​Beautiful is a jukebox biomusical: from Brooklyn to 1650 Broadway to Billboard, it charts the charming Carole King’s musical, and romantic, relationships and eventual meteoric rise to fame after finally finding her voice.
 
The musical is less about King’s life than it is her music and lyrics, but so rich and so resonant are their sound that it’s a moving and lively listen in its own right. This tuneful Tapestry is complimented by a plot that revolves mostly around her creatively fruitful but romantically fruitless relationship with lyricist Gerry Goffin, although, as the tattered piano at the centre of the free-roving set proves, this is more about the music than its makers. 
 
Structurally, Act I acts like a ‘studio to stage’ recreation of King and Goffin’s greatest hits, with ‘Some Kind of Wonderful’ and ‘Will You Love Me Tomorrow’ taken from Carole’s characteristically genuine keys and given to musical giants like the Drifters – expertly captured by Khalid Daley, Simeon Montague, Matthew Elliot-Campbell, and Matt Mills – and the Shirelles. Hearing Carole’s heartfelt compositions first played at the piano transform into hearty performances that pay homage to the sound of the sixties is not always harmonious, but in Act II, once it’s Carole’s sound at the centre, the effect is symphonic. Her farewell to friends and fellow songwriters Cynthia Weil and Barry Mann – also lovers, these musical marriages were fertile for love and well as lyrics – is an affecting performance of ‘You’ve Got a Friend’, and the song ‘You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman’, though written with Gerry and worried for what it might make her feel many years later, is infinitely powerful when sung solo in the studio.
 
As Carole, Bronté Barbé is adorably dorky and endlessly endearing, wonderfully capturing King’s distinct voice without detracting from an accomplished musical and dramatic performance. The framing device, with Carole at Carnegie Hall, is a clever way to feel like one of her adoring fans, and come her performance of ‘Beautiful’ at the end, if you weren’t a fab before, you will be when you leave. Kane Oliver Parry is a contemplative but volatile Gerry, although Beautiful’s book does little to really develop the relationship between him and Bronté’s Carole; that development seems to be bestowed upon their rivals, with Amy Ellen Richardson and Matthew Gonsalves both charming and comedic as Cynthia and Barry, as well as delivering top-drawer vocal performances.
 
The Carole King Musical is Beautiful: the songs are achingly affecting, the acting is charming, and the visuals are vibrant and evocative, but, as King’s solo music evidences, her vocals and the ivories are where the real beauty lies.  

The Space has made its name producing poignant political drama and The Sleeper is no exception from that. A young woman travelling on a train alone finds a pair of eyes in her bunk bed. At first, she is scared but once she realises whom those eyes belong to, she is determined to help. A woman not unlike herself, travelling alone, but this one is undocumented.

The Sleeper explores the refugee crisis from the point of view of three characters, setting up different scenarios to solve the issue at hand until they realise that they can’t, this is bigger than them and one refugee is not like the other, solving the woman’s problem will hardly be anything more than a drop in the ocean. The playwright uses the irregular narrative to provoke discussion in the audience and ask potent questions that require more than a simple answer. The dialogue is clear and sprinkled sporadically with comedic relief, expertly delivered by Joshua Jacob and Michelle Farenheim whilst Sarah Agha provides a dynamic balance with her strong but mostly silent performance.

The set design by Jasmine Swan is appropriate for the piece, in a clean Brechtian style but both the set and the staging could do with better use of levels as I struggled to see some of the action. Either that or booster seats for the people in the back. The Sleeper is an interesting piece with an important message but it lacks an edge to it. A strong start but could use some further development. ​

Written by @lattelepjandi

​Neil Gaiman’s 2002 children’s story Coraline has had many adaptations over the years, the most notable being Henry Selick’s 2009 stop motion animation film. The Royal Opera’s Coraline is a family friendly adaptation following the fiercely brave 11 year old girl Coraline, who finds a curious doorway in her new home that leads to a parallel universe. Here her ‘Other Mother’ and ‘Other Father’ lull her into a false sense of security with promises of delicious food and endless playtime, but if she wants to stay forever, she’ll have to sew buttons onto her eyes just like them. Unsure about this disturbing caveat, Coraline returns home to find her parents stuck inside a snow globe and undertakes a bold and daring plan to set them free.

