Author: H Hsu

REVIEW: Wild Mix

Published on by H HsuLeave a comment

Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

a one-of-a-kind experience of queer healing, hope, and joy

Featured in Kunsty, a queer performance series at the Southbank Centre, Wild Mix is a work about queer healing. Musician and Performance Artist Jenny Moore fuses narration, choir singing, kickboxing, and communal storytelling into this one-of-a-kind experience—a “wild-mix” indeed—that is, at its core, a gesture of care and hope. Soon to tour to Brighton’s Attenborough Centre for the Creative Arts in January 2026, this is one worth checking out.

The performance opens as the cast walks on stage, forming a closed circle around the drummer. They share a hug—a moment of togetherness—before opening their circle to the audience. The entire piece indeed feels like this gesture: a light and warm embrace of care, a feeling of community. Through it, Wild Mix offers to the audience something poignant yet not often seen in queer performances, which is healing itself. Being queer can often feel like a chronic pain of loneliness and segregation—from one’s environment, body, and self. Jenny Moore’s creation, however, offers a magical cure for this pain: a sense of togetherness, a sense of being held.

It feels jarring to analyze this show through technical aspects, as what it offers transcends its individual elements. At the center of the stage is a water bag, used as part of the set, a prop, and a medium for lighting and imagery. More than that, it also serves as an incredible sound-making device, blending holistically with the other musical elements. It’s also a metaphor—a container, an obstacle sometimes, and a body that bears witness to joy and wound. 

Six performers on stage switch versatilely between singing, percussion, and movement, yet together they become a single collective being on stage. They are the harmony for each other’s songs, the echo of each other’s words, and the rhythm for each other’s beings—a beautiful togetherness. Yet, the performance does not exist only on the stage; it echoes within the entire audience. It’s made for the community who has gone through similar journeys and who are in need of such healing, but the presence of the community also makes the work more powerful and meaningful. 

Moore chooses not to make a performance through the lens of oppression, loneliness, or segregation. Instead, she offers warmth and tenderness—a gesture so gentle it becomes a perfectly blended dose of queer joy, community, and collective being. In doing so, Wild Mix becomes more than a performance; it is a shared ritual, a space where the experience of otherness finds solace in the simple, powerful act of being together.

REVIEW: The Wanderers

Published on by H HsuLeave a comment

Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

Stunning visuals and overall lyricism overshadows its core in storytelling

Currently performing at the Marylebone Theatre, The Wanderers is an American transfer directed by Igor Golyak, a winner of four Off Broadway awards, and is performed by an ensemble of five stellar cast members. It tells the story of two couples living in Brooklyn, whose seemingly unrelated stories gradually reveal a closely-knitted bond.

The play opens with a poetic, non-speaking sequence that immediately sets its lingering, poetical quality. The character’s writing on the set—featuring a neon light, a “glass” board, and “glass” tables and chairs—makes the opening powerfully resonant. The narrative then shifts into an almost cinematic style, with two main storylines unfolding polyphonically on stage: one follows a newlywed couple, and the other an esteemed writer and his wife.

The form the play takes is absolutely beautiful. Each section is introduced by characters doodling on the central glass board. The story’s structure and “chapters” are written there as the play progresses, with drawings related to the scene being added and transformed. Gradually, these images construct a world of their own, which is eventually poured over and erased. This choice of writing and re-writing not only reflects the profession of the main character, Abe (played by Alexander Forsyth), but also the play’s central theme: how much can we write or rewrite our own stories, and how much do we fictionalize reality in our minds to survive?

The play presents a story about the passing down of fate and trauma through generations (“children are the product of their parents,” as claimed in the show), while also exploring the theme of fantasizing reality. It plays with the boundaries between reality and fiction, as the two characters in the book are later revealed to be Abe’s parents, while a real fictional plot unfolds in Abe’s own life. A first-half discussion between Abe and Julia (portrayed by Anna Popplewell), a charming movie star he becomes obsessed with, about “re-seeing” their partners becomes deeply ironic in light of the second half’s revelations. The twist also asks the question: how much reality can we truly take?

