REVIEW! Canary by Fun In The Oven @ Circomedia, Bristol

Director & Dramaturg: Andrea Jiménez
Movement Director: Noemi Fernández
Cast: Katie Tranter, Robyn Hambrook, Alys North
Next Show: 30th Nov 2018 (Newcastle)

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The three Canary Girls receiving their beloved letters. Photo Credit: Chris Bishop

I watched Canary at the UK’s largest circus centre; Ciromedia, in the heart of Bristol, and what a magnificent stage for an energetic company like ‘Fun in the Oven’ to perform on. There was an abundance of space but every inch was kept alive throughout by the capable performers, the genius comedy, and the representation of such a strong topic.

This topic being WW1’s Canary Girls (don’t worry, no one watching knew of them either!), thousands of courageous British women doing more than just ‘their bit for the war effort’. Due to the lack of men, these ‘unsung war heroes’ were assembling TNT bombs everyday in factories; extremely dangerous work which gave them a number of health issues… one of which turned their skin yellow! (hence the makeup choice in Canary). 

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Playing ‘Truth or dare’. Photo Credit: Chris Bishop

Whilst addressing this unique gem of history the talented cast showed us the life of three workers; confident supervisor Agnes, naive football lover Betty, and a slightly older upper class volunteer called Anne. After a quick clip of footage displaying some overly happy WW1 propaganda, Fun in the Oven takes hold our emotions, making us laugh, cry and in awe of their slick physically and strong ensemble. This was particularly prominent when they demonstrated how the women assemble the bombs, taking us through a conveyor belt of movements with a brilliant cheery voice over (by Lawrence Neale) encouraging them along.

After an air raid hits the factory we watch as their friendship blossoms even further and their hopes and fears unravel. We laughed through familiar games of truth or dare, secrets being shared, and were shocked by harsh realities. Although the most hard hitting moments were always cleverly uplifted with comedy, and superbly executed.

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Preparing to leave each other and return to their homes after the war ended. Photo Credit: Chris Bishop

One of the highlights of this performance (pardon the pun) was when the girls ate cordite. This is a dangerous explosive used for ammunition, but also gave the girls a buzz which made them work faster and let off some steam. This sequence of crazy facial expressions and comedy madness allowed for their characteristics to explode (I’ll stop with the puns) and was extremely well received by the audience. It also lead us through an emotional discovery of how the women perceived themselves within society and hierarchy during the early 1900’s.

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After taking Cordite… Photo Credit: Chris Bishop

Canary is a strong piece of physical theatre addressing and remembering these female heroes of Britain (and rightly so). You will not be able to take your eyes off these three talented performers, and you will certainly leave with your eyes open to a wonderful snippet of history and your cheeks aching from all the laughter. It would be utterly mad not to grab a ticket to this show!

Follow the link for more info: http://www.funintheoventheatre.com/

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REVIEW! A Dog’s Heart, Xameleon Theatre @ Theatre 21

Based on the novel by Mikhail Bulgakov
Director: Konstantin Kamensky
Producer: Vlada Lemeshevska
Cast: Oleg Sidorchik, Sergey Kotukh, Alexey Averkin, Eimas Minkelis, Vlada Lemeshevska
22 – 24 November 2018

Bulgakov’s satirical novel was, like much of his work, banned in Soviet Russia for over sixty years. The plot, somewhere between Frankenstein and Animal Farm, centers around a successful surgeon experimenting with eugenics by transplanting animal organs into humans, to create a peak human at peak health.

The opening of the book and the play is a far cry from these lofty ideals: an injured, desperate dog foraging through trash in the middle of winter. The dog is played with exceptional empathy and physicality by Sergey Kotukh. He’s not wearing any particular make up or costume but did make me forget, at times, that he was not a dog. He makes such a good dog, it’s even more painful to watch his slow transition into a terrible man.

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He is adopted, from the street, by the successful Professor Preobrazhensky (a name derived from the Russian word for transformation), who brings him back to his apartment and starts spoiling him. He gets a collar and is named Sharik – the Russian equivalent of Rex or Rover. He’s just becoming comfortable in his role as a gentleman’s dog when he’s sedated and operated on – the new subject of an experiment to see what happens when the pituitary gland and testicles of a man are transplanted into a dog.

