SEARCH MY SITE

In this review: Summary: Flights of Fancy 'Powerless' 'The Contract' 'Cabbages' 'Honey' 'The Patient' Flights of Fancy is an evening of five short plays, staged at the White Bear Theatre. All short plays were written by James Mannion and directed by various directors, and tech was operated by Liam Wise. I shall start with an overview of the evening and then review each playlet one by one. Flights of Fancy James Mannion most certainly demonstrates in this evening his versatility as a writer, insofar as conceptualisation, plot development and, above all, comedic ability. All of the plays performed were sufficiently variegated and each had their own redeeming features and particularities. These were: 'Powerless', 'The Contract', 'Cabbages', 'Honey', and 'The Patient'. Whilst 'Honey' and 'The Patient' were ever so slightly unoriginal in terms of concept in comparison to the rest, these were all most endearing and qualitative performances. I will say, however, that there is an overall issue with realism, something I will come back to repeatedly in this review. It is often better to tackle absurd, extreme or melodramatic scenarios and situations with severity and seriousness; this is oftentimes much more comedic. The most successful moments within the performances in this compilation are those which deal with subtlety and naturalism. Whilst stage management was, for the best part, smooth where transitions were concerned, tech rather hindered this. Closer attention should be paid to the fading out of music. This was in places too sharp and the lyrics were cut halfway a few times, which made for jilted and sharp beginnings for some of the plays. The small overtures, however, where characters can be seen within the environment of the play before the true action begins, brought cohesion, coherency and style to this evening. Although, these should have all remained at equal lengths. Overall, set design was very coherent, the perfect amount of props and features to allude to the various worlds of the playlets, without being too lacking or too overpowering. However, the topography of the stage was rather biased to one side of the partitioned audience. It is worth paying extra attention to the layout of the performance space when making directorial decisions. “An enjoyable evening of absurd humour, though in need of closer attention to style and matter.” 'Powerless' Directed by Marcus Marsh As the audience walk into the room, they are greeted with the overture of 'Powerless': Brian (Josh Hull) sitting on an armchair, centerstage, staring absently forward, slowly munching an oversized packet of Wotsits crisps; Charlie (Michael Timney) in the far corner of the stage, diligently tending to his mobile phone; and Anne (Belle Kavanagh) to the side, typing on a laptop. Once the houselights dim, a stagehand wheels in a small table on which sits a monitor. The action begins, and we hear a voiceover of David Attenborough narrating the behaviour of a snake. The play has only just begun, and yet there are a few things that are already niggling me: Hull’s eating was sometimes mimed and other times not, making for an oddly inconsistent visual. The light of the monitor is replaced by a blue stage light, rendering the monitor an obsolete and lifeless, and hence unnecessary, prop. The extension lead alone would have been sufficient enough for Charlie to swap the plugs and charge his phone. Not only the monitor but also the mobile and laptop were switched off, meaning that the actors were made to mime their utilisations rather over-performatively. Superfluous, exaggerated or altogether needless elements like these combined take away from the believability and intrigue of a performance. This lack of realism was also evident elsewhere. It was difficult to understand the characters’ motivations and concerns in places. Whilst I understand the comedy behind the millennial concerns, such as beyond-important retweets and urgent essay submissions, these were rapidly lost as the focus dwindled towards Charlie and Anne constantly punishing Brian for insignificant things such as not having charged his phone — a reality upon which the plot seemed to rely on heavily after a short while. Without much climax, Charlie then attempts to stab Brian who is also revealed to be a drug dealer... Everything in this short play seemed as though a passing comment: the reason behind Charlie’s retweet, the primary reason for his anger during the power cut, for example, was alluded to only once; the trip to the park was soon forgotten; and then the stabbing and drug dealer reveal. I felt that the dramatic text aimed to incorporate too many of these so-called millennial realities without thinking of their reception in a play setting or how they combine to create one unified plot. Characterisation, on the other hand, was appropriate to the given text, and all performers were humorous and engaging to watch. Although, I will mention that Hull frequently came out of character to laugh. “A convoluted performance with humorous elements but no clear direction.” 'The Contract' Directed by Mike Cottrell The plot of 'The Contract' was definitely a good foundation for a humorous and intriguing play. However, there were some inconsistencies that dampened its efficacy for me. In the beginning, when the couple first meet, the two seem incredibly awkward with one another, and we can see instantaneously that this is a failing relationship. However, this does not at all cohere with Ron’s (Ikky Elyas) perspective of it. Given his attempts to hug and kiss Janine (Nassima Bouchenak) several times later on, and given the denouement where we find him to be truly in love with her and heartbroken that this is not requited, this initial tension seems extremely bizarre. Being a lawyer, Janine’s lack of specialised terminology when introducing the contract to Ron made her character far less credible. ‘Provision’ would have been a better word than ‘law’, for example. I felt this particular intelligence could have been a means of exposing this ‘seriousness’ or ‘superiority’ that Janine supposedly regularly holds over Ron in their relationship. Then, her ‘dumbing it down’ for him would have further exposed their incompatibility. For me, Bouchenak’s characterisation was far too performative overall, whilst Elyas’s characterisation was too reserved and, in places, rather bland. Whilst the comedy was enabled to shine through, I felt that this performance also required a lot more realism from the actors overall in order to intensify impact, particularly at the end when Ron is left alone on stage, discarded and heartbroken. The set design was very good in this performance, however, facilitating the movements of the performers but also conveying the setting quickly and effectively. “A performance with a good foundation but lacking continuity and pathos.” 'Cabbages' Directed by Lizzie Fitzpatrick I must admit that this play was my personal favourite. I will start with the set design. However minimal, set choices were particularly efficacious in this short play. A mere pair of foldable chairs and a brown rug with four cabbages on top successfully evoked the setting of an allotment. But perhaps slightly less superficial than this, the set’s features facilitated a subliminal unity of the two characters, Jackie (Wendy Fisher) and Carol (Samantha Wright). The same chairs and magazines, and a mirrored pair of cabbages, connected the two characters together well, aiding the credibility and comprehensibility of an otherwise hostile and disparate relationship. This dramatic text definitely dives further into character dialects and idiosyncrasies than the others, and this is its primary selling point, enhancing the characters’ legibility. The common parlance of the two, combined with the characters’ reflections upon sources in the real world beyond the play, such as mentions of Uckfield, the BBC and Monty Don from Gardners’ World, equally make for relatable and well-formed characters as well as the formation of a realistic microcosm in which the characters can operate. Wright and Fisher’s characterisations were optimal for their roles. All dialogue — and interruptions — were tackled naturalistically, and both performers were sufficiently expressive in their physicality. I shall mention as well that the comic timing for their miming watering the cabbages was superb. Mime can often be extremely tacky, but this was a good execution. However, this narrative, being very simple, is in slight danger of becoming monotonous and repetitive, particularly if it was to be extended, and the same can be said for the tech comprising an absence of music and a singular lighting state. However, being a short play, this was acceptable and sufficiently entertaining. “A wonderful and captivating short play, texturised and endearing.” 'Honey' Directed by Livia Sardao This I found to be the most unoriginal of the short plays, unfortunately. That being said, this performance had the most realised plot and the smoothest plot development. It was easy to find a sense of rhythm and progression in this short play. This performance was also a good demonstration of how an absurd scenario is best treated with realism. However, I feel that Honey’s (Jemima Murphy) manipulation could have been more insidious and less overplayed. Her significance to Tom (Samuel Lane) was told rather than shown, and this is a common and fatal error in theatre. The lead-up to the murder at the end of the playlet should perhaps be facilitated by a more harrowing subplot lurking beneath the main one and exposing itself slowly throughout the playlet’s duration. Laura Román’s characterisation as Clara was very convincing. She portrayed her character’s anger, frustration, lovingness and impatience very well. Jemima Murphy’s voice acting was equally as sound. Whilst her lines were quite overemphatic by nature, Murphy did not allow her portrayal to become too exaggerative, which was most effective. In places, Samuel Lane’s characterisation as Tom was perhaps a little too over-energised, particularly in moments of denial or supplication, yet this balanced out towards the end. Set design was adequate, though I would be careful as to where the actors position themselves within the space: Lane went behind the furniture quite a few times, obscuring view of him. “Unoriginal and insipid in concept yet well executed.” 'The Patient' Directed by Siwan Clark For me, this play pivoted upon an overly simplistic premise. In this short play, a Doctor (Oliver Rednall) reveals to Simon (Charlie Collicutt) that his so-called terminal cancer was actually a misdiagnosis. Disappointed that he has already arranged his own funeral, Simon fears the embarrassment of telling his friends and family that he is, in fact, not going to die. This absurd situation is most certainly an appealing foundation for a short play, though there is little which launches the plot further than this initial concept. As with 'The Contract', this text suffered from a lack of specificity, hindering the texture of the play. A few mentions of Simon's father, girlfriend and chosen funeral parlour are not enough to create a solid, tangible character. A focus upon an absurd situation can only remain substantial for a while; character development is needed to convey the humour of this premise. It seemed here as though the characters were, instead, simply vehicles for a funny scenario. Furthermore, the lack of specialised language use by the Doctor also made his character less credible. Perhaps this was to expose his unprofessionalism or to intensify the absurdity further, but, if so, this was not elucidated. There is an incoherency for me when the Doctor seems intrigued by Simon's ‘symptoms’, writing down his answers and stating, “Interesting.” Given that he is aware of the misdiagnosis, it is unrealistic that he should be so inquisitive. I would have preferred more sarcasm from the doctor so as to belittle Simon as a ‘hypochondriac’. Instead, the doctor’s ‘coolness’ about the situation came rather as an absence of intention and persona. The set also inhibited a sense of realism: two chairs, a white plastic table and an exercise book for the doctor to write in. A simple poster, or something else upon the desk, just to dress the stage a little and to signify a doctor’s office, would have been an effective touch. Additionally, a laptop was used in 'Powerless', and this should have been used in this playlet as well; an exercise book was rather bizarre. Perhaps these decisions were intended to be comical, to convey the doctor as incompetent and unseemly, but if this is so, this fell flat. “A performance with a good premise but in need of elaboration and realist precision.”