Together with the set and scene curation, the writing itself bleeds a deep lyricism. Many first-half monologues possess a peculiar literary quality, and since they are meant to be the content of the main character’s book, they resonate beautifully within the space. However, as the play continues, the form begins to outweigh the content, and the drama gives way to an overarching poetical quality. The play’s formal choices pull one out of the story especially in the second half: during many scenes with arguments, the characters are simultaneously busy writing or erasing text from the board or furniture, which drains the tension from the scene.

Similarly throughout the play, any scenes feel as though the chemistry is not yet found, making conflicts and dramatic points feel unearned and off the mark. 

Since the audience sees the stories almost exclusively through Abe’s perspective—and sometimes his fantasies, a male-centric fantasy—his scenes often carry a strong sense of objectification toward both Julia and his wife, Sophie (played by Paksie Vernon). For a non-male audience member, the incentive and obsession among these three characters can feel frivolous. As one of the central contention in the play, the triangular fails to anchor the story for me. 

The Wanderers proves itself with stunning visuals and poetical writing, yet its compelling themes of heritage and fantasy are ultimately overshadowed by a form that outweighs its core in storytelling.

Photos by Mark Senior.

Voiced: The Festival for Endangered Languages is an inaugural festival that sheds light on endangered languages from around the world through poetry, live music, visual arts, and more.

REVIEW: Say Again: The Poetry of Invented Languages

Published on by H HsuLeave a comment

Rating: 3 out of 5.

An inaugural festival presenting an ambitiously broad range of works and creativity.

Voiced: The Festival for Endangered Languages is an inaugural festival that sheds light on endangered languages from around the world through poetry, live music, visual arts, and more. This ambitious project is taking place at the Barbican Centre in London throughout October, featuring workshops, exhibitions, and live literature events ranging from panel discussions to experimental spoken word performances. With three days of packed audiences, the program has already proven its poignancy within London’s cultural scene.

Say Again: The Poetry of Invented Languages was one performance event in the Saturday afternoon session on October 18th. It aimed to highlight works that go beyond the confines of established language, exploring whether poetry can push communication past its existing boundaries into new and exciting forms. The event featured three artists—Stephen Watts, Joelle Taylor, and montenegrofisher—each bringing unique interpretations and creations in response to the theme.

Stephen Watts presented a short clip highlighting the interconnection between fossil patterns and poetry, followed by his own “drawing poems”—works that reside in imagery rather than words. His pieces engage with the prominent role of imagery in poetry, yet his “drawing poems” raise a question: by giving an existing art form another name, can we grant it a new identity or life? Since imagery is inherent to poetry and a poetic quality is often present in painting, this attempt seems to fall short of “inventing” a new form that offers fresh insight into either medium.

Joelle Taylor presented her own poetry, which draws on coded language from lesbian culture. Compared to Polari, a secret language in UK gay culture, the lesbian language she explored is, as she described, one of “absence” and “survival.” Through her lecture she reminds us that many words in queer culture are codes that use existing language while assigning new meanings. In this way, the language is continually “invented” and “reinvented” by its speakers, acting as a unique currency within the culture. Taylor offered a brilliant performance; her poems tell stories of identities, demeanors, and ways of living, and the content of her work resonates powerfully with its performed form.

Finally, the performance duo montenegrofisher took the audience on a wild ride. With an unapologetically experimental spirit, their work was a kaleidoscope of short pieces combining sound-making, performance, and spoken word devices, questioning the very boundaries of language and communication.

As an inaugural festival, Voiced presents an ambitiously broad range of works and creativity. It is a festival to look forward to as it grows into an even fuller and more ambitious version of itself in the future.

REVIEW: The Machine of Horizontal Dreams

Published on by H HsuLeave a comment

Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

A vision that is living, breathing, and breathtaking in its execution, while
critiquing contemporary social structures and gazing toward a horizontal future

Inspired by writer and activist Adrienne Maree Brown, Pepa Ubera’s “The Machine of Horizontal Dreams” blends choreography, sound, light, and video into an immersive, boundary-pushing experience. 

Brown’s philosophy centers on the idea that change happens through small, simple, interconnected actions that build and replicate, and that the world we live in was once someone’s science fiction; to create a just and liberated future, we must first be able to imagine it in vivid, tangible detail. Most importantly, she proposes the interconnection of “we” – that our liberation is bound up with one another.