Composed by Mark Anthony Turnage, the score is suitably eerie and sparse creating a disjointed and unstable world. However the consistent discord is, although fitting, not pleasing to endure and I was craving a melody by the interval. The occasional rhyming couplet from librettist Rory Mullarkey adds a welcome playfulness and reinforces the childlike spirit of the piece.
 
From watching the trailer you’d be forgiven for thinking this was an adult horror piece, but the bright and open set with warped perspectives is definitely strange but certainly not frightening. The soprano Mary Bevan plays a tenacious Coraline, and it’s her energy alone that drives the narrative at times. Kitty Whately is superb as ‘Mother/Other Mother’ and is truly quite terrifying towards the end. Alexander Robin Baker creates an endearing ‘Father/Other Father’ with his marvellously awkward dad dancing – any opera that can crow bar in Beyoncé’s ‘Single Ladies’ choreography gets a thumbs up from me. Coraline’s quirky and eccentric neighbours are wonderfully characterised and Dominic Sedgwick almost steals the show with his hippy ghost child from the seventies.
 
To use opera as a vehicle for this narrative is an interesting choice. As a sung through piece it creates a heightened and surreal quality that is directly complimentary to this extraordinary story. Yet I couldn’t help but feel that the very conventions of opera held back and suspended the narrative in places where it should be building and driving forward. As an introductory opera for children however, it does well balancing suspense and intrigue with silliness and fun.
 
Even after a few frights and jumps and a wandering severed hand, Coraline prevails as the triumphant heroine who realises she is capable of anything she sets her mind to, and that is surely an excellent Easter message for any family to take home.

Written by @SAnnakin99

The Sherman brothers are renowned for their musical contributions to film, most notably the wonderful Mary Poppins in 1964 and the magical Chitty Chitty Bang Bang in 1968. With Roberts catchy chord progressions and Richards unforgettable lyrics, they are responsible for more musical song scores than any other songwriting team in film history. However, ‘A Spoonful Of Sherman’, celebrates the entire Sherman family’s musical history, from their father Al Sherman, down to Roberts son, Robert J Sherman, who is to thank for this breath of fresh air musical. The audience are greeted with a homely rustic apartment setting complete with two upright pianos, a lovely lit stage with the apartment windows acting as cycloramas which add a greatly appreciated effect.

The talented cast appear for a stunning first act, singing a Capella one liners from an array of the Sherman family’s familiar hits, arranged by Rowland Lee who uses the typically tasty chordal singing of that era to his advantage. Throughout a well paced act one, we not only hear the songs which made our childhoods a happy one, but songs which we may not have realised the brothers had written, such as the melodic ‘You’re sixteen’, written in 1956 but mostly and remembered for being a number one hit by the recently knighted Ringo Starr in 1973.

Sophie-Louise Dann and Glen Facey play a variety of characters throughout the Sherman’s lives and have incredible fun showcasing their flair on such songs as ‘I wanna be like you (oo oo!)’, from the Jungle Book and ‘the Age Of Not Believing’, From Bed-knobs and Broomsticks. Among a fantastic five person cast is the gorgeous Jenna Innes who, knowing she is a graduate of the hugely talented MTA, lives up to expectations and does not disappoint with beautiful renditions of ‘There’s a Harbour Of Dreamboats’, and ‘Doll on a Music Box’.

Mark Read from the popular nineties boy band A1 and Ben Stocks play the instrumentalists, taking turns at tinkling the ivories and utilising the ukulele in those classic Jungle Book hits. Subtle but effective choreography from Stuart Nicholls who also directs the show, uses clever directional decisions which compliment specific songs. It is clear the whole team has accomplished what was set out to be achieved and the piece as a whole really did pay tribute to the wonderful Sherman family who sometimes go unnoticed with their genius. To quote Al Sherman when talking about what a song should be, this show is ‘singable, sellable and sincere’.

Written by @AlexGrainger07

‘You wanna shoot a president?’ Well here are 9 people who evidently want to. Over the last 152 years 9 people have attempted to assassinate 8 presidents, 4 succeeded. The musical is classic Stephen Sondheim; dark, bold and extremely funny. The cast deal well with the words, though there are some tuning issues. The show is plagued with technical issues, including a dodgy stage revolve, strange lighting states and popping mics. The cast deal well with all of the problems, though there does seem to be a lack of energy at the beginning and towards the end. The show really gets going during How I Saved Roosevelt.
 
