Author: fbalchin

REVIEW: Anna Lapwood

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Rating: 5 out of 5.

“A sensational, ethereal modern icon of the organ pulls out all the stops for her sold out solo show.”

A social media icon, it was only a matter of time before Anna Lapwood’s infectious charm and astonishing talent generated a sold out solo show at the Royal Albert Hall. Initially an Associated Artist, she was just named their inaugural Official Organist. Now, for her first production in that role, she performs alongside the incredible Philharmonia orchestra conducted by André de Ridder, as well as the Philharmonia Chorus and, rather sweetly, her own Pembroke College, Cambridge girls’ choir. 

The unofficial overarching theme, at least to me, was one of galactic wonder. The premise seemed to stem from the concept of time, space and contemplation.  The show opened with the spectacular Chevaliers de Sangreal from The Da Vinci Code, followed by a newly commission piece by Armenian composer Kristina Arakelyan, which felt equally cinematic in scale and style. This was followed by an effervescent piece by Hans Zimmer from Interstellar. The auditorium suddenly filled with sparkling lights, placing the historic Hall squarely into the futuristic starfield. It felt magical. Anna allowed not only her magnificent instrument, in all its Victorian glory to shine, but paid equal tender attention to soaring choral arrangements, smaller moments on the strings and lighthearted audience interactions. It felt like the aural equivalent of flowers blooming, delicately at first and then fervently, from Spring into Summer. 

She rather smartly introduced each piece with a brief explanation, letting the audience know what it meant to her and what the interpretation of the piece was about. This simple act, almost utilitarian in its execution, is something that I wish more performers of the abstract would offer their audiences. Straightforward and helpful, it allowed the audience to connect with the music so much more now that they understood, for example, that a dies irae motif was being used throughout. Context matters when forming individual interpretation. Finishing off with a cute combo known as “Catherine’s mash-up” based on a fleeting moment in an NYC coffee shop, the show ended with pieces from Lord of The Rings and How to Train Your Dragon. Finally the encore returned to another seminal Interstellar piece- No Time for Caution. Cue a well deserved lengthy standing ovation. 

Initially, I thought I wanted a more varied selection of music. I’m so used to having the mental bandwidth of a TikTok video that I thought the show should be played out like some sort of reels highlight. Anna deliberately chose to perform the pieces in full; all four movements of Cosmology by Max Richter in the first Act and the entirety of the Saint-Saëns Symphony 3 covering the whole second Act. It forced me to really pay attention, to listen to the changes in tempo, tone, timbre. It allowed moments of stillness and contemplation. It allowed soaring crescendos and orchestral boldness. But most importantly, it allowed me to feel. 

It’s impossible to dislike Anna. Her enthusiasm for spreading happiness through music is to be applauded. She meets her audience at their own level and takes them along for the ride. Even a birthday rendition from the entire Royal Albert Hall to her grandma Audrey who was sat in the audience was a sweet personal touch that despite being grand connected her to us. 

Ultimately, this is a stunning, stirring presentation of Anna’s talent. Her dedication to showcasing an overlooked instrument is inspiring and the inclusion of audience interaction felt authentic. Her star is on the melodious ascendant, in a constellation of genuine joy. Catch her while you can. 

Performed at Royal Albert Hall on 15th May 2025.

REVIEW: The Comedy About Spies

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Rating: 5 out of 5.

Pun-filled and fun-filled: there are few better ways to spend your evening with this terrifically executed spy romp

Buster Keaton eat your heart out. This slick, fast paced, rapid-fire festival of humour comes at you quicker than an Airplane! gag. 

For a production company that has only existed since 2008, Mischief  have genuinely honed their craft. Henry Lewis and Henry Shields’ script is clever, pun-filled and fun-filled. Bring an inhaler because this show seriously doesn’t let you catch your breath. 

A simple storyline, we follow two Soviet spies and two American spies in 60s London as they try to outsmart each other on a secret mission to obtain certain important documents at the Piccadilly Hotel. Caught up in the melée is a James Bond auditionee and a hapless couple just looking for some respite. An incredible array of in-jokes, historical references and cultural nods pepper the dialogue and physical comedy.

From start to finish I was howling, from the visual puns of quick prop changes and gymnastic slapstick, to the machine-gun speed of verbal riffs, callbacks, clapbacks and punch lines.

