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The full title of this performance is: Near the Statue Between the Church and the Market Just a Bit to the Right Behind the Pigeon Underneath the Tree Around the Corner Three Steps from the Puddle. And Just a Hair Further. [sic] It was staged as part of the Clapham Fringe at The Bread and Roses Theatre. To buy your ticket to any of the remaining Fringe events, click here. Only lasting less than half an hour, I cannot deny that this two-woman performance is very entertaining and fun. Nevertheless, whether it communicates exactly what it sets out to is debatable. Having not read the description of this performance, an audience member would have no idea that Eleanor Felton and Gaia Cicolani are caricaturising an array of dwellers in a fictional town. This is not communicated well at all. But is this necessarily a problem? Yes and no. Whatever the inspirations are for their various characters, Cicolani and Felton have put together a wonderful variety of characters, and these are differentiated rather well through repeated skits and distinct physicalities. However, they are perhaps too varied. Some caricatures are extremely animalistic – one pair, upon reflection on the title, clearly being a couple of pigeons, and the others…nondescript; others, very human, ordered, military; and the rest, simply troglodytic. Oh, and the humanised statue. Visually, there is an enormous lack of cohesion and theme, and this renders the collection somewhat overly chaotic and disordered. The final outro, in particular, presenting one final celebratory collage of all of the characters, is simply messy. Admittedly, it is clear as to what is happening in this outro, but is a reflection and re-presentation of the characters like this necessary? I do not believe so. I would recommend a more systematic approach in strutting the material. As it plays such a monumental part in the conception of this performance, I would recommend that the town be introduced to us at the beginning. There should then be a clear separation between scenes, perhaps of an episodic nature, introducing the various caricatures separately. Material should also be distinctly different from one ‘episode’ to another. As it stands, the two creatives rely far too heavily on one character upsetting the other, and the latter then cries to the audience. This very quickly becomes overplayed and repetitive — and not to mention that this is poorly executed by Felton [more on this shortly]. Organisation of material, then, is irritating. And I do not mean that I would like a sense of plot; this is unnecessary for this performance. But why scenes are organised as they are is very important to consider. At the moment, the material feels far too disparate, disjointed and dissimilar, and this is what makes this final outro…icky for me. Cicolani and Felton describe this performance as ‘wholesome’, stating in their synopsis that ‘viewers find moments of recognition with themselves and each other, building a deeper sense of shared empathy and connection’…from a bird urinating on a statue? From one ‘soldier’ regulating the movements of another? I do not think so. It is clear that the duo have misunderstood the very nature of their work, which, overall, is too esoteric to lead to any profound emotional reflections amongst audience members. The choice of material is simply strange to me, and not in an inviting, absurd way that takes us on its thrilling ride; it is strange in an ill-communicated and incoherent way. Cicolani and Felton have not understood what effects their material produces and how material combines to produce an overall theme — or not in this case. I believe this is the reason as to why the material is so disparate. They have simply thrown together characters and sequences that they find comedically effective, and the ‘varied quirky townspeople’ is the perfect excuse to sell this off as coherent. The characters, well-defined though they are, are not cohesive at all; they do not paint a bigger picture or communicate any messages to their viewers. This simply is not what the work achieves. It does, however, succeed in presenting comedic skits to its audience. The characters, for the most part, are engaging, sweet and enchanting. They are otherworldly, comical to observe. I would just recommend staying away from repeating the same routines over and over. This is a half-hour performance; there is no excuse for anything resembling repetition. As far as performativity is concerned, Cicolani is by far the strongest of the two. She demonstrates wonderful physicality and expressivity, from the scrunching of her brows to the pointing of her toes. She performs with spectacular corporeal tension, flexibility and form. A very talented performer and a great mime. Felton, however, is incredibly frustrating to watch, I must say. Any physicality is restricted solely to the upper body, often with emphasis on the face alone. My advice would, of course, be that she pay attention to what her legs are doing on stage but, more importantly, to the localisation of tensions throughout her entire body. This is especially important for what I shall refer to as the ‘sword scene’, the ‘dancing scene’ and for all of those countless portrayals of ‘crying’. We should see the imagined force concentrated in her legs as she tries to lift the heavy object and should see complete distress and limpness throughout the entire body when she ‘cries’. This is mime, not psychological realism. Perform! Felton is simply too limp, uninvograted, and her underperformative mimes are often completely illegible as a result of this. To finish, some short and trivial notes that are perhaps unwanted from me… Firstly, I must note that the grammar in the title is very poor. Second, whilst acknowledging that I did not pay, myself, I did notice that the price for this performance was £9 [£7 for concessions], and I must say that this is definitely overpriced. £6 at most! No more than this! Third, leaving the curtain open, revealing the toot in the wing, and sitting on the side of the stage with your back to the audience…no! Completely demolishes any sense of illusion. If you need to sit off to the side, cross your legs and remain on stage. Otherwise, you needlessly extend the performance space into the territory of ‘the realm of the real’. Fourth, do not spin on the scaffolding holding up the fly tower! Incredibly dangerous. And finally, a rather awkward note…I would recommend changing the costume. Thematically, though it is somewhat questionable, I have no real concerns with it. However, given the amount of physical movement required from the performance, this costume proves to be rather ill-fitting…the shorts are simply too high and revealing. They rise. This would perhaps be excusable if it were a decisive element of the performance, but I do not believe this is intentional. An awkward note to end on but necessary to mention, I believe. “A comical and worthwhile performance but one promising what it cannot deliver.”

This show was part of the Clapham Fringe. To book your tickets for any of the Fringe events, click here. I will start by clarifying that this show is a work in progress. However, it is one that I believe to be on track to being a rather strong performance. Solo standup comedian Chloe Petts’s demeanour when we first enter the room is welcoming and laid-back as she greets every one of us. She is conversational, informal, warm, inviting and a little cooky. Starting the show with a fumbling and dysfunctional tech that she ‘has done herself’, talking at us from the back of the house at the tech desk, there is a certain degree of unprofessionalism. But this does not do her a disservice. In fact, these factors together contribute to a very relatable and engaging persona. As an audience, we are made to feel comfortable with her, at ease. As she wanders through the house, talking to each of us directly, she dismantles the audience-performer barrier and, in doing so, causes us to feel as though we are active participants, free to interact with her – and perhaps each other. This is a great setup for comedy, as now we feel that we have a recognised presence in the space, which comes with the freedom to laugh. Petts certainly nurtures this relationship with her audience well, demonstrating great ability to personalise each of her performances. After interacting with individual audience members, which she does on a regular basis, and mostly to her benefit, Petts incorporates the gags that come of these interactions into her material well. She also avails herself of audience utterances, laughs and other notable moments that, when highlighted as they are, self-reference the risibility of the audience and the comedic nature of the performance. This is done consistently and, overall, appropriately, with just the right frequency. This is a great method, and I commend Petts for her effective use of it. Though theme is not currently communicated well at all through the material [more on this below], Petts's content retains a good degree of topicality and personality, dealing with subjects in which she has a keen interest or of which she has particularised opinions, and managing to humorise these and infuse them with subjectivity and individuality. For example, the persona she concretises as a 'tom-boyish lesbian' certainly plays a good part in this and equips Petts with her unique selling point of comedy, so to speak. This latter is to great avail, as well, particularly when her audience is mostly queer, as it was pointed out to be on the night I saw this show. However, I ruminate over how big a role lesbianism and other matters derivative of this play in this show when an audience is [supposedly / believed by Petts to be] almost exclusively straight. I would recommend she not change how big a role these matters play, as I believe her gender identity and sexuality play a monumental role, at least with this particular text, in influencing her content and persona. Now, I do have a few notable negatives. My first is quite a significant negative: do not, under any circumstances, work in progress or not, perform with a script. The perceived 'safety' of a script on stage causes a comedian to relax to such a degree that they forget their material. Panic then ensues, and panic is not good for memory, meaning that reliance upon the script is further augmented, and the cycle ensues. This was a cycle evident in Petts's performance here. Scripts also look untidy and communicate to an audience that the comedian cannot function alone, that it is the material itself that is funny and not the comedian, that the comedian is simply the messenger and that the real show lies within the text alone. I would advise Petts remember that this is still a paying audience whose members are giving up their time to see her performance. Whilst they can appreciate a work in progress and that comedy shows have to 'start somewhere', it is a lot more difficult to appreciate that they have spent money on something that communicates itself emphatically – more than it should – as half-baked, unready. It was clear to me that Petts was – at least, superficially – making notes on what jokes worked and what jokes did not. Rather than stopping, turning away from the audience, burying her nose in her notebook, and, most importantly, subtracting from the time she spends engaging with her audience, I recommend that Petts record her experimental performances and rewatch them alone in order to take notes privately, inconspicuously, as an artist. One must remember that in comedy, timing is everything. So, equally, pacing is everything. And turning to a script is a surefire way to slow pacing right down. Work in progress or not, before performing in front of a paying audience, Petts should memorise her material and perform it without external supports like a script, and this should be noted for all future performances. Every audience should feel special, treated, not just a Guinea pig to test on for something better that is coming along shortly and that they might not see if they do not pay for another ticket and come back again. And this brings me to a similar issue: Petts references persistently that this is a work in progress. This should be avoided. What is communicated here is "I am funny, I promise! I just don't know the joke properly yet." This allows for a loss in performer credibility and hence our trust – our trust in the comedian's ability to make us laugh and in the space as one which permits us the freedom of laughter. It also communicates "There is a better version of these jokes, and you will not see it tonight." This can cause for a sense of impatience and deflation. Again, avoid. It is common knowledge, even from common, everyday joke-telling, that as soon as the teller says, "Hold on, I can't remember how it goes", momentum and effect are dampened considerably. An audience can appreciate that this is a work in progress, but constant reiteration of that fact is counterproductive. Reiterating this does not placate an audience or make them more risible, more understanding; instead, it frustrates and offends and allows for a sense of exclusivity, half-heartedness and also disloyalty. Before I continue, I should clarify here that any extreme disengagement is definitely impermissible by Petts and the open and joyful environment she creates. She has far too strong a persona, complete with vitality, character, lovable idiosyncrasies and a great and engaging demeanour. She is a joy to watch, and her material shines through. Does material scream its theme of 'transience', though? Certainly not. Though references to the end of humanity, eco-anxiety and relative existential crises do make a recurrent appearance, they are not enough alone to unify the material and give it an overall identity. It feels as though transience inspired the show but ended up having nothing to do with the final text. Any references that are made to transience are sterile, almost academic, as though Petts is really trying to come across as though she has framed and structured her material seriously and has given a lot of thought to it…and then her next joke is about fat men playing darts. The humour lies not in any theme but in the random, unrelated and muddled material, which often playfully caricaturises and criticises the Other. The themes of sport or anxiety, for example, come up more than transience where comedic material is concerned, in fact. I recognise that this text is in its early conception, and I also recognise that this might be disheartening for Petts, but I do not think the theme of transience adds anything of value or credit to her performance. It is completely overlookable and, if anything, subtractive. If the theme of transience cannot be better solidified, and better humorised, it should be forgotten entirely. Rather than having any theme, I do not see why this performance cannot simply be named 'an evening with', as this is what the material better equates to. I do not believe any audience would be saddened to see this change, either. Better yet, a vaguer theme, an example of which might be Sarah Millican’s show, Chatterbox. A great and effective title that allows her to get away with just rambling about anything and everything; anything she could say is ‘on topic’, because the only theme is that she talks a lot. Furthermore, this title is effective because it communicates something about Millican's identity, her personality and character. Petts's show in its current form could benefit from a name like this, I believe. Those really are my only negative criticisms, but they are quite fundamental and persistent ones, hence the rating I give this work. As I have written repeatedly, both the material delivered in this show and the performer delivering it are both a treat to experience. I would just recommend more careful thought towards the organisation of material, in regard to what I have mentioned above. “A comical and inviting work that will surely see great improvement with time.”

