Antic Disposition’s Macbeth is a truly captivating and impactful play, and before beginning this review, I would like to commend all actors for their nigh-on perfect Shakespeare acting. Accurate, powerful and just the right amount of emphasis between prosaic and poetic, these actors should stand as a significant reference point for all Shakespeare actors. There were a few moments, of course, where characterisation slipped, and this was particularly the case for the cast in the very opening of the play, which had me rather worried for its potential. Actors, primarily Andrew Hislop (playing Macduff), were very stiff, performing with repetitive gesticulations and monotonal voice. However, this changed significantly as the play went on, and a marvellous progression was made from Hislop, I must say. Fluidity, between one thought, line or gesture to the other, is perhaps the main feature that disrupts the near-perfection for the actors in this performance, yet this is but a minute feature at that. The biggest highlight of all adaptations of Macbeth is by far the witches, and on directors Ben Horslen and John Risebero’s witches, I have quite a lot to say. This adaptation sees these characters (Louise Templeton, Bryony Tebbutt and Robyn Holdaway) as servants, dressed aptly in the uniform of a Tudor maid. This is a very clever way of interpreting them, one which permits them to skulk across all areas of the play, to blend in with the very fabric of the story as it unfolds. It is an interestingly passive representation — as maids are commanded by chores, the witches are commanded by fate — yet the horror of this image comes with the subversive knowledge that the passive are, in fact, the active, channels for the desires of destiny and [mis]fortune. This is intensified in the cauldron scene where an ordinary tin bath and a pile of laundry are used as the materials for the witches’ spells. A most beautiful and inspiring scene. As for characterisation, however, I have mixed feelings. For all primary scenes, the witches are rather reserved, moving very little, speaking rather hushedly, staring towards the audience with a wide and daring gaze. Whilst a little underwhelming at first to see these witches so…motionless, it is a definite characteristic of these particular witches’ allure. In their subtlety and downplayed evil, we expect that there is more bubbling away below the surface than is made out to be. This sense is achieved through a combination of the text, their absurd hand positions and their glares, all under the guise of civility and calm. Yet, this character type becomes problematic and frictional when put beside the cauldron scene. In this scene, the witches are frenzied, wildly stirring, loudly shrieking. It is a complete contrast from the passive and conservative witches they have been up until this point. There is no progression between these two states which would contextualise this change, and hence there is a lack of coherency and continuity. Discontinuity aside, however, in maintaining this glare at the audience and each other, the witches were most chilling. Rehearsals had clearly benefitted them well, not blinking to break this stare at all throughout –– though much less can be said of Robyn Holdaway in this way, unfortunately. As for other characterisations, all actors made for distinct idiosyncrasies, mannerisms and behaviours, though I would have perhaps liked this to have been emphasised more in certain scenes. This is primarily the case for Harry Anton’s characterisation of Macbeth, maintaining a strong-willed, confident persona the whole way through but bearing little particularities in terms of character habitudes and deeper personality –– a significant problem, being the titular character. Death scenes, though somewhat quick and sparing, were well done and, on the whole, realistic. However, it would be better to have the bodies carried off the stage, perhaps by the witches, rather than to see the actor stand immediately and rush off stage which instantaneously destroys the illusion and impact that one has tried so carefully to craft. Perhaps a better blackout would have concealed this, instead. Fighting scenes (directed by Bethan Clark, Rc-Annie Ltd) were actually very good and continued to be engaging despite their recurrence. This performance also manages to conceal just enough murder, gore and drama to be mysterious and intriguing instead of overcooked. A slightly darker colour of fake blood could have aided realism, however. As for music (composed by James Burrows), this was definitely atmospheric and epic, invoking a sense of severity, action and voyage. However, the music for the overture was left to go on for far, far too long before anyone entered the stage. Lighting was adequate, but, as I mentioned earlier, blackouts could have been darker, particularly at the sides of the stage, though I understand that this is also a matter of natural lighting due to the windows of the church. Being a rather long traverse stage, I felt that the lighting was sufficient and impressive in that its intensity allowed it to pervade the stage’s entirety. The appropriate lights were definitely chosen for this performance, despite the offstage overflow. As for topography, directors Horslen and Risebero and all actors demonstrated a very good awareness of space, action being viewable from all angles. The only issue with visibility was perhaps in tighter scenes such as the cauldron scene and some aspects of the fighting scenes. Finally, costume (designed by Hanna Wilkinson). Costume seemed to reference too many time periods, with Macbeth’s leather coat, early 1800s menswear, early 1900s womenswear, and the Tudor maid outfits. Though this made for a lack of realism, the silhouettes fitted sublimely together and felt cohesive. Macbeth’s costume made him seem as though an ordinary member of the working class amongst gentlemen, evocative, especially with his witchy dealings, of a sort of daring Van Helsing. Lady Macbeth (Helen Millar) and Lady Macduff’s (Bryony Tebbutt) costumes, however, ranged from beautiful to terribly frumpy and ill-fitting. Overall, a very confident, powerful and cogent piece of theatre. All actors were convincing, clearly understood their text, and made little to no mistakes. Decisions in this adaptation were bold, impressive, coherent and cohesive. Beaming with vitality, intrigue and visual appeal, this play is a definite must-see. “Captivating, dark, aesthetically pleasing, this play is everything one would hope it to be.”

I should note before starting this review that my views on this performance do not seem to reflect those of the vast majority of the audience members. Having studied a countless array of audiences, though, I do believe this is because of the mode of performance that the play alludes to and the recognisable performativity of mainstream LGBT+ culture, particularly the pervasive and liberating performativity of the letter G. I believe this play set out to achieve a lot more than its execution permitted it to, and the biggest problem with it, as seems to be the biggest problem with a huge amount of theatre at the moment, was its style. In the play’s overture as the audience settle, the three performers, Fizz Waller (playing Mary), Camille Willhem (playing Becky) and Nicholas Marrast-Lewis (playing Felix), are scattered across the stage filling out forms on clipboards, rather mimetically at that; fast-forward to the first scene, and the characters are interacting with one another in closed dialogue about how excited/nervous/indifferent they are about participating in a camp; fast-forward a little more and they’re quizzing the audience on LGBT history; closed dialogue again; asking the audience to vogue... This play seriously needs to address the function of its audience, how performers address them and for what reasons. It would make PERFECT sense for this play to present its audience with problems and conflicts in a mimetic style of theatre, only to interrupt this sporadically, making the mode didactic, instead, to quiz the audience on issues relative to those raised in the scenes they have just watched. This does not have to be a direct “What do you think ___ should have done in this situation?” because if done seriously, that would be drab and taxing, but could be done in a more covert, indirect and, overall, clever manner. Such questions about LGBT+ history could then be relevant to the rest of the performance and its characters, rather than proliferating its own, distinctive, self-contained list. However, these characters would then need a modal readjustment, too, for they would have to be representational rather than simulative. By this, I mean that the loveable but utterly needless aspects of these characters — e.g. Mary’s love affair with a vicar (more on that later) — should give way to a more realistic tension or issue experienced by the community, Mary’s affair being awfully hyperbolic. I do believe this was attempted in early scenes where a [pitifully dull] conflict emerges between Becky and Felix about Becky’s bisexuality. But the content needs to be a lot deeper than this if it is to inspire or be remotely progressive in any way whatsoever. “I’m bisexual. Bisexuality is a thing.” “No, it’s not. You can’t be.” This is a very fruitless discourse that doesn’t seem to take off or go anywhere. This stimulative/representational/didactic triangle is a huge issue for this performance. It is not at all sure of itself. Is it attempting to raise awareness? Or to politicise LGBT+ issues? Is it a way of helping others through their sexuality? Is it simply a realm of escapism to encounter humorous and captivating characters? It would seem as though the performance is attempting to be all of these at once, which would be impossible to successfully achieve unless strategically and intelligently structured in a manner that presents clear problems, resolves them with its audience and then gratifies and rewards them. Perhaps this latter was the intention with presenting its audience with the gay card. There are such little Easter eggs throughout this performance which suggest to me that the play is somewhat heading in the right direction, that its intentions are there, but it needs a serious structural reconfiguration and to completely readdress its mode and style but also its objectives, desires and intentions. I have said that the issues deliberated in this performance are rather fruitless, but I feel this is quite an understatement. Instead, they are extremely vapid in my opinion. This play has an extreme focus on sexuality yet the only sexualities addressed are the neo-traditional: heterosexuality, homosexuality and bisexuality. It confuses me that, with their frequent references to other motions in the LGBT community, such as gender fluidity, that the performers did not address any others — queerness, pansexuality and asexuality being the next most obvious. Yet, the focus was primarily on male homosexuality and female bisexuality. There was very little said about lesbianism, and what was said was disguised under Waller's idiosyncratic, melodramatic and, above all, simulative characterisation type, making it fruitless once again. In fact, women’s sexuality remains highly vague in this performance, as ironic as that is with two-thirds of the cast being female. But then what is a “woman”? Gender and expressions of gender (other than, again, the mainstream — in this case, voguing) are not deliberated at all, either. In fact, atypical gender representations are actually quite disparaging in this play, the message in the quiz scene, in particular, being that dressing up as the opposite sex in history, regardless of sociocultural, economic, status-related, etc. issues, denotes gender fluidity or transsexuality. This is not the case, as wishful for evidence the cast may