Pepa Ubera’s imagination of Brown’s concept, leading into The Machine of Horizontal Dreams, might be the most effective work I have seen at translating a philosophical concept into a tangible, felt experience. Upon entering, you immediately understand this will be a completely different experience; massive screens surround the performance space, with a sound design that constructs a realm of its own. The piece is not designed for the intellect, but for the body, the experience, the ineffable. 

The design of the show features elements from the title: horizontal, dream-like, and (almost) post-human. The space itself is designed to be horizontal. With only a few chairs, most audience members sit on the floor, as do many of the performers. The gazes in the space are designed to be horizontal rather than hierarchical – the performers enter as the audience is still finding its seat, wearing normal clothes and blending into the crowd. They move into the central stage, looking at each other and the audience – just as the audience is looking at them. This act of seeing, and of acknowledging that seeing, creates a horizontal power dynamic between performer and audience.

The piece features a majority of “dream-like” expressions. It weaves dream-like movement sequences, performed by five main dancers and often echoed by a larger ensemble of performers with bodies of different identities and dance experiences, creating a sprawling circle of echoes. The dream-like sequences are constantly shifting and re-shaping, with occasions of individual performers sharing their own spoken word pieces – a “horizontal” structure allowing individual voices to speak out rather than being used as mere devices for a larger and higher story. Through movement and these individual dreams, the ensemble embodies another way of collective being. At times, several dancers physically embody the dreams of their fellow members, with these roles constantly shifting. In one passage, members of the ensemble sink to the floor, and others gently pick them up to continue their journey. This choreography echoes Brown’s powerful idea of collective living – embodied the interconnection of “we” through empathy, awareness, and mutual aid.

The only element that feels at odds with the show is the “machine.” While the show is designed to offer a “horizontal” experience, it is primarily framed by rules delivered in a machine voice. The magnitude of this voice in the space, combined with its cold tone as it dictates the rules, makes it feel like an authority figure – a stark contrast to the supposedly horizontal, living, organic, and ever-changing space it seeks to govern.

However, despite these contradictions, The Machine of Horizontal Dreams offers a uniquely powerful experience – a vision that is living, breathing, and breathtaking in its execution, while critiquing contemporary social structures and gazing toward a horizontal future. 

REVIEW: Radio Live: A New Generation

Published on by H HsuLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

“Urgent, significant, and yet also deeply beautiful, Radio Live offers the most profound and human piece of art I’ve experienced this year.”

Unlike anything I’ve seen before, Radio Live—though not a conventional “theatre” show—is the most profound and human piece of art I’ve experienced this year.

Having toured the world for at least seven years since its premiere, Radio Live offers a unique blend of live radio streaming and theatre performance, combining live music, documentary, spoken word, and theatrical elements. What sets it apart from other theatre pieces is how it so fearlessly, yet honestly, unveils the brutality of reality and the human stories.

The two-hour runtime felt too short. Through a simple yet careful staging and a series of questions hosted by French Radio Journalist Aurélie Charon (also the show’s creator), Radio Live pulls the distant reality of life in warzones into focus, layer by layer, through the testimonies of Amir Hassan from Gaza and Oksana Leuta from Ukraine. Yet, all the stage setups were secondary—the true, raw power was in the human stories themselves. Unlike other theatre pieces where stories are fictionalized, Radio Live hands the narrative directly to those who lived it. The creator and her team not only strive to offer the tellers’ authority over their own stories but have also kept track of their lives and families throughout the years since the show’s inception. There is minimum artifice in the storytelling. The world of war and the lives within it are revealed entirely from the tellers’ perspectives and through their voices. While theatre often attempts to achieve authenticity on stage, what Radio Live offers is unquestionably, and even horrifyingly, real and breathing.

The sharing from Amir and Oksana was simple, yet beyond anything I could have imagined. It felt like a generous gift from them to unveil their lives to us, to show how war shattered and reshaped their worlds, and to expose the chasm between our peaceful existence and a reality that is, geographically, merely hours away. In two hours, they offered their stories, and we got to peek through a window into their pasts. I saw a profundity in them that I could not fully comprehend—a humanity forged in circumstances far beyond my lived experience, yet one that shone through with warmth and love in their telling.

