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Tom Wright aims to challenge audiences through his writing, to have them confront and process difficult and uncomfortable material, and he certainly delivers in Very Special Guest Star. Directed by Rikki Beadle-Blair, this performance titillates its audience with explicit sexual content, appealing to our natural scopophilic propensities and demanding that we be voyeurs as the three performers meander almost naked around the stage, freely exploring the unclad bodies of each other as well as their own. And then, a clever twist. Youth becomes a questionable object of sexual desire as twenty-year-old Quasim (Jonny Khan) flaunts himself with cockiness and confidence. Then, the boundaries of open relationships are interrogated. And, finally, bordering on a relative of incest, we are to question the potential/implicit adoptive father-son relationships between the three characters who have all just been preparing themselves for sexual intercourse. A veritable rollercoaster signalling not just a well-structured dramatic text but the text’s clever sociopolitical enquiry: what limits must we put on our sexual desire? This is a challenging text that demands its audience interrogate their concepts of familial status, and the boundaries between sexual desire, and responsibility and civility. As when Michael (Alan Turkington) and Quasim explore one another whilst Phil (Edd Muruako) disappears, or when Michael first enters, dominant and forward, disrupting the calm and amicable mood that Phil and Quasim have cultured together, intent, desire, feeling, commitment and responsibility are all regularly and deceptively blurred to complicate yet enrich our reading of this challenging performance. A very clever and articulate text, almost Churchillian in its manner of presentation. There is, however, a great lack of naturalism, with dialogue failing to emulate natural patterns of speech, and this does feel overly forced at times. Foreshadowing of later material, which concerns direction as much as, if not more than, the writing itself, is perhaps too overt throughout, and plot developments could benefit from more graduality. Whilst there are notable attempts to develop character profiles, such as references to past sexual escapades, or Phil’s job or gardening hobby, characters remain markedly superficial, with emphasis on Michael and Quasim. We chiefly learn what is overtly ‘relevant’ about these characters, i.e. only information that will directly progress the material, and perhaps secondary information that coincides with this — for example, first that Phil and Michael are parents, and then, subsequently, that their son has to have medicinal foot cream applied every night — and this lack of irrelevant information that would naturalise the characters stunts our reading of these as realistic and multilayered individuals. Nevertheless, as these elements still make for a coherent and linear understanding of the text, they do not subtract from an overall reading or potential enjoyment of the text; what we do learn of these characters is sufficient to develop a connection with and understanding of them. I just feel that some sexually charged content could be replaced by some more profound character profiling. In terms of acting, all performers demonstrate great conviction and energy, awareness of their character intent, and as much credibility as a rather unnaturalistic dramatic text will offer. Khan, in particular, demonstrates a great emotional range, especially in his later outburst whilst handcuffed to the sofa, and all three perform with great transformativity, dynamism, reactivity and expressivity. Great performers. Scenes of intimacy are handled incredibly well; I must commend intimacy director Robbie Taylor-Hunt for his work. As written above, a rather intense exploration of the bodies of oneself and the Other is inherent to this text, and performers follow this through with remarkable ease and excellent onstage chemistry. In terms of aesthetics, the set is wonderfully designed by Natalie Johnson, modern and sleek — a modernity coinciding well with the contemporary sociocultural focus of the text. The symmetry it offers is certainly appealing and allows for an audience to be misled that this is a put-together and established couple, communicating well, in particular, Phil’s status as a family lawyer. The inclusion of the red dragon plushy is also a clever initial symbol to forebode content to come. However, set is not without its imperfections. This is a very sleek and refined set design, geometric and sharp, and so to have the ‘fig branches’ protruding from an empty wicker basket is unattractive and disillusioning. Far too fake and out of place. I would find a couple of large plant pots here, instead. Next, exposing the windows is both distracting and incredibly destructive of illusion, with frequent passersby offering the possibility of deliberate and extreme external disruptions. Exposing the ‘realm of the real’ beyond the performance space compromises any altered and particularised temporospatial awareness an audience could develop and reminds them to view the action on stage as a mere ‘inauthentic’ and ‘artificial’ performance. Such distancing does not progress our reading of the material of this play in any way, mostly because the challenging political content requires a particular introspection, one that demands that the audience member seek answers from within about how they themselves feel morally about the content they are being presented, as opposed to a glimpse into everyday society as a whole and a consideration of how one and one's morals fit into this, as implied by the window. The majority of this content does not equate to an everyday struggle we face generally in society — or within the gay community, more specifically — but an internal moral dilemma, the processing of which is dependent on the individual and their own peculiar moral systems. I would recommend simply shutting the curtains; having a tall table behind the sofa in the middle, upon which to place the photo-frames; and have Khan slip out through the curtains alone, as the rest will be naturally implied. Whilst the modernity of the set is communicated effectively through technical elements, the music (compositions and sound design by Rikki Beadle-Blair) and lighting (designed and operated by Alex Thomas) being activated via Phil and Michael’s tablet, I find its functionality to be rather unrealistic...distractingly so. These elements are explicitly technical and chic, communicative of the class and lifestyle of the ‘trendy’ couple, and with such emphasis placed on them and with such a significant presence, it is important that such technical elements are legible and realistic. The phone is somehow connected to the same overhead system as the tablet, and we hear it when it rings, but when Phil picks up his phone, we do not hear the person on the other end; yet, during the Skype call at the end of the play, we hear the voice of their son, “Daddy!” This should be addressed. As for lighting in general, I rather favour that the audience are dimly illuminated, as this allows for a shared sense of voyeurism, an awareness of the potential arousal of the Other, and this adds to our reading of the political content as demanding upon the individuals' intimate functions, sexuality and body. However, lighting design and operation during the scene wherein Michael is struggling to control his mood lights and speakers are rather sloppy, with technical cues failing to coincide perfectly with the action on stage; further refinement is needed here. Sound is well designed throughout, but further attention should be given to overall volume — this is not too much of an issue, however. There is also the issue of topography, with ‘the front door’ seeming to be on the far left of the audience, as evidenced when Quasim first enters, or when Michael and Phil converse with the police officer. At the end, however, once this conversation has finished, Muruako re-enters Stage Left, and Turkington re-enters Stage Right with glasses and champagne. Why would they not both re-enter Stage Left, with Michael needing to cut through to the kitchen? Whilst there are feasible reasons for this, these require a slight [needless] strain on imagination, one not desired towards the end of a performance. I would also pay attention to how close actors come to the audience, often standing amongst them in the aisles. This is far too confrontational and defictionalises the space. Again, I understand the voyeuristic potential here, but this proximal confrontation is too extreme. Overall, a very intelligent and well-conceived performance, executed very well by all performers and supplemented by wonderful set and technical elements. Most impressive. “A cleverly structured and challenging performance.”

Readers should note that the role of Christopher Boone is played alternatingly by two different actors, Connor Curren and David Breeds, as is the character of Judy, by Sophie Stone and Kate Kordel. On the night I saw the performance, Christopher was played by Curren, and Judy by Stone. I must start by clarifying that if I were to base my judgment upon the first act alone, this performance would have received a much more positive reading from me, but the second act really lets it down, hence my rating below... This is a heartwarming tale, mostly true to the book of the same name by Mark Haddon with which the majority of the audience will most likely be familiar, usually comprising school children. It is comedic in places and moving in others. Adaptor Simon Stephens certainly captures well Christopher’s autism whilst still maintaining uniqueness in this character’s identity, personality and character. So, concept is certainly excellent, and writing does match this, overall. An articulate and well-structured text, considering everything together. I shall elaborate below upon technical elements, but to start, my focus will remain on the nature of what is first presented to us: the overture. This is a very chaotic and untidy beginning. Whilst I initially enjoy the abrupt beginning, loud, bright and overwhelming, and the imagery of the ensemble robotically entering the stage in one, it soon becomes apparent that there is simply not enough action to warrant the violent flashing of the lights, revealing in a slow strobe Christopher kneeling by Mrs Shears’s dead dog as she watches on in horror. Whilst music is dramatic and lighting erratic, the imagery is far too still, and this jars against the rhythm of the music and tech. This is also the first of many examples wherein the ensemble is used unnecessarily for cheap dramatic effect. There is no need for the ensemble to be in this overture; this is a private scene between Christopher, the dog and, later, Mrs Sears. One could read into this as though some sort of neighbourhood watch, as though everyone is gossiping, aware of the happenings in their neighbourhood, but this is too far a stretch here. We then have Kofi De-Graft-Jordan enter as the policeman, and his sheer lack of naturalism and awareness of the appropriate intonation and rhythm of speech required here only worsens the effect. An ultimately anticlimactic beginning. Now, to acting. This performance sees has a great range in talent across its cast members, from Curren’s excellent characterisation of Christopher, performed with great articulacy, awareness of character personality and intent, legibility and timing, to Kofi De-Graft-Jordan’s poor characterisations of and lack of distinction between every one of his characters, as referenced above — so consistently poor, in fact, that I should mention rather bluntly that he ought to be recast. However, the vast majority of cast members, whilst I would like to see more transformativity from absolutely all members of the ensemble, perform with great conviction, energy and confidence. Notably, Kay Welch has done an excellent job with the vast majority of the cast as a voice and dialect coach, as well. Overall, Curren, Tom Peters (playing Ed), Stone, and Rebecca Root (playing Siobhan) are excellent performers, but each has areas to improve on, though these pertain mostly to directorial and editorial issues. As written above, Curren has great awareness of his character’s personality and intent. His expressivity is articulate, he is credible, and his timing is superb. However, Curren struggles to perform the stylised physical movements required of him convincingly. For example, during the ‘sped-up’ scene wherein Christopher is waiting for Mrs Alexander (Joanne Henry) — a scene executed articulately and strongly by the ensemble, I might add — his rocking is far too repetitive and deliberate. I must also consider here, though, that this is perhaps a directorial issue in that the particular physical movements themselves are unnatural to begin with. Peters is one of the strongest performers and is practically faultless until his major monologue before the close of the first act. Conviction, energy and credibility are incredibly lacking in this scene, and this is another example of a moment where stillness inhibits our reading of character. Peters’s timing is off in this scene and lines are delivered far too quickly, allowing for no sense of shifts in emotion. Stone’s expressivity, both corporeal and vocal, becomes somewhat repetitive rather quickly, seemingly always supplicatory when Judy talks to Christopher. Again, however, I understand this is chiefly due to repetitiveness in the writing and to direction. And finally, Root. Root is very good as Siobhan. She is clear on her character, and her timing is superb. She performs with good expressivity and articulacy. I would like to see a degree more corporeal expressivity in places and a degree less in others, however. For example, the scene wherein she and Stone both read Judy’s letter, her physicality is too violent and her address is too pointed at Stone. This feels as though a random standoff, and with Siobhan being so respectful towards Christopher’s parents’ decisions hitherto, such a drastic shift seems unwarranted and out of character. On the topic of Root, I would like to see Siobhan’s character better integrated into this play. Despite narrating and sharing scenes with Christopher, Siobhan features rather minutely in this play, and so her emotionality when Christopher asks if he could stay with her, for instance, feels inessential and rather random. Of course, we as the audience feel that Christopher’s story is important, but why does Siobhan feel so attached to such a degree that she wants to make it into a play? This is not communicated well enough. What is more, the traditional narrational storytelling here I only find to be beneficial towards the beginning. Siobhan’s narrations are good to introduce us to the play, its world and its context but become rather repetitive and ineffective as the play progresses; the content rather speaks for itself without the narration. Physical movement (directed by Scott Graham and Steven Hoggett) is severely overused in this performance, and to no real avail, and this comes to its climax in the second act. Some movements, such as when Stone is lifted by the ensemble to sit on their shoulders and be slowly rotated whilst she speaks, or when Curren is lifted by the ensemble to walk horizontally along the walls of the set, are most peculiar and unnatural. These do not feel as though they are progressing the material in any way, adding any symbolism or communicating content; instead, they feel overly ‘showy’, needlessly included for awe and effect. Whether or not they are necessary or facilitative, however, these movements are certainly executed well and smoothly. Additionally, I must also consider that the principal audience type has always been GCSE drama students, permitting them to see how all the techniques that they are currently learning, with an emphasis on physical theatre and, particularly, on Graham and Hoggett’s work in Frantic Assembly, can be interwoven together to produce a coherent and engaging piece of theatre. I would just pay better attention to neutrality in expression amongst the ensemble members, as over-performativity is often an issue, drawing needless attention to stylisation, dampening effect and allowing for an undesirable metatheatricality [more on this below]. For example, in the second act, when Christopher ‘opens the front door’ and sneaks into his house and back out again, the member of the ensemble ‘playing’ the door express the cheeky slyness of his sneaking with a caricatural smile. Moments like this should be avoided. Ironically, and rather paradoxically, there is also a tendency in this performance towards inertness. It seems that if actors are not given clear instruction as to how to move or what to do, such as Siu-See Hung leafing through her magazine at the information point or attempting to walk away with her umbrella as the Lady in Street, they simply stand still, watching on from a distance. Generally, speaking, this stillness should only be present to complement or juxtapose