Lay Down Your Burdens @ Barbican Pit

This dance theatre performance from Rhainnon Faith company created a thrust performance space reminiscent of a pub; red patterned carpet, circular wooden bar, and a mix of “immersive” seats around the performing space which the performers interacted with, and more traditional rows of seats. Right from the start the piece created a very informal and non-performative feeling; actors were in the space interacting neutrally with the audience as they came in.

Quickly, however, the production moved into audience participation, which for me didn’t feel like it was set up quite right, and felt jarring. From here the two act performance had peaks and valleys. There were some very beautiful and evocative physical moments, but also moments which felt confused and disjointed. This for me was a problem of dramaturgy and directorial vision rather than performance; the company were wildly talented, moving through the performance space with a delightful ease and confidence. Unfortunately the result of the disjointed arch is that it felt like the first act was entirely too long, or could have been done without.

The one standout element was the sound design which included a live mix of the audience recorded moments to create a unique soundscape and collective memory of the experience. This was quite delightful; and lasts much more positively in my memory than the balance of the production.

Mike Birbiglia - The Old Man and the Pool @ Wyndham's

I watched this live at Wyndham’s in London, and subsequently in the recorded version from Lincoln Centre.

What really struck me is Birbiglia’s ability to write in such a manner that he knows precisely when and how the audience will react; so moments that may have appeared improvised in the first viewing when interacting with the audience, when watching the recorded version the beats worked almost identically, despite it being a completely different audience (and country). Cultural differences seemed not to apply in this way.

That said it was fascinating to see how much MORE the really dark comedic elements hit with a British audience (live) vs American (recorded.

Overall this is a touching introspection into our mortality, aging, legacy, and finding humour in these terrifying realities. Beautiful stuff.

On Railton Road @ Museum of the Home

Performed in the light, open space in the bottom floor of The Museum of the Home, On Railton Road focussed on the Gay community who led protests for rights not only of the community, but to preserve homes across London in the 1970s. The production fictionalises the lives of a real group of squatters, then intersperses (with increased absurdity) the agit-prop punch and judy style play the group actually wrote and performed at the time. The production was part interactive performance, part play, part puppet show, and wildly touching and tender in its exploration of love and community. The choice to perform it in alley format with the lights on for the majority of the time created a sense of community in the audience; this was bolstered by the actors interaction with the audience both in formal and informal ways.

And the puppets. I cannot begin to describe the hilarity that ensued.

Overall a delightful production merging history, performance, and fun.

Othello @ Riverside Studios

An Othello full of concept, but for me, struggling with delivery. The performances were equally strong, with the performers living beautifully in the world created for the play. The power and relationships were strong, yet the concept — 3 Iagos - for me fell flat in the dramaturgy. Had the 3 Iagos clearly represented archs in his personality or actions, it had some potential, however instead it, along with the many guitar interludes and movement breaks felt like more an effort to showcase the actors than tell us something new about the script.

Again, that’s not a slight on the performances, but rather that there were simply too many ideas pressed into the 90 or so minutes, meaning that none could breathe.

Matthew Bourne's Romeo & Juliet @ Sadlers Wells

Dark and magical, Matthew Bourne’s twist on the story of young lovers is an absolute delight if you like blood in your ballet and/or Shakespeare. So clearly up my street…

Positioning the youth in a mental hospital allows freedom in the impulsiveness of their actions and the speed and urgency of their choices; these are young people for whom the necessity of action is essential. The forces against them are their parents, but also the doctors and nurses, the administrators, even society who has tucked them away.

The choreography is absolutely stunning and is served by the inventive lighting design which transforms the space repeatedly. Absolutely magic.

Guys and Dolls @ Bridge Theatre

Sometimes you see a production, and it embodies all the things you have wanted for a play. (okay, maybe that’s just me). I have adored this musical since childhood, and have yearned to have others see how dynamic and engaging it has the capacity to be. Nicholas Hytner did it.

Staged in a dual fashion, with traditional seating in the round, but also an immersive floor option, the production quite literally creates the dynamic and bustling world of New York City. The stage is in pieces which reconfigure, moving up and down through hydraulics and what I can only imagine is the most complex stage management cue sheet known to human kind. What was truly incredible was that despite the movements, and complete awareness of the mechanics of the production, from the immersive floor space we were still able to be completely swept away in the story.