What in a show can be considered alive? Radio Live offers this answer: people’s lives are alive, their stories are alive, their past is alive, what’s happening out there is alive, we are alive, and what existed in the space during those two hours was alive. In that same room, they existed with us, their past and our present converged into genuine and meaningful connection.

Urgent, significant, and yet also deeply beautiful, Radio Live is a piece that should be seen by every human being.

My English Persian Kitchen production photos taken on the 26th July 2024 at the Soho Theatre

REVIEW: My English Persian Kitchen!

Published on by H HsuLeave a comment

Rating: 3 out of 5.

“A multi-sensory journey exploring a migrants’ past – building upon a strong premise, the show’s execution failed to realize its full weight. “

The sight of a kitchen counter and the smell of food—this is how the show begins. Then, the smell of herbs, of onions in hot oil, and of soup—the smell of a faraway family, the smell of home. My English Persian Kitchen, written by Hannah Khalil based on the original story of Atoosa Sepehr, is a show built upon and told through smell. In her private kitchen, the woman on stage tells us a story of migration, of running away, and of finding a new home—a journey of her own.

The show is built upon a very strong premise: it explores the journey of migration and the sense of home through food, a language that is both universal and highly personal at the same time. All the sensory elements in the show strikes a perfect balance. The constant changing of the smell makes the black box theatre a completely new space—a space of warmth, intimacy, and empathy. The lighting does a fantastic job of both creating beautiful and clean imagery and building different worlds on stage, threading scenes of the past and memory into the present. The sound design works perfectly with the lighting, offering a highly immersive experience.

Like many solo shows, My English Persian Kitchen is told through the performer’s narration—a story that develops both in the present, in the kitchen, and through flashbacks from the past, exploring present displacement through past incidents. This is a show set in a highly personal space and is about a highly personal story. However, for my taste, the performance style, being calm, composed, and even indifferent, disharmonizes itself from such an intimate setting. Rather than embodying the stories and taking the audience through her journey, the story feels narrated from a distance. Isabella Nefar’s performance is clean and confident and her words extremely clear. She successfully commanded the full house with her solo presence on stage. Yet her narration, being carefully curated, presents the same tone and same pace throughout the entire show.  Even at moments of past horrors, her performance feels highly composed, which was at adds with the urgency within the scenes. As a result, as all the design and sensory elements pull the audience in, the narration creates distance from the story; as the setting invites intimacy, the performance presents composure and paced speeches.

While the intention and the offering are highly generous from the creators—from sharing live-cooked food to highly personal stories—the piece itself needs a significant trim. The story is laid out for the audience in the very first 20 minutes, and the latter content is mostly flashbacks to the same past and present, waiting for the food to be cooked. The piece lands on a vital moment in which the character reveals that her parents, for whom the food is prepared for, are not able to be with her in London. The act of cooking, then, becomes an act of creating community for oneself and remembering the past when you’re away. However, the structure of the storytelling failed to make the message realized to its full weight.

REVIEW: Uprooted!

Published on by H HsuLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

“A visually striking and emotionally potent work confronting urgent ecological and social crises.”


Led by Ramon Ayres, Ephemeral Ensemble is known for work that centers on urgent social issues with stunning visuals. Their new piece, Uprooted, tells a powerful story of human violence against nature and the subsequent forced displacement of both people and creatures. Through striking imagery and passionate political speeches, the show draws an analogy between the earth and the female body, weaving together themes of environmental crisis, the exploitation of nature and the female body, and forced displacement.

The production employs a prominent analogy from art history—the metaphor of the earth as a female body. There were many moments of true brilliance: gripping, striking, and emotionally impactful, alongside touches of poeticness and tenderness. For instance, at the moment of the rape of the forest creature, the use of props, sound, and movement suddenly enlarges the scale of violence to encompass the entire theatre, making it speechlessly powerful and affective. Another standout is the mother character’s death, delivered with clarity, weight, visual brilliance—being covered by a sheer piece of plastic symbolizing the river, she appears both fossilized into the ground and stifled by plastic, like a sea creature. Another particularly tender moment – the mother carries the home on her back, drifting through the forest. This image speaks after it was disrupted – speaks with truth to the experience of migration and displacement, of constantly carrying your home with you, adrift without a safe sanctuary.

