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.”

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.”