Author: jaketurnerchan

REVIEW: RUM

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Rating: 5 out of 5.

“The team behind RUM handle Mallalieu’s material with immense skill and care”

Public consciousness has been raised, in recent years, to the concerns around male mental health and the damage that unfettered patriarchy inflicts on the men enforcing it. Toxic masculinity has become somewhat of a painful buzzword, an attempt to capture the pain and discourse of all of this abuse. The ways men have been taught and teach each other to behave has been a self flagellating cycle that with the advent of shows like Adolescence, and the exposure of real life horror stories of violence against women, people are generally more interested in understanding and putting an end to. However, sometimes the route taken to tell these stories explore it solely through an angle of pity, or plain sympathy, flattening the role of harm in the process. 

Joe Mallalieu’s RUM explores this deeply, capturing the tragedy of toxic masculinity in a truly haunting fashion. A plasterer himself, Mallalieu’s show follows Danny as he tries to finish a job before heading to a funeral. We learn how he ended up in the profession, and see what it takes for him to work under such circumstances. The storytelling quality is nothing short of excellent. Mallalieu tells Danny’s stories with the familial quality of those told at the pub, leaning in over a wobbly table and damp mats. It’s as if he’s letting you in, to a world he’s carefully crafted himself over years, so he can be top dog at the local. There’s a strenuous expression of power, one that feels both dominating and sure to break. When it does, we see the mechanics of this masculinity unravel, and exposed to the stage, we see how it’s rigidity acts as a cage. One of the most powerful moments comes at a moment where Danny physically cannot find the words he would say to comfort a friend. Mallalieu strains his face, bulging in the light, mouth stretched open to such an extent that his silence is genuinely shocking. It’s an extraordinary demonstration of how this masculine bravado can disempower men to connect with one another truthfully. It’s not necessarily an original revelation, but it’s an incredibly raw exposure of this. 

It’s clear that director Tess Seddon possesses an immense skill to capture subtext through movement, and a real attention to the material Mallalieu has written. There is a moment where we watch him plaster the wall, no dialogue, just the rhythmic sound of him scraping it onto and across the wall. This displayed a real appreciation of the craft of plastering, a self-explanatory moment of calm amongst the noise of the rest of the play. In another scene, Danny takes a call from his son, crying immensely, whilst keeping his voice as steady and regular as possible. So many of these moments showcase the heights of both Mallalieu as a performer and Seddon as a director. Together they make an excellent team. 

This is assisted by a brilliant set, designed by Rūta Irbīte. Before the show begins, there’s already a unnerving quality set by the empty cans on the floor and the holes punched through the plaster on flats. He performs within the perimeters of a very clear box, a nice touch which compliments the content of the show. The onstage colour combination is good, matching his outfit, blending him into his place of work. There’s also a great use of the holes in the wall, complimented by some great lighting design by Amy Mae. 


The team behind RUM show immense care for every detail of this story. It’s a showcase of real skill at every angle, and the result is a story that digs deep and draws you in. It is truly interrogative and occasionally intimidating—but this is where the authenticity lies. It is precisely what a show like this needs to be.

REVIEW: Cock

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Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

“These performers do not miss a beat, and will have you gripped till the end.”

Hailing from Ontario, Canada, Talk is Free Theatre (TIFT) made a stop in London on their world tour of their production of Mike Bartlett’s groundbreaking play Cock. It’s a script which divided opinion upon release, and has gone on to cement itself as somewhat of a 21st century classic. Against the backdrop of 21st century discourse, some of the show’s exploration of sexuality and gender comes off a little dated. But overall, time has changed the overall meaning of the play, and what holds up is its exploration of masculinity and desire. TIFT’s production, directed by Dylan Trowbridge, is further stripped back, allowing the focus to be entirely on the words of Bartlett and the performances of them. These performances are nothing short of outstanding, making for a great interpretation of Bartlett’s work. 

The show takes place in a basement room of the COLAB tower, located just a few blocks down from the Globe theatre. It’s an odd space, like a few of the office spaces-turned-theatres you may find in the City of London, and the team have certainly leant into this. The space is marked by harsh spotlights and a plastic drape, adding to its sterile nature. The props used for performers to sit on make it clear that the space is aware of itself as a theatrical one—set boxes, a decorating platform covered in paint, and a tire. It’s almost as if it is still being set up. This allows for a particularly jarring nature to the whole thing, brought on the moment you walk into the room, with John (Aidan Desalaiz) holding the door, breathing down your neck. 