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The Professor, Oleg Sidorchik, is as much a parody of the anti-communist bourgeois as the uncouth Sharik is a parody of the proletariat – there are no ethically sound characters or decisions in this show, only an uncomfortable black humour and dissection of class struggle. Is the issue with Sharik, who never asked for this? With the Professor, a stubborn, snobby nepotist who uses his connections to protect himself? With the fact that Sharik’s donor organs came from a criminal (who’s name may or may not have been a punning reference to Stalin)? How can we ask anyone to change their heart?

It’s a small, highly talented cast with excellent timing, performing in Russian. There are English surtitles, as you’ll often find in operas. It can be a little distracting to look back and forth – the action of the play moves faster, with more jokes than an opera. There are also multiple, mobile screens which partition the stage and have videos projected onto them. This worked extremely well in the first act, as a clever combination of live and recorded black and white video helped us understand the perspective of Sharik as he is adopted. These many projections became increasingly difficult to follow and focus on as the play progressed – I got the impression that the show had been designed for a differently shaped theatre entirely.

Despite the overuse of technology, the strength of the play is its cast. It’s a bleak story, distressingly relevant nearly one hundred years after it was written. It’s a funny, moving, thought-provoking play that’s well worth watching.

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Previous Review: How To Catch A Krampus by Sink the Pink @ Pleasance Theatre

REVIEW! How To Catch A Krampus, Sink the Pink @ Pleasance Theatre

Writer, Director, Designer: Ginger Johnson
Musical Direction: Sarah Bodalbhai
Produced by Glyn Fussell for Sink The Pink and Nic Connaughton for Pleasance
Featuring: Ginger Johnson, Lavinia Co-op, David Cumming, Mairi Houston, Mahatma Khandi, and Maxi More
13 Nov – 23 Dec 2018

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Ginger Johnson in How To Catch a Krampus. Images courtesy of Ali Wright

I was instantly drawn to this show when I read its title: the figure of the Krampus, a devilish Central European counterweight to Saint Nicholas, has always held a particular dark fascination to me. The image of a dark, cold, snowy land, inhabited by sinister figures and child-punishing monsters, forms the very antithesis to the jolly, magical, family-friendly wonderland which we in the West associate with Christmas. I was not disappointed by this production, which used exactly this creepy Gothic horror setting (kudos to sound and lighting designers, Alicia Jane Turner and Clancy Flynn) to tell a panto story that was both fabulously dark and silly – featuring history’s campest Krampus!

Ginger Johnson, a veteran London drag queen, wrote and stars in this story about a charlatan spirit medium who embarks on a quest to return a stolen child to his grieving and impoverished family. In the process, Ginger is forced to confront her own past and its associated demons – she may have lost her son to the Krampus, but she is the only person who can stop history from repeating itself. Along the way we meet a motley assortment of characters, encompassing a crew of highly comic Morris dancers, a coven of genuinely chilling demonic witches, an Italian opera diva and her questionable translator, an elderly prostitute with a colourful history, a Rocky Horror-esque German mad scientist, and many many more.

As you can probably imagine, many of these skits did not link up with each other in any sort of narrative sense, and at times this could be disorienting as your brain tried to fit together pieces drawn from different puzzles. However, all fit perfectly with theme of a deliciously dark and naughty Christmas panto, showcasing the performers’ skills at spoof and spook, dance and drama, slapstick and soprano. Musical highlights included:

  • 67-year-old Lavinia Co-op blending class and crass in a slowed-down parody of Rihanna’s S&M;
  • An all-cast a capella (I think?) and actually goosebump-raising rendition of MJ’s Thriller;
  • Dancing from Morris, Morris, Morris, Morris, Morris, and Susan;
  • A side-splittingly chaotic version of The Twelve Days of Christmas;
  • Houston sweetly singing Not While I’m Around from Sweeney Todd whilst attempting patricide;
  • Look, basically every other moment of the show…
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Lavinia Co-op and Mairi Houstin in How To Catch a Krampus. Images courtesy of Ali Wright

While each performer got their time in the spotlight, much of this show’s charm came from the chemistry between its characters. Mairi Houston as the token non-drag actor had a wonderful dynamic with Ginger Johnson, acting as a perfectly contrasting counterpart to the flamboyant larger-than-life queen. How To Catch A Krampus is bookended by comedic collaboration/confrontation between Ginger Johnson and David Cumming, whose relationship sparks with friction and hidden tensions – when they revealed the twist ending to the fable, the theatre erupted with shocked gasps.