As a rule the whole cast are stronger together, creating a strong, solid sound. They are led remarkably by the stellar Jordan Clarke (Musical Director) and his perfectly in sync band. There are some stand out performances. Abigail Williams as Sara Jane Moore is eye-catching. She steals scenes and pulls laughs from the smallest movement. Her voice is excellent. Andrew Pepper as Charles Guiteau is another. Pepper is all limbs and beard. His comic timing is excellent and The Ballad Of Guiteau is a particular favourite with the audience.
 
The main space at The Pleasance is a difficult one. The wing space is small, meaning the audience one more than one occasion catch a glance of the actors being actors and not their characters. It’s clear this is a space originally built for comedy and smaller groups on stage. The team of Assassins navigate the space well, and manage to interact and include the audience despite how far back the auditorium seems to feel.
 
Despite the technical issues, this is genuinely a very enjoyable evening. Although an interval would have been welcome, the story carries us through and manages to keep us interested. Slow to get started, the cast of Assassins won me round working well as an ensemble. It’s an excellent choice for Sevans Productions debut, particularly relevant in these difficult political times. ​A solid debut from Sevans Productions, Assassins is entertaining, if overly long. There are some stand-out performances, yet the production as a whole requires a little tightening. ​

​Written by @EmJKerr

Mountains, directed by Jennifer Tang, is a breathtaking evocative new play. The story follows Helen, a young girl who has grown up in the UK and has always felt like a part of her story is missing. Amongst the bustling streets of Hong Kong, she meets her grandmother and steps into a past of shocking family secretes that will change her life forever. The time travel theme to this story is precious, we appreciate the relationship between the granddaughter and grandmother as they are appreciating each other.

Set in the studio space at the Royal Exchange Theatre, the space is intimate. The audience is small and we feel part of the action. The set is largely static yet has movable parts which works well for the many scene changes. Accompanied by physical theatre, sensory elements and loud music, we see bold and brass images which help to move us and the characters from scene to scene. The naturalistic dialogue blended with the abstract and surreal movements from the ensemble characters carry impact and are complimented perfectly with the artistic music choices. One stand out moment is a torture scene, which is visually heart wrenching and verbally distressing. We are so close to the horrifying, brutal images of a girl in despair and yet so powerless in the need to want to help. A breathless moment.

The entire cast is strong and each performer brings something different to the play. A special mention must be made to Ruth Gibson whose characters Miss Woodman and Miss Price are a wanted presence on stage. Her comedy timing is pure and these moments are a breath of fresh air against the darker, tenser moments. The balance is on point. Moments of song, and real cooking gives the play a quirky edge. The play is clever and oozes passion. The visual elements are outstanding and give a dreamy, intense and beautiful atmosphere. 

Written by @BeccaPhillipson

The smell of freshly baked pies and the natter of pals out for a spot of lunchtime theatre is always a joy to be a part of. For those of you who aren’t familiar with it I am of course talking about A Play, a Pie and a Pint founded by David Maclennan and supported by the National Theatre of Scotland. This gem of a theatre initiative which takes place at lunchtimes across Scotland runs for over 40 weeks of the year and is a celebrated space for new writing and new talent. Known for showcasing fabulous theatre this production was no exception.

We are welcomed by what appears to be a member of the event staff doing housekeeping with us. But it soon transpires that he is in fact one of the performers and encourages us tenfold to hurl abuse and throw things at the performers about the enter the stage, the reason behind which becomes quickly apparent. In jaunts our writer and actor Gary McNair who introduces us to the worst Poet in Scottish History, William Topaz McGonagall.

Accompanied by two talented musicians, gifted story teller and clown McNair, leads us through the life of this Pierrot-esque Poet, the son of two immigrant Irish weavers who at the age of 52 decides to pursue the life of a Poet. The ill-fated artists ridicule from the local papers and battles with Dundonian mobs are brought to life in front of us by the help of actor-muso Brian James O’Sullivan who plays all the other characters (by switching hats, naturally). Introductions and a good auld sing song later McNair transforms into McGonagall, with the help of some basic costume, and what follows is an hour of delightful Scottish humour, tear-jerking tales, and subtle but effective background music. It is a charming show, told with hilarity and sensitivity.


