Author: fbalchin

REVIEW: BBC Proms:Dvořák’s “New World Symphony”

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

“Meticulous, mellifluous, magical: Dvořák’s symphony never sounded so sensational”

If you think you’ve never heard of Antonin Dvořák’s work before, you’re probably wrong. You can hear his rather obvious influence in modern film scores, particularly those by John Williams. Jaws- check. Star Wars? Check. Hell it’s even in Ridley Scott’s Hovis loaf advert. Classical romanticism is alive and well coming out of our surround sounds cinema speakers. So it was with great excitement that BBC Proms gave Dvořák’s most famous piece, New World Symphony the air to breathe all its four movements. 

Starting proceedings in the packed Hall, we are treated to two beautiful, intimate pieces. The first by the fabulously named Adulphus Hailstork (he was even in the audience!)- His piece An American Port of Call rose in waves, lilting like a sail in the breeze. It gave the feeling of travelling beyond the horizon, somewhere new and unexplored. A perfect opener for the night. This was followed by Jennifer Higson’s Blue Cathedral, A piece so regally ethereal it felt like I was an a coronation. Stirring strings created a sense of wonder; the spectacularly varied use of percussion in this piece really stood out to me: mixing the harp with tubular bells, blending into clarinet solos. It gave mellifluousness. 

Rounding off the first half was the sensational trumpeter soloist Pacho Flores. The rendition of Arturo Marquez’s Concierto de Otoño 19 was performed with such passion and liveliness I half thought the standing stalls audience might turn into an impromptu flamenco mosh pit. 

The second half was given over to the pleasure of 1893’s New World Symphony, a piece that not only made its creator famous at the time, but enabled the emerging United States to showcase its cultural might through grandiose classical music. Dvořák’s compositions are known for being multilayered, often utlising codas, motifs and leitmotifs. The first movement arrives with bombast and aplomb, the 2nd slips in with a wistful longing, a mournfulness that allows audience to reflect in stillness. By the 3rd movement we really begin to see the elements of epic evocation that would go on to inspire countless movie scores, and when the two-tone duh-duh duh-duh of the 4th movement arrives à la Jaws, the audience is basically whipped into a frenzy. The woodwind section plays off the brass section, which in turn plays against the huge string section. There are adagios leading into accelerandos that in turn lead into the big crescendo finale. What a showstopper! Everyone involved, from conductor Domingo Hindoyan to the Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra, to the very walls of the Hall itself appeared to be having the best time. My only criticism, and this may be due to how the BBC records its radio broadcast for the Proms, is that there was no interaction between conductor, orchestra and audience, no patter in between pieces, no introductions or chat filling any silence. In this sense there was a slight sense of detachment to proceedings but again this could just be down to broadcasting logistics. 

Music, particularly when it is presented without lyrics, visuals or other potential distractions, is a tool for catharsis and contemplation. There is no choice but to exist together in this sonic moment. BBC Proms has yet again created a joyous, accessible night out exploring contemporary pieces against the backdrop of famous nostalgia. 

REVIEW: Târgoviște Strays

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Rating: 5 out of 5.

Creatively complex conflict explored perfectly in its polished yet intimate setting

Writer-producer Emma Novak has struck Fringe Theatre gold with this riveting, personal piece about the impact of Romania’s communist regime. Directed by Hector Smith, we follow a solitary solider called “Novak”, played superbly by Samuel Collins-Webb, as he writes letters to his mother during his time in a military re-education camp as punishment for trying to flee to Czechoslovakia. Dealing with themes of hope, paranoia and survival, this production has been expertly crafted by its tiny team.  

The atmosphere is already established as we enter the room: Novak is sat on small metal bed with scratchy woolen blanket, writing furiously into his journal. A black and white TV is perched on a wooden side table. The sounds of Romanian radio propaganda songs play on loop; jaunty and unsettling. The “strays” in the title, we learn are a double meaning. Referring both to the literal stray dogs left abandoned by citizens in the streets, and the people who slip through the cracks, such as our protagonist, forced to wonder when liberation will ever come.

The heart of the piece is of course Collins-Webb, and Novak’s writing is so sharp that we are immediately invested in his character, based on her own father. We follow as he writes love poems for a fellow inmate to his ever increasing number of girlfriends, we follow him as he discusses the virtues of contraband VHS, and we follow him as he muses mournfully on his increasing desperation and despair that he will never be released.

