Author: fbalchin

REVIEW: The Sixteen: Handel’s Messiah

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Rating: 5 out of 5.

“A Christmas choral treat so divine you’ll be left praying for an encore”

Handel was at heart always a London boy. He rented in Soho in the latter part of his life, fundraised relentlessly for the Foundling Hospital and sought social mobility from his humble roots like the rest of Middle England. His seminal work Messiah needs no introduction; safe in the knowledge its heavenly creation has continued to awe audiences since its 1742 immaculate conception. How do you review a 280 year old piece and say something new? The music has not changed too much since Handel’s initial edits, the bible verses remain ecclesiastically bombastic since King James had them translated 400 years ago. Even the venue, a James Gibbs 1726 baroque masterpiece remains as glitteringly gilded as intended. 

What is new, however, is the passion of the piece. Presented by Harry Christophers’ The Sixteen, comprising of a sensational chamber choir and orchestra with several soloists, Messiah is less a linear narrative and more a sonic adoration of The Lord. Using direct excerpts from the Bible, the crystal clear diction of the singers allows every audience member to ascend to a higher plane. Dressed in their best white tie and tails, formal gowns and festive sparkle, the concert is an absolute Christmas delight. The sense of occasion brought by the performance was palpable and you knew you were witnessing something special. I was particularly impressed by alto Hugh Cutting, whose picture is sure to be found in the Book of Revelations because he was that impressive and expressive in his cadence, clarity and conviction of his arias. He reminded me of how I imagine Mozart behaved at concerts- skilful, confident and refreshingly youthful. 

I must confess, for my sins I have never been to St Martin in the Fields, never listened to Messiah fully before, never properly paid attention to the arrangement of the orchestration. But when I heard “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law” it’s hard not to feel emotional- the line hits hard today as when it was written. The fire and brimstone nature of the divine proceedings adds such a sense of drama and panache. Even if you knew nothing about Christianity, cared little for religious veneration, it would be impossible to leave this performance unmoved. The Sixteen’s choir sing with such perfect harmonies, making full use of the excellent acoustics of the venue. Though you may feel it is not a set design in the traditional sense it is of course blessed by a terrific modern backdrop. The East Wing window over the nave, looming beautifully over the orchestra is a 2008 modern art piece by Iranian artist Shirazeh Houshiary. Her simple lined window was inspired by the Veil of Veronica by Francisco de Zubarán; though its warp and weft curves reminded me visually of the warping in a black hole. I suppose the link with Messiah to me is the power of God in the infinite cosmos, bending it to His will.

Make no mistake, The Sixteen’s Messiah is an expertly performed show, presenting the music itself as divine. It is such a treat to listen to in its entirety (wait for that famous Hallelujah crescendo- stunning) and despite the audience being almost exclusively elderly, I absolutely do recommend this to all ages as a festive family night out. This is helped by the vitality of the performers, contrasting design features of the venue, and the pomp and ceremony only a Handel oratorio can bring.

REVIEW: Porn Play

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Rating: 3 out of 5.

“More cerebral than visceral, the performances and visuals elevate a promising script that builds up to an unsatisfying climax.”

This is not a play about porn. This is a play about addiction, grief and misogyny. 

Ani (played by Ambika Mod) is a successful young academic whose career is on the rise whilst her personal life is in freefall. Overwhelmed by her mother’s death, she is unable to take pride in her professional achievements or consider her future. Cutting through this downward spiral is her addiction to violent pornography which infiltrates every aspect of her life. It affects all her relationships. 

There are two elements to her descent into addiction- the frequency of use and the content she watches. The frequency is addressed throughout, eventually leading to a spectacular scene where realism and absurdism blur perfectly. What is less explored is the content. It is never made clear why she is into violent pornography, nor what it is. For some people it is bondage and humiliation, for others it is breaking and bruising skin or even criminal acts.