Never Trust a Man Bun, written by Katherine Thomas and directed by Scott Le Crass, is currently performing at the Stockwell Playhouse in London. I will start this review with the dramatic text. I felt that the writing focused far too much upon the eccentric personalities, idiosyncrasies and behaviours of the characters. Additionally, the action was often explained to the audience rather than revealed. For example, Lucy (Katherine Thomas) states regularly that “Caps is manipulative.” Yet, without exclamations like this, it would have been rather difficult for me to understand that Caps (Jack Forsyth-Noble) was, in fact, having any sort of feasible influence over the other characters at all. To explain this further: when I left the performance, I had no idea of what the real meat or problematic of the play was. I found myself asking many questions, among which were: Was Lucy actually in love with Gus (Calum Robshaw)? And precisely why did Rachael (Natasha Grace Hutt) fall 'back' in love with Caps so abruptly and readily? I felt that my confusion was caused primarily by the concealment of crucial information. Caps regularly takes characters off stage where significant and insidious complications seem to transpire. The problem I have with this is that onstage action and dialogue are too trivial, and the ‘manipulations’ we see orchestrated by Caps are too direct, blatant and punitive. It is not realistic that these alone would change characters’ minds so drastically to cause discords and breakups in the way that they did. It would have been far richer to have had the characters — and the audience — be endeared by Caps, to see him as an intriguing, charming, compassionate character who is then revealed through the other characters’ escalating altercations to be a conniving, corrupt and exploitative manipulator. Unfortunately, as it stood, this lack of subtlety and the classic error of “telling not showing” denoted lazy writing, for me. There was a sheer lack of thorough conceptualisation and continuity: Lucy, via her compliance to Caps, seems interested in his plan but then calls him out repeatedly as a calculative scoundrel; and in the end, Rachael positions herself seductively upon the sofa for Caps, then tells him that she loves Gus too dearly to defy him, and then eagerly runs off with him. These are just two complications that seem unnatural to me. Subtextually or conceptually, these may make sense, but the manner in which they are presented is not so convincing. This brings me on to characterisation. Thomas evidently favoured the character of Rachael, considering the large presence she has in the script — and rightly so; she is an extremely endearing and comical character and was captured extremely well by Natasha Grace Hutt — but to contrast her high energy with the low energies of the rest of the characters is a red flag. There was a lot of stillness in this performance, though I do feel that this was primarily a directorial and/or editorial issue. In places, this created tension, but usually, it was a tension unwanted. As I stated before, Caps was too loud and domineering and yet Bisset-Smith's physicality was very low energy. Gus was too parental and authoritative, and it was difficult to sense his desires and needs. Equally, Katherine Thomas’s performance as Lucy was too cold and spiteful, and this implicated Lucy’s piteousness. All characters need a soft spot, and it was difficult to see any raw emotions in the characters. However, though the actors’ characterisations do play a large part in character reception, I cannot stress enough how this particular dramatic text did not leave space for visible and enticing character development or plot progression. Characters’ emotions are much more complicated than “This character is pessimistic and cold; let’s make her endlessly bitchy.” Dynamism and layering are required to make a character dimensional and engaging. And why would an audience care for a bitch, unless we understand her bitchiness to be a guard or a downfall? I will note, however, that all actors, barring Grace Hutt, did slip up on lines on the night I saw the performance, and all actors performed woodenly in places, which does, of course, subtract from engagement. This stagnancy was also apparent in the decor and lighting. The set, comprising a sofa, two tables and an airing horse, was very static; the lighting state never changed; and there were no defined transitions between scenes, nor music or sound. All of this is, of course, acceptable but causes the energy of the play to rest solely and heavily upon the characters. If they too lack progression and dynamism, there is a big problem. I shall end on one comment: plays take flight from the text; if the text is fallible, the play has no chance. “An unrealistic and ill-conceptualised performance monopolised by an over-the-top character, despite its comedic value.”

