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.

Produced by The Very Top Secret Dance Company and Directed by Alfred Taylor-Gaunt, Derrière on a G-String is a wonderful production charged, rather literally, with cheeky comedy and naughty melodrama. It is an absolute delight to watch and definitely leaves one wanting more. The first act, I must say, is superior to the first and is excellent in setting up both mood and structure. All performers carry confidence, energy, poise and articulacy in both their movements and caricaturistic personae. Their synchronicity is just as favourable, from tap dancing and ensemble dances to the feet-shuffling in ‘Left Bank Number Two’. These are not well classically trained dancers, that is sure, but with their devious and endearing spirits, and with mistakes seldom arising in their performance, these dancers are enough to utterly woo any audience. From expression to physicality, from dance ability to nudist courage, these performances are an utter treat. One very peculiar yet indicative and charming oddity of this performance is the use of gibberish in lieu of language. Having the performers communicate in this surreal way makes for a unified and coherent style and casts the audience into a completely different world of absurd comedy where one finds oneself observing eccentric and otherworldly figures in what one might call their natural habitat. This is a very illusive, transportive and powerful characteristic of this performance. And this is why I was so disappointed to see cast members, most notably Sammy Moore, remaining on stage during the interval and conferring with audience members, whom I presume to be friends. This is highly unprofessional in theatre, as it utterly destroys illusion. What is more, some cast members then stayed to clean up the stage with the [very capable alone] stagehands. Again, the illusion's broken, but this is a job that should be left for those so delegated. After the interval, I felt that Moore’s subsequent personae became rather unanimously and immovably cocky, and his stage time seemed to overbear the rest of the ensemble. I felt that further glimpses into the lives of other performer's personae would have been beneficial, although, given the conclusion of the performance — wherein all the action we have seen features in one, all-inclusive nightmare of Moore’s final persona — perhaps this increased focus was intentional. Given the disjointed, episodic and nonlinear nature of this performance, however, if this was the case, it is highly unnecessary. In fact, I was rather disappointed by the second act altogether, and this was mainly due to pacing. I would personally have swapped some of the shorter scenes of Act I for the longer ones in Act II, just to juggle the pacing and scene durations better. I also felt that the choreography became much weaker, too. Besides movements generated from the narrative, choreography (Alfred Taylor-Gaunt) became repetitive and somewhat lacklustre. There definitely could have been more imaginativeness in its conception. This repetitiveness extended that feeling of lack of pace, diluting the second act further, for me. That being said, choreography was followed very well by the performers. They moved — technicalities of classical dance obviously aside, as well intended, I should hope — fluidly and decisively. One other, rather important issue I would raise for this performance is its topography. Being that the stage is very wide and that the set pushes the action downstage, it is often the case when actors are standing far Downstage Left or Downstage Right that action is missed by audience members on the opposing end. This could be solved either by moving scenes that depend on these placements further upstage or by making sure that performers’ backs are never to the audience. For realism, this would not be an issue, but for such a performance that utterly depends on the visual, it is crucial that all action can be seen at all times and by all audience members. On a technical note, music (sound designed by Thomas Cheeseman) complemented this performance very well, though I would urge the technicians to instal speakers at the back of the house. Whilst I am aware this might be more of a venue-related issue, the lack of surround sound made for a rather insular soundscape, limited to the remits of the stage. I would also note that music came in rather early in the social faux pas sequences. Lighting (designed by Andrew Ellis), if approaching excessive at some stages, was equally as complementary. Keeping the overall lighting state relatively the same was a good way to not only make for coherency in style but to not distract audience focus. Set (designed by Libby Todd and constructed by Set Blue Scenery) was astonishingly dynamic, demonstrating endless and countless uses and adding to the surreality of this world, with its [positive] blatant ignorance of natural and physical form and space. Costumes were wonderfully elaborate and aided scenes to be quick and transportive in their humour. Becoming more and more ridiculous towards the end of the play, with the gigantic swan suit and the huge burglar fat-suits, was an excellent and well-conceived decision. I found myself to be rather disappointed by certain props, however. Being so elaborate throughout, and even pedantic in their lack