Upon entering the house, I was delighted to see how much detail had gone into the set’s design. The set teems with the sport-heavy sort of paraphernalia one would associate with the stereotypical modern, upperclass misogynist. There is a lot to look at and, above all, a lot to infuse the set with a sense of realism and credibility. And then I notice Phoebe Taylor-Jones (playing Pheobe) sat at her switched-off MacBook, typing away to a black screen. This completely destroys the illusion. Turn it on! Actually type! Add more to a pre-written word document! Most disappointing. As the performance goes on, this set proves to be more and more problematic, with theatrical properties falling from the table edges and the sides, or being accidentally thrown off stage by the actors themselves. Although, I must admit that whilst this is terrible from a critical perspective, it certainly added a positive sense of chaos and character, with these ‘masculinely charged’ items proving fragile and vulnerable to the touch and with Giorgia Valentino (playing Matt) and Nandini Bulchandani’s (playing Matthew) timely and comical overreactions. But this was not a decisive element of the performance and so cannot be commended, though I can commend Valentino and Bulchandani for their apt and timely responses to these incidences. The performance begins. Valentino and Bulchandani make for a wonderful comedy duo. They have great stage presence, energy and vigour and, mostly, a great command on their roles. I must admit that Valentino is certainly the stronger performer, however, particularly with the voice Bulchandani has chosen for Matthew often faltering conspicuously. More vocal practice should be done to avoid this. I should also note that the two’s emotional range is somewhat limited – and not in the way it ought to be in presenting two ‘unfeeling’ misogynists. The two performers struggle, it seems, to shift from one emotional state to another. This is most notable for Bulchandani in moments where she is portraying her character’s sudden reconsideration of the nature or appropriateness of his and Matt’s sexist behaviour. Momentum is often slowed in these moments and credibility is lost. As for Taylor-Jones’s performance, I would recommend more attention to diction. Taylor-Jones slips up on her lines consistently, which is remarkable, considering how few she has. Her characters are well differentiated, however, but I would like to see more variation in her reactions to Matt and Matthew; her staring and the widening or rolling of her eyes become a little repetitive and unimaginative. Moving on to the writing. This is a very comical and, above all, relatable performance. Its characters, their psychology, motivations and intents are all impeccably conceived, and writer-producer Eve Lytollis certainly knows how to communicate her sociopolitical messages to an audience, overall. However, it is a lengthy performance, indeed. In terms of its duration, the performance is only just over an hour, but the content…drags, for lack of a better word. Certainly comedic and coherent, the content is repetitive, overall. I understand the desire to depict the two men as nebulous, mucking around and never getting anything productive done, but this costs us valuable stage time that could be used to better develop a sense of plot and narrative [and Phoebe’s character, as I shall continue below] which I do feel is needed by this particular dramatic text, in fact. As it stands, developments seem to come out of nowhere, such as Phoebe’s sudden crying or court order case. I should note here also that this latter is most peculiar to me, given that Matthew is the accused and yet has no idea that the case has been opened, and yet she still wins…most unrealistic. Again, I understand the idea behind making Phoebe a negligible, background character, receiving no attention from the men – and hence from us, enabling us perhaps to feel that we are joining in with the misogyny to some degree – but the execution does not do this justice. The constant presence of a female character is effective in forcing us away from forgetting the reality that underpins this comedy, the reality of how the men’s behaviour would affect and be perceived by a woman. And it also cleverly allows for the depiction of two different intensities of misogyny: how men treat, speak to and behave around women; and how they act and speak together in a woman’s absence, unfiltered and unafraid to speak what is “really” on their minds. However, Phoebe’s mere silent presence does not feel sufficient here. With Phoebe being the character who summarises and comments at the end upon all we have experienced throughout the performance, Phoebe has a vital function in extracting the sociopolitical messages of the text. We need to feel that she herself is important enough to listen to, for how an audience reacts and relates to the messages behind what Phoebe is saying is very different to how they react and relate to Phoebe specifically saying them. We need to feel that we are in agreement with the character of Phoebe, not the writer of Phoebe’s lines. I shall elucidate. Paradoxically, we have grown to love the characters of Matt and Matthew and their behaviour. We need something to challenge our enjoyment of and complacency towards this. This is the purpose of Phoebe’s final speech as well as revealing to us the effects their misogyny has had on her. Through her speech, our enjoyment must be changed to guilt, despair and empathy; yet, we cannot empathise with a character with which we have no bond. Psychologically, it is far too difficult to empathise with an enormous number of people – the entire female and female-identifying population, for instance – but to empathise with one singular character is easy, and so if we are made to empathise with Phoebe, we are better emotionally educated and informed through her final speech on how to empathise with real women in similar circumstances. This affect must be utilised, nay forced upon us. Increasing Phoebe’s presence in the narrative, we will be forced to see the misogyny we have thus far enjoyed through her eyes. In its current form, however, the dramatic text does not allow for us to empathise with Phoebe, for we have no idea who she is; instead, to agree with her speech, we rely solely on our own pre-existing and pre-established morality and opinions and our own lived/learned experiences, personal histories and understandings of misogyny. We only agree because we already feel the same way. This means that the dramatic text does not challenge anything, teach us anything, make us feel anything; it is simply a reiteration and confirmation of what we already believe. This must be readdressed. Because Phoebe exists in the world of the play and can only be influenced by the events of the play and the other characters, having empathised with her and now hearing her final speech allows us to zero in solely on the content of the dramatic text. We are not so easily influenced, then, by external factors, our individual politics or ‘contradictory’ experiences. This is why a better incorporation of Phoebe’s character is so important. Currently, it feels as though Phoebe is a negligible element of the play, that she is just another of the women Matt and Matthew criticise and prejudge. If she should be the one to finally educate them, they should themselves feel that she is important enough to listen to, too. At the moment, I see no reason as to why these men who constantly blame women’s emotions on PMS or general hysteria should see this final email as anything different. I feel it was also a mistake to portray the video footage of the famous actor’s wife. This is too stylistically different from what we have seen thus far and disrupts what is otherwise a static setting and an unchanging set of profiles, i.e. we quickly become aware that the three performers have one role only, and so multi-roling is destabilising, however well characterisations are differentiated. The role change is simply too short-lived and is never seen again, meaning that this role change feels incredibly out of place. Furthermore, opinions on women should be more generalised in this dramatic text, I feel, and references to specific women should be limited to Phoebe alone. I write this because this dramatic text limits its narrative to office-based misogyny, and I believe these external references confuse this narrative, despite the fact that these characters are supposedly journalists. I would recommend that the characters perhaps dedicate their time to more publications like their one on women and menstruation or perhaps spread their actor-crazed attention across multiple Hollywood actors. Such a dedicated focus to the one actor develops its own subplot that, I am afraid, does not notably go anywhere or serve the overall plot in any substantial way, though I understand the concept behind it. Whilst the comedy offered by the dramatic text is certainly effective, and whilst it is delivered wonderfully by Valentino and Bulchandani, the sheer amount of uninterrupted comedy means that the more serious scenes, like Matt’s masturbation scene, seem out of place, less resonant, less poignant. With Valentino and Bulchandani’s portrayals being principally caricaturistic, unrealistic, melodramatic, more work has to be done to remind us of the severity behind their misogynistic beliefs and behaviour. We are removed, through comedy, from this severity, and I would recommend more frequent moments of seriousness from the middle of the play onwards, to disrupt the comedic flow of the text and to reduce our distance from it. This scene would also be a good example of where our bond with Phoebe would be useful, given that walking in on Matt is something she actually mentions in her final speech as a principal reason she ‘sits crying on the bathroom floor’ every night. With some seriousness and more presence from Phoebe, we should be made to feel as uncomfortable as she does. Without some seriousness, this masturbation scene, in particular, is easy to overlook — as incidents like this so often are in reality, it seems, for the very same reasons — but this is, I should hope, unintentional. After scenes like this, we should be made to feel a sense of discomfort as audience members, uncomfortable with what we have just witnessed, unsure of how to feel about this character that we have, ironically, grown rather fond of [hating?]. Any further attention we are forced to give him should feel unwanted, disconcerting. A summary: as I have written above, the over-reliance upon comedy is sometimes impeding. Thumb wars, for example, could be replaced with more meaningful content that progresses the narrative or increases its profundity. Moving on. As for the decision to have women play the roles of Matt and Matthew, this was a very intelligent one. It highlights the discrepancies between the behaviours we associate readily with men but that appear strange on a woman and allow for a deliberate, condescending and irregular display of masculinity that would not be so apparent if the performers were, indeed, men. In doing so, the behaviour, actions and language that we would otherwise find offensive, misogynistic and uncomfortable are rendered ridiculous and made inviting, accessible. And, of course, this would benefit Phoebe’s final speech if it were better integrated into the text. Finally, tech. The various lighting states are used effectively, particularly to differentiate what we are to consider as ‘live action’ from recorded footage (the interview, for example). However, there could be fewer. Lighting operation in general is rather poor, with states changing too quickly and before performers are ready. I should also note that the lighting design in the final scene is most inadequate, with Taylor-Jones left unlit and a dim spotlight on Valentino and Bulchandani where their reactions are nonexistent and meaningless to illuminate. Sound, however, is used immaculately and facilitates the performance well, particularly with ‘Boys Will Be Boys’ by The Ordinary Boys being played during transitions. Personally, I must say that I rather enjoyed this performance, but my critical perspective and personal opinion are very different things. It is solely because of the reasons I have listed, which are significant and compromising, that I give the rating I do. “A dramatic text that ought to be considered a promising first draft but with a lot of work ahead.”