Known for their extremely inventive set design, designer David Farley achieves a kinetic energy that means you are always playing visual acrobatics to keep up with the pace of the performers as they constantly use the space at every level. Resembling what can only be an interpretation of the Windows logo, four bedrooms in primary colours are laid out like a 2×2 box for each of the character teams: one for the Soviets, the Americans, the Brits and the auditionee. Beautiful plush art deco touches for the hotel lobby are wistfully rendered to evoke nostalgia as well as practicality. 

The entire cast is sensational, as is to be expected. Standouts for me include Bernard Wright (played by Henry Shields) whose lovelorn British baker is truly the heart of the show. It is a wonderfully nuanced, “straight” performance that cuts through all the humour with charm and courage, giving the audience a baseline breather from the gags.  I was also a fan of Sergei Ivanov (played by Chris Leask) whose faux English accent was clearly borrowed from ‘Allo ‘Allo!. Despite being a Soviet spy, he was endearing and human, with small nods to his wish for friendship amongst the icy reality of the cold war. And finally, a special mention to the maniacal human embodiment of farce that is Douglas Woodbead (played by Henry Lewis). His larger than life character of an actor trying to get the role of James Bond exemplified British comedy and the presentation of the absurd. Combining bombastic physical comedy with wit and pathos in ever more ridiculous set ups is truly a talent Lewis possesses.  A thoroughly modern millennial jester. 

The whole show fizzes, emanating the boundless energy of a child with a sugar rush, but it also has the refinement of Shakespeare and the comic timing of a Marx brother. It’s like Operation Mincemeat and 39 Steps had a secret affair with Cirque du Soleil. The audience could simply not stop laughing; everything was choreographed to within an inch of its life, and the execution of each line was flawless. 

Ultimately, this show does not punch down or go for cheap shots and lazy insults. The jokes are witty, irreverent and maintain silliness with soul. Yes the closing act has more twists and turns than a drive through Milton Keynes but who cares? This show is the most fun you can have this side of the Iron Curtain. Probably the other side, too. 

REVIEW: Swing! Swing! Admiral Byng!

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Rating: 3 out of 5.

A contemplative biography of a forgotten man, this seafaring show examines injustice, hope and self-worth

A strong production design of sweeping sails, authentic period piece props and a powerful leading man casts us off for the next two hours and twenty minutes as we delve into the life on an unsung man of history.

Writer-director Christopher Swann provides the final in his military trilogy, focusing here on naval history in the form of Admiral John Byng, the only admiral to be executed by firing squad. It is a genuinely interesting topic, and one which has not really been creatively explored elsewhere. I was personally drawn to this play because Admiral Byng was alive during the time of my own naval ancestor, Admiral Sir John Balchen, and I wondered if they ever knew each other, given that Admiral Balchen served under his father, Admiral George Byng.

Through expositional soliloquies and contemplative dialogues, the show examines themes of loss, legacy and love. Over the last two nights of his life, Byng takes the audience with him as he explores notions of blame, pride and the creation of a national scapegoat. We learn that he was given an impossible task to prevent the island of Menorca being taken by the French. Refusing to allow his outnumbered men to die at the hands of the French, he was instead blamed by the English government for what he describes as a tactical retreat. Byng’s words, delivered by masterful actor Peter Tate were “I would rather be buried in the deep than the dirt”.

Whilst the story is genuinely interesting, the pacing is patchy. At times points are repeated and laboured, at other times, interesting asides are glossed over. Humour is stilted and clumsy, often revolving around tropes of “old person is bumbling” or “promiscuous seamen can’t settle down”. None of the characters presented as multi dimensional. For example at one point Byng’s sister Sarah (played by Corrina McDermott) monologues about how invisible women are and longs to be taken seriously. This is never mentioned again.

The second half started strong, with a meaningful last supper for Byng and his closest loved ones, however it took a bizarre turn where the audience is treated to a dream sequence in which French philosopher Voltaire (played animatedly by Merric Boyd) tries to placate Byng, saying he will add a passing line about him in his upcoming book Candide, as though that ought to be sufficient legacy. Given the script is peppered with various anti French jokes, it felt ironic Voltaire be given such importance and lengthy stage time to Byng’s final sleep.