of branding (condiments, newspapers, etc.), I found it difficult to understand why some props were so lacklustre and underdeveloped, such as the clipboard of papers to sign for the duck charity in ‘March of the Charity Muggers' or the newspapers in ‘Left Bank Number Two’ i.e. a folded wad of paper with sellotape across its middle. Props and pieces that drew attention to their artificiality, such as the Queen's (Ruth Emily Plaxton) pristine plastic wig and crown or the floppy rubber baguette, were acceptable, stylistically accurate and highly amusing, but these unbecoming and seemingly unfinished props were not so favourable. I should also note that for Alex Murray’s persona’s ejaculation at the end of ‘Morning Wood’, Murray should angle himself just that little bit more away from the door, as the tube he used was visible as a disconnected non-bodily part in his silhouette upon the door. I draw attention to all of this because the world we are presented is so microcosmic and particular, seemly and intricate, that these little irregularities and imperfections make for slight but distracting disturbances that cause the mind to have to stretch its imagination that little bit further to comply with theatre’s demands, making for a slightly more laborious experience. Overall, this is an utterly ridiculous production, in the best way possible. It takes the mundane and the everyday and metamorphoses them into a night of surreal adventure of endearment and fun. The recurring motifs, sequences and characters make for a great sense of consistency and style, and this performance is very good at finding a safe and balanced ground for the use of repetition. “A splendid and joy-filling performance of the comedic and the taboo.”

This review considers the performance of The Border at Theatre Peckham. The play, written by Afsaneh Gray and directed by Natalie Wilson, remains on tour across the UK until 6th November. I have many mixed feelings about this play. Clearly influenced by an array of modern politics affecting a large body of countries at the moment, this play struggles, in my opinion, to juggle its inspirations against its content. It has a huge issue with style and with the coherency of its subject matter but also with its manner of dealing with its own significance extending beyond the stage. For this review, I will consider what issues in current politics this play is actually addressing and then how these issues [mis]inform style, content and, above all, rather ineffective objectives. This play imagines the division (East and West) of a fictional setting, Oolia, through the construction of a fence i.e. the border. Inspired rather literally, I should imagine, from the Trumpian wall, this acts as a touchstone, of course, to a far greater politics concerning immigrants and immigration laws. The theme of foreignness thus becomes crucial to this play's progression — its very setting, Oolia, evoking some faraway, foreign country with its made-up, non-English name — and this signals a large focus on the relationship between migrants and non-migrants. This relationship is represented rather bluntly in the dramatic text, evoking the clichéd image of illegal migrants entering countries underhandedly, stealing jobs and assets and trading in underground markets. This, at least, is the image evoked by the characters of Julia's (Jazmine Wilkinson) family and the mayor (Rujenne Green). Despite the play ending with a rather positive outlook on the possibility of harmonising migrant/non-migrant relationships, the direct manner in which migrants are represented in this play, preempted by this evoked image, is quite inappropriate. The opinions of the characters on migrants, taken as fact by little Julia — and hence by the audience, being that she is our guide through the text — are proven to be true when the Migrant (Matt Littleson) takes advantage of Julia’s kindness, takes her grandmother's fruits and is then seen working alongside the Smuggler (Lucie Capel) in the black market trade. This is inappropriate, for this play consistently confirms that migrants are, indeed, multifaceted, conniving and unscrupulous in rather extreme ways, such as killing innocent stolen dogs, which I shall detail later. And to prove his worth, the Migrant must undo all he has done and prove his decency by returning Stranger (Green) to Julia. But even this is not done wholeheartedly, as he remains ever-elusive and unconvinced if he should do “the right thing”. Oh, and what a charming name the Smuggler is, too… Then there is the use of accents. All multi-roling actors assumed various cultural profiles for their rather caricaturistic characters which, one can only assume, are most definitely not in line with their own. When placed alongside a direct discourse on migrants, this is most problematic. It comes across as mocking and, quite frankly, racist, particularly when such strong, negative images are evoked of migrants and then the migrants are represented specifically as Scottish or Russian, for example, as was the case in this play. I would urge director Natalie Wilson to be more careful about the sociopolitical suggestions beyond the world of the performance, though there is a slight chance that this is an editorial issue. This rather bleak and dilute discourse on migration is not the original direction of the play, however. The