Author: Hebe Jones

REVIEW: My Life with Kenneth Williams

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Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

For anyone who wishes to remember what Kenneth Williams was like live, look no further than David Benson.

Kenneth Williams, the famed raconteur with a notoriously prickly personality, would have celebrated his centenary this year. To mark the occasion, David Benson has revised a version of his hit one-man show My Life With Kenneth Williams, currently playing at Hampstead’s newly refurbished Circle and Star Theatre, formerly the great Pentameters Theatre. 

Told in two acts, the show opens with Benson reciting The Walrus and the Carpenter by Lewis Carroll in character as Williams. This bizarre and engaging beginning to the show is disrupted when Benson breaks character and directly addresses the audience to talk. In some ways, this 

transition demonstrates just how convincing Benson’s impersonation is, though it does prove slightly jarring. From this point, it becomes apparent that the first act functions less like a narrative play and more like an interactive lecture. For those expecting a full evening of Benson as Williams, this is not that. 

Instead, the first act is composed of loose anecdotes from Benson’s childhood, tracing his relationship with comedy and the path that led to Williams reading a thirteen year old Benson’s story on Jackanory. One of the show’s most remarkable moments comes when the original recording of Benson’s story is played overhead and Williams’ expressive drawl fills the theatre. This instance feels completely rare and almost sacred, particularly as many if not all Jacknory tapes have been destroyed by the BBC. This moment also serves as a striking point of comparison for Benson’s own blindingly accurate impression. 

Act two is much shorter but entirely Williams. Benson monologues different vignettes from a day in Williams’ life. Beginning at a poetry recital, he starts a witty spiel about humanity and civilisation after being asked an unrelated, imagined question. Then the audience is given an intimate look into Williams’ codependent relationship with his mother and his struggles with health, before ending at an Italian restaurant where Williams insufferably dominates the conversation, tirelessly berates friends, staff and fellow diners. What stood out most in this second half was that Benson does not attempt to glamourise Williams; instead, he presents an honest portrait of a vulnerable man with an intensely wicked tongue. 

There is an air of nostalgia that flows throughout this performance, smoothing over the sometimes janky storytelling of the first act. Benson litters a plethora of names of 70s comedians and television personalities throughout, leaving audiences reminiscing or wanting to know more – those interested in comedy history may want to bring a notepad to jot down some of the names to look up later. The content is undeniably aimed at an older generation; Benson describes the show as one for the “Boomers”, and this is not untrue. Even as the youngest audience member who knew some of his references, there is still a sense of not being entirely in the loop.

There is, however, something spellbinding in Benson’s impressions. He inhabited the entire cast of Dad’s Army, a strict school headmaster, Dame Maggie Smith and Noel Coward with such ease. There is often a wish that these moments lasted longer. Benson’s ability to change his voice and face to not just embody but become these characters is truly brilliant.

That said, although his impersonations are strong, the show is narratively weak, suffering from a lack of overall narrative flow. The show’s title does not lend itself as an apt summary of the show. While Benson’s love for Williams is evident, there remains a question of why he admired him so much. As a thirteen-year-old, Benson wished Spike Milligan – not Williams – had read his story on Jackanory, so what changed? It is also surprising to discover that Benson had never met, spoken to or written to Williams. These questions could have been answered, but nonetheless this remains a masterclass in impersonation, and for anyone who wishes to remember what Kenneth Williams was like live, look no further than David Benson.

Credit: Dimitri Djuric

REVIEW: GBSR Duo, For Phillip Guston at King’s Place

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

There is no “right” way of listening to For Phillip Guston […] [it] is not just a listening exercise but a living one.

GBSR Duo, George Barton (percussion) and Siwan Rhys (piano), are one of the three artists in residence for Kings Place in 2026. Previously Kings Place has offered an annual series of award-winning performances surrounding a theme and this year’s programme is titled Memory Unwrapped; the series intends to get artists and their audiences ‘remembering the past to reimagine the future’.

The GBSR Duo have definitely a lot to offer the programme this year, their broad interest in 20th Century Modernism ranging from Stockhausen to Aphex Twin (a pairing which they are performing later this month at the Southbank Centre) affords an insightful and experimental take on the meaning of memory.

