more simply, “a great place to have fun / muck about”. The words ‘adventure’ and ‘incredible’ participate in a deliberately bombastic and emphatic locution, as opposed to ‘look around’ and ‘good’, for example; perhaps the use of just one would be ignorable, but two makes for a deliberate effect — an effect which is not wanted here. These three characteristics make for the writing’s entirety, up until the very latter of the performance. Here, things start to look up. The language becomes much snappier, making little room for laborious reflections and focusing on events in the present moment, mainly Ben’s deterioration. This is something I must stress for this performance: the past stands with such priority in this performance that the present suffers greatly. Only small events, such as the crying baby, developments in the board games, or the fetching of alcohol, are allowed to contextualise the play in the present, and these items begin to seem as though mere distractions from bland and short-lived storytellings lacking pith and purpose. We hear so much about the past selves of the characters that we learn very little about who they are now. I understand that this focus on the past is due to Ben creating a sense of his image and personality for his baby daughter so that she may feel as though she knew him whilst growing up without him after his death in her infancy. However, especially being that this is a secret until very late in the play, this would not incite the other characters to be so lodged in the past as well. It is confusing, then, why all characters are so prepared to divulge histories in this strenuous way and are so accepting of the interview. The writing fails to recognise the subjectivities of the characters, that each character will have something different they wish to discuss or elaborate upon, that not all would want to reflect on histories but deliberate other things, instead, e.g. work, neighbours, friends, celebrities, diets, plans, etc. To reveal that Ben is suffering from lung cancer is a most dissatisfying decision, for me. Not only does this revelation serve as a hugely over-milked and disempowering cliche in modern theatre but it is also very structurally and stylistically out of place. I understand that the interview questions serve as a subliminal preparation for Ben’s daughter’s fatherless future, a secret which Ben reveals himself in the latter part of the play, yet it feels as though such a hard-hitting and profound turn of events is not deserved in this play. This is not because of the light-heartedness that attempts to characterise the dramatic text but because of its lack of momentum. The action we are presented with is mundane; we learn little of the characters from the present moment and only receive biographies; in all, very little really happens. To then not only kill a character off but to bring in the motif of cancer is a most unseemly and disjointed decision. Back to the issue with naturalism. Writing aside, I move on to characterisation. Actors seemed to storm through the text, leaving very little room for impact, for their lines to settle in the space, for the audience to breathe. This affects naturalism in many ways but primarily through our recognition of time. To elucidate this, I will use a simple example: when Allen’s character hands Skeete’s the piece of paper with the interview questions on it, Skeete has barely taken it in his grasp before stating that he would not know how to tackle it because “these questions are different to the ones I had”. How would he know that the questions are different before even studying them properly? More generally speaking, all actors followed on from other actors’ lines much too quickly and utterly sped through their own. There was an utter lack of rhythm, which inevitably affects mood. In fact, it felt as though the performance had an allotted time to be complete in and the actors felt as though they were not going to make it. As with the writing, things tended to pick up quite significantly after Ben revealed his lung cancer. It felt to me as though the actors understood their roles more in this latter part. I believe this because of its fast pace and its focus on present events, permitting actors to have a constant and knowing series of actions and reactions; before this, actors were just listening to what one other had to say and smiling, laughing, gasping, etc. There was very little room for actors to develop their characters beyond the biographies. There was a vast lack of emotion in the former part of this performance — again, this is why the shock of lung cancer felt so disproportionate — until Cat becomes outraged by Alex’s overview on dating women. A mixture of writing issues and fallible characterisation, this shift felt much too sudden and extreme — and not in a realistic, cogent manner. It was not given enough time to grow, for tensions to slowly build. It was an instantaneous conflict, from jovial to hostile within seconds. Dramatics aside, I will focus on the technicalities of this performance. Set (designed by Gareth Johnson) is very simple, consisting of a high table and chairs and a sofa. The space is certainly very tight, which does add to a sense of intimacy between the characters but also a certain claustrophobia. This is a good decision. I would just be careful of the [again, somewhat unnatural] use of this space, notably when Alex shows Ben something on a phone, he will only go to one side, despite being closer to the other, making not only for a bizarre visual but for an imbalance as to which side of the audience the action is presented to, given the traverse staging. In terms of props, I have little to say, for they were sufficiently communicative and utilitarian, other than the fact the scrabble tiles appeared, to me, to have no writing on them. Again, realism is key. Lighting (designed by Glenford Barnes) receives mixed thoughts from me but positive ones, overall. I enjoy that the natural lighting dims and is replaced by a deep blue; this gives us a clear understanding of time and its passing. I should note here that costume, which is successfully contemporary, is equally as successful in demonstrating this, adding to that much-needed realism. However, the first time we see this change of lighting state, it seems wildly inconsistent. I would have had the deep blue whilst the audience were coming in and, once they were settled and the actors were ready to enter, then I would have changed to natural lighting, to animate or naturalise the space, as it were. Whilst its repetition gave coherent style, this first use is just much too startling and different to the natural lighting we are used to and makes for the sense of a stylistic disconnect. Sound is used rather minimally in this performance. When it is used, however, it is effectively synchronous with the action on stage. However, it slows the momentum of the performance considerably — a primary example of this being when Ben shows Alex some music, dancing to him. The performance gives a successful amount of attention to moments like these, engaging us with Ben’s character, which is, obviously, most important, yet because it is so slow compared to the preceding action, it feels longwinded, as though a strange thing to give so much focus to. Overall, there are a lot of things in this play that could do with some editing. There are potent issues with pace, rhythm and, of course, naturalism, and the play could benefit from demonstrating the intimacy shared between the friends in the present moment far more, beyond its relying wholly on the topography of the space or, more specifically, the theme of games night, or on Ben’s use of flirtation and flattery on Cat. Despite the stereotypical postmodern approach to a tragic ending, I feel that this play does have a strong concept behind it. It is simply in its presentation, in script and on stage, that it is somewhat lacking. Nearly everything is there; it all just needs to be better unearthed and articulated. “A play with a good direction and good potential but crude in its materials and execution.”