A warning: this production is not for the faint-hearted, prudes, traditionalists, or children. Expect jump scares (the very first moment of the performance had me violently spilling my red wine over my neighbour’s yellow jacket, ooops), partial nudity, jokes about swords being semi-sexually inserted into various orifices, and all sorts of outrageous stunts. But a riot is rarely a safe event, and How To Catch A Krampus is certainly a riotously good time for the open-minded.

Tickets

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Previous review: Cuckoo by Lisa Carroll @ Soho Theatre

REVIEW! Cuckoo by Lisa Carroll @ Soho Theatre

Written by Lisa Carroll
Directed by Debbie Hannan
Produced by Sofi Berenger

Presented by Metal Rabbit Productions
13 November – 8 December 2018

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Elise Heaven and Caitriona Ennis as Pingu and Iona. Images courtesy of David Gill

Cuckoo is a new play from Irish playwright Lisa Carroll. It follows the story of Iona, a teen girl growing up in rural Ireland, and her best friend Pingu, who is non-binary, voluntarily mute, and sports a raggedy ensemble of hoodie, tuxedo, and lapel badges, which I found oddly appealing. The two are sick of being social outcasts in their little town, where poverty is rife, opportunities are few, and the teenagers are particularly vicious – so, they decide to buy one-way Ryanair tickets to London, where they can start afresh. When the local cool kids get wind of this plan via Iona’s social media broadcasts, she finds herself suddenly getting the attention she always craved – but how will this impact her plans to get out, and her relationship with Pingu? It’s a variation on the same teen drama premise that inspired Mean Girls and countless others, but this story is Irish not American, so there is no Hollywood happy ending here.

The black box theatre space is small and intimate, with rows of audience seating arranged along both long sides of a profile stage. I would strongly advise arriving early enough to land one of the front row seats, as the barely-tiered rows behind have obscured views of the stage (especially if the front row occupants are tall!). However, even if you can’t see the lower parts of the stage, this won’t ruin your enjoyment of the show, as its main attraction is the fizzing energy and dialogue of its characters. Caitriona Ennis as Iona is particularly outstanding, with razor-sharp comic abilities and an incredibly expressive face and voice. Peter Newington as Trix plays a straightforward toxically masculine bully with aplomb, but Colin Campbell and Sade Malone have the more challenging roles of antagonists with vulnerabilities and softer sides. The fact that these supporting roles still have their own compelling and pathos-filled arcs speaks to both the actors’ and writer’s skills.

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Elise Heaven and Sade Malone as Pingu and Toller. Images courtesy of David Gill

Elise Heaven as Pingu also manages to be wonderfully expressive, despite their grand total of zero lines; instead, their eyes and body language have to do all the work in expressing anguish, joy, sass, hurt, worry, resentment, and everything in between. I’m still not completely comfortable about the ethics of having a non-binary character who is mainly just a silent satellite around the cisgender protagonist, but in some ways, I suppose the fact that Pingu’s gender identity does not dominate the conversation is a step towards normalisation. The usage of singular they/them pronouns is still quite new even to more progressive social circles, but not even the bullies in Cuckoo misgender Pingu. The play and, for the most part its characters, do not treat Pingu’s gender identity like a riddle to be solved, but as just another reason why they and the quirky Iona don’t fit in.

Iona is the only character in the play who goes by their birth name (I’m assuming that “Pockets”, for example, is probably a nickname). This, to me, seems yet another example of how she inhabits a no-man’s-land between belonging to a group – and being bestowed with a personalised nickname from the gang – and having the confidence for independent self-determination like Pingu, who we presume chose their own name as part of their journey coming out. The name “Iona” isn’t even Irish, but Scottish; for all that it looks and sounds typically Irish, it is an outsider in the small country town of Crumlin. Much like its bearer. And so it is no surprise that Iona’s desperate attempts to belong will fail, no matter how many others she pushes from the nest to do so.