Every single actor is committed to their roles, every character utterly convincing and believable. My issue lies in the promise of the premise. This is an 18+ show called Porn Play. I was made to wear shoe covers, leading me to think there would be some sort of splash zone. I expected there to be nudity, maybe projections, images or otherwise of sexual acts. I expected it to be provocative, if not downright shocking. When I tell you I saw more nudity in Disney’s Frozen musical I am not joking. This play could be about any addiction. I understand why it is about pornography- and the feminist angle is intriguing. However it feels like a gimmick (“clit-bait”, you could say) to use such a salacious title and then never explore it. Sure, it’s a distraction from processing grief. Sure, the Milton and biblical metaphors makes sense. But it feels like the writer misses a huge opportunity to actually explore Ani’s base desires. At first I was convinced she just needed a new partner to indulge in a healthy BDSM sex life. Then when the pivotal scene with student Sam takes place, we learn that she doesn’t want the same thing she watches. The scene isn’t shocking because of the vanilla bondage (belt tying her hands, blindfold on). It’s shocking because it exposes Sam’s desire for violence rather than Ani’s desire for submissiveness and humiliation.  

Yimei Zhao’s set is sensational. A beige 70s style conversation pit which evokes a vulva with the action taking place in the clitoris. Various props and set pieces emerge from the “labia” to almost comedic effect- at one point a medical examination table emerges. 

The play is both too much and too little. The heavy handed literary and religious references are expositional to the point of banality, whilst there is not much actual sexual content that isn’t a hint or reference. The show, sad and poignantly anticlimactic, is basically a metaphor for Ani herself- we never once see her orgasm. Constantly interrupted for various appropriate and bleak reasons, she is never allowed to find release. 

More cerebral than visceral, Sophia Chetin-Leuner’s treatise on addiction and isolation is a cleverly written play with plenty of promise that needs to stop edging its audience and show us what it really wants to say. 

REVIEW: Nadia at Baron’s Court Theatre

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

“Spettacolare e inquietante: una masterclass di recitazione italiana.
Spectacular and haunting: a masterclass in Italian performance.”

Having read the English translation ahead of time, I was actually worried. The script felt more like a gender bent American Psycho fan fiction Tumblr post, fetishising female sociopathy from a male perspective.  I needn’t have been concerned though, because Nadia isn’t a poem or a blog; it is a piece of live theatre. This is exactly why language is so important, and why performance transcends the stifling rigidity of words on paper.

Nadia is an Italian play, written in Italian by an Italian (Marco di Stefano), performed in Italian by an Italian (Chiara Valli). She too is directed by an Italian (Costanza Filaroni). English has nothing to do with it. Through Nadia’s own words in what appears to be the dankest prison cell, we learn the source of her childhood trauma. We learn of her first love whose promise is cut short. We learn of her happiness when her father dies and then, in an obviously extreme revenge response, we learn about her misandry-based killing spree. The use of a solo performance, a string of powerful monologues from the culprit’s own mouth is a captivating way to explore mental illness and the agency of a self-confessed killer. 

Chiara Valli is a revelation. A masterclass in conveying almost every human emotion available in exactly the right tone and context, her acting elevates di Stefano’s dialogue. This play felt so much more evocative and powerful in its original language. She portrays a mournful, haunted youth, followed by bursts of controlled rage, spite, joy and fear. Her character starts out confused and lost, wondering where it all went wrong. Her hell-bent focus on trying to escape the restraints of her early poverty is matched only by her steely resolve and the way she funnels abhorrence into connivance and bloodlust into justification. Certain aspects are confusing- for example why does she immediately masturbate after each murder? It feels nonsensical to sexualise the kill –  like gratuitous male gaze, and perhaps a female writer may not have included it. I did appreciate the descent into mania, and the way she essentially baits her victims into triggering their own demise – “toccami, cazzo!” (“fucking touch me!”) she screams at her final victim, who frustratingly does not budge. 

There are a few things that irritated me and lost the realism, for example the fact she had access to an alarming array of items (knives, bottles, balloons) in a cell meant for a serial killer who is also apparently unsupervised. The use of Gen X/millennial English language musical interludes in between chapters was also jarring. Why is she singing The Cranberries’ Zombie? Does she feel particularly strongly about UK-Irish relations? I don’t feel the play needed them- even Italian songs would have fit better than using Linkin Park’s In The End or Radiohead’s Creep. The time period and location of the play is also never really established either- its contextual ambiguity is also detrimental to its realism. 

Ultimately, as English prose, this does not work. As an Italian live performance, it is transformed. The obsession, impulse and agency of a female serial killer (a character often hyperbolized, trivialized or ignored altogether) is explored sensationally by its solo star, an actress with clear range, control and a deep understanding of the person she is presenting. Nadia is part of Voila! Festival, focusing on plays in a myriad of other languages. International and cosmopolitan, London is the perfect city to explore something in its native form. Nadia is a perfect inclusion. Bravissima.

