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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.”

Lacking confidence in trust in other people, a sexually-frustrated Andre (Andrew Jardine) finds himself meddling with the sexual desires of the love-struck landlords of his property, Jake (Jake Williams) and Marie (Anya Williams). This comedy, The English Heart, was performed at Etcetera Theatre in Camden, London and was written and directed by Matthew Campling. I will start first with set: two flats Upstage Left and Right; two chairs Upstage Left; a chair and a stool Upstage Right; and a rug Centerstage. This minimal set served the imagination well, permitting the audience to jump from locations such as a barn, Andre's house, and Jake and Marie's house, with the aid of aural guidance. The minimal quality to the set also enhanced comical visual moments such as clothes being thrown onto the stage from the wings during an erotic offstage event. And there was a potential symbolism to be taken from the floral love-heart design on the flats. Props, on the other hand, were great in number — but perhaps superfluous in places. The grabbing and clearing of scattered props slowed down the momentum of the play during certain transitions: laying down a rug, one character putting on a jacket, then putting on the other character's jacket who then put on a hat, etc. And, where other parts of the play had been so visually omissive, these moments seemed somewhat unnecessary. The lighting was very well-operated (by Rebecca Heslop) and served the play finely; however, I would perhaps have suggested blackouts for those long prop-heavy transitions I mentioned. As for music, the selection coincided well with the average age of the characters, giving it a relatable feel, but, again, it was used much too frequently. For example, for a moment in the middle of the play where Jake stands to read his poetry, music is played for five seconds (if that) whilst he stands, and I found this highly unnecessary. An audience can tell a passing of time without additional special effects. Costume, however, was very modern and applicable and especially country-esque for Marie. In order to write about characterisation and delivery, I must first consider the very writing of the play. The politics of this play was very airy, for me. I found myself asking whether the couple were symbolic of England’s ongoing “love affair” with and relationship to other countries, currently and throughout history; or whether the politics enabled the characters to bond (in dismissal or jest of politics) or differentiate themselves (e.g. the “country bumpkins” from the rest of Britain). In other words, I found that the reason for employing politics in this play was very blurred. It did not feel dramatic, interrogative, nor didactic. It felt to me as though the writing utilised three characters to fire wisecracks and jokes at politicians and British politics itself without having any real significance or fundament. As the writing was thus blurred, as were the characters. There was a vast lack of psychological realism. It felt as though the realistic motivations, psychologies and objectives of the characters went unconsidered. For example, the first time we see Marie kiss Andre. This felt very unrealistic and seemed to have come from nowhere – I was seemingly joined in this thought by another spectator who stated, “Well, that was quick.” Furthermore, random outbursts from the characters, such as melodramatic crying or hitting a wall, or Marie shouting, “Get stuffed!” out of nowhere to Jake, felt very unnaturalistic, and, besides the jokes, any talk of politicians was conveyed more as information rather than conversation, again disrupting the naturalism of their speech. However, the most confusing part of this performance for me was to do with the the couple's adoration of Andre in the first place. He hadn't done anything to make them admire him so much or feel so strongly affectionate towards him, so the whole plot felt fallible to me. The comedic aspect of the play definitely came from the character of Jake, however, who certainly gained the audience’s affection as well with laughs and “aww”s. I felt that this was the strongest characterisation of the three, but all would have been much better with the aid of a more naturalistic writing style. Overall, the actors did very well in executing this performance, were humorous and seemed to understand their characters. “Very enjoyable but inaccessible in places.”

Fuelled with rage, Hedda Gabler (Ruth Wilson) staples the stems of flowers, reminiscent of beauty, innocence and womanhood, to the walls of her bare abode – an image taken from Ivo van Howe’s adaptation of the renowned Hedda Gabler by Norwegian playwright Henrik Ibsen, performed at the National Theatre in Southbank, London. Being one of my absolute favourite plays – performed at an equally favoured theatre – my expectations were very high for this performance. And, to an extent, they were met. What was most notable about this play was its efficacious and symbolic imagery, that on which I shall elaborate firstly. It is undeniable that the imagery used in this performance is compelling and powerful. On entering the Lyttelton Theatre, the audience is greeted by a clinical and white stage with concrete flooring, somewhat resembling an unfinished art gallery, with squares and patches of lighter whites in symmetrical patterns along the walls. A clever wink for the dramatists among the audience to the Chekhovian statement that guns onstage must be fired, Upstage Right, a glass case embedded in the walls, containing two pistols. Stage Right, a plethora of flowers in front of a small ledge which sits below a large reflective glass pane. On either corner of the ledge, a high heel shoe, and further upstage, a long rectangular mirror. And Upstage Right sits Berte, poised, hair slicked back into a tight blonde bob, high heels on, and orange-red flowers on her lap. A wonderful contrast to Hedda, Centerstage, who is slumped over a piano with her back to the audience, legs wide open, shoeless and in a night gown. A