be. Then there comes the issue of expressions of sexuality, presented somewhat stereotypically in this performance through promiscuity and adultery. This leads me back to Mary’s love affair where the message is that cheating is acceptable and comedic if it is to discover one’s true sexuality. Felix’s promiscuity is slightly counteracted by his hesitancy to act upon his homosexual desires or sexual habitudes, yet this remains another fruitless Easter egg, for it is not addressed as to why this is the case. There is the argument of his seemingly counterintuitive identity as a “top twink”, but this does not justify his hesitancy, only a frustration. I wonder if the cast felt it was not in their capacity or their right to talk about other categories of the LGBT+ community. This is not the case. More voices on the issues of the community can only ultimately benefit it. Besides, this is not about challenging the reality of these individuals but, instead, the existing perceptions of them. Believing that the so-called “majority” or the “average” will not understand limits any likelihood of change, being that it is these very groups that, after having understood, are the only ones who will change anything politically. Didactic modes and politics aside, this is definitely a play of comedic value, and the premise of a gay camp attended to achieve one’s gay card at graduation is a pride-invoking, subversive and endearing premise. However, I feel that most of the play’s energy and likability teetered around the character of Mary. Whilst Becky’s character remained, overall, unchaining and difficult to engage with — due to her vast emotional unavailability — and whilst Felix’s character slowly began to take off towards the latter part of the performance, it was clear that the writer had a certain favouritism which benefitted the character of Mary. Mary was the richest character of the trio, having clear desires and sub-objectives and a clearer backstory and personality, as evidenced by the number of laughs she received vs the others. Her ad-libs were also very humorous and well-tailored to the moments which demanded them (the main door being unintentionally locked, or bold statements from the audience in interactive scenes, etc.). This brings me on to characterisation. Having the strongest character but also multiroling, Waller was definitely the most transformative and energised of the three, and her characterisation was utterly engaging and endearing. However, character changes could have been smoother and less conspicuous. It would have been just as humorous to see her reenter the stage as the teacher, instead. As for Marrast-Lewis and Willhem, their performance was very monotone, though I would say that this was partially due to the writing. When coming out of character for the quizzing/voguing or when Marrast-Lewis pretends to be a teacher and Willhem one of Felix's mothers, there is also extremely little change in character/persona. Whenever the audience is interacted by any of these performers, however, there is a massive tendency with all of them to come out of character. This disrupts not only the momentum of the play and its text but provides it with a different and (creatively speaking) self-unaware mood. The concept of a camp, again very subversive, is a positive and fun one. However, there is very little comprehensibility offered in this play as to what the camp actually is and why it is so important. It is first made out to be more of a summer camp where one discovers, explores and defines one’s own sexuality; but then it is made out to be some kind of education establishment where one has to prove one’s knowledge of the LGBT+ community and will also be quizzed on it. Metacognitively, these do loosely relate in some way, but how they are both specifically utilised together in this camp is not explained. And what has all of this got to do with yoga? When Cher enters, this is when it becomes exceedingly ridiculous for me. Such an unnecessary and overvalued part of the performance. I understand how important her role is as a gay idol, but why is she giving a speech at the camp? And why does this have little to no effect on the characters? Again, my problem with this is style. Fourth wall broken, audience members on stage, hyperbolic and metatheatrical celebrity representation, structural pitfall where the narrative is interrupted and the plot does not suffer or progress from it — all of these reasons make it a sore standout of a scene. For Becky’s only reaction to this to be to state “Classic camp!” really bothers me. You have not depicted enough the identity of the camp to be able to say that. The audience cannot understand what that means, how ordinary a random speech from Cher is in this camp. Finally, a little note on the gay card. Whilst it speaks for itself as a reward and is quirky and relatable enough to be left unexplained, whilst also giving the audience a very cute and rather prideful souvenir, it should still be explained as to why it is so important to the characters. To summarise, this performance has an interesting ground, yet it is highly convoluted and loses itself to its unstable style and mood types. Its sociopolitical value is very low, being that the [very few] discourses it gives the floor to are so very basic and repetitional. Where this play does succeed, however, is in its campy and particular comedy. A lot of editing is required. “A convoluted performance, unsure of itself and in need of vast structural and stylistic change, however comedic.”

Unfortunately, there is very little positive I have to say about this performance, but I will start with the good-ish comments that I have. In the overture, the audience are confronted with a spot-lit, centerstage stool upon which sits a crown. A rather thick mist consumes the air, and suspenseful classical music (Kai Everington) plays. This is a good beginning, evoking the content and focal point of the play very well in the simplicity of this powerful and stagnant image. The blackout (lighting by Ricky McFadden) and sound of King Richard’s footsteps which follow are just as atmospheric. However, the crown could have been aligned better with the centre point of the stool, and the music should be allowed to fade entirely before anyone enters the stage. It is such pedantic features that discern the seasoned from the novices. What follows is an overstated line-share between the ensemble who creep about each other concentrically. Here is my first true issue with the play. This monologue is originally intended for the audience’s ears, but should the ensemble wish to deliver it to each other, that would also be fine. But you cannot do both. Actors’ address alternated between audience members and fellow members of the ensemble, making for a stylistic disconnect. This was an issue that occurred a few times throughout the performance. Decide who you are addressing your lines to and stick with it. Also on the matter of lines, it was clear, as per usual, that some actors did not understand their own, or there were moments when the lines did not entirely match the action, such as when characters told others to "be still" and yet there was very little visible agitation in the first place. As tirelessly often the case with Shakespeare, actors in this performance either overplayed or downplayed. Energy, admittedly, was unfaltering, but it is where this energy was going that was the problem. As for physicality, actors could have also greatly improved. Representations of disfigurement were OK but could have been made even more grotesque than a simple limp or arched back. This is where costume, the likes of which I shall detail shortly, could have come in handy. That such themes like these are permitted to continue in modern theatre just for the name of their originator is strange to me, but that is more an issue of personal politics. Then there are the fight scenes. I have never yet experienced a fight scene wherein fighting practically does not take place. I am sad to say that Matt Coulton, director of movement and fights, was very misguided in this way. A simple shout and a charge do not constitute a dramatic or engaging battle, not to mention the chosen weaponry which I shall also detail later. Not only were these moments of action completely dissatisfying in terms of visual impact, but whenever there was [finally!] such a moment, its duration was less than a minute. A similar dissatisfaction can be found in death scenes: short, lacklustre, unrealistic and bizarre, especially when sword-stabbing is represented by positioning the sword between the arm and the body... Pacing! When actors are unsure of what to do when they have no lines, if they feel uncomfortable being in the limelight, or if they have not rehearsed retentively enough how to act when dialoguing with another actor, you will find that they pace. Their feet begin to shuffle, they wobble from side to side, all in an attempt to remain lively and engaging. They feel they need to move for their personal performance to be enjoyable and impactful. Pacing was a massive issue in this performance. Everybody paced! Confidently assume your postures and positions, your personae and your intentions. Find a stance and stay in it. Facial expression is enough to carry your otherwise silent performance. Do not move too much but also do not freeze. However, if you do find that you feel you have no presence or reason to be, this is a directorial fault, and your character should not be on stage at all. Pointless onlookers, especially in Shakespeare, are something that diseases the stage. Costumes (Simon Stewart), like most elements of this performance for me, were utterly inadequate. Not only did they signal a multiplicity of time periods, they were also assembled with very little effort or care. I cannot begin to fathom why skinny jeans and canvas shoes, belts and turtlenecks were permitted to worm their way into this performance. And what did actually exist of the costume was relative to fancy dress. Then the props, another complete mismatch of thick, bulky wooden swords and slimline, painted plastic ones. The sack containing the severed head... why is it so obviously unfirm and un-head-like? It felt as though the visuals of this performance, minus that of the overture, were significantly overlooked and secondary, yet they are so undeniably vital to this [visual] art form. I will say, however, that the use of puppetry was most endearing, and the manner in which they were characterised – their movements, their utterances and sounds – made them a humorous and cute addition. Watching these puppets was like watching a different performance, however… and that is a bad thing for a number of reasons, one of which being that they had no real place there. Stylistically and materially, they are very incongruous with the performance, though I do commend the theatre company’s creativity in overcoming the issue of child representation on stage. Nearly every single thing in this performance felt undercooked and unconsidered, most bluntly exemplified by the unyielding use of repetition – most notably the fight scenes and coronations. It felt as though the fundamental principles, the very basics of theatremaking were overlooked, e.g.: do not come out of character in the aisles – wait until you are off stage and out of sight; do not visibly wait in the aisles for your cue; know to whom you should address your lines; etc. I am sorry to be blatant and crude, but this performance really was like watching a group of amateurs play dress-up. There was very little artistic value in this performance, and it is difficult for me to find something constructive and more elaborate to say than what I have in this review. Very disappointing. “An utterly somnolent piece of theatre; unseasoned, underdone and meriting little attention.”

