I see a lot of theatre productions, obviously, and whilst I still enjoy seeing new shows, new ideas and a creative piece that is genuinely exciting, I am starting to feel apathetic to much of what I see.
To draw a circus map of Britain today, we can no longer just look to the fields and hard-standings where tenting companies pitch, but must also peek behind the walls of theatre buildings and training spaces, and into other open spaces of festivals and street performance.
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?
The Finborough revival of Jerome K Jerome’s 1908 chamber piece continues the fringe venue’s glorious taste for dusting off forgotten works; a production that reproduces the original’s mannered sentiment and Edwardian whimsy and affirms the play’s legacy status.
The Old Vic’s Christmas Carol is enough to make a merry man out of the worst seasonal curmudgeon. It boasts an effervescent Scrooge in Rhys Ifans – all wild hair and projectile spittle, and a Tiny Tim to make your blackened heart bleed.
vo van Hove’s production, starring Bryan Cranston in the iconic Peter Finch role, makes the case for itself by inviting audience identification with Beale’s angry, uncensored, unedited, uncorroborated stream of consciousness.
Matthew Campling, a former counsellor, has crafted a psychologically dense and often intense dialogue between broken people; pain catalysed by an allegation of sexual assault.
60 years on, Roger Gellert’s tale of repressed homosexuality at an English public school remains a damning social critique.
A new adaptation of Jekyll and Hyde adds melodrama to the formula, diluting its potency.
Finally, the version of the Tempest you’ve always wanted – name the one with Native Chichewa speakers.
Westman and Jibson are not big names but both are very experienced actors; Westman was recently in Torn at the Royal Court, London and Jibson has many stage and screen credits behind him. The excitement behind Hamilton is that it is different from your usual musical theatre repertoire focusing on rap and hip hop.
For limited run in May, Ugly Duck, a company known primarily for the use of abandoned and disused spaces host ProxC Productions Disconnect, A play asking the audience to vote on the fate of 10 convicted criminals scheduled for jettison from ProxC – a spaceship carrying the remnants of humanity towards a new earth & a new start.
I love theatre but I already question if it is getting enough of my money. Will donating for shows we haven’t seen yet become the norm? Will Audience/Producer become a new title?
Bringing the memoir of Hollywood Legend Robert Evans to the stage was always going to be a challenge. How to do justice to the sweep of the story, from lowly women’s clothing salesman to tinseltown mover and shaker?
He’s an entertainer remembered with great affection, perhaps by none more than Jack Lane, who’s built a one-man show around the great man; a whistle-stop tour of his life and career.
Calling the play “Love” would mean the horror of upper case, a masculine take on a universal. Why are we talking about gendered language? Because it’s the play’s structuring theme.
Toby Boutall’s play recreates this psychic prison with such fidelity that one can almost touch the walls and smell the faeces smeared thereon.
If the material in Robyn Paterson’s one-woman play feels quaint, then her performance is anything but. It’s an impressive act of virtuosity and memory that flits between each half of a pensionable South African couple, showcasing great dexterity and timing.
Does Adam Scott-Rowley need to be naked for the duration of this absurdist monologue, as he shapeshifts between comic grotesques for a state of the nation dickaround? Is it a patron baiting gimmick or redundant, like my man gland?
There’s no need to flirt with the critics on this one. The show’s charming all on its own.
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