Their performance of renowned composer Morton Feldman’s single-movement work, For Phillip Guston, is a perfect example of their approach. Playing alongside Taylor MacLennan (flute, alto flute, piccolo) the ensemble took on the mammoth task of performing Feldman’s 4 and a half hour long composition with no interval. This performance is not for the faint of heart, not only is it a test of endurance (people complete marathons in less time) but it is also, aptly, a test in memory.

For Phillip Guston is a textured landscape of soft lasting sounds and motifs, whether it be from the tubular bells, celeste or piccolo the haunting range and duration of these phrases cause the ‘listener [to become] unable to retain everything they have heard […] unsure if they are hearing repetition, variation or new material’. Feldman’s composition is hypnotic, it is the deliberate desynchronising of the ensemble which gives an uneasy scale tipping quality to the beginning of the piece. Sounds between the trio are tipped back and forth in slow but constant motion, it takes some getting used to. Once you’re in, the experience becomes something totally unique and meditative in its journey.

There is no “right” way of listening to For Phillip Guston, I overheard an audience member say he had seen this piece once 15 years ago and “very sore bums” are to be expected. Throughout the performance I looked around and some people had shut their eyes, others nodded off. Fewer people than I expected walked out, there was continual readjustment of seating positions and someone, ridiculously, brought a baby which was quickly removed from the space. I definitely learnt something about myself during this rare performance. Focus, fatigue and curiosity came in constant waves. For Phillip Guston is not just a listening exercise but a living one, assisted by the fact that my watch had broken and my phone was off, I had no concept of time nor any idea of what four and half hours felt like.

Another clever angle this piece approaches memory from is the fact the work also serves as a memorialisation; a tribute to the close friendship between Feldman and the eponymous Abstract painter Phillip Guston. The pair became estranged in 1970, a decade prior to Guston’s death in 1980. Feldman felt betrayed that Guston had turned to figurative painting which in his mind was Guston effectively turning his back on the foundation of their friendship; their mutual love for Abstract Art and Music. They never reconciled. Yet the final half an hour of the piece feels hopeful. Its arrangement is more harmonious and pretty than previous parts and perhaps this is a slight sign of acceptance or reconciliation in grief.

Once I left the auditorium I honestly forgot what the piece sounded like, and I think that’s the point. The performance plays with your musical ear, constantly sounding both familiar and unfamiliar, blurring the lines between present and memory. For Phillip Guston is a listening experience unlike anything I’ve ever had before. As an audience member you are implored to immerse yourself in a long and intimate encounter with sound. The trio deserved the masses of applause for their discipline and focus. They performed this piece with such high fidelity and grace, it’s something I will never forget but I might wait 15 years to hear it again.

REVIEW: Phil Ellis: Bath Mat

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Rating: 3 out of 5.

‘I thought I was in for an hour of well crafted surprises and silliness but what it actually felt like was a work-in-progress show’

Off the back of competing (and losing) in the most recent series, Series 20 of Taskmaster, Phil Ellis is now on tour, beginning his five-month stretch with five sold-out nights at Soho Theatre. Bath Mat is described as a “brand-new show”, yet the friend who accompanied me had seen Ellis twice before and noted material she had heard on both occasions, four years ago.

Opening with his “Hype Man”, who has the amusing vibe of a slightly odd nephew, Tom primed the audience to see the “best show ever” performed by the “biggest loser”. I thought I was in for an hour of well-crafted surprises and silliness, but what it actually felt like was a work-in-progress show. Technical faults, such as the PowerPoint slideshow of stock dog images falling out of sync during what could have been a funny and odd song, overshadowed the enjoyment of the tune. The resulting technical and physical chaos felt less like rehearsed disorder and more like things simply going wrong.

Ellis even spoke about the importance of momentum in comedy, and there were moments in the show that were quick, sharp, and well delivered. But these were often undercut by abrupt changes in rhythm or narrative, followed by Ellis’s own snickering, which further stalled the flow. The show’s structure was quite piecemeal. Ellis dips his toe into various comedy styles: songs, slapstick, visual humour (the PowerPoint), clowning, and audience interaction. Crucially, the show’s main point remains unclear. His material touches on his home life and living in Preston, and while these stories were nuanced and often fun, their order and delivery felt a bit like spaghetti thrown at a wall. He would begin a story, segue away, and then choose not to finish it, creating the sense of real-time editing and rearranging.

