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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.”

Written by Caryl Phillips and directed by Nancy Medina, Strange Fruit is currently performing at the Bush Theatre until 27th July 2019. I would utterly recommend this play. Despite its thorny and challenging nature, this play is beyond a treat, an opinion seemingly shared by the vast majority of spectators who only had positive comments to make. For a three-hour-long performance, it is imperative that the story, characters and actors be engaging and dynamic, and this was definitely the case for this play. There were often lengthy monologues, particularly for Errol (Jonathan Ajayi), which meant that other onstage actors were silent and still for a vast majority of the performance. However, a plethora of minute head-shakes, tears, swaying and eyes following the monologist made for compact and dense scenes, full of subtleties that permitted a glimpse into the submissive psychology and sentiments of the passive characters. This was particularly true of Rakie Ayola (playing Vivian) in the scene with Tok Stephens (playing Alvin), a very moving scene, indeed. Even more moving, however, was the final scene in which we see Vivian and Vernice together (Debra Michaels). These two actresses were phenomenal in this scene, realistic, powerful and commanding. I should also note that, whilst not perfect, the stage-fighting (directed by Yarit Dor) in this performance was the best I have seen yet, even better than most professional theatres. Punches and slaps could just be slightly more refined, and Ajayi's punches whilst seizing Stephens, who lies on the floor, could be less hesitant and more realistic. Though there were sometimes incoherencies between the text and its portrayal — one example being where Vivian tells Shelley (Tilly Steele) to “Calm down” when Steele's characterisation didn't permit for a reading of Shelley being so flustered — overall, the dramatic text was lifted well onto the stage through the energised, thoughtful and cogent actors. Certain aspects of the characters, however, were perhaps too caricature-like: Vivian's constant, skittish and frenetic movements; Shelley's exaggerated cockney accent; Errol's erratic display of psychosis. These made for an incoherent acting style across the performers — compare these with Alvin's calmness and coolness, for example — and hence for an overall lack of unrealism. Although, I believe this was more of a directorial/editorial problem, I would say. This brings me on to writing. This is a very tough, difficult and controversial play. Its themes are brutal, unforgiving and loud. It speaks of an era still extremely pertinent today and brings its discussions closer to home. Relationships between characters were calculated with precision, and plot, though quite predictable overall, was engaging and thorough. Perhaps this play could have been shorter, as a lot of the material was repeated, but this was far from boring or monotonous in performance. There was an odd sense of unclarity in this play, however. We really know very little of any of the characters, the most elucidated being, of course, Errol and Vivian, being the main characters and the ones with the most lines. This causes a blurriness in understanding character motives. We get a vague sense that Shelley, for example, has a rough background where she is used to being treated badly and being made to feel worthless, so her choice to remain in an extremely abusive and abrasive relationship with Errol is partially understandable. But her persistence and past with Errol still remain very vague. Errol's activism also remains quite vague, only slightly clarified in his scene with Shelley where he explains the daily struggles of black people and how these are facilitated by the British social system. His ties with the "Black Front" as he calls it seem very loose. There is, of course, truth in nearly everything he is saying about Black oppression, and so the mentioning of real events and actions tie the play with a historical reality. However, I find it difficult to understand which specific reality is represented. The Black Front, I believe was formed in the 1930s in Germany, and a Black Front Strike transpired in San Francisco in the late 1960s; I find it difficult to place these in the context and time period of this play. I understand that he is made to seem psychotic, mad and crude in his judgement, but there is a vast lack of clarity as to what Errol is fighting for. Vivian clarifies the racism she has experienced in the past, but we only get snippets of Errol's past and the realities that anger him, such as the cut on his leg or racism in football. These are very specific, isolated incidents. Whilst I understand that this play could simply serve as a representation of the misinformed perception of Black oppression today in a White culture that still misinterprets and misunderstands it, this play would be an excellent site for the didactic elucidation of modern Black strife. It should aim to explain to its audience the history but also the future of Black oppression. A lot more specificity is vital, I believe. I was also rather concerned about the specificity of the