Considering the small creative team, the technical capabilities of this show are sensational and pack a far bigger punch than you would expect, filling its intimate space. The sound design is spectacular. We are shown archival video footage of dictator Ceausescu one moment, then a cut to a 1980s Hollywood montage the next, then cut to spoken word overlapping radio broadcasts and back to silence again. Here media is used to show, rather than relying on the character to tell. Quick musical transitions and sound motifs are matched by Collins-Webb’s masterful tracking of the myriad cues he has to meet for this pint-sized production. Capabable of quickly changing characters, he has such heart and charisma, demonstrating the personal fractures of a life caught up in the fight for national democracy. I couldn’t believe how invested I was in his character and his invisible stray pet dog called Rat.

This show not only tackles head on themes of military abuse and corruption, but also the human elements of being simply a poet with a past- references to the soldier’s family life and his friendship with an inmate add touches of heart and even humour. My sole criticism were the movement sections- they were too infrequent and short (and on the nose)- if they are to be kept, they should be really invested in or just ditch them.

Ultimately, I feel this show was incredibly well written, well produced and well performed. I felt a connection to the character and understood the context within which it takes place, as well as asking questions about democracy, communism and about what we all do to survive if we need to. It’s such a well-polished piece considering its student roots.

Slick in its simplicity, Târgoviște Strays allows a single person’s story to resonate through a regime and in doing so, provide a thoroughly nuanced perspective on a past that is indeed not so far removed from the current political climate.

Image Credit: Mark Douet

REVIEW: Horrible Histories: Barmy Britain

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

“Brilliantly bonkers and British. Exceptional edutainment for all the family.”

I knew this show was going to be great when I saw the glossy souvenir programme was filled with activities to do before the show- crosswords, puzzles, anagrams, spot the difference- endless entertainment before curtain rise. Horrible Histories: Barmy Britain is a two-hander produced by The Birmingham Stage Company in which performers Emma Swan and Neal Foster spend the next seventy minutes wrangling accents, costumes, props and poo jokes to weave a tale of  grim chronological history highlights . 

A simple set up, the blank stage (currently hiding the Fawlty Towers set behind black curtains) encompasses a massive wicker basket flanked by industrial sized coat racks absolutely full of colourful costumes and accessories. This enabled the costume changes to flow seamlessly between time periods. Starting of course, with the Rotten Romans, we are treated to tidbits and earworm singalongs about the etymology of place names (genuinely learned new facts here) before heading on to the Vikings and Norsemen. Straight onto the Magna Carta before a bubonic plague detour then into the Tudors. Despite the relentless character switching, it never felt rushed. This is down to the excellent pacing of Terry Deary and Neal Foster’s script. We finish with Dick Turpin, Burke and Hare and finally arrive at the 20th Century. Phew! Did I miss anything? Actually yes, they manage to squeeze in Guy Fawkes as well. 

The duo of Swan and Foster are sublime- their elastic physicality and comedic timing mesh together perfectly. They are clearly very comfortable performing in exaggerated tones and expressions for a younger audience. In return, their efforts are rewarded with giggles, chuckles, guffaws and the right amount of “ewwww”s to all the toilet humour. Adults are not left out either; clever skits with callbacks to Monty Python: a “bring out your dead- I’m not dead yet” bit set in a Welsh plague village and The Fast Show: a “suits you, Sir” scene with a young girl from the audience trying to buy tudor clothing before being put in the stocks, bless her. 

If I were to nitpick such a wholesome theatrical experience, it’s that a cast of two does not nearly do justice to the wealth of the historical characters and immersion available. Imagine a cast of ten, mingling with the crowd pretending to be medieval peasants flinging plushy plague rats into the audience, or two teams of five sat in Viking longboats coming to invade Lindisfarne (the front row of course). There were indeed elements of audience participation, usually in the guise of singing and clapping and a spirited watergun by Dick Turpin, but they could go so much further and audiences would lap it up. The set, whilst making allowances for it being a whistle stop West End residency, was essentially non-existent. No backdrop, no furniture, just props and costume changes. This does give it an air of Thirty-Nine Steps level of farce which Swan and Foster are incredibly adept at portraying. Again though, imagine how fun it would be to see Burke and Hare in a gloomy lamp lit kirkyard with fog effects, or a Roman Centurion getting lost in modern day Chester. There would be huge scope for age-appropriate visual gags. 