McNair speaks the whole show in rhyme, making it one giant poem, which in itself leads to some comical moments, most of which involve rhyming funny words together (or purposefully not rhyming at all). McGonagall himself is hysterically tragic as he seems to exhibit no acknowledgement of, or concern for his peers’ opinions of his work and keeps marching on despite the obvious mockery he faces. This was recreated at one moment in the show where the front row had bowls of lettuce to chuck onto the stage. As much as we laugh with McNair we feel sorrow for this misunderstood man, who just wanted to write poetry, and change the ending of Macbeth.


If the show was lacking one thing, it was another song (or two) and not that it detracted from the overall merit of the show but the set design lacked imagination and finesse. The moral of the story seems to be... Art is subjective, but that never means we shouldn't give recognition to the hard work and vulnerability it takes artists to produce work and to present it to their peers.

​Written by @lucy_newbery

Spada Productions re-imagines Julius Caesar and promises to be 'bold' and 'daring', and to an extent, it is. Just probably not in the way intended. When performing a Shakespeare play for a contemporary audience, I feel the piece must have a strong sense of place and time. There are endless re-imaginings of all of Shakespeare's plays happening all over the world, and if the majority of them are loosely set in a dystopian future (such as this one), then how are audiences expected to be gripped or excited? 

The strength of the piece lies within its females. Kerry Fitzgerald is strong and striking as Mark Anthony and engages ferociously with the text. The same can be said for Brendee Green and her sincere and emotional portrayal of Portia. Both performers are grounded and give depth and intelligibility to their characters. Cassius, played by Mitch Howell is a strange sexual creature (identical to Petyr from What We Do In The Shadows)​. Howell gives maximum energy to the text and his characterisation throughout. Viking-like Matt Daniels provides a boyish Brutus, and is a strong performer when he is focused. 

Directed by William Vercelli, the most bizarre element of this production has to be the nudity. It seems so unnecessary in almost every place it is used and is worryingly leaving all actors involved in a vulnerable state. Surely we shouldn't be holding back laughter each time Caesar enters the stage with angel wings in-tow. There are far better ways to convey a passionate scene between two characters without them having to completely get their kit off and pose in awkward sexual tableaux's to some downright awful and cheesy music. Ten gold stars for bravery, but it seems the nudity has been plonked into this piece for effect. Sadly, despite some excellent performances, the play is trampled on by awkward direction.

Written by @_FayeButler

Matthew Bourne, master of the classical ballet reimagining, has an absolute ball with Cinderella. The archetypal rags-to-riches tale is richly and wittily transformed into a wartime romance with Prokofiev’s euphonious score, Lez Brotherston’s beautiful forties-feeling costumes and cinematic sets, and choreography that captures the glitz, glamour, and gloom of a Blitz-bound fairy tale. 
 
The charm of this Cinderella is in the transformation: an unloved Cinders is whisked away to a ball, but it’s in a rocking café, not a royal castle, underneath the war-torn streets of a bombed-out London, and it’s a pilot, not a prince, she falls in love with. At the ball they dance jazz and jitterbugs as well as waltz, and it’s a fairy godfather in a white silk suit that whisks Cinderella away in a sidecar. As Cinderella, Ashley Shaw’s playful pas de deux with a dummy – in place of dancing with her broom in the ballet – is delightful, and her dream, and dummy, blossom into life as Dominic North’s dashing pilot in an inspired act to introduce the prince before the ball.

The setting for the ball is based on a real-life cabaret bombing during the Blitz, each act prefaced by Pathé projections with real images of air raids, and the drama of Bourne’s Cinderella makes the stakes much higher than being home before the clock strikes twelve: Lez Brotherston’s ballroom – or cabaret bar – is obliterated by bombs at the beginning of Act II, but Liam Mower’s light-footed fairy godfather breathes life back into it. With Britain’s darkest hour as the backdrop, Matthew Bourne’s Cinderella is dark and dramatic as well as dreamlike, with Cinders and her pilot prince’s pas de deux in his lodgings, beautifully lit by Neil Austin’s design, a tender tumult of lifts and embraces imbued with so much more lust and longing because of the doom that may await them.
 
