REVIEW: Playing Latinx


Rating: 3 out of 5.

The Soho Theatre comedy has a grand mission that sometimes gets lost in translation.  A standup comedian touches on immigration, stereotypes and what being Latinx is really like, with mixed results.


If you’re down to go to an at times funny, regularly awkward yet surprisingly deep course on the subject, you should stop by the Soho Theatre to see Playing Latinx

During the 60-minute stint, you’ll get exposed to a comedy show all about the act of being Latinx, and playing the part, whether for comedic relief or insightful commentary on xenophobia, race, cultural norms and even the vestiges of colonialism. 

Our teacher is a Mexican actor with a large and elaborate name, played by the charismatic, brave and quirky Guido García Lueches, who also wrote the show. The rules are simple: there’s a casting director’s chair, where audience members have to sit down for the show to literally go on. Once a brave person sits to participate, Guido will dress up and embody a role that reinforces the stereotypes of what Latinx roles are required to be, going from something comical to something deep within that slot; because once the “audition” finishes, the white light focuses on the performer, who gives several monologues on the real issues going on behind audiences stereotypes of what Latinxs should be. And by “audiences” I mean how British or non-Latinx see Latinx people because the play has a clear target audience, sometimes neglecting other diverse sets of people who might want to enjoy the show.  The intention behind the set is to both make fun of stereotypes and tell us the dark truths behind these assumptions. The combination of these two factors is powerful, catching you off guard while joyful or giving you a break when the message cuts to the bone.  

While all the comments against oppression work, the jokes themselves…not so much. Despite the intention of parody versus reality being clear, the comedic approach can be too cynical or obvious that it doesn’t seem to add anything new to the table, other than empathising ideas about the Latinx diaspora that we as a society already know. Alongside the auditions, Guido gives a seminar on how to be “a good Latinx”, which focuses on tragic and exaggerated backstories, over-the-top reactions and complicated names, and picking on members of the diverse audience to complete the tasks. One of the exercises, for example, consists of random words that somehow form a different “tragic backstory” for another attendee who decides to be the subject of Guido’s unexpected requests. These games can make the show dynamic but forced because the comedy can rely so much on the cringe nature of the absurd situation rather than on the material itself.  

As being a combination of both thought-provoking statements on going beyond the stereotypes and a collection of jests reinforcing them — with mixed results — I can’t help but wonder if the overall message is clear to everyone, therefore missing the artistic value the show’s working so hard to emanate.

REVIEW: Manon Lescaut


Rating: 3 out of 5.

A funky vision and a few fun twists on Puccini’s classic.


I think I can comfortably assume that the English Touring Opera’s production of Manson Lescaut at the Oxford Playhouse is vastly different from its first performances in Turin, 1893. Director and librettist Jude Christian’s fascinating biography of recent work had me on tenterhooks for the main event, and her revival of this Puccini classic did not fail to excite the senses and turn the classical world on its head. 

Practically, the vision was completely clear and, at the opening, completely blue. Tiled walls like an empty swimming pool and an unusual display of water coolers outlined the stage as the monochromatic colours of the rainbow were introduced in the costumes of the ensemble. These charmingly contemporary costumes remained unchanged throughout, keeping the modern vibe in check and the audience visually alert. Symbolic set pieces were effective; I particularly enjoyed Geronte’s ’watchful eye’ in act II and the huge gold pug in act IV, once I’d worked out what it was. I felt the choices Christian had made to revamp the opera from a feminist perspective had power and energy, but lacked some execution. I was glad at the interval that I couldn’t yet ‘work it out’, but was somewhat disappointed in the final acts by dwindling clarity and drawn out goodbyes. That being said, the funky and ambitious direction made me, as an infrequent opera viewer, infinitely more likely to come back for more! 

Conductor and music director Gerry Cornelius led the production with skill and assurance, and the orchestra was faultless. I felt this especially in the second half, where the music did the emotional ‘heavy lifting’ with verve and confidence. Voices were exceptional; I was particularly struck by soprano Jenny Stafford, who propelled the story with unwavering vocal energy and a convincing performance as Manon. I enjoyed Edward Hawkins’ Geronte, who commanded the stage fabulously in pink and summed up Christian’s ‘surreal nightmare’ take on the opera very well. The movement direction was imaginative, amusing and well executed by the ensemble when present. In duologues I found myself craving this energy, and felt that the central couple’s relationship at times relied on the lines sung and the music behind them.

