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.”

To generate a powerful emotional response in an audience member, a musical must balance its heartfelt ballads with careful, precise and coherent character profiling and development. It is easy to confuse the powerful emotional feeling invoked within us with the success of the overall musical, as opposed to the talent of the musical’s composers and musicians. It is also easy to be sucked into the emotions communicated in the songs to such a degree that we confuse them with the emotionality and complexity of the characters. In Vanara, we are not offered strong characters or a strong plot; it is the musical compositions that make it minutely worth any attention. Understanding the above statements, I will elaborate that composer Gianluca Cucchiara has done a wonderful job in composing for Vanara. His music is resonant, articulate and sufficiently dramatic – NB I refer here to the music alone, not lyrics. But songs are certainly relied upon in this musical over any other sensible and credible storytelling techniques, to such a degree that we learn only of character intent and feeling through them alone and not through character interactions or soliloquies, for instance. But despite having such an important function in this musical, the songs themselves are far from perfect. Lyrics (by Andrew James Whelan) are entirely repetitive, unpoetical and bland, overall – though there is a notable increase in lyrical poeticism as the performance goes on. We quickly come to understand, for example, that the two tribes are ‘ready for the trade’ the first six times they repeat this; we do not need to hear it more than this, repeatedly in lieu of more poignant lyrics. Theme and motif are certainly lacking throughout this performance, so it is easy to leave without a single song stuck in one’s head, despite the same one-liner lyrics being drilled into us for around three minutes straight per song, and with no sense of the performance’s musical identity. However, whilst the sound and feel of the overall library for this musical are not entirely cohesive and well-communicated, I must put this down to the ill-communications within the dramatic text itself as well as its own sheer lack of identity. As disparate as the music sounds overall, each individual composition is wonderfully conceived and performed. All songs aim, as I have mentioned, to demonstrate the feelings, passions and emotions of the individual. This would be great if we were actually made to care about the characters, but we are not, partly because we have no idea who they actually are, partly because of the incoherencies of the text – e.g. how Mohr (Jacob Fowler) sees Ayla (Emily Bautista) for the first time ever during the trade and yet somehow professes his undying love for her that he seems to have been harbouring for all of his life – and partly also because all sense of plot and character development is entirely substituted for heartfelt solos about everything and nothing. One song about undying love from each of the characters – perhaps even a split-scene duet – would be enough; more than four is simply overkill. Lyrics and songs simply do not match up with the plot, however rich in mediocre symbolism they may be. ‘How Do I Open His Eyes’, for example…open his eyes to what?! Nothing has happened for her to feel any sense of dissonance in their ‘relationship’, neither have done anything that has proven that the two share an undying love, and yet somehow Ayla is now singing about having known Mohr from childhood: ‘He’ll only see the child that he knew’?! Completely inconsistent and ill-conveyed narrative. So, as lovely as her running into his arms as ‘the air turns into fire and the sky falls down’ sounds, we need to understand why. This is the difference between an impactful and poetical song and one that benefits and progresses the narrative of the book. And then we have songs like ‘Woman and Man’. Completely unrelated to the rest of the performance and having no effect on later material whatsoever. With its strangely conservative and crude content, I can only imagine that the creatives wanted to garner wider public interest and so included elements of what they believed to be a progressive feminist narrative but which was actually very divisive and stunting. The only thing that this song does, perhaps, is establish a sense of social codes and propriety in a tribe assumed to be ‘animalistic’ and ‘uncivilised’, but to what avail? We learn nothing else about them, and this lack of intellect or this animalism, as I will elaborate below, were never concretised or fully communicated to begin with in order to make this subversion worthwhile. A similar comment can be made about the creatives’ understanding of their female lead, Ayla, communicated in their synopsis: 'On another earth, in another time, where nature is revered and life is full of dangers, two tribes are locked in an age-old battle. One has the secret of fire, the other wants it. One young woman must decide: protect the life she knows or burn it down.' Here, it is implied that Ayla is a rebellious, adventurous and strong female protagonist whose decisions and actions will completely alter the direction of the story. This is fascinating to me, considering that all she does throughout the text is moan about the stubbornness of her parents, dream for a better life, and profess her passionate love for Mohr who will eventually come to save the day. In fact, it is even Mohr who sets the forest on fire and ‘burns it all down’, not her. Again, a complete misuse and misappropriation of a feminist narrative from creatives who clearly have no understanding of [especially contemporary] feminist ideology or of the true female experience, using its elements only to fill more seats. It is my methodology to watch a performance without any pre-existing knowledge acquired from external sources, understanding that a performance should ‘speak for itself’. After the performance, when I read this synopsis, I was stunned to learn that this story takes place ‘on another planet’. This is a simply ridiculous attempt to attract larger audiences. There is no indication whatsoever that the action takes place on a different planet, and this description is ludicrous to me. Clearly, this performance is a steppingstone, something to fill the creative’s portfolios and to showcase the ‘talents’ of the artists involved. At least, I should hope that this is the case, given the creatives’ sheer inability to create a coherent, articulate and powerful performance. The book shares strikingly conspicuous and sterile similarities with Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare, and this would not be a problem if it managed to establish its own identity, to incorporate the material of the pre-existing text into its own, but it does not. I am afraid that additional items, like the forest and the ability to ‘call upon’ fire, are not enough to sufficiently distinguish this eventless text from its Shakespearean predecessor. This performance’s biggest issue is, as I have already implied, that it favours the dramatic, climactic and passionate