Author: Alexander Pearn

REVIEW: For Black Boys Who Have Considered Suicide When the Hue Gets Too Heavy

Published on by Alexander PearnLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

A poignant yet hopeful reflection on the experiences of Black masculinity in Britain.

Ryan Calais Cameron’s For Black Boys Who Have Considered Suicide When the Hue Gets Too Heavy hits the West End after its journey from the fringe New Diorama Theatre and a sold-out run at the Royal Court. Despite making the Apollo its home, the show could not be more different from the rest of the West End offerings and represents a breakthrough milestone for Black playwrights. The play is a poignant reflection on the experiences of Black masculinity and Black life in Britain.

At its core, the production presents an open space for a group of young Black men to share, and often for the first time, their experiences of the hardship of growing up in a world that fundamentally denies and resents their existence. Inspired by Ntozake Shange’s For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow Is Enuf, the play shares a confessional, therapeutic feel.

Throughout its telling, the show, like the men within it, showcases its internal struggle to hold space for many of the issues it is trying to discuss, crime, family, masculinity, abuse, and history to name but a few. It feels scared to truly open up, often jarringly swinging between heart-wrenching suffering and light humour. Here lies the show’s copying mechanism, mirroring that of the men going through those experiences. Looming overhead throughout everything are the unspoken words of the title, ‘For Black Boys Who Have Considered Suicide,’ and as the show unfurls more and more, so too do we draw closer to the title.

The production takes the form of a series of vignettes, interspersed with song, poetry, and dance, and opens with a mass of writhing, twisted bodies before jolting into a raucous playground which is used to frame the rest of the coming discussions. Whilst each story shared is personal the cast act as one unified ensemble. Each story is unique but each feels shared and lived by the whole. Cameron’s direction keeps these characters together and not only do they hold each other but they hold us, the audience. It’s a raw and honest portrayal that sheds light on the often-overlooked voices of six young Black men. Despite the tragic and vulnerable themes, the show manages to leave you feeling uplifted and motivated to hear more stories like these.

Shared with the ensemble nature of the show is the praise for the cast and crew. Every performance is perfectly sculpted, from Nnabiko Ejiofor’s use of his body, sculpted by the movement direction of Theophilus O Bailey, to the brutalist but joyful playground set design by Anna Reid. The care and love for this piece seeps into every corner of the production.

Ryan Calais Cameron’s For Black Boys Who Have Considered Suicide When the Hue Gets Too Heavy is a confessional vessel of pain and suffering. However, this catharsis leaves nothing but hope and ecstasy in its wake. A feeling of elation for the individuals able to share their stories and sense of joy that there is a place in theatre for this show, let alone it being able to find its home next to 2.22 A Ghost Story.

REVIEW: Sleepova

Published on by Alexander PearnLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

Sleepova is an exuberant thrill ride through the pains of growing up.

Sleepova by Matilda Feyiṣayọ Ibini is a powerful coming-of-age play that follows the journey of four Black girls who navigate their way through their teenage years, facing a myriad of problems, including illness, bereavement, exams, sexuality and romantic disappointment. Directed by Jade Lewis, the ensemble cast, comprising Shayde Sinclair, Bukky Bakray, Aliyah Odoffin and Amber Grappy, are raw, energetic, and utterly convincing.

The play begins with the girls at a sleepover party to celebrate Shan’s sixteenth birthday. As the night progresses, the girls share their deepest fears, dreams, and secrets with each other. While they bicker and squabble, they remain bonded by the closeness they have developed since childhood. The characters are relatable and their conversations, studded with authentic slang, Yoruba phrases, and pop culture references, are fresh and real, reflecting contemporary life.

Sleepova successfully captures the myriad of woes that the modern teenager could suffer from. Yet, whilst successful at navigates each drama and ensuring each character’s life has sufficient problems, everything manages to resolve a bit too easily. However, the warmth, humour, and humanity that the cast brings to the stage more than compensates for any flaws.

Shan (Aliyah Odoffin) is a mixed-heritage girl who suffers from sickle cell disease. Funmi (Bukky Bakray) is in touch with her Nigerian heritage, while Elle (Shayde Sinclair) is a devout Christian. Both are besotted with Shan’s brother Solomon. Meanwhile, Rey (Amber Grappy) is eccentric and queer, embracing her sexuality and Yoruba heritage. Each character is nuanced and multi-faceted, making them more than just archetypes and each performance does justice to the text, full of nuance and specificity which was a delight from start to finish.

Sleepova is a joyful, all-over-the-shop play that captures the essence of a final year of school. It is a beautiful exploration of friendship and the shift into adolescents whilst offering a safe space for young Black girls to share their stories and secrets. 

REVIEW: The Sacrifice

Published on by Alexander PearnLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

Mesmerizing and haunting, The Sacrifice grips from start to finish.

Dada Masilo is both choreographer and sacrifice as she bares her body and soul for all. Known for reimagining classic European ballets in an African context, her latest project is based on The Rite of Spring, a work that has been reinterpreted many times since its 1913 premiere. Masilo takes inspiration from Pina Bausch’s 1970s version, as well as the Tswana traditions of Botswana, where dance is an integral part of storytelling and healing.