Written by Daisy King, directed by Michael Oakley and staged at the Vaults Theatre in London, this performance was, indeed, highly comical. Most relevant to a younger audience but still acquiring laughter from all ages present, this performance was a short but sweet delight. To see the narrative unfold solely from Stacy’s (Phoebe Thomas) perspective made for a fluid and intimate script. Her character development was fine-tuned and progressive, though there were components that needed to be elucidated further, such as the alluded-to character of Psycho Steve. It is important to find a balance of description and demonstration; whilst the former can oftentimes be too unnatural and distanced, the latter can be somewhat taxing and cryptic. I felt Psycho Steve needed a clearer introduction into / development in the story; it was simple to understand who he was but not exactly why he was a psycho, other than a few related behaviours, or what exact mark he had left on Stacy. I feel that this was crucial to elucidate in order to understand Stacy's relationship with men and sexual desire/behaviour. The use of technical elements (managed by Amee Smith) in this performance was effective. Lighting (designed by Kevin Millband) was used successfully, focusing the eye in the various sub-locations of the stage, and there was a pleasing balance of spots and washes — oftentimes, spotlights are severely overused; for this performance, this was not the case. The only problem I had with lighting was the blackout at the end of the performance. This was far too short and severely disrupted the finale of the performance: the play suddenly ends, the actors rush in for a bow, and it’s over. Music was used primarily to situate scenes and rarely for emotional effect, shying appropriately from over-sentimentalisation which would have been erroneous alongside the bold comedy elsewhere in the play. One problem I did have with music, however, was the scene where Stacy dances with Joey (Gabriel Bisset-Smith). Their movements become very minimal very quickly — especially Thomas's — and the song’s duration makes for an awkwardly long sequence of bobbing and swaying. Admittedly, for me, this was comical yet not in a direct but reflective way. Nevertheless, the music should have been edited here or should have simply faded out earlier or in later. I would also like to refer to one more, slight moment in regard to music: the club scene where Stacy believes to have spotted Andy Serkis. Here, Stacy and Stella’s (Witney White) inebriation was rather downplayed; it would have been more entertaining as well to have Stella continue to dance energetically whilst Stacy talks to her, then to have them both dance and converse. This did actually happen after a while but would have been better sooner. This brings me on to characterisation. Thomas’s characterisation of Stacy was most endearing and, for the most part, realistic. There were some directorial decisions, however, which rather obscured her physicality. In one moment, when lying on the sofa, Thomas pulls her body upwards, rotates and sits up, lies back down, and repeats. The speed, obscure accompanying sounds, and lack of natural movement lead me to believe that this was intended to be a fast-forward to depict a passing of time and a sleepless, restless night. This was far too unclear, however. The movements were not refined enough and needed to be further coached. Ironically, they were also too slow. This was mostly due to the physical strain of rising from a supine position and falling back. Another moment of unneeded and awkward-looking piece of physical movement occurred after Stacy's mentioning of the stabbing pain in her chest. Thomas hits her chest and pulls away repeatedly. Movements like these need to be carefully calculated and not simply utilised for variation in style or for effect. These types of movements belong to a wider dramatic repertoire and confuse the performance style if employed randomly and sporadically. It is worth mentioning here that the use of space in itself, however, was particularly efficacious, facilitated fundamentally by the traverse staging which extended past the audience on either side. However, this stretched a little too far perhaps for the parallel seating arrangement; it required some straining and readjustments to see the action at points. As for White and Bisset-Smith, characterisations were engaging but in some places slightly off. I cannot be sure if this was a directorial, editorial or actor-led decision, but White's sudden change into aggressive, responsible soon-to-be mother, arguing with Stacy as if she had been experiencing difficulties with their friendship for a long while, was particularly incongruous for me. Just before this outburst, White performed rather placidly, and so this change seemed to have come from nowhere. This is perhaps the only place where continuity was skewed for me, as the development into this was lacking. I did not find White to be too convincing as Stella. Her liveliness and energy appeared very artificial. However, in regard to her other characters, White did a wonderful job, capturing different personae effectively. Bisset-Smith's characterisation, on the other hand, depended quite strongly upon vocal ability. I would have liked to see more physical transformation from him, though his voices were distinct, comedic and convincing. “A charming and funny performance with an emotional undertone, just in need of refinement of character and style in places.”

The Lion King remains one of the most popular shows in the West End, directed by Julie Taymor, book by Irene Mecchi. As beautiful ambulant puppets flood the aisles of the stalls, parading onto the stage, it is definitely easy to believe oneself transported into the midst of an animal parade in the heart of Africa. Where usually one cannot speak conclusively about the entire audience, I can, at least, claim bravely that this enthralling overture was received just as enthusiastically by the other spectators in the stalls, given their unanimous excitable gasps and turning heads. There was a problem with this overture, however: spectators in the circles could not benefit from this in the same way. Having only two birds greet them, wielded on sticks by performers below in the stalls, immersion was secondhand for these audience members. This problem has easy solutions: a system of sticks, for instance, which would guide small jumping creatures (monkeys, for example; insects, even) and various birds of prey from the circle down to the stage, permitting a tidy and endearing proximity with the animals for these otherwise ignored members of the audience. There were many mesmerising visuals in this performance, from starlit night skies to clouds of fireflies — that archetypical Disney magic. Although, there was perhaps a little too much Disney magic…character designs, beside those of the lions, were identical with their corresponding cinematic figures, and this made for a strange mix of recognisable cartoon faces and new humanised characters. To elucidate this, the designs for the Hyenas (Meloné M'kenzy, David Blake and Barnaby Thompson), Zazu (Gary Jordan), Timon (Ben Heathcote) and Pumbaa (Keith Bookman) were unmistakably the cartoon characters, in the flesh. This did not bode well against other main character designs which were essentially just headpieces and trousers, as for the bare-chested lions, for example. The rest of the character designs were not so cartoonistic at all but rather simplistic and natural-looking, simply painted wooden puppets cloaked in cloth. Visually, then, this production was rather hit and miss, despite how undeniably beautiful some designs were. Many other visuals were simply lacking, too: Mufasa (Shaun Escoffery) falling to his death, accompanied by an extremely visible harness and ropes; the elephant skeleton, more of an embellished staircase; the Hyenas' costumes, two odd fabric-covered sticks for hands and large cartoon faces; and Young Simba (Kai Plummer-Walrond) running from the stampeding wildebeest, which does look splendid after momentum has built and puppets have appeared behind him but initially looks rather pathetic as he runs on the spot for a few minutes in front of a looping backdrop of a poorly drawn stampede. Amongst all the visual faux pas, one stood out for me: Zazu (Gary Jordan). Every single character, puppet, set piece, etc., even if mere wood, was vibrant and colourful. Zazu’s design, however, was completely dark and lifeless. During the overture, those aforementioned excitable gasps from the stalls came to an immediate halt on his appearance. Spectators surrounding me froze and glared at his shadowy form. Upon asking a few other audience members, who felt the same way as I, it was clear that this odd tension was due to this puppeteer, a white performer amongst black performers, being, essentially, in blackface (makeup by Michael Ward). Having no clear relevance, and standing out like a sore thumb, this character design was rather unnerving… The majority of puppeteering was very well executed, particularly in the overture, of course, but also in scenelets within transitions, namely those including a cheetah pruning herself before sneaking up upon an alert and cheeky giraffe. However, the way in which certain performers interacted with their puppets or costume pieces was particularly frustrating. Why, for example, does Shaun Escoffery take his headpiece off to talk to Young Simba, towards the beginning of the musical? Rather than a crown, this headpiece represents more the head of Mufasa, and so its removal conjures the image of a beheaded lion. Meta-theatrically speaking, we are now aware that this is a human in a costume, and illusion is destroyed. The same goes for Gary Jordan who, in a clamorous display of meta-theatre, stands without his puppet, claiming to have “lost [his] bird.” This (recurrent) humanisation was a downfall for this production. Spectators come to be lost in a world inhabited by African animals, not human actors dressed as them. A similar situation is found in the second act which begins with puppet-less performers singing to the audience as a large blue fabric disappears into a cavity, centerstage, symbolic of a drying waterhole. Whilst I found the waterhole image effective, the singing humans were utterly out of place — and typically anthropocentric… Lastly, I shall comment on acting style. Personally, I was most excited to see the character of Scar (George Asprey) performed on stage — which in no way means that I had preempted a certain characterisation type. Asprey, unfortunately, was a huge disappointment. As agreed on by many other spectators, Asprey was lifeless in his performance, repetitively swinging his tail as a moribund motif, unthreatening, utterly motionless in scenes, and with terribly monotonal vocals often too quiet against the booming accompaniment. As for the Hyenas, their comedic aspect in the films was certainly stressed over the menacing, taking away from that all-too-needed antagonist force. I wanted more from Gugwana Dlamini (playing Rafiki). Her movements were too restrictive and repetitive, and her demeanour was far too inwardly. I wanted her to be even more animated, ebullient, mystical and eccentric. Quirky choices like her swinging onto the stage on a vine should have set the mark for the rest of her performance. For me, the play's momentum was definitely close to death before the end of Act 1, which is not in any way ideal… The emergence of Timon and Pumbaa, however, was most definitely a pivotal point. Heathcote, Bookman and their puppets definitely re-energised the musical whilst capturing the loveable characters of the films. Movements (choreography by Garth Fagan) were very poor in places. During the Hyenas' song, the Hyenas jump in front of Simba and Nala (Nia-May Taylor), cutting them off as they run up and down the elephant skeleton…and that is the only executed movement, repeated for the entire song. In Scar’s song, the need for the dancing, 'stunting' Hyenas, waiting on the edges as the rest of the hyena ensemble dances around them, was absolutely perplexing. And with their conspicuously bared chests and tight trousers, further amplifying their sore incongruity with the rest of the ensemble, as well as the odd club music accompanying them, this scene resembled more of an adult club than a children-friendly theatre production. Nala and Simba’s movements together, however, whilst a little simple, were endearing and sufficiently child-like. “An awe-inspiring performance of captivating visuals vanquished by lack of energy and coherent style.” Photography property of and credited to: Disney, Disney’s The Lion King The Musical.