audience is first presented with a group of dogs who perform a musical number before revealing that Oolia was once a sort of land of the free before humans arrived. Dogs being a particularly territorial animal, one would think this is a good throughway to immigration politics and the relationship between humans and space, but what happens, instead, is that another form of politics is offered, one which concerns the Anthropocene and the frictional relationship between humans and nature. Also generated, less politically, is an unwanted sense of the pre-apocalyptic which has nothing to do with this performance. Right through to the very end of the play when the dogs sing yet another musical number, with a message that reads closely to "home is where the heart is, and my heart is here", we do not see a dog again at all but once: when it is revealed that the Migrant has given Stranger to the Smuggler. The dog characters we see at the beginning completely disappear, and with it, the pre-apocalyptic politics of the Anthropocene, and this renders the entire opening and ending disjointed, insignificant and hence unnecessary. Straight after the first scene, the dogs become both over-sentimentalised objects and a symbol of possession theft, chased and adored by Oolians far and wide and stolen and butchered by thieving migrants. And what better way to convey the evil and spite of the migrants by having them steal cute little puppy dogs. This use makes far more sense within the context of this play, but I find it incredibly bizarre that the dogs are used in this initial, singsongy way. I have no idea why an utterly unrelated, cutesy musical number by dogs features in this performance at all. These are endearing and poignant as self-contained scenes, yes, but it has such little bearing in this performance, if any at all, and I would not have included it, myself. We see here the emergence of a vast friction between content and style. This is something that this performance struggles with incessantly, and I believe this is due to a misguided interest in Epic theatre. There are clearly a lot of Brechtian influences at work in this performance (character titles: the Mayor, the Smuggler, the Migrant; gestus; announced scene titles; and, most majorly, direct audience address and opening the play up to audience dialogue). However, whilst these features of Epic theatre are used, this is primarily a dramatic piece of theatre, not an Epic one. Prerecorded music, a puppet sequence, inhuman characters (viz. ghostly figures of Julia’s family or social media posters, dogs), needless gags and comedy that do not progress plot, insignificant props, these are all components of dramatic theatre, a mode of theatre which the Epic directly subverts and contradicts. It is erroneous to put these two together for any reason whatsoever. I am sure that this production wanted to be enlightening and challenging, especially having opened the floor up to public debate on the importance/meaning of voting, which I shall return to later, yet this was definitely not the case. A primary example of how this play missed the mark in attempting an Epic “style” is in its use of scene titles. All decisions made in theatre and their potential effects must be cleverly calculated. In Epic theatre, the audience are given titles before each episode which detail the events that are going to happen. This removes any shock, drama and tension, for the audience know which events will transpire already. This means that they can focus on the episode's significance as nothing but a profound moral teaching. This is hence a deep, meaningful technique that aims to realign audience focus towards the subtextual and sociopolitical significance of a play. In this performance, each scene is numbered (again an issue, as chronology is a component of the dramatic linear narrative and not the Epic) and is titled, but the title seems to focus on meaningless things such as Julia sharing her biscuit with the Migrant. In no way, shape or form does this make for distanced, reflective or didactic theatre; instead, it simply makes for an unwanted quirky and texturised narrative style. Epic theatre should not be used thusly for entertainment or intrigue, for if it is, the effects can only be disappointing, half-hearted and unrefined. The most proper use of Epic theatre in this play is when the floor is opened to the audience to discuss their opinions on voting. However, despite this usage being somewhat in line with proper Epic techniques, the outcome is extremely lacklustre and unfruitful. This is because yet another strand of politics is deliberated: voting politics. Who should vote? Why should we vote? Is voting important? How do we vote? These are but a few enquiries this sequence makes. I found this jump to be rather out-of-place structurally and felt that voting was the least important element of this play to open up to the audience. Having had so much energy, drive and focus in this play directed to the social roles, statuses and perceptions of migrants, I find it difficult to understand why so much significance was placed onto voting, something that was only just introduced and that was over and done with in the very next scene. I will note here that it is also important that when the audience is allowed to participate or speak their minds that they do so