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.”

Unfortunately, I will start this review as it will end. I liked little of this performance. It had hardly any texture, depth or tone. I will start with set. On entering the auditorium, we are greeted with two red chairs and a black stage. This changes with every scene, but only minutely, the chairs being rearranged each time and a prop being added to the equation. Whilst minimalist set, as I have said many a time, is by no means a bad thing and can work wonders in enhancing the performer's role, in this performance, it served not as an enhancement but as a reflection of a bleak performance. Especially if a performance is a one-man show lasting an hour, set should provide an added layer of intrigue, something to keep the audience's attention — unless the performer's energy, transformativity and allure are powerful enough — which I shall cover soon. It is also worth noting that the transitions between scenes made for hideous and slow set changes aided by a stagehand. Blackouts should be just that...we should see and hear nothing, except music. Lighting in general was basic, and, again, whilst this is not a bad thing inherently, it added a sense of stasis and a lack of momentum. As for props, puppets are always a delight to see on stage. No matter what one does with them, they invigorate a performance, adding character and vitality, whether they have certain personalities or whether they are simply mute embodiments of power, reason, memories or other such themes. But what purpose did they serve in this play? Until toward the end of the play, I had no idea why one would have chosen to put a puppet on stage for this particular performance. It is toward the end that it is revealed that Oscar (RJ Lloyd) makes professionally-crafted puppets of high quality with detail and personality...cut to the slumped puppets on the chairs with wonky faces and limp, inelaborate bodies. This, the only thing that linked the puppets into the narrative, was fallible. The only thing that would have made this work is if a contrast between what Oscar thought his puppets looked like and what they, in fact, did look like was intended, but this should have been made clearer, if this was the case. The boxes used in the latter part of the play, however, were effective. They provided the audience with a visual cue, something onto which they could project themes and character. I will say that I liked the manner in which Oscar's focus jumped from one memory, one anecdote, to another. It was an enchanting way to relive Oscar's memories. However, it did not do much for his character. We did not see much of his feelings — or absence of such — instead, we were told factual events of his life. This made it difficult to connect with the character, and so when Oscar's monologue turned toward darker material, it was difficult to engage with it or to be as shocked as one would have been by getting to love and feel sorry for what is thought to be an innocent, caring character who then turns out to be evil, dark and twisted. As for the dark material, for me, it was not dark enough. To have an unhinged psychopath collecting parts of his ex-lovers is, of course, an interesting premise, but it has been done before. Being that it was difficult to connect with Oscar in the first place, this jump to the rather go-to acts of a madman just felt lifeless, where it would have otherwise been rather effective. The writing (by Matthew Greenfield and R J Lloyd) itself seemed very forced, with Oscar's monologues not following the natural rhythms of speech and overusing common phrases such as "You know?" in an attempt to make Oscar sound more realistic and idiosyncratic. This brings me on to characterisation. Believe it or not, I do hate to be harsh, and I understand the difficulty in capturing a certain vision on stage. That said, I felt incredibly disengaged from RJ Lloyd's performance. Every sentence, nay every few words, had an accompanying gesture. Lloyd used his hands compulsively. He jumped from emotion to emotion, having no naturalistic fluidity in these developments. Even the laugh he used seemed caricaturistic, as though a quick and easy technique to suggest character. Throughout the entire performance, he remained utterly monotonal and within the constraints of a basic characterisation. There were many parts in the play as well where he directed his speech to the wall, which was odd, not to mention the faltering in delivering his lines which occurred quite regularly throughout the performance I attended. It should be noted that other audience members seemed to be enthused by the dark turns. But I cannot help but feel that this was simply because of the presence of dark material alone. I feel that the dark twist was simply unexpected due to the superficial, reminiscent aspect of the monologue. By this, I mean that I felt it was not an engaging performance from Lloyd or a subtle and gradual manic development of Oscar that unsettled the audience but, rather, the random change from memories of TV shows to keeping a woman's fingers in a box. Unfortunately, I just felt very withdrawn the entire way through. The performance felt very static and depthless. Its parameters were good but its operations within these were highly fallible. “A disengaging piece of theatre with a very good premise but little to no depth in execution.”