Blackness represented and deliberated within the play. African culture and Caribbean culture are used almost interchangeably, eliminating any cultural specificities. I failed to understand, for example, why Vernice wore traditional African dress (costume supervised by Rianna Azoro) but spoke patois. I understand Errol's propensity to switch into speaking patois slightly better — he and Alvin both lack a personal cultural history and identity; he comes from the Caribbean, would want to pay homage to his birth country and his father, and perhaps has surrounded himself around patois-speaking people due to his activism — however, if his desire rests in wanting to run away to Africa where, to his logic, there would be no white people in sight but only black [African] people, why would he not want to speak in an African dialect? I feel that the play spent slightly too much time addressing the characters' feelings and relationships that it ignored the sociopolitical context they dwell within but also a deeper portrayal of their motives and desires. This context should have been explicated further for spectators — especially for any who would have little knowledge on such matters. There are definitely many brush-overs in this play, perhaps the biggest one being Shelley's rape scene (intimacy directed by Yarit Dor). Errol's misogyny already being quite clear, I am not sure this moment was really needed. But if it did feel necessary, I believe that more thought should have been put into it. Shelley's “This is your destiny” was hilarious, engendering strong laughter from the entire audience…and that's a problem. I could only think this hilarity was desired for two reasons: 1) to accentuate the ridiculousness of Shelley's objectifying herself, wanting to stay with him and putting herself forward to him so virulently; and/or 2) to alleviate the high tension amongst audience members. The first would be counterproductive in terms of a feminist approach, for this shames Shelley for her actions rather than the context she exists within which prompts them. The second is highly undesirable, for this tension is what is needed to really arouse disgust and hatred amongst spectators. Steele's expressions of discomfort and fear during Shelley's rape were powerful, whereas her line statement made light of an otherwise awful subject. The farce of her rape made for a demeaning almost-glorification of it. A similar thing could be said for Errol's psychosis, reflecting rather regressively a borderline-stereotypical mental illness sufferer. On to set design (Max Johns). I think it was a good idea to ignore directions stated in the dramatic text. Whilst the script details a cramped, cluttered and claustrophobic room, the spaciousness in this performance led for more distance between the characters, both physically and figuratively. The pit in the centre of the stage added dynamism and difference. Small props, such as the suitcase or ironing board, added enough realism to denote setting, and, seeing as the entire play takes place in Vivian's living room, other denotations were not necessary. I was particularly mesmerised by the symbolism of the snow, both in the writing and the set design. I thought this was a subtle imagery that beautifully encapsulated Vivian's innocence, naïveté and gentleness but also her fragility and her attempts at joy, peace and ideality. For the snow to be accompanied with verbal and physical violence, and later suicide, was an unsettling and subversively romantic decision. I would just have liked the material to be slightly smaller, and perhaps finer, to make the snow seem more realistic. Without the snow's pretext, this would have perhaps seemed as though confetti with its thickness. As for lighting (designed by Sally Ferguson), states alternated between three: coloured washes, naturalistic, and absent. For such a still and (positively) static performance, the tech should match, and it did. These three states were used efficaciously and did not subtract from the performance at all; they only embellished it. It is the mark of a true artist to know when their work is not needed and when it is sufficient as it is. I would just pay attention to the rainbow strips lining one side of the stage in the second act. I could not quite work out where these were coming from, but they were very distracting. As for sound (designed by Xana), this, too, added realism and depth in extending the performance space to the kitchen. However, the sounds were too loud, and increasingly so towards the end. This made for a comic texture and was ineffective, subtracting particularly from the power of the scene between Vivian and Vernice. The two cry with one another in terror and in shock…and then a brazen, confident tap starts belting out water. Very distracting. The running taps should not be as loud as the gunfire. Overall, this performance was captivating and potent, lifting off of the page smoothly and stridently. I would just be careful of how the world of this play reflects and extends to the real world. Such dark and real matters should not be brushed over, for this enables an ignorance of their position and function in the real world. “A dark, compelling and powerful piece of theatre.”

