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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.”

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 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.”

I shall start by saying that this is a wonderful performance. Its dramatic text is well-conceived and well-developed, immaculately structured and coherent, and comedically inspired. Judging by this text alone, this performance is superb. Its aims are met; its content, well communicated; and both its concept and plot development are exemplary. Sensationalist elements are also wonderfully incorporated. Irony and satire as comedic devices are intelligently integrated, and reliance upon campness and melodrama are clever and appropriate. An inspired text. On to the performance itself. All performers need time, it seems, to warm up. At first, characterisations are extremely lacking, with identities being ill-communicated and fluid. Up until it is revealed that Gemma (Poppy Pedder) is the “shit one” [note the word ‘revealed’, as this is only clarified through direct expression in the dramatic text, not through Pedder’s initial characterisation], portrayals remain incredibly understated. This is partly due to more stage time being given to Shuga Fixx’s Manager, underplayed throughout by Jake Sears. I would like to see a lot more extremity in and care towards the expression of the caricatures from all cast members, barring Harri McKenzie-Donovan [I shall elaborate upon this below]. Whilst this notably improves as the performance progresses, expressivity is a persistent issue in this performance, both vocally and corporeally, and is limited almost exclusively to the face. In this particular case, I would urge performers to concentrate on tension and stillness in the body. In performances like this, there should always be a palpable degree of tension in the extremities of the body and in the face, and stillness in the body should be avoided at all costs. If you are not moving, you are not reacting, you are not performing, and, thus, you are limiting the readability of your character. But this is not to say that all performers should be frolicking around the stage at all times, constantly in motion, reacting wildly, failing their arms; instead, it is to say that inertness and stasis should be avoided, that the space should feel constantly enlivened, and reactivity should be dynamised. Facial expressivity and corporeal expressivity should be balanced in this way and to this effect. There are many moments in this performance where stillness becomes an issue, and a good example of this is in Sears’s characterisation of the Manager: Sears often stands still, expressionless beyond a purse of the lips, swiping through his phone. This becomes repetitive, overly simplistic in its suggestive proximity to naturalism, and, put bluntly, simply uninteresting to watch. This is especially an issue here when we consider the emphasis that is placed on the body itself, with Sears’s skimpy costume, and lost on his heavily adorned face/head to his sunglasses, hat and wig. We need to see what it is that makes Gemma so ‘rubbish’. Retrospectively, having learnt this about Gemma’s character through plot developments, I can see now that Pedder is deliberately slower in choreography, generally in the other two performers’ way and off time. But, whilst this is noticeable, that aforementioned lack of tension in the body and a lack of extremity and vigour causes this to seem not as though a deliberate portrayal of clumsiness and under-performativity but a genuinely lacklustre performance from Pedder herself. We really need to see her fumbling around the stage, completely forgetting choreography, actually physically bumping into the other two performers, perhaps stepping on their feet, smacking them in the face – something more drastic, in other words, to really drive this “shitness” home. We need to get a palpable sense of her forgetfulness and general underperformance. And this need for extremity goes for all performers, not just Pedder; we need to be offered a tangible sense of identity, personality and demeanour. If characters are nervous, awkward, fumbling or underperforming, this should be represented in caricatural expression and movement, not through what is almost, in places, naturalism. This lack of extremity persists to be an issue in all performances of Shuga Fixx’s music. When the group perform at their first substantial gig, ripping their outer layers of clothing off to bare their revealing outfits underneath, and sing about now being “all grown up”, choreography (movement direction by Chloe Young and Cameron Carver) is [comedically, ironically] raunchy, seductive, impassioned and stern…but conviction remains far too low. Again, tension! These performers lack vigour and dramaticism in these moments, seeming to save it all for the middle-end. Blank facial expressions and steady, fluid movements are simply not enough. Sharp, forceful and energised movements, rigidity, strain and unnatural bearing…these are what is needed here. The performers rely too heavily throughout, despite their definite improvements as the performance goes on, on the nature and content of the text itself and on supporting material to communicate their characters’ personalities and contributions. Nevertheless, these performers do prove capable from the middle onwards, and characterisations become increasingly particularised and clear. I acknowledge that this is also because backstories start to emerge, as well as contexts that define character feeling and intent – such as Jude’s (Molly McGeachin) history as “the poo girl”; Brooke’s (Grace Church)’s newfound popularity/fame; or, indeed, Gemma’s self-recognition as ‘the shit one’ – and so the cast have more concrete material to work with. But we should not have to wait until this material is revealed to us; we should have a clear sense of identity from the very beginning, regardless of whether or not we understand its origins. Even at their best, I want more from all of these performers. It is easy to come out of this performance having really enjoyed it but also having no idea what makes Shuga Fixx’s members unique beyond ‘the shit one’, ‘the famous one’ and ‘the one who pooed’. This needs to be urgently addressed. Nonetheless, idiosyncrasies do start to develop, and even an increase in general expressivity is perceptible, too, culminating in the final scenes with Pedder and McGeachin ‘running’ and ‘fighting’ their way through the Lizard King’s (also Sears) establishment, energised and forceful. Whilst comedic style does change quite a bit here, with the additions of gags like “maybe we should stop running on the spot” and McGeachin’s illusionism [more on this later], it is a comedy long desired. Whilst I disfavour quite heavily Sears’s portrayal of the Manager, which is far too understated and lacklustre, as I have expressed several times above, his caricatural presentations of the Lizard King and the French Choreographer are most redemptive. As these latter two, Sears is adequately expressive, energised and, above all, transformative. However, diction is a recurrent problem for this performer, and this was something noted, unfortunately, by two separate audience members as well. I would urge Sears to work on comedic timing as well, though I recognise that this is also one of few editorial issues, for the writing of sarcastic, long-winded remarks, made regularly by his characters, is underdeveloped. Remarks like these are overused and are relied upon too heavily to capture his characters’ bitterness and self-importance, something that is needless, being already evident in flamboyant/pompous costume and comportment. McGeachin demonstrates great ability when it comes to illusionism, from producing the marshmallow from Pedder’s mouth to producing the fork on the floor to revealing the unexpected faeces down her leg. These practical effects are conceived and executed very well, certainly adding to the performance’s absurd and unpredictable nature. Concealment could be better managed in some areas, however; I would recommend slightly more practice for the specific acts required by this performance, as opposed to practicing the overall talent. Beyond this, McGeachin’s facial expressivity is wonderful, after she has warmed up, but more corporeal expressivity is needed. Otherwise, she proves herself to have good characterisation and a great sense of comedic timing. As the performance progresses, Church perhaps shines through as having the most developed characterisation, overall, and this is, once again, chiefly due to the material of the dramatic text being increasingly concentrated on her character primarily. Once she settles into her character, Church proves herself to be highly transformative. A talented actress. Her extremely intimate scenes with Sears are handled very well and with the desired comedic extremity. I must admit, though, having seen Church perform before, I was underwhelmed by her overall characterisation in this performance. I know she is capable of more, as I am sure the other performers are too. I would recommend performers each step out and watch the action, encouraging each other to portray these caricatures more and more extremely, only then to refine this later on. It is easier to work with a lot and to refine it than to make something out of nothing. Pedder, underplaying her character throughout, rather surprised me at the end, with expressivity and vitality seemingly coming out of nowhere. I must admit that I was most disappointed by her performance up until these final scenes (from her being a bartender onwards). Having conceived this performance, I would have expected more. Her solo scene with the ring light, the main and only scene that really allows us to comprehend and bond with her character, is, again, far too understated, both in text and delivery, and the lyrics of her song are lacking and far too heartfelt [and not in the comedic way that they ought to be]. Tone is wrong here. I believe it was also an error to present us with the entirety of this song, given that it will be reprised in full later on. The particular performance I saw was BSL-interpreted by guest performer Harri McKenzie-Donovan. Most interpretations are somewhat sterile and poorly integrated into performances, but I must say that this particular interpretation was handled very well, compared to most. McKenzie-Donovan is included as a character, interacts with the others. Self-referential humour is used effectively to naturalise her presence in the performance, a presence that can often be quite alienating, both for members of the deaf community and the hearing alike. Whilst I cannot comment on the accuracy of the interpretation, not being absolutely familiar with BSL myself, attention is given to ensure that signings are clear and legible. For example, during group hugs, McKenzie-Donovan still leans in with