Month: March 2026

REVIEW: SUGAR DADDY

Published on by Jessica Steans-GailLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

“Sugar Daddy is an invitation to laugh at death and life in equal measure”

Sam Morrison’s laugh-out-loud solo show Sugar Daddy has officially opened at Underbelly Boulevard Soho. Sugar Daddy, like grief, is full of contradictions. It is wholesome and edgy; sardonic and poignant; delightful and grave; intelligent and silly; thoughtful and spontaneous. Most of all, it is tragedy and comedy. With a production team including Alan Cumming and Billy Porter along with Sally™ of Drag Race UK and Olympian Gus Kenworth, Sugar Daddy promises 75-minutes of laughter with a chance of tears. 

Sugar Daddy is a meta story of finding humor in grief. Morrison began writing what would eventually become Sugar Daddy following the devastating loss of his long-term partner to COVID-19 in 2021 and a subsequent Type 1 diabetes diagnosis the same year. As a comedian, Morrison was moved to process his grief through writing and ultimately telling his story on stage. Sugar Daddy offers an emotional outlet for both him and his audience. Morrison serves as a trusted and humorous guide in a collective search for meaning in loss.

I must confess that I was uniquely predisposed to love Sugar Daddy. Sam and I, it turns out, are both Americans who spent our recent twenties in Brooklyn and have passed late nights in Provincetown. There is, admittedly, a particular intimacy with performance that reflects the world you know. That said, there is no prerequisite for loving Sugar Daddy. Morrison takes his audience through the halls of his mind and memories, pausing to give comedic context and definitions as needed. Sugar Daddy reflects elements of the human experiences far more original and meaningful than living in Brooklyn. It’s hard to imagine any audience member could exit the theatre without recognizing something of themself on stage. Morrison’s story is singular, but deeply human. Anyone who has lived with anxiety, navigated heartache, experienced loss, endured the pandemic, heard of Judaism, been gay or been to the beach can relate. Death and diabetes are integral, as are the realities of navigating sex, love, age-gap relationships, and Provincetown. The world of Sugar Daddy is honest, vivid, and expansive. 

Vulnerability is a central tension in Sugar Daddy. The performance is inherently confessional. Morrison’s choice to sit quietly on stage as the audience enters is the first acknowledgement that, despite the controlled confidence of his performance, he has located himself in a vulnerable position. The performance is punctuated by intermittent interjections from the voice in Morrison’s head. These interjections are not random; his inner-voice disrupts moments it deems inauthentic, moments when Morrison tries hardest to obfuscate his pain by transmuting it into humor. On-stage Morrison, acknowledging the voyeuristic cultural desire to mine trauma for content, responds by refusing to give his audience a coveted “death scene”. 

The ongoing argument in Morrison’s head is existential. He is at war with himself regarding the appropriate response to death. Should he confront it with sadness? Laughter? Denial? Sex? Sugar Daddy underscores the power of mind-body connection. Morrison’s inner-monologue, while hilarious, reminds him that grief will not be ignored. Sooner or later, Morrison advises, we must confront sadness before it confronts us. Trauma is a somatic experience. 

The Underbelly Boulevard Soho production marks Sugar Daddy’s return to London following a brief 2023 stint at Soho Theatre. The show returns to the UK on the heels of an off-Broadway run and performances across North America. Sugar Daddy makes its comeback with fresh direction from Amrou Al-Khadi. Al-Khadi has toured multiple solo shows internationally including From Qur’an to Queen and Drag Mother under the performance name Glamour. They are also known for their memoir Life as a Unicorn and their debut film Layla,which premiered at The Sundance Film Festival in 2024. 

Between Morrison and Al-Khadi, the audience is in excellent hands. The Sugar Daddy script includes masterful callbacks and has been updated to include British in-jokes. Despite minimal use of props, discrete scenes and moments are remarkably vivid. The set is spare, allowing Morrison to use his words and body to set scenes. Morrison indeed makes use of his entire space, coolly commanding the stage with a practiced precision while, like any good comedian, making us feel he’s sharing it all for the first time. 

Sugar Daddy is an invitation to laugh at death and life in equal measure. It’s Morrison’s story situated in the context of the human condition. It is a meditation on grief as much as it is 75-minutes of rapid-fire jokes. Despite its short run time, Sugar Daddy has something for everyone, even if it’s just a desire to laugh in dark times. 
Sugar Daddy is on at The Underbelly Boulevard Soho through 4th April. Tickets are available at sugardaddyshow.com. 