There is something so off-putting, so darkly atmospheric, ominous and fearful about this play. Within it, there is so much emotion, yet everything is tackled with such sterility and distance. Relationships are not demonstrated but explained; movement is minimal and implied; space (more on this later) is not depicted but inferred; even the recurring item of nuclear energy is the subject of a lecture, a theme, even, and not an item or object itself. Oddly, nothing really exists in this performance at all, the only prop being a toothbrush, a mundane and banal object of lackadaisical self-care. Yet, we are still extremely aware of a wider world, one that we only catch glimpses of through text messages, slammed doors, phone calls and passing traffic. Nuclear Future feels macrocosmic; it feels that there is so much going on that its only direct character, Astrid (Leda Douglas), and we ourselves have stepped back from the world and have desensitised ourselves to its traumas. It feels as though we have entered a future of chaos and danger and long for the peace and stability of the past, and so we hide ourselves from the pain. The darkness of the space, its claustrophobia, makes for a feeling of the ever-narrowing, ever-scaring, right up until it swallows Astrid whole, rather literally, in its final moments. So, what creates this feeling of doom and apathy? There are two main features of this performance that characterise its entirety: lack of physical movement and dynamic video design (Joshua Pharo). Tech, representing the outer world, seems to race past Astrid and leave her behind, dazzled, still. What is generated is a profound consciousness of a prolonged, nay perpetual, stasis. Within this stasis sits omen and dread. I think the play does a remarkable job in balancing the extreme, fast-paced motion of the videos with the stillness and fragility of Astrid. There are still, however, tiny issues I have with it. I shall start by addressing this former feature, the lack of physical movement. This particular feature was very, very well conceived. Continuously giving so very little, both through action and through text, this play leaves room for so much intrigue but also for gaps in the plot. We, the audience, must fill these gaps in, and there are many to fill, making this play so complex and positively difficult. At some points, it is not an easy performance to spectate, given its deliberate stagnancy (more on this later), but, for the most part, this makes for a much tenser experience and harshens the denouement of the play. Douglas localises her emotions to her face, making very minimal gestures with her head and torso. Combined with her lines, this makes for a very narrow kinetosphere and causes us to feel that Astrid is suffocated by her environment and by external happenings, making for a peculiar and unique view of her psychology and character. It also forces us to imagine what she is seeing, her eyes being the principal tool for animation and expression. All in all, a very powerful technique of storytelling and characterisation. However, Douglas does have some trouble sometimes reining herself back in, in that she both stretches her emotional expressivity just a little too far but also finds it difficult to snap into a different emotion afterwards right away, the former emotional state seeming to linger (her body still shaking a little, her eyes still watering). She is clearly good at portraying extreme emotion, yet a realistic representation of this has little place in this performance, I believe. When her character fears that her daughter has been involved in an accident and has died, for example, Douglas physicalises her distress in her entire body, moving her arms up and down her thighs, her legs shaking slightly, her head, shoulders and torso moving. This could have been a directorial decision, but whoever decided upon moments like these should be aware that this makes for an incongruous and, actually, rather melodramatic presentation. This play makes harsh and limiting decisions for itself, laying out clear and visible rules for movement. Being so restrictive in every other moment in this play means that physicalities like these seem exaggerative, despite actually being what would be considered subtle in other contexts. To limit all of this emotion to the head and the face, in my opinion, would have made for more consistency and heightened pathos. Unique to this performance is its articulate, imaginative and awe-inspiring use of projections. A small and tight performance space is utterly and wildly expanded by the visuals we are provided. Or, when required, the space is even tighter, claustrophobic and insular. Something particularly notable about these visuals is that the projected image, when implying location, is blurry and indistinct. This provides spectators with the perfect equilibrium of stimulus and imagination. We are given the illusion of trees, of lights from passing traffic, of window frames and baby mobiles, just the right amount to cause the mind to finalise the picture. For a performance that is otherwise rather fragmented and stagnant, this use of mindscaping is vital. I would just be aware, as a quick note here, of what certain images seem to allude to. For example, the final image where Astrid becomes engulfed by an upright, yellow rectangle, a white spotlight tightening around her head. This image has particularly religious connotations, as though the box-light is a stained glass window, and the spotlight, a halo. I would be aware of both how this might be received but also what this unavoidably suggestive image communicates about Astrid’s character. The scenes in which Astrid lectures on the science, use and impact of nuclear energy and power are just as dynamic. Not only do the images presented add comedy and quirk in their animations, but they also carry a deep significance, given that nuclear energy is, in fact, usable still in the real world beyond the play and has been used. This cheery yet informative elucidation of the science behind nuclear energy and power, despite its rudimentariness, is an excellent, insidious way of connecting loose threads about Astrid’s character, of exposing her sins and corruptive