The image the audience are presented with as they enter the performance space is sensory, peaceful and light. Two performers, Megan Noakes and Max Curtis, lie together under an ascending and falling blanket of plastic guided by the rest of the ensemble. The image is airy and serene. When lighting states change and this image is recycled, it becomes elemental: the blanket, now blue or green, seems to take the form of water, displacing itself airily and fluidly. This image is beautiful and most definitely raises a concern similar to the age-old concept of the swimming swan: graceful above water, frantic below to keep itself afloat. Whilst we are presented with a certain tranquillity, it is the material, plastic, which produces it. Whilst potent in its message, this image is significantly overused in the arts at the moment and hence becomes rather unoriginal and bland. It seems that the rather literal and direct approach is the only approach of late to smother the theatre. Nevertheless, this plastic sheet becomes a staple for this performance. When it has seen its end, it is replaced by a long sheet of, what I assume to be, polycotton fabric, and its usage is pretty much the same. This performance's material does become highly repetitious and, unfortunately, I must say quite boring in places. Children playing hide-and-seek, tumbling in and out of the fabric becomes a recurrent, if not constant and overused, motif, and it disallows the performance to say much else. It could do with a serious edit in this respect. Overall, this performance is trying to tackle two worlds: Mia's personal world, her life and journey; and the external world, the deteriorating and manic. It was successful in demonstrating the realities of each but not the effects that the external world was having on Mia or how these worlds really related to one another. This was crucial because, otherwise, the worlds seem disconnected and bizarre to pair with one another. It felt as though the ensemble were depicting singular and unrelated snippets of human life. What is missing is a stronger, more direct common thread, For example, I imagine that the incorporation of the Tech Giant (Abigail Smith) is supposed to link capitalism, mass production and buying incentives with the destruction that high-brand manufacturers, factories and gross consumerism cause to the environment and natural world. This connection, however, the very thing which justifies its presence in a performance about the Anthropocene, was not made, nor was any of this related directly to Mia herself as a mother. All we got from this scene was that Mia wanted to buy something… This scene's significance was then further distanced by and lost to the rapid succession of vines, pregnancy tests and the milestones of growing up… and then suddenly Mia is losing her child to a monsoon? Everything felt very disjointed and unrelatable. More crucially, if Mia is so worried about seeing her child grow up in such a broken, frenetic and diseased world, and if this is the crux of the performance, I fail to see why director William Townsend would have her child grow up so problem-free and so quickly. Within minutes, we fast-forward through her child's (Liberty Bliss) life and see absolutely nothing of the external world and its impact upon either of them. We are unsure if Mia's suspicions and concerns were justified and realistic, nor are we able to find relief if they had no effect whatsoever. We are not shown anything. On this note, I also felt that Mia's relationship with her daughter is very oddly depicted as she is dismissed by her and runs, instead, to her father. There is very little to go off of in this performance to understand the actual function of the child in Mia's life or Mia's relationship with her, once she is born. It is also rather easy to feel cheated when we have waited so long for Mia's child's birth, and then she's an adult within two seconds. Being that the performance is supposedly about the Anthropocene and its challenges to new-mother Mia, I was surprised to see how little the Anthropocene featured in this performance. A plastic sheet, a few news reports and a monsoon are not enough to contextualise the dramatic text in the Anthropocene epoch. Other, less important moments, were also enabled too readily to divert us away from the main plot, such as seemingly unrelated vines like 'Look at all those chickens'. These moments of comedy should have served more as moments of repose rather than being so deeply integrated and consumptive as they were. As for movement, I would have liked to have seen more variation, particularly in scenes involving the fabric or plastic sheet, but also in the overture: Noakes and Curtis's yanking one another back to resume their snuggling became very overdone very quickly. As a simple note, when the couple is on the floor in the actual beginning, it would be more effective to start to move into the next position as soon as the plastic sheet is raised; otherwise, it seems too artificial and robotic. It should look as though the rising of the sheet gives glimpses into a reality that is already happening, not one which awaits our viewing for animation. I should also note here the importance of discarding the material properly, not just off the side of the stage but well out of view. As well as being more visually pleasing, this would have also prevented some performers from tripping over it as they did. Topography is a big problem for this performance. It is clear that performers are attempting to give both sides of the traverse stage a good view, but this dampens the overall movement. It is acceptable to have one side see something over the other, as long as this is balanced overall. Decide confidently on one side to show the movement to if you feel it is tricky to show it to both, and make a habit of performing neutral movements in profile view – something which was done in this performance but not often enough. Whilst music was quite repetitive, it did do its job in creating a successful atmosphere. Lighting, on the other hand, was very pleasing overall, but I would like to see more dynamism, more state changes that reflect the chronology of the performance. The absence of stage lighting and the use of handheld LEDs is always intriguing, though I feel their usage was ommittable in this performance. It should also be noted that when they are used in what I shall call the news reporting sequence, performers should decide whether the news is coming from them as presenters/reporters or if they are simply 'reading' the news from the light source. In other words, when delivering the news, are you directing it to Mia or to the audience? Decide on only one whose mode address all ensemble members will use in this scene. This performance has a lot of potential, and its material is very promising when considered singularly. It just needs some tweaking to join these personal and external worlds together and to reflect on what material and whose voices are the most crucial to this performance and which ones can be deleted – and it could definitely benefit from less of the running/hiding children! As a personal reflection, though, I do find it very sad and most dissatisfying that even when the Anthropocene makes a titular appearance, our focus still remains on its effects on ourselves as humans. “A mesmerising and pretty performance but in need of careful structural readjustments."