REVIEW: Little Brother

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

“This visually striking play explores the bleak reality of pyromania, and the complex burden of familial duty in a slow-burn setting”

A comically unsettling atmosphere was instantly created in the pre show- retro songs referencing the use of fire. I distinctly recall Billy Joel’s overly catchy We Didn’t Start The Fire as an early offering. Make no mistake though; this is an incredibly bleak play. Two  Northern Irish siblings have their lives upended when younger brother Niall (played by Cormac McAlinden) tries to set himself on fire, forcing his older sister Brigid (played by Catherine Rees) to dedicate her life to caring for him and ensuring his recovery does not lead to relapse. 

It is an emotionally messy but ultimately realistic tale of modern mental health that is no doubt replicated in households across the nation and indeed the world. The complexities of dealing with a family member who is suffering such mental anguish they descend to pyromania as a method of coping is deftly explored her by writer Eoin McAndrew. Zoë Hurwitz’s grayscale Mondrian-evoking set perfectly offsets the fiery characters within. A composition of three multilevel monochromatic rooms, 2 above the other, all angular and uninviting are used to convey bedrooms, hospital rooms, underpasses, corridors and entertainment spaces. Blank and bleak, the severe use of acute points in the walls defies Pythagoras in how uncomfortable everything looks. This is contrasted by how human, how emotionally squishy the characters are within them, filling them with the weight of familial duty. 

Brigid appears successful and independent of her brother; busy and modern. Niall appears lost and listless, constantly seeking approval and companionship. We are not shown the reason for Niall’s despair, which is an opportunity missed. He moves in with Brigid, whose new boyfriend Michael (played by Connor O’Donell) is a source of slight farcical humour and the voice of reason. His opinions cut through the sulking drama, acting as the outside voice looking in on the audience’s behalf. When he questions the constant presence of Niall in Brigid’s homelife and the strain this is having on her and their relationship, he genuinely sounds reasonable; it is a reasonable assumption and question to ask- will your brother ever be better enough so that we can live our lives like we used to? The key topic here really is to test to phrase “blood is thicker than water”. Brigid ultimately chooses her brother over her boyfriend, deciding that a stressful life with him is better than a life without him in it at all. The irony in the phrase is in its misquote- the original phrase refers to experiences forged through shared experience are ironically stronger than those formed through birth. 

Whilst Brigid’s character development is strongest, we never really get to the heart of Niall’s illness, nor is it really explained why Brigid has to deal with this secretly by herself- what’s the issue with their parents, for example? This is a darkly funny production with strong visuals and even stronger performances, but the script needs to explore Niall’s backstory, as well as perhaps lending time to the sibling’s wider familial problems, particularly because in the final scene, after two years he appears to just get better with no further explanation. It does a sterling job of representing the symptoms but less time is given to the cause.  Ultimately, this is an excellently grim play well worth your time and contemplation. It’s a slow burn, so to speak, but its sparks pay off in the end. 

A PW Production of The Woman in Black - 2025 /26 UK tour Based on Susan Hill’s novel adapted by Stephen Mallatratt John Mackay: plays Arthur Kipps. Daniel Burke: plays The Actor. The Creatives Author: Susan Hill Stage Adaptation: Stephen Mallatratt Producer: PW Productions Director : Robin Herford

REVIEW: The Woman in Black

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

A chilling classic brought back to life with spectral spectacle perfect for spooky season

In an era where digital reigns supreme, there’s something so satisfying about tangible, practical effects making you scream in primal fear. Immaculate vibes are present at Alexandra Palace’s revival of the cult classic, The Woman In Black.

No stranger to tragedy itself, the Alexandra Palace Theatre is a perfect setting for this show; gently decaying walls, faded paint on exposed brickwork, creaky wooden floorboards. It’s an evocative space that compliments Michael Holt’s set design. The cavernous stage replicates (almost too convincingly) a Victorian theatre whose prime is long since passed. Drab grey curtains, crumbling props, dull brown furniture all conjure reminiscence of faded grandeur within which the tale-within-a-tale takes place.