All in all, a funny and surprising twist on a beautiful opera, filled with colour and open to interpretation. I was interested but not surprised to find I brought the average age of the audience down by a long way, and hope that this kind of active reimagination will encourage the younger generation to give opera a chance!

REVIEW: Deaf as a Post


Rating: 3 out of 5.

Dystopia that explores disability. In a world where listening will make you go insane, deafness can become your superpower.


“Deaf as a Post”, premiering at the Barons Court Theatre, takes you into a near-future dystopia plagued by many of the problems we experience today, where zombie-like “Loopers” spread a manic panic through infectious clickbait ear-worms. Written by Shaun Blaney and directed by Emma Copland, this fast-paced thriller explores what happens when we give up trying to listen to each other altogether.

The protagonist Goody, played by writer Blaney, is a deaf, former runner who is quickly enlisted into the forces as the country devolves into mass panic and civil unrest. His struggles of deafness are just as inhibiting within the army as they are in normal life, but also prove to be his greatest asset in the end.

The play is directed with a break-neck speed and utilises the space of the Barons Court Theatre to its true potential. Moments of action are evoked with an impressive degree of tact, while the fast-pace shuttles the audience from one moment to the next with a momentous pace.

Very often, as a method of placing the audience into the shoes of Goody, the dialogue is intentionally garbled or made gibberish to emulate his struggles with lip-reading other characters. This concept is superb, but the execution was subpar at times, as it was difficult to discern what was intended to be garbled language and what was merely rushed delivery by the actors.

Victoria Johnston and Nuala McGowan round out this three-person ensemble, bringing commitment to each of their multiple characters. McGowan’s character of the commander is especially hilarious as a typical Churchill type. 

The sound design by Garth McConaghie is also a stand-out, as so much is done to emulate how Goody actually hears, all the way down to the distorted “One More Time” by Daft Punk to the piercing sounds of a coffee machine.

All in all, “Deaf as a Post” is a rollercoaster ride of a play, throwing you into the upturned life of one man whose experiences of disability are explored through a dystopian lens. 

REVIEW: Your Lie In April – The Musical


Rating: 2 out of 5.

A few moments of magic in an otherwise underwhelming production.


Expectations are high for well-known adaptations. Higher still in the grandeur of the Theatre Royal Drury Lane. The recent Death Note concert left manga fans hoping for a repeat of its success with this version of “one of the most popular romantic stories and greatest tearjerkers in manga history”–the tale of Kōsei Arima, a young piano prodigy, and his inability to play following his mother’s death. Unfortunately, the show falls flat.

There are a few things that work well: the plot is as good (if ultimately predictable) as one expects from a seven-million-selling manga; the orchestra are excellent and brilliantly conducted by Chris Poon; and Zheng Xi Yong’s seemingly-genuine piano playing as Kōsei deserved its extended applause and shouts of “bravo!” Rumi Sutton also wows with her beautiful vocals, even if her voice seemed strained towards the end, and Rachel Clare Chan and Dean John-Wilson put in competent performances as side characters Tsubaki and Ryota. Special mention should also be made of Akiko Ishikawa and Chris Ma’s gorgeous and stand-out violin and piano playing, and of little Harrison Lui as Young Kōsei who steals everyone’s hearts upon every arrival.

The other elements of this production are underwhelming. The lyrics are broad and forgettable, as is much of Frank Wildhorn’s music which often sounds like it belongs in a folder of discarded Pasek and Paul numbers. Take a shot every time a character belts in the same way towards the end of a song. The biggest crime is how much this pop score seems to steal from other artists. In the show’s 2 hours runtime, my friend and I were reminded of the bridge in Icona Pop’s I Love It, the chorus of Pink’s Just Give Me a Reason and, most criminally, the titular hook of Christina Perri’s A Thousand Years–yes, the one from the Twilight soundtrack. In fact, this melody serves as the main refrain for a lead character, something one would have hoped the team would have noticed before now.

At other times, it’s the story or song choices that fail to land. The moment towards the end when (spoiler) Kōsei sings out in frustration as we expect Kaori is about to die is confusing, as is the sudden shift in Kōsei’s mother (Joanna Ampil) from stern and unforgiving to tender and nurturing. It’s true Kōsei’s relationship to his memory of her has changed, but the lack of journey means the resolution is forced. Sometimes it’s the song choices that baffle, such as Ryota’s The Beautiful Game where he sings about football (though I’m not convinced the cast or creative team are avid fans) as he chases his scholarship. Many I spoke to were left with the question, “why am I supposed to care?”