There are repetitive themes of hope, what ifs and injustice. The overarching theme was one of contemplation and acceptance, and nothing more. I would have liked to see the court hearing for Byng’s fate, to show the opposing side’s justification. As it happens, we only learn of events through Byng’s despondent lens. I think this show would benefit from the use of a dramaturg; it would shine as a shorter, one-man show, or perhaps use the longer time length to explore an in depth biographical look at Byng’s upbringing, naval success and personal battles. We are offered only mere glimpses and it is a shame.

My ancestor was ultimately buried in Westminster Abbey, a venerated naval man whose magnificent monument is visible to all. Byng was executed to be lost to the annals of history. The name of a Potters Bar Wetherspoons is his current legacy. It is right that we should remember his true story, and this play is a strong start.

REVIEW: Supersonic Man

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Rating: 3 out of 5.

“A musical story of love and death through the lens of transhumanism and glitter”

Supersonic Man is loosely based on the incredible life of Peter Scott Morgan, who not only became part of the first English gay marriage, but also became famous for his bionic journey as he battled Motor Neuron Disease with boundary-breaking scientific experiments. The musical follows protagonist Adam (played by Dylan Aiello) as he charts his own journey with MND with his supportive partner Darryl (played by Dominic Sullivan) and their friends, set in the fabulously flamboyant gay scene of modern day Brighton. 

Filled to the brim with 18 songs written by Chris Burgess, this show is surprisingly upbeat and full of camp. Adam, an extremely vivacious and confident man receives his untimely diagnosis early on, and it gradually weakens his body. The physicality on display is raw and unflinching from Aiello, so subtly at first and then it consumes him enough to take everything including his voice.  So too is the enthralling acting from his partner. Conflicted and cautious, sensible and devoted; Sullivan was compelling throughout. I felt the show was strongest when they were in scenes alone, whether with dialogue or duet. 

Alongside Adam’s glitzy ego are the couple’s three friends Ben (played by James Lowrie), Ruth (played by Jude St. James) and Shaz (played by Mali Wen Davies). Whilst all three were strong singers, I found their characters become more one dimensional as the show progressed. All three actors played multiple roles including media executives and medical professionals.

I wholeheartedly applaud this production for trying such an ambitious and weighty topic. A musical about motor neuron disease is probably a tough sell but this show has such tenderness and heart that I invested fully in Adam’s journey. His relationship with Darryl is essential to the success of the script and I would have loved to see a show just about their full journey as a couple before, during and after the diagnosis.

I also applaud Burgess for tackling the topic of transhumanism. Again, no mean feat to set it to music and lyrics but it is indeed a relevant subject. Watching Adam be so open to experimentally transforming himself was poignant. I would have liked the medical professionals- constantly trivialised throughout as generic nerdy “boffins”- given more weight as realistic characters. This is particularly ironic given Peter Scott Morgan himself was a scientific powerhouse in his own right and pioneered the field of robotics. To have Adam be so academically detached felt like a missed opportunity. I also would have liked to see this bionic futurism reflected in the music: techno, vaporwave and electronica motifs would fit the theme more than belting jazzy traditional musical theatre. 

Whilst the vast majority of the score is uplifting, I found the tone of musical confusing. Jaunty numbers would jarringly interrupt heartfelt moments that were not allowed to breathe. It’s like they won’t let you linger on any sadness.  The show is sometimes so hell-bent on projecting positivity that it becomes a hindrance for some of the key, human moments; particularly towards the end as Adam finally succumbs to his own breaking body. 

Ultimately, this is the tale of two extraordinary men and the journey they make together through unimaginable pain whilst remaining resolute in their optimism and love for each other. 

REVIEW: Girls Who War

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Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

A bugle call of biting British wit

What would you do if you received a government letter telling you to enlist? Would you valiantly answer the call for King and country? Or would you descend into petty squabbles and cruel clapbacks to save your skin?

When three young women in a flat share receive a letter informing them to nominate a poor soul to fight in an unnamed war, personalities clash with bitterness, desperation and sass. Construction admin worker George (played mercilessly feisty by Sophie Wolsencroft) is the first to be offered up to go by penniless artist Felicity (played convincingly droll by Eleanor Jones) and finance worker Mads (played quietly perspicacious by Lana Lei). Farcical enmity ensues. 