Written by Niall McNamee and co-directed by McNamee and Peter Mulligan, Shootout was performed at the White Bear Theatre. I shall start with set. The set for this performance was quite minimal but successfully created an ominous and surreal atmosphere. It involved a rope net, symbolic of football-goal netting; a sofa; and an analog TV displaying white noise. This made for a lively performance space in spite of its physical stasis, the noise patterns pervading and disrupting any darkness. Costume made for a realistic and identifiable aesthetic and was most effective for Conor Deane’s character, Simon, in the dream sequence. The added fake blood, whilst usually cheap-looking, here gave texture to the performance and was tremendously efficacious. Props were used effectively to denote, along with the dialogue, a location or location change, and quick transitions made for neat and organised cleanups. However, on the topic of transitions, these were extremely clamorous. The loud, banging music and the stroboscopic lighting (tech operated by Jordan Rhys) was too intense in contrast with the dialogue-heavy and rather still scenes. This drama seemed better suited as the play went on and the story developed, and so I would advise that transitions be softer in the beginning and intensify towards the end: the visual of the white noise accompanied by a low-pass filtered audio would have been sufficient in early transitions. This audio could then build with the narrative and lead to the dramatic transitions we see throughout as the play stands now. In-scene transitions, however, which distinguish diegetic action from John’s (Ben Norris) monologues well, were slick and precise. Lighting was arranged well, and the distinctions blended together seamlessly. In terms of monologues, there was only one moment I felt to be rather awkward and fallible, and this was Sarah’s (Olivia Warren) monologue, not only because of the offered topography but also because of Warren's delivery and the writing itself. Warren seemed unable to decide whom she was addressing this monologue to, her eyes wandering around the audience until they met Norris's where they stayed awhile and then dropped to the floor. This felt too political yet in its content matter yet was too contextualised (in her references to the other characters) to be addressed to the audience, making it incongruous with this otherwise narrative-based performance. Its message was too explicit and broke away from the fictitious narrative, and not in an effective way. It also felt that she had not had enough stage time to warrant a monologue to herself, her character seeming underdeveloped and more facilitative than integral. Acting, on the whole, was convincing and coherent, and the overdramatic style in places offered comedy and personality, if a little too much in places. Ben Norris’s monologue deliveries were very good, and he alternated smoothly and inconspicuously between the two audiences. Placing him in the front corner of the stage was an apt and seemly idea. Norris and Deane’s fighting was questionable, as stage-fighting always seems to be, and needed to have been longer, not only for smoothness but to dramatise Simon's death more effectively. The death's suddenness and unrealism are perhaps why spectators laughed — I would imagine that, instead, shock and intrigue was the desired effect here. Not to mention it would be impossible for Simon to shout, "I can't breathe" if he couldn't breathe. Attention to detail in delivery is important. The writing was very fine-tuned, modern and well-structured, and it was effective to fragment and surrealise the dramatic text, for this added intrigue, development and dynamism. Again, however, the main issue was intensification. Scenes were relatively slow and most dialogue, humorous as it was, could see drastic cuts, specifically in the dream scene wherein dialogue was far too long and explicit. I should note that 'toxic masculinity' seems to be advertised as the main focal point of this performance, which I would not say is the case; it is more of a recurring theme. I would also be wary of how themes of misogyny are portrayed in a performance. Without being deliberately corrected, these come across as normalised and glorified within the world of the play, and this is not desirable or appropriate. It was difficult to decipher if the play aimed to extend beyond fiction and into didacticism, but if this was the case, this was not successful. I am afraid Sarah's not-so-powerful monologue is not enough to contextualise or politicise this theme. The playtext not only refers to [binary] genders but sporadically treats disability as well — Emma's (Sarah Cullum) reference to deaf people, for example. I would be careful to treat these without careful consideration of their (e/a)ffect and their context within the performance. It was inappropriate to treat these topics in this way without corrective self-referentiality. “An engaging and visually very appealing performance but in need of pace modification, politicisation and technical adjustments.”