If the above reception seems harsh, it’s in part down to the unmet potential of this production. The story of Kōsei’s journey into grief and therefore love through music is a beautiful one and deserves more craft, depth and intricacy: the kind found in Zheng Xi Yong’s piano playing.

There’s something here, but until the show sorts out its problems of generality (and sound mixing) it’s not one I’d recommend. Kōsei can’t hear the music. We can, and I’d prefer if it found its own voice to move me.

REVIEW: The Mousetrap


Rating: 4 out of 5.

The Mousetrap effortlessly upholds its historic reign over the theatrical landscape.


Celebrating its remarkable 70-year legacy, The Mousetrap stands as the world’s longest-running play, having captivated audiences with its timeless blend of classic comedy and suspense. With millions of tickets sold in the West End, this momentous milestone is now commemorated through a UK tour promising to deliver the quintessential who-dunnit experience by the legendary Agatha Christie.

Transported into the grandeur of Monkswell Manor, viewers are introduced to Mollie (Hollie Sullivan) and Giles Ralston (Barnaby Jago) as they play host to an intriguing ensemble of characters. The group are slowly introduced with the eccentric Christopher Wren (Shaun McCourt), the entitled Mrs Boyle (Gwyneth Strong), the military man Major Metcalf (Todd Carty), the mysterious Miss Casswell (Amy Spinks) and the concealing Mr Paravicini (Steven Elliot, resident Director). They all present mystery and motives that are revealed through the police sergeant’s (Michael Ayiotis) investigation. The looming question persists: who among them is the cunning murderer, and who will be their next victim?

The suspense created by the nursery rhyme “Three Blind Mice” is woven into the narrative, leaving a lasting impression on the audience, ensuring the haunting melody lingers in their minds for days to come. The overall suspense is heightened by the design teams meticulous craftsmanship through in the creation of intricate sets, cleverly expanding the space while skillfully concealing characters.

Despite its status, it’s surprising to discover that many in the audience are experiencing The Mousetrap for the first time. And those who have seen it before remain steadfast in preserving its secret. Witnessing the audience’s reactions to the pivotal revelation is almost as thrilling as the masterful performances unfolding on stage.

In summary, The Mousetrap’s performance effortlessly upholds its historic reign over the theatrical landscape. Guaranteed to keep you guessing until the final curtain closes, this is an experience not to be missed. Catch The Mousetrap at The Lowry until Saturday 13th April, and on its journey across the country until September.

REVIEW: Paddington in Concert

Rating: 5 out of 5.

A narrative that strikes a chord with both young and old alike, featuring humour that is cleverly nuanced to entertain everyone – underlined by an amazing score!

Paddington in Concert, presented by STUDIOCANAL and Raymond Gubbay Limited, is an enchanting experience that beautifully encapsulates the timeless charm of this beloved tale. As someone who has surprisingly not been enchanted by Paddington’s adventures since childhood (as this was my first viewing of the tale), I found this concert to be a delightful celebration of everything that makes the story so enduringly special – even for a 26 years old child!

At its heart, Paddington is a classic for a reason. Its universal themes of kindness, inclusivity, and the search for belonging resonate deeply with audiences of all ages. In today’s world, where the importance of embracing diversity and compassion is more crucial, Paddington’s message feels particularly poignant. The idea of finding a home away from home and navigating one’s place in a civilised society is explored with a thoughtful nuance that prompts us to ponder what it truly means to be part of such a society. Is it respecting some arbitrary rules or being empathetic with the ones around?

As an immigrant myself, Paddington’s journey struck a deeply personal chord. In a time marked by conflicts and waves of immigration, his story serves as a poignant reminder that with a little help and understanding, one can integrate into a new country and find acceptance among people who may seem different at first glance. At the end of the day, if a wild bear obsessed with marmalade can be embraced by the London community, so can everybody!

The concert brilliantly highlights the emotional depth of Paddington’s narrative, with a score that is nothing short of magnificent. The orchestra’s performance, delivered with empathy, delicacy, and precision, brings the beloved characters and their adventures to life in a way that is both captivating and heartwarming. The impeccable sound mixing further enhances the experience, ensuring that every note is heard with crystal clarity.