Through satire, 4th wall breaking and thoughtful soul searching, we follow the trio as they subsequently take it in turns to justify why they should avoid going to war, and what they bring to society. A short scene involving two hilarious Northern older ladies outside the conscription office adds another element of the kinds of people involved in the conflict and a different perspective for our younger protagonists to ponder. As the friends realise, perhaps in a shared sense of nihilism, that war is inevitable as much as their utility bills, they eventually decide who must go. 

An interesting device I wanted to see further developed is the use of a spectral singer dressed in WW2 military uniform (played beautifully by Halli Pattison) as she interjects narration throughout proceedings with modern lyrics to famous Vera Lynn songs. Her character feels both within and without; I’d like to see her explored more, perhaps alongside other types of military narrator figures. 

 Working Girls Theatre has produced here some of the freshest, most relatable writing in ages. There is so much potential in Jaymee-Leigh Thackray’s script; it was bursting with excellent comic timing, intelligent ruminations between friends who become temporary rivals, and a sense of absurd realism.

 The show’s true strength, though, lies in its relevance. In a current geopolitical climate where anything seems unsettlingly possible, Girls Who War asks questions we may genuinely have to ask ourselves in the not too distant future. It speaks to a world where households must consider what would they sacrifice and who would even be willing to do it. I can honestly imagine the pithy bickering on sofas across the country, debating the merits of someone’s humanities degree versus someone else’s medic degree. Someone says they were an essential worker during lockdown versus someone who says they’re a singer who can entertain troops on TikTok- can you even WFH the war effort?

 Girls Who War is an original and timely tragicomedy about the very real questions modern citizens, particularly women, would ask of ourselves about how we view our country and the patriotism we would invoke (or not) if the time ever came to personally defend our freedoms.  There is a discussion to be had about utilising gender parity in enlistment quotas- should it be only men in a modern, feminist society? 

It is a witty and irreverent manifestation of a modern friendship group easily replicated across the nation. I fully believed in each character and I actually wanted them all to sign up in the end in a role that made the most sense to them whether combat, medic, logistics, journalist or any number of roles currently being undertaken by women all over the world including Ukraine, Palestine and beyond. 

This show, a microcosm full of heart and humour, successfully uses satire to make astute observations about people’s roles in modern warfare and the completely mundane and absurd ways it would invade our personal lives before it would invade our soil. 

REVIEW: The Argument

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Rating: 2.5 out of 5.

A promising premise about reality and performance

What starts out with a very promising premise descends into confusing chaos.

The core conceit, according to writers Alfie Lanham-Brown and George Abbot, is that through the power of arguing, the performers are “guided entirely by ideas from the audience, we are going to answer some big questions via some serious discussion.” Sounds rather intriguing I thought.

It started off strongly to Britney Spears’ Womanizer blaring through the speakers as audience members are individually greeted into the black box basement space of the Barons Court Theatre. So far, so unnerving. I took a strategic seat towards the back of the room, and what followed was a one hour whirlwind led by the aforementioned Alfie and George, who were for some reason dressed in suits like they were fresh from a political cabinet meeting.

Formed of three acts, each one involved further audience interaction as the “arguments” progressed. My suspicions were raised when we were never actually told what an argument is, nor are the audience informed of any structure or rules beyond a half hearted attempt at a mutual contract about generally not being offensive. In fact it should really be called The Debate, but that would have started an argument.

The topic of “the future of theatre” was conveniently chosen first, with Alfie pitting himself against George alongside some minor audience heckling disguised as input. The “argument” was less an argument and more of a shouting match of unoriginality.

For the next act we were told to discuss the topic of AI with the person next to us for two minutes. This proved to be the only time I actually encountered anything resembling an argument and I offered some viewpoints to my friend who returned the favour. This was confusing, as I could have done this sat in the pub upstairs.