This review will consider Before 30, a play written and performed by Tom Hartwell, directed by Phil Croft and staged at the Waterloo East Theatre. The audience is greeted by a tent and a long spread of empty fast food bags. Despite its simplicity, this set successfully encapsulates the themes pervading the rest of the performance, giving a glimpse into the shabby life of working-class Deliveroo driver Chris -- though perhaps a little too literal with the fast food bags, albeit comedic. Props were then equally effective throughout, adding a sense of realism and embellishing Hartwell’s performance. Being a static set, however, meant that the energy and momentum of the play depended exigently upon that of Hartwell. For a large part of the play, Hartwell’s performance was engaging and energised. Multiroling, Hartwell’s character changes were, on the whole, effective and slick, especially where Hartwell performed female characters or enacted direct physical interactions between characters, such as the customer taking the McDonald’s bag of weed from Chris. However, there were a few that were difficult to gauge, particularly where Hartwell stood in the same position/pose for each character. It is worth noting that drastic soloist character changes, where one character is standing and the other sat down, for example, are better when further, meta-narrative attention is drawn to them, e.g. a quick frustrated glance or tired gesture; otherwise, the dynamic can seem rather shapeless and odd as one sluggishly moves from one position to another, as it did in places in this performance. It is unchangeably awkward to watch such a change; one must be aware of audience reception and use this to one's advantage. The technical elements of the performance were not too helpful in enhancing the performance, either. Sounds were seldom synchronous with action, particularly towards the beginning of the play. Lighting was also rather ineffective at points, especially in the interviews scene where Tom performs his various fallible responses in multiple interviews. In moments like these, the lighting states should have changed — not by hue but by angle — to demonstrate these different time frames. As it stood, the untimely snap sound effect and Tom’s indistinguishable changes made for an unrefined sequence. Whilst on the topic of tech, I will also mention here that the music, though only used during the intro and outro, was pertinent and humorous. As for the writing, there seemed to be a lack of grounded plot. Yes, Tom was searching for a meaning or value to his life before the age of thirty, but the various jokes and gags subtracted severely from this otherwise plain groundwork. The figure of his granddad, appearing minimally at first, then becomes the archetype of self-worth and independence and a rather paternal, constructive force towards the end of the play. This plot progression is too sudden and felt as though an afterthought. Overall, this performance felt as though a night of stand-up guised within the framework of a play. For the majority of the time, Tom’s character felt as though an excuse for gags and one-liners. The comedy in this performance also relied in places too heavily upon social and racial stereotypes which could be taken as rather inappropriate. This was obviously a decisive element of the performance, given Tom’s persistent references to himself as a “white middle-class man”, which was rather incongruous with his character who has an unstable home and works as a food delivery driver, making this seem rather decontextualised and personal. The structure of the ‘play’ was very monotonous. Particularly when jokes landed poorly, and they did quite frequently, the performance’s impetus suffered severely. Lack of clear and thorough plot progression and certain discontinuities — e.g. Chris having never wanted to be a chef, his father’s simple drunken misunderstanding, yet this then becomes a personal, decisive pursuit and a vital aspect of the ‘plot’ — prevented this play from extending beyond its budding qualities in the heads of its creators. “A performance needing thorough re-examination, further conceptualisation and a more particularised context.”

Creation Theatre's Dracula, adapted by Kate Kerrow from Bram Stoker's original novel by the same name, and directed by Helen Tennison, recontextualises Stoker's classic story in a setting of pertinent historical poignancy. The London Library being the location Bram Stoker researched his famous novel, this performance perpetuates and immortalises the familiar tale. An obvious characteristic of this performance is the presence of the audiovisual (designed by Eva Auster): projections, from both handheld and on-screen projectors; voiceovers and narrations; and dynamic lighting. As letters, figures, colours and animals flood the site, we are made to feel as though a strong and malicious force is skulking across and pervading the performance space, a most eerie and effective decision. This was the desired effect, according to Tennison. With the Count's multifaceted representations in media, films, novels, etc., Tennison wanted to strip this monster back to its raw reality. This was definitely achieved. The Count's voice is replaced by an echoic voiceover, and an image of a large, inhuman hand with long talons constitutes his appearance, alongside the descriptions made by the two main characters. Most of the images are similar to this. Rather than being representative, the images projected are rather simple and allusive, playing with our imaginations rather than a specific physical reality: blood cascading from an opened, fanged mouth; a colony of flittering bats; a slow passing of dark, heavy clouds. I have to say, however, the design of these was rather inconsistent, fluctuating from real (videoed studio-made performances) to realistic to cartoonish. This made the overall aesthetic of the performance slightly skewed — compare, for example, the detailed and fluid video of a proud, posing wolf with the low-fi, looped GIF of a flying bat, or, better yet, with the sharp animated red eyes at the window. This discontinuity of style makes the images seem as though simply plucked from Google Images as opposed to artist-designed, dampening the believability and beauty of the performance's aesthetic. The images also become far less evocative and symbolic towards the end of the performance and become rather plain and self-expositional. This was particularly the case for the images of Lucy. Where at first she is symbolised subtly by a dress and a wreath of garlic flowers and only seen slightly in images (a bleeding mouth or demented eyes), this subtlety becomes dramatic as we are presented with her entire body dancing dramatically in the videos. This sudden change from evocative imagery to full-figure representation was very off-putting. It was only effective to see her whole figure, for me, when she was projected by Sophie Greenham's (playing Mina) handheld projector onto the wall, onto Greenham's dress, onto the ceiling, and etc. Here, we see Lucy as Mina remembers her. There is something romantic about it as the two converse; her docile spirit is enabled to occupy every aspect of the space. However, whilst this endearing view of Lucy sees her as more of a trapped or lost soul, the view of her as a malignant, omnipresent force is compromised by seeing her lurking comically in the bushes of the cemetery. The same methods utilised for the Count should have been used here: a passing yellow dress, blood dripping from a hedge, or something else as simple and evocative. Ignoring the technical fault on the night I saw the performance, there are also issues both technical and directorial that I wish to address. Perhaps I would have felt differently should there not have been a technical fault, but leaving through the window for a second time felt unnecessary and overplayed, for me. The first time was humorous and perhaps a second time would have been effective if it had found itself at the very end of the performance, leaving the audience alone in the space with that now-familiar malignant force. The silhouettes were a lovely idea initially yet became overused — much like other repeated images — and, moreover, their movements were seldom synchronised with voiceovers or dialogue. Lastly, Professor Van Helsing's beheading of Lucy was particularly confusing for me. Perhaps I had missed something, but I was under the impression that she was not in the coffin…and yet suddenly she is and Van Helsing is sawing her head off. As for the performers, Sophie Greenham and Bart Lambert (playing Jonathan) are certainly dynamic actors, transformative and energised. Overall, character changes were clear and characterisations were strong and appropriately humorous, despite Greenham's various voices becoming too similar towards the end. Character changes did become rather repetitive, though — more a directorial issue than anything else. Before changing characters, Greenham and Lambert performed a physical glitch of sorts, their bodies contorting slightly, disposing of any clothes, to enter into their next role. This was accompanied by an odd protrusion of the tongue and, particularly for Greenham, a sound equating that of an orgasm. Tennison stated that vampires have a certain sexy and provocative allure, and this, I presume, was the intention behind these decisions. However, as for the audiovisuals, evocation and representation are different things. As for the tongue, this was not particularly monstrous or efficacious, merely awkward to watch. I enjoyed their permanent co-existence on the stage, which I felt to draw successfully from themes of ensnarement, experimentation and ineluctability. I do feel that certain moments could have been omitted, however: e.g. the shaving scene, or the arrival at the Count's castle. In these two, the characters do not have a direct connection, and so Mina's presence is unnecessary. Oftentimes, one finds a tendency towards awkward and needless mime or melodrama in places where a character's presence is unnecessary, and this was certainly the case here. Finally, the use of costume was comedic and really enhanced characterisations. Choosing to set the performance in the 1950s/1960s was an interesting choice, further distancing the fantastical world of the play, yet this period was not referenced elsewhere but in the costume. The set (designed by Matt Eaton) was well adapted to the location, containing pleasant elements of micro-realism — the handwritten letters, for example. “A brave and dynamic performance but falling short slightly of a totally defined and unique style and vision.”