This disjointedness stems largely from the lack of a clear concept or through-line. The title, Bath Mat, gives no clue as to what the show is about, nor is a bath mat ever mentioned in the content. This makes it difficult for the audience, and perhaps even Ellis himself, to ground themselves in anything certain.

However, I may have caught him on an off night. His jokes about a kestrel and smoke alarms landed very well, but others missed. Halfway through the show, Ellis, in a slightly strained yet frantically “keeping it cool” manner, asked Tom how long he had left. He also checked his watch several times. It is always unnerving when a comedian does this; it is something I would expect from a newcomer or a WIP show, but not from a comedian of his calibre who has just begun a long tour.

All things considered, it is clear Phil Ellis is a funny man, and perhaps this was his aim: to ironically not put on the “best show ever”. However, if that was the intention, it did not feel deliberate enough. I think of Acorn Antiques or the more blatant work by Mischief Theatre, both great examples of well-rehearsed organised chaos. If Ellis was attempting something similar, something needs to shift, as the show currently sits in the grey area between messy and planned. There was also a reliance on the unspoken expectation that the audience were already fans. I had never seen a Phil Ellis show, and I believe this put me at a disadvantage, which really should not be the case. If your material neglects newcomers, how are you meant to get them on your side and make them laugh?

I would be interested to see another Phil Ellis show, hopefully with a cleaner delivery.

REVIEW: Salty Brine: He’s So Unusual

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Rating: 5 out of 5.

The baptism of brine. This time it is Cyndi Lauper’s 1983 debut album ‘She’s So Unusual’ that is taking the plunge

Salty Brine is back and marking his third show at Soho theatre with a glitteringly gagworthy murder mystery, Salty Brine: He’s So Unusual. 

As part of his ongoing hit studded project, The Living Record Collection, which has seen the work of artists such as the Smiths, Annie Lennox, Harry Nilsson and many others, be given the baptism of brine. This time it is Cyndi Lauper’s 1983 debut album ‘She’s So Unusual’ that is taking the plunge. 

Set against the dark underbelly of prohibition New York, Soho Theatre basement makes for a snug and mischievous space for Brine’s story to unfold. Playing the character of WB Leslie, a fictional 30s cabaret performer who faded from fame and died in the 60s, who is back to solve a murder that took place in the front row of his New Years Eve show. Brine is accompanied on stage by a live band as well as the show’s musical director and arranger, Ben Langhorst as “The Duchesse”, who regally sits and plays the piano assisting Brine in the narration and singing of their story, in an attempt to settle their unfinished business. With their faces and lips glamorously painted, together they perform a brilliantly camp double act full of razor-sharp wit, fabulous comedic timing, and not to mention excellent vocals. 

George Chauncey’s history book Gay New York, informs the context of this show. As with the other shows from The Living Record Collection series Brine uses seminal texts as springboards for narrative and characters. Chauncey’s work addresses how gay life in Prohibition New York was not repressed as many would seem to think but rather, conspicuously flourishing. Brine and Langhorst characters are captivating and unapologetic, and prove Chauncey’s ideas true. Additionally, coupled with Lauper’s lyrics which, within these 30’s style arrangements and context, take on a new meaning; songs such as Girls just want to have fun and All through the Night, now stand as anthems for the 30s “sexual deviant”. 

Brine’s show is a careful and cleverly constructed musical tapestry, full of levity and sass. Like much of cabaret there is a darker side to this show, specifically a pervasive undertone of violence and threat, consistent with gay life for the era, that rings throughout the performance. Yet, Brine never lets the audience sit in the darkness for too long, the show does not encourage the audience to dwell, as either a quick one liner or a song propels the story forward into another interesting turn. 

Salty Brine is doing cabaret differently and right, this show will definitely satiate your need for laughter, warmth, gossip and nostalgia. Personally, I think Langhorst’s arrangements and performance are the unsung hero of this show and I was in awe of his stage presence and ease in which he could make the audience laugh or hold their breath. Full of mischief and verve, this show sparkles like freshly popped champagne. I look forward to the next show Brine has to offer. 