the others, their hands around her, and she is not removed from the action, but her hands are still free to sign. Elements like this, allowing for her inclusion, are what makes this particular interepation so successful. I would just recommend that she be closer to speakers in the final scenes; her distance here is not so effective. McKenzie-Donovan is wonderfully expressive, her characterisation clear and coherent throughout. I would recommend the other performers take note of her, in fact. It is a shame that she is not present in all performances, as I rather enjoy the dynamic her presence allows. As for tech, having the projections on the strip curtain screen is a very good decision, minimising the consumption of space. The footage itself (videography by Poppy Pedder and Kofi Stone), is very humorous, and it is the writing of these scenelets that really communicates the ridiculous and the ironic, allowing us to regard the rest of the material offered in this performance appropriately as sensationalist and comedic. This performance derides its themes and content unashamedly and invites us through this footage to do the same, aware of its positively ludicrous and overdramatic nature from the very beginning. Very well-written scenelets. Lighting and sound (the latter designed by Harriet North) overall, however, are very badly operated. Design-wise, they are sufficient and facilitative, but their operation needs considerable refinement. Tech seems to function at far quicker a pace than the acting on stage, as though the technician is looking out for formal cues as opposed to considering the action on stage and the most appropriate time to dim the lights or play the sounds. This is most irritating at the end of the performance, when Sears has hardly finished his line before the blackout ensues, or during the Lizard King’s phone conversation with the Manager where the classic squeaking sound of the person on the other line is played too early, meaning that timing is off and the conversation does not match up. This needs to be urgently addressed. Costume (designed by Isobel Pellow) is most befitting, communicating character incredibly well and being successful in uniting the singers, nay creating an imagined ‘brand’ for them. Costume is overly camp when necessary, and the comedic effect is hilarious. I would just recommend that Sears appear in a more familiar costume when portraying the Lizard King in his pedal-boating scene with Brooke. As it stands, it is far too similar to the French Choreographer’s, and we have not yet become familiar enough with her character to distinguish them correctly. Props are used efficiently, and I must note that the lizard eggs, in particular, are most impressively conceived. A revoltingly spectacular element. Mentioning the lizard egg, however, brings me to my final, somewhat minor, comment: This performance maintains a performer-audience divide throughout, despite its recurrent self-referentiality, and this is a good decision for this particular text. Allowing for the pantomimic interaction when Brooke asks the audience if she should eat the Lizard King's eggs, resulting in Sears reprimanding the audience, "This isn't a pantomime!", is ineffective and subtractive. It causes for needless defictionalisation and awareness of the self and the Other amongst audience members. This interaction is stylistically inconsistent and should be removed. Overall, this is truly a wonderful performance, sure of itself, its style and voice, and impressively structured. Performers are certainly talented, energised, committed and enjoyable to watch but must further develop their characters, ensuring that identity is clear from the moment they first step on stage. Expressivity is very much lacking, overall. Regardless, they retain more than sufficient conviction and vitality needed to maintain audience engagement and interest, and lack of extremity is an issue that is easily resolved. Visually powerful and cohesive, this is definitely a must-see performance. “Intelligent, articulate, spectacular and sensational. A performance not to be missed!”

Opera Loki develops its performances with the aim of creating a space for newcomer theatregoers and artists alike, translating librettos into English for accessibility and for vacancies for first-time creatives. This is a wonderful and commendable initiative, and the results of this collaboration are palpable and clear. Directed by Jane Gray, with musical direction by Elspeth Wilkes, Opera Loki present Carmen – on this night, at the Founders’ Hall in Chelsea, London. In this review, I will not comment on the governing plot, narrative or themes of the original libretto itself, given that this is a revival. Instead, I will analyse Opera Loki’s unique interpretation. And I shall start with the written text. Carmen, originally written in French by Georges Bizet, has been translated here by Christopher Cowell. The aim of making this text accessible has certainly been met by Cowell. Language is notably not complex but is also by no means oversimplified. Cowell retains the poeticism and lyricality of this libretto incredibly well, and translations are appropriate and clear. Cowell demonstrates in this translation a great sense of literary awareness and effect. However, translations do not contain any unique elements and, instead, translate the original libretto itself; that is to say that Gray’s setting this opera in ‘the hot and dangerous American/Mexican border in the 1990s’, as per an official synopsis, is not accounted for here. But then, I am not convinced that the location in which Gray’s opera is set is communicated well at all anywhere within this performance, in fact. There is nothing particularly American-Mexican about this performance, and the original setting of Spain could easily be misidentified within it. Gray does succeed in modernising the aesthetic of this play to some degree, however, with costumes (designed by Carolyn Bear) being relative to the 90s, but context remains entirely lost. This official synopsis also states that ‘partying with drug lords is the norm [… and] it is difficult for young women to earn enough money to live and to find genuine love’. The status and title of these ‘drug lords’ are completely underplayed. Only one reference is made to the contraband being smuggled, and this does not scream drugs; it screams merely contraband goods. These characters remain simply smugglers, the only goods we actually get a glimpse of being, what appears to be, oranges. Early into the second act, before the bullfighting ensues, the performers reorganise the set [more on this below], passing around its crates and repositioning them. I imagine that these crates are supposed to be the goods…so, why are they empty? I would recommend these crates be filled with [what would appear to be] the very drugs these lords are selling; the oranges should remain included, for a superficial layer of them should be kept atop the crates to hide the drugs. This is all that was needed for us to understand the nature of these goods, and I am rather irked that something as basic as this, at the very least, was not considered. In Gray’s version, there is also no sense whatsoever of struggle, especially economic, amongst the women, other than that they are constantly preyed upon by the male characters. However, even this is something that they seem to rather enjoy, first powerful in their siren-like refusals and then wilfully and entirely seductive and sexually forward. In fact, the overt sexuality that is offered to us is, in all, comedic and somewhat caricatural, from Frasquita (Erin Alexander) placing her Toreador flag between her breasts to wiggle them from left to right, to Mercedes’s (Hannah Crerar) overdramatic dumbfoundedness to have received a kiss from Escamillo (Thomas Isherwood). This negates any discomfort, pity or reproach in our reading of these characters. In these ways, this performance is entirely misguided, its theory, vision and aims not quite matching up with what is presented to us on stage. Even the mere employment of the adjective ‘hot’ in this synopsis feels like an emotive description aiming to grab an audience’s initial attention and coax them to purchase a ticket. I see no references to climate past the female performers’ aforementioned costumes (sandals, short shorts and revealing tops, mostly), and this could easily be construed as merely modern coquettish attire. These items that demonstrate a lack of creative and conceptual awareness are fundamental to my rating of this performance. The set design (also by Bear) for this performance, I must admit, is equally underwhelming, lacking dynamism, dimension, visual appeal, uniqueness and character. There is no emulation in this design of theme and symbolism, and this is disappointing, particularly with choreography and movement being so static, as I will detail below, intensifying this lack of visual appeal. I would recommend a few more set changes, but these should function as part of the action, not as distracting character-losing interludes. Perhaps this concept of the smugglers could be employed here, with their movements and dealings prompting them to reorganise the set – in a vein similar to the aforementioned set change early into the second act, but far better executed. I must say that this set change, the only one, was rather understated and time-consuming, as well as devoid of creativity and clarity. Perhaps this unimpressive set was a matter of funding, but I am not so convinced. On to the talent. These opera singers have wonderful vocal ability, and we are presented an excellent vocal range, overall. Most impressive, forte segments and crescendoes are handled beautifully and with great care, such as with the Habanera. Superb musical direction by Wilkes. I cannot significantly fault these performers whatsoever on their singing skill, except for maybe in regard to diction, which is perfect almost throughout but must be better refined in a few areas. Crerar and Alexander make for a hilarious duo. They have exemplary expressivity and vitality, remaining clear on their actions and character intents. Constantly reacting to and engaged in what is happening around them, confident in physicality and overall portrayal, the two have wonderful stage presence. Great and engaging performers. Alice Usher (playing Michaela) demonstrates good characterisation, and her capability as an opera singer is certainly proven in this performance. I would just urge that she remember that she is performing during the scene wherein she hides from the other, brawling characters, behind the structure Upstage Right. Reactivity here is nonexistent. Whilst on the topic of her character, however, I should also point out the incongruity of her costume. This must be addressed. Shakira Tsindos (playing Carmen) has great command of her role and performs both the cockiness and majesty of her character well. Her singing is