Baby Blues, written and directed by Michael Greenwood, is a didactic-expressive performance investigating Post-Natal Depression. This performance teetered between stylised physical movement and monologues. I will start with this former. Certain movements — such as popping of the chest, and lifting and spinning — became a repeated repertoire, dampening the overall efficacy of the dances. It was often the case, particularly in the later dances, that performers had varying facial expressions. This meant that each performer evoked a different emotion. These should have been either identical or simply neutral. However, as stand-alone pieces, dance sequences were effective. I will point out a particular dance sequence that stood out to me as the most poignant in itself: the one wherein performers each adopted an odd mime-like persona with a wide grin and gloves. This was by far the most perfected of the sequences. Synchronicity and surety of movement made for fluidity and character. It was more the style that I had an issue with. Whilst a physical movement played out to the right, behind them, performers would monologue their 'experience' as a mother with PND or as an affected relative. Not only did this become repetitive, but monologues were delivered rather unrealistically and almost informationally. Bodily expression differed from realistic to gesticulative to physical. This concoction of body and voice, drifting between realism and stylisation, made the overall acting style encumbered and unrefined. I believe it would have been better to remove character completely from this performance, to have performers multi-role as different persons having experienced PND personally or second-handedly. Having a few named characters allows an audience to pin the themes expressed in a performance upon that character, to associate it with them and leave it within the world of the performance when they leave the theatre. Whilst the dance sequences did depersonalise the performance, and whilst some multi-roling did take place, the lack of clarity as to if these were specific characters or not made this ineffective. I was also surprised to hear that this was a verbatim performance; this should have been integrated more to add a further poignant and real quality. The beginning was a clear exemplification of how meaning or aim can be skewed or lost: a section of mimetic performance, the performers playing children making entertainment out of banal household objects; then, a realistic interruption from the supposed father of the children; and then, a stylised dance sequence. In the space of ten or so minutes, three different performance styles have surfaced. We have set the scene with the theme of children as the focus, rather than the PND sufferers which will proliferate the rest of the performance. It is simply too confused. Lighting was mostly effective, though washes seemed to be used rather haphazardly; for example, a green wash over James Douglas and Mohamed Bangura's characters' meeting the baby seemed random and unsymbolic. Lighting (operated by Alfie Rackley) should be chosen for specific purposes and has specific effects, not to simply differentiate one scene from another with a different lighting mood; I cannot think what green would do here. The little LED lights were an endearing and poignant decision, especially when used in the dance sequence I mentioned above and when placed within the cloth used to imitate a baby. Music (composed by Alfie Rackley) fitted well with the performance and was well-designed — a little repetitive on its loops, though this did not cause a problem for this particular performance which rather warranted that. The ending, with all performers sat facing the audience and addressing them directly, employed more the performance style I would have expected and felt most admirable and efficacious for a performance with an aim such as this. However, it sat ill with the rest of the scenes and felt severely out of place. Comparing it to the monologue delivered realistically by a performer sat folding clothes, this scene was a random change. As I said before: alone, mostly all parts of this performance were effective and cleverly realised. However, together, there was a huge confusion of style and aim. What's more, the message we are left with is rather insignificant…seeking psychological help or support from friends is not always a given possibility for sufferers of PND. This performance did not deal with the grittiness of the disorder, the everyday issues this disorder brings for many mothers. For example, the climaxing scenelet where a mother is asked to do one thing and another thing and another thing in a cacophony of her children's orders as they fight with one another — is this not just a representation of a general, stereotypical motherhood, rather than a mother with PND? Waiting lists and loneliness make the message of 'seek psychological help and spend time with friends' redundant for poor and working-class single mothers with more than one child to take care of and preoccupy. “A good starting point for a performance seeking answers for large issues, but one that has not yet found its ground.”

Written by Richard Hurford, music and lyrics by Rob Castell, and directed by Suzanne McLean, Robin Hood: The Arrow of Destiny performed at the Theatre Peckham. This musical was certainly spectacular. The use of fairy lights along the backdrop and trees was an effective and charming decision. However, these would have been better on a standard setting rather than on a constant fade, as this left performers in darkness regularly, and to use them as the fire was too slight and unneeded; the pulsating orange lighting (designed by Jack Wills) managed to capture fire perfectly. Similarly, a spotlight was needed for when Oliver Thomas (performing here as one of six Merry Men but also playing the Tax Collector) starts to sing. The visual of scintillating fairy lights was rather ruined by a wash on this top rostrum back stage. The snake was beautifully crafted and mesmerising, though I would rethink the way in which it appears initially. Even a simple blackout for it to appear from the dark, Centerstage, would have been more enticing. The set itself, though stationary, was facilitative and well made (designer: Lily Faith Knight). However, I must admit, I was rather aggravated by the Oak King (voiced by Jo Servi). Not only should his animator have been on stage before the show began to make his appearance more magical and unforeseen, his mouth was not moved in time with the speech, and the same can be said for the snake. Acting style was perhaps a little wooden in places, but overall, most performers had high energy. Where melodramatic, performers usually brought apt comedy to the script. I would like to bring attention to Friar Tuck’s (Geoff Aymer) characterisation, however, which was very humorous, if stereotypical, yet the accent change was too dramatic. Suddenly, after speaking in a rather neutral English accent, he began to speak with an accent teetering between African and Jamaican. Vocals were a little shy from perfect from time to time, but the overall ensemble of performers were good. Ayanna Christie-Brown (playing Maid Marian), however, most definitely stood out as a singer of talent with a mellifluous and soulful voice. I did have a slight problem with the choreography (by Tamara McKoy-Patterson) in places, in terms of synchronicity and repetition of movements. Despite this, the young dancers, specifically during Christie-Brown's solo, were delightful to watch — and appropriately dressed, which I shall detail later. However, stage fighting sequences (directed by Jonathan Holby) were rather disastrous and should have been cut completely. Unfortunately, costume was rather shambolic. Whilst some costumes followed a forest-like pallet of greens, burgundies and browns, blue denim jackets and even a rainbow tie-dye jumper made their way into the mix. This was very peculiar. There was also a layer of ‘hood’ culture attempting to pierce through — such is inferable by the publicity, the tracksuits and the rapping sequences, etc. Yet, other than these rather minor features, along with the fact that it is entitled Robin Hood, there was not much else going for this subtext; it was only mildly detectable. In fact, I believe this musical suffered quite strongly with themes of identity. There was a slightly odd ‘feminist’ narrative coming from Maid Marian who stated that she did not need to be a man to succeed in her mission and that she was a powerful, independent woman who could do it all herself…and then she dressed up as a man and, after revealing her womanliness, waited for Robin Hood (Malachi Green) to come to rescue her. But then she did guide his sword to stab the snake…? It was all very skewed, but I do believe this was verging more towards a tale of Maid Marian than Robin Hood! Then, there was the song sung by Friar Tuck who detailed all the qualities of ‘being a man’. Whilst this could — though very ambiguously — be interpreted as a dig at the stereotypes of 'manhood’, this is not what it seemed and would nevertheless not be so intelligible for the mind of a child. Similarly, I was quite disconcerted by the amount of sexual innuendos towards Friar Tuck by Little John (TerriAnn Oudjar). Perhaps one or two would have sufficed, but these became synonymous with Little John’s character, becoming rather extreme in Oudjar’s glaring at Aymer's genitals during a ‘Tiny Des’ joke. If needed to be kept, for some unbeknownst reason, a simple glance to Aymer's face and a shy look away on his behalf would have sufficed. In a musical for and formed of children, I felt this rather distasteful. Similarly, I felt that it was rather extreme to have the Tax Collector's throat slit. This need not have been done on stage – or visibly in the wings, as it happens. Imagination is sometimes a much more powerful device… Finally, the writing. I feel that this was a modern, comical and lively interpretation of a classic tale, yet I am not sure whether staging sociopolitical ideologies and narratives had its place in a musical of this calibre and for its target audience type. This performance relies too heavily on stereotypes for comedy, most of which were not received too emphatically by other spectators on the night I watched the performance, either. The second half, though quite entertaining, I felt to be rather redundant, and this is an opinion I know to have been shared by other audience members who noted, “It could have ended sooner." As a final and brief note, I do believe it would have been worthwhile to have the children play larger roles in this production, an issue not dissimilar to many other children's theatre companies. As it stood, it seemed rather odd to focalise on adult performers with children scattered in the back, some having chances to stand out, others not. “A visually apprehending and comical performance yet not tailored too well to its audience.”