reality. There are many very good ways in which this dramatic text reveals characters and events. One literary device used is cyclicality. This primarily involves these lecture scenes, when they start to repeat themselves, only this time Astrid has weakened. She is falling apart, unable to concentrate or articulate herself. This is one, rather literal, way in which the theme of degradation is expressed, yet there is a more longevous and progressive tool for exposing this and that is the portrayal of Astrid’s relationship with her daughter. Astrid is consistently terrified by her daughter’s mortality — darkly ironic and shocking when we discover that these lectures are, in fact, part of her heartless profession… — and this gives us a persistent sense of fear and moribundity that is reinforced when Astrid’s daughter finally decides to leave her. We feel that Astrid is set up to fail, her very name meaning ‘godly strength’ of which she clearly has none. This is a very good place to put our narrator in. If she fears her world, is unsure of it, and is our only way into the world, to perceiving it. the audience has no other choice but to fear the world, too. One other main feature I have alluded to elsewhere is the deliberate vagueness of the script. This is partly due to slow revelations but also due to there being only one direct character. As said above, we perceive the world through the eyes and thoughts of Astrid, and so our understanding of her world is very premature and irrational. Characters like Opi have strong presences within the text, yet it is never extensively clarified who this individual actually is; we are told that Astrid’s father is feeding her daughter truths that should “come from her, not him”, that he is planting seeds in her head, yet we are never told what these seeds and truths are; we can only infer both of these. This makes for an incredibly intriguing and insidious piece of work. The only real issue I have with this play is its length, particularly in scenes where Astrid is conversing with her father either via Skype or via telephone. This performance loses a couple of marks, for me, for this. With such stillness and stasis, it is important to feel at all times like there is some sort of movement, and whilst I understand that the length of this conversations is to add realism, which it most certainly did — a most successful capture of real-life speech — I would just consider how much is absolutely necessary to progress the plot and how much is simply filler, to create a mere sense of naturalism. “A most evocative, dark and ominous piece of theatre, innovative and original.”

Produced by Zest Theatre and Catherine Fowles, and directed by Toby Ealden, Youthquake provides a platform for young voices to be heard in succinct, hard-hitting and articulate ways. It is a burning furnace of anger, frustration, anguish and fear, steaming with memories, histories and experiences that our youth today are forced to confront daily. It depicts the budding minds of a future generation; one which is sure of its significance and potential; one which desires change and astutely unpicks and decodes the present in the hopes to facilitate it; one which, above all, wants peace. This performance is clever in pairing two styles of performance together: one crumbling style which involves an over-energised and faltering hostess (Claire Gaydon) who explicates second-handedly the science and psychology of youth; and another, bolder and more confident style which explains youth through youths themselves, through a language that they not only understand but produce and perpetuate themselves. This balance is very cleverly thought-out and forces the audience to not only be conscious of the vapidness, generalisations and over-intellectualisations that often serve together as the lens through which we view our negligibly intelligent youth of today, but also to critique these. However, I do think that this performance still provides its audience with a very univocal definition of youth. Whilst grunting, mood swings and, more modernly, an increased interest in rap and techno music is definitely a loud and most evident voice amongst teenagers, this is definitely not applicable to all of them. Some teenagers enjoy conversation or are confident in their abilities and their voices and have sufficient self-esteem, or prefer classical jazz over dubstep. I would be wary of how this relativity is deliberated within the performance, for I feel that there is rather little in this performance that features as a common interest or ground to connect youths, beyond technology (or, more specifically, phones), fast-paced music and dance. That being said, this performance deliberately makes use of a diverse range of voices, opinions, personalities and young persons, and, in this way, gives insight into a wide plethora of issues relative to our modern youth. It touches upon gender, race, sexual abuse, politics, the environment, parent-child and teacher-student relationships, delinquency, and more. It has truly manifold and provocative content in this way. This is amplified by the use of recordings, clips of young people stating their opinions and beliefs. This makes for a particular feel, one which causes us to consider the issues raised as global, not just affecting these particular performances but a wide range of youth. The disembodied voices work our imaginations in this way very successfully and productively. However, because this performance deals with so much, it starts to deal with very little. Encumbered by its multidirectional approaches, this performance becomes directionless, losing itself in its own turmoil. This is where I find my first hurdle in reviewing this performance. I personally think the turmoil is just slightly too extreme, that the play ends up offering very little by exposing so much. This turmoil is manifested in such a way that no palpable, mature and realistic solution to the problems of youth seems possible. But the play seems to recognise this. At one point, the hostess explains that she feels dejected, like she does not know how to help the youth or better their realities, and the other characters express a deep, deep sense of helplessness. “What