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Caitriona Ennis and Colin Campbell as Iona and Pockets. Images courtesy of David Gill

These characters are messy, with figurative open wounds bleeding all over the floor even as they continue to claw at each other. Their moments of connection and softness are beautiful, as are their flares of raw rage at the hand they’ve been dealt. Cuckoo is a snapshot of a very specific piece of society, exploring questions of class, gender, youth, belonging, family, and fried chicken. And, throughout all of this, it is laugh-out-loud funny! Young people in particular will appreciate the way Cuckoo is bang up to date for 2018, but I fear that many of the pop culture, political, and technological references will date fairly quickly – all the more reason to catch it while it’s fresh.

Tickets

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Previous review: vessel by Sue MacLaine Company @ Battersea Arts Centre

REVIEW! vessel, Sue MacLaine Company @ Battersea Arts Center

Writer/Director: Tess Agus
Performer/Assistant Director: Sue MacLaine
Performers/Collaborators: Angela Clerkin, Kailing Fu, Karline Grace Paseda
6 – 24 November

vessel is an experimental piece inspired by the writing of Judith Butler and the ancient practice of anchorage, where a member of clergy would voluntarily enter a cell for the remainder of their life. The anchoress – often a nun – would contemplate God and spirituality. The production tells us she has only three small windows which are all the communication she with the world until she dies and is buried in the grave she has dug for herself in the cell. 

Reflecting this, our four performers are isolated and static for much of the show – anchored in circles, seated, though they move their chairs in synchronised movement at moments, signifying a change in theme.

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If you’re with me so far, you know that this is a heavy show.

There’s no plot or character – simply four overlapping, almost identical monologues, presented in concert, the actor’s voices moving in and out of phase as they ask the audience to think about language, power, capitalism, sexuality, domesticity, violence – the personal and political.

The echoing voices, repeating and talking over each other, combined with low light projections of the text they read slipping across the backdrop, as well as a gentle, vivid ambient soundtrack designed by Owen Crouch, have a hypnotic quality – abstract art inviting abstracted thinking.

The text is dense – imagine two hundred thesis statements and a tone poem by Steve Reich – and only raises questions, answering them solely with increasing abstraction. It’s an unsatisfying piece, but this seems intentional – all good philosophy and poetry is semiotically open.

The actors, costumed by Holly Murray in outfits that suggest without directly referencing ecclesiastical clothes of different religions, express themselves almost entirely through voice and limited, ritualised gestures. We get the sense of these images, actions and questions recurring over and over throughout history.

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It’s a difficult show to talk about – I wouldn’t call it an enjoyable night out, but I may call it an important one.

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Previous review: Chutney @ The Bunker Theatre

 

REVIEW! Mirabel by Chris Goode @ Ovalhouse Theatre

Written and performed by Chris Goode
Director: Rebecca McCutcheon
Designer: Naomi Dawson
Presented by Chris Goode & Company
31 October – 18 November 2018

 

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Images courtesy of The Other Richard

It has been two days since I saw Chris Goode’s Mirabel at the Ovalhouse, and I can’t say that I’m much closer to having formed a solid opinion on it. Of course art doesn’t have to follow a conventional formula, make sense, or have a clear meaning, but the absence of all of these does make it difficult to review! In the absence of a grownup to lead me by the hand I, like Mirabel, will simply have to do the best I can.

The eponymous heroine of our story is an eight-year-old girl who wakes up in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Her parents are dead, and there is nobody with her except her teddy bear, who identifies as a Wolf. So she sets off to find a responsible grownup to tell. Tell what? Well, just… tell. Along the way, she builds a ragtag gang of friends including a rock called Baheegwing, a dog with laser eyes, an injured pilot who may or may not be a paedophile, a dog with laser eyes, and a bluebell called Salad. All of these creatures can talk, except Salad – don’t be stupid, she’s a bluebell. Chris Goode portrays all these characters, with only minor changes in voice to show dialogue (the character Urban is originally voiced with an impressively deep and spooky growl, but this is not consistent throughout).

That’s the plot, more or less, with the exception of an abrupt change of setting and mood at the end, as the story is turned on its head with a twist (I think?). The language is evocative, delivered lightly and matter-of-factly, with instances of beautiful evocative imagery, quirky abstractions, and moments that are straight-up horrifying and macabre. Goode stumbles a few times on the script, but only ever loses momentum momentarily. I am reminded throughout the piece of Douglas Adams, and his later books in the Hitchhiker’s Guide series – the ones where his droll absurd humour becomes more and more erratic and difficult to interpret. At one point in Mirabel there is a brief interlude featuring an animated projection to ethereal music; the animations (by Lou Sumray) are stark and gorgeous, yet eerie in a way that brings to mind the bunyip scene in Dot And The Kangaroo, a 70s cult classic which gave me nightmares as a child.