A box of photos, a chain suspended from the ceiling, the only light coming from a small bright bulb — a simple set made into a beautiful aesthetic in Dark Room, a play by Jim Mannering, directed by David Thackeray, and performed at the Etcetera Theatre in London. I would like to start with said set. In its simplicity — two metal stools, a few chairs, a box of photos and a coffee jug and mugs — the set captured the decor of a dilapidated basement well, leaving space for the roaming of imagination. Whilst the set was minimal, nothing was taken away from this performance by it, only added, for the focal point was truly on the characters and plot. Lighting was equally as effective, dull and textured. And at a few points in the play, the only light source was, in fact, a light bulb suspended from the ceiling, Centerstage. I felt this to be very effective and aesthetic, really highlighting that "basement" feel and encapsulating the action in a dark orb of light. The writing for this performance was extremely superb. Not only was the plot gripping and surprising in its twists and turns, subtly revealing more and more about itself as the play went on, but there was a clear thought about character, giving specific and comprehensive traits to each of them from the off. The dialogue, in writing, was naturalistic in its macabre way and sped along the momentum of the performance. It was also so refreshing to see the use of nameless characters (i.e. A, B, C, and D) exercised in a contemporary performance in a non-facetious way that actually invigorated the action, rather than aiming for nonsensical political objectives. Characterisation, on the whole, was very good, and the plot truly carried most moments of awkwardness in performance. However, I feel it must be noted that there was a contrast in performance styles. Whilst Roger Perkins (playing A) and Rebecca Finch (C) went for a more psychological approach, having minimal bodily expression, Arthur Cull (D) and (especially) Jim Mannering himself (playing B) went for a louder and more physicalised performance style. That is to say, the energy from these two parties were very different. I felt Mannering's characterisation to be perhaps too energetic in many places, jarring greatly against the low-energy, in-the-head acting style of Perkins and Finch, and I found this to be somewhat fallible. If the style of one party was kept with, the characterisation would have perhaps been more coherent; although, a cast of performers physicalising with the same energy as Mannering would also have been tiring to watch for the whole performance's duration. As for Finch, I felt that she lacked expression quite a lot, and not in a good, psychopathic way; whilst her speech was usually reminiscent of and pertinent to the character of C, it seemed as though her expressivity did not quite match up. I wanted to see more of a glare in the eyes, a smile tightened with debaucherous anticipation, but it was not there. I will, however, commend her staying-in-character during the overture on the night that I saw the performance. As the audience settled down, one audience member began to ask her questions as she organised the photos on the wall. Finch kept within the play and ignored this woman — a difficult yet illusive and efficacious thing to do. The overture was quite effective, as were the moments between scenes. The audience entered into the performance space in near darkness, a nice allusion to the title of the play, but also an uncomfortable and unusual [and hence, effective] choice. A dimly-lit C could be seen skulking about the stage, and this proved successful in creating a calm and unsettling ambience, leaping us into the world of the play. Transitions were, on the whole, smooth and charming. The dances between A and C added humour and subtext, making the ending of the play just that bit more powerful and conniving. The tango-like music was catchy and original, permitting spectators to be drawn in. And I believe it safe to say that certain spectators were definitely drawn in throughout this performance, as one audience member gasped and empathised with an “Oh, no!” at the reveal of a fatal destiny. “An amazing piece of theatre with an utterly exhilarating plot.”