REVIEW: America The Beautiful: Chapter 1

Published on by Mark LloydLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

“High-caliber performances anchor this sharp, if occasionally inconsistent, triple bill”

Neil LaBute’s America The Beautiful: Chapter 1 makes its UK debut at the King’s Head Theatre. Comprising of three thirty-minute plays written over the past decade for the LaBute New Theater Festival in the US, the collection offers a searing, albeit varied, look at the darker side of the human condition. While the plays are distinct, they are expertly linked by an underlying exploration of psychopathy and sociopathy, moving from the visceral and sinister to the unexpectedly absurd.

The success of the evening rests heavily on the shoulders of a stellar cast. Across the board, the performances are on fine form, but it is Borris Anthony York who takes on the night’s most difficult task. As the only actor to appear in two of the three plays, York is required to inhabit two drastically different personas. He manages this feat with remarkable ease, remaining entirely believable as he shifts from the high-tension opener as a flamboyant and very feminine man, to the haunting masculine stillness of the second piece.

The first play, Hate Crime, is a masterclass in building a slow-burn mystery. Set in a hotel room where one of the men is staying, the atmosphere is thick with a palpable frisson of sex and danger. Over the course of thirty minutes, the true nature of their relationship and plans are meticulously revealed, keeping the audience on their toes throughout. Liam Jedele plays opposite York here, bringing a volatile and dangerous energy to every moment. His performance ensures the tension never sags, making the room feel increasingly claustrophobic as the stakes rise.

The momentum stumbles slightly with the second play, Kandahar. The piece features York alone and unmoving at a table for the full duration. While this is an undoubtedly impressive display of discipline and vocal acting, the script itself feels relatively uninspiring compared to the rest of the program. The narrative trajectory becomes obvious quite early on, and the story begins to meander through to a finish rather than driving home a point. An attempt to inject some visual flair, a rather cliched red lighting wash at the mention of blood and violence, felt simplistic and obvious. While Kandahar serves as an excellent vehicle for York to display his considerable acting chops, it remains the weakest link of the three.

Fortunately, the evening recovers brilliantly with the final play, The Possible. A complete tonal shift from the grittier, violent descriptions of the previous pieces, this play is a total delight. It is deranged, hilarious, and weirdly moving, ensuring the audience leaves the theater on a genuine high. Maya-Nika Bewley and Anna María play opposite each other with brilliant chemistry, navigating a clever and eccentric piece of writing that is expertly performed. It is a testament to the curation of the evening that it can pivot from such darkness to something so uniquely spirited.

In conclusion, while the night offers a somewhat mixed bag in terms of script strength, the high quality of the acting and the impact of the bookending plays make this production well worth seeing. It is a fascinating, if unsettling, journey through the American psyche.

America The Beautiful: Chapter 1 is playing at the King’s Head Theatre until March 14th. The cycle continues with Chapter 2, featuring three new plays, from March 16th–21st, before Chapter 3 moves to the Greenwich Theatre from March 31st–April 4th.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Tamiko Dooley

Published on by ayoungishperspective1Leave a comment

What happens when a tech bro builds a predictive AI system to stabilise the next generation, but three dead women from history with serious unfinished business infiltrate it? Ticket Link: https://uniontheatre.biz/show/flyology/

FLYOLOGY drops Ada Lovelace, Emmeline Pankhurst and Ethel Smyth into a rogue AI simulation; what excited you about bringing these formidable figures to life through music?

What excited us most was the contradiction at the heart of each of them: women who were ferociously, visibly themselves in eras that demanded their silence. Ada reduced to a footnote in someone else’s invention. Ethel conducting with a toothbrush from a prison cell. Emmeline building a movement that kept being dismantled. When you put that kind of compressed history into a rogue simulation, music becomes the thing that lets them finally say what they weren’t allowed to say. And with Ethel being a composer herself, there was something almost mischievous about giving her songs, as if we were returning something that had always belonged to her.


The show blends sci-fi glitch with feminist riot; how did you write songs that feel as disruptive and unapologetic as the story itself?