Desalaiz portrays John in an excellent manner. His gaze is compelling and he holds so much tension in John’s character, which makes its eventual break well earned. Michael Torontow commands in his performance as M, and the power dynamic between him and John feels punishing. Kevin Bundy also plays F with a comprehensive understanding of the character, creating a performance which is as frustrating as it is recognisable—a great interpretation. These performers do not miss a beat, rattling off of each other, and will have you gripped till the end. 

Tess Benger is a standout as W. Considering the way masculinity and misogyny dominate the script, Benger ensures that W more than holds her own. She is a thoroughly fleshed out, peculiar character, who speaks for herself, and in this version is by no means a stand in for women as whole. Benger’s portrayal felt incredibly unique, humanising the character. This is a welcome interpretation, injecting a new dimension into the play. 

The staging in the round is a fun choice, if a little underutilised. It contributes successfully to the intense atmosphere of the show, with the sense of being surrounded. However, the centre of the space is not actually used much, with most action taking place at the four points at the side of the space, in between the audience. At points, this worked well, feeling as though we were at the dreaded dinner table with the four of them. But the frequency of this space meant it felt a little empty. It would have been interesting to make more use of the centre, giving different audience members different moments to see, making use of that critical angle in the centre of the room. But as it stands, the emotional intensity of Bartlett’s play is done incredibly well, especially at its climax. Every character feels culpable in the mess, and despite this, by the end there’s a real sense of empathy towards each one. This iteration of Bartlett’s play strips back the material, and strips back the characters on stage themselves. In this, it is an analysis of not only sexuality and gender, but ultimately an analysis of humans in their bare state, one with a lot of heart.

REVIEW: Managed Approach

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

Jules Coyle’s poignant play historicises a critical moment for British sex workers

In 2014, the UK’s first legalised red light district was trialled in Leeds, a scheme which was referred to as the “managed approach”. This sterile term is where Jules Coyle’s show takes its name from, exploring the scheme through a mixture of verbatim accounts of women who worked under it and a storyline following a mother and daughter dealing with living in Holbeck, where the scheme was trialled. The show puts forward poignant and complex arguments for and against the managed approach, but its main offering is the empathy it handles all of its characters with. 

The mother Kate (Eanna Ferguson) and daughter Abbie (played by Jules Coyle also) are played with great complexity. Coyle’s writing displays an excellent skill in storytelling, something each actor really brings to life, whether it’s Kate describing the fear growing up at the time of the Yorkshire ripper attacks, or it’s Abbie describing a particularly messy eighteenth birthday that saw her escorted home to safety by one of the sex workers in the area. This first story does some necessary and unexpected work reminding us of how ubiquitous and normalised male violence is, and how it is that violence that sits behind every concern and fear driving the conflict between the various women living under the managed approach. It critically centred the experiences of northern women. It made me think of my mother, who grew up in the North at that same time, and has expressed the exact same feeling Kate was recounting on stage.  Abbie’s story is particularly compelling, written in a way that also plays on this normalisation of male violence, through the audience’s expectations. It’s a harrowing moment, not in anything that actually happens, but in the imagined scenario it instantly invoked. Managed Approach is worth watching for these moments alone. It is at once an intriguing and revealing piece of work. 

The verbatim segments of accounts from sex workers were performed brilliantly by Áine McNamara and H Sneyd. These moments were done with great observation and respect for those interviewed, really humanising the stories told on stage. The inclusion of these moments really strengthened the overall narrative and ethos of the play. It would be great to see these bleed into the main narrative between Kate and Abbie some more, intertwining the two to remind us of the messy nature of community. It would overall be great to see the sex workers get more focus directly, being at the helm of their own story a little more. 

In any later iterations, which I hope there will be many more of, the show would benefit from a slightly stronger aesthetic vision. A little more thought behind the design of the show would give the actors a stronger sense of space to work with on stage. But these are minor notes, and Coyle’s play is nothing short of critical for the public’s consciousness. It’s work like this we need exactly more of in the theatrical landscape, work that examines and builds community, critiques policy, and solidifies our own history. Both arguemnts—that the managed approach was only trialled in Holbeck because it was a poorer area in the North, and that the approach helped give the workers the protection they needed for the work they had to do regardless—are compelling and thorny for audiences. The answer? We can’t know for sure, but probably a nationwide ‘Managed Approach’, and crucially, better protections for sex workers. This issue can be dissected all sorts of ways. Coyle has certainly given us great grounds to work on. 