I am tempted to go again and sit in the traditional seats, to see what the moving and shifting looks like from the outside.

With all of this you’d be forgiven for thinking that it was simply technical prowess on display. Quite the opposite; every performance, and every step of choreography was pitch perfect. Brilliant re-imaginings of the classic and well loved songs, choreography which simultaneously felt of the period but wholeheartedly modern. Simply superb.

Please go to this. It is what musicals should be in 2023.

Carlos at 50 @ Royal Opera House

It is incredible to watch an athlete at 50. Their jumps may not be as high, or extensions as extreme, but that is all secondary. The command of space, the conveyance of a story, those are what matter. And Carlos Acosta at 50 somehow seems to have even more of those.

The programme consisted of a few pieces showcasing Acosta and his favourite partner, the ethereal Marianela Nunez, interspersed with pieces Acosta famously danced, and his choreographic work. The variety of the work on show was not only a showcase of Acosta’s own work and legacy, but at times felt like a time capsule of contemporary ballet, the array of styles coming together with the thread of storytelling from the dancers.

These events can have a nostalgic quality, yet the programme’s ending, focussed on new work and young dancers, was a beacon to the future and where ballet may go in the next 50 years.

August in England @ Bush Theatre

The intimacy of The Bush’s space welcomes us into an extended front room of a house. A house filled with memories and pictures on the wall, with well worn but cared for furniture. The house of someone who has worked hard all his life and values what that has brought him.

Enter Lenny Henry, as August. Jovial, friendly, but at times harsh. Throughout the play we learn the story of August, who moved with his mother to England as a child and grew up here. He builds a life and a family, and suddenly, like a wave, it is taken from him. This story of the Windrush generation quite literally takes your breath away, as this man who was full of life and love and hope is crushed by a technicality well beyond his control.

Henry’s performance is astounding, weaving between characters but retaining August’s point of view - everyone we see is seen through his lens. He brings the audience in with such ease, making you feel he is speaking just to you.

A Play For the Living in a Time of Extinction - Katie Mitchell/Headlong @ Barbican

It is simultaneously full of artifice, and absent it entirely. Katie Mitchell’s bicycle powered one-woman show (performed passionabely at The Barbican by Lydia West) is as much spoken word poem as it is lecture, as much monologue as it is news article. And that’s to its credit; while we are given a story and much to look at, it feels inherently un-play-like. Instead we are confronted with a barrage of information and literal labour - 8 cyclists ride for the duration of the 90+ minute performance to power the minimal lighting grid and projections. We are reminded of the energy and effort required to create theatre; that even those of us who consciously consumed our way to that point in the day, via public transport and reusable bags filled with bread from eco-conscious bakeries, and with coffee in reusable cups will sit in a theatre and absorb spectacle which takes resource from this planet. A play about a time of extinction, too.

The production leaned a little too heavily into a few moments of audience participation for my taste - the early pieces engaging with the audience I thought really fruitful and useful to the story, however while the moments bringing audience up on stage had payoff from a visual sense later in the production when the choir came on stage, it felt contrived and almost like a way to fill time, which is rarely good.

Overall the marriage of the text and its performance were strong; I just wonder whether there is any benefit of performing this for a room of reusable bag using Barbican goers. Will it change anything?

Hate Radio by Milo Rau @ Battersea Arts Centre

This wasn’t easy to watch. Beginning with lengthy video recorded accounts from survivors of the atrocities humans committed against one another, of the fear and confusion that they experienced during the Rwandan Genocide, the play comes to the audience visually, but also through little shortwave radios with headphones. It is close, almost claustrophobic. It feels all the more personal and somehow simultaneously more private, yet more public. As it shifts to the live action - a glass box view into the recording studio with the equivalent of today’s “shock jocks” spewing hate while they dance around the studio and enjoy pop music of the time - the radio broadcast continues to be imperative. These voices and sounds are coming directly to us. They speak over one another; the surtitles (the production is performed predominantly in French but also in Kinyarwanda) lag behind what they are actually saying, so the English viewer gets only pieces. It is no less difficult to hear and watch.