faultless, but corporeal expressivity in song is notably lacking quite frequently, and this does intensify as the performance progresses. Certainly very talented and the best suited for this particular role out of the cast, I would just like to see slightly more conviction from her. Isherwood has by far the most stage presence, assuming the arrogance and ostentation of his character incredibly well. I would like to see a vast amount more transformativity, however, especially with how easy it is for him to come out of character, as I shall elaborate below. But Isherwood remains wonderfully expressive, proves his vitality and energy, and possesses great vocal abilities. Tim Bagley (playing Zuniga and Dancairo) and Lars Fischer (playing Morales and Remendado) are, throughout, a great duo, and their harmonies are well orchestrated. I would just have Bagley borrow some of Fischer’s expressivity and would urge more force in singing from Fischer, given that he sometimes gets lost under Bagley’s sheer volume. Overall, adequate performers. I must say, however, that their portrayal of the soldiers at the very beginning was far more impressive and promising than their overall performance. When I compare this to what is presented henceforward, I fail to comprehend where such high energy and excellent conviction went. Unfortunately, Andrew Rawlings (playing Don José) was suffering from pharyngitis when I saw the performance, and so he was not able to sing. Instead, he mimed his action and lip-synced, with Cameron Rolls as his cover. I understand that this was perhaps a last-minute decision, but I would not have considered Rolls as the best candidate for this. Rolls has mediocre singing ability, unfortunately, and struggles intensely to hit those desired higher notes. I would source a different performer for this role. Evidently, I cannot comment on Rawlings’s singing, but as for characterisation, this was certainly lacking, especially in the intenser scenes, such as those wherein he is threatening other characters with his [oddly designed] blade. Rawlings certainly fails to communicate his characters’ identity, with inadequate character profiling. Moving on to movement and choreography. I must note that movement in the more impassioned scenes is very repetitive. The threat of the knife, when I consider the lack of expressivity from Rawlings, and with Tsindos’s expressivity being understated here, and the lack of variation in overall movement [upon which I shall elaborate below], is minimal, and this should be addressed. We should see expansion and stillness in the eye, tension across the body, etc. to communicate his rage, but we simply do not. This lack of physical tension, vigour and energy in movements makes for a particularly awkward watch when Tsindos ‘struggles’ free of his featherlight clutches, him stopping her in her tracks as she tries to run away, or during his [unfortunately, I must say rather pathetic] fight with Isherwood. In fact, this lack of vigour persists throughout this performance, particularly with the male performers, barring Isherwood. Whilst I emphasise that all performers have commendable talent when it comes to singing, I must admit that physicality, expressivity and transformativity are in urgent need of development and refinement, overall. As I have already written, death scenes, fight scenes, scenes of violence, these are understated and far too calmly presented. There are also far too many moments of stasis, and, altogether, scenes are far too similar, usually comprising a pair of performers on each side of the stage performing minor interactions or interactions of a sexual nature. This lack of variation is most stunting and allows for a limited aesthetic and sense of dynamism. This is this performance’s greatest downfall. I mentioned the sexual interactions between the performers, and these are often executed by the coquettish duo, Crera and Alexander. These are handled and structured most comedically, but sexual motifs and the general theme of sexuality are permitted to peak far too early, meaning that further sexual displays and interactions between the characters after Tsindos’s rendition of Cowell’s translation of the Harbera feel repetitive and bland. Finally, some comments on general blocking. The decision to have performers walk through the audience is most needless, unnatural and distracting, especially given that the performers’ expressions and movements here can only be seen by an incredibly minute number of audience members. This adds no effect whatsoever and does not progress the action at all; in fact, it can only subtract from it. This forces audience members to be aware of one another, and not lost in the performance’s illusion, as they turn their heads back to get a better look at the oncoming actors far in the distance behind them. It also allows for sheer disorder, as was the case when an audience member wanted to visit the lavatory just as Isherwood was making his next entrance. I should also note here that this prompted Isherwood not to ignore the audience member waiting at the edge of the aisle for him to pass — as he should have done! — but to come out of character, step back to make room, and gesture with a smile and a minor utterance that it was OK for the audience member to pass. No! Completely unprofessional and illusion-shattering. Stay in character! The audience, in performances like this, do not exist; you cannot see them, you do not address them, you do not interact. On the topic of walking through the audience, I must note that the beginning of the second act is most peculiar to me. It starts with the performers on stage, dimly silhouetted in still poses. After an intermezzo, the performers walk back through the audience and leave the stage, only to re-enter together almost immediately through the audience again. This is clumsy, disordered and distracting. Being our first impression back from the interval, this needs to be urgently readdressed. The initial tableau vivant implies that the performers will soon break into acton; when this is not the case, it allows for a sense of the underwhelming. Entering and exiting the stage repeatedly in such a short amount of time is simply chaotic and confusing. There is no reason this intermezzo could not be performed without the accompaniment of actors on stage, especially given that this tableau vivant does not progress our understanding of the performance or its narrative whatsoever. Lighting design (by Will White) here further complicates matters, with a dim wash, then a blackout, then intense washes again, but I must put this down to the disorganised concept of this intro itself, not down to White’s creative abilities. Where lighting is concerned, however, I also fail to understand why the aisle was not lit, given that the entrances of these characters are so important and so forcefully marked – notably, Isherwood’s entrance is most understated as he sluggishly emerges from the dark, stopping religiously to take in his surroundings. I must stress that better and more careful thought should be given to topography. The audience is far too crammed in together, and the sheer length of the house means that having only two levels of platforms for the staging is a fallible decision. Especially in scenes wherein action takes place chiefly upon the floor, and even in major scenes such as Carmen’s death scene, anyone past the fourth row will get a lovely view of the back of the heads of the audience members in front and of nothing more. This is very poorly conceived. Another tier should be added to the stage, and this death scene, in particular, should take place on, at least, what is currently the highest tier. My very last criticism: when actors stand in the corridors behind the audience, after having walked through them so disruptively, they must remain silent and inconspicuous. Do not interact with or talk amongst each other. This is most distracting and, again, illusion-shattering. Overall, an adequate performance but one that certainly needs drastic refinement insofar as aesthetics, dynamism and topography. With beautifully played music and wonderful vocal talent, this performance has great potential and promise but is in need of sharper direction and variation. “A good performance with talented performers but lacking in creativity and identity.”

This review will consider Skin in the Game, a new play by Gill Kirk, directed by Sarah Gain and currently being staged at the New Wimbledon Studio. This is a very confused performance, completely unsure of its style, voice, performer-audience relationship and aims. Whilst I cannot say that I was confounded by the overall plot, as five separate audience members said they were, I do remain perplexed as to why such disparate theatrical techniques are placed together in this performance in the manner that they are and by certain discontinuities in the plot. I shall start with acting. Whilst expressivity is certainly commendable in this performance, for all but Kristin Duffy (playing Elizabeth) until the second act [I shall elaborate below], transformativity and conviction are simply nonexistent. Each of the actors has an opportunity to demonstrate their transformative talents in portraying multiple characters, and none but Eden Avital Alexander (playing Tyny and Troll) deliver. With more conviction certainly still possible, Alexander’s transformativity is most favourable, as she distinguishes her characters well, each having their own distinct profiles. I would just recommend that she work on ensuring more variation in voice. Ed Theakston (playing Mike and the Bumblebee) is the next most transformative, but only for his portrayal of the Bumblebee versus his principal character; all of his other characters, he distinguishes extremely poorly. Diction is notably an issue for Alexander and Duffy, and this should certainly be addressed. Lines are delivered too early far too often by quite a few performers, and almost all performers slip up on them regularly throughout. Delivery styles hover unstably between realistic and exaggerative, allowing for a stylistic inconsistency. Partially a technical issue at first, with music being too loud and in competition with the voices of the performers, these performers each struggle to understand the difference between projection and shouting. It is simply uncomfortable to listen to their straining voices. All of these items must be urgently addressed. All performers demonstrate great vitality and energy throughout; however, there is a notable increase in these as the performance progresses, and not in a naturally climactic and progressive manner as one would expect. Their caricatures becoming more and more invigorated and overdramatic, culminating in the completely otherworldly and fictive creatures of the Troll, the human-sized Bumblebee and the Big Beast (Craig Talbot), performers' delivery and performance styles become completely unrecognisable by