Written by Laura May Price and directed by Beth Wilson, Dinner Theatre was recently staged at The Bread and Roses Theatre as part of the Camden Fringe. To book your tickets to any of the Fringe events, click here. I have a mixed response to this performance. On one hand, it offers tremendous comedy, both in writing and through its excellent performers; and on the other, it offers more sincere and ‘serious’ content that is nowhere near as hitting or effective. As a comedy, then, this dramatic text is wonderful; as a political text, it fails to capture and inform. I shall get some trivial notes out of the way first. There are moments when characters exit the 'living room' and enter the 'kitchen'. To portray this on stage, ‘exiting’ performers mime going through a doorway — when they remember to — and the remaining performers pretend to be having a conversation with one another ‘back in the living room’. These simultaneous scenes are incredibly untidy, with the remaining performers unable to decide whether to perform mute mime or to stage whisper amongst themselves. Mimed action is either incredibly distracting, as with the palm-readings, or simply incongruous with the text, as with Ethan Joseph Robert (playing Noah) and Sarah Wenban (playing Noah’s Grandmother, Frances) miming as though having an effortless and comfortable interaction, despite the fact that Noah is supposed to be feeling disconnected from and awkward around her throughout the text. I would recommend the obvious: separate lighting states to differentiate the two scenes; dim the living room lighting when action takes place in the kitchen – or by the front door. Then, decide what performers are doing specifically throughout all miming scenes. These interactions should not be extemporised in any way whatsoever; otherwise, they appear sloppy, awkward and unrealistic. All aspects of the performance should be deliberate, thoughtful and, above all, coherent and legible. There is only so much palm-reading you can do before it naturally loses visual intrigue. And whilst it is clear that the miming performers do await specific cues from the ‘exited’ performers to guide their actions, these need to be a LOT more frequent than they currently are. On the night I saw the performance, there were a few technical errors — a frequent issue amongst technicians of the Clapham Fringe at the moment, for some reason. Performers styled this out as best as they could, and I commend them for the manner in which naturalism was maintained, specifically in what I shall refer to as ‘the dancing scene’, wherein the music failed to come on in time. I commend Laura May Price (also playing Billie), in particular, for her quick thinking. Although I cannot be sure as to what actually led to the issue, I have two words: tech runs! Three, at least! Now, on to more significant matters. I shall start with performativity. These performers are incredible, and I do not often get the chance to say this of an entire cast. From comedic timing to expressivity to credibility to vitality, these performers are talented, indeed! Any lack of naturalism originates from direction and the writing itself. Performers demonstrate a clear sense of character psychology and intent and focus their energy well into a fascinating physicality and facial expressivity, particularly Robert. A wonderful and dynamic cast! I mentioned that there were issues concerning naturalism as far as direction and writing are concerned. With direction, I refer to these jarring moments of mime, for example, and other such instances where energy is allowed to drop or where directorial decisions mean that character intent seems noncommunicable or inconsistent. In regard to the written text, lack of naturalism originates from the deliberate [and effective] corniness of the writing itself or from its own inability to construct and typify natural speech where necessary. What is most impressive about this cast is their clear sense of chemistry. Perhaps this speaks less of Iara Mario Brito Borges (playing Leah), particularly in regard to the rigid kiss she shares with Price, but, otherwise, all moments requiring clear physical affection are executed wonderfully. I refer to actions like the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it squeeze of the leg Robert gives Price; the tight hugs Price and Ross McShane (playing Ollie) go out of their way to share; or Robert placing his leg over McShane’s lap, upon which McShane then places his hand. A sense of intimacy and collectivity is certainly portrayed exquisitely in this performance in these ways. However, portrayals of intimacy and lack thereof do bring me to the entrance of Noah’s Grandmother. Both in the written text and in performance, her entrance is entirely understated. The awkward hug Wenban shares with Robert is completely underplayed, she is quickly welcomed into the house and sat down, and initial conversations are certainly not overly positive but they are not negative, either. They are awkward, but only because the performers are overplaying this, with good direction, not because it is written in the text. And because it is not written in the text, there is only so much that performers can do to convince us. Only chastising him for dropping out of education — and why writer Price has chosen to focus on this, I am not too sure — Noah’s Grandmother is actually quite a gentle and sweet character. She is accommodating, jokey, engaged with the other characters — she even dances with them! We certainly need more from her to feel that she is such a threat. We need constant castigation; negative, unwanted criticisms; refutals of everything any other character says. This is a comedy! This must be amped up, exaggerated! This becomes quite a big issue when we consider that she also demonstrates no homophobic hostility. Whilst Noah recounts a few of his negative experiences regarding his grandmother’s ‘homophobia’, such as her opinions on ballet danseurs, we really get no sense of his grandmother’s homophobia ‘from the horse’s mouth’, so to speak, at all throughout the performance. We do get a short-lived outburst about non-binary pronouns but nothing at all when the other characters mention Stonewall, Pride or gay rights in general, just to name a few instances where her homophobia would definitely shine through if it truly existed at the level Noah describes. In this way, any slight sense of ‘homophobia’ we do get does not really communicate Frances’s disgust with homosexuality; rather, with men who do not subscribe to traditional concepts of masculinity and manhood. Ultimately, this could be a form of homophobia, but it is a very nuanced one, as we are still not getting a great sense of her phobia of or views towards homosexuality specifically, as opposed to of and towards 'effeminate' or 'non-traditional' men. Her derisions better approximate transphobia than anything else. Perhaps writer Price was concerned about presenting a homophobic character, either out of fear of offending audience members or fear of disrupting the overall comedic feel of the performance — although, I should not think it was this latter, given the political material with which we are inundated [more on this below]. Whatever writer Price’s potential anxiety, Noah’s Grandmother being homophobic is the very reason this story can exist in the form that it does; we need to witness it for ourselves! This is actually one of the reasons I find the ending to be so incredibly disappointing. It is easy to feel cheated when we are left with a cliffhanger as to how Noah’s Grandmother will actually react now that she is aware of his sexual orientation. As I wrote above, her response to this is supposed to be the very premise of the text. So, we do not get the typical happy ending comedy usually delivers us, and this is somewhat deflating. However, a more significant factor leading to my disappointment is that by this point, we are not made to care what Noah’s grandmother actually thinks. With her aforementioned sweet demeanour and almost complete lack of prejudgements, the threat of how she might react is just not powerful enough to warrant this cliffhanger. This is especially true when we consider that throughout Robert’s final speech, Wenban actually remains either completely neutral or smiley, her facial expressions even leaning towards empathetic sometimes! It is quite clear her character is not as disgusted as one would imagine, then. So, why the cliffhanger? What could we possibly have left to ponder over as audience members, to worry about, to overthink, to imagine? Another reason the ending is so poor is due to the political focus of the dramatic text. Ollie and Noah’s heart-to-hearts in the kitchen quickly turn into huge rants about representation in the media and the daily suffering we all experience as gay men, amongst many other suchlike subjects. We lose sight of Noah’s character, personality and psychology, and he quickly becomes an uninterrupted mouthpiece for the political opinions of the writer. His speech swiftly becomes an unchallenged and univocal lecture, uninterrupted by the other characters who have been waiting shockingly nonchalantly for over ten minutes for him to return with a mere recipe. This political content, resonant though its reality is, seems rather pointless to me to include. That this performance can function as a comedy relies on the fact that its audience will already share the sociopolitical beliefs inherent to and expressed through the dramatic text. Its intended audience is chiefly a team of progressive LGTBT-allies or, indeed, members of the LGBT+ community, perhaps ‘millennials’, who celebrate their own homosexuality or the queerness of others. The intended audience would find this comedy funny because they share the exact same frustrations as Noah about “the older generation”, to which his grandmother would belong, and their principles. Thus, these political spiels rather ‘preach to the converted’, so to speak. They feel needless, ineffective. Inherently political, there is no need to politicise this comedy any further. Keep it light, amusing. Most importantly, these scenes completely change the tone of the performance. I cannot stress how long these kitchen scenes are. The amount of time consumed by them allows us to 1) forget that this is even a comedy and not an average [and unimaginative] political play, and 2) lose any sense of pressure and imminency that the text has spent so long building up for us. More and more characters arriving at the door, an expanding web of lies, the imminent shunning from an important family member, all of this makes for a wonderful sense of climax, chaos, pressure…and all of it for nothing for these slow and heavy scenes. The first kitchen scene alone is ridiculously long, and then there is another just like it! I must recommend with emphasis that these two kitchen scenes be cut into one if they are to be included at all, and this includes when Noah and Ollie talk about the future of their relationship specifically. In fact, I would recommend having one [short!] scene, instead, that deals solely with them fixing their rocky relationship in the way that they do. Having two almost identical scenes allows content to become far too repetitive. This is why I write that we simply are not made to care anymore about the opinions of his grandmother. Besides, we have already established that her opinion is meaningless because Noah has so many loving friends that he can call family, instead. The risks, which used to be high, given that his grandmother was the ‘only family he had left’, have now fallen too low. What is there to lose? I shall end on a positive note by clarifying that areas that are meant to be funny certainly are hilarious. Writer Price has a wonderful comedic talent, and casting for this was perfectly executed. Definitely the right performers for these roles. “A glorious cast but an imbalanced dramatic text.”