Regretxit is a campy, energised and unpredictable performance. It is most definitely a memorable experience but as a piece of theatre, it remains highly unsure of itself. The story this play tells, that of Matthew (Matthew Cleverly) who falls in love with a swindling, immigrant heartbreaker who plays him for a green card, assets and money, is a clear and directional premise. However, the story unfolds within a disorderly array of cultures: queer culture, foreign culture, British culture, Welsh culture, etc., and all of these make for not only an ill communication of the narrative but also of themselves. Binding the narrative in these contrasting cultures causes it to lose its singular voice, and one starts to question what this play is actually about, the narrative seeming more as a device, a touchstone to lead to other, more important subjects. Is it really just a particularised depiction of situational queer love? Or is it a criticism of British politics and the immigration system? Or on the so-called nature of the immigrants themselves (which is most unfavourable)? The problem, I believe, is rooted in this play’s propensity towards a particular mode: the use of stock characters. The performance becomes swamped with shallow, cliched and stereotypical caricatures: game show hosts, sock puppets, vogue dancers, etc. There are simply too many. The sheer amount of material, and the vapid way it is approached, means that none of it can be deeply addressed. In this performance, Cleverly gives too much attention and focus to unnecessary details and forgettable one-liners. This becomes a problem when the main narrative starts to suffer from it. For example, the Teresa Mae sock puppet: it is humorous, it refreshes the mood of the performance, and it helps to contextualise Matthew and Anton’s relationship, but this sock puppet monologue is not essential, and neither, really, is this mood change. But it is quirky and could be useful. However, the problem comes with the duration of this cutaway. The scene gains a life of its own as Matthew is harassed by the sock puppet, and it goes on for so long that it feels like there is a separate plot going on, rather than a tool to contextualise the main narrative. Where this use of cliched personae is not inherently a problem to this performance is when it drives it forward, adding texture and tone. For example, Cleverly’s portrayal of Anton as a virulent, hard-voiced, harsh, dominant Ukrainian man. This is a caricature that a [British] audience can quickly recognise; it gives us immediate information about his character and helps us to focus more on his position/influence in the story. This is how these stock characters should be used. However, Cleverly’s accent was very wobbly, teetering from Russian to German, and I have a rather serious issue with the subtextual influence of this character which this unstable portrayal exacerbates. But more on that later! This use of stock characters is a major problem for this play, and this goes hand-in-hand with the play’s performance style which jitters between karaokes, presentations, soliloquies, poetry recitals… It lacks a clear and progressive sense of setting, tone and, most importantly, voice. Voice is utterly lost in this performance. We do not gain enough information on Matthew to deeply understand his character, his intentions, objectives and desires. We are not allowed to root for or empathise with Matthew, because everything is simply much too hectic, and why would his misfortune have any effect on us whatsoever when we know he'll be dancing to gay pop idols in a few minutes’ time, having the time of his life? The need for repose, for reflection, to breathe is very overbearing in this play, exacerbated by Cleverly’s high-energy and physical performance. Cleverly races through the text, multiroling, jumping from performance style to performance style – there is simply too much going on to be able to digest the performance to its true potential. Even the very set becomes inundated, swamped with throwaway props. The use of such props is comedic and playful; however, I feel their function in this performance is misunderstood by Cleverly. When Matthew clears the set, he speaks as though he is starting afresh and treats the props as souvenirs of the narrative, symbols, vignettes, objects of memory. They are treated as if they have earned a language of their own and speak directly of the story. This is not the case. The props are used predominantly during musical sequences as throwaways to draw attention to over-sentimentality. It is but a campy, self-contained and self-referential mode of storytelling, yet these props are ultimately treated as the story themselves. I will now move on to the subtext of this performance. Matthew reveals to us very early on in the play that he did not vote during the Brexit referendum, that he had no concrete opinions on Brexit worth his vote. Compare this with the end of the performance where Cleverly is coaxing the audience to sing with him about how powerful post-Brexit Britain will be as a nation and how marvellous and yielding a notion Brexit is. Something has happened to cause this contrast, but what? The only substantial subject in this performance is the idea of foreignness, conveyed by, amongst other features: recordings of news reports, the significance of immigrant-related acts, speeches by Teresa Mae, and, of course, the character of Anton. This latter is of paramount importance. Unrefined and heavily cliched, the character of Anton serves as a synecdoche for the immigrant, for the foreign man. Deliberately paired against Brexit’s effects on immigration, which are first quite astutely presented as unjust and cruel, Anton becomes a significant representation of the good-willed and hard-done-by immigrant and evidence against these unfair acts. However, when Anton is proven to be conniving, malicious and deceitful, the only positive reflection of the foreigner is erased; in its place, exotic getaways which become sites of destruction, pillaging, murder and violence. Matthew settles with Englishman Clive, a symbol of homosexual liberation – contrasting again with the gay-baiting, married and seemingly heterosexual Anton – and an honest, compassionate and generous lover, unlike his foreign predecessor. I hope this exposure has made it clear that, whether it intends to be or not, this performance is highly racially and, moreover, xenophobically charged. It uses a very peculiar, though admittedly not illogical – and that is why it seems fair, conventional and realistic – act by a [fictional] foreigner to justify the effects of Brexit on immigration laws. With very little content, despite the abundance of material, there are few other conclusions to draw from this performance. I am not sure if the intention was to make light of the inevitable, or to generate a sense of patriotism and pride for the irreversible, but a theatremaker needs to be hyperaware not just of the efficacy or success of each individual scene but of how all of these scenes come together and what message they convey in their assemblage. I rate this performance very lowly not only for its hectic and flavourless lack of coherency and style but also for the sociopolitical themes which emanate from it so naturally, acceptedly and readily. “A terribly ill-conceived and undercooked performance, not only theatrically but politically.”

I will start this review by stating that I only ever consider performances as self-contained subjects of analysis; that is to say that original motives and intentions, actor profiles and rehearsal processes or economic/sociopolitical success beyond the performance itself are of no direct interest to me here. Instead, I consider how successful a performance was: how effectively characters/persons/personae were portrayed and story or narrative carried; or how effectively the political messages of the performance were elucidated, justified and/or conveyed. I say all of this because I do wish to commend the honourable objectives extending beyond the performance itself that the theatre company, Away with the Clowns, wish to achieve. Listed as one of the top 20 richest countries in the world, it is disgusting that homelessness remains an issue in Britain today, and the way Britain continues to treat its citizens, prioritising some elect few over others is just as abominable. Away with the Clowns want to raise awareness of this huge issue, to de-stigmatise and clarify it in representing a day in the life of a homeless person, inspired by the show’s writer and only performer Lucas Bailey’s true encounters with homeless people. The main message of this performance is that homeless people are normal people, humans with feelings just as the rest of us. This is a reality that goes without saying. However, this performance, unfortunately, does a huge — and obscure — disservice to its cause. I fail to understand how a voiceless, clownesque and, above all, inhuman character is supposed to represent a real, complex, human person. I understand the company’s objective to ease their audience into such hard-hitting, serious and guilt-invoking issues by the use of comedy, but an over-reliance on mime, puppetry and tomfoolery does not lead them into an endearing false security but instead drags them forcefully into the world of buffoonery, laughter and, actually, derision. One audience member stated that she understood Bailey to be vulnerable, and whilst this was certainly a theme presented multiple times throughout the performance, there is nothing particularly eye-opening about it. The so-called vulnerability we see is not only cliched begging and hypothermia — not to discredit the reality of these, of course — but coinciding with the rest of the material, this is not a vulnerable person that is presented; this is a clown. We have not seen anything particularly humanised about this performer. As soon as a performer enters the stage with a red nose, the stage is immediately fictionalised, purely for entertainment and hence disingenuous. To whittle human language down to absurd, nonsensical and one-word phrases like “Kiss?” or “Pomegranates?” is the opposite of enlightening; it oversimplifies and also renders ridiculous what it sets out to achieve. Not only does this so-called “technique” represent the homeless as ludicrous and troglodytic but it also pulls upon a vast history of the animalistic sociocultural view of the homeless: the id-led, uncultivated and monosyllabic; the inferior, incongruous and lesser-than. The reasoning behind decisions like these are far too poetic and not in a readable way. That is to say that however romantic and rich images like the sock-puppet birds, symbolic of a short-lived, passing friend, seem to the creators, this is far from as impactful for audience members. Instead, moments like these are just cute and quirky, not profound and meaningful. More specifically — and most horrendous in my view — the sequences where Bailey is walking or running on the spot and suddenly