These events took place in 1994, and whilst it would be nice to think that this sort of activity was isolated to the past, we now live in a time when this happens even more frequently — and more publicly — with twitter mobs, facebook misinformation, tv stations inciting violence and uprisings across the world. Watching this production now (it first debuted in 2012) it seems to argue that with more technology humans have only become more isolating, more hateful, ready to hurt those who disagree or whom they have decided are different. If that was true in 2012, it is only more so now in 2023. Where the production may have shocked 11 years ago, it now echoes.

Kudos to the performers of this difficult work. It is purposefully slow; nothing happens. At times your mind wanders, drifts, gets bored — all intentionally crafted. These activities shift into our subconscious, and then jolt us back, reminding us that they are here, in this world and we can’t let them become background noise we ignore. They are intensely harmful. At times the production is infuriatingly slow, in the best possible way, to achieve this awareness.

Book of Mormon @ Prince of Wales Theatre (West End)

Why are there so many plays where mormons feature prominently? It seems almost bizarre that a religion making up less than 2% of the US population (even less worldwide), which is openly anti gay and until not as long ago as you’d hope, was openly anti-anyone who wasn’t white, holds such a sway on the imagination. Perhaps it is the inherent theatricality of its origin story. Don’t get me wrong, when you dig a little A LOT of origin stories about A LOT of things we believe get theatrical - so this isn’t a slight at mormonism or any religion. Just an observation.

Anyway, we went to see this as a 19th birthday gift to my daughter at her insistence. The parallel that the mormon youth head out on their pilgrimages at 19 was not a coincidence. The current West End cast are all exceptional performers, and the production is all the slick shiny perfection you’d expect for that ticket price. What was uncanny was that it felt less funny than when you hear the recording; certainly the first act got fewer laughs from the crowd than I’d have expected. Perhaps because the songs from that act are quite widely known? The jokes are certainly more broad than those we get in the second act, and land a lot more uncomfortably. They don’t quite punch down, but laterally perhaps? Either way, it is an uncomfortable 2.5 hours at times, despite the performers efforts and comic timing. Do they feel the discomfort, too?

It all just feels so shiny. Being me, I allowed my mind to wander to what a Theatre of Failure interpretation of this show might be. I’ll leave you with that.

Medea @ Soho Place (West End)

This is a relentless adaptation of the fiery Greek classic, in which Sophie Okonedo and Ben Daniels are sublime. Simple in its design, Dominic Cooke’s production is searing; set in the round, the audience are afforded no rest, particularly through the way the chorus is implemented. We are here to bear witness.

Okonedo and Daniels are worthy adversaries; the power imbalance weighs in Medea’s favour with the all female chorus lamenting Jason’s treatment of Medea. The exquisite shifts in character from Daniels as he creates all of the male presence in the play (aside from the children) creates a singularity, a sense that it isn’t only Jason but all men who betray Medea and her children. While the production and adaptation don’t by any means justify Medea’s actions, they do create a space (through Okonedo’s powerful performance) whereby we might question the tactics, but not the anger.

At a blistering 90 minutes, the production leverages visual imagery to support much of the back story we’d have received otherwise. Everything converges on the twisting, spiraling staircase down which the violence occurs - off stage yet on stage. Blood pooling, dripping; beautiful if it wasn’t so horrific.

This is an incredible production, worth catching if you can. Rain. Blood. Fury. What more can one ask for in their Greek Tragedy?

Lehman Trilogy @ Gillian Lynne Theatre (West End)

A play about a failed company is probably pretty low on the list of things most dramaturges expect to be interesting and worth developing. The Lehman Trilogy is, of course, about a failed company, but more importantly it is about brothers. About a family, traditions, break from tradition. About the desire to support your family morphing over generations into the desire to have power, and then into the desire to have extreme, unbridled wealth. The desire to look right, to fit in the right crowds, to marry the right daughters of even more well connected wealthy men.