REVIEW: My Uncle is not Pablo Escobar 

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

A bold, bilingual heist that fuses playful chaos with sharp political bite, demanding visibility for Latinx voices long erased.

I’ve been aware of the strange omission of Latinx people from the UK census for some time, brought to my attention by both activists and friends. Having grown up in a community with latinx people, and finding myself in a community with them today, this has always felt an inconsiderate and unrepresentative choice. This omission is precisely what My Uncle is not Pablo Escobar seeks to recover, starring four latinx women from different backgrounds as they engage in a heist, a storyline interwoven with wacky intermissions that speak more directly to the issue at hand. 

The main thread follows Alejandra (Yanexi Enriquez), a young woman studying for her A-levels whilst holding down a cleaning job at the bank. When her sister Catalina (Lorena Andrea), a prominent journalist, arrives, asking for a favour, Catalina soon finds herself dragged into an investigative operation tasked with taking down a major bank for money laundering. The writers Valentina Andrade, Elizabeth Alvarado, Lucy Wray, and Tommy Ross-Williams, and Joana Nastari (quite the team), do an excellent job making clear the mechanisms of exploitation being committed by this bank, whilst injecting the story with an apt amount of fun and silliness. I found the explanations relatively easy to follow, quite a feat given the amount of information covered. This created further investment in the story, and it was particularly rewarding when the bank itself is actually named, tying this heist to HSBC’s 2012 money laundering scandal. I love that the show is another contribution to not letting them live this one down and not letting us forget, so much so I think that moment could be made even a little bit more clear. 

The main tension with the show comes from its need to tackle its grievances head on, and a want for a humane, nuanced story. I think the fact that the show is best understood by a bilingual spanish/english speaking person is a very interesting linguistic choice that is complimentary to the entirety of the play. The intermission parts did a great job taking us out of the natural world of the play, reminding us that we were watching a very visceral demand for representation. At their best, these parts were funny, revelatory, and brought the room together. Some felt a little heavy handed, underlying points shoehorned in more bluntly, such as a line chanted “Bridges not Borders”. Whilst it would have been nice to have had these points woven more neatly into the play, they felt necessary nonetheless, and made me consider exactly the tension this cast and creative team were working with. Because, if a group of people are made so systemically invisible, how subtle can you really ask them to be? I’d ask for nuance from any good story, but here, the overall frankness was by no means offputting

The cast performed brilliantly with excellent chemistry. The sister’s tension felt fully realised with standout performances by both Enriquez and Andrea. Cecilia Alfonso-Eaton was a fun inclusion in the cast, bringing a lightheartedness that felt true and grounded. Nathaly Sabino had a surprisingly moving portrayal of Honey, a victim of the play and its antics. The consequences were felt, inflicted by a system unappreciative of its necessary migrant workers. There is an underlying story of tragedy for each character, making their unabashed joy even more appreciated. 

It’s worth mentioning the excellently dynamic set and lighting, designed by Tomás Palmer and Roberto Esquenazi Albakes respectively. There are some hilarious choices here, giving the cast great ground to play on. I would suggest the captions be moved lower to ensure better visibility for all, and when mixing voiceover recordings with live microphone speech, the volumes needed to be more aligned for better clarity. But the design of the play overall compliments its fun, often silly, nature. 

There is a lot of love poured into My Uncle is not, owing to its extensive list of collaborators. This alone shows just how present the community is in ours, and recognition of this is not up for question. With My Uncle is not, the show is now getting a full run at Brixton House, one that is definitely worth a watch. 

My Uncle is Not Pablo Escobar is at Brixton House until May 3rd. 

REVIEW: My Mum Told Me Not to Marry an Atheist

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

“Amina Aaliya Beg crafts a hilarious and heartfelt show with an intelligent use of tech”

Conceived in 2023 at the Contact theatre in Manchester, since going on to do an Edinburgh fringe run in 2025, Amina Aaliya Beg’s My Mum Told me not to Marry an Atheist recently made its London debut at the Camden People’s Theatre for a work in progress show. At this point in its development, the production has already seen a definite upgrade, and its performance on Thursday showed boundless promise. 

