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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.”

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.”

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.”

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.”