Written by Monty James and directed by Dom Riley, Schrödinger's Dog is a high-energy, comedic and clever play. It must be said that for an amateur production, Schrödinger's Dog is devised with the efficacy and sharpness of a professional theatre, both in its writing and in its direction. Its plot is fortuitous, and its characters — of which there is a comically superfluous amount — are variegated and entertaining. With such an amount of characters, however, came a variety of characterisations and qualities of performance. On the whole, actors were engaging and lively. Notably endearing and humorous performances came from James himself (playing Hugo), Aaron Phinehas Peters (playing Chuks), Lindsey-Anne Barnes (playing Barbara), and Ella Hunter-Clark (playing Nancy). However, I must say, I was slightly disappointed in the writing of Lauren's character (played by Ellie Sparrow) and even more in Rowena Bentley's stiff characterisation of Aunt Jemima, both of which I shall detail further later. Set and props were rather complex, adding realism to the performance, and — especially when the shoes were scattered over the floor — a sense of chaos, as well as drawing from the quirkiness of Hugo's character with the Christmas tree and decorations. The cupboard was effective in adding dimension to the performance, functioning as a front door as well as a closet, and heightening tensions when Chuks is locked inside it, unbeknownst to the characters back on stage. Although, I do think its sudden multifunction as a window was quite ineffective, and the mirrors on its front reflected stage lights from above into the audience, which would have been better avoided. Performers' relation to and movements within the space, however, were dubious. It was difficult at points to understand what function certain areas of the stage assumed. For example, a door off stage, next to the audience, served at one point as Hugo's bathroom, then his bedroom and then Madeline's (Lynne Jefferies) bedroom shortly after; and, towards the beginning of the play, Barbara and Nancy assumed the aisle between the audience as a call centre, an area which later signified Hugo's hallway to the front door. This latter example was particularly frustrating for me. It is far better to give the audience a vague image [or sound] to spark their imagination than a complex field of images that they have to mentally dissect to understand. It would have sufficed to simply have their voices played overhead, or better yet, through the phone itself. This would have also made their surprise arrival more humorous, as we would not recognise their faces. Having them both stand on stage, opposite Hugo and Chuks, was simply a bizarre visual. Inefficacies like these wherein the playtext is unmodified for the performance space are easily avoidable. Other alight efficacités took away from the realism of the performance: for example, Hugo's tying up of Chuks which was made rather futile by Phinehas Peters's hands being left untied. This was equally avoidable by having his arms tied behind the chair as opposed to left free between his legs. The use of technology in this performance was particularly impressive, however, due to a clever operation of sound. Music played interchangeably from the laptop to the speakers, making for a dynamic and almost cinematic balance of the interior reality of the play and the theatrical manifestation of this. Other sound effects and lighting were simple but effective, making transitions smooth and particularly adding life to the boxed dog. Additionally, costume typified the eccentricity of the plot in its almost fancy-dress aesthetic: a pizza delivery guy, Buzz Lightyear, etc. The writing itself made for a realistic dialogue with themes pertinent to current aspects of modern life. However, I do not think this performance was successful in its presentation of the severity of Hugo's mental state. There is one moment in this play, perhaps a directorial decision, where Hugo is left alone in his flat. He puts on music and starts to perform mundane activities to enliven his spirits but ends up defeated and sobbing. Here, the play's momentum started to drop rapidly along with the mood of the performance. Where the rest of the play had had such a comedic and farcical tone, the slowness of this scene did not sit well. This sudden change of performance style was maintained in the arrival of Lauren. Whilst I felt that Sparrow characterised Lauren aptly, I felt that it was an inefficacious decision to have such a character in the first place. The mood of these scenes was simply too slow and collected, and after such energy and chaos, this could only affect the audience's reception of the play. It was just difficult to decipher if this play was intending to make a point in regards to depression — particularly of the duality of outward contentment and inward emptiness — or if it was just confused in its style: comedic or dramatic. But this drop in mood does not compare to that in the second act. Act II was particularly tedious and watery. Aunt Jemima's arrival made for an irksome play between her ignorance and the group's constant pleading for her to get help, which continued right the way through. On top of this, Bentley's characterisation lacked physicality and vitality, particularly when Aunt Jemima unknowingly takes drugs. When Aunt Jemima first starts speaking about fairies, for example, there was no sense of delirium in Bentley's performance; in fact, I initially thought the play had simply taken a weird turn, her change was so subtle. Furthermore, shifting the focus from Hugo to Barbara was a thistly decision, for me. It was almost as if this play were two in one. Barbara's narrative, though referenced slightly, before the end of Act I, seemed to arise from nowhere. I thought it would have been better to have Barbara planning, unbeknownst to us, to play along with Hugo, causing everyone else to think her deranged in enabling him, to ultimately find a way to save the group. Or an ending entailing a suspended opening of the box to see if the dog was, in facts dead or not. In other words, anything else that could have linked back to the main narrative rather than creating another one independent of it. I was originally going to give this play a mark of 4.5 Stars, but when it came to the second act, this plummeted quickly. It simply became too much of a good thing. Ideally, I would like to give this play a 3.75; it was just such a shame that the second act let the first down. This play should have ended at the interval, as comical as the idea of Hugo taking so many people hostage is. If executed better, the arrival of Aunt Jemima could have been one final blast, but I just feel that her character is unnecessary in this story. The dead dog being thrown out of the window, Madeline being stabbed a second time, Aunt Jemima taking drugs — it is important to consider when comedic absurdity is starting to go too far. All of this said, performers' comic timing was superb, making this play a hilarious treat. Scenes flowed together nicely, and, overall, the play was well thought-out in regards to its composition and absurdity. Though its success dwindled in the second half, the power of the first leaves a generous sense of enjoyment in the mind. “A genius exploration into the quest for happiness of a serial hostage-holder. Relentless in its entertaining commotion and comedy.”