Amongst the widespread concerns of the environmentalists, anthropologists and proclaimers of the Anthropocene, there is one member whose voice is less audible and promoted: the voice of the solipsist, the individual. Sad About the Cows, written by Michelle Payne, provides an often neglected perspective of the self, the effects upon the singular individual, as opposed to the common collective, of drowning in an ocean of sociopolitical and ecological concerns. This one-woman show is fiery and impassioning, but backhandedly so. It reveals the common contemporary struggles of fitting in, doing one's bit, striving for popularity and aiming for capitalist success. Its content is hence fresh and relatable. It follows the diets and jobs of celebrity-obsessed Rachel, played by Payne herself, revealing the dark truths of starving, fainting, vomiting and waking up prematurely in the middle of the night, all in order to be healthy, attractive and slim in a world demanding airbrushed beauty. There were a few particularities in this writing, however, that stood out sorely. For instance, a lot of the speech was slightly more descriptive rather than demonstrative at many times. When referring to past experiences and events or interests and opinions, description was sufficient; however, in moments where, for example, Rachel is choosing what clothes to wear, a simple shift from 'I put on a t-shirt dress' to 'I put on this one' could have solved this problem. As it stood, this made for an incoherency of setting. Why such an elaborate bedroom/kitchen if Rachel does not exist in this space but flurries between locations? Perhaps a larger faux pas, however, was the sudden ending. After building such a rapport with Rachel and following her story throughout, it felt as though we were quite cheated by a small description of how everything has changed just before the play ends. This ending was much too sudden and felt inconclusive and underdeveloped. Payne was sure of her text, even if she stumbled over a few lines here and there, and this confidence came through in her characterisation. Rachel’s free spirit, energy and joy were definitely captured in Payne’s physicality, and it was very easy to feel connected with this character. I enjoyed that Payne stayed away from assuming different personae when explaining the characters of Laurence, Anna or her boyfriend. It made the descriptions far more personal, as though we were seeing the events through Rachel’s eyes and not through the simple, transformative eyes of a talented actress. From time to time, Payne was somewhat mechanical, however, in her progression from one topic to another, aided by a small pensive pause and a return to face the audience. An example of how severe this became is in the first kitchen scene where she faces the wall to read her weekly food plan, turns around to face the audience to tell them what it says, then turns back to read it, etc. I would advise a reconsideration of the naturalism in this performance, as the manner of speaking and moving was far from naturalistic. In this instance, naturalism could be simply remedied by standing on the other side of the table, facing the audience. This would enable a subtle head turn, rather than an energised turn of the entire body, to get the message across. The set was jam-packed with pieces and props, making for a really intricate and evocative world for the play. As it grows messier and messier, it becomes an effective emulation of Rachel's obsessive and disorderly mindset. However, the distinctiveness of this set meant that it would be difficult to imagine location changes, and that these would rely heavily on tech. Whilst, for the most part, this was achieved efficiently through changes of lighting states, perhaps music could have been used in certain scenes such as when Rachel talks about the nightclub, Liquids. It was, however, efficacious to not do this when Rachel spoke of different locations, walking over her bed to mimic supermodels on a runway, for example, as this captured well her imaginations and yearnings. As for tech, lighting (operated by Rouxi Jia) was very impressive. The sheer amount of cues were well executed, gave a sense of location change and directed focus very well. Perhaps a little superfluous in some scenes, but I was particularly drawn to a lighting sequence towards the end of the play where a series of small washes illuminate the various parts of the stage in Rachel's absence. I felt this was a successful method to intensify the life Rachel has made for herself, how she has ended up, what she has become, etc., in forcing us to concentrate on the sheer clutter of untouched fruit and discarded clothes. Music (sound designed and operated by Rouxi Jia) was rather hit-and-miss to begin with, fading out much too abruptly and making for a snappy and disconnected overture. This should have either faded slowly or should have been turned off by Rachel in the same (effective) way that it was turned on. A theme of pop music gave a modern and energetic texture to the performance, but this was disturbed with the soundscapes that started after Rachel revealed her breakup. Her own voice, demanding her to be pretty on a loop, felt corny and unoriginal but also incongruous with the rest of the performance which offered solely monologues and a singular perspective. A trip into Rachel's mind felt unnecessary and over-complicated, not to mention the mixing was rather unrefined, echoic and hampered. Likewise, there were a few other problems with style continuity. Payne's writing offered a realistic direct address for the entire performance until the end where she offered a moment of poetry, her physicality becoming almost stylistic to accommodate this. This was inconsistent and summoned a contemporary style of poetry that did not belong in this performance. The rhythm, focus and visual aspect of this were, again, unnecessary and incongruous. Much like the voiceovers, a new, short-lived texture is added abruptly and conspicuously, taking us out of the performance and into a different realm of dramatic expression. As a last note, too much attention was drawn to her fainting. They became theatrical displays of slow light changes and dramatic music. Her collapses were often followed by completely different scenes on different days where she now seems absolutely unaffected. To draw so much attention to these syncopes and then to abandon them simply felt too intense, and this dramatic quality replaced the raw reality of the scene. It would have been better to start this intensification just before she faints and to blackout once she is on the floor. Thus, these moments would have felt more like little nuggets of something ominous to come, a foreshadowing of her physical decline, rather than self-contained, finalised scenelets. “An enjoyable, noteworthy and relevant performance, if inconsistent stylistically in places.”

Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons is a play by Sam Steiner which echoes the voice of the present in unearthing widespread anxieties surrounding the digital age and social media. Its central message: we do not talk like we used to. Oliver and Bernadette live in a world approaching a dystopia, where a law is passed that every individual can only speak 140 words per day. This play, directed by Hamish Clayton, was recently performed at the Barons Court Theatre by Jemima Murphy (playing Bernadette) and Charlie Suff (playing Oliver) I shall start with a comment on the writing. I find that this playtext sufficiently encapsulates the degradation of communication in its different styles of dramatic writing, if a little unimaginative in places. However, I feel that it lacks attention to detail. For example, Bernadette and Oliver are able to communicate with their eyes yet they are unable to abbreviate phrases like 'Gives us an idea' into 'Gives idea'. I felt that this lack of attention was somewhat mirrored in this performance, notably in the set design (Gareth Rowntree): a large white cabinet housing books, a guitar, two dinner plates, a duvet and two pillows, ketchup and gravy, and a framed picture of a cat. Whilst I understand these first two to be methods of non-verbal communication and the very latter as a homage to the pet cemetery, I fail to see the cohesion of these items. If the performance can function without it, it need not be there. Similarly, if it is not producing a strong visual impact, it should be avoided. I feel that the dinners hidden amongst the books took away from the severity of the scene where they were needed and hence revealed. Perhaps the intention was for these to be comedic – which would have been erroneous – but this would have already been squandered by the ketchup and gravy being already visible from the beginning of the play. At first, I found the duvet and the pillows to be disorderly, their retrieval and handling too time-consuming. However, as the performance went on and this became a recurring motif, I found it very satisfying and almost therapeutic. Moments like these which allude to a structural or ritualistic reality to which characters belong are efficacious in their subtlety, and they are significantly important for a play like this which demands visuals and other forms of dialogue than speech. This brings me on to choreography. Not the play's strong point due to shortage of variation, but sequences of physical movement certainly evoked some powerful and engaging images. I was particularly fond of movements that translated the text – e.g. the conciliating, purposeful breathing of one juxtaposed against the rushed pacing of another – and not so fond of overly repeated movements such as Jemima Murphy's jumping onto Charlie Suff, wrapping her arms and legs around him. Again, unnatural and peculiar positions that the performers found themselves in – sat upon each other or lying into one another – added that extra, needed texture, particularising their relationship, making it unique and unordinary. I felt that this performance made good use of space. The actors presented diagonally regularly, meaning that it was rare for action to not be visible to all three sides of the audience simultaneously. Unreserved seating was a good decision for this performance – though I cannot be sure if this was a conscious, directorial decision or a venue-based one. I would aim to localise movement to the stage itself, however. Moments when characters left the stage rather aimlessly, only to immediately return became irksome to watch. This was primarily the case for Suff who seemed to edge towards the parameters of the stage quite frequently. Leaving the space altogether, however, was less problematic; I refer simply to moments where characters approached the edges of the stage, or stepped off, only to return straightaway. On a similar note, the moment in the latter part of the play where Snuff reads a cat's tombstone should not have been addressed to an audience member. This is not a performance that benefits from or demands audience interaction, and this was a severe and unnecessary style disruption. Lighting (designed by Gregory Jordan) was impeccable for this performance. I felt that using the two cotton lightboxes to count down how many words the characters had left was a lovely touch and blended in nicely with the aesthetic (however odd it was overall!). I do feel, however, that this performance could have started with these lightboxes as a prelude to what was to come. I felt that the dancing was quite a corny and subtractive way to begin. Given the fragmented nature of the script, it is better to give the audience as much information as possible at first, and dancing can sometimes be very impersonal in theatre without a designated character, as was the case here, in my opinion. Music was befitting and was mixed very well to distinguish between diegetic and non-diegetic sound. However, this effect was in slight danger of becoming overused. The rendition of 'Baggy Trousers' could have been shorter, as well. Overall, I was impressed by the sharpness of the tech (operated by Charlotte Brown), especially given the sheer amount of cues. As for characterisation, Murphy's and Suff's performances were above adequate. Humour and emotion were carried well, though there is an issue with realism in places. There are moments where dialogue feels too wooden or artificial. One example of this is Murphy's delivery of "Lemons, lemons, lemons..." This was far too deliberate, accumulating a decisive pause and change of stance beforehand and seeming much too pre-planned. Attention should come organically to these lines due to their relationship to or poignancy within the play and should not be drawn in by over-calculated delivery. This line in particular is already the title of the play, and so its significance is evident to an audience; thus, it should be downplayed. Tone often shifted prematurely in this way for both performers, and I feel that more care could be taken in considering the meaning and the subtext behind the lines. Also, repeated or follow-on scenes were not identical in their execution, and this was a problem for sense as much as style. I would also be aware of pacing towards the end of the play. Where it should feel like a climax is approaching, the momentum became rather dull. I do think this is a mixture, however, of pacing and the nature of the script/plot itself. That said, the chemistry between the two actors was intense and yet humbling. It was enjoyable, amusing and intriguing to watch their interactions, whether loving or hateful. “An attractive and pleasant play, technically advanced and well executed.”