[Spoilers ahead]

Then in a neat touch, it appeared that there had been actors planted in the audience all along. It descended into chaos quite quickly though as actors revealed themselves in ever more contrived ways and began to argue amongst themselves over who had the next line or who was getting paid to be there. It turned out about half the audience was in fact an actor. At one point as more people began to stand up I began to question my own sanity- was I the only genuine audience member there? I then remembered how almost every person who had answered a question or offered a suggestion was actually an actor. This created a confusing anticlimax. The whole show therefore didn’t have much of any genuine audience participation, then.  Nor was it spontaneously unscripted and free flowing with challenging ideas. I felt duped. Early on in the show I recall thinking it felt like every person speaking in the room had main character energy and now I know why. Rather bizarrely, the show just sort of ends as all the actors dance onstage like they’re in a nightclub before the two leads have a fight and then the audience is awkwardly shuffled out in silence.

Ironically, the whole piece therefore feels completely inorganic. I’m still not sure if it’s meant to be meta and its references to theatre and AI speak to a more complex discussion to be had about reality and how live theatre can make you remain grounded in the present. If the purpose was to question the link between reality and performance, they achieved it because I certainly questioned what was real, just not in a positive way. The plot twist is clever but doesn’t really lead to anything. I just wish there had actually been an argument in a show called The Argument.

REVIEW: Wake

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

A clubland ceilidh that will make you feel alive

I think I need to attend more Irish funerals. There‘s more craic in WAKE than an episode of Derry Girls.

The beating of a bodhrán drum and the thump, thump, thump of Darude’s Sandstorm is enough to get you up on your feet and by God was the audience dancing. For a Wednesday night at the Peacock Theatre this sure felt like a Saturday night in Pacha Ibiza.

Produced by Irish theatre company THISISPOPBABY, WAKE is a riotous cabaret celebrating the ritual of the Irish wake and the modern ways in which tradition is embraced. It is an acrobatic amalgamation of the solemn overpowering of grief combined with the release of euphoria when you realise how alive you really are.

There is much to enjoy here, given there is essentially no plot other than taking place from dusk to dawn as the wake manifests further into a celebration of life. The performers enter the stage with varying degrees of ecstatic energy (and undress) and showcase physical, musical and spoken word skills woven with clever and fun audience interaction. We see astonishing displays of physical capability set to clubland classics such as Eurythmic’s Sweet Dreams, or Robyn’s Every Heartbeat. I enjoyed the striking visual aspects: a female performer on the aerial hoop with electric blue hair buns; a pole dancer in a skintight red outfit displaying feats of incredible core strength and flexibility; a dance troupe in monochrome stepping perfectly in time to a retro bassline. All of it felt exhilarating to watch. The cast is impressive.

The visual feats were paired with a mix of traditional live instruments including the accordion and fiddle, with live singers and a guitarist. Moments of stillness and contemplation were peppered through the proceedings with powerful spoken word poetry dealing with themes of death, grief and our place in society. At times the emotional whiplash was stark and it would have been nice to ease in and out of the sombre parts more gently. At one point I was softly crying, only to be confronted the next moment by what can only be described as some polka dot sleep paralysis demons dancing in a pink rubber bubble.

I would have liked to have seen at least some semblance of character development beyond the excellently named Duncan Disorderly, the wake’s optimistic 90s English DJ in a shiny pink shellsuit. Perhaps each performer could represent a family member, breaking off to tell their story and connection to the ritual through various mediums whether traditional (fiddle and accordion) or modern (00s drum and bass pole dance).

Part Celtic fever dream, part nightclub variety show, WAKE is infectiously joyful . Audience members were up on their feet dancing away (myself included). It is genuinely impossible not to smile in awe and happiness throughout the entire performance.  I can imagine watching this on a Saturday night before heading out to party in the city. It’s a perfect kick start to nightlong festivities. Sláinte!

WAKE will run at Peacock Theatre in London until April 5, and then at Factory International’s Aviva Studios in Manchester from April 17-21.

REVIEW: Stiletto

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

“This lively and original new musical is well on its way to hitting the castratosphere”

Imagine the pressure when your legacy is Disney’s Mulan, how do you follow such culturally impactful songs such as “I’ll make a man out of you” and “Reflection”? By composing a brand new musical about castrated male singers, of course. 

Stiletto is a refreshingly original musical brought together by award winning composer and lyricist Mathew Wilder and writer Tim Luscombe. Named after the eponymous blade which is presumably both a reference to the cutthroat nature of Venetian society and the, ahem, procedure inflicted upon the boys to preserve their falsetto vocal abilities. Known as castrati, these opera singers were popular throughout 18th Century Venice, and it is here we meet our hero, castrato Marco (Jack Chambers). He performs for high society and falls in love with local-but-unknown opera singer Gioia (Jewelle Hutchinson). The rest of the plot is a mish-mash of side-stories and unfinished business. 