I tried to let the songs misbehave in the same way the women do. They shift register without warning: tender then furious, funny then devastating. The songs I write come quickly and have an emotional truth to them as they’re always about a raw or difficult moment that needs processing for me personally through songwriting. I refuse to turn away or dial down the emotion and lean into that feeling as I write – which is a form of disruptive behaviour as songwriters: to tell our story honestly through song. This, in turn, allows the character to be truthful.

At its core FLYOLOGY asks who gets erased when efficiency becomes the goal; what conversations about tech and power were you hoping to spark?

The conversation we kept returning to was: Who defines efficiency? Because the answer is always the person with the power to set the parameters. Callum, our EdTech bro, isn’t cartoonishly evil. He genuinely believes in optimisation. That’s what makes him dangerous. The women aren’t erased because he hates them; they’re erased because the things that make them extraordinary, their inconvenience, their insistence, their love, don’t fit the model. We wanted audiences to sit with that discomfort and recognise it. Not just in AI, but in every institution that has ever decided that certain kinds of humanity are inefficiencies to be processed out.

With fourth-wall breaks and music that refuses to behave, how did you shape a sound world that matches the show’s chaos?

The fourth-wall breaks started in the script and infected the music, which is exactly what we wanted. There are moments where the score acknowledges the audience the same way the characters do; a sudden shift in texture that says “yes, we know you’re there.” Each character adds her own texture to the sound world, and the ensemble numbers have unapologetic quodlibet sections where voices intentionally clash to show that the riot has arrived. The chaos isn’t decorative. We wanted a sound world where you could never quite settle, because these women never could.

After sold-out runs and workshops, how has FLYOLOGY evolved as audiences have started to encounter it?

The workshops taught us what audiences needed more of and less of, and almost universally, it was more jeopardy. The stakes needed to feel real. Early on, the women’s intelligence protected them too quickly, and audiences wanted to feel genuinely frightened for them. That note changed the second act significantly. Over the last year, we’ve been inspired by other shows we’ve seen – Ballad Lines, Mincemeat, Cable Street, Dear England, as a few examples – brilliant shows make us write better by helping us focus on those moments that make the story sing. The longer we write together and become immersed in the world of FLYOLOGY, the more distinct our writing becomes and is focused on storytelling. Audiences have made FLYOLOGY funnier and darker in equal measure, which feels like exactly the right direction.

The show suggests the qualities systems try to tidy away might actually hold everything together; how did that idea shape the score?

The score is heavy on human connection – things which the system, which AI cannot recognise. It can describe it, regurgitate every article written about it from the internet, but it cannot fundamentally understand love on a human level. So with the score, the songs hold the story together with emotion, taking the words that are spoken onto a different plane. It is these moments where characters break into song that are crucial to the show, and to the idea that emotion, even if we try to erase it, is what fundamentally holds us all together.

FEATURE: The Serpentine Reader 2nd Edition

Published on by calumskuodasLeave a comment

The Serpentine Reader launched its second edition earlier this week, inviting readers to hear live readings from contributors at a free event. The magazine is a new part of the galleries’ wider artistic mission and aims to give artists and writers an inclusive platform dedicated to long-form writing. 

The new edition brings together a fascinating array of essays gathered loosely around the theme of wellness in the digital age, with the heading of ‘I hope this finds you well’. This phrase is a classic piece of 20th century netiquette that will be all too familiar to young creatives who have fired email after email into the digital void, but what does it actually mean? It’s vaguely comforting without any familiarity, friendly without a connection – part of a society trying its best to be healthy in a distinctly unhealthy time. 

It’s these disruptive ideas the magazine explores; sitting at the intersection of language and art, it will likely draw young people wanting to engage deeply with the world around them. 

The essays were brought to life with live readings from contributors Eliot Haworth, Alex Quicho, Jocelyn Longdon and Ebun Sodipo. There is something for everyone here: Longdon’s meticulously researched social history is contrasted with the engaging feature-style essays presented by Haworth and Quicho. Sodipo ended the night by reading not from her essay but from an upcoming poetry collection. Their work was powerful, considered and important. It’s a testament to the magazine’s slow publishing ethos that prioritises high-quality and careful production over rapid production. When I spoke to editor Hanna Girma, she told me: 

“A lot of texts that come out of the art world are mostly geared towards what’s in the exhibition, with this constant need to comment on what’s happening now, or things that are on view. I wanted to create a space where the texts are given the same amount of space, care, and effort as any gallery show.” 