Other than the incomparable direction and design, the dramatic accomplishments of Cinderella are in the performances of New Adventures’ dance-actors: each character, from Andrew Monaghan’s boyfriend-fancying, bum-fondling brother to Dan Wright’s gawky, glasses-wearing geek with a foot-fetish, is well-developed and wonderfully funny. Madelaine Brennan’s evil stepmother Sybil is deliciously devious with enviable extensions, Will Bozier and Edwin Ray’s high-flying heroes fly high, and Liam Mower’s fairy godfather’s leaps and lines are exceptional, but all dancers are on fine form. Ashley Shaw and Dominic North are a perfect pair as Cinders and her pilot prince, with their pas de deux passionate and playful and effortlessly performed. 
  
Underscored by Prokofiev’s magical and melancholy music, Matthew Bourne’s Cinderella mixes the magic of the fairy tale and the dramatic milieu of wartime Britain perfectly in a delicately funny, deeply touching, and endearingly danced production: Cinderella shall go to the ball, even in the Blitz.

Written by @_leahtozer

The Blind Truth, written and directed by Annie Mwampulo, is part of the Lyric Evolution 2018, a four day festival celebrating the work of young London based artists. Set in a dystopian world, a group of survivors explore the inequality and injustice of society. The piece is immediately sizzling with life and feels Gothic and macabre, with a classical text interspersed with contemporary dialogue.

The Instrumentalists (Jodie Davey, Max Kinder, Kaz Costello and Elizabeth Hollingshead) work with a focused intensity creating visceral soundscapes, complete with eerie rattlesnakes and haunting singing. With Music Direction from Elizabeth Hollingshead, they produce brilliant original music and become a solid part of the story, often yielding their instruments like weapons. The beautiful stark physical imagery is greatly assisted by simple and clever lighting choices. The performers are consistently forming interesting shapes, using height and strong diagonals. The animalistic ensemble genuinely enjoy being on stage with one another and find a great playfulness in their scenes, with each character finding their own pace, from the fierce and punchy Deja Bowens to the mellow and sincere Shayde Sinclair.

Despite the intimacy of the Lyrics Studio, vocal projection at times is an issue. A particularly strong climax is the 'I see coal' section, Nasa Ohalete attacks the poetry of the scene with raw emotion, almost bursting at the seams. These actors don't do anything half measure. Each breath is expelled with vigour. They are far from tame. The piece is a patchwork of excellent ideas and is not whole, but it's certainly wholesome.

​Written by @_FayeButler

‘Something tells me something’s gonna happen tonight’, sings Cilla at the show’s finale, and at the Hippodrome, after a lighting fault and show-halt as two in the audience were taken ill, it’s a line that suddenly felt very close to home. Once resumed, the songs and spirit of Cilla save the evening, but oversimplify the story of a star that deserves so much more. 
 
Based on the TV series, Cilla is a celebration of Cilla Black. Set in, and with a soundtrack from, the sixties, it follows the teenage Priscilla White’s transformation into the chart-topping Cilla Black with a touching tribute to her talent and charm. Kara Lily Hayworth is warm and witty as the Liverpudlian lovely, and her performances of the Cilla classics ‘Anyone Who Had a Heart’, ‘Alfie’, and ‘Something Tells Me’ are perfectly poised between powerful performance and heartfelt homage.
 
Though it works for Cilla, elsewhere the impressive musical performances feel more like tribute acts and cameos than fully-formed characters in a well-plotted chronicle. With actor-musicians performing on a moving platform as part of Gary McCann’s simple but effective set – which, with brightly-coloured lights, chimneys and a couch transforms effortlessly from the infamous Liverpool Cavern Club to Abbey Road to the BBC – the action seems to intersperse the songs, rather than the songs complimenting the action. As such, though boldly sung and ably embodied by Bill Caple, Joshua Gannon, Michael Hawkins, and Alex Harford, The Beatles are just jukebox boys, although, Gannon’s McCartney playing his guitar left-handed is a great little homage to the man himself.
 
The script, while accomplished on screen, seems to criminally underuse its actors onstage. Carl Au’s Bobby – whose assured singing voice is shied away like his love – is a brilliant semblance of someone in the shadows, his relationship with Cilla loving and loyal and blossoming slowly, but isn’t allowed to really shine in his own right. As the troubled talent executive and Beatles boss Brian Epstein, Andrew Lancel laces his turn with sensitivity, but the first act fails to develop him and allow his death in the second act to really land with the sorrow it deserves. The most memorable performances are from the families of the famous, with Tom Christian’s Kenny a wisecracking, piss-taking brother to Bobby, and Neil MacDonald and Pauline Fleming wonderful as Mr and Mrs White, Cilla’s proud and protective parents.
 