Ceci Calf’s set is stunning, filling the small stage with brilliantly gilded arches. The 12 piece orchestra hidden at the top allows the audience to peer a glimpse of a harp or violin through smoke, adding a sense of mystery. Complimented by the incredibly sumptuous and elaborately themed costumes by Anna Kelsey, it was a visual feast. 

Better still, are Wilder’s compositions.  Detailed touches including Vivaldi-style strings and Sicilian tambourines ensure the music is luscious and sonically complex.  The lyrics, whilst at times overly simplistic, actually remained with me after the show: high praise for an original new musical that is for once not an adaptation, jukebox, sequel or revival. Parts of it reminded me of 90s Frank Wildhorn and Leslie Bricusse songs. 

Where this show struggles is the plot. The pacing is all over the place, with stilted dialogue in the transitional scenes. This is a show about singing, so why not make it a sung-through musical? Exposition is flung at you with abandon and the tone of the show is so awkwardly uneven you never really know if you’re meant to be enjoying yourself. The dark themes pervade a constantly sinister undertone of exploitation and discomfort.  Topics such as racism, slavery, child abuse and sexual assault are so casually mentioned that any audience laughter felt gauche. This show needs to focus on the strong characters it merely glimpses at. Marco’s relationship with his tutor/manager/lover Faustino (Greg Barnett) implies a greater level of intrigue that is never really explored. For some reason we follow the comically evil Pietro (Douglas Hansell) as he and his wife Azzura (Kelly Hampson) try to out-scheme one another to varying results. There are even more side-characters and subplots within the large 17-strong cast, only adding clutter to the proceedings. What is also disappointing is the missed opportunity to really tell the story of the castrati. Surprisingly relevant in today’s climate regarding gender, masculinity and power, much more could have been examined. I noticed the parallels between Mulan’s “I’ll make a man out you” and Stiletto’s “What makes a man a man?”- maybe Wilder just really likes to explore gender-bending depictions of masculinity? This show is both musically and visually gifted but its talented cast are currently hampered by a script that desperately needs trimming. The second act seems to disregard the castrati element in favour of superfluous murder and fraud schemes, and a saccharine deus ex machina Disney would be proud to call a fairytale happily ever after.  Stiletto is close to being a wonderfully finished product; it just needs a good script editor.

REVIEW: Spent

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Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

An extraordinarily original and authentic examination of power dynamics in a toxic relationship.

Told through a combination of linear vignettes and non linear flashbacks leading towards the joining of the tense finale, this is a piece that forces its audience to reflect on their own gender biases. Director Helen Cunningham’s production is as slick as it is confronting. Not only is Spent a very tight script, but its two leads weave a well-crafted tale through naturalistic and intimate performance. 

We follow A (played by Nikoletta Soumelidis), a woman who at first appears incredibly confident, self assured and fun to be around, as she meets B (played by Charlie Collinson), a man who is a bit lost in life, naïve but ultimately willing to try new things. As the play progresses we see the cracks begin to form as trust and betrayal go hand in hand with gaslighting and guilt. The unique concept here is that the actors switch roles for each performance, meaning the power play of gender dynamic within a relationship forces the audience to confront their own biases. 

The set is simple, with a wooden block placed diagonally, used as a sofa, a bed, or a storage place for realistic props I’m pretty sure I’ve seen around my own flat. Perhaps they could add some more clutter to the stage- I was really invested in how they lived in their shared space and how control plays a part in overpowering a domestic setting. Lighting also was simple but effective- two Fresnel lights: one red/pink and one blue/white at either side used to demonstrate duplicity and duality during scene transitions with choreographed movement. 

I was utterly absorbed in the highly convincing characters; the acting is exceptional. I felt uncomfortable as I watched them explore intimacy and cross fetishistic boundaries; I felt happy for them when they declared love for one another in their cute domestic bliss; I felt awkward when deceit and lies were exposed, like I shouldn’t be watching.  There is something so powerful about watching two people act so realistic in front of you that it doesn’t feel like acting. It was like something played in court during divorce settlements. 