Ultimately, the show feels like a brilliantly British pantomime perfectly set up for the summer school holiday period. There is so much joy, humour and genuine historical fun facts that not even the sound of a hundred crinkling Haribo packets could put me off. It’s a genuinely great day out; exceptional edutainment for all the family.

Horrible Histories: Barmy Britain runs at the Apollo Theatre until 31st August. Tickets are available here.

REVIEW: Londongrad at Camden’s People Theatre

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Rating: 2 out of 5.

“This political comedy is unfortunately frenetic without focus.”

I knew something was suspicious when the girls behind me found literally every line hilarious. This show, Londongrad, had all the subtlety of a brick to the head. Ostensibly, the plot revolves around new Prime Minister Kiera Palmer (played by Cassia Crimin) as she receives word that Vladimir Putin is threatening to buy London or he will expose the birthday exploits of her Foreign Secretary Will (played by Cameron Wight). For some reason her husband is the editor of The Daily Mail. Secretly pulling the strings in some sort of Geordie Scarlet Pimpernel role is her Director of Communications Leela (played by Mollie Kerrigan).

Unfortunately the jokes were so uninspired I couldn’t help but long for the sweet release of that brick. The play is simply too long and ironically uninformed. I wanted a biting satire about political commentary through a London lens and what I got was an hour of shouty cheap shots about Tony Blair getting fellated by a guy in a bad wig. Kerrigan is the strongest of the trio, with her character Leela at least demonstrating a modicum of nuance and intrigue (great makeup, too). However she is caught between the one-dimension of her boss Kiera, who appears to exist solely to be the butt of of sexist pot shots and the pun in her name, and the utterly vile Will who appears to be some abominable drunk civil servant sex pest amalgamation. 

This show could have been sensational as a ten minute Youtube Short, or even longer if it wanted to discuss the actual problems London politics faces at the hands of Russian oligarchs (no discussion of all the frozen assets taking up chunks of Chelsea, then?) Instead we get absurd farce as if it was written by someone whose only exposure to politics is from TikTok reels. The use of the world leader group WhatsApp chat for example, it being a misogynist cesspit could have been interesting but it trivialized atrocities. The constant whataboutism to make light of actual dictators for the sake of boy’s “banter” commentary was again a letdown. The jokes weren’t clever, just puerile. 

The show ends inexplicably with a rap about Londongrad after a coup in which the southern half of London does in fact get sold to Putin. The trio perform the rap onstage in front of a music video projection of the same song. There is no closure to the characters and we do not know what, if any, repercussions the characters face for their awful decision making and backstabbing policies. The show is all punch-line and no set up; frenetic without focus. 

Londongrad could have been The Thick of It for the modern theatrical era. We know from TV shows like It’s Always Sunny In Philaedphia that we don’t even need to like any of the characters to enjoy the humour. For me it needs more actual politics instead of relying on social media sound bites for important historical context: ha ha Epstein is a paedophile. Ha ha politicians are addicted to cocaine and alcohol. Ha ha Big Media runs the world. And? There is much potential if the script was just allowed to breathe and the characters given more depth than a puddle. Crimin’s Prime Minister allows her to demonstrate excellent facial expressions but where is her ministerial gusto and vigour? Wight’s laddish lackey shows clear wanton abandon but where is his pathos or vulnerability? Maybe it’s just me- everyone else was laughing. Maybe I’m reading too much into it and it’s just meant to be one hour of dick jokes.  

REVIEW: I Didn’t Know I Was Polish

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Rating: 5 out of 5.

This solo show is a perfectly formed existential crisis meets French New Wave.

We’ve all been there, right? Moved to Paris in our youth to chase that joie de vivre, that Left Bank lifestyle. Non? Ok well at least I and Kaitlyn Kelly have; she’s a Canadian performer whose solo show charts her journey to trace her European identity, exploring the visa highs and passport lows. 

It’s another of these endless hot summer nights, the sticky air stifling the small but packed crowd of the Hope Theatre. A solitary fan in the corner is honestly trying its best. Kaitlyn is wearing a long-sleeved brown velvet dress- the bravest of us all. It’s just her and her microphone, with some synth-waveomniscient voice interludes peppering proceedings. 