If you’re not already familiar with the West End’s second longest running play, an older Mr Kipps (played by John Mackay) seeks assistance in the retelling of a very important incident he suffered which changed the course of his life some years ago. Through him and a character simply known as The Actor (played by Daniel Burke), we learn through mysterious flashbacks and flash forwards about The Woman in Black and her role in an eerie house Mr Kipps has been sent to deal with following her death.

Indubitably our duo weave their ominous words carefully; a satisfying slow burn of wit, terror, foreboding and humility. It is testament to the power of atmosphere alone that a huge room full of strangers can come together to share their anxiety manifest amongst the thrilling cliffhangers, ghoulish exposition and tragic realization. I won’t spoil the ending, but suffice to say it is both bone-chilling and profoundly sad.

Mackay’s versatility as an actor was incredibly apparent- his use of accent, tone, volume, pace, costume and more to portray Mr Kipps and his acquaintances was impressive and convincing. Never missing a cue, his wit and comedic timing was also appreciated- it allowed a false sense of security before a clever shock or thrilling reveal. Burke’s portrayal of the confident, optimistic Actor was moving. His clear consistent voice was a perfect parry to the variety in Mackay’s performance. Warm, friendly and sweet, his character represented the naivety needed to lull the audience along before the horrifying visions.

Sound was used sparsely but meticulously- a metal bucket accidentally kicked over, a train carriage whizzing past, night time birds chirping ominously. Lighting was the real focus, and its use of shadow and tone to convey reality and spectre was sensational. Cool lights reminded us we were in the present- warm lights evoked the false warmth of the past. Sometimes the constant switch between past and present jolted us out of the moment though, and any momentum leading to a reveal was anticlimactic. Additionally, I was sat quite close in the stalls and could see the Woman in Black very clearly sometime before I think we were supposed to, again losing momentum. I imagine those sat further back did not have this issue. Nevertheless, the depth of field within the set was faultless in creating a haunted space filled with ghostly ambiance lurking within the mind.

A diverse crowd with plenty of youngsters all focused on a shared experience, allow this production to flourish. Effects come together with its slick script and convincing characters and audiences invest in spectral magic that is pure theatre. No other medium can bring about this effect so successfully and this production is a perfect example of the lasting legacy of live shows in a digital age.

REVIEW: Choir of Man

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Rating: 5 out of 5.

“A poetic love letter to the third space- an uplifting musical ode to the humble British pub and the friends we make inside them”

This show appears to have been made in the same wholesome factory where they created Keanu Reeves and Mr Rogers. There’s something so lovely and uplifting about a room full of the nicest blokes just letting off steam, having a pint (or three), and putting the world to rights through the medium of fantastic songs.

Choir of Man is nearly a decade in the making before it goes on a UK tour; its creators Nic Doodson and Andrew Kay have put together something genuinely special and uniquely British. We are immersed in The Jungle, a pub like any other you’ve likely been in- Victorian décor, sticky floors, and knowledgeable bar staff. Led through the evening’s proceedings is our bard: Paul McArthur weaves poetry with his lilting Scottish accent, a friendly face and a gentle tone mingling with his mates in his favourite space. I should probably point out that there is in fact a working bar on stage and the audience is not only encouraged to grab a pint before proceedings, but pints are passed out throughout as well as packets of crisps and if you’re lucky, a piña colada.

Through musical interludes, some retro such as The Proclaimers’ I would walk 500 Miles, or the more recent Hello by Adele, every single one of the cast is brought to life.  They are each given a character- hardman, romantic, beast and so on, but the performers’ actual lived experience is referenced and they use their real names. All the men deliberately look like normal guys you’d have a pint with, a wonderful casting choice that means each and every one of them comes across as a good egg.

Between the banter, the pints, the humour and the heartbreak, beautiful harmonising, sensational musicianship and an audience rapport so electric I’m pretty sure the performers could become mates with the doorknobs. Though there is no plot per se, the overarching theme is one of friendship, emotional intelligence and checking in on people, especially the men in your life.

The standouts for me were Levi Tyrell Johnson, playing the charismatic “hardman”- his voice velvety and powerful, and Ben Goffe- his tapdancing skills were fabulous and his comedic timing had the audience rapt.