Watching Paddington in Concert was a truly immersive experience, one that made me appreciate the richness of the story in a whole new light. It reminded me of the importance of embracing kindness and empathy in a world that can often feel divided. I left the concert feeling uplifted and inspired, with a renewed appreciation for the enduring magic of Paddington’s world. If given the chance, I would gladly experience the movie again in this unique form, as it beautifully highlights the exceptional quality of the score, which may go unnoticed when viewing the film from the comfort of one’s home.

REVIEW: This Is Memorial Device

Rating: 4 out of 5.

 A delve into the passionate, absurd, and all-consuming nature of music fandom during one’s formative years

Adapted and directed by Graham Eatough from David Keenan’s cult novel, This is Memorial Device is a one-man show that ingeniously incorporates four additional cast members through on-screen performances projected upstage. The protagonist Ross Raymond, portrayed by Paul Higgins, energetically and vividly investigates the fictional history of the 1980s post-punk scene in Airdrie. He is aided digitally by characters Andrea Anderson, Miriam McCluskie, David Kilpatrick, and Monica Lawson, whose lives were profoundly affected by the punk rock band ‘Memorial Device’. Also, Martin Quinn, as the band’s lead guitarist, Big Patty, makes his flamboyant presence felt through a cassette tape interview conducted by Ross Raymond. 

The performances are grounded, charming, and authentic, making the audience feel privy to audacious secrets and stories, or a vulnerable and unique stream of consciousness. Martin Clark’s video design allows the audience to get close to these characters, despite them not performing live physically on stage. The documentary-style videos provide a sense of intimacy, as the audience can see the pores of the characters’ skin, the blush of their cheeks, and the flicker or swell of their eyes as memories are reawakened. This adds to the concept of Ross unpacking and revisiting memories as a mature fanboy, and the simultaneous distance and closeness between himself now, and the “glory years” then. 

Higgin’s engaging and enthralling storytelling makes the audience understand how much the band’s impact reverberated through the local community, even in small yet equally valid ways. Kally Lloyd Jone’s movement direction gives Higgin’s performance the physicality and stylistic expression of the hysteria, exhilaration, and immediacy that the show’s music creates. Nigel Edward’s effervescent lighting choices capture the crazy, radical, reckless, buzzing, and unfiltered atmosphere during the 80s’ flashbacks. Anna Orton’s set design, with the stage cluttered with memorabilia kept for decades in Ross’s basement, as well as amps and guitars, transforms the stage from a grungy and shadowy storage space into a dome and sanctuary for nostalgia and punk rock – a beautiful, bittersweet medley of emotions and youth. 

The music by Stephen Pastel and Gavin Thomson ignites This is Memorial Device with its eclectic, hard-edged melodies and anti-establishment messaging. Gavin Thomson helped with the spectacular aural hypnotism with his sound design and enveloped the audience in the electrifying atmosphere that Ross misses. The deconstructed mannequins that cleverly represent ‘Memorial Device’ are assembled by Higgins from parts found in cardboard storage boxes. Two mannequins represent Big Patty (wearing shades and a tattered top hat), the drummer Richard dressed more smartly, and the brain-injured lyricist Lucas is represented by a tripod, creating a visual divide between him and the others. Lucas has his own “memorial device” – a notebook to recount what happened the day prior. The character distinctions are clear, but their differences interestingly complement each other in the band. Rather grimly, Ross now retrospectively worships Lucas, understanding with time, life experience, and wisdom what Lucas was getting at with his improvised songs onstage and his initially nonsensical scribblings.

The choice of using mannequins instead of people is also well conceived because it harkens back to what ‘Memorial Device’ did to attract attention to passersby in their supposed heyday. However, it also highlights how Higgins is alone in his basement using objects to help piece together his own memories, musical and social dreams and fantasies, giving him comfort from what slice of that he had in the past. In sum, Graham Eatough’s This is Memorial Device is a stimulating, riveting theatrical adaptation of and celebration of local and personal history, heritage, and music. It also contrastingly explores the desired absolute abandonment of the past and the ability to live for the present day, with music serving as a spiritual awakening that we are all invited to participate in.

REVIEW: Gunter

Rating: 5 out of 5.