This review shall consider Scum, a play written by Taiyo Yoshida, directed by Jonathan Hawkins and recently staged at The Bread and Roses Theatre as part of the Clapham Fringe. It seems that playwright Taiyo Yoshida could not decide whether to create a comedy or a serious, heartfelt play. The overture is impassioned, reflective, inspiring…then we have chaotic comedy, with a planted glove, a dead cat and a desperate cleaning duo…and then a more serious and humdrum confrontation between the two despairing characters. How we are meant to feel leaving this performance, then, is most questionable. Stylistically, this is a very confused performance, and I myself am left feeling very confounded as to the significance of the sociocultural agenda sprinkled throughout the text to cause us to consider the social status of and lack of respect towards cleaners. This play, overall, is far too playful and nebulous to offer us any profound political insight; it should steer clear of this. I shall start with characterisation. The character of Fiona (Lucy Blake) is clear and well defined. We understand that she is hardworking and ambitious, driven and serious. We also understand her motivations and objectives — her desire to develop her cleaning business, for example. She has a life beyond the play, recounting her dates, her relationship with her mum, etc. Claire (Emily Ralph), however, is quirky, cooky, airy and playful and wants to be an actress…and that is all we know. These adjectives are not character traits or aspects of psychology in themselves but mere descriptions of demeanour. They do not imply objective, intent or mentality. There is a severe lack of character development, most notably with Claire, as I have implied above, but even with Fiona too. Coherent and linear progression insofar as character psychology and development are replaced with dance sequences, power poses and lengthy, meaningless dialogues. This must be re-examined. The characters are simply not well communicated at all. We are just left to accept what we are given – and we are given very little, indeed. Where performativity is concerned, Blake and Ralph certainly have adequate energy, and this is especially true of the comedic section of the text, but could do with a lot more, overall. Conviction and overall credibility is certainly lacking, and Blake needs to work a lot more on her diction, as she regularly slips up on her lines – something of which I am seeing a lot of late, for some reason. Then, we have the miming… This is completely unimaginative and repetitive, not to mention completely undecipherable. I have no idea why the creatives chose to bombard the set with so many props and pieces…only to have Blake and Ralph disregard them and mime! Use the props you have! One minute, Blake is using a real scraper to remove the ‘chewing-gum’ stuck to the underside of a real table, and the next, she is miming running her finger along a cabinet that does not exist. Just how dusty is this cabinet, I wonder, considering that the actresses each perform this exact action persistently throughout the first few scenes. Devoid of creativity. To use mime and physical action side by side like this is leads to a severely disjointed performance style. It is not until after Claire and Fiona share a dance routine that the comedy element is really amped up, and it is certainly effective. A growing sense of chaos, an absurd scenario, funny one-liners and lively characterisations. This section is wonderful. And I shall ignore the fact that we are asked as audience members to imagine that the box the two fight over is, in fact, a bottle and that it supposedly drops and smashes whilst still clearly in their hands. Visual cues like this involving mime are those I recommend be thoroughly reconsidered. Then, we have the serious dialogue that quickly ensues after this section. This scene is needlessly long and completely dampens our enjoyment of the comedy beforehand. Ill-conceived, it is lengthened by nonsensical pieces of dialogue such as when Claire explains why she planted the glove – an element, I should note, that I find far too predictable – and Fiona then asks her, ‘Why?’ …She just told you. Logical flow is inhibited like this for a prolonged sense of ‘drama’ that ought not to be. A few trivial notes: when Claire imagines herself as Mark’s alternate persona and says that perhaps he loves to perform in front of ‘a live audience’, the metatheatrical joke here of looking out knowingly to the audience is uncalled for; it needlessly defictionalises the text to no avail and is another example of stylistic disjointedness. Technical elements are overused, and as much as I personally enjoy the voiceover of the cat, again, it does not fit in stylistically with the rest of the performance. It deliberately, and erroneously, draws attention to the work we are forced to do as an audience to imagine that a cat is actually there – which is hard enough with Ralph’s, yet again, repetitive and unrealistic miming motions. Overall, this is a very confused dramatic text. When it aspires to be a comedy, it certainly delivers, but it is completely unsure of itself, as are its performers. “An ill-conceived and confused performance.”

For clarification, where Worden and Robirosa are mentioned, this refers to the performers; where Lill and Lila are mentioned alone, this refers to the personae of Lil and Lila as presented within the dramatic text. Sex(y) Ed is an exceptionally strong comedy created and performed by Lill Worden (playing “Lill”) and Lila Robriosa (playing “Lila”). First, structure and form. Lill Worden and Lila Robirosa clearly know how to structure a comedic performance. The duo incorporate seamlessly into their work an array of comedic techniques, from repetition to buffooning to caricatures to their use of chaos and disorder, and the effects are terrific. This is an exemplary performance for modern clowning. The use of the flip charts, for example, and the songs about thrush, bisexuality and period blood provide this performance through their varied repetition with a sense of identity and structure. However far we deviate from the ‘main body of material’, we know we will always end up back at these elements, meaning that material feels contained and not too incongruous. Even these deviations are pertinent to the main body, however. I refer, for instance, to the Goldilocks scene and what I shall call the verbatim scene, when the two mime along to a voiceover of a conversation between two women about their experiences of sex and sex education. These scenes, as wildly stylistically dissimilar from the rest of the material as they seem, continue to reflect theme and subject matter effectively, and so their inclusion certainly does the work justice. I should also note that a sense of cyclicality and stability is also aided by the symmetry offered in the set and in the performers’ sparing use of space. Another thing this performance organises incredibly well is audience interaction. The setup of a lesson on sex education is a wonderful means of establishing an audience-performer relationship, with the audience naturally being the pupils and the performers being the teacher. Interaction is consistent throughout as the audience are directly addressed, and this culminates in a spectacular scene involving audience participation: ‘pin the clitoris on the vulva’. That the audience member should take the finished makeshift vulva collage home with them is a wonderful sensationalist element to include. This brings me to props. Theatrical properties are simple and bland items, from wooden spoons to bundles of yarn, and this is most effective both in generating that sense that these ‘sexperts’, lacking in professionalism and formal experience, have no idea what they are doing and in producing a cheap and laughable aesthetic that serves to facilitate the performance as opposed to glamourising it needlessly. I particularly enjoy the chaos these props help to facilitate, as well: by the end of the performance, the floor of the stage is completely littered with them, with props even overflowing out onto the floor of the house. I would just recommend not throwing the heavier props, such as shoes, towards the audience so directly. Costume, on the other hand, is debatable. The first costume Lill and Lila both wear — a lab coat, a white shirt and trousers — is congruous and facilitative, but the pyjamas are thorny for me… That the two performers should discard their clown noses and take off their formal attire implies that we are about to experience the characters more intimately and that they will be better relatable, more humanised and less like clowns perhaps. This is not the case; nothing changes with the personae we are presented nor with the comedy we receive. The lead-up feels far too promising…but to no avail. I understand that the creatives wished to communicate with this costume change the comforts we associate with pyjamas when menstruating, but this can simply be communicated by removing the lab coat and putting on a dressing gown alone, without removing the nose or any significant items of clothing. And the props of hot chocolates and hot water bottles would also remain useful here. Doing this would be far less time-consuming and would communicate the very same message. I say ‘less time-consuming’ because this undressing sequence, as comical as it might be, takes far too long – the entire duration of the song, ‘Make Me Feel’ by Janelle Monáe, in fact. I would also note that this undressing sequence naturally sexualises the two performers, and this sexualisation is not something we have seen before nor something we will see again in Sex(y) Ed. So, there is a sense of discontinuity here, too. On another note, throwing an item that has been worn on your nose towards the audience during a pandemic should perhaps be reconsidered… Nevertheless, Worden and Robirosa demonstrate great talent, both where theatremaking and performativity are concerned. Energy and vitality are faultless, and the two demonstrate good conviction. I do have a few negatives, however, which leads me to the rating I give below. I would like to see a degree more of corporeal expressivity from the two performers. I think the decision to humanise these clowns, as opposed to presenting a bouffon or a harlequin, for example, and to naturalise movement and behaviour is an effective and intelligent decision; it allows for the absurdity of the material to shine through. I would just like to see an accentuation of emotion and expression — particularly facial expression. At times, with the repetitive structure I mentioned above, there is sometimes a sense that the material is carrying the performers, as opposed to performers relying on their own talent and not just on the content they have devised. I would particularly like to see some more physicality and tonal variation in the songs. These are performed slightly too monotonously – NB: I recognise and appreciate the nonchalance and unspiritedness of this delivery, and this is not what I refer to when I say monotony; I refer solely to tone, not to emotion, mood or expressivity. Otherwise, vocal expressivity is practically perfect, especially when the two performers deliver the same lines with uncertainty, deliberately just out of sync. This is not easy to do well and comedically, but these performers do a glorious job, with their conspicuous lack of simultaneity echoing well the sense of chaos and degradation we find elsewhere in this performance. There is a degree more conviction and certitude coming from Worden, I must admit, and I wonder if this is deliberate, with Lill labelling herself as ‘the actual’ sexpert whilst Lila labels herself ‘the best’. I would re-examine this, for either it should be far better emphasised that Lill is, indeed, the leader of our ‘session’, or Lila’s presence and inclusion should really be made to equate Lill’s. Currently, their functions in this performance are far too similar to warrant this disparity in conviction. This is important to note because this persists almost throughout — ignoring the Goldilocks scene, for the first half of which Robirosa takes the lead — with Worden leading these out-of-sync deliveries as well as being the lead performer in the verbatim scene, for example. Whilst on the topic of the verbatim scene, I would recommend that both performers face the same way. Whilst their chairs are facing the audience, Worden delivers her lines almost exclusively to the audience whereas Robirosa delivers hers to Worden. This should be re-examined as well. I would recommend that Worden and Robirosa each work more on developing a sense of character for this performances — and perhaps for future performances too. Perhaps studying Lecoquian bouffons, for example, and developing characters accordingly, then reining them in to better reflect their current/desired performance style would benefit these creatives, if this is something they have not already explored. As it stands, the material is hilarious, but the duo lack a significant sense of marked identity and relationship to one another. It should be clear, for example, why exactly why one is ‘the best’ and the other is ‘the actual’ sexpert, amongst other items. Clearly, the creatives wish to communicate some kind of competition, which is even present in the promotional photograph featured in this review, but this does not come through at all in performance beyond the opening scene. Overall, a hilarious and spectacular performance with great spirit and character. “A hilarious, well-structured and effective performance. A must-see!”