Ultimately, this show packs far much of an emotional gut punch than it has any right to. I found myself weeping during several moments (a beautiful a capella rendition of The Parting Glass, for example). You will laugh, you will cry, you will probably be half cut on beer. There is absolutely no way you could leave the perfectly sized Arts Theatre without having had a great time. It’s such a wonderful, honest, heartfelt show. Not a single joke or harmony is out of place. A musical set in a pub about a bunch of blokes with varying emotional baggage doesn’t sound like an obvious top night out but I promise you, I promise you, you will leave this building more life-affirmed, more confident, more reassured that everything probably really will be alright. And you can’t put a price on that feeling. Well, maybe the price of a couple of pints and packet of crisps. Get down to your local, have a chat with a mate, and you too can put the world to rights to a fine rendition of the piña colada song.

FEATURE: Fume Festival – Autumn BBQ Edition

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A carne-val of fiery flavours – FUME’s autumnal meat feast delivers a sizzling array of offerings

I arrived as early as I could for the midday opening and found the staff to be incredibly welcoming- even giving me free sauces and a goodie bag.  Now in its fifth year, FUME promised to bring even more vendors and international flair- this time with two Texans (Dayne’s and KG BBQ- more on those later).

Starting with the Kingston-based Poor Boys, I had a sensational brisket donut and chicken crackling. I wolfed these down, having arrived deliberately famished, whilst watching a live demonstration onstage of sweetbread being baked with bone marrow. An absolute belter of a start. And the feeling I’d peaked too soon. 

Right. Back to the meats. Following a free shot of Kraken cherry cola rum I went to the first Texan vendor- Dayne’s from Aledo, TX- for a pricey but tender slab of brisket that was delicious, however it was let down by being paired with the limpest slice of white bread I’ve ever eaten. I thought they’d run out of literally any other bread but this does appear to be deliberate, according to their website menu.

Next up was the chili cheese sausage with chimichurri, and pork belly burnt ends from St Albans’ Craft and Cleaver. The burnt ends were so sweet with sticky sauce- fantastically melting in my mouth. The sausage was packed with flavor and spice I don’t think it needed any accompaniments. Then onto Devon’s Smoke on the Waters- chicken skewers (the owner’s fave to make – I asked), and a slightly deconstructed Philly brisket cheesesteak. The chicken genuinely stood out with a gooey glaze that elevated the perfectly grilled chicken. The sour dash of lime really cut through the sweetness perfectly.

Now, Canterbury’s Korean Cowgirl are known for being multi award-winning – they even put their trophies at the booth! I opted for their famous cherry char sui back ribs and to say it was a religious experience was an understatement. The mix of texture, glaze, fruitiness and smokiness were superb. The meat just fell of the bone it was so tender. Again, I asked and this too was the owner’s favourite to make – it’s easy to see why this is a champion dish. 

It was at this point, after my Efes pint, that my metabolic rate was fighting me and I had to slow down. I finished off the carnal proceedings having checked the pitmaster leaderboard for who currently had the most votes. KG BBQ – a Texan-Egyptian vendor (yes, really). It also had one of the longest queues, though audiences were entertained by a metal cooking contraption that was both fascinatingly kinetic and flame-grilled. It was mesmerizing to watch the meats get flipped continuously in some sort of fairground cage dreamt up by an Iron Maiden production designer. I opted for the lamb chop and although the meat was prepared excellently, it didn’t have the wow factor the hype seemed to imply. I finished off the day with a massive brookie (brownie-cookie) from Proper Brownies in the indoor section. An amazing live band playing country versions of modern hits and classics created a great vibe. 

There were many other vendors, some selling food, drinks, snacks, homewares and even a mechanical bull to ride. I would have appreciated a more diverse drinks offering other than Efes and limited cocktails. I would have also liked to see more traditional BBQ food- I couldn’t find anyone selling cornbread, for example, which is such a BBQ staple and a veggie alterative, or beans, slaw and other staples such as mac n cheese. There’s lot of potential and it’s great that international vendors are starting to attend, though. FUME are definitely one to watch as they increase their offerings nationwide.

Woolwich Works- 26-28th September 2025

REVIEW:(God Save My) Northern Soul & Vermin

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Rating: 5 out of 5.