Salty Brine: He’s So Unusual plays at Soho Theatre Dean Street until 22nd November

REVIEW: Lucy Pearman: Lunartic

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

It’s optimistic and delightfully odd, it may not change your life but will definitely lift your spirits

The Moon wants to be a star, and perhaps for this 60-minute show it is. Lucy Pearman is back after 6 years, and shines in her new character based comedy show Lucy Pearman: Lunartic. If the title is any giveaway, this show is full to the brim with puns in which Pearman playing “The Moon” enjoys taking as far as they can go, even if it is all the way to outer space. 

The show relies quite heavily on audience participation and props. The Moon singles out audience members to help her hold things, take notes, jump over her, wear hats and even give her a cheeky kiss. She affectionately calls members of the audience sweethearts as she is keen to be loved in return. There isn’t necessarily a narrative to the show, which makes the unfolding action feel more unhinged. However there is an overarching threat to the Moon’s reach for stardom, an eclipse or more specifically the sun; who she says has been in a bad mood ever since Icarus who she describes as brave but thick, “thickacrus” – which was one of my favourite jokes of the evening. 

Throughout the show Pearman sings, most notably at the start she enters from the back, with a sense of foreshadowing, singing Bonnie Tyler’s Total Eclipse of the Heart as she wades her way through the audience encouraging members to sing into the mic while simultaneously tries not to hit the people with her comedically large costume. Pearman wears a massive reflective disc with arm and head holes cut through, with two glittery aliens with special features stuck on her chest. The costume is so impractical that she insists that an audience member lifts her up and down from the stage for the first half of the show. Her face is also painted silver with dramatic blue glitter eyeshadow, but as the show goes on this silver paint slowly melts off her face which is another funny touch. 

This show is the type of show you’d like to see late at night at the fringe, it’s optimistic and delightfully odd, it may not change your life but will definitely lift your spirits. Pearman’s performance is committed and engaging, she does not take itself too seriously and implores her audience not to either. I recommend this show to anyone that wants to see something strange, so go with a friend and have a laugh. It’s very daft and full of great prop work and to describe it to someone will definitely sound like you’ve had a fever dream but regardless I was happy to see it at 9:15pm on a Thursday evening. 

Lucy Pearman: Lunartic is on for a final night at Soho Theatre Dean Street, Saturday 4th October 9:15 pm.

REVIEW: Lee

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

 ‘Helen Goldwyn’s portrayal of Krasner is enticing […] bold, acerbic and undoubtedly determined to “just paint”.’

Park Theatre has been transformed into a corner of a famous barn turned art studio that was once graced by two giants of American Abstract Expressionism. Cian Griffin’s play Lee sheds light on a previously shadowed Lee Krasner (1908-1984), otherwise known as Mrs Pollock. 

Set in 1969, the play begins as Lee (Helen Goldwyn) enters her studio to start another day’s work on a painting she is having trouble completing entitled Portrait in Green (1969). Dressed in a black smock, against the white walls of the studio, she now paints in the space that her late husband, the famed Jackson Pollock (Tom Andrews), used to occupy. Her flow is interrupted when Hank (Will Bagnall), a young local delivery boy, asks for her input on his art school portfolio, which she reluctantly agrees to glance at. What follows is a conversation that leads to a series of personal revelations for both characters concerning why people become artists and the complexities of artistic ownership within a marriage. 

Helen Goldwyn’s portrayal of Krasner is enticing, she stays on stage throughout the 75 minute production with her red lips, like Krasner’s, permanently pursed. Goldwyn encapsulates the cutting force of a woman whose experiences have caused her to be bold, acerbic and undoubtedly determined to “just paint”. The hard quality of Lee’s character makes for brutal, awkward and funny interactions with the soft and wide-eyed Hank, as she presses him to confront some home truths and unconscious biases. 

Griffin’s script combines art historical fact with narrative fiction, and clearly displays his in depth research on the subject. However, I found his use of information to be somewhat heavy handed, at times the dialogue felt didactic. Throughout the play Lee seems to lecture Hank about art history, Lee asks him to name one woman artist he can’t and instead points at her. The result occasionally causes Krasner to become a sort of moral-mouthpiece to state truisms about the female experience within the art world to a fictional uninformed Hank. 