difference will any of this make?” “What could we do?” Questions like these start to surface quite rapidly, again and again. These questions change my view quite significantly on the unsolved [or unsolvable] chaos offered in this performance. These in mind, I then consider the only solution that is, in fact, offered in this performance, one that is much more realistic and, actually, rather useful in the long run. The performance urges youths to work on their selfhood; to have the courage to be opinionated, different; and to have confidence in themselves and in their decisions. It urges them to challenge the present and to own the future — but to do it…whilst having fun. This latter piece of information becomes crucial to the performance, its techno sequences culminating in an invitation for youths to join in with the performers, to let loose, so to speak, to ask questions and have any opinions heard. The ending is explosive — rather literally, with the confetti — and cathartic. This leads me to consider the performance thusly: as a stand-alone performance, this is perhaps not the most enlightening or impactful, but as one link of a wider chain of reactions, it serves as a good introduction to the problems our youth either face or are subjected/exposed to. This cathartic element makes it a moment, however slight, of therapy and release. It can be seen, then, as both educational for parents/carers/adults and escapist for the young, a seemingly poignant piece of theatre for all modern audiences, then. However, that is not to say that all aspects of this performance were hugely inspiring, powerful or effective. In fact, there were many features of this play, I thought, which were not so pertinent or eloquent. One of these features was tech. Whilst this aforementioned sense of chaos is captured rather well by the technical aspects of this performance, with high-pitched frequencies and mechanical breakdowns (sound designed by Guy Connelly), and stroboscopic lighting and manic spotlights (lighting designed by Ben Pacey), etc., I do think these elements became particularly overused and samey. This is especially so for the use of strobes and high-pitched frequencies. There was definitely an over-reliance on tech — something else which was also brought to the audience’s attention when the hostess suggests that more “technology” might have made for a more impactful and educative experience for young spectators — and I felt it could have benefitted from more artistic and thoughtful variation. Another feature I felt dampened the efficacy of this performance was giving the hostess a personality beyond her stage persona. Representing the unemotional, misguided societal view of the youth, I felt it was ineffective and unproductive to unite her voice, speaking for the youths, with the “true” voices of the youths. Little anecdotes, such as that about voting in elections or playing the trombone in a concert, I felt served better as a distanced, retrospective look on the young, as though a reminiscent adult looking back on their teenage years and demeaning the difficulties, complexity and viscera of being a teenager through generalisations and over-analysis. Then, there are lots of little irregularities, such as the critiquing of the so-called "Generation Z", at the very beginning of the performance, a seeming prelude of more criticisms to come, or the fact that the two main performers, Gaydon and Harris Cain, had character names, Becky and Jack, Despite this performance wanting to present –– not represent –– reality. All of these features limit the success of this performance. From a purely dramatic standpoint, however, I would like to note how convincing all actors are in the early scene wherein they are spotlit and answer, rather apathetically, the hostess’s questions. They were extremely believable here as audience members, as opposed to performers sitting off stage. Whilst, again, I think the disinterested grunting and monosyllabic speech is a little too caricaturistic, generalised and cliché, this was a most tense and awkward beginning (deliberately and positively so), exposing teenage lack of engagement with the demeaning, overly definitive and, above all, successfully silencing statistics placed upon them. I should say, however, that I would have liked to see a lot more variation in the ensemble’s characterisations — again, the grunting was a tad go-to and monotonous by even just the middle of the performance. Choreography (Patricia Suarez) was rather lacking in places, particularly in one of the dance sequences wherein the young actors sing, gospel style, to an overtly synthesised backing track. Not only did energy drop significantly in this sequence, with performers moving lethargically from one side of the stage to another, but it was also very clumsy-looking and felt particularly out of place in this performance. In terms of visuals, I have one last comment on set (designed by Verity Quinn). The house is organised in such a way that every seat provides a good view of the stage, a most impressive and notable and impressive design feature, given its angularity. A limited palette of deep and harsh colours made for both an eye-catching and thematic visual, yet I do think the use of colour here was perhaps a little predictable. Combined with the vicious and volatile lighting, this scheme also becomes rather psychedelic. Whilst I am aware that this would have been deliberate, desiring to engage the active minds of the young, I still think the overall visuals could have benefited from much more calmness. Overall, this performance is an evocative and thought-provoking piece of work, toying with realism to both elucidate its message and to critique perceptions of a rarely told experience. It offers young spectators a sense of freedom and escape; and to older spectators, reflection. I just feel that it could do with more depth and a more particularised focalisation. I also would have liked a stronger, more concretised style that the performance would stick to, unchanging throughout. “An inspiring and liberating performance for the youth of today, but one which could find more coherency and deliberateness in its expression.” Photography credit: Phil Crow.