Produced by Glass Half Full Theatre and written and directed by Stephanie Silver, How to Save a Life is a delightful and evocative play. I will start with the text itself. Though on the edge of unoriginality, this play-text poignantly offers the perspective of a young female cervical cancer sufferer. Its stark turn from comedy to tragedy, and its regular failed attempts to revert back to this former style, echo poignantly the morbid reality of such a devastating illness. The main character of this play texturises the dramatic text in such a way that the content feels fresh, contemporary and rewarding. The deliberate feminist, youthful, hopeful and liberating features of this performance recontextualise an otherwise overplayed macabre motif into a modern sociopolitical sphere. I would note, however, that for this particular play, this feminist narrative was most successful when normalised within the text and not when directly [and loudly] communicated and self-referential. The cyclicality of this plot was also endearing. The only tedious aspect of this text, really, was its mechanical returns to a declining joy. There were too many instances where a happy dance, a romantic moment, or a joyful dialogue became the site of collapse and failure. This reduced the impact of the final, physical collapse where we see Melissa (Heather Wilkins) drop to the floor in exhaustion. In fact, I did find the ending of this play a little lacklustre, not only for the lack of finalisation – did Melissa die or not? Although, this information is not so essential to know, and its absence could actually generate greater intrigue — but for Wilkins's line, "They're going to miss me." I found this to be a very strange and punchless way to end the performance, flipping the otherwise consistent first-person perspective at the very last minute. This statement actually came across as rather conceited, which was not, I imagine, the desired effect… It is worth noting here Toby's (Colin Hubbard) reactions to Melissa's "smelly vagina" and cancer reveal. These moments are in need of reworking, I feel, as they present him as aggressive and uncaring, which ultimately inhibits any empathy or admiration of him — moments like these are why this ending statement felt so punchless for me. As for characterisation, Wilkins's portrayal of Melissa was stunning. Her energy and physicality were superb. Every line and every movement was convincing, powerful and cogent. Definitely a formidable actress. My only criticism is that she perhaps appeared rather uncomfortable in the last of the embraces with Hubbard, leaning backwards, away from him. This is perhaps something slight to take note of, but faults were very few in this actress's performance. Both Hubbard and Katerina Robinson (playing Maria) were very comical and transformative, though Hubbard is perhaps in danger of becoming too farcical in his multiple characterisations; his energy is perhaps too protrusive in moments where props or costume signify a role change alone. Nonetheless, a coherent and endearing performance from the both of them. I should mention here that freeze-frames and tableaux vivants are often quite primitive in their execution; however, I must say, in this performance, these were quite complementary, organising the space well and successfully and rapidly drawing focus to the actors. I would be careful as to how much character is visible in these freeze frames, however; for example, when Hubbard serves as a plug socket, it seems strange for him to have a masculine, cocky pose as opposed to taking a neutral position, though interactions/reactions (confusion as he takes the plug, for example) would be comical here. As for tech, I have mixed feelings. Overall, including the rocky beginning, where music stammered quite harshly, I feel that the tech really let this performance down, taking away from its vigour and fluidity. I was aware that this performance was attempting to make a leitmotif with the chosen song, but this was not communicated too effectively. The reason for this was that music was used in-between scenes where transitions were far too short and quick. This meant that by the time the music had settled into the performance, it was time to turn it off again. Music is only essential for long transitions, set changes and sequences of physical movement. A similar effect occurred with the lighting which often found itself bouncing between two simple yet boldly contrasting states: a wash would be abruptly replaced by a more intense one, whilst the image on stage had not yet changed. This change was unwarranted and visually dissatisfying. A sudden lighting change like this should be accompanied by a rapid and conspicuous change in action. Instead, I would recommend a wash from two angles and a simple and timely fade to move between these, which would have made transitions smoother. Fading would have signified a smoother passing of time or transition and would have allowed the audience a moment to breathe. I am sure that the music also intended to serve as a moment of reflection and recreation, which was well deserved given the text-heaviness of this play, but it was simply much too short a transition for this. Instead, it was simply yet another thing for the audience to tune into. The tech, in conclusion, could do with drastic editing. There are far too many cues, both for sound and lighting, and this severely distracts from, nay extinguishes, the vitality of the performance. As with tech, props approached superfluity, each only being used once or twice at maximum. However, the comedy surrounding these made this abundance excusable, if not enjoyable, adding yet another texture to this performance. Costume was well-chosen for party-animal Maria but seemed only slightly indicative of character for the other two. I am aware that Hubbard's costume was probably neutral for multi-roling purposes, but the lab coat and glasses would have made this sufficiently readable. Though a bittersweet signifier of Melissa's joy, visuals like 'Doctor' written upon Hubbard's lab coat in glitter seemed excessive, especially when visible from the beginning, hanging over the back of the chair, centerstage, as this hinders any comedic value in its 'reveal'. With such little performance space, performances like these can often become rather static, but this was not the case for this play. Actor presence and the strength of the writing filled the space with sufficient imaginative capacity. It is clear as to why this play, a true sweet treat, has been selected to perform at the Edinburgh Fringe. “A humorous and poignant play steered by versatile and talented actors, if in need of technical and visual revisions.”