over the fruitful, coherent and logical. The plot, despite being so obviously influenced by [nay a theft of] the play Romeo and Juliet, has no sense of gradual progression. Random and dramatic events occur, such as Lordu’s (Chris George) death or Caladar’s (Shem Omari James) random revelation that he intends to ‘get Mohr out of the way’, so to speak, and to be the leader of his tribe, but these events are terribly conceived and overdramatic. We have no idea who Lordu or Caladar are – we only see them on stage twice – so why should we be in any way shocked and fearful when one dies and when the other reveals his true intents, now calling himself 'Death'. Bizarre. These are tertiary characters that seem to come out of nowhere, rising from the woodwork only to provide the text with drama and suspense when creatives could not think of any other profound or relevant way of doing so. Whilst suffering from these 'climactic' events that remain so inopportunely dramatised that they have no effect whatsoever, this text also suffers from multiple inconsistencies. For example, the entire premise is [apparently! This is hugely understated in the narrative] that one tribe has the ability to produce fire that the other supposedly desires, and yet when Ayla first 'summons' fire in front of Mohr, he asks, "What sorcery is this?" And she has to explain to him that this is fire, despite him just having asked her to produce it. Completely illogical text. As for acting, naturalism is incredibly lacking. Sense of chemistry is also terribly inadequate, especially between the main lovers, but it is also understated between the principal figurehead couples of each tribe. When it comes to singing, I must, unfortunately, state that all performers have a mediocre voice, overall, but do redeem themselves at some point throughout the musical. Perhaps a directorial issue, performers seem to be unable to tailor their singing style to that of the text, with styles ranging from traditional rock ‘n’ roll to soul. I would have imagined that each tribe would have its own singing style, if there would be any discrepancies in this at all; this is not the case. Diction is simply terrible, particularly with songs performed by the entire ensemble. The true shining light of this performance is Kayleigh McKnight (playing Sindah). McKnight has an incredible vocal range and performs with conviction, vitality and vigour. She is transformative and emotive and demonstrates a great awareness of dynamic physicality and naturalism. Notably, her expressivity becomes somewhat limited over time, but I believe that this is due to the unidimensionality of her character, who always seems to be mourning and sorrowful, as opposed to her capacity as a performer. All other performers, I must say, are negligible, and this is most disappointing when we consider the Rafiki-like character of Oroznah, played by Johnnie Fiori. It was most disappointing for me to observe that Fiori had more stage presence and personality in her cocky and energised bowing at the end of the performance than she did when in character during the show. On to movement. I find it strange that during the overture, Pana ensemble members perform animalistic movements, moving predatorily, remaining close to the ground, whilst those of the Kogallisk remain fluid, controlled, well-postured, humanised. So far, these are well distinguished, if plainly. The reason I find this so strange, though, is that, despite the latter consistently describing the former as ‘uncivilised animals’, this troglodytic animalism vs humanised poise disappears as soon as the overture ends and the performance begins. After this, all sense of poise and stature disappears, and we are stuck with a rather bog-standard physicality from all cast members. Did they give up? Or was this deliberate? Completely inconsistent, and one of many reasons that I find the two tribes to be completely lacking in individual identity. Choreography (by Eleesha Drennan) is incredibly lacking and, again, repetitive. Drennan fails to develop a clear and legible aesthetic, with movements ranging from jetés and high-kicks to stylised movement to crude and sharp dance. As for the performers of these movements, there is a huge range in ability, some demonstrating good form and flexibility and ability to move in synchronisation with other ensemble members and in time with the music, and others not. I should note here that it is rather Drennan’s fault for choreographing movements without tailoring them to the capacities of the specific performers involved, with most performers struggling to demonstrate good force and conviction behind their movements. Stage fighting was ridiculously artificial, with agents retaining far too much distance between one another in action, so as to diminish credibility, and far too repetitive, yet again. In fact, this solicited a response I heard from an audience member that had rather read my mind, “That fighting was laughable”. It also seems that it could not be decided whether the performers were required to fight or to dance; the action was inconsistent in this manner. Finally, design. Stage design is very simple but facilitative, and the revolving stage is a wonderful element that adds dynamism and visual intrigue. I find the apron problematic, however. This performance offers no other element that encroaches on the audience’s space; the apron is thus far too confrontational and needless. Costume is shambolic. The colours brown and blue are not enough to differentiate the two tribes. Upon noticing that some tribe members wore feathers and others fur, I thought ‘creatures of the sky’ vs ‘creatures of the land’ was a nice way to distinguish them, but I soon realised that this was not the case, either. The most illusion-destroying of costume elements, however, are the shoes, some of which even have zips. I would recommend all shoes resemble Glenn Carter's. As for tech, lighting design was satisfactory, but sound operation was simply terrible. Microphones are hardly ever turned on in time, meaning that we often hear either nothing when performers are speaking and singing or the entirety of performers' conversations as they leave the stage and enter the wings. A few final notes. Firstly, I would urge certain ensemble members to refrain from giving the audience unnecessary eye contact where such audience interaction/confrontation is not provided by any other aspect of the performance. Secondly, when you are leaving the stage, REMAIN IN CHARACTER until you are completely out of sight. This was far too frequent an issue. When running on stage, start running from deep into the wings; otherwise, it is clear that characters have not been running for ages across a great distance but have simply just started and are finishing a mere few metres away from their starting point. Lastly, I would urge creatives not to have loud chats amongst each other during the performance at the back of the stalls. Completely unprofessional and utterly disrespectful not only to the cast bringing your work to life but to the audience members who are paying to see it. “Mediocre, lacklustre and incredibly poorly conceived.”