Alex Paton’s sound design transforms the show into an immersive spectacle. His work speaks perfectly to each curated moment, and operating as a live band by himself, he switches seamlessly between live instrument performance and sound operation, stitching the stage scenes into a holistic world. Vanessa Guevara Flores delivers a masterful performance. Though introduced primarily as a dancer-choreographer, her thorough embodiment of the character in every moment proves her an impeccable actor. The show begins with her greeting the audience and sharing her story of growing up in nature, and her endearing and honest presence makes such a beginning feel both personal and intimate. It’s because of her performance that the show breathes with warmth, affection and personal weight.

However, despite these brilliant elements, the storytelling structure could be tighter, as some scenes feel either redundant or non-essential. The narrative unfolds through three strands: the mother and daughter living in nature, the nature exploiters, and an earth/deity figure. The relation and progression of these storylines are presented loosely in the first half, though the second half successfully brings them together. Additionally, while poignant, much of the text features explicit political call-outs. While such rhetoric is a useful tool for calling action, on stage it can sometimes feel patronizing or uninspired. Furthermore, much of the first half’s choreography feels heavily reliant on gestures. It is questionable whether such extreme clarity serves physical theatre, as it can contradict the poetic nuance inherent to movement language—a quality that allows for more universal and free interpretation.

Yet overall, Uprooted is a visually striking and emotionally potent work that features truly stunning moments to confront urgent ecological and social crises. Ephemeral Ensemble once again proved themselves to be the frontier of creating socially urgent and unforgettable theatre.

REVIEW: Batshit

Published on by H HsuLeave a comment

Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

Perfectly merging the political, personal, and entertaining, “Batshit” powerfully calls out the centuries-old monsterization of women

Batshit, created and performed by Leah Shelton and directed by Ursula Martinez, was an Edinburgh Fringe hit in 2024, winning both the Scotsman Fringe First and Mental Health Foundation Fringe Awards in the same year. Now touring around the UK with Soho Theatre in London as its first stop, Batshit presents a piercing gaze towards how the patriarchal society defined and monsterized women through the so-called “female madness.”

Despite the deluge of solo shows in recent years, Batshit shines through with unique precision and intentionality. The show opens with a sensory overload of flickering lights and loud, glitching noises. Then, a dim spotlight reveals a monstrous, almost-animal-like creature moving slowly, revealing itself bit by bit—a “mad” woman. An opening that is peculiar, eerie, and visually striking.

It is rare to see a fringe show where every element speaks so directly to its central message while also calling back to itself. All design elements speak to each other. The lighting echoes the character’s inner world; the sound embodies the voices in her head and those that tame her. The set, consisting only of an armchair, storage boxes, and an old-fashioned TV, blends the hospital world with the home, the public with the personal, and order with (later) destruction. 

Leah Shelton’s performance is as impeccable and precise as her writing. Her acting strikes a perfect balance between the dramatic and the contained. She drives the tone of each scene, making every one feel just right. 

Unlike many other solo shows, the story of Batshit is not narrated by the performer. Instead, it is revealed through mosaic-like scenes with projected hospital documents, voiceovers, movement, and direct audience interactions. Scenes switch between the theatrical space and the screen of a small, old TV. The setting itself also feels like a 20th-century entertainment TV show set, confronting how the public media and pop culture throughout history create “mad women” both on screen and in real life. This choice to unfold the story through design and pre-prepared footage, rather than the character’s direct narration, is poignant – it shifts its gaze from the “mad woman” herself to the environment that held her hostage and made her “crazy.” In doing so it also highlights how she is robbed of a voice, as were so many women throughout history labelled “hysterical” or “mad” by society. Thus, when we finally hear the performer’s own voice—not her grandmother’s character, but herself, speaking to her deceased grandmother—the moment is profoundly moving. 

By weaving together the political, personal, and entertaining, Batshit powerfully functions as both a poignant critique and a triumphant redemption of the centuries-old monsterization of women.

REVIEW: English Kings Killing Foreigners

Published on by H HsuLeave a comment

Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

“Bold, hilarious, and politically poignant — this is a show that entertains as much as it provokes.”