This show is part of a chain of performances under the same name taking place monthly at The London Improv Theatre and hosted by Darren McQuade. It is worth noting, then, that this review does not speak of all performance; this review focuses on the performance of 12th May 2019. Magicians performing comprised: Luke O'Neill, Kash Magic, Sean Smith, Nathan Earl and Alex Kirk. I will start by commenting on the showmanship of the magicians. All magicians took the route of comedic expression for their performances. If this was due to the nature of the show or to the magicians’ awareness of the type of performance offered by their competitors, I cannot be sure; I can be sure, however, that comedy was not the strong point of any of them. Whilst sexual innuendos are a surefire way for humour to land on its feet amongst spectators, they are also much too heavily relied upon when a performer has little comedic ability, and this was the case tonight. Humour must be carefully crafted; audience types must be qualified sharply; and the humour chosen must be coherent to the performer’s style, ability and mode of address. With his little experience in stage magic, or so I am told, it comes as a surprise that Kash Magic should deliver such focused style, character and ability. Out of all the magicians, his was the most refined, cogent and clear in what he was delivering to us, costume and all, and it was obvious due to this brilliance why he should — and did — win. Though this does not mean that he should not work on his delivery. All magicians, him included, need to work on pacing and sharpness, testing their performance extensively before staging it. There were an extensive amount of times where the momentum fell flat and dry, dampening the night as a whole. All magicians have to be as aware as Kash Magic, if not more, of what they are delivering to the audience. Jokes, gags and simple tricks may make a magician, but they do not make a fruitful showman. One must find a way to stand out of the crowd with developed idiosyncrasies and style. As for the tricks themselves, there was a sheer lack of originality. All tricks — again, apart from Kash Magic’s — composed only the fundaments of stage magic, however illusory and entertaining they still are today. This meant that any freshness had to originate from the showmanship of the magicians, which, as I have mentioned, was also lacking. It was often the case that items could be seen held tightly in the magician’s hands, though it is unfair to say that this was true of all tricks. In fact, the illusory aspect of the tricks was, for the most part, polished, well executed and clever. It felt as though this show was aiming towards a classic sorcerer’s aesthetic of red velvet, candle lights and white linen-covered tables, but this fell short. Each table was covered by two small table cloths and topped with two tea-light candles and a playing card on a miniature easel. It is important to make sure that all components presented have a raison d’être. This little playing card was thus rendered rather pathetic and unnecessary. Whilst candlelight makes for a lovely atmosphere, the configuration of these tables was equally problematic. It made for a conspicuously clunky entrance for the audience who scrambled for an ‘unreserved’ table at which they could sit side-by-side with one another, and when nominees were summoned to the stage, it was visibly difficult for them to wade through the cluttered audience layout. I would also recommend sourcing tablecloths that fit the dining tables (if these are property of the venue, they could simply be swapped for the performance and placed back). Especially with the venue in mind — which has the ability to completely block off outside light, met by its high, black and almost gothic ceiling, and its veiny walls — this is an aesthetic that this show could definitely realise. As a last note, and perhaps this is venue-related, but lamps (perhaps upon the tables) or some other source of house-lighting would be cleaner than a stagehand attending regularly to the thick curtains at the windows, meeting once again with the jumble of the audience seating. “A night of only slight intrigue, lacking frequently in flavour and vigour.”