This master student dynamic confused me as Hank announces to Lee that he “wants to be an artist” yet seems to know nothing about art or who he is talking to – he asks Lee if she has ever been to the MOMA. It’s clear Griffin uses Hank to, in an on the nose way, highlight how art education and systems have, historically, failed to include women artists or attempt to venerate them in line with their male counterparts. I cannot deny that my personal interest in art history has caused me to find this approach to not sit quite right with me; but nonetheless I do believe it is Begall’s performance that turns this otherwise ignorant or naive quality in Hank into charm, his energy on stage compels you to root for his character he’s an exciting performer to watch. 

Ian Nicholas’ excellently detailed set design elevates this production, the white walls are littered with flecks of expressive paint, and jam jars are filled with brushes as well as several

unstretched painted canvases line not only the set flats but also the black box walls of the auditorium. What Nicholas creates in the intimate venue is a realistic artistic space that completely involves the audience in Krasner’s creative world. Coupled with Jason Moore’s direction, which is founded in naturalism, the show maintains a steady pace with no interval. What I like about Moore’s direction is that there’s nothing, ironically, abstract about the performance; there are no movement sequences or big shifts in lighting. The performances feel real, and Goldwyn even paints on stage. 

One of my favorite exchanges was when Andrews and Goldwyn are both looking at a painting, situated behind the audience, in silence. It’s a strange moment where you do feel like you are watching Krasner and Pollock having an everyday moment in the studio. Andrew’s performance as Pollock is weighty, and although his time on stage is sporadic he leaves a lasting impact. His character is by no means likeable, which gives greater foundation to Lee’s new sense of liberation a finished Prophecy (1956), hangs in the studio which she was only able to complete once she became a widow. Lee is a compelling show addressing how Lee Krasner made a living in the shadow of a man, it emotionally reveals what one is willing to give up or lose for the things they love. Although the twists at times feel predictable, this is a show I believe people should see; in an age where biopics pervade many of the stories on view, this play is an exciting take on the genre. It breathes life into the right kind of story and leaves you wanting to know more about her.

REVIEW: Don’t Shoot the Messenger 

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Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

These once famously nameless…minor characters are given a renewed sense of agency…The funny moments landed well which consequently made serious moments difficult to digest. 

The room above the Lion and Unicorn in Kentish Town is an unlikely place for a Shakespearean mailroom, yet it was a welcome surprise to see Don’t Shoot the Messenger on a buzzing Saturday night. I caught the final night of this production, as part of the ongoing Camden Fringe, and left feeling entertained but ultimately confused. 

Traditionally, Shakespeare’s messengers serve a simple function: to enter, deliver concise and urgent news, then exit, all with the purpose of building dramatic interest. Here, co-writers Daniel Camou (director and co-producer) and Sam Plumbe (co-producer and performer) have flipped the script, these once famously nameless, and perhaps overlooked, minor characters are given a renewed sense of agency. They are verbose, brash and slightly awkward, and often silly. 

Set within the confines of a bleak mailroom, we meet Brian (Henry Culcutt) the self-proclaimed “team leader” rehearsing how he will ask for a promotion after twelve loyal years at the company – which has only ever given him a £1.90 raise. Gavin (Sam Plumbe), a messenger of three years, is very suspicious of the new recruit Clint (Ewan Bruce) who has replaced a former messenger, Kyle, under mysterious circumstances. 

The influence of beloved sitcoms such as The Office and The Inbetweeners is clear. The on stage trio maintain a continuous playful dynamic, full of rapid line delivery and sharp witticisms. Calcutt gave a particularly strong performance as Brian, his superb comedic timing earned him the loudest reaction of the night. Plumbe’s Gavin channels a similar vulgarity to Jay from the Inbetweeners, whose directness was oddly endearing; Plumbe’s facial expressions at times were over the top and slightly out of place but his energy was nonetheless engaging. Bruce’s Clint, more reserved than the others, conveyed the bewilderment of a newcomer trying to make sense of a bizarre workplace dynamic — unable to understand why Brian has stayed so long, or why Gavin despises him so much. 

But here is where my confusion lies. Neither Brian or Gavin know why Kyle left the company. His disappearance has an estranged quality similar to Petey in Severance. This dystopian tone is continued in reciting a daily soul crushing oath in which the messengers must announce they are completely “replaceable”. While their bosses Susan and William are unseen voices heard overhead. Kyle’s disappearance ultimately remains unanswered, as the bosses dismissively suggest they should “just text him and find out.” This dark subplot was interesting yet never fully explored and left me feeling unsure why it was ever employed. 