the end, allowing for extreme discontinuity. It is impossible to marry the first and second acts, not only for style but also for content. On the topic of the Big Beast, I must note Talbot’s character changes between this and the character of Danny, as seen in the second act. These are terribly sloppy, with Talbot rushing back and forth across the stage, struggling to take off and put back on his jacket and his mask, and attempting [most fallibly] to hide behind Duffy as he is [failing at] changing his costume. Worth noting as well is the unnecessary and rather counterproductive help that Talbot receives from Nick Biadon (playing Bob) who randomly comes on stage merely to present and hold his jacket for him, an actor who should not be present in these scenes. Finicky and unrefined details like these make this performance seem all the more disordered and ill-communicative, and with the poor attempts to conceal this failing display, the action we see does not feel deliberate but simply unskilled and unprofessional. If these moments have to be included – and I emphasise that they do not – and there is already a caricatural/comedic and metatheatrical tone to the performance, why attempt to hide these costume changes? Why not show us Talbot struggling to get into his next costume, awkwardly calling upon Biadon’s help, rushing, out of breath, to deliver his next line? Again, I would not include this at all, personally, but this would be an effective, more visually pleasing and, above all, more stylistically coherent manner of presenting this action. This performance struggles to decide whether or not to take itself seriously in this manner, and the main contributor to this is the attempt at naturalism offered by Elizabeth’s character and her interactions with the others. Except for during her dream sequence, Elizabeth is serious, chastising; her spiels about Danny and his complots are long-winded, and she expresses herself exhaustively and overly articulately. This opposes the absolutely unserious and comedic portrayals from Theakston and Alexander, for example, or the exaggerative physical movement sequences that constitute the introduction to Danny’s game show. And then, suddenly, Elizabeth is living her sexual bestial fantasy, suspended from the ceiling of a cave, markedly performative and expressive. Even within this singular portrayal, then, we find a duality of disparate performance styles. Is she to be taken seriously by the audience or not? Is this a mere comedy, or are we meant to earnestly appreciate tension, conflict and suspense? Our reading is most confused by these elements. What is more, after being so heavily caricaturised in this dream sequence, half-woman, half-plant, Elizabeth then returns to her former, serious self, and we are merely to forget the Troll, the Big Beast and the Bumblebee and to ponder about their very significance in this performance. In this way, character profiles are completely confused and underdeveloped. Including such absurd and exaggerative elements like this is not inherently ineffective and fallible, but the material offered in this performance, despite the fact that its story is set in a fictional dystopian and post-apocalyptic future version of Earth, remains rational until what I shall refer to as ‘Elizabeth's dream sequence'. Material from this point onward seems to exist independently to that which we have been presented thus far and to which we will later nonchalantly return. Whilst Alexander's portrayal of the Troll is notably comedic and effective, it is extreme in its dramatic style and zoomorphic physicality. It is completely incongruous with what we have seen thus far, with the most outlandish feature relative to it since the very beginning of the performance being the so-called "Mud Babies" – and these were notably portrayed by non-performing inanimate objects. Either the first act should be drastically transformed in order to equate the style of the second, or vice versa. Personally, I would have rather watched a performance consisting of these second characters alone, but alas… The idea of a game show host running the world as we now know it is an engaging and promising premise, if slightly unoriginal, but the battle between Elizabeth and Danny is completely lacklustre. Again, dialogues surrounding Danny's complot is written very poorly, overly serious and long-winded. With the ending being so sudden, it is easy to feel cheated of one’s time when nothing amounts from the chaotic material we have been presented. The death of these two characters – one of which (Elizabeth) we are not forced at all to care about – felt like a cheap way out for writer Gill Kirk who evidently had no idea how to end this performance impactfully. As alluded to above, this performance employs metatheatricality quite regularly but fails to do so appropriately. The creatives are clearly unaware of its effect and fail to communicate its significance within their work. At the very beginning of the performance, performers sit amongst us as Talbot enters the stage, and we are encouraged to cheer and participate in Danny's game show, notably with direct address from the ensemble and with the instructions we receive via Biadon's placard prompts. This prepares us to be part of the action when, in reality, we will be immediately re-distanced as the fourth wall is rebuilt and the performance becomes self-contained. But even though we are encouraged like so to participate, the actors amongst us actually do our job for us, and when audience interaction is overly anticipated, Talbot does not look to us but to the performers. The effect of this is that we remain unsure as to whether or not we should be actively engaged, aware of the clamant performers amongst us. With Alexander then commending us for our good work, even singling one audience member out with an "Especially you! You were amazing!", our function, position and role within this performance as audience members are incredibly confused and ill-communicated. Are we merely spectators or participants? Metatheatricality is then communicated through self-referential comedic movements, such as the self-mocking rowing sequence, wherein actors overtly pretend that they are rowing boats across the waters whilst scooting along on wheeled set pieces, and Biadon's subsequent miming that he is to swimming, a mime he performs lying down upon the floor. With ludicrous and overdramatic sequences, such as the group exercise that Danny leads early on in the performance, this play laughs at itself and invites us to do the same. It does not want to be taken seriously [so then, again, why the serious and sterile tone offered by Elizabeth?] and wants to remind us of the absurdity of performance itself with this self-mocking nature, but to what effect? We are needlessly distanced and to no avail, only to be later forced to consider this as a self-contained and serious play. In this way, this performance fails to communicate its aims and its relationship with its audience, and we are not informed at all throughout of what to take away from it. What is more, these movements (movement direction by Jennifer Kay) are most unpolished, unfinalised, uncompleted. For example, in this aforementioned rowing sequence, performers do not convey the physical reality of being on a boat beyond merely a rowing motion and their rotation about the stage, and Talbot's drifting away is completely underplayed. Additionally, Biadon swims to Talbot's side and just stands up with no struggle of getting out of the water, finding his footing ‘on the ground’ exactly where he has just been swimming. Further exaggeration and clarity in these movements is needed. Then, we have the chaotic and ill-constructed sequence involving a cycle of images projected onto the screen above as characters encircle the stage, each supposedly in a different location. This is handled incredibly poorly, with images failing to match up with the characters and with the overall visual being far too disordered and clunky. It is simply too eclectic and, what is more, communicates that all characters are on some sort of journey when Elizabeth is, in fact, the only character on the move. A cheap montage. This brings me on to aesthetics. The more elaborate digital collages (graphic animations by Mat Davies) projected onto the screen above, such as the depictions of the Big Beast’s Cave or the flooded city of London and its flood barriers, are well designed, if [deliberately, I hope] unrefined and distinctly photoshopped – this lack of hyperrealism is comical, though. However, these are in stark contrast with the minimalist animations such as the overhanging LED bar light, making for an inconsistent visual: the intricate and detailed vs the plain and simple. Animations like this latter also feel unnecessary and distracting, not adding to our reading or imagination whatsoever. Set designed by Duffy and Theakston, the black bin bags Upstage and the rags hanging from the line Centerstage Left constitute a far better design in their simplicity, effectively evocative of the dingy, dirty post-apocalyptic city, but, together with the animations, make for an inarticulate and inconsistent aesthetic. Costume (also designed by Duffy) is equally incongruous with the performance’s themes and content. The characters are far too well put-together, their appearances retaining a sense of cleanness, elaborateness and decorativeness, regardless of their status in their society, as with Talbot’s costume and Theakston’s makeup, for example. Altogether, a highly confused visual. A few minor criticisms to end with. There is no reason for technical stage manager Rori Endersby to be constantly entering and exiting the performance space; this performance is too simplistic to warrant such persistent attention. Each time I observed this individual, I noted that he was changing or adding absolutely nothing, aimlessly walking to the back of the stage, moving a theatrical property ever so slightly and then exiting again. This disillusions the space, reclaiming it as ‘real’, as the space of a functioning theatre and not the location of the world of the play, and this should be avoided. Finally, I must emphasise that if I had have paid for this performance, I would have been extremely dissatisfied. With tickets standing at £17.60, this is extremely overpriced for the technical simplicity and unspecialised talent offered here, and for this play's duration. Pricing must be urgently readdressed. Overall, whilst individual aspects of this performance are comedic and endearing, they amount to very little all together, irrelevant to one another and confused. This performance fails to find its footing and to express its content and plot developments coherently. Creative as elements may be, their effects are not considered carefully enough. Drastic editing is needed. “An inarticulate, underdeveloped and underwhelming performance, despite its comical aspects.”