Divided in two parts, the first being a euphoric celebration of the coming of Spring. With smiles splitting their faces, the dancer’s bodies are wholly consumed by the movement, with Masilo as the centrepiece. Movements are wild yet controlled, dancers exuding ecstasy as they respond to the music played by the onstage quartet. Harmony is broken when the dancers stop to inform the musicians that they’re playing too fast, even for them; a rare insight into the authenticity of the performance taking place. Despite this slight blip the musicians were nothing but outstanding with Ann Masina’s voice stealing a starring role. The opera singer soared above all, her voice lacing every moment of the show with a human and connectable texture.

Part two was introduced with a drastic tonal shift. Gone are the ecstasy and celebration. Taking their place is a dreamlike sombreness that engulfs dancer, musician, and audience. The story is the titular sacrifice, a woman from the tribe being prepared and presented ready to be taken. Dancers becomes more panicked, their bodies surge and heave as Masilo’s cries take over from the onstage quartet who can do nothing but watch from the side-lines. There becomes a separation between man and women, those dressed in white and those in the original earth-coloured robes from part one. A strong feeling of oppression looms in the air as Masilo is held in place before being offered to Masina, as if she is given to the music of the community.

Masilo has managed to meld celebration with death, ballet with traditional African dance, and bodies with voice. The show is an almost seamless display of storytelling that, whilst getting slightly lost in part two, manages to land with significant resonance and impact.

REVIEW: Handel’s Messiah at The Royal Albert Hall

Published on by Alexander PearnLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

There’s nothing quite like Handel’s Messiah to truly usher in the Christmas Spirit.

Has Christmas really begun if you haven’t been blasted by Handel’s Christmas epic? Handel’s Messiah is a timeless masterpiece that has captivated audiences for centuries. The Royal Albert Hall is an iconic venue in London and the perfect setting for this grand oratorio, it is interesting to note that Messiah was originally composed for Easter. The Christmas classic actually has very little to do with Christmas at all. The story being told is in fact about Christ’s resurrection.

The performance was conducted by Eduardo Strausser and featured the Philharmonia Orchestra and Chorus, along with a talented cast of soloists. From the very first notes of the overture, it was clear that this was going to be a special evening. The orchestra and chorus were in top form, delivering a powerful and emotive performance.

The soloists also shone, with each bringing their own unique style and interpretation to their arias. Soprano Ella Taylor was a standout, delivering a soaring and expressive “I Know That My Redeemer Liveth”. Tenor Zwakele Tshabalala brought a sense of gravitas to “The Trumpet Shall Sound”, while bass William Thomas brought a sense of drama to “Why Do the Nations So Furiously Rage Together?”.

Naturally, one of the standout moments of the performance was the Hallelujah, which had the entire audience on their feet, singing along with the chorus. It was a truly moving and unforgettable moment, made all the more poignant by the Royal Albert Hall Looming above.

Overall, the performance of Handel’s Messiah at the Royal Albert Hall was a triumph. The combination of the venue, orchestra, chorus, and soloists created a magical and uplifting experience. If you have the opportunity to see this masterpiece performed live, do not miss it. It is an experience that will stay with you for a lifetime.

REVIEW: Navy Blue

Published on by Alexander PearnLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

“There’s a whole world in that dance.” In a world full of significance and beauty also exists insignificance, meaningless and terror. 

Oona Doherty’s Navy Blue explores the insignificance of dance, life and the whole world. From the offset, Navy Blue might seem like a bit of a bleak experience if the point is to comprehend the pointlessness of sitting in a theatre watching a dance show that expresses itself as pointless and irrelevant. However, it is the realisation that because of its own pointlessness, Oona Doherty can truly begin to explore the possibilities available to her without constraint, and it is through the lack of boundaries that Navy Blue finds its beauty.

Navy Blue is split up into three interweaving chapters whose meaning and significance, which initially are blurred, are by the final chapter crystal clear. The show opens with the 12 dancers standing in a line, each donned in matching navy jackets and trousers. This line of uniformity breaks the moment the dancers begin to move: their different heights, the subtle differences between their movements as each dancer is allowed to express their own interpretation of the same move. Yet, they are presented as uniform, in a uniform designed to break down individuality. Is the blue of their suits the representation of the blue collar worker, the elite uniformity of the Navy, or perhaps more evocative of the small blue dots of mankind upon the small blue dot of the earth? Perhaps it doesn’t matter either way.

As the show progresses Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No 2 begins to break down into the drones and swells of Jamie XX’s soundtrack, mirroring the movements and bodies of the dancers. In unison with the clang of a gunshot, dancers drop in a pool of blue light, a sequence that ends with three final frantic dancers, driven by fear they move to save themselves, but to no avail.