Paradise Lodge aims, very honourably, to secure a voice for those with dementia and those experiencing it second-handedly. Despite its admirable objectives, and the emotional significance and relatability it most certainly had for a number of audience members, personally, I found its reality to fall far from its aims. In fact, I found this play to be very insensitive and, in fact, rather mocking. To take something that is so truly dark, harrowing, terrifying, tender and tragic in real life and to turn it comedic, uplifting and, above all, funny is an extremely delicate ground to find oneself upon in theatremaking. It requires both skill and immensely careful and astute consideration. What we are presented with in this performance is not careful at all. We are presented with blunt caricatures of the dying elderly. More importantly, funny caricatures. This is mostly the case for Ronnie (Steve Cooper) who serves as the play’s clown with his cantankerous stubbornness and persistence to label everything as a “shit hole”. We are not given any background, any tragedy, any conclusions; we are not given anything at all about this character, other than his senility, irascibility, and, most incongruously and oddly, his randiness(!). What does any of this teach us or show us? What can we take, over than humour, from Ronnie failing to deal with a “blocked bog”. What makes this performance so comedic (and hence insensitive) is the caricaturistic and melodramatic style that it makes use of, constituting itself through vapid and shallow content. For example, even when Ronnie is given a pendant to use in emergencies, to call his family members — a rather tragic and emotive item in itself, suggesting vulnerability, fragility and lack of independence — the focus remains comedic: Ronnie cannot understand how to use it; he thinks it is a remote and attempts to change the channel, all whilst angry and swearing; he hears disembodied voices coming from the telephone and reacts dramatically, confused. Whilst all of these have their obvious roots in sad realities and, in theory, could be seen as sensitive, realistic reconstructions of these, it is the manner in which they are done that is problematic. The expressions, the extreme physicality, the use of endless, superfluous throwaway props (more on that later). The manner in which they are represented is too far from raw and palpable. This comedy becomes extremified when Violet (Sophie Osborne) falls over. Combined with the happy song, this fall, characterised by flailing arms and being hidden behind the armchair, is a ridiculous, funny moment. Worse, and ineffably more insensitive, is the fact that as Eric (Cooper) rushes behind the chair to check on Violet, Osborne has changed into her other character, Kylie, and stares on with a gaping mouth of melodramatic shock. Eric then effortlessly carries Violet out — Violet now being represented as a cardigan and bag. As the inanimate object disappears backstage, we are forced, yet again, to move swiftly on to happy songs and to watch a bumbling and nervous hostess trip awkwardly over her words whilst left alone. When Eric returns, he reveals that Violet has been taken to hospital and that the same fate took his mother, ultimately leading to her death, and what does Kylie do but quickly egg him on to stop crying and continue the performance? The fact that this is a performance, a representation, conceived and constructed by individuals who are not elderly and who do not have dementia themselves, intensifies this performance’s comedic effect. With Kylie and Eric referring to themselves directly as actors, as performers — who also state blatantly that they will dress up and play various roles, various characters, for the entertainment of their audience — the effect is that we become conscious of the fact that this IS a performance, an artificial reconstruction. Rather insidiously, this forces us to consider the characters as just that, characters, with no pertinence or relative position in the real world beyond the stage. In all of their extreme frailty, senility, obscenity, profanity and obstinance, these characters become targets for our ignorant laughter (I would advise here that research be done on inferiority theories of comedy). This is not a sad, thought-provoking and considerate mode of theatre but one that sets out purely to entertain. Admittedly, as someone with a significant history of witnessing loved ones go through dementia, there are most certainly times where a certain sense of humour arises, the typical “If you don’t laugh, you cry” scenario, yet there remains, obtrusively surrounding this humour, a definite and undeniable sadness, a sore consciousness of raw reality and of eventuality. This said sadness is not apparent at any point in this performance, mainly as any moments that are, in fact, veering towards sadness — such as Violet’s looking out of the window, waiting for the return of her husband, who passed some time ago — are rapidly glossed over, and the performance swiftly moves on to something else. Moments of comedy, however, are most longevous. I was surprised to learn at the end of the performance that all of this was inspired by Cooper’s own mother’s passing. Perhaps this was a form of cathartic or therapeutic theatremaking for him, or perhaps he wished to lighten the subject or its surrounding stigmas through comedy and song. Without discrediting the trauma, emotion and significance of this reality, I found that this very significance and poignancy that constituted the very fabric of this work was lost rather terribly in this performance to this caricaturistic comedic style. One audience member commented that they were “spot on” with certain portrayals of dementia or general life within care homes but that he was surprised they had called it a musical comedy, because there was “nothing funny about it”. I think this summarises this tension between significance and theatrical representation very well. I think the biggest problem with this performance is the inclusion of characters Kylie and Eric (a.k.a. The Doodlebugs). The Doodlebugs are given much too much of a voice, one that delineates from what should be the principal narrative. Whilst this is less so for the character of Eric, who, at least, reveals some personal connection with dementia, Kylie’s wanting to be a professional musical theatre actress is extremely unnecessary, distracting and irrelevant here. I understand that these characters’ backstories and interactions perhaps serve as a way of both introducing stigma and lack of awareness, care and respect for people suffering with dementia, and/or of contextualising their reason to be, as it were, in the dramatic text. However, given that Kylie’s character makes very little intellectual progression throughout the play, downplaying the importance of the performance to Eric by, again, glossing over his sorrow, these remarks see no correction and are left as rude, spiteful and ageist. We are left with two negatives: caricatures and these ageist comments — not in any way enlightening or useful. Needless to say as well, the