I love this show. It’s about the bureaucracy of identity; her life funneled into paperwork and the attempts she has made to reckon with her roots. At the start, Kaitlyn describes in soft tones and lilting language her love affair with Paris as a young Canadian, and her desire to gain citizenship at a time when her Frenchness seemed almost too obvious. Alas, she is rejected and a source of personal pride is knocked back. If she’s not French then what can she be? It soon transpires she has Polish ancestry, linked to a time when Ukrainian territory belonged to Poland. Thus begins another arduous and complicated bureaucraticmission to discover how European she really is. It is a story I imagine resonates with a lot of European residents, grappling with the idea of borders and what it means to be from multiplesomewheres. 

Cleverly, this piece lends itself well to the same elements of French New Wave Kaitlyn is at pains to present both contextually and in practice: personal expression, playing with narrative, authenticity and neo-realism. Punctuating the monologues, Kaitlyn uses dance breaks and silence to demonstrate a particularly admin heavy part of her journey. When she waits for a response, we wait with her. When she is delayed; so too is her audience. I feel like she could have made us all fill in some nonsensical form as well, like an unwantedsouvenir- “please provide four generations of family tree before you enter”. 

What I enjoyed about Kaitlyn’s soliloquizing is that she makes it feel like a stream of consciousness on a personal scale, but dealing with weighty concepts. The very notion of cultural heritage is huge. Not least the description of her Ukrainian roots and the current politicization of its own national identify in the face on ongoing attempted Russification. She makes witty little references to painted eggs, food, religion and the acknowledgement that (lack of) language plays a huge role in her own psyche. She praises her amazing Polish citizenship lawyer, referencing the speed at which she was able to finally gain Polish citizenship and ultimately, her goal of European-ness. 

This show is a 1 hour love letter to Europe without sycophancy. It explores the notion, so familiar to a lot of us, that we can often feel culturally within and without. What does it mean to be “from” somewhere anyway? It’s like if Agnѐs Varda poppedinto the passport office: bureaucracy, but make it art.

 Kaitlyn asks the loaded question “how did I end up here?” as a finale and I can’t help feeling she’s headed for great things, starting with the Edinburgh Fringe festival next month. It’s easy to see how it will resonate with the eclectic, multicultural audiences.

REVIEW: EM The Master

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Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

A skilled SCUBA queen spends 90 minutes yassifying the ocean in an urgent cabaret call to action for climate change.

As I settled into the intimate atmosphere of the Charing Cross Theatre, I couldn’t help but feel the Cabaret offerings in the small area of Embankment were stacked: KitKat Klub to my left at the Playhouse, Dita Von Teese to my right at the Emerald. Here I was nestled in the superbly capable hands of emerging young artist EM the Master. 

This show was part of Janie Dee’s Beautiful World Cabaret, a series of intimate cabarets themed on the merging of artistic freedom and climate activism. Here EM The Master is our Emcee (our “Emsea”, if you will) for 90 minutes of oceanic satire and sympathy for the blue planet and how humans have come to be the reason we can’t have nice things. 

It starts with what can only be described as what I’m going to call the ballad of the yassified octopus, followed swiftly by an ode to the mantis shrimp represented as a mafia pimp. Straightaway the surreal vibe is established. EM is backed by a fabulous trio of drummer, double bass and pianist for a rather hodgepodge journey of jazz burlesques on a maritime theme. 

Individually the songs and skits were skilful and emotively performed, however the meandering nature means you get emotional whiplash with no real moment to absorb. One moment it’s a funny bit involving the dreaded Corporate CEO Man being bad in the City, then an urgent call to activism about how mother earth is dying using a cover of Chicago’s When You’re Good to Mama. Then we’re laughing at a bizarre AI robot malfunctioning to come kill humanity, then there’s a grief-stricken lament about a turtle mourning the loss of her child (which I feel is an odd animal to represent desperate motherhood given how notoriously lax they are once they’ve laid the eggs). At one point EM’s singing student came onstage as he turns out to be a bona fide sea urchin expert. They both felt a little awkward in the interaction despite the fun sea urchin facts. It was tonally erratic. 

Let’s be clear; EM is supremely talented. She combines singing, piano skills, clowning, dancing, spoken word, meditation, mime, and excellent freediving breathing techniques. There can be no doubt this is an incredibly authentic show and her utter devotion to the sea is evident. What I would like to see is less of a string of loose jazz vignettes on a nautical theme using skill after skill, and more of a call to action with a plot. We’re never really told, for example, exactly what we can do to help, other than recycle and don’t eat meat- hardly groundbreaking. 