This review will cover Puppet Theatre Barge's The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse, an adorable and quirky puppet show for children. Adapted, of course, from the well-known Aesop fable of the same name, this show made for many alterations; some I found positive and others I did not. I thought it forward-thinking that these two mice were made adventurous females and that this change was included unmarkedly and ordinarily. It is important that children have a wide range of gender representations to raise questions or, indeed, to erase stereotypical gender misguidance. Though I believe this has a lesser effect in this show, this change, in its faintness, can only be positive. I am not sure, however, as to how effective it was to have chosen this particular fable as the 'central' focus. It was more the case that this show used this fable as a touchstone to other children's tales and nursery rhymes. Though we returned to this fable again and again, it had little significance, overall. Any moral to be taken from the original fable is also lost in this adaptation, which is not inherently negative, yet there is little to support this decision. In short, what is the aim of the show? — understanding that 'to entertain the children' is not a viable response. And why does it profess to be a realisation of The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse if it is, in fact, a collection of tales? Perhaps it would be better if a simple 'and Others' were to be added on to the end of the show's title. On to the technicalities of the show itself. The types of puppets used were marottes and hand puppets, meaning that a lot of the puppets' life was achieved through bulky movements as opposed to delicate, isolated ones. This made for a humorous and animated effect, a lively and silly visual to engage the children with. The overall puppeteering, in fact, was professional and effective. I did have issues towards the end of the show, however. People often think that children's theatre should not be critiqued with the same harshness as one critiques adult theatre with. This should not be the case, however. Whilst children are easily won over by imagination, their imaginative realm is not one distinct from the real world; in fact, they use the former to cogitate, to better understand the latter. Children are highly intuitive and observant, and so slip-ups are easily acknowledged and can take away from the magic of the show. Taking this on board, I must consider a few elements of this performance that could have taken away from the theatrical magic of this puppet show. On the night I saw this performance, there was quite a fair share of slip-ups. A bottle attached itself to a white sheet — which I can only assume to be a ghost (other audience members were audibly confused by this, too) — and flew to the front of the playboard, landing the wrong way, where its internal structure was visible to the audience. This was left here for the rest of the show's duration. At another point, whoever was animating the Postman (a blackbird) hand puppet forgot to put on a black sleeve to cover his wrist, exposing his arm and watch. The biggest sin committed by this puppet show, however, came in the second act. The light from within the castelet became far too harsh, and this cast very distinct shadows upon the front bottom curtains which were far too thin. The entire workings beyond the frame, the puppeteering, the passing materials to one another and flat-changing for the next scene, everything was completely visible. Not at all desirable for this form of theatre! Other than in these isolated moments, the puppeteering was effective and sharp, as I said before. It was mainly the narrative that I had a problem with. Most of the action, though entertaining, seemed highly superfluous, particularly the 'Green Bottles' sequence which was drawn-out and uninventive, making use of a peculiar assortment of objects: a ball, a spider, a hand, and others. It seemed as though every puppet ever made for this company was being recycled and put to use somewhere in this show. Characters were, indeed, sweet and endearing, but I cannot help but wonder if this is due to our gleeful pre-conception of these existing tales or to the creativity of the show's conceptualist. Their designs were somewhat inelaborate and cheap-looking, though this did not diminish their enjoyability. Lighting was perhaps too intense at points, though I understand that, given the specific nature of the site, this may be difficult to control. The set, however, was rather dynamic in its capabilities: little hatches and shadow boxes made for an intriguing and multidimensional landscape, though I did feel the shadow boxes were perhaps a little too blurry. Overall, a cute and quirky performance in a conspicuously unique environment enough to fuel spectators' interest alone. “A cute and endearing show, if a little inharmonious in its composition.”

Imprisoned behind glass, they stare forward. A mind-numbing whirring. A sudden eruption of sound, a flash of light, and they seem to glitch, extending their arms for help, strangling themselves. They sway. Deafinitely Theatre opens its current production, an adaptation of Sarah Kane's 4.48 Psychosis, with a horrifying and resolute visual, complete with stroboscopic lighting, piercing sound effects and repulsive physicality. The house feels suffocative. This atmosphere is achieved by two things: the stage is obstructed from the audience by a structure of three clear panels; and from within this box, a mist emerges and makes the air thick and visible. The set design (realised by Paul Burgess) for this performance was very good, indeed. Not only did it achieve this suffocative effect, causing an unsettling distance between the performer and the spectator, but it also tapped into a theme of voyeurism which subtly haunts the dramatic text. We look through the glass at the patients as though they are subjects of experimentation or animals at a macabre zoo. This obstruction implies that the patients are contagious, almost, but also hems in the action, alluding to that drilling sensation of being "in one's own head". A fully-observable world is created by this box-like set. Our imagination is restricted to this area only. We are aware of the space beyond, as made possible by the doors on each side of the stage, leading to the wings, and the circular gutter on the floor Centerstage. This unchanging and contained set makes the feeling of entrapment and stasis ineluctable. At points, it also causes a sense of frustration amongst certain audience members, as the text which appears on the Upstage wall is obscured slightly by the structures holding the clear panels in place. This brings me on to my next point of focus: intertextuality. This performance was incredibly rich in this area, merging lines from the original playtext, spoken word, projections, harsh lighting, and music and sound with physical theatre and a grotesque style of mime — all, of course, alongside a cleverly integrated use of sign language. These blended marvellously together, truly emblematic of how different theatrical components can combine to create an awe-inspiring performance. I think it was a wise and poignant decision to keep the format of the playtext when projecting it upon the back wall. Sarah Kane's writing is known, obviously, for its emulative and provocative use of the space of the page; I think it was a good idea to keep this and not to simply have the lines in flavourless prose. I cannot sign myself and hence cannot say conclusively, but it did seem to me that the integration of sign language in this performance was seamless and effective. As I said before, the performers used a particularly grotesque style of mime: ripping into their skin and pulling out their organs, extracting their teeth, and hanging themselves — all images evoked by a wonderful and efficacious physicality (directed by Alim Jayda). For me, it was an intricate blend of sign language and evocative physical movement, proving positively difficult to distinguish. Both Adam Bassett and Brian Duffy (playing the patients), by whom such movement was principally performed, had an indefatigable and tortured energy, eliciting a response from an audience member that to perform it must have been "physically draining". I will note that Duffy's physicality came across as somewhat more vicious — and positively so — but both performers were equally riveting to watch. The style of signing definitely added a layer of character to the performance: the violent, erratic signing of Bassett and Dufy, particularly towards the end of the performance where they both explain their divine visions to one another; and the patronising, slow signing of Matt Kyle and Jim Fish (playing the doctors). I thought it was an interesting decision to have the doctors speaking and signing whilst the patients only signed. Perhaps this was to accommodate the hearing amongst the audience members, but I could not help but feel that there was a deeper meaning to this, that perhaps it added a relatability for the anguish of the patients. For example, there was a moment where Kyle and Fish enter as two other medical professionals, Fish an assessing doctor and Kyle an interpreter for Duffy's character. This need for interpretation added an extra layer of distance between the patients and the medical institution. Combined with the doctor's blasé and arrogant persona, I felt that this pulled inspiration from the daily struggles that deaf people might have in feeling distanced from the hearing community to signify this patient-doctor relationship further by making such a struggle identifiable and relatable. This was made more significant by the performers' costumes being plain and relative to quotidian clothing. Costume was not particularly spectacular, though this did not take away from the performance at all. It was used, instead, as a quick signifier of patient and doctor through a white coat and this aforementioned everyday clothing. Though, the use of everyday clothing (i.e. jogging bottoms, t-shirt) was an interesting choice: bringing the hostility of mental illness back into a natural context, in line with the wills of the original text. As for the technical aspects, the lighting (designed by Joe Hornsby) was very effective and dynamic. The use of a stroboscope alongside jarring and staggered music created an atmosphere of suffering and torture well. The projections were effective, particularly in the cockroach scenes, wherein the stage became a world visibly swamped by pain and discomfort, and in what I will call the Bingo and Lecture scenes, which I shall elaborate on later. As I said before, text was used effectively, blending captioning and the structure of the dramatic text. Sound (designed by Chris Bartholomew) was used effectively, particularly in scenes like the overture, to add a fragmented