Really, Lehman Trilogy is a play about capitalism. Disparaging the idea that independence and self reliance are a good in and of themselves, because they lead ultimately to forgetting that others exist. It is unfortunate that the otherwise insightful and thoughtful script leans heavily on the Jewish background of the Lehmans — because this story is one about capitalism. About the deep seeded greed that (at least in the play’s eyes) is likely to sit in all of us, waiting for the right circumstances to seep out; a moment of opportunity, under the guise of help.

Sam Mendes’ direction is seamless. The three actors morph through time and space, through generations of characters whose traits evolve and yet remain the same thread. Moving through the rotating glass box as if on display. Es Devlin’s set design showcases the increasingly precarious nature of their world; as we reach the end, characters spend increasing amounts of time on top of things, piling things, all inside the glass box which appears suspended in the air.

The slick nature of the production almost smooths too easily over the moments of decision from the Lehmans; deciding to help plantation owners rebuild, deciding to support shady deals, and ultimately deciding to split the business and participate in the wild speculative real estate market of the 80’s, 90’s, and 2000’s which led to the 2008 crash. In this way the production made it easy to look down upon these men for having made these decisions, rather than see this gremlin of greed in each of us.

That’s perhaps a quibble, or difference in directorial choice (we all know how I like my audiences to feel uncomfortable). Certainly a formidable production and one worth seeing if you can.

Truth's a Dog Must to Kennel by Tim Crouch @ Battersea Arts Centre

What are we doing when we go to the theatre? Tim Crouch’s latest play challenges the very existence of theatre, its purported value and necessity, whether it is alive at all. Structured in his inimitable manner, taking the viewpoint of an actor inside a production who is experiencing the aftermaths of that production while addressing the audience, the “performance” in this case - which we never see, of course - is of a “modern dress production” of King Lear. A play which falls into the category of big and important and meaningful plays. A role stars are desperate to play, and which audiences regularly hand over large sums to watch.

But what are we doing when we do this? Paying to watch simulated death, surrounded by people (we assume) have similar tastes and values and lives to us. Good people and compassionate people who care and read and donate. Paying to watch simulated death. Paying to be seen in this place. Paying for the comfort of this ritual. A ritual of wealth and privilege and self congratulation. Where everyone knows how to behave and nothing bad actually happens. Where we can tut and gasp at the terrible things happening, then applaud at the reminder of how far they are away from us when the lights go down, safe in our bubbles.

But we aren’t, of course. The world of King Lear isn’t as far from us as we want it to be, nor is the real outside world. So when that real world creeps in, we’re affronted. We’re annoyed. We’re busy watching a fictional world about a terrible leader and worse father, paralleled by another terrible leader and even worse father (not our world, of course).

There are so many layers in this script, as there always are in Crouch’s work, that I’m still digesting the many resonances and connections. That said, for me in this moment the resonances above are the strongest - that big, looming question of why we are even trying to make this (possibly dead) art form in this (terribly broken) society and pretending it makes any difference. We could have stayed home and warm and watched Netflix.

Crouch’s script doesn’t just ask these big questions; it offers answers that are discomforting. Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this at all?

If you can make it to this production, please do. You will be challenged, but you won’t be disappointed.

Drive Your Plow Over The Bones of the Dead - Complicité at Bristol Old Vic

Complicité’s whimsical and highly theatrical approach to plays lends itself beautifully to adaptations of novels, to the creation of worlds that morph and jump in ways that most play scripts can only dream of. The company’s latest offering is no different, adapting the 2009 novel Drive Your Plow Over The Bones of the Dead. Unlike previous Complicité adaptations I have seen previously, this one was (I’m told) quite faithful to the book, and relied on a central narrator in a manner that was quite effective. The incredible Kathryn Hunter was the primary voice as Janina, a self-described lone wolf living alone in the Polish countryside, protecting the animals in the forest.

As is to be expected with Complicité, the use of sound and visual projection was integral - and in this case used to create some truly beautiful imagery. Birds flying above, fire engulfing a building, but also more simple images like a secondhand shop whose clothes were embodied later on in the play as we met an increasing number of characters. In particular, the use of a glass wall was used to great effect to create various spaces and effects, distancing the speaking characters at times, or showing the severe isolation that Janina is experiencing.