marvellous setup for a play perforated by themes of female inferiority and oppression. Berte’s presence is maintained throughout the performance, an eerie constancy in the corner of the stage. Whilst seeming to symbolise womanhood, elegant and sat upright, there is also a connection to be drawn by the fact that she is dressed in black, an ironic homage to Hedda’s dissatisfaction in marriage after coming back from a six-moth honeymoon. However, my perception of Berte changed again and again. At moments, she seemed to side with Hedda, laughing when she burned Lovborg (Chukwudi Iwuji)’s manuscript, defending her with a “It’s the shock” when she states how “beautiful” his apparent suicide is. At the end of Act One, she walks over to Hedda, Centerstage, and shares with her a pack of cigarettes. The two take their heels off and…blackout. Perhaps, I thought, she represented status, being a maid, and redundancy, shackled to the corner. Or perhaps, in taking off her high heels and coming from the ‘feminine corner’, she symbolised the completion of Hedda’s using her female influence to get her way. Whatever this symbolised, this cigarette-sharing established a clear, even deep, relationship between the two of them. However, in Act Two, she proceeds to criticise Hedda to Mrs Elvsted. This makes it unclear as to where Berte lies in this play. It could be suggested that this Berte cannot be perceived in a logical way, that she represents in herself the overarching themes of the play, oppression, the conscience of Hedda, etc. But, for me, she seemed much too incoherent and somewhat conflicted with the action. The piano plays a very interesting part in this performance. Whilst reminding us of the monotony of Hedda’s discontent as she plays the same notes again and again, the piano was almost symbolic of her calculating dispositions. After comforting Mrs Elvsted, Mrs Elvsted sits at the piano, almost as if she has fallen into her trap, so to speak; the Judge, when the power dynamic between him and Hedda is switched, paces speedily around it; as one last cry for power, for attention, Hedda sits on the keys of the piano, jarringly bouncing upon them. But what most effectively represents Hedda’s control lies within her interaction with the set – particularly, the blinds upon the large glass pane, and the plethora of flowers. On the exit of Mr Tesman (Kyle Soller) and Juliana (Kate Duchêne), Hedda takes to the blinds, opening and them shutting them repeatedly. This creates a beautiful rippling ocean of light across the stage – most cleverly designed by Jan Versweyveld, it must be noted. Her sheer control over the visual mood of the stage, her vigorous toying with it, demonstrated wonderfully her controlling nature. On top of this, we have the array of flowers which Hedda tosses into the air, utterly destroying their arrangement – this before, as stated in the introduction to this review, stapling a selection of them bare white walls of the set. This symbolised Hedda’s usage of femininity, of beauty in forcing it to wield to her, to complete her own desires. This is especially efficacious given that, when the flowers are removed, it is revealed that they were sat in paint and mop buckets and here Hedda is practically decorating and remodelling her house by her own means, which she has wanted for a long time. This symbolism is reinforced with the entrance of the Judge who is the first to trample over the floor of flowers she has left onstage. The ‘feminine corner’ also serves its purpose in the entrance of Lovborg on which Hedda retreats to it to put on the high heels, let down her hair and apply makeup in the mirror. Something quite pleasing was the sensory texture given to the performance. When flowers were tossed, some filtered into the audience, and once settled around the stage, the smell of lavender took to the stalls; in Act Two, the smell of the fire and the smell of the ‘blood’ used by the Judge. Whilst I cannot speak for those sitting further back in the theatre, this was a delectable quality to be conscious of. Undeniably, then, this performance pivoted on its use of symbolism and imagery. What I was not too fond of, however, was the accompanying music to transitions or to the blinds/flowers moments I have just mentioned. To mark Hedda’s depression, the song ‘Blue’ by Joni Mitchell is played regularly. This, I thought, was a premature decision, close to cliché, in fact. Where the rest of the symbolism had been so thrillingly vague, a painfully-obvious link between blue and depression seemed embryonic. Moreover, as Hedda burns Lovborg’s manuscript, Jeff Buckley’s version of ‘Hallelujah’ is played. Whilst this retained what felt to be a much more fitting quality, pairing it with a harsh white light and a line of characters entering the stage – almost as priests carrying incense in a sermon – was a homage to a paradisiac bliss all too, again, premature. On the other hand, Hedda’s arms in the air, swaying softly behind the fire was a lovely image to see, but Wilson’s characterisation of Hedda was so mobile and unrestricted throughout the performance that I could not help but feel that this ‘relief’ was made a little anticlimactic. On the whole, the characterisation, for me, seemed very unseasoned or disjointed from the narrative of the play. To explain, at the very beginning, a dialogue is pursued between Berte and Juliana. In the original, there is a clear relationship between the two which is open and compassionate. This was lost, as the two stayed very formal with and (spatially) distant from one another. Perhaps a deliberate decision made by Howe, but, for me, this took away from the contrast between the docile and loving relationships of other characters and the lascivious, power-obsessed relationships of Hedda’s. This contrast was especially depleted in the execution of Mr Tesman and Juliana’s relationship. Whilst the two spoke enthusiastically to each other, there were no moments of veritably-strong connection – which could have surfaced, for example, in their speaking of ill Auntie Rina. Moreover, when Hedda ridiculed what she ‘thought’ was Berte’s hat – actually