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Images courtesy of The Other Richard

These marriages of beauty and bizarre surreal freakiness characterise Mirabel, even down to costuming (almost-steampunk leather jacket and boots, blindfold) and set design (by Naomi Dawson – a succession of narrow strips of stage space, littered with rubble and debris, separated from one another by gauzy partitions which only become transparent when backlit). The dim lighting and ambiguity of the wreckage strewn over the stage means that your imagination – encouraged into overactivity by Goode’s lucid dream narration – fills in the gaps, and you can see the twisted hulk of a crashed airplane, a gaping fissure in the ground, or at one point an infanticidal giant lizard (although this turned out later to actually be a disembodied mannequin’s arm. Obviously). The presence of a small, sweet, naive yet determined young girl in such a dystopian nightmare enables many more such juxtaposing concepts, like Disney sticking plasters over a gaping self-inflicted wound.

For the most part, these contrasts are poignant and witty rather than self-indulgent and willfully edgy, but when the play crosses that line, boy does it cross it. I understand that instilling discomfort and confusion in the audience can be a valid artistic choice, but when done wrong, it can lead to sighing, eye-rolling, and watch-checking rather than stimulation, and unfortunately I ended this show in the former state. That said, I have spent the last two days gnawing on the concepts of this play like a (non-supernatural) dog on a bone, and I suppose that is ultimately what Goode was after. Certain types of theatregoers will find Mirabel a fascinating and challenging piece that really pushes boundaries; others will decree it bewildering tosh. Search within yourself to judge which camp you’ll likely fall into, before you decide to embark into the wilderness with Mirabel.

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REVIEW! Billy Bishop Goes to War, Proud Haddock @ Jermyn Street Theatre

Written by John Gray with Eric Peterson
Directed by Jimmy Walters
Designed by Daisy Blower
Featuring Charles Aitken and Oliver Beamish
31 October – 24 November 2018

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Image courtesy of Robert Workman

I have never been to Jermyn Street Theatre before. It is tucked away just off Piccadilly Circus, a modest little door on a quiet back street. I make my way downstairs to discover an intimate but bona fide theatre space, complete with audience seating upholstered in faded red, and one that is perfectly suited to this particular play. The theatre’s dim lighting, classic decor, and underground location make me feel like I stepped into a wartime bunker bar. The set is amazing, halfway between a mancave-type hideaway and a veteran’s private, personal museum. It is littered with wartime paraphernalia, framed black and white photographs, and various bits and pieces, each of which hints at its own backstory (even if we never discover the stories behind most of these objects). The rough wooden walls are plugged up in places with white canvas cloth – a parachute? – which allows for beautiful plays of light glowing through crevices and cracks.

After a while, the house lights go down and the jazz music quiets, and the veteran himself (played by Oliver Beamish) steps out into the stage space. He spends a few moments tidying up the cluttered space, beaming in nostalgia at each object he picks up, until an old pair of shoes transport him back in memory to a wartime dance. Dusting off an old piano in the corner, he begins to play and sing, and his younger self (Charles Aitken) steps onto stage and starts to tell the audience his story of when Billy Bishop went to war.

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Image courtesy of Robert Workman

Aitken’s Billy is almost eerily convincing as a young Canadian WW1 soldier (although admittedly, I don’t have much experience with Canadian accents myself) – in his faded army issue, and later aviator uniform, he seems to have stepped straight out of an old photograph. But it’s not just his costuming: even his vocal tonalities and facial mannerisms are spot-on, like your great-grandfather in the body of a young man. Taking the audience into his confidence, he charms us with his cheek and energy, magnetically inhabiting the space and transporting us back in time. His older self, for the main part, watches from the edge of the stage, providing piano backing and occasionally stepping in to embody various supporting characters (as does Aitken too, most comedically the women Lady St Helier and Lovely Helene).