An original and inspirited play, written by Sarah Kosar and directed by Tommo Fowler, takes to the Old Red Lion Theatre under the name of Mumburger. This review will consider the play's efficacy. On entering the performance space, I, among other spectators, was taken aback by the mood installed: a warm purple, a small stage thrusting out into a triangular audience layout, a sofa, two lamp-stands and a metal-topped table. A simple yet professional-looking and intriguing design, enhanced by a funky instrumental. The first moments of the play were equally as exciting. A projector threw onto the curtain a series of images of disaster and destruction, a clever and subliminal setup. The first scene, however, in which we meet our two characters, Tiffany (Rosie Wyatt) and her Father (Andrew Frame), then fell a little flat…this was due to the performance of the actors. Wyatt captured the role of Tiffany very well, clearly understanding her characters' intentions, emotions and motives. However, her style became somewhat over-performative, especially towards the end of the play. This would perhaps not have been too much of a problem if it was not for Frame. Unfortunately, I found Frame's portrayal of Tiffany's Father to be extremely dry and lacking. Emotions were not carried forward and, instead of coming across as a depressed, particular and dopey character, as the writing so clearly exuded him to be, Tiffany's Father was made to seem almost as an odd presence, aimlessly moping around the stage, with any expression of emotion seeming forced or unnaturalistic. There was a lot of potential to be excavated from the writing, and it seemed that Frame had missed a lot of opportunities. This, in turn, had an effect on Wyatt's performance, making her seem too exaggerated in places. Furthermore, later in the performance, where Tiffany's Father's inner emotions are permitted to surface, there seemed to be no impact. This was because Frame had been so lacklustre the whole way through that it seemed unfitting, odd and soppy that his character had any fathomable emotions at all. This was particular to his poetic monologue in which he speaks of the memories he has of his late wife. This would have been so much more touching and poignant if the rest of the performance had matched up. I must ingeminate that the writing was superb. Not only was the concept original, but it possessed a comedic quality. Its dark undertones subversively infiltrated a lighthearted humour, but in a subtle and subliminal way. An effective and appealing introduction into the dark retreat of cannibalism. And this, on the whole, came through in the performance — even the very entrance of the burger was farcical and hilarious, as was the 'ceremonial' cooking of it. And this quality rebounded well off of Tiffany's Mother's own intentions within the narrative: to make it seem as though a guiltless, normal act of self-giving. As for the 'character' of the Mother, I enjoyed that several personality traits and secrets about her were revealed ceaselessly in each scene, giving depth and dimension to an absent presence. These revelations informed the mobility of the plot well. What's more, it was clear that there were deep character developments. This was specifically well conveyed by the use set. The cleaning of the floor and table, the changing of the decor, and the change in the lighting's value and intensity brought a sense of rebirth and revitalisation to the stage, mirroring the characters' newfound abilities to cope with their loved one's passing. Personally, I would have liked the stage to have been kept messy and chaotic, full of meat and condiments, to have the sheer horror of the undertones seep out at the end, but I shan't consider this too heavily in this review, as this did not take away from the efficacy of the performance. I enjoyed the stasis created by having the characters on stage at all times; though, I did find it unsatisfying when Tiffany's Father left to get the commemorative takeaway, walking into the audience space; I felt this could have been done behind the curtain to maintain the illusion of a world created by the space. And I felt the same at the very end of the performance when Tiffany readied herself to leave the house, stepping off of the mat...and standing there for an awkward amount of time to wait for the lights to fade. The only other negative thing I would mention is that the clearing of the stage during Tiffany's monologue was highly distractive. Other than that, a strong development — even slightly in characterisation. This performance definitely had a unique and modern style, and a clear structure to the play was maintained. Whilst I did not favour the mechanical grid-walking from both performers between scenes, I felt the use of space was successful in presenting the poetic emotional responses from Tiffany and the allusive characteristics of her Father. However, whilst I felt that Tiffany's Father's quoting of his wife's favourite film was evocative of his love for and relationship with her, especially in his reuse of the quotes in attempting to bond with Tiffany later on, I felt it a tiny bit unnecessary — and still not enough to counteract the dryness of characterisation elsewhere. Finally, one issue of continuity surfaced in the very idea of Tiffany eating the burgers. It was unclear whether Tiffany was repulsed by the idea of eating her mother or by eating meat, and it seemed to lean more towards the latter, as this was expressed several times. However, Tiffany admitted to 'cheating' on her vegan diet several times, and so the idea of her aversion to meat seemed somewhat incoherent. To conclude, this was an ironically uplifting and hilarious piece of theatre with ambulant themes and a creative, developed and original plot. On the whole, Wyatt's performance was engaging, but an underperformance from Frame made her style seem over-exaggerative — a shame of a choice, because he could so clearly perform well elsewhere in the play. “A diverse piece of modern theatre with a good concept and good intentions, but under-executed in performance.”