This humorous and unique play written by Karrim Jalali and directed by Joy Harrison is currently performing at the Tabard Theatre. The key defining feature of this play is, of course, its writing. With only two characters, the structure meanders comically from conventional play to metatheatrical representation and back again. This brave work, however, was perhaps ultimately the performance’s downfall. Metatheatre is often overused for meaningless audience interaction or for quick, passing gags. This is always fallible and destroys the illusive properties of the play. This performance, however, saw a different fate, fruitfully incorporating metatheatre into its very foundation. Jalali’s writing successfully unveils the escapist vision of traditional theatre and reveals the reality of the performance space, toying with monologues, mime, writing styles and references to other parts of the performance, all whilst indirectly deliberating popular opinions on what makes a ‘good’ play. This revelatory framework provided smooth ground for poststructuralist comedy and for playful yet critical inquisition. I felt that the writing also drew upon and exposed many personal fears and frustrations which all creators endure when making or thinking about their work, comparing themselves to others or their past achievements, feeling that their work would be lost to a sea of unoriginality. However, already, a complication is emerging: what is the play’s objective? To exhaust the intellectual architecture of a performance space at the audience’s expense? To present critiques of ‘plays’? Or to present ubiquitous yet personal fears, frustrations and worriments? With a duration of one hour, this performance cannot and should not seek to meet all of these. I think it was a mistake to return from this metatheatrical style to a realistic and traditional one at the end. With the trivial conversation at the beginning of the play, the distancing in the middle, and the comedic qualities throughout, it is impossible for an audience to feel any compassion or pity towards these characters thereafter. To have them at each other’s throats at the end, one severely denigrating the other’s dreams, is hence an untoward decision. One principal message recurring throughout the play is that endings should not have to be climactic and finalised; this would have been a better perspective to end on, refocusing the performance towards comical enquiry as opposed to a banal and lacklustre realism. The ending is almost a counterargument to the rest of the performance which otherwise challenges such artistic norms. The theatrical techniques referred to when Person 1 (Nathan Wright) and Person 2 (Niall Murphy) consider the physical properties of a play were also very simplistic: the walking on the spot, for example. But with an extension of this self-reflective style, I feel that this would have developed as the play went on. However, the majority of these referenced techniques were also very comedic, and this was productive: the introduction of the ‘real’ actors who would walk through the door and interrupt the performance, the false ending, and the intense dramatic monologue. Lighting (designed by Joy Harrison; operated by Charlotte Whitaker) definitely facilitated a lot of the humour in this play, with spotlights drawing our attention to the various areas of the stage. Perhaps the most effective use of lighting was during the transition involving the turning of the sofa where the characters reentered their home. The only other use of tech was sound: tweeting birds, and a roaring, applauding audience. The latter intensified the self-reflective perspective of the performance — if a little unoriginal — but this former, utilised frequently, I felt was completely irrelevant and needless. On to characterisation. I felt that the two actors were somewhat wooden and unnaturalistic in sections demanding realism. Dialogue felt too rehearsed, though this was perhaps due to the writing which did not, I feel, capture natural speech very well. In areas of comedy, however, the two actors definitely shined and were delightful and engaging. Towards the beginning of the play, eye contact seemed to be an issue for these performers, particularly for Murphy. There seemed to be an over-reliance on certain movements as well, denoting bland characterisation, where Wright would continue to nudge Murphy with his foot, and where Murphy would lean forward and gesticulate in the same way when explaining a fact. If these ‘characters’ had had more of a representative role, not having developing and specified personalities from the very beginning throughout, this blandness would have been fine and would have seen them more as shells of people or workable bodies. As it stood, however, the characters’ long speeches and decisive idiosyncrasies were lifeless, repetitive and rather boring in places. This is a shame, as they are rightfully named Person 1 & 2…so it seems that the intention to use these bodies as vehicles of thought was there. Pauses were much too long, and this extended the more unpolished areas, and it was clear that Murphy had also forgotten his lines just a few times. Overall, the performance was comical and original but needed to be refined stylistically. The metatheatrical aspect should have been made the overarching crux of this performance; this paired with a weak realism made for an unsteady contrast. As a last note, I am also not too sure about the efficacy of the title in representing the performance…is this to suggest that anyone can and should write a play, despite the pre-defined conceptions around the art form? If so, this is perhaps a little too broad and biased. “A humorous performance but requiring further attention to style and objective.”