“We work with so many amazing writers, and just want to nurture artists who have writing as a practice, who also maybe don’t get the right amount of funds or time to work through ideas, and platform them in the same way we platform anything else. I think Serpentine’s a really great place for experimentation.” 

You can learn more about the Serpentine Reader and order a copy here. 

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REVIEW: Close Up Classical with David Arnold

Published on by annieyezhoua29f00172fLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

Inside David Arnold’s love letter to classical music 

At Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club, Close Up Classical with David Arnold offers a refreshing and deeply personal way to experience classical music. Hosted by film composer David Arnold, the evening centres on a simple but engaging idea: Arnold selects some of his favourite classical pieces and shares with the audience why they resonate with him.

Arnold proved to be a thoughtful and engaging guide throughout the night. His commentary framed each piece around a particular theme, helping the audience understand what draws him to the music. The evening opened with a focus on joy, beginning with the sparkling overture to A Midsummer Night’s Dream by Felix Mendelssohn. This was followed by the elegant waltz from The Sleeping Beauty by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, whose sweeping melodies lifted the mood and set a celebratory tone for the programme.

A particularly enjoyable aspect of the evening was the back-and-forth between Arnold and violinist Lizzie Ball. Their exchanges offered insight not only into the music but also into the performer’s perspective. Arnold spoke with clear respect for musicians, frequently highlighting the demands of recording sessions where players are often required to sight-read complex scores with very little preparation time. These moments gave the audience a greater appreciation of the skill and discipline behind the performances.

For me, the highlight of the night came during the programme’s exploration of yearning; the feeling of striving for something just out of reach. Arnold spoke about his love of melodies where each note feels inevitable, as though the music has no choice but to unfold in the way it does. This idea was beautifully illustrated through extracts from Swan Lake by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky and the Adagietto from Gustav Mahler’s Symphony No. 5, both of which created one of the most moving moments of the evening.

Arnold also challenged the perception that classical music must always be serious or formal. Introducing a playful piece by Benjamin Britten, he explained that he chose it simply because it made him laugh; a reminder that humour and curiosity are just as present in classical music.

In the intimate setting of Ronnie Scott’s, the result was a warm, engaging evening that felt less like a traditional concert and more like being invited into a musician’s world to hear the music that inspires them most.

REVIEW:  It Walks Around The House at Night

Published on by fbalchinLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

An atmospheric modern gothic thriller, oozing technical brilliance and spectacular performances.

What makes a good ghost story? Magical realism? An eldritch horror? Supernatural revenge? For writer Time Foley, it’s a moody, brooding botanical terror set in a classic English country manor, woven with modern characters and a foreboding sense of dread throughout. Protagonist Joe (played expertly by George Naylor) is frustrated by his lack of acting gigs, forced to work bar shifts he hates, mingled with a complicated love life he enthusiastically critiques. A stranger offers him a large fee for what amounts to a spooky walk around his country pad for a week dressed as a historical ghost. Thus, the old adage “if it’s too good to be true, it probably is” unfolds for our hero.

Firstly, this isn’t really a ghost story, in that the creature is revealed slightly too early in Joe’s week (first night!) and is clearly not a conceptual imaginary aberration. For the audience’s fear to emerge, theatrical magic needs to play into concealment and revelation. The trope that the imagination conjures worse things than any physical entity should have been leant into further. The incredibly effective lighting and video design by Joshua Pharo is nothing short of brilliant. Clever use of shadow, colour and hidden lightsources are exploited;  even utilising a mobile phone torch to elicit dread as we wait for something to show itself ensured our eyes were constantly adjusting to the unknown.  This is merged with a soundscape full of eerie yet familiar sounds- raindrops, wildlife and synth-wave. Occasionally, though, the sounds feel like a clichéd ASMR session with dramatic screeches, shrieks and bangs eliciting a cheap jumpscare. The play feels smarter than that.

Naylor’s frantic, intense fourth-wall-breaking monologues are powerful to watch; his ability to ponder, evoke chaos and change his physicality constantly is laudable. Combined with The Dancer (played by Oliver Baines) whose character feels like a direct counterpart to Joe, where ephemeral movements make way for eternal metaphors. References to the fae world, witchcraft and mythology are touched on before a blisteringly fast final third, frantically filled with exposition and confusion.