jumps into a crouching position and hisses, groans and gurgles, again uttering a nonsensical mix of “tweet”s and “yes”s, dehumanise and monstrify the homeless. These sequences present them as gremlin-like, mad and volatile. For the creators to think this is a positive and progressive feature is ridiculous to me and far beyond any comprehension or relatability from me. I think the problem is that there is a vast misunderstanding of the importance of context. The context here is a performance, and with theatre being inherently fictitious and illusory, all performances create separate dimensions and worlds which an audience is forced into. It is the duty of the theatremaker whenever they deal with actual issues to represent it coherently — not necessarily realistically, but coherently — to bridge the world of the performances to the real world, to expose subtext and hidden meaning and to elucidate well realities and actualities. The real decisions, meanings and reasonings behind this performance are incredibly coded in performativity, they are made to seem far from any reality, though they are taken directly from our very own. Context is missed in the writing as well, I believe, insofar as the fact that Bailey evidently pulls from many different moments experienced with many different people, and though there are many similarities, of course, the lack of subjectivity and particularisation makes the imagery and subtext difficult to manage and to grasp. Though the homeless often make street art and street performances, they are not constant puppeteers or joke-mongers. This is not a principal, minutely means of survival; it is exhausting. I fail to see what the company are trying to raise awareness of exactly… Is it the mere fact that homeless people exist? Or is it what they go through on a day-to-day basis? Because the content and material of this performance most definitely lean towards this former objective, which is most dissatisfying and disappointing but also uninformative. There is more to their struggles than begging and cold nights. Where is the abuse, the fights, the police-led move-alongs, the fatigue, the desperation, the forced scavenging? To name an non-extensive few. Presenting us with such a parodic and showmanly persona does not demonstrate the insanely negative or the cruel. How does asking every single audience member for a kiss equate a profound and desperate yearning for love, compassion, solidarity, friendship and belonging? It doesn’t. Realities are severely downplayed or misappropriated as comedy, not successfully translated at all in any way, shape or form. Even the very title has little to do not only just with its subject matter but even with the content of the performance itself. Much too overthought, to an esoteric extent. I will ask bluntly: if the truth of the work lies in the post-performance Q&A, technique descriptions and the campaigns outside of the performance, what is the reasoning for the performance in the first place? What is the performance actually doing that nothing else can? How is this walking, talking, LIVE art form challenging our perceptions and realities clearer and better than any other mode of expression? How is it opening our eyes? In this performance, the homeless individual is reduced to a caricature, dehumanised and stereotyped. A few cold shudders, a few street performances and many a clichéd hat-presenting supplication does not represent the realities of homeless people but, instead, a secondary and all-too-familiar interpretation of them. It is clear, especially after the Q&A, that no in-depth research has been carried out to present the audience with anything other than the experiences they are familiar with. I would strongly suggest further communications with homeless individuals, and, if this is an issue the theatre company really do feel so strongly about, I fail to see why they did not cast real homeless people in the performance, recounting their experiences and enriching the material and content. If I have not made it clear enough, I am saying that, rather than the reality of the homeless, what is represented in this performance is an everyday perception — the few things which the audience already witness themselves in the streets of the UK and already know. No awareness can be raised from this. And for a performance that aims to marry the audience with their equals, the use of fragmentation, buffoonery and animalism is an obscure way of going about it and a surefire way to create more alienation. The over-performative nature of this piece of theatre makes it almost entirely unrelatable to real-life issues. “Miscalculated, misguided and misinformed, this performance falls miles away from its otherwise honourable objectives.”

This performance begins with an odd, two-part introduction. The first is a greeting by performer Charlotte Laporte who comments on audience members as they enter, telling them "jokes", or ridiculing them, before giving them one of three coloured cards which will determine their category for visa checks. This greeting I found to be completely impertinent with the performance. Laporte asks audience members debase and bewildering questions like if they look back at their faeces in the toilet after defecating... Perhaps this is to represent the infringement of privacy by immigration control offices, the link between such and this performance I will detail later, but there is such a thing as too much. I found her presence in the rest of the performance to be absolutely unnecessary, and her switch from gibing and dictatorial at the beginning to subservient, docile and dopy throughout the rest of the show was extremely strange. The second greeting is far more fitting and successful in its comedy. It involves Leanne Shorely and Sophie MacArthur whose job is to welcome the audience into the performance space whilst performing silly yet humorous activities such as cleansing their shoes by pumping air onto them through a small plastic balloon inflator. Their absurdity communicated the comedy and content to follow very well and was much more pertinent to the material. Their campiness and vivaciousness were delightful and intriguing, a joyous welcome to the island. Even their plastic leaf skirts, contrary to Laporte’s highly questionable orange hi-vis jumpsuit, fed well into the themes of artificiality and over-exoticness. Once the audience is seated, they are forewarned of a mysterious and powerful leader of whom they should be wary and respectful. This makes for a good juxtaposition when Fernanda Mandagará enters rather showily and exuberantly in a Brazilian samba costume, feather headpiece and all. Mandagará was very mesmerising throughout the performance. There were a few moments where her delivery could have been more fluid and smoother, especially in moments of [conspicuous] improvisation, but she was very good overall. As implied before, her assistants, Shorely and MacArthur, were just as endearing in their effervescent and cheerful ways. All performers had high energy, keeping the island alive, as it were. But just what the island was is a different story... Mandagará is a fatherless Tropicalian but also a goddess, self-obsessed who used to be a dancer but is now temporarily the president until the new president comes back. There’s also a gorilla who wants to steal bananas, a seeming war going on beyond the performance space, another god, the real God, in the sky and a world-ending mud flood. This is a LOT for an hour's performance. Whilst I commend director Ramiro Silveira and, as the play’s writer, Mandagará for being able to cram so much content into such a small time-frame, and whilst I understand that this overwhelming storm of material is part of the show’s appeal, it makes for a very sloppy and incoherent script. If a performance is about everything, it ends up being about nothing. This performance was very politically charged, though its politics were, again, too frenetic and were in need of a more clear-cut premise. This performance successfully breaks down the “western” ideal of the exotic exposes faults in not only Orientalist thinking but, most blatantly, the British immigration system. That the mud flood makes the Tropicalia Island one of three most powerful territories in the world is a good critique on the British Empire, along with many similar others, and the preference to one’s own kind and the distinction between Tropicalian and Tropic-alien is a very clever critique on modern racism and patriotic values and of visa regulations. But then there's the war and the culling of the indigenous which complicates the getaway feel of the island and opens up a different discourse of the so-called poverty-stricken, barbaric and combative Third World. There is then an entire scene dedicated to explaining to the male audience members how to survive the sex-ridden streets, what to wear, how to act, where to go. This is a feminist narrative but also a feature that directly contrasts with the island’s traditional mating dance, led by provocative female dancers. There is a vast lack of clarity and direction in this performance. And what does any of this have to do with a rendition of ‘Copacabana (At the Copa)’? I would note as well that whilst the performance sets out to use Brazilian particularities as the ground for its material, other cultures, too, are stereotyped and represented in this performance, leaning towards borderline cultural appropriation. Audience interaction and participation was a bold and, overall, successful move for this performance. Again, the first introduction is highly questionable, but the visa checks, banana handouts and sporadic interrogations were funny to watch. There was the danger, however, of the audience becoming a little too distanced from the material. That is to say that there is, yet again, an uncertainty in this performance: is it audience participation? Is it fourth-walled spectation? Or is it metatheatre, as found at the end of the performance when Mandagará reveals that it was all a show, that everything was fake and the world is not actually ending? A good breakdown of the exotic but a bad breakdown for structure and quality. There are a few other elements that could do with some ironing out. The ending, for example: leave the stage! Rather than telling the audience that it is time to go and shooing them on their way, leave the stage and raise the houselights and cue them to go subliminally, instead; otherwise, it makes for an awkward ending but also destroys the world of the performance that you’ve spent the hour producing, however metatheatrical you intend it to be. And a last small note on the gorilla: the gorilla should have far more stage time, not only for the endearing quirkiness of an animal mascot and life-size puppetry but also because his murder does not feel as impactful with such little exposure. “A whirlwind of a performance, entertaining and otherworldly yet in dire need of clearer focus, theory and direction.” Photography credit: to Leandro Facundo.