Billy Bishop’s story is a true one, although fictionalised and romanticised somewhat in this play. An underachieving young Canadian who, despite a number of suspiciously timed injuries and illnesses, he joins the Army and sails to Europe to fight “the hun” for the British motherland. His exploits find him climbing in rank and altitude to become a fighter pilot, a captain, and a posterboy for the Colonial war efforts – but rarely do we feel like he is ever totally in control of his journey.

This is a superbly executed production. The acting is absolutely phenomenal, the period-appropriate music in turns droll and spellbinding, the pacing riveting, and all aspects of design – set, lighting, sound – flawless. It is rare to feel so completely transported in time and place, with that rare kind of beautifully eloquent writing and powerful delivery that can conjure up vivid images before your eyes. The set never changes, but with subtle and evocative support from the sound, music, and lighting designers (Dinah Mullen, Adam Gerber, and Arnim Friess), the audience is pulled along with Billy to witness the open airs of Canada, the luxury of London high society, the squalor and horror of the trenches, daring aerial battles, and much more besides. It is easy to see how Billy Bishop Goes To War is often billed as one of Canada’s greatest theatrical triumphs.

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Image courtesy of Robert Workman

That said, it was originally written forty years ago, and this does show in the way it at times feeds into outdated narratives and attitudes. It is true that Billy is presented as a very flawed and human hero, and that the play does explore the nightmarish, horrific side of war, and I realise that Billy’s perspectives and beliefs are representative of his character and era rather than those of the writers. However, I doubt that any play written today would present the glory and heroism of war as uncritically as Billy Bishop, let alone notions of Empire and the “colonial spirit”. It is difficult to tread the fine line between respecting fallen soldiers and painting them in rosy colours, and it is understandable why this play tends towards the latter, but in today’s present political climate – with tides of nationalism, war-mongering, male chauvinism, and imperialism on the rise worldwide – it seems to me to be irresponsible to produce a play which at times feels like a nostalgic homage to old-fashioned masculinity and patriotism. Don’t get me wrong, this play and production do acknowledge the futility and horror of war and send up blind jingoism (and especially the British), but not as much as the times require. Just today it was announced that the government is planning to increase numbers of  recruits from the Commonwealth for the British armed forces, and it struck me that Billy’s final scene speech to the next generation of colonial soldiers could serve wholesale as propaganda to aid enlistments for this change.

Despite this ideological cautioning, I would still heartily recommend this show as a classic piece of excellently produced theatre. Aitken’s performance, in particular, is phenomenal, and I would like to reiterate my admiration of the whole creative and design team. Get to the Jermyn Street Theatre and take to the skies with Billy before the end of this show’s run – just make sure to keep the real world in your sights.

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Previous review: The Full Bronte @ The Space

REVIEW! The Full Bronte, Scary Little Girls @ The Space Theatre

Writer: Rebecca Mordan
Director: Sharon Andrew
Performers: Rebecca Mordan and Sharon Andrew (Scary Little Girls)
30 October – 3 November

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Scary Little Girls stars Rebecca Mordan and Sharon Andrew present The Full Bronte, a comedic cabaret homage to the Brontë sisters (and mother). The setting of The Space Theatre, located in a converted Victorian church in the Isle of Dogs, and the timing of its run there, over the All-Hallows season and into the first wintry days of November, came together in perfect confluence to provide a fitting atmosphere for this show. The theatre space and attached bar were welcoming, as was the audience (mainly middle-aged women), and the eighty minutes passed in a riot of giggles and raised eyebrows.

Cabaret diva Maria (Mordan) and her put-upon Cornish intern Brannie (Andrew) inhabit the stage with such comfortable, familiar, pitch-perfect harmony, that the show never misses a beat or loses its rhythm, despite the chaotic and at times disjointed nature of its content. The show slides between musical theatre, slapstick buffoonery, pantomime, hip-hop, literary lecture, interpretive dance, dramatic readings, gameshow farce, and pure comedic squabbling, with audience interaction woven throughout. There is even a moment when the comedy is temporarily stripped back, and Maria performs an exquisite piece of poetry set to song, accompanied by a ukulele of all things. This breath of genuine beauty amongst all the silliness caught me pleasantly off-guard, and it felt like the character of self-absorbed diva Maria briefly fell away,  revealing Mordan with her very real vocal talents and love of literature. Then the song ended, the spell was broken, Maria was back with her melodrama, and The Full Bronte lurched ahead at full comical speed.