There’s a lorra lorra love in this celebration of Cilla Black’s life and loves, a lot of lovingly sung songs, and a little bit of laughter, but the balance between tribute and bold entertainment isn’t in equilibrium: something tells me there’s something more here for Cilla. 

​Written by @LeahTozer

‘How much these walls have seen,’ muses the lady Lyuba in a fond but forlorn farewell to her family home; and, as her hand touches the gorgeous green and gilded walls of the Old Vic, her words touch our hearts, too. The Cherry Orchard, Chekhov’s so-called comedy about social change in turn-of-the-century Russia following the serf reform, seems cherry-picked for Bristol Old Vic at this time of redevelopment, in their very own Year of Change. 
 
Tom Piper’s invigorating set envelops the Old Vic into the estate that’s up for sale: the architecture is the orchard, we the trees, and, with an audience also onstage in an uncanny recreation of the auditorium, the action plays out in-the-round and uses every inch of the space, from the stairs up to the pit to the passages behind the stalls. As such, we are in the estate: drawn into the drawing room discussions, privy to the privileges – or prejudices – of the occupants, and, occasionally, the only witnesses other than the walls themselves. Yet, we never feel part of the furniture, but as one of the family, although which side you’d fight for – the fallen aristocracy or the striving former serfs – is up to you, or, perhaps more pertinently, your own privileges and point of view.
 
The Cherry Orchard is no cherry bomb – the pace, especially in the second act, is slow and spun out – but it does blossom under director Michel Boyd. There’s a lounging languor, an idleness, to the action that dislocates the aristocratic estate from the industrial Lopakhin and his desire to purchase the orchard, as demonstrated by his constant checking of his pocket-watch. And, this also pushes him further from Lyuba, who drags out her farewell in a painful, powerful show of letting go of an idealised past to move towards the fairer future that Lopakhin and his fellow former serfs have been waiting for.
 
Jude Owusu’s Lopakhin may be ruthless, but there’s a sense that what he really wants isn’t the estate, but respect: his speech after purchasing the orchard descends from a drunk, audacious display into something much darker, charging the audience as he does the aristocrats with the line ‘don’t laugh at me!’. The casting of actors of colour as the former serfs and those in servitude against the white aristocrats can’t be a coincidence, and the use of the word ‘slaves’ in Rory Mullarkey’s otherwise wit-filled translation works, weighting the play in a present still plagued by similar oppositions to Chekhov’s characters. At the other end of the class spectrum is Kirsty Bushell’s Lyuba, whose performance is impressive in keeping an endearing naivety to her denial, a blindness to the benefits that her position befits, and a playfulness to her frivolity, and performances across the piece are just as nuanced. Each captures that balance between comedy and tragedy that so infuses Chekhov’s work, and in doing so creates a whole orchard of characters that enrich and enrage in equal measure.
 
The walls of Bristol Old Vic have seen change, but they’ve also seen magic and mischief and some truly meaningful moments: if The Cherry Orchard is a mark of things to come in this Year of Change, then there’s so much more to see. 

Written by @_leahtozer

In the cosy Changing House of the Tron theatre, as the audience assembles we are gently coaxed out of the modern theatre go-er mindset and into that of workshop participants/ viewers. Here not to see a piece of theatre, but to bear witness to a well renowned theatre practitioner impart his knowledge unto others. ‘How to Act’, written and directed by Graham Eatough is a modern day Greek Tragedy where our ethical dilemma centres around the question of truth. Two versions of one story, are both true? Or as valid as each other? Who is right and who is wrong?