Written by Kenny Emson and directed by Eleanor Rhode, Rust is currently performing at the Bush Theatre in London. This story is nowhere near original and was quite lacklustre in its direction and premise, which was disappointing. The content of scenes, which were very short and suited more for cinema, became repetitious after a while, making for a lack of depth. What this performance does do, however, is demonstrate the insidious addictiveness and short-lasting relief and intrigue that affairs bring many people. Its characters, Nadia (Claire Lams) and Daniel (Jon Foster), are good representations of the lack of self-worth and self-love and the apathy, boredom, and dissatisfaction that all associate themselves with adultery and drive people towards it. It illustrates a humanly need for love, affection, escapism and freedom, and its ending makes a start to exemplify the complexity of the emotions of the adulterous, insofar as self-deprecation and conflicting feelings and beliefs. A very human play. Lams and Foster fell short of a naturalistic performance. Oftentimes, their characterisations were robotic and their deliveries were overemphatic. This got much better as the play went on, but the beginning was particularly dreadful. Moments of intimacy, on the whole, felt rather natural, though a few kisses were quite visibly hesitant or artificial. Lams also had the tendency towards the beginning of the performance to accompany every line with a gesticulation to represent the emotion behind it. This was very rudimentary and should have been left in initial rehearsals when trying to figure out her character. I will say, however, that these actors were very good at assuming different positions within the performance space during blackouts, making little to no sound whatsoever. However, with the length of the scenes being so short, these contrasts were often quite hectic to watch – this is an editorial/directorial issue, though. This performance claims to be "ultra-contemporary", but besides its set and cinematic scene structure, there is not much of a contemporary quality to it. Though expansive, the set (Max Johns) for this performance was quite minimalist, consisting of a king-sized mattress covered in pillows. This was a good metaphor for their copious sex and promiscuity, their lives and lifestyle consumed, more and more towards the end, by their extra-marital affair. However, it did demand a lot of imagination from the audience in places, in order to understand the topography of the house and to consider the space as liveable and stocked. Whilst this demand was somewhat eased by the dialogue, and props like the fake blood, it became particularly difficult to read moments such as when Nadia dances on the table – is she still dancing on the table when she dances later on? – or when she finds the third mobile phone in the finale of the performance. The audience is also shown that the front window is on the opposite side of the bed to the lights, yet the front door is on the same side as them. I would advise a more careful consideration of the logistics of the house's topography. Sound (designed by David Gregory) and lighting (designed by Jess Bernberg) made for an easier reading of the house. Sound was facilitative, edited well and blended in seamlessly and realistically with the action on stage. The lighting made for a sense of airiness and ethereality. It was a brave decision to have fluorescent tubes as the primary lighting source for this performance, having no direct or blunt significance to it, especially with the varying colours not representative of mood or tone. However, I found it to be evocative of the sort of utopian getaway which this space signified for these characters. This was most conveyed in moments of inebriation or euphoria where Daniel and Nadia would stumble through them, causing them to sway gently as though wind chimes. I also thought it was interesting to have their arguments or conflicts in the same area as this lighting, causing the ideal utopia to confront the painful reality and ramifications of their doings. “Not an overly imaginative performance but one which rings true of human desire.” Photography credit: to Helen Murray.

Othello: Remixed, an adaptation of William Shakespeare’s The Tragedy of Othello, written and directed by Darren Raymond, is currently performing at the Omnibus Theatre. I shall start with writing. This adaptation partially modernised the language of the play through contemporary colloquialisms, specifically those of the youth. This was a very brave decision, making the language fresher, more relatable and more understandable for a modern (and younger) audience. However, more care should be paid to this modern language use. As it was, the language alternated haphazardly between Old English and modern slang, and this made for a dialogic incoherency. This language difference was clearly understood in moments where Iago’s (Baba Oyejide) Old English made him seem intellectual, loquacious and bombastic against slang-speaking Rico (Iain Gordon), also unearthing a theme of classism which is quite important in this play, I believe, which frequently alludes to the hardships of disadvantaged young people. This kind of usage was efficacious and made sense with the play. The two dialects co-existed seamlessly and unapologetically, drawing attention to themselves in an effective manner. However, this usage is outweighed by another predominant one where characters switch between the two without any particular prompt just to work "allow it"s and "bare"s into the script. Whilst this is humorous, it distracts from the performance to keep code-switching in such a way, unless it propels the story along, as with the Iago–Rico example. But this also made for stylistic problems; there were sometimes moments where the two dialects demanded different moods: the Shakespearean demanded dramatic pauses, stillness, reflection and tension, whereas the modern English demanded pace and action. This made for unseemly silences every so often, though these were quite rare. The theme of misogyny was really accentuated in this performance, though most primitively, I would say. Sexism and feminism were brought to their rudimentary fundaments: “Men are better than girls”, “No, we are equal”. This is too unrealistic and self-referential. It is far better to sneak these into the play so that the themes are covert yet tangible. Whilst this was the case for a specific scene where Iago instigates a one-sided sexist discourse with the other characters, and a few other moments too, there were other moments that exposed modern misogyny quite effectively: Cassio’s (Micah Loubon) objectification and humiliation of Bianca (Ellie Lees) in front of Iago, or Iago’s sexual manipulation of Emilia (Nakeba Buchanan) to use her as a simple means to an end, or the way in which Bianca’s promiscuity was discussed and defamed by the other characters. These latter demonstrations were extremely successful and should serve as exemplary for other performances which wish to subtextualise such themes. One other thing that this play does which is different to the original is the introduction of a new character, the Referee (Danielle Adegoke). I personally thought this decision was utterly pointless and, actually, subtractive. Her imperceptibility in the real world, as a voice of jealousy and corruption in Iago’s (and, later, Othello’s) mind was poorly introduced, and it took a long while to realise that she was, in fact, a supernatural character. Whilst I could see why this would be an enticing element to include, I felt it did absolutely nothing for the performance. Perhaps this was done to make the play more self-contained in eradicating Iago’s soliloquies, but this does not cohere with the end where Kwame Reed (playing Othello) directs his final speech to the audience. In fact, this direct address would have sat better in the performance had Oyejide had introduced this style to the repertoire. I did think it was a good idea never to have her enter the ring (the poignancy of which I shall elaborate on later), though this was vanquished quite early on during the transition into the party scene, wherein she enters the ring and dances to the music, seemingly attempting to attract other women to dance with her. Though minutely progressive in the subversion of the heteronormativity of the play, this was bizarre and unnecessary, unbefitting of this ghost-like character who exists outside of and beyond the fights and conflicts. On to acting style. Overall, the acting was rather, though there are moments for all actors which seem too wooden. There was a problem with diction, in particular with Kwame Reed and Danielle Adegoke, and projection. With such a large ensemble, careful consideration of volume need be had, and oftentimes actors like Lees and Buchanan were lost to the crowd. Acting styles would often differ between the typical misrepresentative Shakespearean and almost realistic. This made for a stylistic disconnect. Comedy, however, was achieved well, and actors, overall, had a good sense of rhythm and tone. Stage fighting was alright but could be refined just a little more. The ending was particularly weak for all actors, including Hoda Bentaher’s (playing Desdemona) highly unrealistic death scene. More work should be done on extreme emotions and their development from neutrality, but also Emilia’s realisation that Desdemona was still alive, as beautiful in its tragedy as this idea is, should have been much more decisive and pronounced. It was odd for this to happen after Othello’s suicide and not moments before (and when too late), for this caused an ignorance of Othello’s death on all characters’ behalf and hence an unsatisfying, hectic and disjointed ending. As for costume (designed by Elleshia Flowers), this was very dubious in places. I fail to understand why, for example, the referee would wear ankle-swingers, trainers and latex gloves instead of cotton gloves, or why Desdemona would wear a satin dress relatable to a nightgown to a party. Overall, however, costume was coherent with setting and representative of true modern reality which is not often the case with modernisations of revival plays. This brings me on to set (designed by Catherine Morgan). I thought the idea of a boxing ring was extremely clever. Not only did this bode well with the combats and conflicts in the plot, but this also recontextualises the play in a familiar contemporary setting for young people, alluding as well to the institutional diversional management of violence which this theatre company is, I have heard, very familiar with. However, the ring did make for some awkward entrances and exits, with certain actors getting visibly caught up in the roping. As much practice with this as possible, in all types of pace, would be recommended. As for props, boxing equipment was used sparingly, and this was sufficient to place us in the setting without overemphasising it. Cocaine was perhaps a little too much, though this is more of an editorial decision; I just felt this was a go-to representation of delinquency and could have been more imaginative. A different item could have also exposed less represented problems for young people. Mobile phones featured quite a lot in this performance, especially for Bianca’s selfie-taking. I felt that it was unnecessary to see Iago so many times with his mobile phone. Followed by a voiceover that read his texts, this was overkill. He is the only character who texts and whose texts are read to the audience, and so seeing him with his phone in his hand just before and after the voiceovers is too much. The voiceovers, for me, were a bad idea, for this added a different, unwarranted and unprecedented layer to the performance, but if they were to be used, it would have been smoother to have them accompany the tech, not precede it. I shall end with a few more notes on tech. Tech was used in transitions, consisting primarily of flashing lights and booming club music.  This was most effective in generating energy and a sense of action, although some transitions were too slim to warrant such a performative transition. I understand that it is tempting to have such transitions when the action in the next scene is taking place with the same characters but at a different time, but this could be achieved by a simple fade or blackout. R&B music as the audience come in was a good choice; it is always beneficial when ambient music is contextual to the performance. “An interesting interpretation with engaging performers, just in need of stylistic adjustments here and there.” Photography credit: Richard Jinman.