This review will consider A Place for We, written by Archie Maddocks, directed by Michael Buffong and currently being staged at the Park Theatre. Starting with the content of the dramatic text itself. The content offered here is very resonant and topical, communicating the difficulties experienced by biracial individuals, or those with parents from different cultures/ethnicities that may both differ from their own altogether, in feeling disconnected from both of their heritages, cultures and/or races and in recognising and managing the conflicting ideologies, patriotisms, values and traditions of each. The dramatic text offers a heartfelt overview of the symbolic relationships people develop with what they come to consider their territory, in connection with their heritage, ancestry and culture. Not only are these themes very relevant but they are expressed in a feeling, unbiased and, above all, human manner, considering the profound and subjective psychological ties with a singular location of all of its various characters. The characters themselves are well defined, and narrative is well-structured, clear and coherent. I emphasise that symbolism is certainly managed very well in this text, with articulate and developed motifs like the ever-lit candle and the traditional funeral service communicating well both personal and shared emotional and psychological attachments that we have as human beings develop in this way, despite the differences in our personal histories and backgrounds. This attachment type is instrumentalised very well in this text. I think it was also very effective with this text to utilise a nonlinear narrative, for the disordering of time periods further communicates how this attachment type persists as seemingly transhistorical. However, still on this topic of symbolism, George’s (Blake Harrison) half-drunken beer rant in the second act was far too understated and took away from valuable stage time. I think the second act is rather weak, in fact, for its lack of poignant and relevant material. It is repetitive and slow, and speech becomes incredibly unnaturalistic, too. Most unnaturalistic is the manner in which the two characters, Anna (Joanna Horton) and George refer to their late son and the memories they have of him. This section, when Anna especially relives the memories she has of her son’s accidents in the pub, is far too direct, blatant and unrefined. There is little lead-up, and natural patterns of speech are, as I mentioned above, neglected here. Beyond this, however, plot and narrative are used solely to facilitate communicate the symbolic themes, and this is organised most effectively. The information we receive is always relevant, unless it is desirable and efficacious humour, comedy being, too, artfully handled in this text. I would just note that perhaps characters are slightly too infatuated with their national and cultural identities, more so than a person in real life would generally be, regardless of their heritage and culture. This is perhaps slightly too simplistic and, to some degree, unrelatable. When I consider the capabilities of the performers, I notice a huge range. Kirsty Oswald is by far the most transformative and convincing, and any lack of naturalism from her part is down to the unnatural speech or exaggerative content offered by the text, which she certainly delivers well, regardless. She is very credible and wonderfully energised. Horton’s acting style, however, is slightly too caricatural for her first character, and she notably struggles in portraying grand shifts in emotional states as Anna. Laurence Ubong Williams is adequate, but his performance also lacks a great degree of naturalism, and he equally struggles a great deal in the leadup to emotional outbursts. The emotional outbursts themselves, however, are adequate; it is merely the progressions into them that require work. David Webber (playing Clarence) seems to struggle entirely to portray his character with credibility, any true vigour only making its way into his performance when he portrays his character as drunk. Transformativity is completely lacking across his portrayals of Clarence and Clarence’s Father, and his performance relies solely on the efficacy [and humour] of the text and its own conveyances of his characters, especially with Clarence. Harrison is slightly more transformative but his naturalism is fleeting. He underplays his characters, especially his first, the more caricatural of the two, which makes for an even stranger dynamic between the caricatural vs naturalistic portrayals during the scene all performers [barring Harold Addo, who plays Young Clarence] share together. Addo is incredibly expressive and performs with great energy and conviction, but his acting style is far too exaggerative and melodramatic. This over-expressivity denaturalises the performance, as do all of these caricaturisations, and this resulting overall performance style, compromised and inconsistent, rather promoted by the unnaturalism present in the dramatic text itself, should be addressed by Buffong. In terms of set design (by Louie Whatmore), the overall aesthetics for this performance are very articulate and cohesive, and great efforts are made to achieve a complex and appealing realistic look. Set designs are certainly very commendable in this way. However, I would urge that stagehands resist against the rhythmic music when working on set changes, namely the transition into what I shall call the wine scene [between Harrison, Oswald and Webber]; the current strut-like strides in combination with