The fourth wall is immediately broken as our workshop participant Promise, played by Jade Ogugua, welcomes us to this masterclass and introduces our mentor, the well travelled and respected Anthony Nicholl, played by Robert Goodale, who’s antics cause anxious giggling as he requests to borrow audience members shoes. What follows is a series of exercises, which most actors who have partaken in some form of training will recognise, in order to help Promise discover her ability to portray ‘truth’ when acting (a very common concern amongst actors). As the story continues the facts about the difficulties faced by many Nigerians living in the Delta come to light and we see how the disparities in wealth and power between the west and Nigeria lead to the destruction of the land and income, as well as Promise’s personal disgust after loosing her mother and knowing that her biological father could have supported them if he’d stuck around.
​
‘How to Act’ is an expression of the importance of art and theatre to tell stories, create empathy and understanding. But also the futility of it. Once the damage is done there may be no more we can do, except to tell the stories and hope that those who watch it will not make the same mistakes. The show ended with a round of applause, an appropriate gesture after all the hard work which had gone into the preparation and performance, however it could have been a more powerful ending had they simply left for we suddenly became an audience observing a drama, all moral obligations wiped aside, as opposed to a jury being asked to question and judge what was presented before us.

Written by @Lucy_Newbery

​Circle Mirror Transformation, directed by Bijan Sheibani, is a soft portrayal of human interactions. It is a play about beginnings and endings, with the underlining thought that endings are also beginnings if you choose to withstand them.
We are in a community centre and it feels realistic. Facing the audience is a mirrored wall where we can see our reflections, a door in the middle becomes a focal point within the play where characters enter and exit from. Followed by a changing room section to the left and simple props dotted around to give a natural feel. The set is static which becomes comforting to the spectator. We know the space, it feels like home. It is here at the community centre that we are introduced to the five main characters, who all come together once a week for a drama class. The structure of these drama classes helps us to delve deeper into the characters past, present and future lives. Although at times it is confusing to remember which character is who (I had to refer back to my programme).

The dialogue writer Annie Baker uses within the play is hyper-naturalism combined with long silences which create a beautiful bleak representation of human relationships. A comedic play which focuses purely on the acting of the actors. The only music and lighting element is during very smooth scene transitions where we are brought to almost blackout, and a simple sound effect which accompanies this. The subtle change of the clock every time a new scene happens is also a nice touch, assisting in moving the play forward. A refreshing play where we appreciate every word and action that happens, because we are allowed to dwell on them. The actors commit to the sometimes over dramatic moments allowing outbursts of laughter from the spectator. Actor Con O’Neill is fantastic, he is a wanted presence on stage and his comedy timing is on point. What sometimes feels like a slow pace scene is brought to life with a simple word or look from his character Schulz.

A short, simple and snappy play which brings the normality and stillness of everyday life to stage. A very enjoyable and worth while play.

​Written by @BeccaPhillipson

‘What gives a girl power and punch? Is it charm? Is it poise? No, it’s hairspray!’ This Hairspray has plenty of punch from its performances, but is light on the power and poise and falls, well, a little flat.
 
Tracy Turnblad is a ‘big’ girl with some big dreams – to dance, and get out of detention – and her gritty, if ditsy, determination to do so is set against the backdrop of segregation and discrimination in sixties Baltimore. Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman’s score has moments of luminous amusement, from the shouts and shakes of showstopper ‘Run and Tell That’, to the body-and-black-positive belter ‘Big, Blonde, and Beautiful’, to the bold exuberance of the show’s close, ‘You Can’t Stop the Beat’. All this is fun, but the musical force is in its protest anthem, ‘I Know Where I’ve Been’, that reflects its politics, and it’s a powerhouse performance from Brenda Edwards’s respected, motherly Motormouth Maybelle that ends triumphantly with all hand-in-hand.
 
Yet, the force of Hairspray is blunted by its own flashy brashness, and the focus feels as though it’s on all the wrong colours: the bright, bubblegum ball-gowns and garish, gaudy lighting obscure the heart ofHairspray and its historical background. Whilst there’s colour in the cast and costumes and musical score – with tastes of Motown and rhythm and blues – there’s also ‘colour’ in the script, and it’s uncomfortable to see that the show has kept its slurs while eschewing any real reflection on their use. If Hairspray were a more politically centred period piece, the ‘realism’ of racial slurs may have a place here, but it doesn’t ever take itself that seriously, and as such, their presence earns little redemption even with segregation seemingly resolved.
 