Though the show never felt like a pontification, there is the risk that the venn diagram of people who would go to a climate change cabaret, and people who are already trying their best for the environment is essentially a circle, so we run the risk of this show merely being activism in an echo chamber.  We know there is already mass appeal to the concept of art and environmentalism- David Attenborough documentaries are eternally successful for a reason.  

There is so much potential to EM’s eclectic show, but if it (and by extension, Janie Dee’s whole series’ concept) is to reach the people it needs to have any actual impact; it perhaps needs to be slicker. It’s silly and sassy and honestly a touch schizophrenic, which is great for cabaret, but for true, urgent activism, it needs to be more polished and to the point. 

REVIEW: Assassins

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

“All killer no filler. This excellent student production of Sondheim’s savage stars and stripes extravaganza remains faithful to its source material whilst the talent keeps it fresh”

To paraphrase the great American character Dr Doofenschmirtz from Phineas and Ferb: if I had a nickel for every time I had seen a musical this week in which political figures’ deaths are represented by balloons popping I’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it’s happened twice.

On a hot summer’s 4th July at the Royal Academy of Music, nine assassins walk into a carnival fairground and tell the story of why they tried, successfully or otherwise, to kill their respective American presidents. One of Stephen Sondheim’s lesser produced works, it weaves its tale via the All-American themed Proprietor (played by Oliver Garnon) and the Balladeer (played by Jelani Munroe). Here they act as sort of co-MCs, with the Balladeer also doubling up as Lee Harvey Oswald for the finale. This is a creative decision lifted from the 2004 Broadway revival and appears to be the norm for modern versions of the show. We meet each of the assassins on their own terms chronologically throughout history as they explore in their own words why they did what they did. 

It is in my opinion one of Sondheim’s most interesting works. Dealing with themes of democracy, freedom, fame, mental health, there is an overarching theme of community and family. We are shown how certain assassins are outcasts, be they immigrants or fantasists for example. The driving force of Sondheim’s astute lyrics explores broken childhoods, obsessive erotomania and anarchic impulsions. Presented as a carnivalesque purgatory, the assassins appear doomed to never find peace; never know what it means to be understood. They seem to be convinced that Harvey Oswald’s murder of JFK will afford them all the notoriety they need to attain the American dream. 

Andrew Exeter’s exquisitely simple set has the entire backdrop be a curved curtain rail of thick neon red plastic strips, giving the effect of a massive abattoir. An astonishing visual emerges during the song Another National Anthem just as JFK is finally assassinated. The entire curtain rod lowers with a red light strip across the rail, slowly revealing the seminal Zapruder footage of JFK’s brains exploding in his car. At this moment red, white and blue balloons and confetti drop all over the stage as the assassins celebrate their new found release. The overall effect makes for breathtaking theatre. 

Though the cast is amateur, their portrayals are sensational. Highlights include Pippa Lane as Sara-Jane Moore and Alysse Whaley as Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme as they scramble to assassinate Gerald Ford. Their scenes were full of humour, pathos and an authenticity to their characters that wasn’t necessarily always present with others. For example accents proved challenging to master for our young cast. Czolgosz’ Polish accent (played by Joe Patridge) and Zangara’s Italian accent (played by Rayhan Lee) were poor and inconsistent, making it difficult to connect to them. 

Musically, as is to be expected of the RAM, the orchestra is super, with such layered musical themes a key component of Sondheim’s works. I noticed key elements of aural Americana  with use of the banjo and harmonica throughout. Musical Director Ben Kubiak deftly leads his orchestra with energy, complimenting Charlie Smith’s sound design. 

Ultimately, this is a hard hitting musical, chock full of adult themes and a darker tone than anything you’ll see on the main stages this Summer. Politically relevant without being preachy, whenever this gets revived you should definitely make a point to seek it out, Sondheim fan or not.

REVIEW: Storehouse at Deptford Storehouse

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Rating: 2.5 out of 5.

Stunningly ambitious set pieces lead to a dystopian anticlimax in this promenade thriller

Presented in a Deptford hangar, Storehouse by newcomers Sage and Jester has lofty ambitions about the exploration of digital information, truth and power. Perhaps rather ironically, this piece of immersive theatre is financially backed by the daughter of a billionaire media mogul. Its slogan reads “truth lies here” and “The truth will set us free”- phrases that feature heavily but mean little. 