For clarification, where ‘Ashdown’ is mentioned in this review, this refers to the comedian herself, Hatty Ashdown; where ‘Hatty’ is mentioned in this review, this refers to Ashdown’s onstage persona. Unfortunately, I must start by clarifying that, whilst I did happen to notice on the guest list that a great deal more audience members were scheduled to turn up, only two others and myself were present. But Ashdown certainly turned this negative into a positive, nonetheless. Her energy was constant and astounding; her stage presence, strong and palpable. A veritably natural and powerful performer. Such a small audience is never easy to perform to, especially that of a standup comedy show, whose meek reticence is mistakable for disengagement or displeasure, yet Ashdown carried herself with confidence and self-assuredness, which would naturally incite any audience to feel secure in watching her that they were watching a true, committed professional. However, as I made clear in my recent review of another Clapham Fringe comedy show, Transience, scripts on stage elicit a huge “NO!” from me. Whether a work in progress or not, a performer must be confident in and aware of the entirety of their material before they present it to an audience — particularly a paying one. Scripts are distracting, disruptive and cause for a sense of amateurism and lack of preparation and credibility. Although, I must admit that I did personally find Ashdown’s particular interactions with her script very humorous. But from a purely critical and professional standpoint, this is a huge negative. I would recommend Ashdown memorise her material, incomplete or not, for future performances going forward. Now, my notes on the direction of this work in progress. Ashdown’s persona is campy, sometimes naughty, cheeky and, above all, dramatic and theatrical. She is inviting, bubbly, vivacious, and her material, dealing with the common everyday struggles, the banal and humdrum, amplifies her relatability. But I cannot help but want a tad more…extremity. Every so often, I find a comedian that would benefit from a more ‘traditional’ theatrical approach, i.e. from an incorporation of character into their work. Ashdown is such a comedian. By far the most effective, resonant and comedic material that Ashdown presents us with is that which relies heavily upon her impressions — those of her mother, for example — or upon her campy, low-voiced outbursts when she is delivering her cheeky/witty asides. These impressions are very convincing and effective, the kind which we can immediately identify and relate to, and these caricatural outbursts give us our sense of Hatty’s identity. The profiles she presents us with are funny, clear, strong, and I believe this is something Ashdown needs to pursue further in her comedic works. I would not go so far as to demand one big and comedic character-driven soliloquy from Ashdown — though I am certain she could, indeed, provide this — but to generate a lot more material that lends solely to these characterisations and caricatures is something I believe would be very beneficial to Ashdown, in this work at least. I can see that storytelling and recounting memories is a great part of Ashdown’s work, but I do believe this selling point is also a downfall to some degree. This comedic technique is perhaps overused in Dig Deep, and this is also why an incorporation of character-based material would be beneficial, I believe, to break up the almost sameness of Ashdown telling us the funny experiences she remembers. Seeing a lot more variation in her storytelling and in her voice would be productive, and impressions seem to come naturally to Ashdown and would be a great means of ‘spicing up’ her recounts, so to speak. Next, theme. Throughout Dig Deep, in its current form, we consistently find references to womanhood and women’s issues but, most chiefly, to motherhood. Hatty relates or compares herself to strong and independent female role models throughout but mostly recounts her experiences with and memories of her late mother. She also details her relationship with her own children and the stories they share. With all of this in mind, the themes of motherhood and maternality seem persistent, despite Hatty’s focus on worrying and stoic approaches to anxiety and fear that seem to do nothing for her until the very end with her heartening return to the topic of her mother’s “worry drawer”. I would recommend making the theme of motherhood and maternality the principle and overarching focus, instead, as this rings truer to the show’s current content. Worry and approaches to worrying will naturally return with her mother’s worry drawer, if this is material Ashdown would still find fitting and would not want to lose. A show that details her memories of and experiences with her mother, what lessons she has learnt from her, which of her traits Hatty has herself, all of which then reflected upon Hatty’s relationship with her own son and their personal stories and the relationships she has with other mothers…this would all make for a very coherent and cohesive narrative. It would not be too far away from the content Ashdown already has, as well. Presenting her impressions of her mother, other mothers she has met along the way and her children would also benefit this material well, I believe. Otherwise, I do not think there is a clear sense of theme and narrative at all currently, with the concept of ‘digging deep’ feeling vastly underplayed and the theme of dealing with worry being somewhat insignificant, overall. A few final notes on Ashdown’s performance. Pacing! Particularly after these aforementioned campy asides, Ashdown often races through the text, and this is often to the detriment of comedic timing. I would advise she consider areas where slight pauses are needed and techniques on calming any extraneous performance nerves. Finally, do not conclude with a “So, that’s it, really…” This completely discredits all of the work you have done thus far as insignificant, fruitless and negligible. And some final, perhaps show-specific, notes to conclude…the lighting design for this performance, as balanced and aesthetically pleasing as it was, was shockingly poor in considering the proximity of the lights to the stage. I can imagine it was all but blinding when Ashdown stepped Downstage, especially when she neared the stage’s edge. Finally, I understand the reason behind having the tech operator, “Helen”, laugh loudly at every opportunity — to make up for the absence of guffawing audience members — but, whilst I cannot be sure if this was her own personal decision or if it was recommended by Ashdown herself, I must state emphatically that doing this makes for a hugely awkward display. I would recommend the tech operator not do this again for future performances. All it does is draw attention to the absence of laughter, especially when it is done before the punchline is even delivered or when it is done so performatively…either that, or it forces the audience to be aware of their duty to laugh as attendees at a comedy show, and duty and responsibility are not particularly comical. A simple giggle at major punchlines only would have sufficed here. But again, I understand the admirable intentions. “A natural performer with great stage presence, whose current work will surely impress when its theme and content are improved.”

For clarification, where ‘Emily Curtis’ or simply ‘Curtis’ are mentioned in this review, these refer to Emily Curtis as a performer; where ‘Emily’ alone is mentioned, this refers to the character of Emily within the dramatic text. Similarly, where ‘Sophie Potter’ or ‘Potter’ are mentioned, these refer to the real individual and performer; where ‘Sophie’ is mentioned, this refers to the character of Sophie within the dramatic text. Sophie is a wholesome and enjoyable performance that celebrates the thirtieth birthday and life thus far of ‘Sophie Potter’, sister to the writer and solo performer of this text, Emily Curtis. I find the dramatic text to be somewhat misleading at first. After noticing the huge silver balloons that spell Sophie’s name, and the gift bags in front of them, we settle in the space to be shown projected footage of Sophie welcoming the audience to her birthday party. She encourages the audience to “have fun” and to “dance”. After this, Emily Curtis then enters the stage – not Sophie Potter – and introduces her sister, who is sat [by chance?] in the audience. Curtis thanks us all for coming, even addressing individual audience members as though characters, family members, in the play, and then the main body of content begins. First, this content addresses Sophie’s history directly, her birth and the discovery that she has Down syndrome, her childhood…and then the focus changes: Emily is born, and we turn our attention to Emily’s personal experiences with Sophie throughout her childhood and adolescence. Our focus now remains heavily upon Emily throughout, and we only learn of Sophie through her and no longer from the omniscient narration Curtis first offers us towards the beginning of her performance. I hope it is obvious how many shifts in perspective, audience-performer relationships and subject matter there have been already within the first five minutes of the performance. We are set up to feel as though we are active participants and that we have a pre-existing relationship with Sophie that will be strengthened by our interactions with Sophie herself. But then we get her sister, instead, and we also become mere listeners, observers. This is why I will write that it is easy to feel cheated by this performance when we realise that the story we will hear is not the story of Sophie but the story of Emily and her relationship with Sophie, Emily’s perspective and experience of her, her feelings towards her. I think it was a bizarre and erroneous choice to have Sophie address us via this footage in this way. It was also fallible to interact with us so directly in the beginning, only to re-dim the houselights and not interact with us at all again throughout the performance. In fact, there is one notable interaction that we do have with Curtis: when she walks around the parameters of the stage, exhibiting her bare hand – to the front row only, taking no interest in the second – and asking us to imagine that she is presenting a photograph. The role and function of the audience, then, is entirely confused along with who we understand the principal performer to be. What is more, there is a stylistic inconsistency where photos and videos have always been shown thus far projected onto the screen above…so why the awkward, forced, campy and in-your-face miming now? I am not sure if Potter is present in the audience for all performances of this play, but she was present on the night I saw the performance, and this was even more confusing. We were forced to ignore that she was there, which was made difficult by the fact that Emily Curtis deliberately gave her and her friend eye contact frequently throughout, notably performing to them at some points, especially when presenting the funnier or more sentimental material. If Potter is always present, this needs to be re-examined, and she should be far better physically integrated into the performance in some way, even if this means seating her on stage as the birthday girl, continuing to address us as alongside her as though giving a speech at her birthday party. This would be the logical approach to making the shift in performers at the beginning more decipherable. If she is not always present, then Emily Curtis must, regardless, be aware not to come out of character and break the audience-performer divide merely because she recognises someone in the front row. This completely destroys illusion. So, all audience-performer confusions aside, I shall focus more specifically on the dramatic text alone. As I mentioned above, I struggle with the fact that the events of the play are revealed to us through Emily. Really, we learn very little about Sophie by the end of this performance. We learn nothing palpable about her identity, her specific traits and idiosyncrasies, her personality, her psychology… We learn that she is caring and compassionate and that she does not care what people think of her, but this is hardly enough to concretise our vision of her character. I do like that we learn about Sophie through Emily, particularly because it makes Sophie’s Down syndrome, which is a fundamental part of this text, a lot more accessible to those who have no experience with it, but our focus remains so heavily concentrated upon Emily that we lose out on significant details about Sophie. For example, we are just to accept that Sophie has a boyfriend now and dreams of marriage, or that she is confident in managing her period and sees herself as a grown lady, without any indication as to how Sophie arrived at these interests and mindsets. In fact, we miss out on quite a lot of information for the text favouring Emily’s history over Sophie’s. I think of Emily’s frustration with Sophie, in particular. Emily starts to drift away from Sophie in her teenage years with the verbal abuse she receives from others because of Sophie’s Down syndrome, and suddenly, they are both adults and Sophie is wanting to get married at the age of thirty…? We are just to accept that sisterly love, maturity and growth have prevailed and that Emily has instantaneously seen past all of this when hitting adulthood. A lack of linear narrative, then. Regardless of whether it succeeds in meeting its aims and doing what it sets out to – which is what influences my rating, amongst the other details I mention in this review – this is still a wonderful text. It is chiefly a depiction of Emily’s life over Sophie’s and ought, if anything, to be called