You don’t have to be a wild boar (or a critic) to enjoy Wild Bore… Oh man, the sheer fucking horror of it; the burden that comes with being a straight white male critic who’s sexually retarded. How do you Crayola this shit?
Collating the most scathing reviews in their respective careers, theatremakers Zoe Coombs Marr, Ursula Martinez and Adrienne Truscott fashion these into a postmodern show that deconstructs the deconstruction of theatre.
“The premise of this show invites the audience into an intimate recording session of a new concept album by live band The Bad Mothers, and the songs they perform cover all the deadly sins; lust, jealousy, murder, greed, revenge.”
What a relief to find a show that’s smart and funny – laugh out loud funny, by the way – yet relevant insightful, and with complex, nuanced characters. And only an hour long! So, take a bow The End of Hope. You are a slice of perfection; magnificent from start to finish.
Hear Me Raw was perhaps the poshest theatrical experience I have ever had (and that really is saying something). It was a glowing auditorium of bad hair, good genes, and plastic prosecco, followed by a swarm of supportive mums murmuring ‘Oh, isn’t she brave’.
You only find round beds with pink satin sheets in particular places or owned by particular people. But it’s safe to say that a woman wearing a full, fur-suited mouse costume complete with face/head mask is not one of these.