belonging to Juliana – there was a lack of energy. Hedda did not seemed too surprised to find it was Juliana’s, and Juliana equally seemed as unaffected. It is small moments like this that came across as rather dry, but it is these that keep the manipulative characteristics of Hedda afloat. Especially as these moments are mentioned later on in the play – NB that Hedda explains to the judge that she “pretended to think it was Berte’s” – and if they are dry, the effect of these later moments make her seem much less conniving. What’s more is the relationship between Mr Tesman and Hedda. Originally, the character of Mr Tesman means to come across as a very loving and doting husband who is, however, too absorbed in his books, history and anthropology, etc. to deliver Hedda the attention she deserves. It is this malleable cluelessness with which she is able to play. However, the power dynamic between the two was completely switched, an example of this being centred again around Juliana’s hat, when Mr Tesman abruptly (and somewhat over-exaggeratedly) barks Hedda’s name to stop her ridiculing. Whilst he was enthusiastic, his enthusiasm was limited to his mannerisms and comportments as opposed to being channelled into a head-in-books, fascinated-historian persona. In themselves, these moments did not take too much away from the story. However, there were other more specific moments which, indeed, inhibited the narrative for me. To exemplify, one could refer to Mrs Elvsted’s entrance. Mrs Elvsted, having been bullied by Hedda in her youth, retains a terrible fear towards her. Mr Tesman, however, she views as caring and pacifyingly facilitative of her meeting with whom she believes to be the love of her life, Lovborg. One would imagine that these two different dynamics would influence Mrs Elvsted to communicate freely with Mr Tesman yet reservedly with Hedda. This was not the case. This Mrs Elvsted stated blatantly and baldly to Hedda on Mr Tesman’s exit that she was terrified of her – an emotion the average person would surely not admit to so easily and in such a nonchalant manner. This under-execution of fear is also evident in the beginning of Act Two when we compare it with the end of Act One. Mrs Elvsted trembles to Hedda’s touch when Hedda orders she await her lover’s return in her captivity. She states once more that she is terrified of Hedda and that she does not want to stay. Yet, at the beginning of Act Two, Mrs Elvsted is sprawled out upon an armchair with a blanket, seemingly bored yet comfortable…a rather calm conversation then ensues between her and Hedda who lies, unseen, on a white settee. She states that she has been worrying about Lovborg the whole night, but her conduct and apparent comfort might suggest otherwise…, On top of all of this is a moment in Act Two where we see Mrs Elvsted crouching in the corner, Upstage Right. When she enters Centerstage she reveals that she had left and that this entrance is her “return”. This felt simply unpolished and incredible. The characterisation of the Judge was a very bold one, approximating him closely to what I can only describe as a gentrified cockney man. A broad-shouldered and cocky swagger and a relaxed pronunciation definitely gave him a ‘womaniser’ vibe. However, as this was such a loud and bold decision, in Act Two, one could not help but sense that same anticlimactic feeling worming its way in. The characters all possessed a very tactile relationship with Hedda, pulling and chucking her about in one way or another – another embryonic feature, prematurely relating the present power dynamics – and so the image of the Judge throwing her around once again was less effective. Again, the imagery of it was spectacular, but I could not help but wish for this blood-like liquid to be wine (reminiscent of indulgence, addiction, relaxation), something more symbolic instead of tomato juice in a soda can. Whilst Juliana seemed bland and Mrs Elvsted, incoherent, Mr Tesman seemed to resemble a stereotype of a loud and abrasive American, having a wild body language and an American accent not fitting in with the rest of the narrative. Again, somewhat incoherent, specifically in relation to Hedda’s pregnancy. When first telling Juliana how much Hedda has “filled out”, he makes clear indications in pointing to her stomach that he knows Hedda is pregnant; yet, when Hedda reveals this to him later on in this play, he is utterly surprised…. Hedda, indeed, seemed excitable and playful – qualities definitely needed for her character – but it was a lack of moments of sincerity or harshness that made her depression and her malice much less poignant, taking away from the complex, fluctuating psychology of her character. That which was most deplorable, however, was her death, one which I can only describe as a pathetic embodiment of a fish. After shooting herself, this Hedda flapped across the stage before suddenly inhaling deeply and becoming motionless. Very unsatisfying for such a tragic demise. Most impressive, however, with Iwuji’s portrayal of Lovborg. For me, the best performer on the stage, capturing devastation, joy, supposition and supplication. The most believable by far! To conclude, it is evident that the visual and even aromatic textures of this performance were its highlight. Even though some of these images were underdeveloped, the deep symbolism behind them was inherent and satisfying. The characterisation, whilst being strong in some moments, was undermined by an overarching lack of coherence and/or energy. Finally, whilst there were attempts to modernise this play – with modern clothing, intercoms at the door, switches on the walls, all alongside the new version of the script, written by Patrick Marber – I could not notice at all anything specific that related to the modern-day woman, that challenged the themes of the play with a modern perspective. The most modern thing notable in this performance was the use of a Chinese takeaway box which seemed rather out of place with the rest of the action. “Enjoyable but unsatisfying.” Photography property of National Theatre London. Credit: Jan Versweyveld.