this rather incongruous music choice is distracting and confuses the play’s communications. Costume (also by Whatmore) facilitates the performance well and communicates the various time periods effectively, if a little pain in areas, and props are extremely well organised and appropriately used. Lughting design (by Sherry Coenen) was simple, and this certainly benefitted the performance, and sound was well designed by Tony Gayle and operated adequately. I should also note, before I summarise, the practical effect of Harrison breaking the glass in his hand and causing it to ‘bleed’. This is managed extremely well. The artificial blood itself, however, is slightly too unrealistic both in colour and consistency, and this rather compromises these more intense moments. A similar thing can be said of the empty coffin that demands far too much imagination from audience members in picturing that a woman’s corpse lies inside it, particularly from those looking down at the stage and directly into the coffin from the circle above. This must be addressed. Either the written text or the physical interaction with the ‘corpse’ should be altered. The ever-lit candle, however, was nicely handled throughout. A very successful element, indeed, both in practicality and significance. Overall, this performance has great personality, resonance and structure, with a great stage design and, overall, an endearing cast, but a striking drop in the integrity and momentum of the dramatic text, inconsistencies in performance style and faltering naturalism lead me to the rating I give below. “A performance with good significance but lacking in style and identity.”

This is a very powerful dramatic text. Content is topical and resonant, and the narrative and plot are extremely well communicated and structured. In terms of the writing itself, then, this play is superb. However, theatrical techniques and staging methods employed in this particular performance are rather questionable. I shall start with the use of the ensemble. In theatre, one should either show or tell, and both can have equally fruitful effects. If, however, one decides to do both, what we hear should match up with the material we see. This is not the case in this performance. The story we are given by the Narrator (Susan Lawson-Reynolds) only partially matches up with the action we see re-enacted behind her by the ensemble, and this allows for a sense of dissonance and instability in our reading. It also leads to a sense of disappointment and stuntedness when we expect something dramatic or passionate from what we are told and yet end up seeing something understated and neutral in reality. A good example of this is in the Narrator’s description of Mili’s (Dino Kelly) jump whilst Kelly prepares to portray this Upstage. As the other cast members watch on, reacting as depicted, and whilst Lawson-Reynolds describes his cruciform pose and the terrible and visceral nature of the jump itself, Kelly stays completely still, smiles, and then walks out of his spotlight. This is most underwhelming. I would recommend either including the narration alone or accompanying it with action that is either completed or implied as such – with this particular example, for instance, Kelly could jump off of the rostrum as the lights snap black, leaving the impact to our imaginations; this would be far stronger both emotively and technically. Otherwise, the portrayed action is jarringly oppositional to the narration – as when Lawson-Reynolds describes that she smiled lovingly at Mili, yet Saffron Coomber (playing Mina) is completely expressionless and deadpan – and this is undesirable. One could perhaps even read into this as the Narrator misremembering or overdramatising her own story, which I do not believe is the intention here. This miscommunication also dampens the effect of Mili’s death, for Kelly delivers Mili's story of jumping one last time from the bridge with vigour and energy, and the language his character uses is jokey and positive…and then suddenly, the Narrator reveals that this was "the last time [she] saw him" – an expression rather overused in this play, I might add. Our reading is severely compromised by this form of miscommunication, and this should be promptly addressed. In fact, this entire reunion is rather understated and overly corny. It feels rushed and ill-conceived. I would recommend reworking this section. The use of microphones in this performance is bizarre and stylistically inconsistent. It denaturalises the action and distances us from it, causing us to experience the characters indirectly through the means of technology, and this is undesirable and ineffective. It also has no relevance to what is otherwise a rather naturalistic acting style. The same can be said of the music the ensemble produce, banging on the rostra, singing into the microphones. There is no reason as to why this music cannot be played overhead, instead. It must be decided as to whether the performers represent the characters depicted in the text themselves or symbolic representations of feeling, suspense and humanity in general. They cannot be both. For example, the bizarre decision to have Rosie Gray (playing Leila) perform her dramatic wailing down the microphone, her general disposition calm and still, whilst other characters interact with her as though she is fatally injured and in distress. Our reading here is destabilised in that we do not know whether to consider her as a symbolic representation of suffering, conflict and tension or as a representation of Leila’s character. This confusion