This tension between humour and attempts at serious drama was where the production faltered. The writing at times could’ve been more cohesive, as these tonal shifts throughout the show felt stark and jarring. The funny moments landed well which consequently made serious moments difficult to digest. Loose ends like Gavin revealing he has a child, was used solely to show how the messengers know nothing about each other, but the real impact of this revelation was completely missed. 

That said, I was a fan of the absurd elements of this show. The play opened with a choreographed dance to Talking Heads’ Once in a Lifetime, with the trio dancing in cannon clutching letters. Later, Gavin furiously pelted a seemingly endless supply of ping pong balls at Clint – a great moment of chaos. These clowning elements gave the show a level of insanity that working in a mundane job conjures in its workers. I also appreciated the bookending of the play with another dance to Burning Down the House, as a fan of Talking Heads I will never complain. 

Visually, Maddy Whitby’s lighting design built convincing atmospheres, particularly in a sort of ode to boredom montage set to Our House (the demo version by Graham Nash and Joni Mitchell). Spotlights alternated between Brian downstage – sat alone, wearing a paper crown stuffing his face with sweets to celebrate twelve years of unrecognised work – and Gavin upstage, taunting Clint into a game of ping pong while mouthing the word “dickhead” and pointing at him. Don’t Shoot the Messenger is a production with real promise. Its absurd humour and clever concept, coupled with great costumes and lighting make it an entertaining show. But the underdeveloped darker and dystopian ideas held the performance back. The play could’ve used more nods to Shakespeare, I would’ve liked to have heard more jokes about previous messages they had delivered or difficult situations the Messengers had become entangled in. However, there is something special about this concept and this company, and I do hope to see this performed again, with some adjustments.

REVIEW: Compañía Mercedes Ruiz, Romancero del Baile Flamenco 

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Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

 The performance was true to and an elegant example of traditional flamenco […] a performance that does not compromise its historic integrity or try to be flashy. 

As part of Sadlers Wells Flamenco Festival, Compañía Mercedes Ruiz Romancero del Baile Flamenco (Ballads of Flamenco Dance) is a 80 minute masterclass in the classical style of Flamenco dance. Led by the eponymous and formidable dancer Mercedes Ruiz, who began her company 22 years ago, the performance features two dancers – Ruiz and José Maldonado – accompanied by four musicians dressed all in black. The performance consisted of six distinct movements, each signified by a change in dress, lighting and position of the musicians. 

The show opened with the two dancers dressed in rosy pink, circling one another like curious birds, to the rhythmic fluttering of their clicking flingers. The sensitive mics positioned either side of the stage, picked up the softest slide of a shoe and not once throughout the 80 minute performance did you hear the dancers breathe – the performance was not only a demonstration of tradition, but also a graceful display of stamina. 

There was no overarching narrative connecting each section, instead each sequence exemplified Ruiz flamenco prowess while armed with an arsenal of traditional flamenco props such as; a cordobes hat, castanets, a fringe shawl, and a fan. Moments of solo performance broke up the partner work presumably giving the other dancer time to change and catch their breath. In one striking moment, Ruiz entered upstage wearing a black and white bata de cola skirt, with black castanets in her hand. Throughout this section she hit the castanets against her body, and played them behind her back. Maldonado only ever complimented Ruiz moves, his sharp lines and powerful poses were precise and dynamic, his series of pirouettes received a round of applause from the audience. 

Santiago Lara guitar playing was entracing, using it not only as a melodic instrument but as a percussive device in which he, like Ruiz, would hit the body to create bassy acoustic sounds amidst his feathery strums – like fullstops in a paragraph. This punctuative element was accompanied by the powerful clapping and singing of Los Mellis (the twins, Antonio and Manuel Montes Saavedra) whose voices seamlessly blended together to create a blanket of sound of the dancers to move within. 

Everything on stage felt like dialogue; it was difficult to tell whether the movement was in response to the music or vice versa. The performers navigated the tempo and feeling of the performance together, occasionally encouragingly exclaiming “ole!” whenever an individual felt it necessary. Moments of stillness and silence were just as arresting, a great contrast to the fiery footwork that drilled and echoed into the floor and the romantic laments of David Lagos’ vocals. At times these vocal outbursts were quite loud and intense, but always deeply haunting. 