This review will consider NewPlay Productions's Food, written by Steve Rodgers, directed by Cressida Brown, and performed at the Finborough Theatre in London. On entering the performance space, I had high hopes. The traverse staging and tight kitchen set tied well with the voyeuristic quality of watching Elma (Emma Playfair) cook in silence under the household sounds of a playing radio. This really leant to an intimate feel, successfully evocative of the narrative's particular focus on emotions. However, this success was swiftly followed by an awfully dramatic transition: a sudden light change and a wide-eyed glare forward from Playfair, followed by a ghostly skulk of an entrance from Nancy (Lily Newbury-Freeman). A blackout, and the two have changed positions, Newbury-Freeman now finding herself in the centre of the kitchenette, and Playfair staring on from the side in shock. Whilst I understand this to have been a visual representation of Nancy's unexpected re-entrance into Elma's life, it was a poor execution, feeling out-of-place and overdramatic. This sense of overdrama was something present throughout the performance. Yet, ironically, characters felt underperformed and static. I found the style to be very convoluted and confused, jumping from mime to physical movement to realistic dialogue to immersive monologuing, etc. It was difficult to absorb the action because of this — made clear by the visible loss of spectator engagement throughout the performance's duration. The only character that felt coherent was that of Hakan (Scott Karim). Karim's characterisation was superb, accentuated furthermore by other small but well-transformed roles he played throughout the latter part of the play. Whilst his entrance was written quite awkwardly — drawing attention to itself by him communicating with Nancy and Elma mid-scene, almost metatheatrically — it did set up a clear performer-spectator relationship to be returned to throughout the performance. This was recurrent, making his character accessible and coherent. However, the same cannot be said for the characters of Nancy and Elma. Not only were they lost in stylised movement but because of their consistently low characterisation. Loud and aggressive movements from both performers during physical scenes were met with a sense of fallibility. That is to say, both seemed to be not quite in the moment, wooden, bland. The emotions they were presenting weren't quite there, and everything seemed to be shouty or quick. Whilst this was slightly less the case for Playfair, this worsened throughout for Newbury-Freeman. One moment of high potential was a scene wherein we see Nancy sprawl her body repetitively across the kitchen appliances in a dark, sexual submission. This continued slowly and ceaselessly in concurrence with Elma's narration and was very poignant and successful, drawing audience attention well. It is the subtlety that worked so well in this scene. Though quite broad in its gesture, its allusions to action, rather than the literal running/panting/fighting locatable in nearly every other scene, is what made it so effective and fruitful. Another thing I found particularly effective in this performance was the use of the ladders. These added dimension to the performance, alluding to a higher floor which we could not see but had to imagine, where showers and bedrooms existed. The use I found most intriguing, though, came about in the use of staged absence. Characters who were not in the scene took to the ladders, facing away from the action, eyes glazed. Though simple, I felt this created a nice visual dynamic and hinted at the absent characters' emotions, giving the scenes texture and background. Although, this was perhaps overused somewhat towards the end. What I found most baffling was the reason for the food. Other than it being set in a kitchen and referred to slightly in the characters' anecdotes, the concentration on food felt non-existent. And, being that the play is called Food, and that it was used in the very setup of the performance, I thought that more value should have been applied to it. There was a lot of potential to work with the sonic and aromatic textures of food; perhaps even telling the story through the medium of food, as opposed to mime, would have been much stronger as a route for this play. The exchanges of bread, for example, between the audience and performers towards the end of the play would then have had more of an effect. But, as it stood, it felt out-of-place and as though it had been put in for the sake of a sweet charm or small thrill. Overall, this performance lacked a lot of momentum, particularly due to the eclectic performance style but also the lack of character development, both in plot and in performance. "A crude and eclectic direction for a potentially sensual play."