With both writer Tim Foley and theatre company ThickSkin being Mancunian, the elements of classism, privilege and capitalism evoke similarities with Elizabeth Gaskell’s writing. Themes of morality in the face of poverty, social responsibility and strength through personal adversity it definitely explored throughout the script, but only in brief, intense flashes. This is something that can definitely be explored more, as the play really demonstrates “everyone has a price”.

As a 90 minute production, it is technically brilliant. A slick modern thriller that doesn’t quite tip into full horror mode but explores elements of gothic writing themes, English mythology and a mystical blend of stellar stagecraft. Perhaps if given wider development and a longer run time with an interval, certain premises could be explored. In particular, the delay to the reveal of the creature, the removal of too many clichéd horror ASMR tropes and a focus on what the play wants to say. Presently, it feels as though the genre of horror is a metaphor for class and capitalism. Interwoven frenetically with relationship drama, career woes and Joe’s witty one-liners, the script proves to be frequently exhausting to keep up with. Hone the focus and allow the horror elements to breathe. Give the audience some credit for having the stamina to ride it out, and the payoff will be worth it.

It Walks Around the House at Nights plays at Southwark Playhouse Borough until 28th March 2026.

REVIEW: In Bloom

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Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

Sometimes the bravest thing a flower can do is open again.

 In Bloom is a bold, playful and deeply feminine solo performance that blends theatre, dance and physical storytelling. At its heart, it asks a deceptively simple question: what does it mean to bloom again after the wind has forced you shut?

From the moment Louna Palombo steps onto the stage, she proves that one performer is more than enough to fill the space. As a standalone presence she is phenomenal. She is not just portraying a flower – she becomes one. Rooted in her pot at the start of the show, she inhabits the fragile optimism of something growing toward the light. Through voice, posture, breath and movement, she brings a plant to life with startling conviction.

The story unfolds across acts that mirror the rhythm of the seasons: spring, summer, autumn and winter, before returning to a final rebirth in spring. In the beginning, our flower grows quietly on the balcony of an apartment complex. But when summer arrives she is repotted into a garden, a moment of liberation that introduces her to the Wind, a carefree force that blows without consequence and becomes her Mr Big: thrilling, intoxicating and ultimately destructive.

Left alone after the storm, the flower is forced into a period of reflection. The performance cleverly uses the natural cycle of seasons to chart this emotional journey. Spring represents growth, summer is joy and reckless love, autumn signals loss, and winter becomes a time of stillness before renewal.

At several moments in the piece, the flower poses a question that lingers long after the show ends: “What does a flower mean if not given?” Later she asks the more radical counterpart: “What does a flower mean for itself?” These lines crystallise the core of the performance. Flowers are so often symbols offered to others — tokens of love, apology, celebration. But what happens when the flower exists not as a gift, but as something living for itself?

The transitions between the seasons are one of the production’s charming devices as the show pauses briefly as Palombo changes a sign marking the new season, almost like a cinematic title card. With music swelling in the background, the audience can practically picture filmic transitions: leaves swirling for autumn, warm sunlight for summer, icy quiet for winter. It gives the piece a playful theatricality while keeping the storytelling clear and rhythmic.

Physically, Palombo’s performance is extraordinary. She uses every part of her body to embody the flower’s life. Her voice moves through vulnerability, excitement, heartbreak and resilience, while her physicality shifts seamlessly between spoken theatre and bursts of dance. In moments of love with the Wind, Sofia Zaragoza’s choreography expands into fluid contemporary movement, Palombo’s limbs stretching and spiralling as though pulled by invisible currents.

What makes it so compelling is how effortless it appears. Palombo’s control and physical intelligence make the choreography look organic, as if the movement is simply the natural way this flower exists. The audience ends up living vicariously through her and rooting for her to bloom again.

The visual world of the piece is equally thoughtful. The staging transforms the performance space into a small garden: pots, scattered flowers and patches of grass that gradually become part of the action as the story unfolds. Nothing sits idly on stage for long. By the end of the show, the set has been touched, moved, or repurposed, mirroring the flower’s own transformation.