For clarification, where ‘Aldridge’ is mentioned alone in this performance, this refers to actress Grace Aldridge; mentions of director Matt Aldridge will be signified by the inclusion of his name in full. This review will consider Titus Andronicus, written, of course, by William Shakespeare, directed by Matt Aldridge with Jessica Rogers as assistant director, and currently being performed at the Barons Court Theatre. Leaving this performance, I have mixed feelings. Some elements are incredibly impressive, well-communicated, artistic; others are terrible, unoriginal or underdeveloped. I shall start with the positives. Certain members of this cast demonstrate great skill in acting. Namely, these are Sarah Beebe (playing Tamora), Natalie Halpern (playing Lucius) and Kieron Mieres (playing Aaron). Though this comes with a surprise, given that her initial portrayal of Tamora as a slave to Titus was not particularly strong – rather unparticularised, in fact – Beebe proves herself as a wonderfully talented actress, indeed, with her portrayal of Tamora as the empress. Aware of her character intent, incredibly expressive and confident in her role, Beebe performs with great credibility, vigour and conviction. Halpern has great emotional range and performs with vitality and excellent physicality. She is also the strongest insofar as diction, though this surprisingly cannot be said of her final scene wherein she has clearly given her enunciation and delivery too much thought. I would recommend addressing diction here, but perhaps without Halpern putting so much pressure upon herself; this is an important monologue, and the severe mispronunciation of ‘the gates shut on me’, which allows for the misconstruction, ‘the gates shat on me’…inevitably takes away from this. Nevertheless, Halpern is an impressive actress, sure of her role, invigorated and confident on stage. Mieres is wonderfully expressive, credible and energised. He also handles interactions with the audience during his asides very well, clearly confident in his character’s intents and motivations. Unlike with Halpern, I would just pay closer attention to diction with Mieres; it is often difficult to comprehend exactly what he is saying. However, rather inexplicably, this vastly improves as the performance progresses, almost perfect by the middle of the second act. His contemporary idiosyncrasies, such as finger-snapping, and his laid-back disposition add a modern dimension to his character, as desired by this interpretation, but – and this is purely a directorial issue – this is in stark contrast with all other cast members, except perhaps Halpern, who remain much more neutral, and calmer, in their gesticulations. This makes for an incohesive set of character types and should be addressed. Tyler Woods (playing Demetrius) and Ricky Hutchinson (playing Chiron) appear as though unclear of their roles in their first scene together, for their interactions are understated, energy is low and expressivity is minimal. I do believe, however, that this, again, is a directorial issue, with Aldridge wanting the duo to become more and more craven and ‘mad’ as the play progresses. Either this or the two are merely better at presenting caricatures over characters. Both are clearly talented performers, however, as they prove in intenser scenes that they can portray their characters with great credibility and conviction, their physicality extreme, their manic laughs wild. However, when I compare this great transformativity to all of the scenes they share with Mieres, character profiles are most understated, and this can also be said of their death scenes, though less severely. I would recommend that this sense of freneticism and ‘madness’ be present throughout with their characterisations, climaxing naturally along with the content. They should be seen throughout as unhinged, rambunctious tykes, not just in these scenes of assault with Grace Aldridge (playing Lavinia). This brings me on to the negatives. I often struggle with modernisations of Shakespeare plays, not because I think such modernisations should not be done nor because I have a personal aversion towards this – on the contrary, I enjoy the idea – but because there is a tendency amongst theatremakers to modernise only a few, specific elements of the play in question and to leave the rest untouched. This leads to an incoherent and alienating reading. In this case, clothing is modernised, with performers wearing modern dresses, shoes and suits, yet content is not altered whatsoever. We are to imagine that these characters, appearing exactly as we do, somehow inhabit ancient Rome. When revival plays are modernised, as a general rule, all aspects should be recontextualised into a contemporary sphere. Modernisations of Shakespeare are usually most successful when locations and characters are altered completely, along with language, so that only the underlying content and theme remain. This enables the old text to have a second life of sorts, to speak to current audiences. The old text is instrumentalised to recall and explore the general human condition and nature, our history and how far we have come, and how past human actions, dealings and feelings can be identified, observed and reflected upon today. Or, more simply, the original texts are made accessible to modern audiences who do not necessarily understand the text’s semi-foreign tongue. With performances like this that aim not to instrumentalise Shakespeare's text to benefit their own exploration or politicisation in this way, retaining proximity to the original text is key. The inclusion of guns as well as modern dress and the addition of lines only to incorporate the word 'fuck' into the 'new' text, all to add a sense of the contemporary world, do not constitute a successful modernisation, one that refreshes the old and presents it accessibly to the new. The decision to only modernise these minute elements yet to keep context, language and setting exactly the same is most fallible. For instance, in the late scene between Halpern and Mieres, tension is built incredibly well, and antagonisation, rage and conflict are portrayed beautifully, but the incorporation of modern language – again, limited to the word 'fuck' – simply feels too deliberate and corny and dampens the effect of an otherwise efficacious scene. This is simply needless, incongruous with the rest of the language used within this play, which remains chiefly archaic and poetic, true to Shakespeare's original text. Either modernise everything or nothing, all of the language or none of it. If decisions are made to only half-modernise the material, there should be distinct reasons for doing so and clear effects in mind; the mere desire to keep with the times does not offer sufficient context for half-baked decisions like this. Govind Hodgson (playing Titus) suffers from a common problem amongst actors: he limits his expressivity entirely to his face, only expressing through the body occasionally. But even this facial expressivity is lacklustre, as is vocal expressivity. Not what is to be expected of a titular actor. Hodgson is notably unsure of his lines in places, delivering them with an inappropriate intonation or expression, and remains, overall, unimpassioned and unenergised. I do not often use the word terrible to describe performers, as I find it rather harsh, but, unfortunately, it is the closest adjective I have to describe Grace Aldridge's portrayal of Lavinia. Conviction and credibility are completely lacking in this performer. She demonstrates a sheer lack of energy and realism, and expressivity, both corporeal and vocal, is underwhelming. She underplays her character significantly, with poor reaction timing and minimal stage presence. Honestly, I would recommend her role be recast. When Lavinia’s husband dies, Grace Aldridge lacks corporeal tension and reactivity, failing to emote in accordance with natural behavioural patterns. We see little to no physical struggle when she is being restrained by Woods and Hutchinson, and her pleas to Beebe are simply unconvincing. I am afraid merely burying one’s head in one’s lap is not enough to portray fear and vulnerability. We need to see stiffness and tension across the entire body, to such a degree that we can see the limbs trembling; we must see widened, glazed eyes; we must hear bloodcurdling whimpers and screams. When revealing the names of her rapists, including when inscribing them in paint on the walls behind, Aldridge lacks urgency and expression. The sheer absence of such details like these is what destroys any credibility in Aldridge’s performance. Nicholas R Obetsebi Lamptey (playing Marcus) and Stephen Reimer (playing Saturninus) are mediocre performers, I am afraid. Whilst the former has good diction, he does not perform his lines but merely delivers them, sterile and lacklustre, with minimal expressivity and a sheer lack of emotionality. Reimer does slightly redeem himself towards the beginning of the second act, when he demonstrates his ability to convey anger, but beyond this scene, he lacks a great deal of transformativity and conviction, often inert and expressionless. I would like to see more vitality and vigour in both of these actors’ characterisations. Whilst Gabriella Guymer-Davies and Josie Stephens are great comedic performers, they are far too understated elsewhere, and with Andre Frey portraying so many characters, I would have expected a lot more transformativity and character distinction. Emphatically, all performers struggle to deliver convincing deaths, but there still remains here a range in credibility, with some performers demonstrating good corporeal awareness, tensing, struggling, squirming, and with others merely dropping dead instantaneously. However, I do recognise that this is a directorial issue, given that all actors, some against their obvious natural propensities, deliver a similar instant and silent death. Matt Aldridge clearly desires to minimise the gory and outlandish extremity in this play [something upon which I will elaborate below], and it is most unappealing. Where movement is concerned, I must also mention the terribly unoriginal and needless movement sequence between Aldridge, Woods and Hutchinson that closes the first act. The effect is not dramatic. This is a cheap, uncreative, repetitive, awkward and, above all, ineffectual scenelet that does not add to our reading in the slightest, especially given that Lavinia’s character will not have too great a function in this performance, and so this sequence becomes entirely negligible. It is evident, with the white wall and flooring and with the 'weaponisation' of paintbrushes and sponges, that Matt Aldridge wished for a more artistic depiction of the carnage, almost painterly, as though the white stage were a Jackson Pollock canvas for a splatter collage of the characters' red blood. The reason for this decision, however, is incredibly ill-communicated, nay uncommunicated. With characters using knives and guns elsewhere, the threat of a red-soaked sponge is rather de-intensified and unclear. Merely pouring stage blood over the actors causes their characters to die. Why? With the rest of the action being realistic, with actors wrestling each other, tying each other in ropes, threatening each other with a gun to the head, such immaterial and symbolic deaths feel thematically and stylistically incongruous. Why have guns if they shall never be used? Why have Titus slit the throats of Chiron and Demetrius, only to wring a sponge over Lavinia