There’s no mistaking the virtuosity of the performers on stage, Ruiz herself started flamenco dancing at age four. At one point the flowers in her hair fell out, so she kicked them out the

way as danced across the stage. As the show progressed the dances became more playful, Ruiz would flash a smile to the audience and shimmy her shoulders. 

The simple stage set (chairs, spotlights and coloured back lighting) drew attention to the dancers but also revealed the vastness of the Sadler’s Wells stage. In a sense I wished the setting was more intimate, the stage was often thrust into darkness to bring the dancers and musicians into focus. Seeing a performance that felt true to its form, only made it long to see it in a more intimate and informal environment. I wanted to be closer to the action. 

As mentioned in the programme, the show is a great testament to “her [Ruiz’s] commitment to preserving the tradition”. The performance was true to and an elegant example of traditional flamenco; it’s important that audiences are invited to give their attention to a performance that does not compromise its historic integrity or try to be flashy.

REVIEW: An Adequate Abridgement of Boarding School Life as a Homo

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Rating: 5 out of 5.

Its cross generational themes give everyone something to relate to. It’s not polemical, it’s not a tragedy, it’s joyous, and it’s a must see

Choir Boys Productions have been on my radar for a while – and rightfully so. Whether it’s their sharp online promotional material or the critical acclaim they received at last year’s Edinburgh Fringe, they are a company worth watching. So, when I heard they were bringing the latest version of their award winning comedy An Adequate Abridgement of Boarding School Life as a Homo at Waterloo East Theatre, I jumped at the chance to see it. 

Set within a traditional all-boys boarding school – a space that is known to cheer not for acceptance but rather rugby – we meet Johnny, played by the show’s writer Ned Blackburn. Johnny is 18, can’t play rugby, runs a successful Britney Spears fan account on Instagram, and is a self-proclaimed “raging homosexual”. He also has sex secretly and constantly with the school’s golden boy, Harry (Harvey Weed) a prefect, who is popular, good-looking and insists he’s not gay but just “likes to fuck boys”. Cracks start to form in the complicated relationship and Johnny begins to question why Sam, another openly gay student, mysteriously left the school. 

Told through a mix of direct address and character scenes, Blackburn’s writing is fast paced and witty, as he uses stunningly specific observational humour coupled with fourth wall breaks to take the audience on a tour of Johnny’s life at school. Blackburn’s performance is equally captivating as he instinctively hops and skips from line to line with a sense of play. Building an immediate rapport with the audience enables him to make them laugh at just a simple glance – loveable classics like the awkwardness of Miranda and the chaos of Fleabag come to mind. 

Meanwhile, Weed’s dynamic multi-roling gives life to Johnny’s world. As switches between a breadth of characters such as; the elderly conservative grandpa, the forthcoming Grindr user to a strict headmaster and many others. Each archetype is paired with a piece of indicative costume, but it’s Weed’s idiosyncratic performances that do the heavy lifting. 

What I like about this play is its subtlety. On the surface it is incredibly funny, engaging and accessible but beneath lies a complex story of repression, queerness, coping and youth. Consent is a really interesting topic alluded to throughout the play, a particular moment involves Weed playing an unserious PSE teacher, who shows Johnny’s class the infamous and overly simplified “tea analogy”. Later on during a fun choreographed sex scene to “Gimme More” by Britney Spears, Johnny hands Harry a condom which he briefly considers using, then throws it behind him and they carry on. This moment passes quickly, but is loaded with implications. Reminding us that no matter how much you spend on education, you can’t pay for empathy or open mindedness. 

Moments like this are where direction is important, Meg Bowron and Joshua Stainer are clearly a directorial duo with an eye for detail, each scene is well rehearsed and carefully considered. Bowron hand painted detailed initials on Johnny and Harry’s luggage trunks, which each internally decorated with character defined details (Britney for Johnny and rugby players for Harry). The central multipurpose, built by the producer Lizzie Hawke’s father, is fringe innovation at its best. 