Christopher’s tempo-rhythm; if he is calm and composed, other characters should be busy and occupied, and if he is erratic, other characters should be still, ordered, precise. This is, admittedly, the case for a lot of scenes but not all, and momentum is often compromised by this. There is also a jarring and repetitive tendency to announce actions or to imply contexts before they are shown. The theatrical language of the second act feels entirely disconnected from the first; it certainly feels as though we are watching two distinctly different plays. This is due to two reasons: 1) the aforementioned sudden disproportionate reliance upon physical movement, and 2) metatheatricality. I have addressed this former point already, and so this leaves me with the issue of metatheatricality. I have no idea why the creatives have decided to emphasise the fact that this is, indeed, a make-believe performance, with everything from these caricatural gestures from ensemble members to having actors walk past the front row of the audience to enter the stage from the house. These are completely unnecessary moments, completely shattering illusion, and for what reason? There is no symbolism or significance for these decisions, other than to add to fleeting comedic effect. This severely distances an audience in defictionalising the performance, not allowing them to lose themselves in a quirky and unique moment on stage but solely making them aware of themselves, of each other and of the physical performance space, of the artificiality and inauthenticity of performance as a practice and device. Referenced only a few times in the first act, the second act is littered with metatheatrical techniques, and these do not progress our reading in any way or relate whatsoever to the performance. For example, Christopher’s explanation of how he arrived at the answer for his difficult maths question. We are to believe that this is the 'true' Christopher, unafraid of the magnitude of the theatre and the audience, coaxing this audience to roar and applaud, unfazed by the dazzling lights and bursting confetti? Somehow he is unaffected by the sheer raucous and overloading sensory stimuli? This completely juxtaposes our understanding of his identity and does not progress the material or our reading of it in any way. In fact, it works against it. Even the mere idea that the characters ‘should’ make a play from Christopher’s story fails to recognise that this is already happening and that Christopher’s indifference, nay disapproval, of this does not equate his excitement and direct address during this final speech. It is simply metatheatricality for the sake of it, with no rationality or logic behind it. It feels as though yet another mere excuse to flaunt the unique theatrical features of this performance, with Christopher referencing and celebrating the flashy technical components and musicians before exiting the stage neutrally as though nothing has happened. Also destabilising the audience’s temporospatial awareness, to such a degree where they are removed from illusion and fiction and aware of the material reality of the stage, is the inclusion of animals. There is no reason as to why real animals should be used in this performance, especially given that puppets are used elsewhere, as when we see Toby the Rat in space or when he is picked up from the tube tracks, or, of course, the obnoxiously artificial Wellington’s cadaver. Again, there is no purpose for the use of these, other than to facilitate the affect of cuteness, to monetarily please the audience with the adorability of a puppy and a small rodent. Morally, however these animals are treated and handled by Des Jordan or trained beyond the stage, this practice is also entirely cruel. With the loudness of the audience and the music, the bright lights and erratic movements, this is simply dangerous and unethical, especially given that Stone and Curren place items upon ‘Toby’s’ carrier whilst he is still inside it, after handing it to Ashley Gerlach (as Mr Shears), one of which is a weighty and large A-Z Map booklet. Again, I stress: there is no symbolic or significant purpose for this, other than to invoke fleeting pleasure that takes the audience out of the performance completely and solely towards the realisation that ‘animals are cute’. Needless, subtractive and cruel. As for set (designed Bunny Christie), obviously, the geometric, flat and mathematical design is congruous with the content of the performance, communicating Christoper’s character well. That only bold black and white should be used in lieu of colour is a good decision, conveying not only Christopher’s methodicalness but his lack of understanding for ‘the grey in the middle’ of brute black-and-white facts, which he communicates to us himself early on in the play. I will say that I find props being kept on the lower protruding frames around the parameters of the stage untidy, and unnecessary if they are to be used so fleetingly by members of the ensemble who could simply carry them on their person or have them kept in the wings or to the darkened side of the stage — just as Hannah Sinclair Robinson keeps her props when playing Mrs Gascoyne. I am also rather confused as to why axis labels on the side of the graph start with Q and end with the sequence 'Z, AA, BB', but I suppose this is somewhat negligible. ‘Cupboards’ are also often left ajar by Curren, which prompts a hand to come through and grab the cupboard shut from the wings; this is completely destructive of illusion and must be addressed immediately. Ignoring these elements, oversimplicity is avoided by the detailing of the graph and by the later complexity of technical elements, making this sleek design a very charming and versatile blank canvas. Combined with technical elements, projection and lighting, this is, most famously, a very dynamic and malleable set, from the openable ‘cupboards’ to the sides of the stage to the projections on the walls and to the moving train set at the end of the first act [more on this below]. However, whereas emphasis is placed solely on the bodies of the performers themselves during the first act, the second act is obnoxiously tech-heavy and demonstrates its complexity much to the detriment of this performance. With lighting designed by Paule Constable, sound designed by Ian Dickinson and video graphics designed by Finn Ross, technical elements are incredibly attractive, and most famously so. Whilst I do believe that the nature of the second act rather approximates an overkill, I do believe that these three components combine immaculately to convey the chaos and terrors of Christopher’s journey to London. It is the subtler elements, such as the blue-lit and orange-lit blocks representative of a fishtank and an oven, and the large-scale elements every so often, like the constellations that appear on the walls of the stage, or the map of London, that really facilitate and consolidate this dramatic text. They are simply awe-inspiring. A beautiful integration of technical components into the set. Equally as beautiful is the working train set, but it is a shame that Curren kept accidentally kicking the tracks whilst running imprecisely around the stage, disrupting the train’s path and causing it to stop prematurely when it was time for it to complete its circuit. I would make sure to address this. Design-wise, perfect tech, and music by Adrian Sutton is just as complementary, with inspirations from Christopher’s passions, such as prime numbers, being subtle and notably missable to the untrained ear yet very intelligent. Overall, this is a most remarkable and memorable performance, but overly showy elements, from the versatility of the blocks (a toilet, a suitcase, a podium) to the unnecessary group physical movements, certainly compromise the performance’s integrity, communicating very little in an attempt to communicate a lot. The only other problem I have not yet noted is the performance’s inability to adapt to different venues. For example, for this particular staging at TroubadourTheatre, audience members in the front row could not see the floor, and restricted views such as this are most destructive for this particular design. Nevertheless, a powerful performance. A wonderful concept, a great performance from the vast majority of the actors, and an aesthetically beautiful product. “Charming, enchanting and memorable, if a little overripe and florid.”

Written by Daniel Swift and directed by Belle Streeton, Winter Wonderland is a multisensory immersive online performance intended for audiences with PMLD. I shall start by assessing the actors’ performances. Emma Prendergast (playing the Snow Queen) and Sami Kali (playing Jack Frost) are wonderfully energised and captivating. Their expressivity and physicality are pretty much faultless, other than that movement is restricted to the torso at times where it ought to be throughout the body. Diction is great, as is intonation, and vitality and character are certainly perceptible in their signing – though I cannot critique them on accuracy, as I am notably unfamiliar with sign language (Makaton consultancy by Prit Chouhan). These are wonderful and endearing performers, dedicated, invigorated and credible. Next, writing. This performance is certainly well written. With an overall simplistic narrative, which is commendable with performances like these, the content is easy to follow but does not lose its character and ‘mystical’ quality. It is also well structured, but multisensory elements, despite being the principal focus of this dramatic text, seem somewhat separated and disjointed from the main narrative. The audience, “Winterns”, are certainly referenced throughout, but the performance could certainly benefit from slightly more constancy in direct interaction and immersion. And this brings me on to the multisensory sequences themselves (supported by sensory engagement specialist Joanna Grace). The objects we are invited to utilise, namely the hairdryer, are somewhat peculiar; however, they are objects widely accessible to audience members and are imaginative and resourceful, nevertheless. Whilst communicating the narrative effectively, the objects certainly have an efficacious and facilitative sensory quality. I just have an issue with the first multi-sensory sequence wherein the audience are invited to interact with their winter clothing, something they most likely would be doing during the autumn and winter months alone, without the aid of the performance, particularly given that the majority of this audience would be based in the UK, with the theatremakers themselves being based in Hull, which sees average highs of 2.2°C this time of year. This is perhaps underwhelming and unimaginative but worsened by the lack of introduction into this sequence. We are, notably, told to retrieve our winter clothing, but we are not told exactly what to do with it; instead, we are shown a silent sequence wherein Kali and Prendergast interact with their own clothing, and we must deduce that we are to do the same. This is the only totally silent sequence throughout the entire performance, and I would recommend greater attention be given to it. Currently, it stands out sorely as far too disjointed from and foreign to the rest of the performance. However, the time that is dedicated to this sequence has been considered well. The duration is sufficient and well managed, with the interactions being wonderfully varied and functioning as guides for parents/guardians in supporting the audience members in their immersion. This performance is wonderful and engaging, but it is far from perfect, and there are a few notable areas that rather compromise both credibility and overall cohesion. First, aesthetics. Aesthetically, I want more from this performance. Currently, it feels half-baked, from Kali’s dark blue coat contrasting heavily with the airy pastels we see elsewhere in costumes, to his white face makeup fading halfway down into his neck, revealing his true complexion underneath, to the roughness of Prendergast’s eyebrow makeup to the bog-standard kitchen scenery we see in ‘Ready Steady Snow’ as opposed to the distinctly hibernal scenery we see throughout. It is important that every aspect of the performance be refined, bold, discrete and distinct, especially with multisensory performances like this. In the same way that one would naturally recognise that a cushioned, soft and sensuous faux fur shrug will feel entirely different from the faux sheepskin lining of a coat, visual elements have the same effect on (and affect for) audience members. These should be better considered. I must stress, however, that beyond these elements I have enumerated, aesthetics are very well-conceived and, overall, we arrive at a good sense of theme and visual appeal and cohesion. The images (artwork by Mark at Marked Perception) that constitute the wintery backdrops, in particular, are well designed and communicate theme and location splendidly, and that the image of the frozen machine should be animated so that the machine may appear as though it is being reinvigorated is most special and imaginative. Other visual effects, namely the emanating wisps from the Snow Queen, representative of her actioning her powers, are crisp and support material well. Wonderful inclusions. As for music, there are a good few moments where it does not match up with the action. Music should be readdressed for this reason. It does, however, communicate theme and overall mood very well. Well composed and performed. Sound effects are used well, and sparingly, which is effective in this case. Particularly during the ‘Let It Blow’ sequence, background noise is significant and thus subtracts from the performance; I would readdress this. More significantly – and this is more of an editorial/directorial concern – I do have an issue with how the actors generally ‘interact’ with one another. Filmed during lockdown, the actors were unable to perform alongside one another, and this results in green-screen solo performances which are then collated so as to appear that the characters are, indeed, beside another. During these ‘interactions’, there is an incredible lack of fluidity and synchronisation, with actors responding too late or too early, and flow and momentum become inevitably compromised. This is most subtractive and at some times rather frustrating. I would recommend in the future, if they are to produce works like this again, that the creatives record one actor first with a prompter speaking the lines for the other actor; next, the second actor watches or hears the recording back whilst they perform, reacting to it in time; then, in post-production (video editing by Katie Harriman), the prompter’s speech and the first actor’s doubled speech can be muted so that we only hear what we are supposed to: the two actors’ voices. This would have allowed for a more seamless and timely performance. At the moment, these interactions feel sloppy, untidy and strikingly amateurish. There are some notable logical discontinuities in this performance as well, such as the fact that Jack, who built the machine so proudly, all by himself, would have no idea that the Snow Queen sources her powers from it. Also to question is that the machine should be broken in the first place because it has “frozen up”…surely the machine would be naturally resistant to the harsh winter climate if it were ever to function before? And surely the heat needed to unfreeze it would result in the characters’ prompt deaths, the precise fate that the two are trying to avoid? Simplicity is key, and so is logicality, and whilst remedying the situation with love is a beautiful and educational concept, it must still make sense. Overall, plot developments like these seem incoherent and ill-conceived and are poorly executed. However, admittedly, these elements do not subtract too much from our overall reading. As I wrote above, Kali and Prendergast express their characters well. They also understand their intentions and motivations. But whether we do or not is another question. Given the audience type, I would recommend explicit detailing of character emotions and psyche. For instance, the performance should not merely rely on our ability to observe and ‘sense’ that Jack is too proud and conceited to ask for help; we should be explicitly told that this is the case. Of course, the Snow Queen references this, telling him that it is OK to ask for help, but her reason for having to ask this in the first place should be explicitly clear. It is not. Overall, this is a very special and sweet performance with a great moral. Witty asides and quick innuendoes also make this performance enjoyable for parents and guardians, and this is most favourable. I would just recommend that all elements, even these, be accessible to the principal audience members. There are quite a few sequences as well as witty asides, for example, where the actors stop signing altogether, especially towards the end. This should be avoided. Nevertheless, a good performance. “A sweet and endearing treat but still requiring work.”