with the illusion of power and freedom and that performers retain the true agency and control of the space. With the performance overrunning and, more importantly, with the utterly unconstructive and impertinent direction this open floor went in, it is clear that performers had very little management of this sequence, clearly unprepared for answers in their inability to expand on them educationally. In fact, when one audience member stated that the older generation "are just going to die soon, so they should just shut up", I was surprised to see the cast laughing and not challenging or stifling such vile and intolerable ageist statements. What ensued – a whirlwind of spiteful, ageist voices belittling the older generation – felt unbelievably, wildly unrelatable to a performance about happy dogs and thieving migrants, whatever bland link can be found to join it all together. It was frankly a disturbing and revolting display which performers handled terribly in their clear lack of direction and intention. Deliberations became exclusive and multidirectional, going around and around with little enlightenment and with absolute purposelessness. It is important that questions asked in segments such as this are decisive, specific and lead to a clear greater objective. This performance tends to jump from discourse to discourse, never finalising or concluding its points, never successfully introducing or fulfilling its research. Whilst I can see, very clearly, how all political issues raised in this performance co-exist and combine with one another in the real world, in the world of this performance, they all seem utterly disparate, unwoven and unlinked. They are separate lines of discourse or thought that the performance chases haphazardly, forgetting to carefully guide its audience along with it. On to the more technical notes. First, characterisation. Overall, the multi-roling actors were adequately transformative, having distinctive idiosyncrasies and voices for each of their characters. However, were it not for their accompanying props, I would certainly have been confused from time to time as to what characters actors were portraying. Characterisations did tend to bleed into one another in this way, notably due to voice work, yet a proper implementation of Gestus would have aided this. Noting voice work, I will also say that, despite the faltering vocals (not really an issue, as the lyrics and nature of the numbers were endearing enough alone), diction during songs was very good amongst these performers, amongst the best I’ve seen. There were many areas of this performance that I feel were disappointing because, again, of this Brechtian influence. In regards to Stranger, for example, having such a presence throughout this performance, it is incredibly dissatisfying that Green portrays her as a gruff and hoarse male(?). I would imagine this was to eliminate any emotional impact finally seeing Stranger would have amongst the audience and to destroy the climax that has been building in the constant references to her. If done correctly, however, there would not have been any climax or emotion to eliminate or diffuse in the first place. What is left of this moment is just pure and simple disappointment. Then, there is the inconsistency of Stranger later being represented by the first and only puppet. However cute and, ultimately, cathartic this puppet reunion was, it was utterly incongruous stylistically to the rest of the performance. Music and sound (Ted Barnes) suffered a very similar fate, becoming ignorant of subject matter, moods and potential emotional impact. Examples of this: the music ended far too sharply at the end of Scene 5; at the end of Scene 13, I believe, the music was far too chirpy following the extensive murder of the dogs; and, similarly, the Smuggler scenes were set up as far too comedic with the overdramatic door creaks and accompanying mime, belittling the impact of this said murder by making the Smuggler and Migrant seem endearing. Stylistic issues aside, music was very well composed and sounds were, for the most part, realistic and synchronised with onstage action. Lighting (Neill Brinkworth) was equally effective, if perhaps a little excessive in areas. Props, however, I found to be very confused in their design. Whilst I enjoyed the blunt branding on the cereals, cookies and milk, etc., the mixed use of props and mime, along with childish plastic fruit, made for a confused aesthetic and haphazard realism. The same goes for costume (designed by Alice Hallifax), mostly being rather simplistic yet contrasted greatly with the absurd, huge hats of the Border Guards (Green and Littleson), for example. Finally, set (also designed by Hallifax). Though an odd choice of material and shape, set proved itself to be most dynamic. The constant border upstage made for a poignant and thematic image. Receiving very, very little marks from me in terms of its political potential and appeal, I mark this performance solely in the consideration of its value as a [rather fallible] piece of dramatic theatre. I do this with certainly endearing scenes and moments, along with a high-energy performance from all performers, in mind. “A confused, if endearing, performance that misappropriates too many different modes of theatre in an aim to find its feet.” Photography credit: Jack Barnes.