to end her life? This adds an overly mystical and magical element to the performance that is not present in any other aspect but in [some of] the characters’ deaths. The effect, instead of feeling intelligent, inspired and artistic, is merely underwhelming; it is easy to feel as though a raw, gory and palpable death was simply unachievable due to lack of know-how, imaginativeness and performer capacity, and such avoidance led to these underdeveloped depictions. This is a gory play of blood-thirst and impassioned rage, and whilst the imagery of a bloodstained stage is a wonderful concept, how we achieve it is equally as important, and with several actors struggling intensely to pop blood bags on time, achievement is not a word I would use here. I should probably mention here, too, that the choice of material to protect the flooring of the stage is terrible. Not only does it cheapen the aesthetic of the space, but it remains entirely dysfunctional and counterproductive to its raison d’être, prone to ripping. I understand that cost may have been an issue, but white tarpaulin, at least, would have been better in terms of structural integrity and wipeability. Not only is this spilt blood devoid of the desired symbolism, but it also lacks visual credibility. I would recommend choosing a different brand of stage blood. The stage blood currently in use is far too watery and orange, better equating iodine than blood. Similarly, the fake hand representative of Titus’s amputated hand is far too artificial and oddly bloated. Further detailing must be added to this to make it seem more realistic, otherwise the effect remains as it was on the night I saw the performance, where audience members burst with laughter at the sight of it. Being such an intimate and close audience, lack of detail is extremified, and the result is a sense of over-artificiality and hence ludicrousness, resulting in humour. This is not desirable in this particular performance, which clearly aims to be very dramatic and tense, not comedic, as emphasised in the choice of music. Whilst I do understand why rock music, with its rebellious and modern tone, was chosen for this performance, it remains incongruous with the specific performance style on offer here. Thematically, rock music is a good decision, but the visuals and deliveries we are offered are simply far too understated and calm to warrant this music choice. Transitions are empty and slow, often clumsy and awkward, and to pair this with rock music simply intensifies their inefficacy and the lack of action on stage. Creating live works to be performed in the round – or, in this case, with thrust staging – always has its difficulties, and I am afraid that the challenge proved too difficult here. Topography needs to be far better considered in this performance, and this is chiefly the case for the final scene. Whilst I understand the decision to have the Emperor and Empress visible over Titus, so that the audience may have a good gawk at their deaths, deaths are completely understated in this performance, as I have written above, and so this rather negates this reasoning. Titus remains our main focus, and to have his back to a third of the audience is a terrible decision. This is the climax of this play; the audience need to see everything, with emphasis on the actions and expressions of Titus alone. To have merely rotated the table, to have had a rectangular table on a diagonal, or even to have a more modern buffet for which actors would be scattered around the stage, visible for all, would have improved this final scene. Or, indeed, requiring a less drastic transformation of this scene, to have Hodgson pace behind Beebe and Reimer, not in front of the centre audience, with his back to them. Overall, intense scenes are handled well in this performance, except for most of those involving Hodgson, which is most unfortunate. There is a lot of work that has to be done, however, in order to make this play stylistically and visually coherent, and more powerful. I cannot help but feel that potential is limited and that aspects are underplayed – why so disruptively interact with the audience for the voting if this has no effect on the performance whatsoever? Why use guns and knives if the mere clench of Titus’s fist, popping a minuscule blood bag, can end the life of his daughter? Credible and talented performers make this performance genuinely worth watching, but the items I have listed need to be urgently readdressed. “A very enjoyable performance by actors of ranging talent but one that struggles to find its unique identity.”

This review will consider Our Last First, written by Lucinda Coyle, directed by Stanley Walton and staged at The Union Theatre. I should note before I start that this review cannot speak conclusively of this performance and its potential, given that it makes use of a rotating cast, each actor playing a different character each night. On the night I saw this performance, Aitch Wylie played “A”, Louis Raghunathan played “B”, Jonathan Case played “Sibling”, Tazmyn-May Gebbett played “Friend”. I shall first start by commending Coyle for managing to produce a text that is purely gender-neutral, allowing the performers to rotate in this manner with no effect on our reading of the core text whatsoever. With the only nuance being a reference by A that B’s parents may not accept them because “You know…”, followed by a marking gesture, this text permits a reading that focuses solely on the spiritual identities of and shared love between the characters. The reason this text is so successful in itself is that it allows for an emphasis on character emotion and feeling over physical characteristics, subscription to social codes or, of course, gender and sexuality, thus enabling a more sentimental audience engagement and a sharper emotional response. Rotations of this kind also inherently cause the ensemble to focus on the characters’ independent identities and how they might convey these appropriately and ‘authentically’, and not on how they can make the characters ‘their own’. Conceptually, then, a very clever text, and direction does this justice, for the most part. However, this is not to say that this is a perfect text. Momentum is certainly an issue, most notably from the middle of the play onwards. The worst scene for unwanted slowed momentum is the scene wherein Sibling first comes to visit. We do not gain anything from this scene at all; it is completely negligible. Sibling interacts almost exclusively with A, with their introduction to us through an exchange with B and the few subsequent exchanges these two do have not being sufficient to make this scene worthwhile. The two principal reasons for this scene are 1) to demonstrate not only Sibling and B’s newfound bond but how immediately B is welcomed into A’s family and how an outsider can also confirm B’s pleasantness and amicability, to further our respect of them, and 2) to allow for a stark contrast when B’s closest friend is the complete opposite, unwelcoming and revelatory of B’s negative side. Only the latter aim is met, and even this is weak. I do think this scene could have a significant function, but, as it currently stands, I would either completely rework this scene or remove it altogether. Overall, speech as written in this dramatic text does not reflect natural patterns. The language A and B use is somewhat monotonal, with bantering exchanges, jokes and allusions constituting nearly the entirety of their interactions, and registers remain slightly formalised until very late in the play. With these items persisting almost throughout, it is easy to read these characters as merely superficial representations, emphatic and artificial in their delivery for mere comedic effect. Despite the content of their speech, its rather overt and somewhat poetic [i.e. repetitive, rhythmic] structure and style allow for a reading that these characters are not as entirely connected and close as we would imagine, still on the cusp between friends and new lovers. However, because this is consistent, and because of the credibility of the actors, any negative effect of this is diminished –– still palpable, but diminished. What is more, this “banter” that Coyle has constructed is certainly endearing and comedic and hence worthwhile. Another item that diminishes any negative effect of this style of speech is the veritable chemistry between Wylie and Raghunathan, from minute details to lingering touch as the actors part to overt expressions such as hugging and the entwining of the legs when sitting down beside one another. Intimacy coordinator Katharine Hardman has done a wonderful job here. As for portrayal, noting again that I can only comment on the specific cast arrangement I saw, I remain particularly impressed by Wylie’s characterisation. Wylie demonstrates great emotional range, particularly insofar as rage and distress, as perceptible in later scenes. They also demonstrate great expressivity and vitality. Credibility could certainly be improved, but I must put this down to the unnaturalism within the dramatic text itself. Wylie remains distinctly clear on their character intent and feeling and portrays A beautifully, overall. I do, however, remain irked by their lack of extremity in physicality when they portray what I can only strain to infer to be a drunk A. I want to see a lot more expression, general weakness and fluidity in the body, slurring when speaking, etc. I could only tell that A was drunk from the content of the dramatic text itself. Raghunathan is an adequate performer and portrays his role well, but his expressivity somehow decreases as the performance goes on, exposing a minimal emotional range. We are supposed to be feeling an increase in drama, emotion and tension as the play goes on, and this is simply not reflected in Raghunathan’s portrayal of B. I must say, however, that sorrow and vulnerability are expressed rather well. Overall physicality and delivery are good but need to be fine-tuned in order to produce more coherency across character developments and a better sense of climax, especially given that the events of the play will have such an extreme toll on his character. Gebbett is a good performer insofar as expressivity, diction and vitality, but her portrayal of Friend rather approximates a caricature, as opposed to a character, making her profile feel intensely disjointed from the others. This transformativity, whilst the mark of a dynamic performer, must be better refined so that her character feels more natural and cohesive with the more understated characters offered by the other performers. Case is certainly very convincing in his role. He demonstrates great expressivity, timing, emotionality and energy. He does, however, struggle with giving the other performers eye contact, it seems, when he is delivering his lines directly to them, most notably in his first scene. Perhaps this is deliberate, in an attempt to convey his character’s awkwardness around A’s new partner, but this should be accentuated and feel more voluntary if this is, indeed, the case. Again, naturalism is a significant issue, but I must put this down to the text. I noted above that this first scene with Case lacked momentum due to editorial issues, and Gebbett’s first scene with A and B is equally, nay more, underwhelming but for a very different reason: music choice (sound design by Lily Blundell). Music is too loud in this scene, nearly drowning the performers out [and I was in the front row so had sufficient proximity