“Two exceptionally well written plays explore polar opposite ends of the grief manifestation spectrum”

(God Save My) Northern Soul

If, like me, you’ve ever grown up in Wigan, or Lancashire or indeed just the nebulous “North”, this play is bound to resonate with you. Following nineteen year old Nicole (played by the show’s writer Natasha Cottriall), we go on a nostalgic and bittersweet journey of what it means to come of age in the midst of parental bereavement. Cottriall’s acting is superbly nuanced; her accent skills are uniquely suited to the softness of Nicole’s lilting accent, the harshness of her friend Sally’s, the stiffness of her grandmother’s, and the Mancunian twang of a man she meets at the club. It is an emotional tale threaded with the fabric of Northern Soul music- the mighty Wigan Casino soundtrack playing backdrop to Nicole’s musings on her suddenly deceased mother, whose assets she must now reckon with, all before really knowing what it means to be an adult. Topics of education, business, love, fashion, music and family are all gently explored with tender reminiscence and a jolt of reality. Humour is peppered throughout; for example Nicole jokes with a guy she meets at a club that she just bought her own grave that day, and if he plays his cards right he can have the second space. The absurd reality of dealing with bereavement and the paperwork and mundane necessities are seamlessly performed in this solo show. Clever lighting cues and physical body language changes are etched on the checkerboard flooring of Nicole’s flat. As a Northerner I absolutely loved it. It made me feel emotional and it felt genuine. This show is Jim Catrwright’s Road for the modern age: Cottriall’s personal experiences echo through her sublime writing and her characters are all portrayed as good eggs- I think I’d dance to Northern Soul with every one of them.  Make it full length next time, ah’reet?

Vermin

I could pinpoint the exact moment the audience realised this was not a comedy. As graphic as a Lars Von Trier script and as uncomfortably surreal as a Sarah Kane play. And you know what? It was brilliant. Good. Make us feel awkward, afraid, terrified- this is not a show for ambivalence. This production is told by South London couple Rachel and Billy (played expertly by Sally Paffett and Benny Ainsworth respectively). They spend the whole performance either in two simple chairs or breaking the fourth wall explaining their frankly tumultuous and increasingly desperate relationship history until the bloody climax. Vermin deals with child loss in a maniacal and feral way. Obsessive bickering and unhinged storytelling escalates as Rachel and Billy try to manage a defiant rat infestation in their flat. In my interpretation, the rats’ existence represents each person’s attempt to deal with their carnal grief. Billy’s bloodlust against innocent animals demonstrates his one way to take control whilst simultaneously giving in to impulsive desire. Rachel’s visual hallucinations of rats clinging to her like a baby on her breast is her inability to move on- she sees her baby’s face every where looking for her. This play is exquisite at exemplifying the theatre of the mind. There are no props or set, and so all the twisted descriptions of sickening violence and breathless rage plays out even worse in our minds than any production designer could come up with. Superbly thrilling and acted throughout. This play takes our sensibilities hostage and shreds them for the whole hour. Sensational.

REVIEW: Emerald Storm

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

“A glamorous cabaret ceilidh full of heart and crowd pleasing talent”

Like a tiny pendant on a necklace, the Emerald Theatre is the perfect venue for such a jewel of a show. Emerald Storm comes from successful performer-producer Adam Garcia, blending tapdance with Irish dance into a supper club party almost fit for the modern era. 

This cabaret show is all about making you feel uplifted through a series of variety show vignettes showcasing the performers’ skills, including music, dance and comedy all meshed together for a genuinely enjoyable night out. 

The two revelations here are principal dancers Bayley Graham and Olivia Graydon. Graham is Gene Kelly reincarnate; a fusion of furiously flawless tap rhythm and a stage presence so charismatic he could probably charm world peace into effect. Graydon’s Irish dance skills demonstrate strength, agility, speed and passion. She leads every scene with magnetism and a kickass green satin sash, commanding attention whenever she performs.

Collectively the cast is hypnotic- they dance with energy and zeal- it truly is a joy to watch them. Every single cast member looks like they are having the time of their life and that carries the atmosphere throughout the audience- the crowd equally enjoying themselves. Singer Tom Ball croons his way through classics including Whiskey in the Jar and an unsettlingly jaunty Fields of Athenry. His velvety voice is very much suited to proceedings, adding a touch of old-world glamour and skill. 

The show however is not perfect, and I disliked the fact there was no female soloist equivalent to Tom Ball.  Instead, Tom is given a troupe of female backing singers who I’m not sure really add to the proceedings simply because there are so many of them that their harmonsing gets a little lost in the mix. Aesthetically, I think they were going for mysterious Celtic spell casters in their long black cloaks, but in reality they pop up out of nowhere like a choir of Macbeth’s Weird Sisters then slink back into the shadows. 