I must start by saying that I personally enjoyed this performance, but my personal taste and critical judgement are very different things. Sound design (by Will Thompson) and lighting design (by Ben Jacobs) combine with powerful vocal expression to produce intense and cleverly constructed scenes, such as when Queen Herodias (Pauline Babula) enters with the head of Jokanaan (Prince Plockey) or when Jokanaan himself prophesies. These are certainly powerful scenes, both visually and aurally. With the minimalist set design (by Sorcha Corcoran) alongside rather minimal, sterile and passive stylised movement — movement only enacted where strictly necessary — audience focus is certainly directed towards speech and delivery, or, more specifically, towards the language and poeticism of the play. However, whilst this is good in generating a more familiar, language-based and perhaps haughty approach to Wilde’s original text, it does not allow for good transparency in the sociopolitical focus of this particular re-imagination. Whilst I appreciate that the original text, as well as the figure of Salomé herself, has long been considered sites of exploration into sexuality and gender, or queerness in general, as most famously with Aubrey Beardsley’s cataclysmic illustrations, I find it difficult to appreciate the significance of changing Salomé’s sex from female to male in this performance. It is an overt, explicit and deliberate adaptation but not one that benefits narrative or supplements material, tone and meaning. It is the company behind this performance, Lazarus Theatre’s aim to reimagine classic stories in a manner that benefits contemporary culture in all of its diversity. For this performance of Salomé, the company desire to produce a live work that speaks to and of the queer community. This is the reason behind Salomé’s re-gendering. In itself, the concept of changing Salomé’s gender is certainly subversive and transgressive, given the classical nature of this text upheld by the heteronormative and misogynistic Victorians at its time of publication, and the addition of our male Salomé being further ‘beautified’ by a Cinderella-esque ballroom gown certainly reflects trends in queer thinking and in certain beauty ideals, or norms, within the gay community, too. In these ways, I can certainly see how a queer audience could benefit, referentially if nothing else, from these adaptations. A male Salomé offers a great site for queer voyeurism and perhaps titillation, and voyeurism is a clear objective for director Ricky Dukes who also acknowledges that audiences have apparently confessed to desiring more male nudity from this performance. However, I do not believe this objective is met. It seems to be merely the concept of re-gendering Salomé that is so poignant and resonant in this way; execution reaps very little avail. Voyeurism is not underplayed; it is nonexistent. There is only one hint at a potentially voyeuristic sequence, and this is the dance of the seven veils, a sequence that has been removed in Dukes’s version [more on this below]. What we are left with, then, is the mere presence and vocalisation of homosexual desire and unmarked transvestism, and this is not enough alone to warrant these changes and for this play to meet its objectives as an act of queer representation. The decision to replace the dance of the seven veils with a ‘seduction[?] through games and role play’ is wholly questionable for me. These were far too busy. Combined with the mature and sophisticated nature of the text as well as its [for the most part] maintained poeticism, these youthful, playful, active scenes feel far too different stylistically from the rest of the performance, which, despite Dukes’s notable adaptations, remains markedly true to the original. Accompanied by classical music and a dark aesthetic, both unseen elsewhere in the performance until the end, this scene feels entirely separated from all other material. In all, it feels…silly…AND underwhelming. Certainly, there is in the game of hide-and-seek itself a notable sense of danger, of cheekiness and of upperhandedness [the sought has an advantage over the seeker, for they know where they are hiding], but this danger, which could certainly be read as lustful and impassioned, or, at least, coquettish, is significantly underplayed. The actions of hiding and seeking are performed far too literally and robotically, and understated, and so the ‘seductiveness’ of the game becomes replaced either by a sense of genuine competition or mere childishness. It is because of how distinctly separate this scene is from the rest of the performance and because of what it communicates as a whole that I find myself feeling that material has been replaced as opposed to revitalised. The desire, it seems, was to have this classic text not totally re-imagined but refocused, to simply replace female-focused eroticism with its male equivalent, and so I feel that the company have slightly missed their mark here. This re-imagination means not that the text is revitalised and refreshed, with a new, queer life breathed into it; it means it is replaced with altogether different material that, ultimately, does not speak in its pure symbolism of gay/queer identities or culture at all beyond a man in a dress. Therefore, I can understand why past audiences have felt that more explicit sexuality is needed, though I do not think male nudity, just more overt sexual expression. It is peculiar to me that there should be no overt sexuality in the movement or action of the play, and I think the replacement of this dance sequence is the biggest threat to working queerness out of this work. Talking about how beautiful someone is, in however much poetic detail, is not enough to equate the traditional, rather extreme, sexualisation of Salomé in past versions that one might deem ‘truer’ to the original text and its orientalist intents. I mentioned that audience focus is placed emphatically on the language of the text, with dehumanised movement and overall stylisation, and this means that we identify with greater readiness the modernised aspects of Dukes’s adaptation. Successful modernisations usually require a total re-imagining of the context of the original text, along with language and character titles. This rings true for this performance. I do not believe this particular modernisation was entirely successful, because the text is only partially modernised, allowing for stylistic and semantic disconnects. To have Queen Herodias say, “Thy father was a used car salesman’, for example, just after King Herod (Jamie O’Neill) utters, “Thou liest”, confuses context and language. It causes the text to feel alien, not timeless and transhistorical but merely strange, disjointed and unsure of itself. Either all elements of the text should be modernised or none at all. There is also a notable visual disconnect, too, when comparing the grotesque and chiefly theatrical makeup applied to Plockey’s body with the sleek, clean and rather naturalistic costumes (also designed by Corcoran) of the other cast members. This former almost feels too deliberate, intent on dramatic impact, and monstrous, and this does not combine well with Plockey’s intensely stylised movements throughout the entirety of the performance. On that note, however, I do admire the stylised movements alone that Plockey has been directed to perform. These distinguish him well from the others, giving his character a spiritual/inhuman and otherworldly feel. I would just like to see a degree more constancy or rhythm in this movement; there is a tendency with Plockey to stagger this walking with every step but only slightly, unintentionally, and I believe it would be better to either be consistently moving, but in this same fashion, slow and unnatural, or to deliberately stop with every step [though I would recommend the latter over the former]. Vocal expression and delivery, however, a perfect from this performer Who retains excellent intensity and diction, sure of his character intents and meaning. And this brings me on to acting. All actors perform with great conviction and energy. Movements are decisive, and vocal expressivity is excellent. Actors are all sure of their character intents and perform with appropriate realism, except for Omi Mantri (playing Young Soldier), who must work on his intonation, and Babula, who must work ever slightly on the same as well as breathing and timing. This is truly a wonderful and committed cast. Great performers. Overall, this remains a very enjoyable performance but feels as though still somehow in its early stages. Powerful scenes are intense, and the poetic is certainly beautifully delivered, but overall aesthetics, significance and sociocultural focus are not yet sufficiently articulate. “A performance with true potential and promise but still needing significant work.”

Two minutes in, and the need for refinement is certainly palpable. Whilst somewhat clichéd, the dramatic text for Retribution Day certainly shows some potential but the current execution feels...sloppy, unskillful and dilute. First, the written text itself. We are presented, essentially, a psychopath character type whose psychosis is based upon past emotional abuse from their lover. We are told this story simultaneously by Helen (Julie Martis) and David (Malcolm Jeffries) who both represent our main character. Here, we arrive at my first issue with concept. This dual representation is confounding at the very least. I can only imagine that this decision is to evoke that typical sense of duality of the mind — i.e. volatility, unstable personalities, etc. — that we see so much in related literature and media, one that remains rather stilted and damaging in generating stigmas and misconceptions surrounding mental illness. Otherwise, I have no idea why writer A G Anderson has convoluted the narrative in this way. Helen also quotes her lover and tells us that her name is Donna; and David, that his name is Kevin. These elements are extremely ill-communicated and not in a way that generates a sense of intrigue wherein our main character remains nameless, faceless, mysterious; it is simply perplexing. The two 'characters', Helen and David — who I shall now refer to collectively as 'the killer' — recount the exact same story to us, yet the gender of their lovers alternates along with them, and here perishes the notion of duality of the mind. Perhaps the intention was that the information we are given remain unreliable, contestable, unlikely. However, the effect is not so much an invocation of distrust but a recognition of sheer incoherence. Suspense and tension are handled peculiarly in this performance, and this is notably not just an issue with writing but also with directing and video editing all together. The creatives have misused two distinct modes of generating suspense and tension, and this misuse persists to haunt this performance. One such mode is to present an array of images/happenings and to have pace quicken, characters interrupt one another, and our attention be split across various different items, all to generate a sense of climax via freneticism. This tension and suspense type is achieved by invoking a sense of anxiety in an audience, nay nervosity. The second mode is to, often implicitly, allude to or foreshadow something of great importance or sinister, to slow down pace, to have characters speak legato, uninterrupted in a serious or menacing manner. Here, suspense and tension is achieved by the audience’s apprehension, cautiousness and morbid curiosity. The creatives either consistently use these side by side, where, clearly, they ought to be employed separately and alone, or they do not allow the audience to settle into one or the other; the time allowed for either mode to germinate is improperly managed. The storyline itself is, I must admit, rather commonplace. An infatuated lover turned victim of infidelity turned volatile psychopath is institutionalised, only to be released to seek revenge on their abuser in some disguise, and is now being hunted by the police. In itself, the story is not too original, and so there must be something extra, unique, poignant, strong, both to validate its worthiness of our attention and to concretise its unique and memorable identity. I cannot identify such a thing. There seems to be a reliance upon extreme imagery in places, such as the rotting slice of ham the killer places in their open self-inflicted wound, and these items appear to be an attempt at this sought-after specialness. However, grotesqueness must be grounded by, what is felt in consideration of the world of the play we are presented to be, the logical and coherent. There are many far-fetched elements in this performance, and this slice of ham is one of them: that this would not have caused excruciating pain and have developed into sepsis, thereby compromising the killer’s ‘control’ of the situation, which is the whole point of this action, and that doctors would merely rely solely upon a patient's recount that previous nurses have examined the wound, a patient administered to a hospital specialising in mental health, is ridiculous and unbelievable. Somehow, no-one knows where this pungent smell is coming from, despite the fact that every doctor acknowledges it is coming from the wrist? And not one medical profession, after having deemed that the smell is coming from the wrist, actually examines the wrist? There are discontinuities here as well. The theme of 'control' surfaces recurrently throughout, with the killer expressing an intense desire for control both over others, and over their environment and their own body and mind. Yet, we are presented no substantial and credible evidence that the killer has ever, indeed, gained this intensely desired control, and so this theme becomes rather moot. Again, evidence such as the ham incident is not credible enough to uphold this. Credibility is definitely severely lacking in this performance, and it is its biggest downfall, but this is not just a problem specific to the writing but to acting styles and deliveries as well. Martis's performance is disappointing, I must admit. In delivering her lines, she demonstrates no awareness of intonation and rhythm, her speech patterns failing to emulate those natural to human conversational speech. Her movements are forced, unnatural, mechanical, and it becomes clear very early on in her portrayal that meaning will only be delivered to us through rehearsed activity. I shall give an example: in the beginning of the play, Martis looks around the room, expressionless and with no intensity whatsoever, sat upright, her hands on her legs — an unnatural and robotic, and therefore inhuman and unrealistic, comportment — and then states, "I don't think anyone has been in here since my last visit". The words I have underlined note our points of emphasis. Here, the meaning conveyed is that Helen would have expected someone to have 'been in here' and is disappointed that they have not been, with the emphasis placed on the negative 'don't'. However, this line should be delivered with the emphasis on the next word, 'think', and this word should be extended, rather like: "I don't thiink [...]" [Note: this extension should not be dramatic]. With the emphasis on the verb 'think', it is communicated that Helen is simply trying to deduce (i.e. think) if anyone has ‘been in here’, and this is rather the intention behind this line. We see moments like this consistently throughout, and these ought to have been identified and reworked by director Andrew Bruce-Lockhart. Martis is not alone in delivering incorrect emphases, however; just before this example, for instance, Jeffries clearly delivers his line in the pre-emption that he will be cut off by Martis: "My little room of [do not disturb]", rising slightly in volume and elongating the emphasis word. Collectively, the two performers provide us with entirely different demeanours, mannerisms, idiolects, delivery speeds, tones, etc., making this aforementioned issue with dual representation all the more confounding and irritating. Sense of identity for the killer is compromised in this sense, but so is style. Though both maintain a sense of sterility and calmness — again, [too] typical of the psychopath character type — Jeffries's movements, though apparently few, are particularly more fluid, slow and, significantly, more naturalistic, and this is in direct contrast with Martis's mechanical overexpressivity. The two styles juxtapose one another sorely. Notably, towards the end, when the killer demonstrates just how they shall lie to investigators, the shift we see in manner and expressivity is too insignificant with Martis and too extreme for Jeffries. Deliveries are unnatural but not sufficiently caricatural, either, whereby they would seem mocking of the investigators' gullibility. Together, in their lack of uniformity, the profiles we are presented plainly do not work. On to Jeffries alone. Jeffries is a lot surer of his character intent and delivers his lines in a manner far more approximate to natural speech patterns. His characterisation is slightly more concrete, but his lack of movement makes for little visual appeal, though, notably, this is perhaps more of a directorial issue. His greatest area of struggle is not so much the delivery of his lines but that of the space in-between. Either he struggles to move coherently and credibly between the different emotions and states expressed consecutively, or he simply does not know how to physically navigate moments of silence or pause. Finally, I shall comment on aesthetics and tech. I mentioned above that the set comprised a plethora of empty boxes, and this would have been a decent set design if they were indeed full and if attention had been given to suchlike details. It is an inelaborate set design, but this is fine; it works well with the static soliloquies and speed of delivery. Lighting works well to the same effect and is also successful in its unchanging simplicity. Music, however, composed and performed by Ricardo Fernandes, is faultless, demonstrating great versatility and awareness, and generating suspense splendidly. Clean and spirited compositions. In summary, a lot of work has to be done on this performance, both in text and on stage. The story is notably coherent, overall, but ill-constructed narrative and far-fetched elements subtract from its integrity. The grotesque and the extreme should not be used merely to titillate but to progress, intensify and give style and voice to the story itself. Actors should take note to reconsider corporeal tension, intensity, intonation and intent, and there should either be uniformity in their characterisations or a deliberate, useful and distinct disharmony, one to showcase the various aspects of the singular mind of the killer. “A needlessly convoluted dramatic text in desperate need of identity and logic.”