Costume plays a key role in building the character. Palombo wears a soft, ballet-core outfit that suggests the delicate structure of a plant: she is the stem, while a crown of petals sits on her head. Glittering highlighter across her cheeks catches the stage lights like morning dew. The effect is whimsical without tipping into parody, allowing the symbolism to remain playful yet sincere. The petals themselves carry an unmistakable metaphor for femininity, evoking womanhood, sexuality and independence.

If the piece has a flaw, it arrives in its final moments. After such a rich visual and physical journey, the closing explanation of the show’s message feels slightly unnecessary. The metaphor is already clear: a flower reclaiming her ability to open herself again. Especially performed on International Women’s Day, the audience hardly needs the theme spelled out quite so directly.

Still, this is a minor misstep in an otherwise captivating work. In Bloom succeeds because it trusts the power of the body, the stage, and one performer’s ability to transform imagination into reality.

REVIEW: What the Hell? An Incredible Improv Show

Published on by Will OsbonLeave a comment

Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

A lineup like this is too good to fail, and even when it does, it’s hilarious.

The Edinburgh International Improv Festival wrapped up on the 8th of March, and it did so with a handful group improv shows (an appropriate send off for a festival so community led). These shows had stacked line ups, including one of which A Young(ish) Perspective attended – What the Hell? An Incredible Improv Show. 

This show was made up of Amanda Breen, James Dwyer, Chris Gethard, Oscar Montoya, Aaron LaRoche, Monika Smith, Kimi Jackson and Lyndsey Frank. These comedians came up with a series of sometimes-connected sometimes-totally-tangential scenes prompted by audience stories that make one say “What the hell?”. A true range of talent on the stage that night led to an onslaught of bits, all flavoured with each comedian’s particularities. These were the most engaging moments of the night, as comedians figured out how to slalom around another comedian’s idea, add to it or knock it down. This was not combative; it was improv in collaboration. When each performer is equally as confident and talented as the next, it creates a sort of cascade of bits – which is certainly the best way to describe the show that night.

Two stories were conjoined together into one large tapestry of scenes, including dad advice, an ever-evolving tampon bit and an apparently offensive wedding attire salesman. After this, the group took one word and ran with it – “Hopscotch”. And while the scenes that followed were delightfully spiraling (at some point including a Goblin Avatar commune), Hopscotch didn’t wind up occurring. The initial attempt included a father-daughter disagreement about easter baskets, which one could see resulting someway in Hopscotch. But, as the final scenes evolved, the show wrapped up with callbacks instead. 

This is the only minor thing that brought the show down. The large, talented and multifaceted group may have broken up a level of synchronicity, leading to tenuous scene resolutions at times. However, this onstage talent was also the biggest strength. Amanda Breen, Monika Smith and Oscar Montoya were the most controlled of the troupe, managing to create clear set ups in their scenes, allowing for natural development, and also capable of playing a clear role in the scene to make room for laughter. Aaron LaRoche, Lyndsey Frank and James Dwyer were extremely bit-form that evening; these comedians would truncate or interrupt scenes in order to contribute their own bit of silliness, my favourite of which was each comedian separately developing the gun pointing bit. Kimi Jackson was an ace-in-the-hole, often taking on unexpected characters who were funny in mere expression, like an overexcited bridesmaid or a miscellaneous Swedish man. As an industry veteran, Chris Gethard was a standout. His expertise in the medium makes him extremely comfortable rambling on about Avatar to humorous effect. By the end of the evening, it was clear that other comedians were ribbing Gethard a little bit, as they continuously attempted to return him to an uncomfortable character. 

In the end, this was the show’s biggest advantage. Each comedian was skilled enough to create laughter, but it was also evident that the fun for the performers was in being able to catch each other out. Push a bit out or pull it back in. While the structural integrity is the only technical mark down, when you’re watching something as fun as this, it’s easy not to care about that. And if Improv can’t make someone care less, what can?

Photo by Henry Roberts

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Elizabeth Huskisson

Published on by Ke MengLeave a comment

We sat down for an exclusive interview with Elizabeth Huskisson, writer and performer of Where Have All Our Women Gone?

Where Have All Our Women Gone comes to Liverpool’s Unity Theatre for one night only, Friday 13th March – Tickets here.

International Women’s Day is often framed as a moment of celebration, but your work confronts what happens when women are missing, silenced, or erased. What does International Women’s Day mean to you personally, and how does Where Have All Our Women Gone? complicate that narrative?