This review will consider CoLab Factory’s Revolution, a piece of immersive theatre directed and designed by Joe Ball with Kai Oliver. I shall start by stating that Revolution meets its objectives well: to entertain an audience in an immersive style of performance in tackling the premise of politics in a flavourful, unusual way. The parallel made between jocular games and important decisions that can drastically change the future of a country worked very well for this performance, comically highlighting and, somewhat, subverting the importance of modern politics. In entering the space, spectators are asked to choose a definition for themselves from three options. This was a clever way to immediately introduce the decision-making elements of the play but also to create a sense of divide and unity, as spectators are then divided into groups corresponding with the personal definition they have chosen. Whilst I found this to enable the groups to build a comical bond over the definition they chose, there was one element I was confused by: the psychedelic wristbands. These seemed to possess no importance or necessity throughout the rest of the performance and seemed superfluous. Otherwise, a good start; a good start that was further enhanced by performances from Lauren Gibson, Peter Dewhurst and Joe Ball himself. Whilst there were certain moments wherein the energy fell, the vast majority of action and tension was upheld successfully. Each performer was energetic, dramatic and serious. The only issue I had in regards to the performers was in relation to their purpose. As with narrative, on which I will elaborate shortly, no real introduction was made for these performers. It was not really made clear who they were, or why they wanted to help (or ridicule/rumour about) the audience members. Serving as accelerators for the game, these performers would sometimes demand, commandeer and deride; and other times, negotiate, aid and inform. I felt that it would have been more effective to have more specific roles for these characters. Perhaps one could have been more vindictive and demanding; another, helpful and kind; and the last, more elusive or mysterious. In other words, there needed to be more definition in and between these characters, and this would have enhanced the cryptic and unpredictable textures of the piece. This relates to narrative. An explanation my group received from Joe Ball contextualised our role in the Revolution somewhat successfully, but the reasons as to why a revolution was happening in the first place were left quite unclear. This was mainly due to time management but also down to the efficacy of the narrative itself. Elements that could have served as powerful, contextualising motifs throughout the performance, such as spy drones, communication centres and ominous opposing social parties, had very short duration. The latter of the three, for example, had disappeared by the fourth round. These mysterious elements created tension and suspense and were effective; however, they were not used substantially enough, in my opinion. The idea of having an opposing force that audience members could not control or predict would have been an efficacious idea to integrate into a larger amount of the performance's duration. Similarly, the communication centres, arguably the most important constituents of the board, seemed to lack importance throughout the narrative. These centres were needed to win the game in the end, and so more value needed to be attributed to them. As for the spy drones, these were mentioned but nothing more was made of them. And there were certainly other specifications made that seemed to either dissipate very quickly or possess no relevance to the rest of the performance. For example, a moment where a rumour was told of one party who had allegedly been bottling their farts. Whilst comical, I couldn't help but feel moments like these very unnecessary, crudely taking away from the piece's otherwise successfully dramatic ambience. To return to the notion of time management, rounds were very short and a lot of objectives had to be met during an allotted five minutes. This was true of the entire game, and whilst this added pressure and excitement, I felt that this level of tension lacked momentum; that is to say that the level of tension was kept the same throughout the performance, as the first round held just as much pressure as the last. This lowered the efficacy of the denouement of the piece for me. I do commend, however, Revolution's success in creating a sense of competition. As I stated at the beginning, the groupings of spectators was successful, immediately creating a sense of solidarity and opposition. And this was further enhanced by the game's permission of collaboration with other parties, spying, delegation, and debate. However, I couldn't help but feel it would have been more effective to limit the amount of interaction the social parties had with one another. Again, it seemed unclear as to why these parties, so varied with different aims and political stances, would be constantly meeting in a secret location to deliberate political aspirations whilst opposing each other so greatly. The missions and objectives given in each round were varied and carried poignancy and pertinence. The idea of creating a manifesto, anthem and slogan, etc. was comical and immersive, encapsulating the materialistic and capitalistic fundaments of modern politics. Whilst these missions were so advanced and the pressure so high, however, I must draw attention to the use of mobile phones. Spectators were told to use their phones to take pictures of the mainboard and to email pictures and videos to the operator. I felt this was a very unimaginative way of communicating information and could have easily posed a problem for the performance if audience members did not have their mobile phones to hand. Or, as in a few spectators' cases, mobiles were switched off and, with the time limits, were not able to be switched on in time for the end of the round. With everything else being so technological and thought-out, I just found this to be somewhat uncreative. On the whole, this performance was a very enjoyable one, effectively indulging the otherwise numbing field of politics and successfully creating a sense of competition, unity and excitement. It is just the case that attention was perhaps directed more towards the less-important constituents of the performance, and less towards a coherent interwoven narrative which would have intensified the action. “An entertaining piece of theatre but needing development in areas.”