NB: For clarification, where ‘Ava’ is written in this review, this refers to the character of Ava within this performance; where ‘Ava Gardner’ or ‘Gardner’ is written, this refers to the real Ava Gardner herself. Based on the book of the same name by Peter Evans and Ava Gardner, playwright Elizabeth McGovern performs as Ava in her new play directed by Gaby Dellal and staged at Riverside Studios: Ava: The Secret Conversations. I shall start with the thing that really sets this play apart from others: its set design. The set for this performance (designed by Hannah Rozenberg under the direction of Leo Warner and Ben Pearcy) is both stunning and unique. Projections (video designs by Matthew Taylor) and detailed set furnishings really allow for a transformativity of the stage and a distinctness in its various locations. I would just recommend that the wallpaper chosen for Ava’s lounge stay consistent throughout, especially if furniture will stay the same, to ascertain that this is, indeed, the same room. However, the projected footage of Ava Gardner, though relative to the chronology of the narrative of the play, is in stylistic and topical juxtaposition with the content we are being presented by the actors. Merely the knowledge that Gardner is a performer, for example, or the playing of swing music, is not enough to justify the inclusion of footage of her singing and dancing at any given moment. This footage should aim to coincide with and complement the meanings and subjects proposed to us by the texts it rests in-between and not merely to present excess material relative to the mere theme of Hollywood and the past of our titular character. Following on from a recent surge in biographical works centred on celebrities, particularly those from Hollywood, just as in this case, this set design certainly gets its inspiration, whether actively or not, from such contemporary representations in film. The sliding panels that frame the stage are reminiscent of simultaneous scenes or “split screens” in mainstream cinema, where a defined black border both separates the multiple scenes from one another and borders the overall frame according to the desired aspect ratio. This is a clever design and, again, aesthetically very appealing. The scope of the stage is toyed with so beautifully by this framing, providing every perspective from complete access to Ava’s lounge to a shrinking view of her hand alone, and this is most successful in focusing audience attention accurately. However, despite the integrity this design has in itself, the very thing it evokes, contemporary Hollywood cinema, and film in general, is not representative of the era in focus, and so an overall feel and aesthetic for Ava’s lifetime, both in her youth and maturity, is thus compromised. We lose the glitz and glamour of the Golden Age and are presented with a visual reflection of current times, and this is most subtractive for a biographical work dealing with a historical figure. There is notably also a danger of distracting the audience with just how efficient and dynamic the aesthetics of this performance are. Actively focusing our attention, actively shaping our fourth wall, the passive moving frame becomes an agent in itself, allowing for an acute awareness of technical elements that easily lifts an audience from the world of the play and into a fascination with theatrical constituents and “the power” and “possibilities” of theatre itself. It is easy, therefore, to confuse this fascination with an acknowledgement that the set design actually progressed, benefitted and consolidated the action we are presented [as opposed to evoking merely a similar sentiment]. I do not believe it did. My last issue has to do with this aforementioned efficiency. Ironically, I would have liked a great deal more accuracy and precision with this framing, which was at times shaky and unstable, its vibrations causing the projector, and thus the entirety of the image forming our background, to shake along with it. For instance, during the scene wherein Peter (Anatol Yusef) returns home ‘in the rain’, he is followed and framed by a rectangular portrait window, made by these dark sliding panels, yet is only visible head-on as he traverses the stage. As soon as he is slightly to the left or right from any given audience member, he is immediately partially obscured by the side of the frame. In fact, there was an instance where I could not see him at all, only the set behind him. This is exactly what I mean by a [needless] heavy use of technical elements that distract the audience away from the very action of the play that actually matters, but a lack of precision as perceptible here also constitutes a theme I will return to often in this review. As for writing, I note the deliberate decision to have Gardner’s story overshadowed by the famous men that surrounded her, both with Peter’s agent’s requests for more information on them alone –– only for this ignorant information to be seen as a recount of HER life –– and with Peter falling in love with Ava himself, as though she remains throughout, in the past as now, an irresistible, mystical seductress and nothing more. And this is something we see Ava struggling with as she aims to reconstruct herself as someone who does not swear, who is not promiscuous, who is philosophical and intellectual, focused on serious matters such as mortality and the preciousness of life, having nearly lost her own. This focus on the men in her life intensifies as the play goes on, and, in theory, this is most beneficial to our reading of her image. However, because of how deliberate and constant this is, when we realise at the end that we have not found out an incredible amount about Gardner herself, it is natural to feel rather disappointed and cheated of our time. Furthermore, there are so many of these famous men in focus that each has too little stage time for us to feel that their presences are sufficient and substantial enough to declare this story about them, either, meaning that it is easy to feel that this story is about everyone and yet no one simultaneously. The play attempts a documentation of Gardner’s life, but what we actually receive is a glitzy series of caricatures representative of familiar famous faces. This is further complicated by stylistic and technical eccentricities, such as McGovern and Yusef’s rather self-mocking and stylistically incongruous dancing together as Ava and Michael Rooney, to such a degree that the focus remains principally on the theatricality –– or, otherwise, the aesthetic/external accuracy –– of the representations we are presented, as opposed to on veracity and relatability. We lose sense of the human in this story very early on, and what could be a very poignant and exposing retelling becomes a mere, unfinalised, sensationalist text. As for McGovern and Yusef’s performance, their energy is notably faultless throughout. They have great confidence and stature on stage and have defined their characters very well. However, attention to detail is incredibly lacking. Their characterisations become somewhat stilted as the performance goes on, with all idiosyncrasies the two have designed for themselves wearing thin long before the close of the play. The two, though mostly Yusef, struggle conspicuously to maintain the accents they have chosen for their characters, culminating in a shambolic and confused portrayal towards the end of the play as Yusef fails to switch distinctly between the character of Frank Sinatra and Peter, ultimately blending them with one another, then losing the rhythm and sound of each altogether. Though more of a directorial issue, I imagine, McGovern has a habit throughout of delivering her lines to the audience, looking out into the house, as opposed to at her addressee, Yusef’s character. With Yusef’s gaze kept strong and uniquely on her, this intensifies the fact that this is a representational performance, and we lose the naturalism and credibility of the scene completely. Admittedly, both actors recover very well from momentarily forgetting or stumbling over their lines, but the mere fact that these lines are stumbled over in the first place, and the frequency with which this happens, is most disappointing. There are many suchlike instances that highlight the imprecisions in these actors’ performances of these actors, and they are difficult to ignore, with Yusef bumping into one of the dresses on the clothing rack, causing it to fall off, for example, or with him having to readjust his hat that he had allowed to tilt so far forward so that it obscured his eyes. These unskillful displays certainly subtract from our reading, and better refinement and training ought to be considered. However, these performers remain consistent throughout, clear of their character intent and objectives. Diction is wonderful, for the most part, and physicality is rarely amiss. It is just the mechanicality of movements and the over-rehearsed speech that I have an issue with, overall. A few final notes. Music (sound design by Ella Wahlström) is very well composed, but it suffers from a great overuse, nay misuse. It seems as though the creatives felt the need to increase momentum or glamourise certain sequences through the use of swing music, and this is unnecessary. Music should be deliberate but only used when essential to progress the narrative, not just because it bears some relevance to Gardner’s life in show-business, and not merely to entertain or to provide the audience with a “catchy” rhythm. Costuming (wardrobe and wigs managed by Holly Gooch), however, is superb and accurate. It does retain a [preferable] understated naturalism, though, that is not present in the rest of the spectacular and sensationalist aesthetic we are provided. It feels out of place for this reason but, in itself, it is very well-conceived, indeed. Wigs are sorely artificial and need to be better treated. “A fun but incomplete performance brimming with imprecisions.”