Written by Jackie Kay and directed by Lynette Linton, Chiaroscuro is a powerful, enlivening and unique performance. It tackles discourse on the place of female homosexuality in society with poignancy and realism, using race and culture as a way to pre-heat its exposure of this issue. Aesthetic decisions (set design by Moi Tran) in this performance are very clear. For the most part, they are minimalist, the action taking place in localised lighting states with very few set pieces, usually just a seat for each performer or one seat shared by two. There is, I must say, a slight disconnect in the visual minimalism offered everywhere else in the performance when considering the rather overwhelming aesthetic offered in the beginning and end scenes.  The beginning scene not only offers two raised platforms for a keyboard and drum kit, and microphones for singing and guitar play, but ground cluttered with floor tacks, pillars decked with mirrors and cables, and a huge chest of props in the centre of it all. There is a lot going on. At first, this is not so demanding visually, but with time, and especially when performers enter the stage to further cramp it, it does become rather untidy. The end scene follows this same principle, but this time, all performers are dressed in vibrant, glittering sequin jackets and Preeya Kalidas (playing Aisha) is venturing out into the audience. It is almost too much. All of this being said, the opening visual does have positives. Creating its very own, real-life chiaroscuro with silhouettes and shadows cast onto the floor by the lighting’s bold blues and pinks (lighting design by Jose Tevar), we are successfully transported to a nightclub, gig or some rehearsal area for live performance. More on that later. When the performers finally enter, however, is when the play really kicks off, immediately defining its own original and potent style. The performers communicate at first openly with the audience and themselves, creating a sense of openness, invigoration and excitement as they prepare their instruments and start to perform. What follows will be a mixture of closed dialogue, asides and spoken word poetry. All of these are melded together fantastically fluidly and are readdressed again and again to develop a sense of mood, texture, rhythm and personality. This performance should stand as a reference point for how different theatrical modes of expression can blend together successfully within a singular performance. Alongside style comes the performance’s method of transitions which are most commendably smooth, fluid and effective. The music (directed by Shiloh Coke), lighting and set changes made for unique transitions which felt effortless and otherworldly. Perhaps this smoothness was not absolutely polished on the night I saw this performance, however; from the performance’s midpoint onwards, performers were just slightly too slow to get to their places or off stage. Whilst the performance style of this play was for the most part very clear, there were still some moments that made for a stylistic disconnect. These moments usually found themselves paired with the representation of Opal’s (Anoushka Lucas) mental struggle – e.g. Opal’s singing is interrupted by a blackout; the rest of the ensemble then enter the stage and walk quickly and aimlessly across the space, mocking her into their microphones; they then surround her, their surreal cacophony greatening until it is broken sharply by reality. This is much too lively and contrasts greatly with the otherwise realistic acting style. It is one of a few rudimentary scenes where it feels as though the director has made the classic error of “theatremaker wants to show tension and climax so makes everything dark, loud and drilling”. Realness is a huge redeeming quality about this performance, which is why moments like that take away from its believability, illusion and momentum. Another likeable effect is had when we notice that the performers are no longer playing their instruments but that this liveness has been replaced by pre-recorded tracks. To see the performers actually playing these instruments, each demonstrating themselves as versatile and talented show-people, is refreshing, endearing and powerful. Unless the backing track repeats the melody that the performers have created, blends in seamlessly and serves as transition music as the performers abandon their instruments and move on to the next scene, backing tracks should be avoided. It felt much too unrefined and tacky to watch the performers mime their instruments. On this note, there were also rather notable moments where vocals were a little too off-kilter. The beginning was weakest for this. The very end was also not as effective as it could have been but this was due to diction. It was rather difficult to understand the performers, and for the ending, especially with one as cathartic and empowering as this, it is crucial that everything be comprehensible. But overall, these performers had very soothing, confident and mellifluous singing voices. Enough said about aesthetic and style, I would like to say a bit more about the writing, particularly its content. This performance is charged – very cleverly and subtly – with politics. As I mentioned in the introduction, the main two politics concerned in this performance are that of race and culture, and