The show makes clear that it is “not a gay tragedy”, it’s about navigating the muddiness of adolescence and having to go through it to come out of it. For many in the audience Johnny and Harry’s relationship feels familiar, it is reminiscent of that formative relationship we all wish we could have dealt with differently but in retrospect you learnt the most from, so you would not change a thing. Its cross generational themes give everyone something to relate to. It’s not polemical, it’s not a tragedy, it’s joyous, and it’s a must see. 

After winning Broadway Baby’s Bobby Award Last year at Just The Tonic, Choir Boy Productions return this summer at Underbelly in Bristo Square 30th July – 25th August (not the 11th). But you can see them before then during their UK tour in London at Waterloo East till 25th, in Bristol at the Alma Tavern on 26th and in Manchester Waterside Arts 30-31st.

REVIEW: Shamik Chakrabarti, Despite Appearances

Published on by Hebe JonesLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

A comedian who clearly knows his angle, he’s dry and confident but most importantly his material is so versatile it lands regardless of its geography

Combining observational comedy with storytelling, Shamik Chakrabarti’s Despite Appearances at Soho Theatre is both engaging and personal. I went in blind. I had not heard, watched or read anything about Chakrabarti’s comedy before and since seeing him I can happily say I’m a fan. 

His style is a mix of observational comedy with engaging storytelling, where he finds witty nuances within universal subjects. The title of his show, Despite Appearances, summarises his aims to ‘break away from shallow, face-driven stereotypes’ (Soho Theatre show description). Chakrabarti is clever in appearance, he is tall and wears glasses, and his jokes are clever too which consequently makes him cool. His set addresses seemingly mundane topics such as; deer spotting, driving, watching reels, conversations with his dad and losing his laptop, to effectively reveal that despite their appearances these topics really are more exciting than you’d think. They become gateways to explore bigger issues such as Chakrabarti’s belief that he is “a man-child”, which he explains through the simple tale of leaving a laptop on an auto in Mumbai. 

Chakrabarti’s vivid narration and ability to pull jokes out from behind ears, makes him a refreshing comic to see. His continual addition of playful insights and layering of his jokes, made the room constantly hum with giggles and smirks, which would often lead to eruptions of laughter and applause. Reactions like these made me understand why Chakrabarti won the best selling show at the Mumbai Comedy Festival 2024. 

The cabaret format of the venue made me feel like I had just met this guy in a bar and he had started telling me funny vignettes from his life. He was wearing a Joy Division ‘Disorder’ T-shirt, which despite the suggestion, the show was well ordered and rehearsed. So well rehearsed in fact, his delivery at times felt completely spontaneous. Instances of him calling out an audience member, even teasing them, calling them “bro” and saying “uh-uh don’t do that”, for attempting to film him when he is about to repeat a comment an AI sex bot left under a reel he watched. 

His joke catalogue is clearly extensive, his quick thinking enables him to use such material when things like audience interruption happen to his advantage – seemingly without breaking a sweat. Another moment when an audience member’s phone pinged, which unfortunately happens too often these days, Chakrabarti turned the disturbance into an opportunity to joke about how people with a whistle text tone are more like obedient dogs to their masters. The moment worked so well it almost felt planned.

He kept good time, he didn’t wear a watch or seem to even look at one and never spoke about time in his set; which contributed to the depth of his stories as the audience were able to invest in and hang on every word. However, I found that the pace at times slowed which meant staying on the same page was difficult. When a comic’s style is connective storytelling, seamless segways are always difficult to achieve; sometimes they snag and occasionally this did happen for Chakrabarti. However, these moments, which were very brief and rare, were handled with swagger revealing more about the comic’s ability to stay cool despite his appearance.  

It’s exciting to see a comedian who clearly knows his angle, he’s dry and confident but most importantly his material is so versatile it lands regardless of its geography. I have never been to Mumbai, or India for that matter, yet I still found myself laughing at the situations he created. His style is not about ripping apart systems, he does what comedy at its core should do which is just make you laugh because it’s simply funny. Shamik Chakrabarti is a comic I definitely hope to see more of. 

Despite Appearances at Soho Theatre is still available to watch at Soho Theatre next weekend (2nd-3rd May). It is also just one stop in his 2025 international debut. Chakrabarti will also be performing Despite Appearances at the Edinburgh Fringe (30th July-24th August, Eve at Gilded Balloon at Appleton Tower).