As the writer of this play, Kieran Dee has certainly nurtured an excellent comedy type, involving decoy assumptions and reinterpretations, subversions and juxtapositions, and Dee’s delivery as a performer is just as refined. An example of this is in our understanding that Kerry has a crush on his colleague, someone he romanticises and characterises as dreamy, delightful, who then remarks that she was so drunk the night before that she put on two pairs of knickers. Kerry then remarks again how wonderful she is, and our inability to match what we experience of his crush herself versus what he tells us makes for comic tension, and hence laughter. An excellent formula executed well throughout this performance. The comical caricatures we are presented by the text, most relatable in their simplicity, also help to produce a commendable comedic effect. Dee provides us with just enough description to cause these characters to feel real and to paint a vivid picture of them in the mind, and, again, his delivery of these is most endearing, also. However, this comedy type and its delivery, the very things that constitute the most endearing quality of this performance, become its downfall. There is a certain roboticism to this performance, and this is produced by a univocal and repetitive structure. The fluid and chronological narrative is at times broken and fragmented by constant quick-witted, comical remarks or superfluous and perhaps unnecessary details — one example of such an interjection being when Kerry begins to detail a football match he has watched with his father, breaking the narrative momentarily to mention that this was the first time his father hugged him. I elucidate: this is not an issue in this one example alone, but when this style of narration is so persistent, the character’s speech becomes denaturalised and thus seems unrealistic, and steady momentum is compromised. It very quickly starts to feel jarring, incomplete, incoherent, and puts the audience in danger of feeling as though they are straining to follow along with the original line of thought. Comedy is certainly used very well in this performance but is so constant and so heavily relied upon throughout that tragic material feels underplayed. This underplaying is also due to the fact that these flippant and facetious comedic remarks are still being made during areas of tension, conflict and negative emotion. It is also because of Dee’s mechanical acting technique, but I shall elaborate upon this below. In terms of the play’s essential political subject matter, I feel that the sociopolitical agenda could be far better integrated into the dramatic text, overall. As it currently stands, the dramatic text struggles, particularly as the play goes on, to balance and marry the personal story of Kerry’s character — his [nonexistent] love life, his relationship with and grieving for his father, etc — and the sociopolitical focus on racism [in football], White ignorance and White privilege. Whilst I do admire the play’s ambition to remind us of the human behind each of the commonplace ideologies and perspectives presented, the two narratives feel distinctly disconnected, overall. For example, what does Kerry’s inability to perform spontaneous small-talk with his work crush have to do with racism? It feels that moments like this are purely for us to bond with Kerry’s character and to settle into the world of the play, and this is acceptable early on but not throughout. However, the points made by the text, especially with the simple but poignant analogy of the pie chart symbolic of the divisions or lack thereof of social privilege, are very resonant, topical and cogent. What makes this material so accessible and engaging is that our main character himself is unaware of all the answers whilst exploring, pondering and exposing truths to us. For example, he is unsure as to whether the name-calling in the latter part of the ‘We Hate Tottenham’ Chelsea football chant is offensive to Jewish people or if it should be taken as a peculiar term of endearment accepted by Jewish people themselves — which, of course, it should not be. When we are then presented the quick-fire list of elucidatory anti-racist facts at the very end of the play by a seemingly out-of-character Kieran Dee, this confirms the suspicions of our guiding protagonist and answers the questions his ponderings give rise to. This is most efficacious and revelatory. I do, however, feel that this ending is stylistically incongruous with the rest of the performance, given its stripped-back, ‘non-acting’ aesthetic, and also feel that it would be even more powerful if Dee were not reading this list verbatim from a handwritten note that has been stored until now in the wings. I understand that he desires to deliver these facts perfectly, but there is no reason as to why he cannot memorise them without this written aid, especially if this is the very essence of a performance he himself has written. To clarify, this is another reason I would like the personal story of Kerry and the sociopolitical messages of the play to be better married; we are required to bond so greatly with a character who we must, ultimately, only see as a representation, a means to a political end, a revelatory guide. Either this play must maintain this psychological realism and aim through the narrative alone to have us question the ponderings of the protagonist and the actions of surrounding characters, or we should have a stripped-back and actor-led [as opposed to character-based] performance that aims to demonstrate, explore, reveal and expose, as opposed to emulate and typify. Otherwise, such serious morale at the end feels as though an afterthought, distinctly different from the enclosed, fictional narrative presented hitherto. Nevertheless, a very important and commendable objective here. On to Dee as a performer. Dee has great energy throughout and is an engaging performer because of this, but there remain countless aspects of his acting that need substantial refinement. First, the ambit of his gaze. His gaze is restricted almost entirely to either side of the stage — predominantly Stage Left — meaning that he fails to issue his audience with significant and consistent eye contact, thus limiting the extent of potential audience engagement. Similarly, Dee regularly has his back to the audience, and these two things combined put an extreme strain on our ability to register and gauge emotion, expression and action, guiding audience attention away from what is important and essential to our reading of the play and towards the mere self-obscuring physical body of the actor himself. For a performance that is so set on having us feel, empathise, engage, this is an incredibly detrimental subtraction. Next, we have transformativity. Dee has the seeds of great caricatures that he can call upon at will, caricatures that are immediately identifiable and comprehensible, humorous and distinct. For the most part, each caricature in itself is clearly vocally defined — but only vocally. Physically, however, these caricatures remain almost entirely indiscernible, only distinguished via Kerry’s turning from left to right to represent two different characters. There also persists a tendency for the voices he has chosen for these multiple caricatures to blend in with his ‘fundamental’, ‘natural’ voice when he switches from one to the other, and this is subtractive and disappointing. This is particularly true of early moments within his caricaturisations where he quickly ‘snaps out’ of his caricature and back into the character of Kerry to provide extraneous details of this secondary character or of this situation he has found himself in with them. Then, we have pacing and the delivery of rising tension, which is an editorial, directorial and actor-led issue combined. When detailing moments of climax and great action, such as in his tense soliloquy about the increasingly rowdy and riotous football match he attends towards the middle-end of the play, Dee performs in a typical and cliché artificial manner, which consists of a rising intonation that suddenly drops and is replaced by a inflection that characterises doubt or question. Paired with the writing, we receive in quick succession hyperbolic descriptions of various happenings and of surroundings and the figures present within them, either interlinked with simple conjunctions only, such as ‘and’, or simply left as separate clauses and reeled off one after the other. This is a trend that has persisted, as evidenced in many documentations, amongst writers and actors for centuries now and is a dilute, sensationalist and unoriginal manner of presenting ‘climactic’ informations, devoid of true passion and intensity. The result is a hampered, unfulfilling and incomplete pre-packaged distress that is merely instantly recognisable and that cannot invoke any profound feeling in a spectator, especially a regular theatregoer. I would recommend a more naturalistic approach here, especially given the significance of these moments in relation to the sociopolitical focus of this play that really ought to invoke such palpable feeling in an audience if its messages are to be seen as useful, impactful and poignant, as opposed to mere regurgitations of recent societal developments. I should clarify here: Dee clearly has great and palpable vitality and, above all, passion for his work, but it is merely technique here that is inadequate. I would recommend research into the fundamentals of the psycho-technique and into the definitions of mechanical and representational acting vs naturalistic. I think these will be of use to his career in the future if he desires to pursue similar works. Finally, it is clear that nerves certainly got the better of this performer at times, as he seems to be holding back, especially during caricaturisations, with corporeal expressivity being unstable and insufficient at times. Notably, he is also acutely aware of his audience who seem to have dominion over the extremity of his performativity: the more extreme their reactions, the more energy we receive. This is evidenced by his direct acknowledgement of his audience when he first enters, gesturing to a specific audience member, with a “Hi” — which is most confrontational and hence subtractive, given that the rest of the play remains enclosed, with no use of direct audience address — and, later, with his stumbling over his lines, his development of poor diction, and his visible struggle to stop himself from laughing along with his spectators after delivering a punchline. These elements must be addressed by this performer, but such awareness and skill will come with time. The only other note I have on performance is more of a directorial issue. I noted that there is a certain roboticism to this performance, and another reason for this is the overall continuous bipartite episodic structure: ‘scene, transition, scene, transition’, with each of these scenes covering distinctly separate content. Whilst I favour the epitomic riotous/rebellious song choice and, for the most part, the transitions themselves, having Dee frozen on the spot, ready and waiting for the music to stop and the lights to change in order to be able to start the scene, then bursting into action when this is the case, is perhaps the most robotic and forced element of this performance. Finally, set and tech (lighting design by Sam Penn). Following on from my description of the transitions, tech for this performance is minimalistic, and this works well to complement the tense and busy text. The red washes, though somewhat disparate aesthetically, along with the aforementioned recurrent song, communicate well the urgency and starkness of the thornier material that we are presented. In regard to set: aesthetically, this performance has extremely limited visual appeal, I must admit, not only with its unattractive theatrical properties but with their random scattering about the stage, as though merely to have it seem filled. It is clear that Millie has recognised this, either subconsciously or consciously, with an attempt to have Dee use the space as extensively as possible. This extensive use of space is beneficial for distinguishing the late scene wherein he locks himself in his house whilst his crush talks to him through the front door, or the bedroom scene wherein he details his broken shower and the mould its leaking water leaves down his bedroom wall — though I do find it odd that such a small room that is entirely consumed merely by the bed should somehow extend from Upstage Left to Centerstage in the scene where we watch him sleep, dreaming of attending the match with his father…topography needs to be addressed here. However, Dee’s use of space is not so effective in-between scenes that start and end in the same place, usually Upstage Right, as transitions simply see him running without purpose around the stage and then back into his regular position. Having the beer bottle collections scattered around the floor, and having three of them in each where only one will be utilised, is most questionable. And the flags are too perfectly hung across the walls — again, as though there is an attempt to fill the entire wall space. It is acceptable to leave a great portion of the stage completely undecorated. Confining all action to one part of the stage is not a theatrical sin, but there must be reasoning behind all topographical decisions. “A shaky play, yet comical, endearing and resonant.”

For clarification: The title given to the 'character' in this play is Performer, and this will be distinguished in this review from the noun, 'performer', by the apt capital 'P'. I shall start with the positives. Sound design is incredibly articulate, the best I have experienced in a long time, in fact. It is crisp, well layered, well structured and authentic where it ought to be. The sound designer for this performance demonstrates great skill, talent, diligence and artistic awareness. Beautifully designed. Set design (by David Shields) communicates effectively and pleasingly not only the sentimental nature of the text, with the suspended lightbulbs representative at times of the 'stars' to which Performer (John Bell) speaks, and the candles symbolic of votive candles, but also the fragmented and eclectic nature of the written text itself. Props are sparse but very effectively used and imaginative. The handkerchiefs being symbolic of all of the men Performer could have sex with, for example, is a clever, if a little on the nose, nod to the handkerchief code. Slightly negative now… Lighting (designed by Aaron Dooster), beyond these said lightbulbs and candles, suffers from a notable overkill with the additional LED bars, the lanterns behind the set and the various washes and spots. There are, indeed, some wonderful details that Dooster has ensured to include, such as the pulsing fade spot on Bell’s left side as we imagine him in the back of a taxi, as though the passing streetlights are illuminating his face, but timing here is slightly off, and realisation is altogether too unnaturally repetitive and structured; there lacks a sense of the organic in these details. Additionally, the decision to flood the house head-on with intense lights between scenes is both unnecessary and subtractive, re-awakening and intensifying the audience’s awareness of the self and the other, taking them out of the world of the play and into the uncomfortably lit house. I would remove this altogether. I should clarify: wonderfully designed lighting, technically, but fallible in terms of relevance and congruity with style and function. Now, on to the writing. The messages, symbolism and meanings behind this performance are certainly poignant and honourable, and the poetic style employed by the performance is a sweet and thoughtful approach, when observing the context of the AIDS crisis, for example. However, the dramatic text fails to organise, balance and marry its content in such a way that a consistent reading can be offered. I should clarify first that there is nothing ‘wrong’ with a performance that aims merely to represent in succession various aspects of the experiences, feelings or aesthetics of a particular community — in this instance, the gay community of the late 20th century — or of a particular person or character, and that aims to do so with an actor-led approach, using faceless, nameless figures [as 'Performer'] and changing locations, uniting its content solely through theme, meaning or vision. However, such a performance must be dedicated to this form of theatre and storytelling from the very beginning and must be consistent in its representations. This is not the case for this performance. This dramatic text offers until its middle a simple and somewhat poetical retelling of a character’s history, and we expect to be guided through his life and experiences during the AIDS crisis. However, there is a pivotal moment in this performance, when Bell represents, without introduction, contextualisation or preparation, the character of the young gay child [who I can only assume is a younger version of this original character, though this is not made entirely clear]. After this, we are presented a range of scenes and sequences wherein Bell offers us a bizarre form of multi-roling, representing the act itself of gym-going and club-going as a gay man, for example, as opposed to his character performing these activities himself. Suddenly, our original shy, quirky and innocent character is transformed without reason into a seedy, rather ‘rapey’ promiscuous man at a club, aiming to have sex with every man in his sight. This latter representation is devoid of relatability, of the human, and is an exaggerated and archetypical representation unmarriable with this former character we are first presented. But then, straight after these scenes, we get the gentle, poetical original character back, and we continue as though nothing has happened whilst Performer dedicates a [very long-winded] verse to the character ‘Pete’, underplayed until the very end of the performance and thus unworthy of such stage time. In this tumultuous display, we lose all sense of Performer’s identity, and an overly stylised and hyperbolic delivery style has taken over what was previously a somewhat understated chronological narrative. I should clarify: there is no sense of gradual transition from the latter to the former, no sense of climax or growth, nothing to lead us from one style to another; we are simply launched between the two. Here, all sense of this performance’s identity and voice becomes confused and untraceable, and this is due to both this unsteady delivery style and this extensive fluidity of character. These scenes and sequences have no distinct correlation, other than that they are [loosely] related by the themes of gender and sexuality and the generalised 20th-century gay male's experience. How does the young gay child’s newfound interest in The Village People, for example, relate to Pete’s death? Delivery style is a notable issue for this performance, and I should emphasise that merely using poetry throughout does not make for consistency in voice and form. Poetry comes in many various distinct forms, as evidenced in this one performance, and comparing the language and structure of the opening scene — one that approximates, for its majority, natural speech patterns — with the heavily formulaic gym-going sequence seeing each segment end with the refrain, ‘that’s why I go to the gym’, exposes this stark inconsistency in form and manner. The writing is in great danger of becoming repetitive and monotonous, and this is primarily due to the much-too-similar poetic devices that Drake employs: anaphoras (I think to the segments starting with ‘held’, ‘I ran for’ and ‘the viewing’), refrains, and repetitive sequences like ‘A1, 2, 3, 4, […] B1, 2, 3, 4, […] C1 [and so on]’. Whilst such devices can certainly provide a text with structural stability and form, here I believe it simply renders the material univocal, monotonous, uninspired. The final speech, for instance, which should be very impassioned and sentimental, is, in fact, jarring and lacklustre, and this is due to the rigid syllabic structure and the bombastic/hyperbolic literary voice we are offered. It is also particularly repetitious in regard to its content; its message is communicated in full very early in, and any further communications simply regurgitate in other words the very same thing. This brings me on to acting. And I shall continue to pursue the efficacy of this final speech before giving an overall assessment of Bell's performance. Bell performs this final speech with a forced passion, aiming distinctly to typify the sentimentality and emotional significance behind the text, as opposed to channelling his efforts into the specificities, idiosyncrasies, state and psychology of his character that will, in fact, naturally invoke this desired feeling in his audience. This forcedness is perceptible throughout this performance, particularly in the delivery of verse but notably in this aforementioned club sequence that sees him flailing around the stage in a [rather ridiculous, I must say] display of his character’s drunkenness, primitivism and lack of bodily control. Bell certainly plays far too much into the unnaturalness of the poetic text, and over-expressivity compromises the integrity, relatability and humanity of his character. Rather, he presents caricatures: that of the child, that of the weight-lifting egotist, etc., and so it is difficult to feel truly connected with his profiles beyond the themes they represent. With these aforementioned repetitions within the dramatic text, with the repeated short dance transitions whose effectiveness and significance rather wear off by the third time — notably, a directorial issue, though perhaps an editorial one, too — and, finally, with these archetypical, concrete caricatures, observing any real humanity and forming any profound connection with Performer is emphatically impossible. Bell notably performs with good transformativity and great energy, but a lack of naturalism in his performance, and within the role itself, makes him largely inaccessible in this way. I shall end on perhaps a personal criticism that I should also clarify does not in any way influence my review here. This is, yet again, a depiction of the gay male set on representing him as promiscuous, an abuser of alcohol and drugs, unstable and abusive. I really fear how detrimental to our collective identity and psychology such constant and monolithic representation is. Ultimately, we are left with yet another cliché representation that is lacking in veracity and that rejects and annihilates any palpable sense of the world of the queer individual outside of the primitive and the lewd. “Monotonous, incomplete, crudely eclectic.”