certainly adds to our desirable disorientation in this scene, to its abrupt violence and surreal nature, but it is certainly not the most effective way of communicating drama and distress; it simply detaches us from the characters themselves and their story and diverts us towards the themes of suffering, fear, pain and war in themselves. This semi-Brechtian technique is not particularly effective here, when we consider that the performance maintains psychological realism, nay increases it, throughout. Moving on to acting. Naturalism is rather poor in this performance, but actors retain great energy and characterisation. Other than the fact that Gray first portrays her character as rather girly and energised, only to portray her as neutral, cool and collected throughout the rest of the performance, the characterisations we are offered are consistent and well communicated. The performers clearly understand their characters’ intent and emotions well. Chemistry between Mili and Mina is also wonderfully portrayed by Coomber and Kelly, and scenes requiring altogether a range in physical affection are handled remarkably well. As for Lawson-Reynolds’s acting…I remain irritated. Lawson-Reynolds’s intonation is monotonous and repetitive, as are her movements. I would urge her to reconsider how she uses her hands whilst speaking, as she repeats the same gestures over and over throughout. I would also recommend that Lawson-Reynolds have clearer actions to perform when sitting at the front of the stage, motionless and expressionless, whilst the ensemble perform behind her. I would like to see more expressivity in these moments, as though she is reliving and recalling her memories. Her delivery is unnaturalistic, sometimes as though she is delivering poetry, and other times, as though she is lecturing or giving an inspirational talk. Expressivity certainly increases as the play goes on, but, overall, a very weak performance from Lawson-Reynolds. There is also a notable issue with the writing of the Narrator’s lines. The register of language she uses changes every so often, from generally well-spoken and standard to phrases like ‘Like, actual grown women’ that communicate a certain colloquialism, and this unstable idiolect compromises the credibility of her character to some degree. The Narrator and Mina, the former being the older representation of the latter, are costumed completely differently, speak completely differently and act completely differently. Whilst it is obvious that Mina has undergone maturity and a reclamation of her Muslim identity, we need to see this communicated in the story; otherwise, it is difficult to understand their relationship beyond first-person self-references, especially with the so-termed “colour-blind casting” of the two versions of Mina. In terms of the writing itself, the symbolism of the famous Old Bridge, its relationship with heritage, territory and ‘home’ and its collapse and rebuild, is used effectively in this text. It is both endearing and poignant. Characters are developed well and all have clear objectives, personalities and traits. I would just perhaps recommend more attention be given to Leila over Sasha (Emilio Iannucci), whose humorous outbursts perhaps overshine her presence in the text. This is an issue chiefly because of Leila's fate and how moved we should be by this later on. Nevertheless, an appropriate amount of time is dedicated to developing the characters and their relations, to settling us into the world of the play before war rips their world apart. Humour is effectively balanced with harsher material to communicate the absurdity and terror of war, as well. Character profiles are so strong and narrative is so well conceived that it is easy to fall in love with these characters and to truly empathise with them and thus with the real people who have inspired their story. A very commendable text. A few final notes: do not stand in the aisles. If this is unavoidable, remember that you are still visible here to an entire third of the audience, and so any interactions amongst one another and any slow walks, peeking at the stage whilst awaiting your cue, will be observed. This completely destroys illusion. Following on from this, when Coomber clears the stage of the food and plates, this takes far too long. I fail to understand why these could not have been simply shoved under the central platform, instead, especially considering that Coomber re-enters the stage straight after, meaning that she only left to clear these props. When performers exit the stage, they must do so quietly! These performers are incredibly noisy. On the night I saw the performance, the haze was so thick that it set off the fire alarm, which rather beat me to it in stating that haze is rather over-relied upon in the second act. Costume changes are definitely necessary for this performance, yet performers only change menial aspects of their clothing, sometimes even carrying the same item of clothing from the scene before around with them in subsequent scenes. Putting more clothes on over existing clothes is not a costume change; this should be addressed. Finally, to end on a semi-positive note, tech is used superbly in this performance and facilitates action well, especially during scenes of explosion and gunfire, but I would just recommend that music be pre-set to the desired volume, as there are a few moments where volume is quickly reduced once music starts playing, due to volume being too loud. This is distracting. “A powerful and commendable dramatic text whose staging needs significant work.”