title of “entertainers for the elderly at a retirement home” is enough to contextualise these characters, without Kylie wanting to make it big in the West End and Eric babbling on about touring the production. I have mentioned a few times that moments of sorrow are quickly glossed over, but this is also true of many other areas of this performance, the most obvious being the performance’s [dysfunctional] relationship with its audience. Cooper clearly want to make an endearing and inclusive performance, primarily aiming to involve the audience, however indirectly, in overly joyous musical renditions. The problem is: the audience do not join in, not necessarily because they do not want to but because they do not know if they actually should. This issue has its roots in the very beginning of the play when The Doodlebugs address the audience directly but do not leave enough time for them to answer, speeding rather hyperactively and overwhelmingly through their lines. When Eric then identifies audience members as characters in the production, Ronnie being principle here, they are slightly won back…but then Ronnie is embodied by Cooper and is no longer an audience member, and this spectator-character relationship is no more. Not to mention that Cooper never actually looks audience members in the eye, seeming to look over or through them, rather than at them. This ineluctably makes an audience feel invisible and fictitious, so when moments arise when they are requested to join in, they remain under the impression that it is a fictional, nonexistent audience that is being referred to, not them. I feel that this play really could have benefited from more audience inclusion. This would have made for more emotional connection and compassion on the audience’s behalf, and by referring to them as though they were the suffering elderly themselves, this would have made for more relatability, commanding the audience — however subliminally — to imagine themselves in their shoes. I do like the idea of having two distinct realms, but only if much better articulated and more thoroughly conceived: one in which The Doodlebugs deliberate the material of the play, communicating with the audience; and another in which the audience are spectators, reflecting, with Eric and Kylie’s teachings/revelations in mind, upon the action they witness. This would have been both lighthearted but also thought-provoking — a more diversified mode of theatre that I believe this production is aiming for. Some final small notes on technicalities. Set (Cooper), whilst providing a weak sense of symmetry, was overcrowded and displeasing the eye. I would have definitely hidden a few items out of sight, particularly the hats and wigs on the coat-stand which could have easily been concealed in a suitcase. This would have made for more overall visual appeal but also would have added intrigue when props were revealed. I do, however, like the idea of a few props in this production, such as the photo album, to be visible, as I would see these as odes to or souvenirs of the characters’ lives, histories and memories. Lighting (Cooper) was very effective and distinguished space and location very well; although, spotlights could have been a little more intense. Sound, being used very little in this performance (which I thought was a good decision), was also well designed. Overall, I do understand what this performance was trying to achieve. I think it has, on paper, admirable intent and objectives, yet it lacks a degree of awareness of effect. It fails to align its intentions with its execution and its content with its style, making for unintentional inconsiderateness and mockery. Some things, I am afraid, cannot be made 100% joyous and comedic, and an appreciation of this fact, and a clearer, stronger implementation of the acknowledgement of it, would have made for a better case for this production, making it seem more recognisant and sensitive. “An unthoughtful performance which confuses the light-hearted with the overtly comedic and which misappropriates suffering for joy.” Photography credit: Sharon Hennesey.

This review will consider Mites, a play written by James Mannion and directed by Marcus Marsh, currently performing at Tristan Bates Theatre (located in The Actor’s Centre) until 26 October. Sadly, I must start this review by saying that I was extremely disappointed by this performance. It had such great personal appeal which the overture reinforced…and then the first scene started. I’ll start with the overture. The audience walk in on a coughing woman, Ruth (Claire Marie Hall), slumped over a table, tissue in hand, in a smoky, dirty white room. Everything is stained black, and choking Ruth makes feeble efforts to spring clean — one could really get a sense of the illness and filth. And having all this through a surreal lens with music designed by Elliot Lampitt approximating that of an art gallery of sorts or a cheerful sitcom, makes for a most off-putting and paradoxical experience, in the best way possible, deliberately confusing form and content for [successful] dramatic effect. When Ken (George Howard) enters, however, we get our first true glimpse of Marie Hall's acting. Unfortunately, I must say it was rather poor…I completely understand the melodramatic, absurdist and unnatural acting style that was attempted through the writing of this dramatic text, yet Marie Hall remained either much too extreme or much too mild in her characterisation. It was less a problem of energy, for that was definitely not an issue, but more an issue with mood and delivery combined. Marie Hall’s rather whiny characterisation did not change a bit between her characters, and unless she was overtly crying her eyes out or running erratically around the room, it was difficult to find any real, raw or texturised emotion in her, nor, most importantly, did she leave enough time for her lines to breathe, especially when delivering suggestive or mysterious remarks and asides — most notably about her late husband, Kenneth. Howard’s acting abilities suffered from a similar ill but not so blatantly. He is the most transformative of the cast, that is sure, assuming the different roles of Ken, the Doctor, and whom I shall call the "Mite Boy", yet there seems to be little dynamism in his performance. I would have liked to see a larger emotional range, and for his shifts from doting and placid as “Kenneth” to frustrated and volatile as “Ken” to be more extreme. Meanwhile, Richard Henderson’s acting style suited the learned, snooty and spiteful character of Bartholomew very well, but, yet again, was lacking range and versatility — the weakest, I thought, of the cast, regarding this. Perhaps this unchangingness was a conscious, directorial decision, given the conclusion of the play revealing that these characters each elaborate upon three true and pre-existing characters — more on that later — yet, if this is the case, this would not be, and was not, effective in the slightest, for it causes a sense of stasis and one-note plot. This is obviously not the desired effect for something which aims to be so overridden