For clarification: where 'Nathaniel' is mentioned in this text, this refers to the onstage persona of performer Nathaniel Hall; where 'Nathaniel Hall', or simply 'Hall', is mentioned, this refers to the performer himself. I must admit that I found myself rather at odds with the rest of the audience who seemed to really gravitate towards this performance. However, after attending the post-show Q&A, I now understand that a significant number of these audience members have had some access to this performance and to the solo performer Nathaniel Hall himself in the past — or, indeed, work with him regularly now — and are more than familiar with this performance’s nature, with the intended ethics extending beyond it, and with Hall’s own ethos, intentions and ‘soul’. I, however, can only judge this work on the performance alone, and my reading is rather different… Ultimately, Hall’s aim in this performance is to raise awareness about, destigmatise and alleviate the guilt, shame and sorrow we attach to living with HIV. It is also a very personal and cathartic performance for Hall who, through it, is staging his own personal history with the condition and the stigmas and shame he has experienced in direct relation to this. For him, this is a difficult but necessary performance. This is clearly one reason why humour — upon which I shall elaborate below — is so prevalent in this performance, to mitigate the trauma Hall attaches to this history, to keep his head above the pain this retelling brings with it, so to speak. However, just how far Hall is able to take this performance, and how it suffers or benefits from the complexity and depth of information he pours into it, is something that Hall needs to really explore as an artist if his work is to maintain the activism, integrity and intellect he clearly possesses outside of this performance. His aims are honourable, resonant, important, but their communication through this performance, which is, at times, comical, endearing, reflective and heartfelt — but perhaps only in its themes alone — is wholly questionable. Recurrently barely clad, Hall forces us to sexualise and eroticise his body, but also to see him as vulnerable and perhaps victimised, and this is intensified in the overture. During this, Hall regularly apologises for his disorderliness and lack of time management, expressing that he hasn’t been able to sleep from partying all night, as though he is as much of a ‘mess’ as his stage — more on this below. In theory, this is a very effective decision, forcing us to sexualise what is stigmatised and wrongly reputed as a ‘dirty’, ‘contagious’ and 'dangerous' body, one inextricable from sexual practices from which we, the average ‘righteous’ and ‘civilised’ onlookers, see ourselves as distinctly removed. In this sense, we are also then part of this victimisation, we are abusers, and are thus more susceptible to realising the depth and presence of this stigma when it is revealed to us later on, having been involved in it in this way ourselves. However, in practice...the result is incredibly sloppy and ill-communicated. Hall runs aimlessly around the house before the start of the performance, interacting, rather fecklessly, with every audience member in sight. Delivering to us nearly identical scripts, often consisting of some variant of "I haven't been to bed, have you?", Hall's interactions feel unnatural and forced, unnecessary and meaningless. Hall explained in the post-show Q&A that messiness was a recurrent theme in his life, that his relationship with mess was meaningful to him in the creation of this performance, and this is certainly perceptible in these disorderly interactions. However, whilst Hall seems to have a clear concept himself of what 'mess' means for him outside of the performance, his work here fails to communicate what 'messiness' means within it. Of course, one could relate this to the narrative we are presented, which sees Nathaniel in a hectic cycle of drug and alcohol abuse, sexual escapades and vomiting, as well as to his lack of agency and autonomy, but this does not help our reading, either, for these items themselves are just as precariously integrated into the performance. There appears to be no structure to guide us through the material and to marry the material together. It is clear that the seeds are all there for a discourse on the condition and its stigmas, but no thread exists to sew these elements together. We only arrive at meaning through our own extensive research into Hall's perspective ourselves. This mess, for example, just feels as though we are being presented with a messy and disorderly party-going character for the sake of it, not because mess holds any symbolic and psychic significance to Hall and thus to the performance. Similarly, Hall explains that his reason for portraying his diagnosis by presenting a caricature of his nurse was that he finds it difficult to relieve receiving this diagnosis, but this does not translate into anything meaningful on stage; it is simply a comical and exaggerative representation. Hall confuses what is beneficial for him as a performer with what is beneficial to the performance itself, and this is a classic case where an overintellectualisation external to the live work clouds the artist's perspective on what the work is actually doing alone. In this way, the narrative and content is left esoteric and beyond reach. Vomiting, drug use and parties are motifs that hold their own personal significance beyond our direct reading, and I would urge that Hall reconsider the personal symbolic significance of these aspects versus the significance, role and symbolism that they possess within the performance itself alone. I found that every single time material hovered around the virus, Hall resorted to humour, in performing anything from a small subversive joke to the melodramatic representation of reliance upon and abuse of drugs, seeing an exaggerated overconsumption of these. After carefully setting up somewhat of a memorial service, having audience members sharing votive candles amongst themselves in the now dimly lit house whilst footage of the real and the dying is projected onto a screen he has set up on stage, Hall then wittily remarks that we surely all need a tissue after watching that: “I’d give you mine, but it’s covered in snot.” This time allotted for our grief is so short-lived because of this, but, more importantly, any poignancy it held is subverted by this abject humour. We have barely finished watching the footage, the house is still dark, we are still in this 'safe' space that is rarely offered in everyday life, one that is, as Hall himself purports, glazed over, ignored, inaccessible, and yet here we are moving swiftly on again and in such a brusque and nonchalant manner. Here, we see that Hall's 'comedy' directly takes as its subject our sorrow but also our therapy, our catharsis, and this is a thorny decision. It is a form of comic relief from something that we did not particularly want to be relieved from, something that Hall has just spent time engineering to deliberately make us feel this sadness. This sadness, this sense of tragedy should remain and should fuel our change, our anger, our resilience; it should not be so readily appeased, brushed aside; it is the ammunition and motivation for and the cause of our activism for which Hall is calling. It is clear that Hall wants to offer himself and his public a form of therapy and that through this therapy we should surely be able to laugh and feel alleviated, but I am afraid that this therapy itself becomes the butt of an uncareful joke. This aforementioned melodramatic overconsumption, for example, is an aggressive and self-mocking overconsumption of HIV medication, with the added flavour of a bag of cocaine, and we are shown this right after Hall commends the advancements in relative pharmacology and medical science, namely with the conception of PrEP, which he recognises has revolutionised the life of those living, now unaffectedly, with the virus. Then, we have the “quiz” that aims to force us to reconsider the realistic probability of contracting the virus in various given circumstances. This is an excellent opportunity to actually re-educate and inform audience members — rather literally, but effectively nevertheless — and this is completely missed in Hall’s obvious and destructive ‘comedy’. By expressing to us that this quiz, as many other suchlike elements, will be informative and educational and will destigmatise and reverse assumptions about the virus, Hall prepares us for an authentic and enlightening lesson — something we understand to be at the very heart of this performance. However, when this quiz turns out to be completely unserious and actually rather ridiculous, the humour lies, in fact, in the subversion of this seriousness and in the subversion of our assumption of the integrity and nature of the quiz. By extension, this section is humorous specifically because it makes a mockery of the seriousness of our education about these matters. The information we are given on the caricatural archetypes we are presented is ludicrous, outlandish and exaggerative, and this lack of realism eradicates any sense of the transferability of newfound skills and lessons we have acquired here into our 'real' and 'everyday' life. We learn nothing, we challenge nothing. Hall does not destigmatise this issue with humour; he mocks the process of destigmatising itself, and this is most contradictory to his aims. And this is without mentioning that this is a poorly executed and terribly repetitive scene, regardless of its intent. Whilst I understand that this is a difficult territory for Hall, a profound performance about HIV should, quite obviously, be able to demonstrate that it considers HIV in a profound manner. I do not think this performance does. Hall fails to filter out what is unnecessary and unhelpful in making a sound, well-structured and articulate performance in favour of what he finds of personal interest and significance. Funny though it is, for example, what relevance to the play’s cause, aims and messages has calling a female-identifying audience member on stage to enact Nathaniel’s imaginary life with a wife and child, a gross extension of what is an otherwise negligible moment in the play — Nathaniel acknowledging a friendly girl at the school prom? This has nothing to do with the principal narrative and focus and yet consumes an enormous chunk of our time. Was this particular display comedic in itself? Yes, the audience member did wonderfully, and Hall proved himself as an effective semi-extemporaneous performer, having organised the actions they would do together wonderfully, and manoeuvred the unexpected obstacles presented by this audience member emphatically well. But did it progress our understanding of Nathaniel’s character, let alone of the play itself? No. Unnecessary, time-consuming and subtractive. I mentioned above that Hall infiltrates the house and interacts with the audience prior to the start of the show, and this is one example of the consistent use of metatheatrical techniques in this performance. This metatheatricality works against Hall. The aim, of course, as with these direct interactions, is to create a direct relationship with the audience so that they may recognise, better identify with and have access to the personal material Hall is presenting to us. This is a classic misunderstanding of metatheatre and its effects, as the only effect metatheatre can have is to distance the audience from the work in causing them to become distinctly aware of themselves, the space, their body, the body of the Other, and their role and function as an audience member who is conspicuously, and now consciously, watching a performance. The audience member does not become intensely engaged in the performance but intensely removed from it via their chronic self-awareness. Moreover, Hall actually insults his audience at the beginning of the performance, claiming them to be ‘judgemental bastards’. Very clever and formulaic contexts have to be conceived in order to make such insults feel 1) congruous, 2) welcomed, and 3) humorous. This context was not set up for us at all. Furthermore: as stated above, Hall regurgitates a variant of the same phrase to every audience member, meaning that his interactions are far too similar and unparticularised, which allows for a total obliteration of any intimacy and specialness or uniqueness we would have felt in the interactions we had with him. Clearly, Hall has not considered carefully enough what relationship he wants with his audience and what role they ought to play. This is without considering the agency he gives his audience in creating such an open environment — which would explain the consistent unsolicited shouting out and interjections from audience members in moments where audience interaction/participation was not desired. If the audience had comprised even more spirited individuals, these interjections could have been dire. More significantly, however, as well as demonstrating that Hall has not considered the function, role, effects and form of his metatheatrical techniques, constant references throughout to this being a performance, especially paired with his caricatural and rather exaggerative acting style, make for a stunting effect on our emotional response to the performance. We are so vehemently and deliberately forced away from feeling and sentiment, reminded of the artificiality of the space and of the performance, reminded that this is all just an act, and yet the desired outcome of this performance is somehow to force to feel, to be moved, to be incentivised?! The emotional response should be our catalyst for our desire for change, and it is not instrumentalised correctly or appropriately at all. And this is without mentioning that this performance is taking place in the UK, a country that has a particularly sterile yet serious cultural relationship with death. This relationship must be considered carefully, meticulously and sensitively when opening discourse on the deceased, especially on those that lost their lives in conditions such as those during the AIDS crisis. As a performer, Hall’s energy is faultless. He has an endearing onstage persona, but his caricatures and robotic writing style fictionalise his work to such a degree that it becomes inaccessible — emotionally and intellectually — and this is in direct opposition to his chosen metatheatrical performance style. With the incessant motifs of vomiting and drug abuse, with the time-consuming and needless wardrobe change sequences, with the excessive focus on incongruous humour, and with a style that ranges from third-person narratives to verse to caricatural re[-]presentation, the overall legibility of this performance is simply…nonexistent. A shambolic, confused and convoluted performance, however humorous or endearing sections may be. “A performance falling extremely far from its aims, inarticulate and unsure of its rhetoric.”