This review will consider Punchy! The Musical, a charming story about a young man called Punchy (Robert Hook) who turns his life around with the help of two spiritual/psychic figures, after losing his way, tending toward alcohol abuse, street brawls and acts of petty crime. In terms of plot, this musical is coherent and clear-cut. It is endearing, if a little cliché in its premise, and, overall, restores a sense of humanity to those we often deem as sinful wrongdoers and those whom we grant few, if any, official opportunities to develop and grow. A sweet and inspiring story in theory. However, many plotlines are left unfinalised — for example, how Doreen (Amy Mitchell), despite having played such an integral role in the beginning of Punchy’s story, and despite even happily attending his wedding at the end, is completely forgotten after the close of the first act, along with Punchy’s supposedly undying love for her; or the significance of the Ego (Jaymes Sygrove) and Soul (Peter Parker Mensah) benefiting Punchy’s life and the reason(s) as to why they do — and others seem to have no function other than to add intrigue or ineffectual emotive value, as with the final revelation that Punchy has been speaking to the ghost of his father (Robert Allen) at the hospital and not his father himself. This latter I find to be most predictable and unnecessary, especially with the mystical figures of the Ego and Soul already featuring so heavily in this performance. Back to the figure of the Ego, we quickly learn that he is entirely negative, impulsive and critical, an embodiment of the relative Freudian death drive of sorts perhaps, but there is little information to tell us why. That this negative force that exploits Punchy so often and so directly should then express, very early into the performance, remorse for doing so and feel culpable for the wrong and the negative in Punchy’s life — whilst still continuing to cause it — becomes questionable. What is more, so much stage time is given to Punchy’s Ego that we see and learn little of Punchy himself and his overall personality, with him remaining rather passive throughout the text, the actions of others and his circumstances acting against and upon him. It is easy to reduce Punchy to his acts and to feel that we know nothing more of him. With his decision to ‘change’ for the better not even being his own, it is difficult to empathise with Punchy, to grasp any sense of his identity, to find him relatable, to discover ourselves within him. There remains a palpable audience-character disconnection or distance, in this way. This culminates in what should be a very moving scene between Punchy and his late father, that to which I alluded above, and, without a clear sense of Punchy’s psychology [over his circumstances], it is difficult to appreciate just how much this rocky father-son relationship has directly affected him and his life overall. As I have mentioned above, the premise of this story is certainly coherent and effective. I would just recommend tying these loose threads, so to speak, and providing better backstory not only for Punchy but for his Ego and Soul, especially for the latter whose raison d’être is, again, not made accessible or comprehensible. This is also worsened by Soul’s resistance to divulge his reasonings and intents, consistently implying that humans simply do not understand the work of the Soul, the concept of the ‘Soul’ itself being insufficient yet the ‘closest humans have come up with’. Put bluntly, this feels like sloppy writing, depending on the audience’s intertextual knowledge and imagination to fill in the gaps. Nevertheless, our reading of the plot is not affected by the absence of all of this information, but including it would certainly add clarity and a more particularised and unique voice to this performance. On to acting. Almost all primary actors, with emphasis on Lucy Penrose (playing Edith) and Fiona Kelly (playing Olive), are credible, are sure of their character intent and have great stage presence. Definitely demonstrating the most conviction and energy out of all of the cast members, as well as portraying his character’s profile convincingly, is Sygrove. He has wonderful expressivity and proves his talent insofar as physicality and vitality. A great performer. His counterpart, Mensah, however, is most disappointing. His accent is unconvincing, more so than all other cast members, who also struggle to deliver consistent and cohesive dialects, barring Penrose, and his overall expressivity, physicality and general characterisation are poor and understated. Hook’s characterisation is equally understated in places — though I partially put this down to the characterisation of Punchy in the dramatic text itself — but, overall, his performance is credible and energised, particularly in drunken scenes, where physical movement and exaggerative action are handled well. As for secondary actors, improvements must be made to retain naturalism and vitality; it was a shame to note that the pianist, Jack Terroni, had better characterisation than some of the actual performers. As far as aesthetics are concerned, the set remains minimalist in all but the pub scenes, and I find this facilitative and effective. The simplicity of all other scenes allows the audience to fill in the gaps themselves, and the more naturalistic and prop-heavy design for the pub scenes aids this imagination in generating a sense of business and of a certain naturalism that is not required by others, such as scenes between Ego and Soul. It also allows for significance to be placed upon the pub, a principal location for all of the characters and one that unites them. As for the use of wood, I would recommend that all woods be the same or, at least, appear to be so; currently, the wood of the bar, the piano and the structures on either side, framing the stage, are far too disparate, allowing for a lack of cohesion and identity in the overall aesthetic. The mist combined with the black flat Upstage Right allows for a wonderful effect when actors leave the stage, further masked by the movable doors, and this is a commendable visual decision. These two movable doors add a good degree of dimensionality, but actors must remember that these are translucent and that they can thus, of course, be seen behind them, particularly if light bounces indirectly onto the material of the door itself or if the door is lit from behind. Far too frequently, actors stand behind the door expressionless and inert, awaiting their cues as though they cannot be seen – most notably Mensah in the first act. Furthermore, interactions with the door must remain consistent amongst cast members: it should be better considered if doors are to be left ajar [which I do not recommend], left open or shut properly. Sometimes, the faltering process of interacting with the doors simply slows momentum, from passing through them to repositioning them in transitions. Whilst on the topic of interacting with set pieces, I should note here that the decision to have Mensah and Sygrove spend almost the entirety of one of their scenes together reorganising the set is most subtractive. It does not make sense for these two characters to be in control of the physical space in this way, whatever symbolism one could take from the idea of the two influencing Punchy’s physicality surroundings and thus his reality. It is simply distracting to watch. Visually, the doors are completely incongruous with the stage design, and this should be readdressed, but I do admire the use of LED lights around the doorframes and the manner in which the material of the doors themselves is lit in these spiritual/mystical scenes [but only in these alone]. And this brings me on to tech. The inclusion of coloured LED lights, those scattered within the wooden structures either side of the stage, and the coloured washes that appear regularly throughout the performance, as pretty as they are and as well designed and cohesive as they are in themselves, are completely inconsistent with the other visuals we are presented. It is an attempt to modernise what is otherwise a chiefly period musical. Lighting states, in general, are very well designed, however; the lighting designer for this performance demonstrates great talent and artistry. But I do remain unconvinced that this was the best design to befit this particular musical. Insofar as sound, it irks me that there should be a mixture of live and recorded music. I perhaps understand this when music is played through the radio, but, otherwise, you have a live band! Make use of them! These are talented musicians with a great sense of timing and great performativity, but it apppears their function is misguided to some degree. It is clear that director Tiffany King wanted these musicians to appear as though the live band of Edith’s pub, and this is a good way of naturalising their presence on stage, but if they are to be considered characters in this way, then the pianist cannot be the photographer at the wedding, and the band cannot randomly appear to perform a number out of the context of the pub as they do. In short, their function within the narrative needs to be better communicated. Nevertheless, the music itself is notably rather simple but well-composed (by Jack Terroni), though lyrics often lack both poeticism and variation. As a final, minor note, the slogan, ‘After the war, comes the war within’ is not only flawed insofar as its punctuation but completely incongruous with the material presented in this musical. War has no pertinence here, and Punchy suffers not so much from an internal war but from the external chaos that he has internalised and against which he reacts accordingly. This ought to be reexamined. “An enjoyable but undernourished performance with questionable stylistic decisions.”