 Dirty Hare bewitches its audience with their enchanting theatrical magic 

Gunter tells a true story of historically archived witch trial case, kicked off by Brian Gunter killing two young lads during a football match. Their mother, Elizabeth Gregory, vows for justice but Gunter is the wealthiest man in the village. What’s left for her is sheer humiliation. When his daughter, Anne Gunter falls ill, he exploits Anne to frame Gregory (and two other women in town) as witches, by forcing Anne to play nasty tricks showing her as bewitched. Such deception is eventually revealed by a renowned Oxford academic, and the three women are found not guilty. Now the table turns on Brian and Anne Gunter. Nevertheless, the result of the Gunters’ trial, together with the rest of Anne Gunter’s life, is lost because of the gunpowder plot in 1606.

The creative team of Dirty Hare, comprised of Lydia Higman, Julia Grogan, and Rachel Lemon, masterfully presents their capability of crafting a non-fictional theatre about historical archives. By mixing up the historian (Lydia Higman) acting as the narrator and a cast of three (Julia Grogan, Hannah Jarrett-Scott, and Norah Lopez Holden) performing around twenty characters including neighbours and juries, this production offers a plethora of delightful surprises to the audiences that I almost feel spoiled. 

A standout feature is the use of music. Sometimes you hear Hamilton-style rap (the “bad woman” song), showcasing the cast’s extraordinary vocal capacity; the other times you may enjoy its folk tone adding more fidelity to a historical England. Folk songs, as the genre of storytelling, transforms the cast into bards (or bardesses, I guess). Besides Higman as the all-time musician adeptly handling over three instruments, the cast also occasionally play the instruments, such as a “musical washingboard” for percussion effect, or a trumpet that adds to a piercing and distant melancholy to the ambience. 

The production strikes a delicate balance between the English theatre traditions and contemporary European theatres. There’s a joke about the coconut in Elizabethan theatre at the beginning, when the historian advises us to use our imagination on a bare stage. It finds a poignant echo at the end when the historian tells us what happens to Anne. After the trial, she travels down the Thames that afternoon, possibly “with wind in her hair and a fag in her hand”. This vivid image, conjured solely by verdict, instils a sense of hope seeded through the fertile ground of imagination. Yet under the design of Anna Orton, the stage is scarcely “bare”, coming with three movable footlights for multiple uses and several buckets for audience interaction, in line with a retractable scrim effectively showcasing Brechtian alienation when it is raised up, unveiling the whole “backstage”.

The final scene is nothing but spellbinding. As the result is forever lost, Anne, performed with fervent intensity by Holden, ferociously confronts the historian with haunting questions: Did she die? did he die? DO I DIE? These questions somehow feel like a reversal of fourth-wall breaking: as this whole production is openly presentational, such questions reveal how representation can be utterly powerful in certain moments. “Anne” frantically taps the footlight that is now out of the control; then the microphone, a guarantee of voice spoken out and voice being heard. But this time it no longer works. No one hears her.

Finally, “Anne” smashes sands against the “unbiased” scrim, which stands as cold archival records. Witnessing a number of productions messing the stage with whatever material (water, paint, confetti, pieces of bricks, chocolate-made poo, etc), it is the very first time I do not view it as sheer formalism. Instead, it is imbued with row and fierce emotions that I feel so convincing and dear. Then she cuts the wire of the scrim that now only displays “no signal”- for the scrim, for Anne, and for the stories of countless women killed as witches, and those deemed as bewitched victims. 
What is recorded as fact, is not true. The theme song, “Oh Where the Bad Man Sleeps” questions why in historical narrative, men always hide:  in archives, in their tax records, in their familial graves. Bad men are nowhere to be found when you accuse them for persecution and intimidation; bad men are found everywhere, trying to determine the story of women and the way of telling and writing it, just like how Brian manipulates Anne, and how the jury and the court eventually lost interest in her. There is not witch in real life, but Gunter demonstrates how women have been actually “bewitched” and ensnared by men through a real witch trial story in history.

In Conversation with: Nkenna Akunna

tiata fahodzi, the UK’s leading British African heritage contemporary touring theatre company, presents the London Premiere of cheeky little brown by Papatango Prize-winning playwright Nkenna Akunna – coming to Theatre Royal Stratford East, Tuesday 16 – Saturday 20 April 2024. 