anti-rhythm to the action. Early on in reading Sarah Kane's 4.48 Psychosis and later on in the text as well, one comes across a provocative page of scattered numbers, a page most theatremakers struggle to know what to do with. In this particular production, the performers simply stated (and/or signed) the numbers listed. This was then followed by a red light and a short buzzing sound. At first, I felt that this was too literal and uncreative a way to read these numbers; to just reel them off seemed unimaginative to me. However, this scene then became a rather absurd spectacle as it went on. The lights turned green for certain numbers, instead of red. And the short buzz became a commending bell. It became relative to a game of Bingo, almost, the patients and doctors hoping to get the correct number. I thought that this was a simple yet clever way of emulating that experimental and taxing guinea-pig relationship between doctor and patient as they both aim for the same result, the patient being praised when they behave in the correct, modified way. This was made more apparent by the bells sounding when the doctors and patients chose their numbers together whereas the short buzz sounded when they made decisions alone. The other scene of poignancy that I mentioned was what I am calling the Lecture scene, wherein the doctors, lasers in hands, present a long-winded array of tablets, their compositions, side effects and effects upon the patients. This, if perhaps a little literal, was an efficacious and animalistic scene, really emphasising the objectification of the patients as they shied away from the intrusive green light of the laser tracing their bodies to exemplify the onscreen diagrams. I did find it interesting as well that the word 'she' had been changed to 'him'. This added an interesting relational dynamic between the two patients. Why 'him' and not 'them'? Is there only one of them? This was an interesting avenue, but it was left unexplored elsewhere in the performance, and this led me to feel as though not a lot of thought had been given to the way in which the patients were addressed and their relationship with one another. Perhaps this, along with Kyle and Fish's multi-roling, was a choice made to add that Everyman quality to the text, but I cannot be too sure. This could have been made clearer, whatever the decision was. The only downfall for this performance, really, was its repetitiveness and literalness. The overall performance was very stereotypical of a generalised mental illness: the rocking back and forth, the head-banging and hair-ripping. Whilst, as I mentioned previously, there were a lot of effective grotesque visuals, there was also a tendency to overplay this madness. Repetition played its part principally at the end and beginning of a lot of scenes: the doctor would make a bold statement and exit robotically along an imagined grid, leaving the patient behind to holler and rock in frustration. As the text is rather repetitive sometimes, in the doctors' manner of addressing the patients, for example, a variation in scenes is crucial. The return to a solo mime with a text-plastered backdrop, however positively grotesque, can only be made a certain number of times. This repetition and literalness really did dampen the performance for me, especially towards the end with the systematic lining-up and grid-walking. That was particularly exhausting to watch. The visual left at the very end, though, very engaging. Overall, a very impressive realisation of a complex and esoteric playtext. Perhaps a tad too literal and repetitive in physicalisation, but a well-designed and visually effective performance nevertheless. “Stunning and refreshing. Realising the enigmatic.”

This review will consider a one-woman show, Bad Hindu, written and directed by Sunandha Raghunathan and staged at the Pentameters Theatre. I was lucky to be able to attend a Q&A after this performance, giving me a slightly better insight into the development and production of this play. In this Q&A, it became apparent to me that Sunandha Raghunathan felt that her culture and background would not be so readily accepted in British theatre, which I did not agree with. Perhaps a result of this, I felt there was a sense of hesitancy in her conveyance of her culture. This performance felt to me as though a preface to Indian culture rather than an enticing adventure into it. One of the main reasons for this was the amount of Indian culture the audience were allowed to see and its depth. The biggest limitation against this was the decision to repeat the overture of the performance again and again throughout, making for an extremely bipartite structure. Raghunathan stated that she had decided upon this repetition, which she called an “iteration”, in order to allow the audience to “drift off”, as though a well-needed and earned break from the main body of the performance that would permit them to refresh their focus and come back with a deeper concentration and readiness. For me, this had the opposite effect; rather than permission to drift off, it was more a cue to switch off. If one believes one’s audience should need a moment out of the performance to refresh their enfeebled interest, the material is evidently not strong enough and not working. Good theatre is not something that an audience would want a break from. Challenging theatre, yes, but I sincerely negate that this was a challenging piece of theatre. There is nothing more powerful than a person’s imagination. If permitted to daydream, the audience member no longer has to seek an imagined space in the theatre. Whilst theatre should aid imagination, it should not aim to have the entire audience do it for themselves. This was, for me, this performance's biggest downfall — and a huge downfall at that. This iteration included a traditional Indian dance and a rendition of an Indian song, followed by an introduction of the performer, a set of cheeky, ironic, and derisive jokes and then an introduction to the next ‘chapter’ of Raghunathan’s adaptation of The Mahabharata. The repetitions of this were preceded each time by the interruptive voiceover of a grunting woman (also Raghunathan). Raghunathan retrieved a mirror from the floor and spoke to the voiceover which would say a phrase in Indian before claiming that Raghunathan is a bad feminist or artist or daughter etc., changing each time. Being in Indian, I can only use the English spoken and the visual of Raghunathan’s body language to interpret this as an implication of the cultural ideologies and pressures in India: what it is to be a woman, what it is to respect and honour one’s family, and so on. We see a relationship, then, between Raghunathan and her roots, her culture and her people. If this was not the desired result, however, I am not sure this would have been effective. I felt other techniques and directorial decisions influenced by Indian culture to be rather hesitant and lacking. In the Q&A, Raghunathan explained the Tamil and cultural influences: her makeup, traditionally worn in Kattaikkuttu (a rural Tamil form of street theatre), traditional Indian dance and song, the iterations, and direct audience address. It felt, however, as though these techniques were simply chosen and excused because they were applicable to a Tamil stage. Were these elements true to Kattaikkuttu? Yes. Were they effective in producing an authentic Tamil theatre experience? Not really. Did they facilitate a profound theatrical experience? Definitely not. Theatre should take us to another world and should never reflect our own unless under the guise of a certain thematic to highlight the errors of our ways and suchlike concepts. In improvisations during the iterations, Raghunathan spoke of chiefly British themes: for example, England and its continuous loss of the World Cup. Whilst Raghunathan demonstrated high knowledge of Britain as well as other cultures, addressing audience members who were from other countries and commenting jokily on their nationalities, this constant focus on other cultures forced us away from a clear concentration on the Indian themes in the performance. The recent development of direct storytelling in theatre has been quite popular in the past few years. For this performance, this technique was used poignantly and well. The writing, vocabulary and general style of the storytelling were fluid, articulate and engaging. However, this was not sufficient. It was difficult to gauge the aim and meaning of this performance. Was it simply to retell The Mahabharata, uncommon to know completely but not unheard of in Britain? If that is the case, why the breakaways and iterations (remembering that “To stop the audience from drifting off” is not a valid enough reason)? If my interpretation was correct and the aim was to show Raghunathan's own identity in relation to her culture, is “You’re a bad daughter” enough for us to fully comprehend what the social pressures are and how they are different from any other country's? So, the reason I thought this performance was hesitant in its conveyance of cultural identity was due to its sheer lack of depth. It simply scraped the surface of Indian culture, providing us with a repetitive structure that could have been taken out of this performance and placed into any other and would still have made sense. The limitations stressed by this repetition meant that meaning was not easily obtained, neither was education. This performance should have either gone full-throttle in its exploration of themes and culture, or it should have changed its focus completely. Traditions such as painting the stage with coloured rice flour should have been explorative and profound theatrical moments; instead, they seemed to have been utilised simply because they’re Indian, a basic nod to Indian culture. In summary, I felt that a lot of the decisions in this performance were made haphazardly without true thought towards reception and theatrical/dramatic effect, and those that were thought-out were very lacking. Raghunathan spoke in the Q&A of the sociopolitical pertinence of The Mahabharata in regards to transgenderism, to sexist ideologies, amongst others; this remained, in my eyes, a stimulus for the performance as opposed to its exploratory focus or message. One audience member stated that she failed to understand the relevance of the iterations, and I wholeheartedly agree. Other than producing humour for certain audience members, this frustrating monotony — taking up more than half of the play, I would say — did nothing for the performance whatsoever. Sunandha Raghunathan seemed unconfident about her performance; in fact, she disparaged it slightly in her explanation of its international as well as national worth and entertainment value. I believed this showed. “A play with an interesting substructure and room for much experimentation, yet a performance with such a tedious and wearisome structure.”