While for the most part the wizardry supported the story, there were a couple of moments which felt superfluous - a “dance break” of sorts accompanied by hard electronic music, for example. Additionally, the final image of the play (I won’t ruin it for you) did seem to undermine Janina’s power, for me. We spent 3+ hours admiring this woman as we learned more and more about her activities and how she was taking control of the increasingly unruly situation around her, only for it to be undermined making her appear helpless in the final moments of the play.

All of this said, the latest Complicité offering is well worth seeing, if only to witness the incredible physical and text performance put on by Kathryn Hunter and the supporting actors. Beyond that, however, it is an exciting and challenging story, presented in a deeply theatrical manner which frankly, we need right now after years of Netflix dramas and social distancing.

Good by C.P. Taylor @ Harold Pinter (West End)

The performances are extraordinary. A three-hander where two of the actors play at least 10 characters each (we had lost track by the interval) while one plays a single character who changes — or does he simply become more of who he was to begin with?

C. P. Taylor’s 1982 play presents the story of John Halder (David Tennant), a German professor whose ideas about sociology and psychology are picked up by the Nazis and used to justify all manner of heinous acts. The play doesn’t let Halder off the hook, depicting how he abandons his (Jewish) best friend, mentally ill mother, wife and children, as he is slowly taken into the Nazi machine. A machine which “values” his ideas and makes him feel a part of something, appealing to what has been missing throughout his life on the edges. Tennant’s performance is incredible and nuanced - his simplicity underscores the apparent normalcy of these early connections with the National Socialist party, and helps the audience see a man who lies to himself about what is going on around him to justify personal gains.

What is perhaps frustrating about the play in 2022, however, is that although it doesn’t let Halder get off without our judgement, it also didn’t seem to condemn him clearly either. The symbolism in Dominic Cooke’s direction was beautiful - a cell like room where fire comes through opening doors, books are burned, and ultimately Jewish prisoners playing their instruments as he enters a concentration camp to survey his work.

However, this felt too easy - the same way we have seen these images over and over again, to the point where I wonder whether we are de-sensitized as a society. We continue to see individuals - similarly “lonely” and “misunderstood” young white men are taken into belief systems every day, and increasingly in society we see these men acting out with violence against oppressed groups who are only just beginning to see equality. What could (or should?) this production look like in the time of incels and Qanon? And why isn’t that the production we got?

Again, this isn’t to say that the production wasn’t good - the performances were exceptional, the set symbolic and effective; and yet, it lacked a messiness and left me thinking about how much more impact this script, with this star, could have had today.

Come Home Again - Es Devlin at Tate Modern

A crisp white structure stands in the shadow of the Tate Modern, facing out to the river. A light reflection of St Paul’s Cathedral across the Thames. But this structure is bisected, revealing intricate drawings of animals, birds, and insects, blown up beyond scale. Es Devlin, renowned lighting designer (or as i call her, light magician) has created this magical space, in the grove between the birch trees. On its own the structure is compelling and inviting — you want to climb up the steps and explore, looking at each drawing up close. Sounds of birds and insects pipe into the space, reminding us that before the city and the people, far before, this was natural space. The species depicted represent those on London’s protected list. These inhabitants who we might fear, or worse, shoo out of our houses — who have every right we do to be here (if not more!).

The magic is taken further, however, when each night at 7pm, two choirs fill the structure for a performance accompanied by a light play which highlights the magic of these creatures. Each choir sings in a language other than English — intentionally selected by Es Devlin to represent, but also make us consider the relationship between disappearing species of creatures and the parallel disappearance of languages in creating of monocultures. We visited Friday 30 September, on a windy and rainy evening — but we were not alone braving the elements. Our choirs sang in Bulgarian and in Liturgical Latin, their voices cutting through the wind and rain, through the noise of London on a busy evening, to create a moment almost prayer-like.

I feel honoured to bear witness to this, and hope I’m not the only one compelled by it. On our journey home, we stopped to watch a rather large snail make its way across our walkway, with a renewed sense of wonder and awe.

You can read more about Devlin’s inspiration and process for the piece here.