Despite what may be lacking in design or direction, the dancing, with dynamic and damn cool choreography from Drew McOnie, and dancers lift the production, with Layton Williams’s Seaweed singing, spinning, and springing into the spotlight from a solid company. Elsewhere, his love, Annalise Liard-Bailey is a perfectly perky Penny Pingleton, the strong and soulful Dynamites, Emily-Mae, Melissa Nettleford, and Lauren Concannon, shine bright, and Rebecca Mendoza makes a zingy leading lady as Tracy Turnblad. Mr and Mrs Turnblad’s ditty ‘You’re Timeless To Me’, with Matt Rixon, as is tradition, in drag as Tracy’s mother and Norman Pace a diminutive but doting husband, is hilarious if only because it goes a little west, but they hold it together and earn a well-deserved hand for it.
 
Hairspray is fun, but it feels like it has so much more heart than that: perhaps some hairspray right at the roots would stop it falling flat.

Written by @_LeahTozer

‘Empathy functions even when there is conflict of interests between the fictitious universe and the actual one of the spectators. That is why there is censorship; to prevent an undesirable universe from being juxtaposed to the spectators’ universe.’ (Boal, 2000, p. 114)

The press erupts when middle aged leftie poet, Bev (Geraldine Somerville), includes the words Jew and Nazi in the same verse of her new poem 'Checkpoint Chana'. Bev's young personal assistant, Tamsin (Ulrika Krishnamurti), is much more adept to today's politically correct world and attempts to heal the wound the controversy has left upon Bev's reputation, but unfortunately with family turmoil and a penchant for white wine, Bev's world unravels at an alarming rate. Krishnamurti attacks the text with energy and vigour, but struggles to find variance in the pace of her uptight character.

The space is scattered with books old and new, with Rupi Kaur's Etsy-esque Milk and Honey tossed in with old-timer Yeats. Somerville's performance is sincere and captivating, particularly in the second half once she has relaxed into the text. Written by Jeff Page, the text uses many one word sentences, which with direction from Manuel Bau, often feel unnatural. Peaks within the writing include a monologue performed by journalist David, Matt Mella, about the hardship of being a Jewish boy in London, and the actual poem 'Checkpoint Chana' itself, which is wonderfully articulate.

The reggae-induced scene changes are a welcomed change in pace, despite the jarring transitional lighting blackouts. Stage Manager Michael (Nathaniel Wade) brings a youthful and honest energy to his scenes, and cleverly finds the humour within the text. Despite this, the dialogue-heavy scenes stretch out without much sense of theatrical style. Checkpoint Chana is a politically relevant piece of theatre with some emotionally engaging performances.

Written by @_FayeButler

In the long, thin space of the Gate Theatre, director and performer Jude Christian softly narrates Falk Richter and Maja Zade's political text 'Trust'. Mic in hand, she tells the story of several people and their complex relationships, interspersed with quips regarding 'the tyranny capitalism'. The art installation/play is messily episodic, and quickly moves on to new scenes in seemingly different styles. Actors Pia Laborde Noguez and Zephryn Taitte perform the text almost as if in a cheap Italian drama, all outward physical expression and large gestures. Pia Laborde Noguez relaxes into this style relatively well, and brims with energy throughout. The piece discusses the wonderful and exhausting to-ing and fro-ing of the ever-changing mind, and questions whether any choices we make within our lives could ever change anything on a larger scale. 

Points of enjoyment most definitely come from the witty audience interaction. We learn Mandarin and eat mints and the actors relax, and it feels on the edge of an immersive experience. Much like the tips of my freezing fingertips in snowy Notting Hill, I gradually warm to the experimental style of the piece. With dialogue on mania and depression, the piece follows suit and descends into madness, just a little too slowly. The style heightens and the set itself becomes busy and bustling with life, with endless backdrops and rice crispies. Sadly, the long winded monologues trample over the humorous, fast paced moments.  For the duration I'm unsure if I'm simply missing something, or if the direction is just odd and repetitive. Call me a millennial, but frankly I was bored. - @_FayeButler

​It feels odd for the band to perform covers during their album launch, and although familiarity assists in engaging the audience quickly, it then gives one chance to compare (especially when covering the mighty Fleetwood Mac). 'You're My Man' is sung by shy keys player Debs Marx, whose mild tones feel whimsical and breathy, much like popular eighties singers. Her vocals are much more suited to providing back up, which does leave an empty space front and centre for a charismatic frontwoman/man. The band thrive with their easy going tracks with a slow and certain Ska-like pace, and they excellently reclaim the magic of 60's and 70's pop/rock with their breezy, joyful music. - @_Faye Butler
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