In its bare concept, this is a very humorous and endearing, if perhaps predictable, play, but in its writing and execution, it suffers from a great deal of unnaturalism that allows for alienation and stunted progression. As I shall elaborate below, plot developments seem to emerge from nowhere, speech is completely unnaturalistic, and overall content is rather far-fetched, and these elements come together to compromise the credibility of what is, in essence, an appealing play. I shall start with character developments...or perhaps lack thereof. Adam (Derek Murphy) remains the only constant of the two characters. He is collected, docile yet sarcastic, submissive, emotional and passionately against governmental ideals and dominant social constructs. Music is his life and composing is how he wishes to spend it. This character profile is well-communicated and clear-cut from the beginning, unchanging and consistent. Rose (Jacoba Williams), however, is all over the place. She is stubborn, driven, composed, calculated, professional and intellectual, yet she is also emotionally unstable and volatile, indecisive and unsure of herself, self-depreciating and unpredictable. This duality makes for a completely illogical and unfeasible character profile. Rose is presented as hysteric and prone to mood swings, constantly looking to Adam for approval and affirmations of her self-worth. In these ways, her character functions as a rather archaic and regressive representation of the distasteful stereotype of a man-hating feminist female, perpetually confused and secretly lustful, broody and desperate for the advice and opinions of composed and intelligent men. I must say, even before verifying, I was certain that this text was written by a man. This underlying sociopolitical tone is even directly addressed within the written text. Rose communicates to us that she is conflicted, wanting to be a modern, independent and career-driven woman but unable to give in to her primitive maternal thirst for a child, as though the feminine instinct is simply too powerful and she must concede. In this way, the writing is bizarrely and unnecessarily politicised. Why can she not be both a modern, career-driven woman and a mother? Divisive politics aside, this inconsistency allows for a certain illegibility in her character. That Rose would be so against having children in one breath; love the idea in the very next; and plan every single detail of the conception, down to the dietary plan of the father, in her third and final...is most incoherent. Surely, if anything, she should be adamant from the very beginning of her conversation about the mother that brought her child into her workplace that she also wants to raise a child but independently. It is worth pointing out here: I do not use the expression 'in the next breath' lightly above; it is quite literally immediately after denouncing the possibility of wanting a child that Rose confesses that she desires one. And this stands as the perfect example of how plot progressions are far too jarring and abrupt. There is no sense of gradual development to make this plot seem feasible and natural. Perhaps this was a deliberate decision by writer Andy Walker, wanting a sense of chaos, and twists and turns. Whether deliberate or not, this lack of gradualness is fallible here. This sense of hysteria and unclarity is evident from the very beginning of the performance, when Rose swiftly invites Adam back into her home after having just evicted him. After chastising him, remaining distant, sarcastic and cold, she then joins him on the sofa to erratically mime driving a car for the first time. This latter scene in itself is admittedly humorous, well-constructed and effective, but it has no place here. Why on Earth would she participate in this? An intelligent, aloof professionalist holding a dinner plate as though a steering wheel and pretending she is hitting the road...unrealistic. It feels as though the comical idea simply appeared in Walker's head and, without hesitation, without considering how it fits in with plot or style, he wrote it into the script. Having mentioned the lack of gradual development, I must add that elements like this seem to come from mere, fleeting conversations. One moment, Rose mentions not being able to drive; and in the next, she is miming driving on the couch. One moment, she mentions the [im]probability of her having a child; and in the next, Rose having a child has become the entire premise of this play. The narrative is far too fragmented and disjointed in this respect, with developments being brusque and incongruent. It is easy to feel unsure of the play’s direction [and not in an exciting, intriguing way], and this should certainly be addressed. Culminating in Rose phlebotomising Adam in order to run tests on his blood that are somehow miraculously able to check him for all potential STIs, content remains extremely far-fetched at best, and this would perhaps be negligible or more welcomed if naturalism was not compromised repeatedly elsewhere in the text. I noted very early on in this performance variations on a certain expression. Regularly, the two characters supplement their speech with an adverb followed by the word 'speaking' - for example: matrimonially speaking, socially speaking, genealogically speaking, etc. Having first assumed this to be another sign of unimaginative or unpolished writing, I soon discovered that this was, in fact, deliberate and that Adam's manner of speaking was at first being mimicked ironically by Rose and later becoming a commonplace aspect of her speech, too. I