The plot explains that in 1983 when the internet was created, four founders started the Arkive, a meticulous physical library of everything ever put on the internet. In January 2025 a seismic event – the Great Aggregation- was supposed to happen and we the audience members are brought in as Trustees to oversee what might be the problem. Parallel promenade performances split the audiences as they go on the same journey with different actors before merging at the finale.

What starts out bold and interesting soon unravels into a confusing mess of a script. With eight (!) co-writers including a dramaturg, it clearly suffers from too many cooks. The subject of misinformation and truth in content creation is perfectly topical, but the writers simply don’t do anything with it. We are led through various exquisitely detailed spaces with lots of expository monologuing from the performers, sometimes referencing the sacredness of ink or the importance of binary code. However we are not really given any time to invest in anything before being shunted to the next room. Eventually we are funneled into a large inkwell room for a clichéd damp squib of a revelation before entering the cavernous main space finale whilst some omniscient voice tells us to touch grass.

Essentially the problem it is trying to solve is one we are already aware of: overuse of technology is bad. The Arkive struggling under the weight of constant content being made is not new information. However it is little surprise that a system made in the 80s is not fit for purpose in 2025. This promenade piece is so linear that it feels passive rather than immersive. The heavy marketing of names including Meera Syal and Toby Jones ultimately feels like a gimmick- they barely feature other than a portrait and occasional voiceover. The performers for my group were a highlight though, including Chris Agha as a bookbinder and Harriett O’ Grady as a stacker. Trussed up in their fun 80s outfits, they activate like a sleeper cell whenever Karma Chameleon plays, though it is never explained why.

Alice Helps’ set pieces are the real winner here, and the sense of space and scale is astonishing. Both intimate and monumental at different turns, I truly enjoyed the use of texture, organic matter, smells, touch and sound design. The rooms, tunnels and pods never felt overwhelming , despite being full of sensory elements. I wish we could have proper time to simply explore- the 90 minutes run time is clearly a constraint.

Further frustrations lie in wasteful elements that prove to be superfluous to the paper-thin plot: we are given a fortune cookie, wrapped in Storehouse branded plastic packaging, and individually made drinks while we wait in our assigned reception room. We are given a Storehouse branded lanyard to keep, with a printed ID sticker showing our name and face. We are given a glossy storehouse manual full of explanations and a terminology. I asked a staff member at the lockers if I should keep the manual with me for the show- she confirmed it’s not needed. Oh.

Ultimately, a show cannot succeed on aesthetic alone, and whilst the sensational visuals demonstrate promise to the premise, more attention is needed on the actual story. It is a bold if flawed debut.

REVIEW: The Jazz Cafe – Nicola Benedetti

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Rating: 5 out of 5.

Violin virtuosa: Nicola Benedetti is a magnificent maestra that brings classical chamber pieces well and truly into the modern music scene

I had assumed a legendary jazz venue would be an incongruous fit for a tiny classical chamber orchestra. How wrong I was. Camden’s famous Jazz Café proved to be the perfect fit for GRAMMY award winning violinist Nicola Benedetti. 

The small square space is intimate, with spotlights alternating between pale blue moonlight and the warm hot summer hues of orange and red. There’s a smoky haze in the air and the atmosphere is thick with a silent reverie; a shared agreement between the entire audience that we are there to witness something magical. And it happens. 

Scottish maestra Benedetti, classically trained since childhood, was flanked by her pint-sized chamber orchestra consisting of a cellist, an acoustic guitarist and an accordionist. The set list was incredibly thoughtful and meandering in a beautiful way. Starting with Estrellita, a heartbreakingly tender piece about loss, it felt like we were in a basement bar during WW2, pining for something that was never meant to be. Followed by Maria Theresia Von Paradis’ Sicilienne, this is a piece reminiscent of bittersweet otherworldliness; Benedetti plays so beautifully that she makes the abstract relatable. 

Moving on to even more passion and emoción, we turn to Fantasy on the themes of Carmen, by Bizet. The night is well and truly in a Mediterranean fervour. The atmosphere is just so cool. Instead of some staid hall with uncomfy chairs, shifting with distraction and lack of alcohol, we were in the coolest jazz spot in town; a sold out show with flowing cocktails and a diverse audience. A standing room only below the supper club upstairs forces us to remain engaged, losing ourselves in the moment like any other gig round the corner in Camden Town. 