to hear them well], and it is also completely incongruous stylistically with the material presented. Relaxing piano music, rather equating to the music of a deep relaxation CD or an aquarium fails to sets the tone for what should be a fast-paced and tense scene, completely at odds with Gebbett’s rapid and uninterrupted delivery. I should also note that writing is far from perfect in this scene, too. Introductions of developments in B’s character, their loyalty and transparency, are far too deliberate, overt and overstated. Coyle must rework this scene so as to reveal these facts delicately, insidiously and not so hastily. Personally, I would either remove the detail about B’s favourite drink being a banana milkshake or make it an earlier revelation, as this feels much less intense than precedent revelations. By this mention, the sheer number of details we have received rather start to feel like overkill. On to aesthetics, with set design by Beth Colley, assisted by Ana Webb-Sanchez. Unfortunately, I must say that this is a somewhat unattractive performance, with set pieces feeling disparate and eclectic. The LED-lit kallax unit, the diffferent-coloured chairs, the red and brown blocks, the large-wheeled chest…it is simply suffocative and feels random, mismatched. Simplicity is key, and I see no reason as to why the creatives could not have settled for a more simplistic set design. Admittedly, the design is rather minimalist, but the pieces and props that are used are overly abundant. This hoarder’s collection, as best I can describe it, also makes for incredibly clunky set changes in transitions, with an almost total rearrangement of the set with every scene. This is unappealing and slows momentum considerably. I should also mention the needless spikes upon the stage floor that are completely neglected as actors loosely reposition the set pieces that ought to be in their place. The set is not complex enough to warrant these, and their disuse makes their unseemly presence all the more unnecessary. These should be removed. On the topic of transitions, lighting states (designed by Daniel Maxted) during these should be far dimmer, and only performers who are in the following or preceding scene should deal with changes of the set. To consistently have Gebbett and Case rushing onto the stage to completely transform the set before we have even been introduced to their characters, only to leave through the audience, is most distracting, messy and confused. And this is without mentioning Case’s distractive, energised and dancerly movements as he briskly enters the stage, or Wylie and Raghunathan needlessly re-entering the stage immediately after leaving to feebly retouch the other’s work, often bumping into one another or exchanging a quick glance or touch. No. Movements during transitions in performances like this should be neutral, sterile and absolutely necessary. Needles actions like this latter consume stage time and are visually unappealing. I mentioned the issue of Gebbett and Case being on stage when their presence is unnecessary, and this is true of the overture and outro as well, as the actors, all scattered across the stage, sit amongst each other, interacting happily, relaxed, convivial. This is strange, considering the dissonance between the characters we will see and have seen throughout. I do understand that these are supposed to be the re-imagined characters in B’s head, but such a reading comes at a push. In fact, I do rather disfavour the manner in which these scenes reveal B as a writer of and reflector on this story; they are not only corny but also inconsistent with the performance style offered elsewhere throughout. The unnaturalistic speech of the characters, not an overly irksome element elsewhere, is intensified in these scenes, such that these scenes feel overly stylised and completely unrealistic. This remaining a chiefly self-contained performance, making no effort to “break the fourth wall” and acknowledge the audience, B should pay better attention to the ambit of his gaze; too regularly does he look directly into the audience, his attention grabbed by occurrences within the house. This needs to be addressed. The audience do not exist; do not behold them. Negatives out of the way, this remains a wonderfully conceived and, for the most part, well-exeucted performance. Performers are thoroughly engaging; the dramatic text is coherent, well-structured and well-developed; and Coyle and Walton’s creative methodology helps these items to shine through. A very enjoyable performance. “An excellent performance but seeking visual refinement and stylistic change.”

I must admit, despite even reading the official synopses of this performance, I remain completely confounded as to what this performance was about, and judging by the conversation into which I entered with a fellow audience member, I am not alone. In Freya Sharp's (playing Hera) introduction, she states [in character?] that she desires to make a piece of theatre containing all the things that 'we are told' not to include. I think this was a success. I shall start with the positives. Actors have tremendous energy and are clear of the intent of their various characters. They each perform with great conviction and vitality and are wonderfully expressive, though credibility is not so palpable. Upon entering the performance space, I note the wonderful, dim aesthetic. Light (Ruby Etches) is used to great visual appeal in this performance, with a preference for shadow. But pretty designs and invigorated performers need to go somewhere...and I am not too sure where this performance took me, from a recovering face-surgery patient to a raging mob of druids to sophisticated curators and self-assured Russians to a basement fire caused by Hera burning "the Everything box"...content remains incredibly and ineffably disparate, and this is unaided by the dramatic text's inability to choose one performance style and to stick with it, with speech fragmented in places and poetic or naturalistic in others, with its use of characters versus its use of caricatures. This dramatic text seems to be obsessed with providing us with one vignette after another until there are so many that no coherency or intelligibility can be found across them. 'Developments' in conversation are, rather, utter changes in topic, topics that bear no relevance to those discussed before and those discussed afterwards. How characters interact with one another in this way, their relationship with and amongst one another, or their general status and function are all so ill-communicated that the actors become one big representative blur of expressions, of terrible shots at foreign accents and of fluid character profiles. I mentioned that this performance was aesthetically appealing, yet functionality remains entirely questionable. I have no idea, for example, why props are so meticulously lain out Stage Right, each marked by spikes, if suitcases, canvases and paints, to name a few, are simply going to be brought in from backstage and back again. There is no imaginable artistic reasoning for this decision whatsoever. Why set an imagined topography if only to destroy it by having actors pass through walls and windows? There is no clear reasoning or logic behind set (designed by William Proudler) in this way. Having characters stood to the side and leaning against the walls or sat down [supppedly 'off stage'] or amongst the audience members causes for a particular distancing effect – one might even say, with the multiroling, exposed props and lanterns, episodic scenes, and spike strips, a shot at the Brechtian Verfremdungseffekt...but there must be a reason for this! Do not just distance the audience because it is 'cool', 'moody' or 'mysterious' or because it is assumed that this will somehow better invite audiences to engage with the work; it will not. There is nothing to be gained from this distancing, one which comes to its climax when Samuel Hoult (playing Janos) singles out specific audience members via shining a torch onto their chests, only for us to hear another descriptive vignette about the life of a random person, whose only relevance I can imagine would be the inspiration of one of theatremaker Hera's characters – and I only arrived at this conclusion at a strain. Not only is this needlessly extremely confrontational and exposing for audiences, this particular act of distancing was blinding...I commend Hoult for remembering to direct the light at the audience members' chests, but this does not consider the audience members sitting in the row below who are positively blinded by the long-lasting rays. As one can read, I have far too many questions, and they are not born from inquisitiveness but from sheer confoundment. And this is not from any 'inexperience' or 'artistic illiterateness' of my own; if the reasons are not clear to me, someone who is more than familiar with regularly searching for symbolism and significance, for reason and effect, they are simply not being communicated well enough. This performance is simply too eclectic, clearly aiming to provide the audience with an exciting variety of contexts and characters, but the effects are simply too alienating. The semi-Brechtian influences are not cleverly incorporated into the performance at all, with this alienation only serving to provide the audience with a critical distance from which to view the work analytically, critically, and this has no place in a performance that aims to provide illusion in such a manner. One very simple and effective way of deducing a meaning in Brechtian performance: if I were to take a snapshot at any given moment during a Brechtian play, I should be able to understand what is happening from this snapshot alone; I would have no idea what was happening during this performance. The very dim aesthetic alone is undesirably fictionalising, allowing us to lose ourselves in the illusory darkness. In terms of the play’s ‘messages’, writer William Proudler writes in an official synopsis, ‘I was interested in the dark side of success. We all want our name in lights, and we can be like moths to these lights, willing to do terrible things just to get close.’ Admittedly, I completely understand that this speaks of the bandaged woman having face surgery to better look like another woman she finds so fascinating, obsessing over the stars whom she knew in her past…but [ironically, given that she is the titular character] this is such a minor element of this play; all other material is distinctly separate from this. What does the crowd of druids, angry with the revamping of their house, have to do with this? What do the various persons audience members are identified with have to do with this? This is by no means made clear. If this is supposedly such a Brechtian, critical and exploratory play, all elements should benefit solely the communication of its sociopolitical agenda; no element whatsoever should have any hedonistic or illusory quality, existing only for amusement or visual/dramatic intrigue. The sociocultural enquiry here is weak, ill-communicated, and undernourished by the material we are presented. Notably, each individual 'creation', or 'vignette' as I have referred to them thus far, that we are presented is rather interesting in itself, beyond the borderline inappropriate cultural references; however, together, these are completely ludicrous. A performance that aims to show everything but ends up presenting very little. “Inarticulate, stylistically confused, chaotic, unintelligible.”