In the final act, the dancers return back to the original line of act one, and Oona begins to speak to the audience through voice over. Here she laments on the insignificance of her life and work, which quickly spreads into the meaninglessness of life itself. As she talks, the dancers begin to mirror her words. Movements that once had shape swiftly transition into randomness, grotesque lurches and failing arms. The insignificance does not stop here however, any and all symbolism within the show is unceremoniously flung from the stage. Navy shirts are discarded, dancers begin to drift away from the established playing space, either vanishing entirely or moving deeply upstage. Within this chaos there is beauty. The story of the individual, the search for a unified meaning to begin again, and intricacy and movements of the human body. Navy Blue is perhaps irrelevant, but that doesn’t detract from its beauty.

In the end it is up to you, the audience, to decide where you find meaning, if indeed there is any meaning at all. Here lies the brilliance of Navy Blue, when everything is insignificant everything can have a meaning, so the show becomes what you want it to be.

REVIEW: Candlesticks

Published on by Alexander PearnLeave a comment

Rating: 2 out of 5.

Candlesticks, a 30-year-old play that once was controversial, topical, and challenging, has today sadly lost its sheen.

The show opens with a bombshell that shatters an already challenging relationship between mother and daughter, Louise (Mary Tillett) and Jenny (Sophie McMahon). The indecent act in question being Jenny’s sudden and dramatic conversion from Judaism to Christianity undertaken, a decision that leaves Louise in deep mourning. Driving an even deeper wedge between their relationship is their unreligious yet opinionated neighbour Julia (Kathryn Worth) and her son Ian (James Duddy), a lost soul seeking a greater meaning in his life.

Candlesticks promises to be an in-depth discourse between the shifting religious stances of close friends and family. Further stretching the strains between relationships are the often antisemitic microaggressions that come from Julia and her work colleagues, whether she realises her indiscretions or not. Sadly, Candlesticks does not live up to the challenges it attempts to address. What might have been considered revolutionary and controversial 30 years ago has aged poorly.

Instead of developing the questions that are initially posed, Candlesticks simply keeps bringing them up in a roundabout manner. The show never develops into a meaningful conversation, rather it becomes frustrating watching the characters argue over the same topics again and again with no satisfying resolution. Meaningful character or story developments are pushed aside to keep justifying the cyclical arguments taking place.

One such example is Louise’s unwavering criticism of Julia for defending the antisemitism in her workplace. Despite Louise’s passion and clear hurt, Julia neither changes her ways nor does Louise break the friendship. Everything simply remains in stasis so that more arguments can be pushed toward the audience.

Thankfully every cloud has a silver lining, in this case being the performances of the two mothers. Both Mary Tillett and Kathryn Worth are a joy to behold. They showcase compassion and respect for the story they are telling and the difficult topics within. 

There are many interesting directorial choices throughout, and whilst overall there are no glaring issues there is one scene set outside that feels deeply out of place. The narrative takes place within the confines of a single living room, a choice that helps draw the audience into the intimacy of the world. This strengthens our bond to the topics at hand, along with the woes faced by Louise.

Disappointingly, Candlesticks has a rather abrupt ending, unceremoniously ejecting the audience with a feeling of confusion. Unsure if the goal was to raise awareness for Judaism, or highlight the dangers posed by opposed religions. 

REVIEW: The P Word

Published on by Alexander PearnLeave a comment

Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

Political activism with a rom com persuasion, The P Word is a tonally confused but powerful watch.  

At its heart, The P Word explores Britain’s broken asylum system through the life of Zafar (Esh Alladi) as he hangs in limbo between deportation and finding a new home. Running in parallel to Zafar’s story is that of Bilal, a self-professed gym bro and Grindr addict who slowly learns to love. Whilst his role is integral to the show, in contrast to Zafar the character comes off shallow and uninspired. I never found myself rooting for Bilal for any reason other than because he was the only other character on stage.

A standout throughout the show was Esh Alladi’s performance whose handling of Zafar was delicate and considered. The show’s effectiveness hinges entirely around Zafar, and Alladi never drops the baton.

Whilst simple, the show’s staging is effective and at no point detracts from the experience. The set pulls inspiration from characters’ personal symbols, solidifying and uniting them in the space. As the two draw closer, sharing their experiences of homophobia and identity as British Pakistanis, so too do they unite in the space.

Unfortunately, the show feels like it cannot decide how it should treat the subject matter. The first 40 minutes of the show introduces us to both characters as we hop in and out of each narrative. It wrestles between Zafar’s deeply traumatic past, having to flee his home for threat of death from his father, and questions of ‘should I double text my hook-up if I messaged last?’ Littered throughout the play are moments of beauty that when isolated are truly incredible but when seen in context are undermined by the surrounding scenes.

The play slowly picks up the pace from its slow opening and eventually rockets towards its promised Bollywood ending. As music and lights explode into action, The P Word slams its real meaning home, solidifying itself as a show that must be seen, especially given the current climate in which it exists.

Fundamentally, The P Word is an exploration of a deeply profound and important topic that is sadly diluted as the show loses itself to unoriginal writing and undermining humour. However, you would be remiss to miss such an original and important theme, despite the bumps in the road.