Sophie and Me, but it still remains incredibly wholesome and a treat to watch. A relatable and heart-warming story of learning to love and appreciate one’s sister, whatever differences life throws at us. I would just note that there is a tendency in this text to over-rely upon the character of Sophie’s superficial positive attributes: innocence, endearment, cuteness, purity. This is problematic only because there is a lack of substantial disclosure of her character. We have no understanding of who she really is, only an account of her acts of kindness or impulsive and unbridled passion. We understand that she is a good person, fine, but we are not permitted any further concrete, profound or detailed understanding of Sophie’s identity, character or psychology. Her descriptions are limited merely to this innocence and purity, and whilst this positive overview is something we would expect of a birthday speech, it is not something we would expect of a play detailing someone's entire life; we would expect detailed character profiling and development, to gain an understanding of history, backstory and progression of narrative. On to Curtis’s performance itself. A weak beginning – made worse, of course, by the odd shift from direct address to ‘traditional’ dramatic storytelling – but Curtis certainly demonstrates great energy and stage presence. She has a clear understanding of the dynamic use of space and exhibits above-adequate conviction. However, she suffers from a huge lack of credibility and naturalism. This is no fault of the written text’s but is due, instead, to her intonation, to the ambit of her gaze, to the positioning of her body and to her overall manner of delivery. Curtis habitually plays to the front of the thrust stage, ignoring that she is far too Downstage to be visible to any audience members on the Upstage sides. In fact, anyone here in the second row would have had a good view of the back of her head for almost the entirety of the performance. Staging needs to be urgently re-addressed, then. For the setting of a birthday party, I do rather favour the thrust staging, but, as the performance currently stands, with the birthday party featuring so little in this performance in actuality, I would see no significant subtraction in having end staging, with the audience viewing the performance head-on. In fact, I think it would be beneficial. Some final notes on performance. Whilst Emily characterises her mother and grandmother very well, any differentiation beyond these two is incredibly poor. It is the written text alone that allows us to understand what is happening in scenes. Further work on character distinction should be practised. Pacing…Curtis must work on this, particularly between scenes. Take time between scenes so as not to overload the audience with information. Finally, do not wait for tech cues! It is often the case that Curtis freezes, waiting for music to play, and when it does, her reaction time is far too slow. Put faith in tech operation and make your next move automatically, in the hope that the tech will do its job and facilitate you well. Although, I should note that tech operation was rather poor, with the operator unable to decide at which volume to keep songs, playing them too loudly at first and altering the volume quickly multiple times after, and with far too many lighting states. “A confused text that fails to deliver what it promises but a heartwarming one, nevertheless.”

Colloquium, written by Katherine Stockton and directed by Charles Douglas, provides its audience with an effective and comical exploration into the exclusivity of knowledge – specifically, the institutionalisation of knowledge – and into the scholastic separation of knowledge from human feeling and emotion. In some aspects, this is a very intelligent text, witty and satirical and clearly inspired by a great deal of academic reading. From a dramaturgical perspective, however, it is…rocky, to say the least. Stockton clearly struggled when writing this dramatic text to decide whether she wanted a more ‘contemporary’, actor-driven performance, making use of figures as opposed to characters, and episodes and montages as opposed to scenes and linear plots; or a ‘traditional’, character-driven play with emphasis on character development, mutability and psychological realism. The material we are presented until the middle of the performance is fragmented and non-linear; we are not presented with coherent and mutable ‘characters’ but with figures: teachers and pupils; the successful and wise, and the ‘stupid’ and failing. Yet, from the middle of the play onwards, a bizarre attempt at psychological realism surfaces, most peculiarly with the character of Professor A (Seán Bennett). We are informed through his rather biting interaction with Student A (Caitlin Wood) that Professor A is bored with the monotony and sterility of his life dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge, education and individuality. After this, we see that he is dejected, pondering. At the close of the play, he sits forlorn, staring into space. As the other performers form a line Downstage [an ending upon which I will elaborate further below], Bennett is still. When he finally stands to join them, he is silent and does not deliver a one-liner like the rest or stare into the audience; instead, he stares at his feet. This is utterly confounding to me, given that Professor A has had such an understated presence in this play up until now. Perhaps an issue with Bennett’s acting, we see Professor A constantly burying his face into his notepad throughout the performance, silent, negligible, indistinct. He has no obvious personality; he simply utters bombastic phrases about literature and personal development, making a habit to chastise and condescend Student A whenever he can. Other than being prejudged by the other professors above him, this is the extent of his ‘character’. With this in mind, I fail to see why he is suddenly presented as somebody with feeling, as passible, reacting to material. I believe that we are meant to feel something more from his character, especially with the fact that he is constantly on stage throughout, sat off to the side – again, his face buried inertly [and frustratingly] in his notepad – but whatever the reason for this, it is not being communicated well at all at present. I use this character as an example, but there is a similar effect with PhD Student B (Daniel Wheeler) who details to us his backstory and psychology and reveals his relationship with his mother’s lover, all in a rather lengthy but comical monologue. Whilst this monologue and PhD Student A’s (Anna Hodgson) actually demonstrate good naturalism and progression and work well as dramatic pieces alone, they simply do not fit in with the rest of the dramatic text. When I consider how emotion is delivered by the character of Student A, for example, there is a clear difference in the degree of psychological realism we are offered. Student A remains a mere [unnaturalistic] spokesperson for the frustrations of those deemed unknowledgeable and unworthy by education institutions. Her opinions are blatant and sterile. She does not divulge much about herself, about her ‘character’; only her beliefs. Her feelings are expressed only to fuel her protest, not to our benefit, to better her character profile. We have no profound sense of her identity or backstory, and this is what makes her analytical function in the play, as an omniscient and subversive underdog of sorts, so effective. Hoping that I have elucidated my frustrations with the inconsistency of style with this dramatic text, I will now move on to the performers and their capabilities. Alex Gallacher (playing Student B) stands out above all as the most credible and convincing performer. She demonstrates great vitality and conviction. However, I find, compared to that of the other performers — except for one of Daniel Hemsley's characterisations, that of Professor B — that her style is far too caricatural. The other performers have an acting style better approximating naturalistic, and this should be reflected in Gallacher’s characterisation too. Currently, she stands out too sorely, however impressive her acting is. Hemsley is the next most impressive. He demonstrates good character differentiation and a good understanding of intent and action. He offers great expressivity and physicality. Wheeler provides us with good naturalism and great emotional range but struggles to differentiate sufficiently between his two characters – I am afraid changing out of a sweater and into a blazer was not enough to allow us to discern one of his characters from another here. To demonstrate a clearer change in character, I would like to see distinct physicalities and variation in tone and idiolect from him. Hodgson also demonstrates good emotional range and expressivity, though conviction is certainly lacking in the seminar scene. Bennett and Wood, I am afraid, remain somewhat mediocre, neutral. Both could work on emotional range and expressivity — though this is less the case for Wood — and naturalism and credibility are certainly lacking where they ought not to. There are some particular dramatic techniques utilised in this performance that irk me. I will start with miming. First, the simultaneous scenes – notably, at the beginning of the performance. An editorial issue as much as a blunder in blocking, one scene is often given far too much stage time over the other, which would not be so big an issue if performers had a better understanding of what they were doing when they were to be silent. The beginning scene sees two simultaneous scenes, one between Bennett and Wood, and another between Hemsley and Gallacher. Whilst the conversations each pair have are lively, sharp, energised, the miming that the pairs do between speech is understated, calm and slow. This means that when we return to conversation, the pairs suddenly burst out of their silent stupor and the dialogue ensues as though there has been no pause. This is most unnatural to watch. Performers need to work closely with Douglas here to devise more convincing and decisive movements to act out during these scenes. If anything, two simple spotlights, one dimmed when the other is lit, could have been used here to break the scenes up more coherently. What is more, topography is confused by the proximity of the two scenes to one another, allowing for Hemsley to trespass into the realm of the other scene when he – peculiarly – walks in front of Gallacher and in-between the two chairs, only to stand behind her. Why not walk the other way? I should quite note here the complete difference in style between this scene and the monologues, for example. I hope in doing so, my comments about stylistic inconsistency will make better sense. Then, there is the seminar scene wherein we see an odd display of ‘musical chairs’, for lack of a better term. It is clear that whoever has the upperhand or whoever feels more confident in their abilities and prepared for the seminar sits on the chair furthest Stage Right in the straight row, and their opposite sits on the other end, far Stage Left, to form a spectrum in-between: most powerful/confident/able to least. That is certainly well communicated…but what for? Why are they all jumping around and changing seats? It just feels like the creatives are playing around with space and levels for the sake of it. There is no worthwhile effect to come from this unnatural display. Finally, we have the ending. The ending feels very cheap and understated. There are no conclusions to be made, and all we are left with is the weird aforementioned stab at psychological realism with the character of Professor A’s apparent breakdown. That every character should deliver a line each to the audience feels robotic, predictable and unimaginative. What is more, these statements they each deliver have very little bearing on the text. They are extracts from what their ‘characters’ have said earlier in the play…but again, why? With Hemsley’s line, “Don't go soft, old boy”, and Wheeler’s line, “You're my mentor. I can talk to you about this, right?”, I imagine that this was another attempt at recalling the separation of emotion and knowledge in institutions, but this is poorly communicated and has little bearing on the overall text which deals more with the exclusivity and esotericism attributed to knowledge in education institutions. I would really advise a complete reimagining of the ending. Currently, it feels that all of the action we have watched amounts to nothing and that this is why Stockton quickly employed an emotional section about Professor A for a final attempt at a dramatic climax. My very final note considers how this performance describes itself: ‘Colloquium follows the Alan Bennett school of thought. It, too, balances the conflicting hopes of education: to teach for the exam, for success, or to teach for life. Colloquium investigates the role that our most ancient universities have to play in that balance.’ I am afraid that this is simply not what the performance achieves. It achieves what I outlined in the introduction of this review, not an exploration into a university’s duty to ‘balance the conflicting hopes of education’, especially given that the vast majority of content is from the students’ perspective. I am afraid that this description demonstrates that the dramatic text is unsure of itself and of the messages that it communicates to its audience, both in its style and on paper. This focus on the ‘Alan Bennett school of thought’ is a mere [perceptible] inspiration for aspects of this text, a stimulus, but it is not what is investigated or ‘followed’. “A good performance played by talented actors but incredibly unsure of its aims, style and dramaturgy.”