This review will consider Tinder Trilogy, a play written by Annie Jenkins, directed by Lucy McCann and performed at Theatre503. I shall first start with the writing. This play uses a very particular narrative type to detail the personal sufferings of three characters, Geri (Mollie Macpherson), Beth (Jonna Blode Hanno) and George (Tiegan Byrne). This suffering, a niggling annoyance, frustration or deep-rooted fear, becomes characteristic of the play, giving it a clear and coherent subject matter. However, this suffering contrasted greatly with the comedic tone of the performance, which made for a potent stylistic disconnect. My biggest issue with this performance, however, is that its connection with Tinder is very vague and, actually, rather omittable. All of the action could have transpired without it, and so I question its significance but also the real crux of what exactly is uniting all of these characters together. Understanding Tinder’s significance almost equated awaiting a dissatisfying name drop. I felt that there were not enough variations in the writing style to distinguish characters from one another successfully. This distinctness came across, rather, in characterisation (which I shall write on later). The frenetic and discontinuous quality of the writing related them all in such a way that all three characters were dealing with their issues in the exact same manner, denying their feelings at first, being overwhelmed by irrelevant or less important details, then having a type of breakdown at the end. One example of how this writing style united all characters under one voice is in their description of specific items: Geri explaining Tamagotchis, Beth relating another girl’s annoying descriptions of clothes, and George describing her pasty. All characters at one point turned into this high-energy, commercial-like persona, creating too much similarity between their humour types. Lesbianism, veganism and drug use also became recurrent subjects in this play, which I would be very careful about. Oftentimes, such topics are used to add a quick sense of comedy to humour an audience or an opinion to texturise a character, but this is to the detriment of these topics, and this was definitely the case for this performance. This play consistently used suchlike groups as the focal point of its monologues, making bold claims and statements without using any other tangible or concrete information to cohere these with the play. Even if a character is lesbian herself, or if the character is infatuated by a friend who is a lesbian, this does not give them a license to talk about lesbianism in such a singular, ‘objective’ way. Without self-contradiction of the characters, or without other informations in the play which express the inexactitude or false opinions of the characters, these lines become politically charged, not only naturalised within the world of the play but also in the performance space it inhabits. Ignoring the significance of the politics behind this, however, there is also the issue that this makes the characters too dense to unpack in such little amount of time: who are they stating these opinions for? Who are they representing? Who is meant to be enthused/entertained by these? And why are ALL of the characters doing drugs, anyway? And so casually… Though the writing was rather questionable and monotonous, it still contained some very good techniques for producing character. In themselves, all monologues were packed with allusions, distractions and conflicting emotions and opinions, making for dynamic, realistic and complex-seeming characters. For such a short exposure, this is very successful. The way items symbolised the text was also engaging, e.g. Geri’s Tamagotchi symbolic of her duty of care to her unborn child, and George’s pasty signifying her desire for peace where impossible due to external forces. The acting really lifted this writing off of the page, adding interest and intrigue. Despite the similar writing styles for their characters, actors were able to personalise the text well and to accentuate distinct differences between each other. This was particularly the case for Blode Hanno’s loveable character, Beth. There were elements of all actors’ characterisations, however, that were too exaggerative. This was primarily a problem of physicality. Macpherson’s reaches towards the audience, Blode Hanno’s nose-brushing, and Byrne’s hyperventilation…these were all too energised and dramatic, rendering them caricaturistic where realism is most effective for a play like this. Byrne’s hyperventilation was also incongruous with her pissy, standoffish character (but this is more of an editorial or directorial issue). Macpherson suffered from a lack of realism, her mood changes seeming much too preempted and stiff. Her energy, on the other hand, was incontestable. Similarly, Blode Hanno and Byrne kept a high level of energy throughout, though I would be wary about how pace might compromise Byrne’s voice work. Often, her voices for her own character and the character of Bea blended into one another. Her silent munching at the beginning of her monologue, however, was hilarious. A wonderful decision that broke up an otherwise very dialogue-heavy play and gave audience members a moment of repose. Having the actors confined to their individual platforms, unable to move, was a good idea. However, I am not so sure about the use of wooden crates to create this platform. Similarly, whilst I feel that some poses did not represent the characters well, having the actors pose in tableaux during the others’ monologues was an excellent decision. Anything else would have made for too hectic a visual, especially with the objects (books, wrappers, bags, toys, etc.) already overwhelming the floor. I should also note here that as this set (designed by Sierra Martin) is clearly composed of remnants from a millennial childhood, these were really only pertinent to Geri’s story which had a greater youthful quality to it. The other two characters remained firmly in the present, with only one or two mentions of childhood experiences. There were technical difficulties on the night I saw the performance, and so I cannot conclusively comment on sound (designed by Charli Hurford, along with lighting). However, from what I could gather, each character has an accompanying audio. Whilst this could add tone and structure, nothing suffered from the absence of sound, for me. In fact, when ‘All I Want for Christmas by Mariah Carey came on, I found it both distracting from George’s emotions in its jolly campness — again, the suffering is usurped by comedy here — and incongruous with her character. Lighting (operated by Robyn Bedford), on the other hand, was sharp and facilitative. The silhouettes upon the silent actors were beautiful and well conceived. Lighting fluidly veered focus between the characters, although, with the fade at the beginning, it is better to fade up to a different lighting state. “A good, funny and engaging performance but requiring more stylistic variation.”