Two people walk onto the stage – familiar faces from the poster. They look at the audience and smile, an almost clownish opening to a show drawing inspiration from Shakespeare’s Henry V. On stage are Nina Bowers and Philip Arditti, two versatile and charismatic actors well established on the English stage. This time, they bring their own creation to London – a triumphant shout-out to the migrant experience in the UK theatre industry.

The script is superbly crafted. Many migrant artists will recognise conversations echoing their own experiences, yet it takes real craft to transform such exchanges into a piece of theatre brimming with life, humour and poignancy. Alongside its comedic sparks are moments of striking power: when the characters stop turning away from their heritage – so often diminished or othered by the industry – and instead claim it proudly, they infuse Shakespearean language with new brilliance and urgency. These moments feel liberating, a reminder to migrant artists that great art cannot be reduced to fetishised or appropriated narratives.

The structure follows a traditional arc – prologue, three acts and epilogue – which offers a sturdy framework for the audience even as the performers break the fourth wall to confront us with their views. At times the climax feels slightly over-dramatised, raising the question of whether such a classical structure is essential, but it does not diminish the overall impact.

As the play deepens into heavier themes, the two performers lace the story with wit and satire. The laughter they provoke is not only genuine but also strategic – a weapon used to expose the contradictions and absurdities of the British theatre industry. That combination of sharpness and levity is perhaps the show’s smartest choice.

The only drawback is the sparseness of the staging. Curtains appear without clear purpose, and the minimal props leave the stage bare for much of the performance. Yet Alex Fernandes’s lighting design adds clarity and dimension, ensuring the world of the play remains vivid even in its simplicity.

In a time like this, English Kings Killing Foreigners carries particular relevance. It is theatre that speaks directly to our moment – and it should not be missed.

REVIEW: Dracula

Published on by H HsuLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

A classic tale transformed into a powerful feminist roar.

Dracula, a story so often adapted in mainstream culture, is revived and given new life on the stage of the Lyric Hammersmith. Directed by Emma Baggott and adapted by Morgan Lloyd Malcolm, this version overtakes the original narrative with a feminist roar, fusing female rage and passionate calls to action into this classic tale.

The original Dracula story puts much emphasis on the theme of fear, which was especially played out through the tragic fate of Lucy, the heroine Mina’s best friend. In the original tale, the female presences were used as instruments for gore and the creation of horror. Morgan Lloyd Malcolm’s adaptation, however, transforms this narrative into an angry feminist roar, with unashamedly bold revelations and an urgent call to action. It’s a Dracula story, but it’s not about Dracula at all — it’s about women’s uprising against the fear imposed on them throughout the past hundreds of years.

The production plays heavily on the form of storytelling – the narrative becomes an almost tangible product on stage (through the device of a cassette player) which is being deconstructed, reconstructed, ridiculed, and played with by the ensemble and especially Mina (played by Umi Myers), the narrator on stage. Jonathan (played by Jack Myers), the only male presence on stage, becomes a character who is looked at, told what to do, and oftentimes, ridiculed. Mina takes over the narrative and becomes the storyteller. The narrative thus jumps in and out of the original Dracula story, making the first half feel like The Play That Goes Wrong combined with Dracula, creating an experience of both intentional confusion and comedic sparks.

Umi Myers’ role is essential to the storytelling, and her performance was both passionate and charged. Mei Mac’s presence is also unignorable as Lucy, with full commitment and versatility. Together, they embodied powerful female rage on stage, creating the most exciting moments of the entire show. The ensemble also did a great job fusing comedy into the narrative and creating believable worlds both in and out of the Dracula narrative. The visuals are utterly stunning — the lighting (by Joshie Harriette) and the movement (by Chi-San Howard) create an almost cinematic beauty on stage, constructing breath-taking images from moment to moment.

The production and the narrative, by their nature, are already inherently political and explicit. Yet the ending took this message even further and closed the production with a monologue making an urgent callout directly to the audience. Although powerful, it still remains a question (personally to myself) whether explicit speeches are more transformative and thought-provoking than storytelling itself; whether such a speech at the end strengthens the message of the production, or flattens its potential to create lingering revelation (and horror) in the audiences even after the show.