There are certainly some peculiar stylistic decisions in this performance that are altogether illogical, and incongruous with the rest of the material we are presented, and most of these are towards the beginning, setting us up for something rather different than what follows as a fluid, unbroken and, most significantly, enclosed representation. For instance, our introduction from Esteban (Nico Conde), as sweet as it is, is both structurally terribly predictable and stylistically inconsistent in that it offers us direct audience interaction, something we see nowhere else throughout the rest of the play. That is other than Steven’s (David Ames) short-lived aside to the same effect, where he ‘reintroduces’ us, with several flippant remarks, to the other characters after announcing his partner’s affair. And then the decision to re-present this scene to us with little alteration…but for what reason? Even more peculiar in this scene is the indecision as to whether the other characters should be frozen or moving; the actors simply cannot come to a unanimous agreement on this. The rotating set, upon which I shall elaborate below; the topographical inconsistencies that see in the same scenes some performers enter from backstage and others through the entrance to the house; the odd and seemingly irrelevant references to Stephen Sondheim and his music; and the caricatural acting style…all of these together make for a rather chaotic and incoherent performance, despite the rather somewhat structure [not material] of the narrative itself. Ignoring its staged version, the dramatic text itself holds great promise but is repetitive in its tone and content. Really, not much happens in this text, and great stage time is offered, instead, to long-winded conversations between the characters that seem to have no real or notable significance to the development of the plot and characters, other than to communicate their somewhat skeletal and unidimensional profiles. However, despite being a rather coherent text, regardless of its content’s oversimplicity, the principal issue is that its dialogue fails to replicate natural, especially conversational, speech, and this, in turn, affects how the actors portray it. Not a single character has an identifiable and unique manner of speaking, and the structure of each one’s speech is practically identical, hyperfocused on the bombastic and the satirical, the sassy, the sexual and the subversive. This is a problem. Whilst the intention behind this — if, indeed, it were a deliberate decision — may have been to create the sense of a collective identity, a shared bond, a unity, the effect is, rather, that all of the characters seem monotonal and undistinguished, i.e. disinteresting. This is especially notable given that we have such little access to the other characters, particularly Brian but even Stephen (Joe Aaron Reid). As each character lacks a certain and significant specificity — other than Carrie (Jane Russell) perhaps, with her illness, though even this is in danger of being stretched beyond its usefulness — or some fundamental crux to ground their identity and upon which their personalities can rely, there is very little to humanise these characters, and humanisation is important if our readings are to invoke feeling, empathy and a sense of having bonded with these ‘people’. I would certainly emphasise that the most successful element of this performance is the development of Carrie’s storyline, however. Her presence and witty speech type are by far the most established and the most particularised, and such detail and thought have gone into both her writing but also, and mostly, Russell’s excellent characterisation. Whilst great time is dedicated to the development of Carrie and Steven’s relationship, the stagnancy we are offered elsewhere in this performance means that their interactions with one another are surely the most memorable aspect of this performance. In fact, their relationship and Carrie’s terminal illness constitute the only emotional elements we are made to truly care about to some degree. Personally, I would have actually preferred a play that dedicates its entirety to their friendship, for this reason, as Steven’s life and storyline is simply far too understated and uneventful insofar as the writing itself. On to acting. I should clarify before starting this section that absolutely all performers perform in an overly caricatural manner, and this compromises credibility significantly and, of course, further intensely diminishes any potential emotional response from the audience. However, Russell and Ames remain sure of their characters and of their intents consistently throughout this performance. A few lines are delivered with questionable intonation from both sporadically, but, overall, great deliveries from these two performers. They have done excellent work on their characterisations, and it shows; their characters are immediately comprehensible and clear throughout. There is, however, a great sense of artificiality Russell’s portrayal of her character’s emotional breakdown. The abruptness of this is both conceived and handled well, but it is the further detailing from after the moment she lifts her head from her hands that Russell abandons any sense of truth. I would recommend this scene be reworked. Ames performs his character’s anger well, however, but remains rather one-note throughout his outbursts. Given how lengthy these outbursts are — I refer to the first, when he divulges his partner’s affair to us and the other characters, and to the last, where he ‘breaks down’ to Carrie, questioning his identity and circumstances — I would particularly recommend further inflections and tonal variation when his speeches become more bombastic, florid and verbose — not that these should be extreme or dramatic but certainly palpable indications of underlying emotion. As for the rest of the cast, Conde’s delivery needs significant work in terms of both vocal and physical expressivity. His character is certainly legible, but Conde lacks a great degree of vigour and vitality, from his encumbered jazz hands as the fake emcee at the beginning of the performance to his inappropriate and unnaturalistic intonation throughout. On the topic of the latter, Esteban’s entrances serve as moments of great comic relief, breaking the tensions between the other characters, and if Conde’s intonation is not appropriate for these quick and punchy throwaway “hello”s and “what happened?”s, then the impact of this comedy is altogether eradicated. Reid remains completely unbelievable throughout the performance, unsure of his role and character intentions, lacking any particularisations in his characterisation whatsoever, insufficiently energised, and unsure of the meaning and emotions behind his lines. Admittedly, he does improve significantly in the final scene, however, but here, we see him exaggerating as opposed to performing his role — and this is ineffective, given that we are not made to understand this role of his ourselves, rather leaving us with the question: this is an exaggeration of what, exactly? On the topic of exaggeration, screaming and extreme gesticulations do not equate to the representation of an inebriated partygoer, as evidenced by Giles Cooper (playing Brian) in the final scenes of the play. Even for such caricatural representation, we see no struggling eyelids, no wobbling, no slurring of the words, just plain and unparticularised shouting. A most obnoxious display, and not one representative of his loud and cocky character, either. On a similar note, we have Michael Walters (playing Matt) who remains constantly overly expressive throughout, culminating in this final scene where he, too, suffers from overacting: superfluous vitality and vigour and his over-pronounced and artificial manner of delivery get in the way of his credibility. A not particularly seasoned cast, then, demonstrating great energy but not the ability to channel it efficiently and intelligently. Ben Papworth performs in this performance as a pianist and proves himself to be most talented, playing with expert timing and precision. His inclusion into the performance is nonexistent, however, and, being our only true link to the late Steven Sondheim, to whom, again, this play is dedicated, his presence or, rather, his significance needs to be far better addressed. Even at the end of the performance, he receives no gesture from the performers as they take to their applause, which is most insensitive and discourteous if such an extravagant bowing, seeing each performer bow one by one and then together and all of them returning again for a second bow afterwards, has been organised. A great disservice. I would perhaps recommend also that Papworth find something with which to occupy himself when he is not required to play. He appears visibly bored and somewhat dejected, and this is both distracting and subtractive, though I cannot blame him for feeling removed both socially and emotionally from this performance. Set (designed by Lee Newby and constructed by Gemstage) is intimate and successfully evocative both of the settings of the play and the relative lifestyles of the characters. Though transitions take far too long for such little displacements, with stagehands seeming unhurried and casual but to an irksome degree, as opposed to seeming cooly efficient, the versatility and transformation of this set have been wonderfully conceived and executed, allowing for us to feel transported from location to location very distinctly. I must say, however, that to have audience members sit along the sides of the stage is a most terrible and subtractive decision — perhaps this would be acceptable if the entire play were set in this restaurant and if such aforementioned metatheatrical techniques were kept constant, but this is not the case — and that the revolving stage, handled by the Revolving Stage Company, is entirely distracting and ill-conceived. Actors regularly seem unsure of their footing, intensifying the revolve’s presence, and its use has no significant purpose, other than to benefit visual and technological appeal — although, this latter is rather compromised by the lack of smoothness in its operation, seeing it jar and stagger often. I think, for example, to the end of the café scene, where, upon Esteban’s return, Steven asks him what he’ll be doing after he finishes his shift. To have the entire stage revolve simply to have a second’s worth of a glimpse at Esteban’s — a tertiary character — reaction…is simply ridiculous. This is without mentioning the topographical issues this stage element presents: sticking with this same example, for instance, Esteban first enters from backstage, behind the sofa; when the stage is now revolved, he enters from in front of it. We have very little visual cues in this set design as to the topography of these locations, and to confuse the directions from which Esteban enters, our only topographical indications, is a terrible decision. Initially, the graphics in the frames along the three walls of the stage (video programming by Cowley) are congruous and additive, supplementing the set with detail and a sense of the characters’ lives, families, contexts and attachments. The decision to depict portraits of the characters along with their text message bubbles is also an effective idea, if a little on the nose, but I would urge Reid with reproach not to look at them as though he sees them like we do, for these are representations of the messages he receives on the mobile phone that he is holding in his hand and are not to be seen as real; it is to this mobile — and to his house phone — alone that he should be directing his attention. The cartoonistic designs that suddenly take to the screens — the repeating moving line animation of the cat, the string of fairylights, or, most peculiarly, the white line drawings superimposed upon the rather photorealistic depictions of a skyline — are most incongruous with the designs we have seen hitherto, confusing the aesthetic and mood of the play with declining seriousness and integrity. There are certainly other aspects of this performance that rather irk me, like why the sun is depicted to be rising after Steven has just informed us that he ‘and Carrie’ were waiting for the sun to set together — perhaps this was to indicate that the former [and soon-to-be-again?] couple stay together all night, but this is not clear at all, if this is the case — or why the actors, particularly Russell, insist on sitting at the Stage-Left bar to deliver their first few lines before joining the others seated Centerstage. However, overall, this remains a legible and coherent performance. What surprises me most, however, is this fact that all of this is somehow meant to be dedicated to the late Stephen Sondheim. The obvious prevalence of the name Steven/-phen, combined with random references to only a few of Sondheim’s songs, but predominantly Into the Woods [the writer’s favourite?], and yet no significance or symbolism to any of these whatsoever. The characters do not ‘know’ him, represent him, respect him, and yet all randomly have this shared vocabulary about his music and lyrics. The characters show no conspicuous interest in musical theatre throughout — other than Matt’s [ironic here] remark that Brian does not know anything about it — let alone Sondheim; just an expressed interest in cabaret, if anything. A most peculiar factor. “A sometimes endearing but mostly hammy performance.”