with plot twists and deliberate inconsistencies with covert significances. More specifically, this would also be inconsistent with the characters of the mites and Bartholomew, as these are nothing but pure figments of Ruth’s imagination. I believe that this vast stagnancy that permeates this play is more the fault of the writing than anything else, however. It is utterly, mind-numbingly repetitive, not just in its wider content and themes that encircle and reflect themselves incessantly but even within a large number of scenes that see characters repeating patterns of behaviour and speech. Again, if this was decisive, this is an extremely fallible idea. Subtlety is key. I have seen Mannion’s work before and thought quite highly of it. He is able to capture very intricate and textured aspects of character, making strong, confident and, above all, convincing profiles. The characters in this play, on the other hand, were so static and repetitive that this could not be the case here. Delicate and fine detailing is missing and replaced for rudimentary humour and unnecessary featurettes. Perhaps this was decisive, and Mannion wanted to focus more on the structure of the play, its plot and the [not-so-]big reveal. Again, this is undesirable, as one would want to make these realities, however ephemeral or longevous, rich and overflowing with realism, to make these shifts all the more confusing. This relationship, or lack thereof, with detail makes for certain irregularities in this dramatic text, one example being the chemicals used by Ken as an exterminator. If this is all in the mind of Ruth, would she be able to think of these chemicals? Perhaps she was exposed to some similar names in hospital, and these are feeding into her visions, yet if this is the case, it is not conveyed. This lack of detail affected not only the characters, their interactions and the structure of the performance, but most importantly the main [recurrent] themes. I found those of misogyny, domestic violence and so-called resulting mental illness in this performance to be particularly lazy. Whilst I understand that these themes were reconfigurations of the true reality that Ruth was, in fact, living, it is not the idea of articulating this reality in this multifaceted and multifarious way that is problematic for me; instead, it is the way in which these themes are articulated and the fact that these themes so neutrally and effortlessly become the very fabric of the play. There was nothing particularly unique, thought-provoking, shocking or terrifying about this abuse. Rather, it was quite an insipid, dilute and, above all, stereotypical relation of abuse. The same structure for scenes of this nature repeated itself over and over again: woman serves dinner; man belittles woman for no reason; man accuses woman of being a “slut”; woman gathers confidence to leave. It was easy to assume, before knowing for sure, that this was the work of a male writer, unseasoned, at least, in this style, these themes and these thematics. As for the theme of mental illness, I was particularly disappointed that this became a means to a theatrical end, both to shock and to effortlessly tie loose ends together. Not only is it a bland, unimaginative and unoriginal route to make sense of all of this by blaming it on mental illness — and then, albeit less directly, on mental illness engendered by abuse — but it also perpetuates a very incongruous and disparaging social view of mental illness that the arts have concretised for much too long. This theme also has simply too little presence to sufficiently contextualise or justify its position within this performance, and that bears in mind the little doctor voices that call out to Ruth sporadically throughout the beginning/middle of the play. In other words, this is very simply a case of sloppy writing without enough stamina to produce a sufficiently climactic or wowing ending. I believe that this play should have ended with one of the later scenes in which the mites gorge themselves upon Ruth. Both technically and rhythmically, this would have been a much stronger and more potent ending than the one we are actually offered. Finally, in terms of technicalities and design, I found myself having mixed views. This surreality that I mentioned very early in this review, generated primarily by Lampitt's music, was afterwards generated solely by content and structure, not by any characters or traits, other than the mites and cat. This rendered the music rather pointless, being disconnected stylistically with the dramatic text. That being said, music was composed very well, sufficiently melodic and effectively repetitive. Set (designed by Cecilia Trono) was utterly wonderful. As I detailed in the beginning, an engrossing picture of grime and filth. Yet, this set was also very dynamic. Despite its simplicity in getting there, the set made for a good and smooth shift between locations. Costume (also designed by Trono) was OK but could have been more diverse. Again, perhaps the same costume was recycled in different styles to suggest all characters were the same, but this conflicts with Ken actually being a dog… Lighting (Daniel Spreadborough) was good for this performance, actually, however simplistic, yet its timing, when paired with transitions, was ridiculous. In fact, I think these were one of the worst, roughest and most unprofessional transitions I have seen. Yet, this was more the fault of the actors, I believe, moving extremely slowly during transitions and remaining on stage at lights-up to — even more slowly, now that they are visible — remove props. This is definitely not a psychological thriller, though basic genre categorisations would have it so; it is a watered-down surrealisation of cliched and second-hand social concepts…with mites? I was sad to find that the mites featured so little in this performance. I think the idea of decadence, filth, and surviving off of very little, all hidden under an absurd and estranging comedy is very engrossing and would be pertinent to the material of this play if this material was better articulated and far more developed. It was a shame to only hear of or see these mites just a mere few times, to have them used as odd featurettes rather than an embodiment of sorts or recurrent omen or figure, or an entire theme unto itself. In fact, I do think that there were quite a few features of this performance that, alone, were successful and engaging, most notably those comedic moments which overstretch our imaginations and expose items as mere facades, such as the revelation that Bartholomew was not, in fact, a cat but a long-hiding Kenneth. I would urge Mannion to consider writing more, similar surrealist comedy, as opposed to “thrillers”, and to work more with the grotesque and the absurd. These areas are a strong-point for the style and level of writing demonstrated in this play alone, but I would stay away from the hard-hitting and the provocative unless with a much, much profounder and erudite eye. “A most disappointing performance, taking shortcuts for weak dramatic effect and lacking in richness.”