Overall, This is a very strong performance, despite its few irregularities. Sam Carlyle has a strong command on her material and great comedic talent, proving in this performance a great ability to structure her comedic content. Because it is such a strong performance, the harsher criticisms I will make are rather pedantic, I must admit. Whilst the title implies that we will be exposed to a great deal about Sam’s life in general, we mostly learn about her development into womanhood, her relationships with and appreciation of female role models and her feelings towards men and male representations as a feminist. Of course, there is material beyond this, but the former is allowed to have a far greater weight and importance in this text. I would slightly change the descriptions and promotions of this performance for this reason, as currently, ‘my life’ is certainly not what we are getting. Regardless of this miscommunication of aims, the vast majority of Carlyle’s material is well structured, sufficiently detailed and, above all, funny. Carlyle succeeds in demonstrating a strong on-stage persona and in delivering her ‘biographical’ material in a relatable, endearing, cohesive and credible manner. I think it was a good decision to choose a chronological narrative for this performance, and the songs [or, rather, the lyrics] that Carlyle has written to facilitate this narrative are strong, punchy and clear. They are certainly incorporated appropriately and at a fitting rate, blending seamlessly into the narrative. My only substantial negative insofar as content is concerned: I would just shorten the female role models section — specifically, the material surrounding the mention of J K Rowling’s character, Hermione; this material is far too long and slows momentum considerably. But this is something Carlyle recognises, for she tells us that the section will be over soon. I would recommend, if Carlyle does not wish to reduce the material in any way [but I would advise this], finding a way to scatter these references throughout the text, rather than having them so heavily concentrated in this section. In terms of Carlyle’s delivery, Carlyle approaches her material and the audience confidently, demonstrating good stage presence in her self-assured demeanour and conviction. I would perhaps recommend a little more eye contact with the house, unaided by the height of the microphone – positioned way too high and obscuring her face. But this issue is not too subtractive. Carlyle does also get tongue-tied quite a lot when speaking to the audience, particularly towards the middle-end of her performance, but diction remains superb, overall, especially in song. This is most commendable. On the topic of song, music is wonderfully composed and performed by Thomas Duchan, whose sudden active participation in the final scenes proves to be most effective and valuable. Carlyle has a great ability to tell stories through song and to infuse them with her a rather unique comedy. That every song should have a repeated chorus becomes somewhat irksome, however, especially for Carlyle’s variation on the song, ‘That Don’t Impress Me Much’ by Shania Twain. I understand that these are songs from popular culture whose lyrics have been completely changed by Carlyle, but to retain the exact structure of each of these songs is unnecessary. The material becomes repetitive in this way, and there is no need for or worthwhile effect produced by this repetition. In terms of Carlyle’s singing, her voice is strong and adequate, overall. As I mentioned above, her diction is also impressive. However, her pitch sometimes falters notably, and her notes become flat. This could be negligible if this was made a deliberate and conspicuous part of the comedy, but it is not and thus remains somewhat dissatisfying. I can certainly see the musical theatre training coming through in places, and Carlyle should be aware of the style of her singing and how this reflects or conflicts with the style of her performance. I really understand the desire to have the audience play the kazoo, the sense of co-experience and togetherness, the campiness of its quirky sound, and I understand why Carlyle thought this would be a clever thing to include in this performance. However, the two kazoo sections – handing them out and playing them at the end – are far too drastic and disruptive, especially considering that the kazoo actually has a very understated presence in this performance and so does not merit these two sections dedicated to it. A fleeting and comical moment in the performance, when Carlyle suddenly whips it out and gives us a quirky tune, is unnecessarily immortalised. It seems to me that Carlyle has given far too much thought to the kazoos, complete with her “face on them”, as the synecdochical representation of her comedy, as though the kazoos reflect and typify the identity of her performance; this is not the case. And this is without mentioning that the handing out of the kazoos takes far too long, diverting our attention to the bucket and subtracting from the action on stage. We then have to wait the entire performance to use them, and the effect is in severe danger of wearing off before then. I would note the difference here between an audience’s excitement to play a campy/quirky instrument and the audience’s recognition that playing this has some fundamental pertinence to the text, that it reflects and intensifies their experience of this text specifically. I am not too sure, either, that it was a particularly informed idea to request that audience members place their lips around unsanitised objects during a pandemic, especially those that come from a bucket into which all other audience members have placed their unwashed hands. Some quick final notes. I would recommend Carlyle completely scrap the placards… It seems that Carlyle felt the need to add some variation in her performance, and this is certainly not the way to do that. The placards are ineffective and add nothing of value to our reading of the subsequent scene that they introduce. Dare I also mention that they are [deliberately] not particularly funny, either, when they really ought to be when included in the manner that they are. Secondly and finally, at the end of the performance, leave the stage! Do not hang around awkwardly, slowly cleaning things up as the audience watch on, expecting that perhaps there is more. Leave immediately; otherwise, there is a compromise of the final ambience, that which is most important in leaving the audience with a personal, everlasting delight from their night out. These negatives aside, this remains a very strong performance, indeed. Carlyle is a natural musical comedian. “A clever, delightful and articulate performance.”

Written and performed by Eden Harbud and presented by Nod at the Fox theatre company, Breaking Up with Reality is a very enjoyable and resonant performance. Nevertheless, there are quite a few areas that need considerable work. I shall start with the positives. Solo performer Eden Harbud has great energy and good conviction. From the delivery of the more poetic sequences to his delivery of the more conversational speech, Harbud has a great command over intonation, diction, pace and realism, complementing the mood of his dramatic text well. He demonstrates a good understanding and use of space, making sure to divide his attention across the entire audience. These aspects are most commendable. The use of sound in this performance is also most effective. Repeating eerie or quirky sounds that are usually almost always fleeting, ignored background noises — such clicking, lip-popping, the whirring/droning of static, and bustling crowds — the library of sounds we are presented with gives this performance a unique and intriguing atmosphere. They create a wonderful sense of isolation, separation, distance, with the sounds of the busy crowds, for example, or with the sounds that draw our focus introspectively to the human body: breathing, clicking, for instance. Although, the inclusion of individual French voices amongst the crowds is rather strange to me, bearing no relevance to this performance. I would get rid of this. That all of the material should be a symbolic representation of how the pandemic and the national lockdown have shaped our sense of reality is kept wonderfully concealed throughout this performance until the elbow-bopping scene wherein the real underlying context becomes apparent. This use of symbolism is most impressive in this text. I must say, however, that the section about elbow-bopping is far too on-the-nose, so to speak. The coupling of the ‘New Normal’ and the elbow-bob is enough in itself for us to finally recognise the context of the pandemic if we have not already. As it stands, this speech is far too long, as though Harbud was emphasising representations of the pandemic as sedulously as he could so as to make us strongly aware of the underlying content. Almost all of the symbolism in this dramatic text is relevant, topical and poignant: from the ‘mask’ worn by reality to the caged bird watching others take flight, to the more covert talking tea bags and cup game signifying the boredom of being alone and taskless in lockdown. However, the communication of other symbolic items, like ‘reality’ being represented by a rabbit is weak to me. I understand the connection made between Alice in Wonderland’s White Rabbit and a shift in reality, but this feels too far of a stretch and too incongruous with the rest of the material. It just seems absurd for the sake of it, as though Harbud has taken up origami as a hobby and used his most recent per-chance creation of a rabbit to inspire his work, backing it up with a reference to Lewis Carroll. I should mention also that this initial origami scene wherein Harbud first makes the rabbit takes far too long. And the final absurd presentation is…underwhelming, especially considering that Harbud then proceeds irritatingly to hide his creation behind the wooden box — symbolism here again, as though reality is hiding from him, but to little effect when we have spent so long waiting to see the product of Harbud’s work alone. In fact, I note here with emphasis that ALL scenes requiring delicate yet distinct and readable movements from Harbud are handled very poorly, from the final scene wherein the paper rabbit and bird are handled as though they are falling back in love with another to the initial flying of the bird alone. This is theatre, movements must be distinct, clear and decipherable. This is not the type of animation that I would expect from a trained puppeteer. As it currently stands, any communication is made through theme and through the context of Harbud’s movements alone, rather than the movements themselves. However, I must note that the use of mime in general in this performance is consistent, making for a congruity in performance style, which is most pleasing to observe and a necessary consistency that many theatremakers often overlook. Back to this shift in our understanding of context. With this shift in context also comes a notable shift in the content and style of the dramatic text, much to its detriment. We go from talking tea bags and flying paper birds to Eden’s love for his cat and opinions on avocados. ‘Reality’ stops being a faceless entity symbolised by all of the other birds that are taking flight without him, by the passersby in the street, by his lover, by everything and everyone, and starts to be representative of his lover alone. Once fluid, esoteric, symbolic only of itself, Reality now has the face of Eden’s partner, and this shift in significance is far too great. Coinciding with the more natural, realistic material — again, the cat and the avacados, for example — we seem to have lost this sense of Reality’s significance completely. Reality must remain inclusive of all aspects of Eden’s world, not just his lover; otherwise, the final message of the play becomes confused. I should also mention the significant section after this where focus drifts away from Reality altogether and deals with solipsism and questioning one’s perception of one’s own identity. I can understand why it was felt that this was relevant, but I am afraid the material drifts too far into solipsist philosophy and away from the main theme of this play. To elucidate, there is a notable nuance between the discourse of ‘WHO am I in relation to this world, both corporeally and spiritually?’ and of ‘WHAT am I? A product of my experiences? A culmination of my memories or of the perceptions of others?’ The former is in line with the themes and sentiments of the text; the latter, which is the discourse referenced in this aforementioned section, is not. My last comment on this shift in content and style considers the poem about peachtree leaves. A cute, if simple, piece of poetry but whose rhyming scheme and fixed rhythm does not reflect the ‘poetical’ material we have been presented with thus far. This style of delivery is far too incongruous, and, again, I understand why this was thought to be relevant, but we have drifted too far from the main body of material, pretty though this poem may be. Whilst I do enjoy the cyclicality of Harbud entering and exiting the same way, through the audience and from and back into ‘reality’, as it were, this type of direct audience address is used sparingly elsewhere. The paper-folding scenelet serves as the only other section in this performance, beyond the beginning and the end, when the audience are addressed in such a deliberate, overt and disruptive manner. Stylistically, audience function is confused, then. I enjoy the idea of incorporating metatheatricality into this performance, as a reminder that this performance, too, is part of our reality. This is especially poignant with the effects of the pandemic on theatres. With metatheatre transforming and shifting our temporospatial awareness and our understanding of the Other, its techniques could be useful in this performance. However, if metatheatrical techniques are to be employed, they must have a lasting and far more purposeful function, other than just to tell audience members that it is hoped they will enjoy the play. Personally, I would completely scrap this paper-folding scene. Because it is so close to the beginning, especially, this prepares the audience for far too much participation that will not actually be called upon at all again throughout. More importantly, though, it also has no bearing whatsoever on the performance — the incorporation of origami being the only element we could relate this to, but even this does not refer us to the actual methodology and art of origami, just its products: the paper rabbit, bird and heart. Pointless material to include. Whilst I disfavour that this performance somewhat concludes as a self-help or life guide, this a very strong performance that communicates itself well, overall. Harbud is a confident performer with great energy and has written an engaging, poignant and topical text. I must, as I have mentioned in previous reviews, distinguish between my own personal taste and my critical judgement, and so I shall note here that I myself would give this performance a slightly higher rating, but it is because of the aspects I have mentioned above that I give it the rating I do. “A clever and articulate performance but one that will benefit from re-examining its style.”

RIP Everyone, Eventually is Wingding Theatre’s first-ever performance…and it shows. They have a lot to learn. From talking in the wings as the audience enter to destroying the illusion of their set with a huge promotional projection [of the same information and QR code that the audience have been bombarded with thrice before entering the space], professionalism is…lacking. As for the dramatic text itself, writer Laura Thomas has clearly borrowed a lot of the material we are presented, either consciously or subconsciously, with Catherine Tate’s character, Joanie Taylor being an obvious influence. From “You’ll never guess who’s died!” jokes and general two-facedness to stomping on the floor and crying “What a load of shit!”, the material is strikingly reflective of Tate’s work. Even the name of the main character, Janey (Amber Goddard), is close to Joanie. Perhaps I am mistaken and all of this is purely coincidental, which, of course, I am open to accept; but if I am mistaken, the lack of originality and coherent identity still remains an issue. Borrowing material like this is not inherently an issue. It is common for new theatremakers and is not a problem if they know how to incorporate the material into their work and make it their own; otherwise, it can lead to a lack of individuality and cohesive character, as is the case for this performance. Amongst the expletives and cynical outbursts, the unique identity of this grandmother is incredibly difficult to decipher, nay impossible. Thomas presents us not with a coherent and distinctive character but simply an elderly lady who puts her middle finger up to stereotype and cliché, indulges in life’s fine things and lets loose…an interesting premise but bland and superficial if that is quite literally all we get for an hour. The best example I have of how confused Janey’s identity is arises when we consider the following phrase used both within the dramatic text itself and in all descriptions of the show, some of which also detail Janey as a classy and put-together septuagenarian: “Put your slippers on, keep your knickers on.” This recurrent sense of sexual reservedness and propriety coming from a lady who has just deep-throated an eclair whilst dancing sexily to romantic music — during a sequence that is far too long, I might add, wringing dry a singular joke for well over two minutes. Janey’s relationship with the audience is equally questionable. She is offensive towards us when we first meet her, accusing us of not helping her with her shopping, jeering at us as she passes, but then she takes a more distanced and conversational approach. We are treated either as fellow gossips or as distanced, passive listeners. It is easy because of this to feel confused as to what our function is as audience members. Janey’s relationship with the audience should be readdressed for these reasons. Additionally, her constant explications to one audience member in particular quickly become much too repetitious. In terms of Goddard’s performance capabilities, I would like to see a good degree more transformativity and conviction. Energy is faultless, however, and credibility is good, overall. I would just advise a lot more extremification and caricaturisation; I am not seeing old lady beyond the wig and costume. A particular issue I observed throughout this performance is that with every single joke Goddard delivers, she turns her head to the right, away from the audience and towards the back of the stage. This allows for a significant roboticisation of her movements that ought to be avoided. Slip-ups are constant, especially in the delivery of the longer, fast jokes — of which there are so many that their quirky effect quickly wears off. What should be simple, promptly delivered and pleasing asides, purely pleasurable witty jokes, come to demand far too much concentration and focus from the audience on a regular basis. In fact, there is a notable issue with Goddard’s pacing throughout in general. It remains utterly unstable, prompting these slip-ups in her delivery. Goddard simply storms through the text in places and delivers her lines far too slowly in others. Mostly, though, any lack of momentum and spirit remains in the monotony of the text. The content remains heavily focused on gossiping, which is comedic and engaging the first, and perhaps the third, time but quickly wears off through repetition. Whilst this gossiping teaches us a great deal about Janey’s opinions on others, her judgemental and multifaceted nature, this can only provide us with a superficial reading. Once or twice would be enough to communicate this aspect of her; beyond this, variation in technique is needed to better demonstrate her identity in full. The morning routine sequence, as I shall refer to it, is one such sequence that could really convey to us what makes Janey so unique and worth observing. Unfortunately, it does not. Mundane activities like showering, newspaper-reading and then watching the television are not especially enticing. I should also note the bizarre start of this sequence where incredibly specific times are given to us, something like 9:42 AM, followed by on-the-hour or half-hour descriptions. This first communicates to us her specific and eccentric, perhaps OCD, nature, and then…nothing. The decision to do this is bizarre to me. Ironically, Bingo and ITV’s The Chase, with emphasis on the former, feature too minutely in this performance, and any descriptions of her love for these that we do receive are applicable to any conventional member of the imagined older generation. These items must be far better particularised within this text. More scenes like the quiz scene, wherein Janey imagines herself as a contestant on this aforementioned television programme, would benefit this text, but this scene, much like others, comprises only needless jokes that add nothing to our sense of character or narrative. I would advise that the creatives start with scenes like this as well as the morning routine sequence to reimagine the text, developing a much more profound sense of identity for Janey, tailoring the text not merely just to make the audience laugh, which is something it clearly seeks to do, but to convey Janey’s quirky character, which will naturally be funny in itself. Aspects like the needless gossiping or ‘humorous’ moments like when Goddard leaves the stage for a ‘costume change’ but then re-enters wearing the exact same thing, consume far too much valuable time which should, instead, be used to convey her character. Back to the quiz scene. I would also recommend that when Bradley Walsh’s face is replaced with Goddard’s [which is hilarious to include] that we see Goddard’s face with Janey’s wig on. Otherwise, it is easy to read this as Goddard the comedic actress playing a role, as opposed to Janey herself. In fact, Goddard could benefit from some ageing makeup, in general – not necessarily anything too emphatic, just a subtle distinction, if anything. On to set design (by Zoe Beeny). I have mentioned my dissatisfaction with projections, and I do see the projections throughout as somewhat distracting and unnecessary. They certainly add a youthful quality to the performance – I think of the simple repeated animations of candy, for example – but they have little bearing on theme and context beyond this. Where they are used in the camping scene is most facilitative, however. In terms of set design, I have no negative criticisms whatsoever. Perfectly facilitative and aesthetically coherent and attractive. I would just recommend that props be better incorporated into the performance, only used when absolutely necessary and not for fleeting ‘comedic’ effect – the eclairs or the spray bottle for the shower scene, for instance. Finally, I should note the metatheatricality here that we see often in this performance. I pose the following questions: are you wanting to communicate deliberately to an audience that this is a play including a twenty-something-year-old dressed as a grandmother? Is this tongue-in-cheek self-referentiality the angle of comedy? Or is the angle of comedy rooted in our suspension of disbelief, our belief that this is, indeed, a real grandmother, eccentric and fascinating to observe? It cannot be both, and both should have their clear distinctions in definition, style and use of dramatic techniques. This is why I find the shower scene problematic. What is communicated to the audience is completely confused in this performance, along with the audience’s understanding of their function: part of the action or silent observers. Overall, this dramatic text is in need of drastic editing. Both concept and execution must be intensely reworked. Goddard has great stage presence and vitality, but a lack of direction, character profile and intent compromises her energy and credibility. Goddard seems completely unsure of her role. This text needs to be drastically rethought. “A highly disappointing, unoriginal and ill-conceived performance.”