Part musical, part drama, cheeky little brown is a profound,  surreal and comic exploration of friendship, queer love, and heartbreak studded with snappy comedic intrigue and glittering prose. A solo show starring Tiajna Amayo as Lady – a determined, sharp-tongued charmer who loves her best friend Gemma and a good night out – cheeky little brown explores a coming-of-age story that examines a friendship between two Black women on diverging paths of self-love and acceptance. 

How would you describe cheeky little brown?

It’s a coming of age story with a complicated friendship breakup at its centre. It’s also a love letter to a home [city] that doesn’t really exist anymore. 

cheeky little brown toured in Autumn, how does it feel to now bring the show to London for the first time?

It’s coming home! It feels good, and I love that it’s coming to Stratford. The area gets a mention when the protagonist Lady remembers going to a Choice FM Junior Jam there. Clearly it’s meant to be.  

The show features original songs, what can you tell us about the songs and the musicality of the show?

They’re very inspired by early/mid 2000s indie sleaze. I can’t say I know all the songs but I loved Kate Nash growing up. Foundations and Merry Happy are still two of my favourite songs. There’s also a garage-inspired tune in there. I’d say musically, it’s a bit rude, audacious, tongue-in-cheek, and reminiscent of childhood watching Skins.  

How has it felt to explore a relationship on stage between two women on such emotionally diverging paths?

Extremely rich and fulfilling. Hard in the best way. It’s normal that people change, though when watching the show, it’s easy to paint one or the other as the villain. I think they both have a lot of feelings, and neither really has the tools to manage them all just yet. 

What do you hope audiences will take away from the show?

We’re all one trauma away from another coming of age. Ha. No but seriously, humans are messy and heartbreak is hard but laughing really helps. 

What does tiata fahodzi’s work and history mean to you as a creative?

It means a lot to be working with a theatre company whose mission is to champion Black British storytelling. Many artists who’ve come through tf paved the way for my own existence in UK theatre right now. That my debut was brought to the stage by tiata fahodzi is something I’ll always hold dear.

REVIEW: Cassie and the Lights

Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

Family is given an entirely new meaning in this tender yet humorous play about three siblings and their absent mother

Cassie, Tin, and Kit are three sisters with an unbreakable bond. When their mom disappears and the promise of her return still lingers in the air, Cassie, at 17-years-old, becomes Tin’s (11) and Kit’s (8) unofficial caregiver. Though Cassie asks her siblings to keep their circumstances under wraps, word gets out and the three are taken into foster care by the objectively kind and loving Alice and Mark. Cassie is understandably protective over their siblings and fears their separation. When Mark and Alice ask Kit and Tin if they would be comfortable being adopted by the pair, Cassie fears the seemingly inevitable separation of themself from their sisters. Cassie begins an arduous journey to legally become Kit and Tin’s caregiver, a quest that poses the question of whether a teenager can be the guardian of two children. The very definition of a family is wrangled with, with heart breaking sincerity. 

Written in conversation with children in the foster-system, playwright and director Alex Howarth has created an earnest masterpiece. Cassie and The Lights is performed as a play created by the piece’s young subjects: Tin, Kit, and Cassie. The siblings directly address the audience, give verbal context to the scenes, openly coordinate the technical elements, and craft pieces of set as they go along. The stage design has the hallmarks of childhood – objects are attributed multiple functions; suitcases are bedazzled with lights and puppets to change time or place. The language is perfectly childlike, and painfully so as these children openly battle incredibly difficult and outright ‘adult’ problems. The piece flows as a perfectly chaotic child’s handywork. 

Alex Brain (Cassie), Helen Chong (Tin), and Emily McGlynn (Kit) form a wonderful ensemble. Their chemistry is palpable and presented a bond that felt truly like that of siblings who have been forced to hold onto each other as tightly as possible in the face of hardship. The production featured live music and soundscape-composition by Teresa Origone. The music was folksy, creating a sense of sombre ache. The live soundscape production added to the unpretentious nature of a play ‘created’ by the children of the story.

The audience was clearly left feeling incredibly touched by Cassie and the Lights. This piece leaves much to think about on your journey home. Cassie and the Lights poses the question of what constitutes a family and how much autonomy we have over who counts as our kin. No matter your own relationship to family – filial, chosen, or otherwise – Cassie, Kit, and Tin’s story will certainly give you more to consider when asked the question what a complete family looks like.