I was intrigued when entering the performance space. The low and soft music (music by Nina Hölscher & Tobias Till Krüger) of a piano, a stage of red and black, and a promising Jeremy Chevillotte in emcee drag with his back to the audience, cross-legged upon a table. Then, the performance began, and I became increasingly disappointed, nay frustrated. First, a shambolic technical display in which Maeve Elmore (playing Mary) and Fabrice-Édouard La Roche-Francoeur (playing Leon) appear momentarily spotlit on the balconies above. Not only do these spotlights fail to coincide with the action, far too slowly illuminated, but the very notion of turning them on and off in this manner, to full intensity in such a short space of time, is incredibly dangerous. Nevertheless, I continue. The desired effect is obviously to spook, comedically if not sincerely, the audience, but both comedy and horror require expert timing; this is not achieved here. Then, the opening musical number. A lacklustre rendition of a repetitive and uninformative song in which all performers, but especially Jeremy Chevillotte, playing our titular character, Fear, lack vigour, conviction and vitality. Physicality is limited, with minimal tension throughout the body and minimal expressivity. A terrible opening that needs urgent attention. It does not help that lyrics are repetitive and uncreative, or that none of the performers can sing in key. It is worth pointing out here that all musical numbers are just the same, both repetitive and incoherent, and this could also be said of the conceptualisation and deliveries of 'spoken word'. A terrible beginning, and I am afraid it does not get much better than this... As I first sat down, I noticed the sheets of paper on every seat, activity sheets that ask the audience, in French, German and English, to write or draw their biggest fear and launch it onto the stage, in the form of a paper ball or aeroplane, whenever they please. My instinct was to think, “This is either going to be an anarchic, empowering and therapeutic performance or a mere shambolic display.” I imagined that either the creatives would have clearly structured their performance so as to facilitate audience participation in a methodical, intelligent and inspired way, in a way that benefits their work and progresses the material, or they have no idea how rambunctious, distracting and chaotic an audience can become when given such freedom and agency. This performance remains completely unclear as to what function and role it desires its audience to have. Not only are they asked to litter the stage in this way at whatever point in time they please, the audience are also asked early on in this performance to scream, twice, at the top of their lungs in a demonstration of how they sound when terrified. This is an extreme defictionalisation that demands from the audience intense awareness of the self and the Other. The audience are then asked to call out what their worst fear is [more on this below], but after this...nothing. The performance then becomes a completely self-contained and rather 'traditional' play. The audience are only interacted with once more throughout, and this is when they are asked to vote for either Fear or Mary [again, I shall elaborate upon this below]. After the audience have been participating in such an extreme and deliberate way, they now must be reticent and passive for a good part of the hour. Notably, their prerogative to throw their 'fears' onto the stage whenever they wish still exists, but this act is now confused, given that actors will not react at all to the bits of paper being launched onto the stage. Indeed, my apprehension was validated. In moments of slower momentum — of which there were shockingly many — audience members would take the opportunity to laugh amongst themselves, testing their paper aeroplane skills, laughing when they proved fallible craftspeople and when these faulty paper aircrafts collided with other audience members' heads. Utterly chaotic, and not in a desirable way. And who could blame them? They had been permitted to do so by Chevillotte. So, what was the purpose of all of this? The following is from an official synopsis: 'Through this show, the company hopes to engage the audience in what it means to feel fear, why some of us are affected by it more than others, and what we can do to reclaim our lives from its hungry jaws. Ultimately, this piece asks if there are any benefits to feeling fear in the modern day and how do we live, if fear is breathing down our necks? [sic]' I emphasise: this performance does not meet its aims whatsoever. Merely asking audience members to detail their fears, only to acknowledge these briefly and move swiftly is not sufficient to engage in an exploration of this subject. What is more, Chevillotte, playing a personification of fear, I should emphasise, clearly is unprepared for such an investigation, as when one audience member said that they suffered from trypophobia, Chevillotte was taken aback, completely unaware as to what this was. This not only shows a complete lack of research and preparation, with phobias obviously being the go-to here, but completely destroys any credibility and integrity, with Chevillotte's inability to, at least, pretend he knew what this audience member was talking about. Equally, despite the incredible disruptiveness of these activity sheets, their final purpose? To sit untouched on stage for almost the entirety of the performance, only to have three read out by Mary with an “I’m not scared of ___!” Given the very nature of the plot we are presented, this cannot in any way be an informative and profound exploration into anything. I shall elucidate my understanding of this plot: Mary is addicted to Fear and wants to be engulfed by it 24/7. Fear is tired of her and sets her a challenge of selling peelers(?!), and if she succeeds in selling them, Fear promises to stay with her forever. She then comes across a co-worker — seemingly a manager, though this is left unclear — and he has a fear of crisps after being traumatised as a child. They both go on a date, which the personification of Fear then ruins (not by any coherent means but through the persona of a waitress who can speak several languages, much to his interest, and flirt with him). Mary now detests Fear for what they have done and decides to denounce them, ripping up our so-beloved activity sheets during the process. She is now a changed, free woman. After being terrified of them to such a degree that even the mere sight of them sends him into a frenzy, with Fear’s coaxing, he starts feasting on a bag of crisps(?!). Maria — again, now a changed woman — stops him and asks him to break free with her. We, the audience, must now decide whether he should stay with Fear or join Maria in her revolt. I see absolutely no correlation between this material and an exploration into fear. The very notion is confounding to me. This performance is completely unsure of itself and its aims and content. In fact, despite my ability to enumerate these 'plot developments', I can honestly say I have absolutely no idea what this performance was about, and that is no fault of my own but due to the performance's own sheer inarticulacy, suffering from a unique esotericism that is so profound only its creators will ever know its significance. A completely senseless performance. I understand that with such an international audience, simplicity is key, and so content must be extremely simple if all audience members are able to comprehend it. I also appreciate that absurdity is a wonderful means of making content enjoyable to such an audience who can observe the fluidity and lack of logicality freely and without fear of misunderstanding content; instead, they can feel free to focus on the language itself alone. However, The oversimplicity of this dramatic text combined with the illogicality of this material means it is totally inaccessible as a language learning tool. However, this performance is not intended for language learners but for multilingual audiences in general. The understanding, then, is that all audiences should be able to understand English. So, this cannot be used as a framework with which to understand the strangeness of and lack of meaning in material. Whilst I enjoy the multilingual potential of this performance, especially with its demographic seeming to be chiefly multilingual themselves, the four main languages, Japanese, English, French and German, are unintelligently incorporated into material merely for the sake of it and have no significance and, indeed, no place in this performance whatsoever. With the principal language of this performance being English, other languages are simply thrown in whimsically and for negligible humorous effect, as mere fleeting in-jokes for specific audience members, and the effect is simply not worth it. As a speaker of these languages myself, I can certify that I gained nothing more from their incorporation than I would have done if English remained the only language used. However, I can certainly imagine that if I could not speak these languages, and I am sure that not all audience members present could speak or understand all of these, the effect would be rather ostracising and disorientating, and needlessly so. This needs to be urgently reconsidered. Fear Eats Life is supposedly a cabaret, but despite Chevillotte’s solely aesthetic approximation to an emcee, nothing screams cabaret in this performance. Chevillotte’s makeup, showy blazer, high heels, and sleek and wonderfully ornate hairstyle are at odds with his underperformativity and with the main body of his inelaborate costume. Yes, theme is perhaps somewhat ‘dark’ and there is certainly music, but cabaret requires a lot more than merely drag art and vapid musical numbers. On the whole, costumes are completely understated, and the masks Stella Marbles has designed for La Roche-Francoeur and Elmore’s characters, masks that we only see once during the overture, are simply bizarre. By ‘bizarre’, I do not mean alien and attractively strange; I mean completely incongruous with performance style and content. Even the title, Fear Eats Life…what has this got to do with someone once addicted to fear inexplicably overcoming this and falling in love with someone terrified of crisps? The mere photograph included above communicates better the lack of creative awareness than I could, with our subject being entirely concealed. Ridiculous play. “A ludicrously inarticulate and senseless performance, devoid of artistry, significance and vigour.”