mention this because it becomes rather fundamental, amongst other items, in the development of a bond between the two characters and of a shared identity, and is one of many examples of how plot and character developments are miscommunicated within this performance. The use and importance of this expression is presented weakly, both in the written text itself and in delivery. I would like to see sarcasm and acerbity from Williams when she first mimics this expression type, which would then peter out as she assumes its use as her own. As it currently stands, Williams simply participates in the use of the expression without marking it in any way. Put rather bluntly, when expressions like these become more and more frequent, without being marked significantly, it is easy to put this down to inarticulate, uncreative and repetitive writing. This is without mentioning that this is a particularly idiolectal expression; this is not used so frequently in natural everyday speech, and so repetition without a certain degree of irony denaturalises the speech to such a degree that it seems overly artificial and stunting. Any sense of relatability or believability is certainly lacking throughout the entire text, making it impossible for an audience to find steady footing in the world of the play. It is simply far too chaotic and eclectic, and not in an effective, climactic and comedic way. Whilst sarcasm and bitterness are presented humorously, all dialogue is far too loquacious, failing to emulate the natural patterns or rhythms of speech. Paired with the aforementioned unnatural progression in Love Dance's plot, the effect is completely alienating. What makes this performance watchable, however, is the talent of its actors. Williams and Murphy perform with unfaltering energy and conviction. Whilst naturalism is amiss between them, I can put this down to the text itself; instead, Williams and Murphy demonstrate great textual awareness, portraying their characters with as much credibility and naturalism as would be possible. They are expressive and vitalised, clear on character intent and feeling, and aware of their use of space. The two actors demonstrate great physicality, also, with this expressivity not limited to any given area of the body [usually, the face]. Talented actors. Another excellent aspect of this performance is its set design (by Humphrey Jaeger). Ironically, this is incredibly naturalistic. Jaeger certainly demonstrates his great talent, having created a detailed and illustrious design that uses and balances colour superbly and that organises space incredibly well. It is easy to be convinced that this is a real house. Tech, on the other hand, whilst aesthetically very pretty, is incongruous with the mood and nature of the performance. The windows remain constantly lit from behind, which would be a good decision if colour choice was more informed. Red and blue, left distinct and separate, do not communicate natural outside lighting. This is also a poor decision for characters regularly leave through 'the front door' and give us a lengthy glimpse through the doorframe at the bare void behind the set. Lighting them so harshly as they leave draws stark attention to this absence of set pieces and ruins illusion. Directing a floorlight to the windows would have sufficed in creating the illusion of sunlight. Whilst on this topic, I should also note that actors should stand away from the windows when 'outside', given that their crisp shadow can be seen upon the blinds. Sound is used effectively, overall, and the music used is an effective motif, reminding us of Adam's music. However, the short scenelet wherein a spotlit Murphy portrays Adam performing at his concert is awkward in its lack of detail, overly expressive use of mime and, of course, its incredibly short duration, not allowing the audience to settle into its material. This scenelet is unnecessary, and I would scrap it myself. Back to transitions. These are most irksome for me, I must say. It seems as though performers cannot decide during these interludes whether or not they are to be in motion. They often perform minor acts during the transitions, but as soon as they sense that the lights are about to come up, they assume the opening position for the next scene and freeze until the lights come up. No! Do not await the tech to cue you; follow actions through and rely on technicians to do their job correctly and light you when necessary. Deliberately, performers have been left visible during these transitions with the persistence of low lighting. Thus, you can still be seen freezing mid-action, and this is most unnatural. Despite these aforementioned stylistic and visual inconsistencies, this remains an endearing performance, overall, but only for its general premise and talented actors. I must admit that from the middle onwards, the dramatic text does find its feet somewhat, not relying on impertinent scenes like the driving or waltz lessons, as effective as these scenes are in themselves, but developing a sense of coherent and progressive plot, one that can actually be followed. However, it is perhaps all but too late, for its disjointedness and incoherency thus far have already succeeded in generating far too great a sense of the ineffectively illogical and unrealistic, moving its audience away from any profound engagement. A lot of work must be done to refine this performance, and I would start with a focus on plot development and better character profiling for Rose, then style. “An incoherent and inarticulate dramatic text made enjoyable by talented actors.”