The use of acoustic guitar and an accordion only added to the Latin flair of the proceedings, punctuated perfectly by the addition of two inspired guest appearances. Brìghde Chaimbeul, a young musician whose haunting performance on the Scottish smallpipes left everyone, to use Benedetti’s own words, “in a trance”. They played a gloomy Gaelic duet at first, with enough melancholia to summon over all the goths from Underworld across the road. Chaimbeul’s talent for aural evocation is astounding; the complexity of the instrumental drones as she manipulates the bellows is fantastic. Her second piece, a rhythmic ethereal dirge transported the audience to a forgotten Celtic realm. I felt like I was the only one there, it was like a fever dream. 

The second performer, saved for the crescendo finale otherwise interposed by Claude Debussy and Ernest Bloch arrangements, was Yume Fujise. A London based Japanese violinist, she and Benedetti performed the rousing duet, Navarra by Sarasate. Both played with such joy and abandon you forgot how precise and technical the piece really was. It was the perfect conclusion to an already heady mix of Hispanic vibes and meticulous melancholia. 

Nicola Benedetti is astonishing. Her aural evocation is displayed through skilful strokes and playful pizzicato. It is so refreshing to see young musicians bring new audiences to such classic pieces, known and unknown in a fun yet provoking way. There was nothing stuffy about this show, everything from the relaxed arrangement of the chamber orchestra, each stellar in their own right, to the intimate crowd spellbound by such a powerhouse performance. 

It’s Nicola Benedetti’s world and we’re all just living in it.

REVIEW: Diagnosis

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Rating: 3 out of 5.

A shrewd examination of the dehumanization of vulnerable people set in a dystopian London

Placed in a dystopian near future London, Diagnosis is premised on authority’s ability, or rather inability, to comprehend information from an unusual source. Ostensibly a two-hander, this play presents the nameless “She”, performed by the play’s writer Athena Stevens, and “Officer”, played by director Ché Walker. A small off-screen role of the disembodied voice of a “rookie” cop is played by Ted Walliker.

Set in a bleak Charing Cross Police Station room, Juliette Demoulin’s naturalistic greyscale set leads us to believe this version of London is at least adjacent to the current.  The only thing realistic about the police procedure however is the fact this police station hasn’t been refurbished in 50 years. It looked eerily similar to the set for An Interrogation at the Hampstead Theatre earlier this year, complete with video footage of proceedings live-streamed on the back wall. Stevens’ character is called in for questioning by the Officer for a variety of puzzling reasons. Firstly, it appears she has punched a man in a club to prevent what she sees as a sexual assault about to happen. This stems from the second plot point, in which Stevens explains she has a supernatural power of premonition whereby she can see people’s trauma conditions appear above their heads with a countdown. One such visual hallucination is the cause for this girl in a club- hers says “Complex PTSD- 17 minutes”. Finally, through Stevens’ character’s job as a TfL drone operator, she notices a crack in the tunnel near Embankment, and Villiers Street will soon be flooded. In her frustration at not being listened to for being a vulnerable person, she seeks solace in a nitrous bar, which is where she sees the aforementioned couple in trouble.

Stevens uses terminology to effectively portray the sense of alienation through anonymity: The officer constantly refers to her as “subject”; “sector 4” is used to refer to what is essentially Covent Garden. Unfortunately I couldn’t understand what her status in the station actually was. Was she a suspect of an assault? Is she under arrest- where is her legal representative and appropriate adult and intermediary? Is she a member of the public offering intelligence to prevent a catastrophe? Again, why is there no intermediary- this is something commonplace in modern evidence gathering with vulnerable people.  Why has this been removed in the future? It appears to have replaced by some impenetrable “PO-22” document and the public- us- observing in the shadows for misconduct.  Why is she being interviewed by a lone Detective Chief Inspector who is the sole line manager of one uniformed constable?

Aside from the procedural confusion, another problem here is the element of her premonition power. It is never established that the supernatural is an accepted part of the show’s world-building. Therefore it is difficult to know why authorities would take it seriously unless it already was something believable in the context of this alternate reality.

Given the short run time, I would perhaps lose the supernatural element and focus on her character’s personal life- particularly the interaction in the club where she explains how she flirts with the man, only to realise she has interrupted something more sinister, but is nevertheless made to feel invisible as usual. The show needs to understand police procedure more if it is to be represented as realistic or even dystopian; otherwise it needs to establish the supernatural context that will allow audiences to suspend belief enough to consider what she actually wants people to invest in as a conceit. The show left me as frustrated and confused as her character, which, rather ironically, is probably the point.