International Women’s Day is of course a celebration and a day I always use to recognise the phenomenal women around me, particularly those who have been so integral in creating and championing this play. For me, IWD is also about reigniting the revolution inside myself and inside the work. I think celebration and rebellion can happen side by side, I think there can be a call to arms, a need for change and a moment to rejoice. It’s really important that we understand why IWD is fundamental and why a revolution is nothing short of vital. Every three day a man kills a woman in the UK. That statistic should haunt us, horrify us, and demand we make a change.

The play asks a stark, recurring question—where have all our women gone? On a day dedicated to women’s voices and achievements, what do you hope audiences are forced to reckon with after watching this work?

I always hope the women feel seen and are able to have a deeply cathartic experience, I hope they feel their rage is shared and valid. Often the women have something much darker to reckon with, the heartbreaking reality of being a woman and how violent that act of existence can be. That alone is enough for the women in the audience to reckon with. I hope the men reckon with their own complacency, complicity and capacity for change. I’m so keen for more men to engage with this work, because it’s not a lecture, it’s not an hour long criticism, it’s a piece of work that captures a feeling shared my thousands of women, it’s a reflection of a nation in a state of moral bankruptcy, in desperate need of change. I am always blown away by the responses from the men in the audience and it always reaffirms why I make this work. It’s deeply educational for them, emotionally educational and that’s crucial in engaging men in this conversation.

You describe the piece as both theatre and activism, using satire, sincerity, and the surreal to address male violence against women and girls. How do you balance emotional accessibility with political urgency—especially for audiences who may be encountering these realities for the first time?

I don’t know if this show is emotionally accessible, I don’t know if it should be, in so much as, the discomfort the audience experience, is an important aspect in provoking them into action. We have a lot of content warnings on this show, it can be triggering and it’s pretty relentless so I always try to provide an infrastructure for people to understand the world they’re about to walk into, but the play reflects reality so I refuse to sanitise it for people’s comfort. As you say, it’s urgent, so we attack this work with courage and conviction. And if you’re encountering these realities for the first time, then my honest thought would be, perhaps you need to reflect on the privilege you’re experiencing that means this doesn’t exist in your cultural sphere.

This production has been performed in extraordinary contexts, including within the police force. On International Women’s Day, what do you think institutions—not just individuals—still need to hear, acknowledge, or change?

In the words of the remarkable Giséle Pelicot, shame must change sides. We need to reshape the cultural conversation, the discourse in the media and institutional structures. I have seen in far too many companies and institutions where structures are not in place to ensure women’s safety or provide support. Including women in conversations to reimagine the infrastructures of our society is the only way to create a society that works for women. The threat we are facing is complex and vast, and statistically growing at an alarming rate. We need to believe the women, educate the men and demand the men educate themselves.

International Women’s Day often asks, what progress has been made? After performing this play repeatedly, do you feel hopeful, exhausted, or something more complicated—and where do you locate hope, if at all?

I have a lot of hope, rebellion is rooted in hope, we rebel because we believe change is possible. I have hope because of the remarkable women I have met whilst creating and performing this play. They are endlessly courageous. Their kindness gives me hope, their fierce belief in change gives me hope. And yet of course, it’s exhausting. And it’s terrifying. And I find it hard to believe, truly hard to believe that this is real.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Lucy Mynard & Emma Wallace

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We sat down for a quick chat with Lucy Mynard & Emma Wallace about their latest project, UNLIKELY: IN A BUILDING WITH A BROKEN LIFT, a DIPPY EGG THEATRE production presented at Barons Court Theatre

Unlikely began with a successful run at GrimFest. What first sparked the idea for this story, and how has it evolved since that earlier outing? 

We began our theatre company and show as part of our final-year drama school dissertation. From the start, we wanted to explore fiery feminist characters who didn’t feel restricted by the “bounds” often placed on us during training. Our original idea was a naturalistic piece about two roommates discussing feminist issues, but we quickly realised it didn’t reflect how we actually interacted as friends and women. Instead, we leaned into our shared strengths: comedic physicality and a love of music. This shifted the piece toward clowning and slapstick, layered with our favourite 80s club classics. The process felt more authentic to our dynamic and energy on stage. Since then, we’ve continued asking ourselves, “Well, why not?”—constantly challenging how we can push the story further and explore new ways of telling it through movement, humour, music, and bold theatrical choices. 