female [homo]sexuality. As aforementioned, the discourse on race and culture quickly became a way into that on lesbianism, which is most dissatisfying, as the two were presented as having equal significance and importance in this performance very early on. This performance deals with perceptions and how external, sociocultural perceptions can impact the perception of the self. This focus on the self is represented rather crudely in regards to cultural identity, evoked primarily by Opal’s aversion to mirrors, yet Opal and Beth’s (Shiloh Coke) relationship seems to come to consume the majority of the performance’s material. The discourse on race and culture and related self-perception become secondary to the discourse of sexuality, and, instead, race and culture become a way of critiquing, politicising and moralising female homosexuality and its likability. This is even perfectly symbolised by Yomi (Gloria Onitiri) handing over her black doll to Beth. This doll has a poignancy that extends past the significance it is allowed to have in this performance, and it is disappointing to see it squandered in such a way. I would be very careful as to what content one lays out at the beginning of the play and how one treats this content throughout. It is important that a performance not only exposes political injustices but that it also finalises its themes or reaches some sort of conclusion on them, even if it is a negative and indecisive conclusion which doubts solutions and consequences. Put in other words, everything you lay down in a performance must go somewhere, do something, have some sort of significance, not fade away into the plot. Despite many of the disequilibria or uncertainties that this performance holds, I must say that this is a very energised, unique, heartwarming and cathartic performance. The performers are inviting, endearing and powerful, and the content addressed is current, hard-hitting and poignant. With an original style and engrossing music, this performance is both heart-wrenching and entertaining. It is for these reasons that I rate this performance so highly. “An inclusive and heartwarming performance tackling poignant issues with impressive originality and fervour.”

Jade City is currently playing at the Bunker until 21st September. Brendan Quinn (playing Sas) and Barry Calvert (playing Monty) were excellent in pulling off both the persona and dialect of a typical Belfastian. The casting was definitely successful in choosing the right performers. Their characterisations of Monty and Sas were just as cogent, offering strong and distinct mannerisms, traits and particularities. Whilst the actors did stumble over their lines quite a bit, Quinn and Calvert were still very confident and convincing performers. Whilst the actors’ energies were faultless, they soon run out of steam for me, but this was not due to their capabilities as performers but to the writing (Alice Malseed), i.e. the strength of the plot and the characters themselves. Its structure and material became much too repetitious. I understood that the character’s Game, paired with constant interludes of reminiscence of their youth, was meant to demonstrate that the characters were stuck in their childish mindsets, in a mentality that caused them, particularly Monty, to be blind to the ramifications of their actions and to see themselves as having little responsibility in the real world. However, I felt that there were too many features that communicated this: the real world of the characters is depicted through the eyes of Monty and Sas as they regularly describe the sorts of people in their vicinity; Monty and Sas imitate other characters (e.g. Katie and the Bartender) with rather playful and lowbrow attitudes; they gain knowledge from unintellectual and indirect sources (viz. advice from Judge Judy or from Internet forums); etc. In short, there is little to ground these characters in the real, active world as adults. Whilst all of these produce a sense of coherency, comprehensibility and, above all, theme, and whilst this should, theoretically, be a mark of good writing, it becomes overkill very quickly. We come to understand the characters and the world they live in very early on, so early on that it is soon time to move on to something else. This is why a complication to the mix is necessary, yet the complication in this play, that of the fate of Katie, is a rather extreme leap. Not to mention that Monty is not represented as too sexual an individual until very late into the performance, and so his evildoings seem incongruous in that respect too. I should note here that Jade City promotes itself as an exploration into male mental health, yet I find its extremity to be very counterproductive for this, as the average male does not have sex, rape and murder in his primary consciousness. I will say, however, that the Game is a particularly useful [preliminary] tool for such an investigation, given collective male gaming culture, its prevalence and relationship with dissociation. But this is not enough to contextualise it as a realistic exploration of male mental health, and I feel that this description is quite an overstatement. Extremity aside, there is a huge sense of relatability with this play. Audience members, particularly Belfastians, will immediately identify and relate to its material, and