The only other aspect I feel holds this show back from its full potential is the reliance on its previous success as a cruise ship show. It is evident from the safe mid-noughties popsong choices, smooth jazz and classic hits rather than modern boundary pushing genres to match the youth and energy of its cast. It feels like a security blanket but London audiences are diverse and expect more risks than that. An easy win, for example would be for a different MC in every city or region- imagine the variety you would get without having to actually change the core of the show’s concept. The live trio at the beginning, Fiddlin’ About are fun and it would be great for them to have been given more to do, as otherwise the show relies on pre-recorded backing tracks or Tom Ball’s excellent vocals. 

Ultimately this show is clearly a wholesome crowd pleaser, which is no mean feat given the diverse age rage of the audience on gala night. Whilst I personally would prefer more boundary pushing musical elements, the cast remains its strongest asset. The enthusiasm and delight emanating from them is infectious; they are clearly all afforded a sense of individuality to their choreography, meaning personality pleasantly overrides the need for rigid precision. In fact it could be said that the mop steals the show as the most charming character. Yes you read that right. Come see Emerald Storm – where even the props have charisma. 

REVIEW: Éirann by A Taste of Ireland

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Rating: 3 out of 5.

Flawlessly executed footwork is the standout element in this promisingly modern take on Irish traditions

The crowd was already fizzing with anticipation of the good craic promised by the omniscient voice of the narrator (who we sadly never hear from again). Director Brent Pace seeks to bring the traditions of Irish music and dance into the modern theatrical realm with his own brand of highly acclaimed presentation of Irish history.

This show has a dramaturg, although it must be said there is very little drama to… well, turg. It starts out with ancient Irish Vikings, and the best I can follow it leads into the Irish Famine, the Easter Uprisings and into the Good Friday Agreement. Quite heavy hitting topics for a show that is essentially one big ceilidh. Mixed into proceedings are a superb musical trio consisting of the exceptionally talented fiddler Megan McGinley, banjo virtuoso  Eamonn O’Sullivan and guitarist Aaron O’Grady (I think- the programme doesn’t actually confirm it’s him). As well as solo vocalist Brian O’Broin, this rounds off the non-stop action. However next to the following scenes being performed to pre-recorded backing tracks with soft club beats, the contrast makes you long for a full live band onstage.

All sixteen dancers are genuinely faultless. Spectacularly skilled, they never put a foot wrong-quite literally, and brought passion, charm and personality to very structured dance pieces. The action skewed more in favour of the male performers whereas the women occasionally felt unjustly tertiary, given the militaristic leanings of the majority of the scenes.

The footwork was so hypnotic it became almost like ASMR; a soft patter like gently rainfall at first and then fervent rhythmic percussion like a thunderstorm. At one point I was convinced sparks were going to ignite with the sheer speed at which the shoes were tapping. A sensational ten-minute solo by Gavin Shevlin had the crowd in a frenzy with some of the most technically difficult choreography I’ve ever seen. I eventually worked out he was portraying the key political figure Mícheál Ó Coileáin whilst in prison, but there’s no context for his importance unless you already knew. Similarly in a segment where the women wore orange vests, I eventually recognised they were representing the Unionists. These were missed opportunities to educate through dance. Unfortunately the performers are let down by almost every other facet of the production, which currently does not quite know what is wants to be.

The projections on the backdrop are either too dark and murky, or completely bleached out of contrast and I could barely read what scant details there were on it. Live footage from the stage (apparently now a theatrical obligation) broadcast onto three vertical panels were pointless or otherwise distracting.

Ultimately, I’m reminded of the scene in the 2025 film Sinners, in which the infamous song “Rocky Road To Dublin” and Irish dancing are used particularly effectively as a plot device at a pivotal point. We know Irish dance can be used as a narrative tool beyond technical showboating. With Éirann, I wanted characters to invest in. Could we follow a child as they learn about Ireland throughout time? Could we follow two best friends, one a Republican and one a Unionist? Is there a hero, a villain, a romance, anything? Irish music and dance is so evocative I can’t help but feel this production has much potential. Currently it is an enjoyable mish mash of loosely historical vignettes trying to avoid political offence, but a little commitment to theme and character development could go a long way to packing the emotional punch it is so clearly capable of making alongside the skill and heart of the dance.