Preview: The Huns by Michael Ross Albert at Brighton Fringe

Back in the old, pre-pandemic days, there was a comedy that took the Toronto Fringe by storm. For those who have never attended or shown work at Toronto Fringe this may seem uneventful, however for those who have, you’ll know what a feat that is. The festival is sprawling, spanning a massive bustling city end to end, meaning that it can be tough to get a significant piece of the media and audience attention without significant monetary spend. But then there was The Huns.

The Huns captured the minds of critics and audiences, enjoying a sold-out run and multiple accolades. It was the show everyone was talking about when it is rare that there is such agreement on the highlight of the festival.

Michael Ross Albert’s The Huns now makes its way across the ocean, after much pandemic sourced delay, to debut at The Brighton Fringe. The dark comedy about millennial angst and modern workplaces only stands to ring more true in the post-pandemic but still-pandemic world of mixed working and pandemic anxiety it isn’t polite to talk about.

The Huns is presented as part of the Brighton Fringe Festival at The Rotunda Theatre May 21 to 29

May 21, 22 (15:00) / May 24, 25 (19:30) / May 28 (21:00) / May 29 (16:30)

To purchase tickets, visit: www.rotundatheatre.com/the-huns

Jerusalem by Jez Butterworth

This play. THIS play. On one hand, it is still incredible; poetic, layered, complex. Funny yet heartbreaking. On the other hand, however, THIS play in a post-Brexit, post-Covid, cost-of-living crisis London is. . . what is it? It is no less funny, poetic, or complex. Mark Rylance is no less captivating and utterly transformed in his performance. The set, with full trees reaching into the flies and live chickens on stage, no less magical. The production and its performances are pitch-perfect.

And yet, now - in this moment - sitting in the West End, amongst audiences who are coming to see what has been hailed as THE play of our age. Audiences who have paid posh ticket prices amidst news stories of people who have to choose between eating and paying bills. . . it hits differently. The themes are more relevant than ever; the “old” and rural England vs the city. The wealthy vs the underclasses.

My sensitivity to some of the language — which would be wildly controversial if used on a Canadian stage due to its lack of sensitivity to Indigenous issues — bristles.

And the audience’s laughter, at times, hits not like we’re enjoying this story and the comedy of this man (who is objectively funny) but almost as poverty porn. It is desperately sad. The lives of those around Rooster will shift and change; some for the better, some inevitably for the worse. His son sees him beaten, broken. The audience were audibly sobbing through the matinee. And yet — will it change anything for them? For those around them? Will it resonate and call to action, or will they go home to wherever they came from, and spend their fortunate expendable income on the next West-End star vehicle they read about in The Guardian?

I want to have hope that it will. But frankly, I’m not so sure.

Age of Rage - International Theatre Amsterdam @ Barbican

Mud, steel pipes, a metal band. Blood from the ceiling. Mud on the ground, and thrown at one another. Not deus ex machina but dead children rising from the ground. Ivo Von Hove’s Age of Rage is a marathon of familial betrayal, ancient Greek style. Starting with Agamemnon and the gods’ edict to sacrifice Iphigenia to secure victory and retrieve Helen from Troy, and ending with Orestes and Electra’s murder of their mother and her new husband, the production traces the linkage across the family tree. What normally spans multiple plays and a good 20+ years in storyline is served to us in a driving 3 hrs 45 minutes.

The production employs a metal band live on stage, accompanying the action like a musical score to great effect, and choreography which takes place on the main stage area and also on a far upstage area, obscured by a lit scrim which also serves as the door — to another room, to outside, to the afterlife. Bodies move about the stage in writhing choreography, but the production works best when it strips back the chorus dancers and is just solo actors in extended monologues, wailing at the injustice of the world.

It was at times too long. I could have done with fewer dance interludes, and occasionally a faster pace, however these quibbles are outshone by an unnerving commitment to the concept. My only other complaint is simply that given the choice of aesthetic, some performances almost felt too tidy. Clytemnestra stood out for me as a beautifully messy performance. Mud covered, sweaty, dress nearly falling off and toppling across the mud in knee high heeled boots, the absurdity of this woman and her situation were undeniable.

The impact of combining the stories, however, was a powerful one — quite simply, it reminded us that Greek Tragedy is mainly men doing stupid things which cause pain and suffering to the women and children around them, who in turn overreact, and enact stupidity on others. On and on and on.