The play opens with such a simple premise – two strangers in a flat during a storm – but it quickly becomes something more unsettling. How did you develop that tonal shift? 

We never originally imagined our first show within the horror genre, but as the piece developed, it began to feel like the perfect fit. Horror is a world where anything can happen—characters return from the dead moments after being brutally murdered—so it naturally allowed our movement to be bold and unexpected. It’s also an incredibly visual genre. When working physically, we found it helpful to draw on recognisable imagery and tableaux. From Scream to Psycho, many of these moments are instantly identifiable, even to audiences unfamiliar with horror. We were also excited by the rarity of horror comedy on stage. During drama school, physical theatre often meant simple slapstick; horror was never something we explored. After three years of training, it felt refreshing to experiment with something unfamiliar—an area of theatre-making that felt open, playful, and full of possibilities. 

Writing as a duo can be an intimate and challenging process. How do you divide the work, and where do your creative instincts naturally meet? 

From the start, we never felt the need to divide the work. Although we approach things differently, that contrast helps us collaborate. Emma tends to write everything down and brings a more academic mindset, which is useful for organising ideas and keeping track of details. Lucy, on the other hand, is highly visual and practical, focusing on aesthetics and the bigger picture. Having one of us focused on detail while the other explores bold ideas creates a strong balance. Most writing sessions quickly moved onto our feet, where we discussed and physically tried out ideas. The process became largely devised. Working together rarely felt difficult because we shared one rule: if we weren’t enjoying the process, what was the point? As best friends, we could laugh at ourselves, especially late at night after rehearsals, creating wild plot twists to remixes of “Thriller.” 

Emma, Sam is described as relentlessly pleasant with a chilling edge. How did you find that balance in performance?

To find that balance, I leaned into what I knew—or what drama school often labelled as my “type.” I was frequently cast as the sweet, charming goody-two-shoes, probably because I was a fresh, wide-eyed American who moved to Liverpool at 18 to train. I used that familiar pleasantness as Sam’s baseline, playing her with calm, polite physicality that felt almost normal beside Lucy’s exaggerated character and makeup. The chilling edge came from disrupting that calm. Moments would suddenly shift through music or movement—one second Sam is walking quietly, the next she’s break-dancing or fighting in a Sherlock Holmes costume. Those unexpected bursts revealed something darker beneath the surface. The more seriously Sam took herself, the funnier it became. That contrast—between sincere sweetness and unpredictable intensity—helped create a character who feels relentlessly pleasant, but slightly unsettling. 

Lucy, Georgia presents as a deadpan goth, but there’s clearly more going on beneath the surface. How did you approach revealing her layers? 

I found it helpful to lean into deadpan moments, especially when my character needed to stay composed in front of others. But at the end of the day, even this seemingly “heartless” goth is still human. When it felt right to let emotion slip through—jealousy, frustration, vulnerability—it was easy to connect to those feelings truthfully. The contrast between those emotions and my exaggerated look, with the wig and heavy makeup, made it even more fun to play. Like Emma mentioned, having such an opposite character beside me on stage helped reveal those layers. When my character reacted in a similar emotional way to Sam, it clashed with how I appeared externally and heightened the comedy. Playing the truth of a moment, regardless of appearance, often creates the biggest laughs. Blending horror-goth stereotypes with genuine emotion gave the character depth and made the twists even more satisfying. 

The play has been described as surreal and thrilling. What kind of atmosphere are you hoping audiences feel as they sit in that cramped flat with you? 

From the start, we want the audience to lean into the idea that anything is possible. The plot becomes a vessel for exploring playful and inventive movement on stage. Because the show takes place in a small, intimate venue, we embrace that closeness by acknowledging the audience and inviting them into our world. Most importantly, we want them to have fun. Horror comedy thrives on that balance—just like great horror films, where humour often sits between the jump scares. People don’t watch Scream simply to feel miserable; they go for the excitement, the twists, and the fun of discovering who Ghostface is. We hope to offer that same sense of enjoyment and surprise. For an hour, audiences can drop expectations and simply enjoy the ride. Our energy and playfulness guide the show, as we jump rapidly from one plot twist to the next.