Soumelidis’ impressively written script portrays abuse in a way that makes you recognise it in someone you know. This could even be your own relationship. At first the female character of A comes across as very reasonable and exciting, until you slowly realise you too have mistaken her confidence for arrogance, and her own past trauma is used to gaslight and make B feel desperate to explain himself and apologise.  Ultimately, in this version, the female character is presented as more toxic than the male, but I thought it telling that at times I was distracted by the physicality and athleticism of A. She wore a crop top and skinny jeans and I realized I was objectifying her. It made me wonder if the objectification of women allowed them to get away with abuse. Our brains can’t comprehend that someone we find attractive could hurt us so much. The idea is that monstrous people should only look like, well, monsters. 

The action takes place solely in the domestic setting of the lovers’ flat, but it would be fascinating to see how they examine toxic traits in a other setting, as the dynamic again will shift depending on the event or people involved. The way the façade is presented publicly would be interesting to develop. 

Ultimately this is an incredibly well-constructed production utilising the skills of its small team to great effect. It forces audiences to confront and question, and it does so in an original and captivating concept. 

A vindication of the right to great theatre, which this post-modern feminist play almost is.

REVIEW: Mary and The Hyenas

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Rating: 2.5 out of 5.

“A vindication of the right to great theatre, which this post-modern feminist play almost is. ”

Most people’s cultural awareness of feminist philosopher Mary Wollstonecraft is through the lens of her famous daughter, Frankenstein writer Mary Shelley. This production seeks to remedy that and explore the life of the seminal political and cultural provocateur through Maureen Lennon’s script and Esther Richardson’s direction.

We follow Mary’s brief but trailblazing life through a series of rage-filled vignettes punctuated with musical interludes. She gets angry at her abusive father and leaves. She gets angry at her domestic sibling situation and leaves. She gets angry with the influential men around her. She’s mad when her best friend, Fanny Blood, dies. She gets mad in the middle of Paris during the Reign of Terror. She falls madly in love with an American self-described “male feminist” and then gets mad when he leaves her with their newborn child, Fanny. She gets mad she has to cross the ocean to be with him. She gets mad when he betrays her. She gets mad she has to continually fight for equal rights and education for women. Honestly, she was just angry the whole time. Then she dies.

Six talented women play various roles and genders to great aplomb, with their male representations often feeling more realistic than the female ones. Laura Elsworthy plays our firebrand heroine, Mary, with gusto and confidence and almost little else. Mary is portrayed so fiercely fearless all the time, it was a relief to see her in a moment of vulnerability when she is seduced and ultimately betrayed by her American lover Gilbert Imlay (convincingly rakishly played by Elexi Walker). It was an all too rare
moment of quiet poignancy and reflection.

It’s technically a musical of sorts, with short songs written by Billy Nomates (AKA Tor Maries). The music itself is catchy- all trad goth meets 80s synthpop. Unfortunately, the songs were so forgettable that they did not develop a plot or character. The lyrics were boring and merely repeated lines that had just played out in the scene before them, highlighting their redundancy. The play felt didactic and preachy. Lines such as “there are several Fannys in this play- that’s feminism for you” were corny and too on the nose.

Sara Perks impressively vertiginous Tetris wooden block set looked like a logistical nightmare, with performers precariously tottering up and down them adding visual intricacy. I appreciated the fun period piece costumes mixing corset stays, stripy socks, and punky bustles. It felt like a steampunk Vivienne Westwood fever dream or an Emilie Autumn music video.

On paper, this show sounds amazing. In practice, it just sounds like everyone’s pissed off, and feminist resistance needs more than anger. Characters felt over-exaggerated and one-dimensional. The show felt like it wanted to be a burlesque in the true theatrical sense of cultural and political satire, but instead, it felt constantly incensed with no reprieve. Even a cursory glance at Ms Wollstonecraft’s Wikipedia page will tell the audience she’s a very complicated and accomplished person. Even her most seminal work, The Vindication of the Rights of Woman, is mentioned but never truly explored. None of her writings are properly written, which is truly a waste.

The cast is excellent, but the material misses the mark for me, with the second act more empowering and thematically diverse than the first. Mary Wollstonecraft is an incredible historical figure but she is reduced to Combative Angry Feminist, and her literary legacy deserves a lot more.