This performance was part of the Wild Shenanigans Comedy Festival at the Blue Elephant Theatre. It should be noted that this performance is a work in progress and so is subject to change. Hence, this review cannot speak conclusively of its potential. Elf Lyons takes her audience by the hand — rather literally — and guides them into a world of screeching cacophonies and talking objects; opinionated and defective bodies, and drug use; the medical institution and small, fluffy creatures. All this is guised under an underlying focus on love: love for the self and one’s body; love for guinea pigs and medication; and love for one another. It is perhaps this hectic and unwieldy list of subject matter, however, that makes it rather difficult to put a finger on Elf Lyons. In other words, it is what makes her work difficult to categorise. In discussing the mundane and the banal before leaping into a feminist narrative, Lyons stares the objectifying male gaze dead in the eye, uncovering the potentiality for its presence in any given circumstance. Lyons disguises her politics in the comedic and the bizarre, making a mockery of the super-feminine with over-dramatic hysteria, and denigrating the male-oriented image of a mindless, pretty woman. However, her politics and her feminist narrative seem inarticulate, lost within the performance. Rather than voicing her own, idiosyncratic feminism, Lyons simply alludes to feminist thinking, making passing, gibing references to the possible perception of her body and other women before moving quickly to the next gag. This makes it feel as though Lyons is only referencing feminist thought to pleasure or to toy with her audience. Lyons’s nudity serves as a synecdoche for this inarticulacy, for me. Lyons wears a tailored and sparkly hospital gown, hospital socks and black low-heel shoes. This is a clever image that usurps the suffering that Elf Lyons says she underwent when hospitalised for endometriosis, recontextualising and reappropriating it. However, under this gown, made into a shirt-dress by a bold blue collar, Lyons is completely naked. Lyons reveals this to us after a self-referential comment on women’s bodies…but that’s really all we see or hear of it. Despite the very few moments when Lyons caresses her body, playing with and raising the bottom of her gown, her nudity has very little significance. I understand that this is a way of implanting thought — and perhaps [erroneous] desire — into the minds of the spectators, but, realistically, it has little function. Elements like these make me question the undertone of this performance. I had the impression that I needed to have watched other performances to get a broader, deeper understanding of her values and artistic voice. I felt as though there was an aim or an enquiry bubbling under the surface but that wasn’t permitted to escape / present itself to an optimum degree. Is this message-based theatre? Or is a bleak and vague feminism simply utilised for comedic purposes? As for characterisation, voice plays a large part in Lyons’s work; I am sure that there is only one scene, where she speaks to a child at a children’s event that she leads, that allows for her real voice to display itself. There were two particular voices that dominated the performance: a posh, sophisticated and well-enunciated voice, and a gremlin-like, hissing voice (the one used to characterise, amongst many other things, her crippling and volatile womb). These voices created tone and texture, luring the audience with delicacy and suppleness before bewildering, humouring and frightening them with a funnily dark and monstrous anger. Whilst these voices were, on the whole, well executed and refined, I will note that other voices changed quite regularly throughout their usage. Further attention should be paid to the variations in and continuity of these. Despite this unclarity in aim, the comedy offered in this performance is hilarious. Her comedy does also rely a lot on stereotypes and racial profiles, though, and I would be wary as to how and why this is done, and as to how frequently. However, there were quite a few moments where Lyons would immediately shoot a reprimanding glare at the audience for laughing at her. Perhaps I could understand this through a political lens, forbidding audience members to laugh when she comments on feminist matters, on her female body, etc., but this became much too frequent and reproaching, making for a recurring hostile tone and awkwardness. If these were followed by a secondary smile of “Ony joking!” perhaps they would be better, but to keep them at all is dubious for me. To follow up these glances with a message of “Love each other; this is a safe space!” can only cause me to ask: what is the relationship with the audience? There is definitely an unclarity as to what Lyons wants from her audience, and when they should and shouldn’t participate is blurry in areas — hence the consistent callouts and heckling, which Lyons implied she receives a lot. Whilst Lyons dealt with these very well, I feel that she gives too much agency to her audience, signalled from the very beginning when she hands a bell stick to a spectator and asks them to shake it every time they find her funny. This is dangerous to do, as this bell-ringing could become obnoxious and persistent, disrupting mood and tone, not to mention: it has very little bearing on the rest of the performance. If it is not crucial to the performance, if it will not guide it along, edit it out. To compare the beginning of the performance, in which the audience are just answering [sometimes rhetorical] questions, with the end where they’re pairing up and looking into each other’s eyes for two minutes, coerced to hold each other’s hands and kiss, there is very little consistency in the role and function of the audience. Overall, an enjoyable and comical performance. It is easy to fall in love with Lyons, despite her abrasiveness and volatility — almost evocative of a feminist monster theory where the person or their body is eroticised and distinctly invites the onlooker in yet pushes them away with alienating and disruptive violence, glares, abject matters and condescending pride. This work puts Lyons back in control of her "defective" but also sexually objectified body, telling when and where spectators can look, appreciate, judge or dismiss. But this is only loose speculation for me, as this performance is rather too hectic, watery and multifocal to give a clear portrayal of its subtextual intentions, of the realm is it operating in, and of how it desires to be read, engaged with or enjoyed. Further refinements need to be made both in subject matter and in audience significance to make for a more hard-hitting, clearcut and focused narrative. Key words: stripping back, and concentration. “A witty and quirky performance but in great need of editing.”

The full title of this performance is: Tragic Scenes of Legendary Women Where Snakes Were (Kind Of) Present This performance, directed by Georgia Murphy, is part of the Wild Shenanigans Comedy Festival currently performing at the Blue Elephant Theatre. In the most positive way possible, this performance definitely features in a band of the most ridiculous, whimsical and bewildering performances I have seen. It demands a certain attention, response and engagement from the audience that one finds rarely but is both terrified to seek yet enthralled to witness. Witnessing, I believe, is key to this performance. The audience member is not a passive spectator nor an overly active ingredient but a witness to a freak show of wonder, shock and intrigue. Though rather predictable in terms of its tone and structure, this performance delivered a rare, special comedy from the very beginning. Absurd and farcical, its repetitive structure allowed for a strong comprehensibility of an otherwise ludicrous experience. Both actresses, Nina Divina and Lucia Bombilla, performed their characters in a beyond-caricaturistic style, which was a good choice for this performance. The two played the role of a faulty showman and her assistant: one restricted and obedient; the other demanding and ostentatious. Subversions and exchanges of these roles between the two performers was a quirky feature, and characterisation was nevertheless consistent throughout. The stressed foreign quality of the performers, accents and all, leading us through wormholes into historical realms was clearly a predominant and decisive feature of this performance, and I can only comment that perhaps this could be reined in at some points, being rather Orientalist in nature. This is especially the case for Bombilla who also needed to work on her diction. Whilst indistinguishable blabbering is comical at first, its repetition can become irksome and distracting. I should note that costume, whilst positively hysterical, also had this dubious, Orientalist effect. Having no set, this performance depended primordially upon the actor's ability to engage an audience. This was certainly the case for Divina and Bombilla. Aided by a superfluous amount of props, emphasising the performance's hectic, ridiculous nature and its deliberately cheap-looking, utilitarian aesthetic, the dramatic text and the actresses synergised tremendously. Their characterisations were true to the text. There were quite a few moments, however, where improvisation was hit-and-miss or lacklustre. Audience interaction is always a thorny domain. From very early on, this performance demands a vigorous audience interaction. Divina most certainly handled this task well, maintaining comedy and persona whilst negotiating with rejects, hesitancies and discomforts. Audience interaction and participation are usually very tumultuous and awkward and habitually find themselves vilified by me! But their seemly function in this performance was most commendable. I will say that the switch between a self-contained performance and one which involves the audience could have been better introduced, however, and kissing an audience member takes it that little bit too far in a most inappropriate way. With audience members ultimately participating when needed, I cannot comment on the performance's ability to adapt to the absence of their participation, but it did seem as though areas of the performance depended rather crucially upon these interactions. I would be wary of giving so much importance to external influences. The choice to divide the audience into teams with little agency and [very little time for] collaboration was also a questionable idea. I feel this performance could consider more carefully when its audience is needed and why. Interactions were, mostly, hilarious, but all decisions should not just be made via comedic reasoning but for purpose. Accentuating again that ostentatious quality, lighting was deliberate and facilitative. It was especially effective in what I shall continue to call the "wormhole" scenes to have a shift from harsh stage lighting to a minimal handheld lantern. However, it would be better to raise the house lights when Divina enters the audience. To keep the stage illuminated made for a technical disconnect in these moments. I should also note here that Bombilla was rather motionless when left alone on stage at these times. There should always be something to watch. I would be careful as to how much of the backstage area is exposed as well. Even with its meta-theatrical mood, illusion and deliberate deconstruction is key to this performance and must be carefully organised. The comedy in this performance was cogent, having a clear field and tone. The ending, however, really let it down. It seemed fragmented from the rest of the performance in its structure, dialogue and narrative. The realm of the dead had little pertinence and gave an otherwise unwieldy performance a wonted, regular end. To focus upon three so-called legendary women, however, was a good decision. Any less would have made for spectators feeling cheated, and any more would have spoiled quality. “A performance with a strong premise, personality and comedy yet still needing both slight and major tweaks here and there.”