it is clear that this is one of the objectives of the play: to create a fiction based in reality, where characters and events are tangible and founded upon real behaviour and actualities. All of this is achieved mostly, of course, not only by Monty and Sas’s mannerisms and personae but through their persistent reminiscing. This relationship with the audience is successfully evoked in the very opening where Quinn and Calvert appear in the house, as though they are ordinary members of the public who emerge from our very space and become fictitious once on stage. It is then intensified throughout the play with closed dialogue occurring within the constraints of the ring and indirect audience address taking place outside of it. This is a clever use of topography and one which makes the differing modes of the play work. More on the ring later. An issue I have with the beginning, however, but also with various segments of the play, concerns this mode of address. This seems to be a recurrent problem in the theatre I have seen of late, but it is important that the performers know whom to address their lines to –– each other or the audience? This particular dramatic text allows for a more fluid mode of address, some lines, nay scenes, being descriptive and self-reflective rather than progressive or diegetic, and this is a strong and successful feature of this performance. However, this style must be calculated and decisive, and these modes should not leak into one another as they did in the beginning and in other parts of the performance. I should note as well that whilst Quinn reacted clearly to Calvert’s closed lines, the same cannot be said the other way around for Calvert. It must also be decided what the other character is doing whilst the other is delivering his – sometimes rather extensive – lines. This performance made for some very bold and hence very notable aesthetic decisions (designer: Timothy Kelly) which I shall detail now. Though rather literal and unimaginative, in my opinion, the wrestling ring was a good image for this performance, evocative not only of masculinity and its performativity but also of the over-indulgent artificiality of Monty and Sas’s Game and of the dissonance, conflicts and tensions that will surface in their friendship. This latter was specifically accentuated by the two sitting on opposing sides of the ring, bringing their stools together or moving them apart when dis/engaging with one another. At the end, when only Sas remains, it is as though one opponent has won, linking all of this into the satisfaction and ease Sas must conflictingly feel, with the cause of the deterioration of his mental health being somewhat eliminated. The ring also makes for a degree of transportation: the ropes being lifted as though the mattress; the stool giving height to Monty as he pretends to be a seagull; etc. The most unique visual element of this performance, however, was the inclusion of the script itself, the characters’ lines being projected on a high-up screen at the back of the stage. This provides a very interesting layer to the play. It causes the text and the characters to be distanced from one another, making the characters seem as though timeless visual representations of a textual reality, or making them seem more real, that their lives are being recorded, transcribed. In both scenarios, however one wishes to interpret it, a textural, substantial sense of reality is created, and this was a strong point for this performance. But this feature also provides a layer of danger: the audience knows the lines and expects the actor to read them word-for-word, which is always very satisfying and impressive. This was not the case in this performance; not only did Quinn and Calvert miss some lines completely, but they also stumbled over their lines, starting their deliveries over, ad-libbing. This was most distracting and dissatisfying, and this feature should only have remained if the actors were confident they could pull it off. I understand that this feature could also benefit the hard-of-hearing, yet if this was, indeed, intentional, it should be noted that character names should never be omitted, as this can be hard to follow, especially when the projection lags or actors miss lines or when the formatting of the projected text is strange and changing — all being the case in this performance. This is a problem that occurs much too often in theatre for the deaf. I believe it was Quinn and Calvert’s cogent performance that really made this play. The writing, in my view, is more of a work in progress and could do with serious cuts, but it certainly has a tone, texture and rhythm which is most prosperous. I would just have liked to see more variation in the content and more congruity with regards to Kate’s relationship with the story. It is not so much of an issue of how her fate is introduced, as this is done rather effectively in its repeated subtextuality; it is, instead, more of a matter of content: how does childishness, dissociation and immaturity come together with sexual abuse? The links are certainly possible but are inarticulate in this performance which prioritises its relatability to those familiar with Belfastian life. “This play has trouble juggling its extreme and banal content but is successful in creating a texturised, escapist and relatable world.”