I found this performance very shallow… It feels as though the creatives simply needed a surefire way to obtain some money. Appropriating the well-known ‘classic’ film, Dirty Dancing, and upon it basing a purely sensationalist text to garner interest, hype and engagement, it seems, was the perfect means of doing this. This performance aims to titillate and arouse its audience, to prey upon fond memory through its vapid representationalism, and to instrumentalise physiological and emotional responses, all solely for shallow gain. For the reasons I will enumerate below, this remains a performance of low artistic integrity, a quick-release, low-effort play with songs, not a work of art by any stretch of the imagination. A completely superficial performance, substituting profundity and artistic creativity for frivolous cliché and caricature. I shall start with the writing (by Eleanor Bergstein). Plot elements seem to be rather brushed over, in favour of the humorous or the voyeuristic — I think to most scenes with Neil (Thomas Sutcliffe) wherein he attempts to woo Baby (Kira Malou) with his status and resources but is undone by his caricatural nerdy and goofy disposition, or, indeed, the hypersexual scenes between Baby and Johnny (Michael O'Reilly) themselves. The setup of the main plot itself, for example, where Baby is nominated to perform in the final dance and her lessons with Johnny are organised, is practically nonexistent — she is asked, she accepts, and we move on to the repetitive and provocative dance lessons that follow. During these lessons and throughout the entire performance, we see no palpable development in the relationship between Baby and Johnny beyond incessant physical touch, and our understanding of all of the characters and settings, beyond perhaps Neil and Johnny, is reliant on our pre-existing understanding of the film and its contexts. I think, for example, to the introduction of Millers itself. We are told that this is where the amazing dancing happens...and nothing else. We must guess the rest of its significance ourselves. What is so important about this location that should draw Baby so magnetically? Why should she care for poor pregnant Penny (Carlie Milner) and these people she has barely met, enough to ask her father to spare her £250 to give to them? We are provided with no understanding of Baby's character, intents and psychology. We are simply to accept these items as organic to the narrative. Even the reason as to why Johnny feels so deeply connected with Baby over the mere fact that she fought for him not to be fired is underexplained — would a singular act like this really change his entire perception of women and how they might use and abuse him? What are we made to understand about Baby that would force us to believe along with Johnny that her love for him is genuine, powerful, authentic? A few giggles at the touch of his ripped abs and a poorly executed practice dance together are not enough to validate their trust and relationship, I am afraid. As for the dancing itself, the crux of this performance, I remain rather underwhelmed again. Form and precision are certainly lacking across the cast, and whilst all physical motions are certainly carried through, conviction and impetus are consistently insufficient. It feels almost as though the cast are to some degree conserving their energy throughout the performance — perhaps for the post-show finale, which sees vastly improved and impressive skill [albeit too late], much to my surprise. Choreography, overall, is highly repetitive, and this is particularly true of the opening sequence. What I did find most energised and skilful, however, was the choreography of the first scene wherein we are introduced to the dancers at Millers. Choreography here is varied and expressive, and the topographical organisation of the dancers is splendid, balanced and attractive. To end this section, I should mention that I would certainly restrict the number of lifts background dancers perform, given that this is the most memorable aspect of the choreography in the film — which is clearly important, given the aforementioned representationalist nature of this performance. Either restrict them or make them less pedestrian: showcase and highlight deliberately what the other characters can do that Baby as of yet cannot, to intensify the intense work that she must endure. I rather wish that all cast members demonstrated the same technical awareness as Lizzie Ottley (playing Lisa) and Tito Suarez do consistently, and as Milner does, too, at times. Perhaps the tackiest aspect of this performance is the log-walking scene, seeing the re-inclusion of the initial drop with a captioned depiction of 'Mountain Lake Lodge' — which, I emphasise, should not be used as an opening curtain and a scenic backdrop, for this leads to semiotic confusion and destruction of illusion. This depiction, printed on the gauze part of the drop, acts as a frame through which to view the actors as they pretend to balance on the log. Whilst the log itself is cleverly conceived, a lack of corporeal expressivity, the unnatural lighting, and the far-too-thick gauze that obscures them too heavily make this scenelet rather dissatisfying. With this drop now functioning as an act drop, the gauze is again made opaque, and we are made to wait what should be a matter of seconds for the next scenelet to begin. However, it takes an atrocious amount of time for the next set to be assembled. Deciding to keep count some time into this waiting, I counted the passing of fifteen seconds, which is a lifetime in theatre, especially if only to be offered such a short-lived scenelet as the one that follows. Sound effects (sound design by Armando Vertullo) here, though authentically designed, are also ill-timed. It is such uncareful and imprecise aspects like these that lead me to this aforementioned sentiment that this is a slapdash quest for money and renown, as opposed to a thoughtful, intellectual and creative work of art. Whilst on this topic again, I shall consider briefly this voyeuristic aspect. From O'Reilly appearing with one less piece of clothing with his every entrance towards the middle of the first act, to the motif of dancing shirtless men, to the cast members bending over, away from the audience, to present their skimpily clad bottoms, and to the deliberate display of O'Reilly's unclad derrière, this is notably an erotic performance intended almost entirely for the androphilic gaze — and there is nothing ‘wrong’ with this, in essence. However, I find it most peculiar that immediately before presenting his nude buttocks, Johnny expresses his discomfort with women sexually objectifying him and using him for their sexual gratification. Yet, this subsequent cheeky act is a deliberately and encouragingly erotic one that permits and condones the act of voyeurism. His character is also allowed hereafter to be just as sexualised as before he revealed this fact to us. This lack of sincerity in line with Johnny's expression really allows for the sense that the creatives wanted to throw in this half-baked political message merely to add depth and feeling to Johnny’s character, to be merely representative of this development familiar to the film, and to give the illusion that their play itself has some sociopolitical focus and integrity. What it does, instead, however, is simply expose its exploitation of cliché passions and its ignorance towards the very sociopolitical themes that it pretends to advocate. This political type is simply instrumentalised for the skeletal development of plot and of character; it soon comes to mean nothing with the further excuses to prompt the audience to be insatiable sexual voyeurs. Prompting the audience to get up and dance, both early into the second act and during the finale, it is no surprise that emotional physiological responses are also instrumentalised in a similar way for mere sensationalist purposes. Acting. Whilst, as I have mentioned above, technical dancing skill is very limited across the cast, energy is notably faultless throughout. Each performer, with emphasis on O'Reilly and Sutcliffe, portrays their representational and caricatural profile well, though Milner performs her role with refreshing credibility, overall, I must add. In summary, the performers adapt to their roles well and capture excellently the vision of the writer and director, but the roles themselves are superficial and hampered, and thus, by extension, so is the representational acting. Set and tech. Whilst washes are certainly beautiful, leaning into a finely established aesthetic, spotlights remain a constant issue throughout with Valerio Tiberi's design. Even when performers are generally still, such as with Ottley during her quirky and precise rendition of 'Hula Hana', spotlights fail to stay in place, constantly shaking and struggling to focus on their subjects. Set design, though minimalist, is sufficient in demonstrating the locations of the characters' houses, the restaurant and Millers, but interstitial scenes are incredibly visually neglected. I should also mention that assembling the restaurant set seems, again, to be too great a feat for stagehands. Costumes (designed by Jennifer Irwin) lack variety but are well designed in themselves, but wigs are simply awful, overly artificial and plastic-looking. Props usage is inconsistent: they are overused in places — the restaurant scene, Jake (Lynden Edwards) and Marjorie's (Lori Haley Fox) golf sessions, Penny's filled fridge, etc. — and underused in others — the dance lessons, scenes taking place at Millers. Some final, pedantic notes referring to moments that together destroy illusion and complicate style, aesthetic, significance and structure. It should be decided whether or not we can see ensemble members grouped tougher, talking, dancing, etc., when we are supposedly in an enclosed setting from which we cannot observe them: from inside Penny’s house, for example. At times, ensemble members stay completely still, aiming not to draw attention to their gatherings; at others, they perform their actions slowly, stylistically; and at others, they continue dancing and chatting in mime as though performing a regular background scene. This must be addressed for the purpose of stylistic consistency. When Malou changes her costume, she must do so only once she has left the stage, not whilst in immediate view of the audience as she is running off Stage Right, to save herself some time. When characters are briefly commentating on the rest of the action on stage — the dances, for example — the speaking actors' physical activity must be increased, and a spotlight must light them well; otherwise, as is the case for this performance, the audience will have no idea where to look or, more extremely, which characters are even talking, especially early on in the performance. I must note that this is also true of the first restaurant scene in which all actors slow down as a blue wash takes hold of the stage and mutes their visibility. I have absolutely no idea what happened in this moment, for my eye had nowhere to rest across this flat visual, and because of the sheer lack of movement. I can only deduce that whatever happened at the table between these characters was needless to note, regardless. “Superficially sensationalist, erotic, and lacking in artistic integrity.”

To clarify, the performers use their own forenames for their ‘characters’ in this performance. Any inclusions of these forenames refer exclusively to these ‘characters’ that we are presented; any surnames refer to the performers themselves. For crediting purposes, surnames are also included in brackets when forenames are first mentioned. I shall start with the recognition that I personally really enjoyed this performance, but my critical and personal perspectives are two very different things. An official synopsis of this performance states explicitly, ‘1001 is a desperate plea for rest. […] The exhaustion you see on stage is not an act. Performers are subjected to routine-like repetition, exhausting themselves physically and mentally’. This performance is rather disappointing in this respect, as I can say with absolute certainty that these performers are NOT, by any definition of the word, exhausted — especially not ‘mentally’. I have done countless work with exhaustion, and if these performers can giggle amongst each other, completely unaffected by their work whilst heading home, relaxed and talkative after another fine day on the stage, they are certainly not ‘burnt out’ as they are elsewhere described. When complete silence and inaction befalls a performer after their work, when their body “gives up on them”, buckling, shaking and faltering as they try to perform even the most mundane actions during their performance, only then can this exhaustion be noted and sufficiently thorough for the creatives to make these claims. The aim of this performance is clearly to create and open a space that can demonstrate and expose the human body (and in some ways the human mind) in a state of extreme struggle, extreme exertion and, ultimately, collapse. As this is the primary objective of this performance, I cannot say that this was a successful or effective performance at all, despite how much I personally favoured it. Ironically, the only way I identified this ‘exhaustion’ — as this theme was, at least, identifiable — was through this very plasticity that the creatives deny, this artificial and deliberate representation of exhaustion. Instead, the main themes of this performance, I find, are physical labour and routines of labour, pressure, struggle, uniformity and comparison. Referring once more to the synopsis: ‘To survive in capitalism, work is essential, work is part of an identity. If you don’t work, you cease to be. Is there an alternative?’ This implied theme of physical labour is very successfully communicated, and this is good, considering this is a fundamental focus of this performance. The paper aeroplanes becoming a symbol and material product of this physical labour, to have them carelessly spilt across the stage, only then to have the culprit of this mess not help the [implied] labourer, is a wonderful symbolic expression, for instance. However, it is the latter part of this quote, ‘is there an alternative?’ that concerns me here. It is a question that is in no way addressed by this performance, and so to posit this question at all is most strange to me. The theme of uniformity is obvious, and so I shall not comment on this, but I will comment on yet another quote from the official synopsis: ‘[This performance] is an attempt to resist the exploitation, the routine and the weight of “required” success’. Success is certainly not illustrated in this performance at all, beyond Ruth’s (Mestel) speech that sees her compare herself to others and their successes, a speech to which I refer to again briefly below. I can only imagine, not perceiving this resistance or success in any aspect of this work, that this refers to moments when performers break away from the collective, such as during the dance routines or at the very end, when the rest of the performers have left the space as Ruth continues to wiggle her hips from left to right before us. These moments do not constitute a resistance against success…especially as there is no success evidenced by those who, in fact, complete the dance routine or leave the space, for example. As the audience, in order to understand the specific ‘success’ against which the performers are resisting, we need to understand that this success is, in fact, achievable and in what form this success is manifested: titular, financial, popularity, etc. Instead, this “breaking away” is merely a disruption of routine, which is not to imply that these performers are “taking matters into their own hands” and resisting, but, rather, that they have become fixated upon certain aspects of the routine they regularly endure, whilst others continue to progress — whilst other performers progress to the next steps, one stagnates. This is a mere exposure of the psychophysical relationship between the self and routines of labour, and this expression of mere progression and stagnancy should not be confused with the expression of success and stilted success or failure; there is a considerable nuance here. I will say, however, that this resistance is certainly perceptible in one of the first scenes, wherein the rest of the cast throw their glasses of water over Daz’s (Scott) head. This is certainly a resistance against the routine of her incessant weather speech, but this singular example alone is not sufficient to claim that this is a principal or significant focus of this text. In a similar way, the “zinging and zinging” routine the cast performs on Marta does not break routine but disrupt it, with each performer doing the very same thing but with significant changes to style and mood: one is forceful, the other playful, the other brusque. This is an embellishment of or variation on routine, NOT a resistance against it. The theme of comparison is signalled by various elements, but I shall give two examples here: 1) whilst clothes are almost identical in terms of colour, the forms of clothing (from jumpers to cardigans) differ from performer to performer; and 2) the performers directly compare themselves to others, whether this be Ruth’s aforementioned speech, or Marta (Šleiere) noting that she cannot fold the paper aeroplanes like the others are doing, because she has forgotten how, and asking for Daz’s support. This theme of comparison forces us to home in on the individual performers and to cross-reference them and their activities, and this intensifies differing performance styles that I feel confuse the reading and meaning of this performance. Šleiere is clearly more accustomed to character-based work than the others, as a certain “theatrical” profile and overexpressivity creep into her performance persistently. Her movements are emphasised, dramatic, forceful. This is then contrasted with Mestel’s almost lethargic performance. She is slower, not as invigorated; her movements are understated and lack the impetus of her counterpart performers; her delivery is stunted, lacking. It is clear to me that these distinctly different performance styles are not deliberate but unconscious and automatic, and this should be urgently addressed. There is also another theme, one of childhood. Perhaps conceiver/director Jana Aizupe’s line of work was related to work in schools or with children — I cannot be sure — but what significance in this performance that this theme beyond perhaps this is debatable. From dance routines to deliberate and careless mess-making, to eating sugar doughnuts and Hubba Bubba bubblegum, to Martha’s (Harrison) caricatural and childish profile that she extremifies towards the end of the performance, to incessant winging and, of course, the act of making the paper aeroplanes, the references to “childish activity” are constant. But childhood and childish activity seem to constitute merely a means of accessing and depicting the more important and more relevant themes I have enumerated above; they have very little to do with the performance themselves and allow for a confused and irrelevant subtext that communicates not just social pressure but inclusion, the unsocialised, the yet-to-be-institutionalised, inarticulacy, learning and egotism. This ought to be readdressed. Whilst I cannot comment conclusively upon set design, as the creatives were not able to secure the set they wanted on the night I saw this performance, I will say that a blank-canvas stage with a neutral back wall certainly sounds like an effective decision. It complements well the nature of this performance, concentrating our attention towards the bright-clothed ‘struggling’ bodies of the performers, the fundamental aspect of this work. However, theatrical properties, as wonderful an aesthetic these produce altogether and a function these have, are ill-handled by the performers. Throughout, I had a certain fear that the performers would slide upon the mess of spilt water and soggy, slippery sheets of paper and fall to the ground. And this fear was not one that had been invoked deliberately, an artistic one, one born of a great yet manufactured sense of danger caused by the products of their labour; it was merely a significant tripping hazard, one for which the performers had clearly not prepared, managing to steady themselves when almost slipping but still slipping involuntarily, nevertheless. Furthermore, objects like sheets of paper, or the bubble gum cases specifically, regularly fly towards the audience uncontrollably. These elements communicate that the performers have no profound awareness of the space, its topography and the items within it, and of their corporeal relation to these. Further training must be done to ensure this awareness is sharp and profound. Performers should not merely be going through the motions of the work as in rehearsal but experiencing and conscious of the work in its entirety at the time of performance. Overall, this performance falls away from the majority of its aims, and there is a clear lack of understanding on the creatives’ part as to what their work is actually doing, as opposed to what they intend it to do. There is a misalignment of meaning and purpose in this way. However, for what this performance is, and for the manner in which it is delivered, 1001 is most articulate and coherent. Performers, for the most part, are dedicated and confident. I would just recommend that all performance styles are made to be a great deal more relatable, and that creatives differentiate for themselves that which informs the creation of a work, i.e. what inspires it, from what the finished work actually signifies alone. “A good and rich performance but shaky in the conception and communication of its aims.”