In the Q&A following Thursday night’s performance, Mordan and Andrew mentioned that some critics pooh-pooh the show (which has been touring for seven years now!) because of its lack of literary gravitas. To those critics, I could only ask: well, what did you expect?? Who wanders into what is clearly an over-the-top comedic cabaret expecting a TED Talk on the literary greats? Even my friend, whom I dragged along at the last minute, who had never read anything by the Brontës, and who darkly threatened me on entry that “there had better not be any audience participation in this, Sophia” had an absolute ball. (And, yes, he did end up being the one singled out to undergo the longest and most mortifying piece of audience participation in the show… Sorry and thanks Andy, I’m sure she didn’t mean to use that much tongue!)

The Full Bronte is not breaking any particularly new grounds in comedic cabaret theatre: the characters and their relationship are tropey, the music is largely by-the-numbers, and most every element of the show is fairly predictable (yes, there is an excellent Kate Bush impression, and yes, some comedic cross-dressing, and of course, some wink-wink sex jokes). However, seeing comedy confidently performed by two experienced, magnetic woman artists is always a breath of fresh air, and when the subject matter is a celebration of other woman artists, that becomes an even rarer joy. Tonight is the last night of Scary Little Girls’ run at The Space, but they will continue touring afterwards, and I would highly recommend the show to anyone who enjoys cabaret and/or the Brontës.

Reader, I loved it!

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Pickle Jar by Maddie Rice @ Soho Theatre

Written and performed by Maddie Rice
Directed by Katie Pesskin
23rd October- 10th November

 An incredible, moving and important show.

I loved this piece. I loved every single minute of it. It is an incredibly important show  that needs to be seen by everyone.

Pickle Jar, Soho Theatre - Maddie Rice (Courtesy of Ali Wright) (15)

Pickle Jar is a one-woman lyrical play exploring teaching, Tinder, stranger danger and trying to be a grownup. It is written and performed by Maddie Rice, the critically acclaimed star of Fleabag UK and International Tour. Rice has the audience in stitches for most of the play with her hilarious impressions of the teenage girls she teaches.

The play is very cleverly constructed with Rice revealing tiny bits of information at a time. This makes the sad reality of the story even more shocking. This piece is very relatable to young women with its hilarious dance moves and talks of that annoying ‘everything in my life is perfect’ friend. But, this piece also packs a serious punch, one which made me cry and made me angry.

This is a show I would recommend very highly. An incredible, important show and an emotional roller coaster in all the right ways.

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Tickets

 

 

 

The Wild Duck, after Henrik Ibsen @ The Almeida Theatre

Cast and Creatives:
Nicholas Day, Grace Doherty, Nicholas Farrell, Andrea Hall, Kevin Harvey, Edward Hogg, Lyndsey Marshal, Clara Read, Rick Warden
After Henrik Ibsen, in a new version created by Robert Icke
Design: Bunny Christie
Light: Elliot Griggs
Sound: Tom Gibbons
Casting: Julia Horan CDG

15th October- 1st December

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A bold re-imagining of classic Ibsen

I was very excited to see this piece at The Almeida Theatre, being a fan of director Robert Icke; Icke’s previous credits for The Almeida include Hamlet and Mary Stuart.

The Wild Duck explores the family life of James and Gina Ekdal and exposes the life-destroying secrets which lie behind the couple’s happy pretenses. Icke has modernised the production and it has a Brechtian feel. The actors break the fourth wall constantly by explaining their characters feelings and what is going on in the scene. This is a very interesting technique which at first keeps the near three hour piece feeling snappy and fresh. However, as the play went on this technique became slightly patronising.

All actors in this remarkable piece are excellent. The play is extremely captivating due to their fantastic storytelling skills. When the disastrous consequences are revealed for the Ekdal family, the audience were gasping and muttering. It felt like the audience were part of the family, which is what made the play so moving and heartbreaking.

The show is beautifully designed by Bunny Christie. The set is minimal and naturalistic but turns into a beautiful garden at the end of the piece.

The Wild Duck is a fantastic modern take on Ibsen’s classic play. It is exceptionally well directed and all the performances brilliant and captivating. This is a piece which is not to be missed.

Also, there is a real live duck on stage!

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