As the audience enter the house, there is a huge sense of conviviality. Chairs and tables leak onto the stage and audience members are invited to purchase drinks at a functioning bar which will double as the bar of the Anchor pub. The ambience is lively, social and congenial. It feels like a real, beaming and fruitful pub. This is a most excellent overture, allowing the audience both to connect with the Anchor as it comes to its end, hence intensifying emotional significance, and to be utterly lost in the world of the play. Then something rather frictional happens. The lights fade, and it appears to be nighttime at the pub. Bilbo (Daniel Kendrick) enters and walks around the pub, forlorn. The space becomes quiet, slow. And then there is a nighttime rave. This previous setting was such a strong and fortuitous one, one which requires a very meticulous, calculated and balanced set-up to be as successful, realistic and evocative as it was. It is a shame to see it destroyed so quickly. I understand that this was to conjure both the sense of loss and of omen, but this should not have to be so immediate and could filter its way through the text later on in the plot. I think it would have been much smoother and seemlier to go straight into the rave, whilst the audience are comfortable and content, to further accentuate the Anchor's appeal.  But it is not this later rave that I have a problem with but the entire degradation of the convivial space to a place of sudden dim lighting, of moping and lack of energy and will. This slow transition was just far too disjointed and intrusive. The first real scene sees a sulky Pearl (Alex Jarrett) enter the stage, at first looking for the others and then presenting the audience with the first of many monologues. It seemed to take Jarrett a while to warm into her character and lines, seeming wooden and unsure of herself at first. This first scene also saw her stumble on her lines, clearly forgetting the manner in which she was to deliver them at one point. However, once she was joined on stage by Kendrick, both her energy and capability seemed to prick up quite significantly. What ensued was a very good performance from all actors, including the initially faltering Jarrett who turned out to be a very convincing and powerful actress. All were believably naturalistic, portraying their characters with endearing and humorous idiosyncrasies, and had each clearly understood the vast majority of their lines. Despite the lengthy text, which I shall elaborate on later, all actors were very gripping and unfaltering in their performance. Yet, monologues and soliloquies went on to present issues, for me. I was most confused by their rhythm which jumped rather haphazardly from unpolluted divulgences of thought to hesitant and bland poetry. I felt that the intention behind the writing (Anna Jordan) was different to the dramatic text itself, or perhaps the writing indeed possessed clarity but one that was lost in delivery. Either way, there was definitely an inefficacy here. This poetic style was most out of place in this performance. It would have worked were we made to assume that the characters were somewhere in the distant future in these monologues, reflecting upon the fall of the Anchor and the events which took place throughout their time there, and if they spoke as one voice, wise in its retrospection, but this was not the case…at least, not until the end. Towards the end, we see the characters reflect on their last night, delivering their lines in cannon and in a solemn, mysterious and dejected manner, dotted around the performance space. This is the most effective use of monologuing in this performance, yet there still remain things that distract us from its fluidity. Kenny (Valentine Hanson) is still very much stuck in the continuous narrative, still drunk and murmuring nonsense, yet the other characters are in this future realm, looking back on the past. This distracts us from the emotion and nostalgia present in the text and utterly nullifies the need for this poetic quality which persists to worm its way in and out of the text. I understand, as Kenny had his heart and soul in the Anchor, that perhaps he remains stuck in the past, but this does not warrant a change in performance style. Characters could have easily continued to speak naturalistically in narrative monologue to demonstrate their memories and emotions in this way. There is another thing that disrupts the rhythm of this end scene, and that is the use of tech. Halfway through this sequence of monologues, the lights drop and re-light violently, accompanied by a jarring resonance. This is used recurrently throughout the production to signal transitions in and out of these monologues. It also creates a sense of the ominous. In this way, this use of tech makes for a coherent style but also a degree of comprehensibility, separating continuous action and narrative, throughout the performance, yet it confuses me as to why it was used so randomly in this end scene. As a quick, further note on tech, I thought that simplicity was very advantageous in this performance. There was little technicality in terms of lighting (designed by Jess Bernberg), music and sound (designed by Emily Legg), and this made for, yet again, a realistic setting but also allowed for a deeper focus on the story and the characters. In fact, I preferred this lack of stylisation, of raw speech and action, to moments such as in the scene wherein the characters describe a football night at the pub to Shaun (Alan Turkington), where the TV screens turn on and a football game is playing with sound. I felt it was much better to work with the simple instruments of body and voice to create the sense of these memories –– though that is not to say that these scenes were necessarily ineffective as they were; this is more of a personal preference, I would say. On to writing. This play was very rich and detailed, bleeding generous information about all of its characters, giving foreshadowing glimpses into the future, and deepening the present with memories and histories of the Anchor. It could have benefitted, however, from quite an edit. I felt that comedy, though extremely strong in this performance and executed marvellously by the actors – primarily the play's clown, Kendrick – played too large a role in some aspects, taking away from a sense of plot progression and meaning. Despite the subtle allusions to the hidden realities of the characters, such as Bilbo's homelessness, Kenny's divorce, or Frank's wife's passing, there seemed to be little actually happening. In the end, these forebodings all unravel one after the other, and it feels as though we have been cheated somewhat. It feels too blunt and direct, as though the play were running out of time and had to tell all of the stories it had been hiding before its close. With this in mind, I would urge a reconsideration of the role of comedy and how and when it should be expanded upon or reeled back in, to allow the deeper content to rear its head. This particular balance between comedy and pacing is crucial here. At the beginning of this review, I mentioned the creation of a unified space, where the audience are somewhat immersed –– though still at a clever distance –– into the world of the play. This sense of co-existence is something that recurs regularly in this performance, with characters directing their lines to audience members and speaking of them as though they were characters in the play, figures in the background of the story. There is something ghostly about the audience's presence, as though they represent the crowds that the Anchor once drew in. In this respect, this openness is effective, in theory, but I feel that there is not enough inclusion for this to be a necessary characteristic of this performance. If this idea of ghostliness was stressed further, I feel that it would warrant this metatheatrical or immersive style, but being that this only applies to a few audience members and happens rather infrequently, it just serves as a cheesy device for insipid comedy. Overall, this is a very enjoyable play but could be a lot shorter. Its writing is strong and textured, and its actors do a wonderful job of conveying its spirit and comedic appeal. It just needs to figure out the best way to present itself to its audience, to find a steady performance style and a good balance between comedy and tragedy. There are still areas that need to be reworked to make this an outstanding piece of theatre, but this is something it definitely has the potential to be. “A rich and gripping piece of theatre but one which still has some work to do.” Photography credit: to Helen Murray.