A one woman show starring Aaliya Beg, the show follows a DJ radio host, Didi, as she tries to connect with her daughter Kamal. The setup is already excellent, with a red telephone plugged into her decks, on which she takes calls with her daughter and uses as headphones, an incredibly clever piece of set design. The use of audio was solid here too, rewinding her daughter’s dialogue to show a level of control over their conversations, as well as a moment changing the pitch of her daughter’s voice to reveal it to be very much like her own. This is Didi’s show, and it feels like we are in safe hands. 

The way she manages a room is invigorating to be a part of. Interacting with the crowd, they become her daughter’s atheist boyfriend, making for humorously awkward interactions. It’s a great positioning of the audience, one that Aaliya Beg could afford to be even more demanding with. This is the main point of development I think could be improved—simply taking more time with it, enjoying the command of the room, with stronger projection to make her story clear and the audience feel a little more interrogated. It’d be great to hear more stories from Didi about her own upbringing, as she clearly feels a kinship with her daughter that her daughter seems to not understand. “Does she think I was not young once?” she asks at one point. This feels like a central line to the whole story. 

The show contains a critique of Western understandings of sexuality and importing of homophobia that feels compelling. It is this which drives a wedge between her and her daughter’s relationship. Bringing the scope of such a global critique into the home to show how it directly affects familial relationships grounds it in something personal and relatable. This is the most powerful way of making this kind of critique. 

It is this, as well as its well-crafted humour, which makes Aaliya Beg’s play one worth following. Its narrative is incredibly unique. It is not pandering, and yet feels universally affective, and its ending results in a moment of really organic audience participation that is incredibly difficult to achieve. But Aaliya Beg accomplishes this, and by the end, you can really feel the room of people you’re in. 

‘My Mum Told me Not to Marry an Atheist’ plays again at Camden People’s Theatre on March 24th.

REVIEW: Unlikely: In a building with a broken lift

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

An absurdly stunning piece of physical comedy

This week, the DippyEgg Theatre company makes its debut with their show Unlikely: In a Building with a Broken Lift, starring their two co-founders, Emma Wallace and Lucy Mynard. 

Downstairs at the Baron’s Court Theatre lies this grisly comedy about two roommates, their cat, and a storm. Unlikely notably lacks much dialogue from the two main characters, resulting in a piece full of physical comedy that reminisces of Charlie Chaplain in its goofiness and exaggerated approach. On the whole, this is done very successfully. Upon realising there was not going to be much dialogue, I worried how easy following the narrative would be. The logic of the narrative does occasionally suffer, but it is clear that logic is not really the point of this play. It exists as a series of jaded vignettes depicting an array of modern characters and an observation of our media consumption. The result is an overall expression of the founders of DippyEgg Theatre and makes for some promising material. 

Unlikely has the structure of a cabaret, with a variety of different styles of performance, including live singing, mime, and drag-esque acts. One of the highlights of the show came with Emma Wallace’s excellent lip sync to Queen’s 1984 classic ‘I want to break free’. It began with some excellent mime work, and Wallace proceeded to hit every beat of the song, embodying it fully, making excellent use of the space. This performance well reflected the overall tightness of the show, which much of its physical comedy really depends on. Wallace and Mynard are clearly professionals, even if their show is injected full of slapstick silliness and good humour. 

The narration in a dracula style voice was a fun touch, although sometimes the sound could do with a little less reverb, particularly in that space particularly prone to strong echoes. It was sometimes hard to understand what was being said, and some more clarity here would have helped with the narrative. There’s a great moment where they go backstage to berate him, a clever way to submerge us further in this play within a play. I would be interested to see what this narrator could be like if he was played by an onstage actor, perhaps engaged with the audience. 

The space itself is naturally quite gothic, with thick pillars and black walls, so the set was already prompted for this atmosphere. Some details were nice, like the use of chalk on the walls to create a noir aesthetic, and there is a hilarious moment with Mynard and the drawn on window. Some of the set felt a little inconsistent, and maybe a little heavy handed with its theme. Particularly the contemporary sofa and the use of fake body parts on stage. It made the design a little jagged, and even just throwing on a fitting blanket or dust sheet over the sofa would have helped tie things together some more. 

Overall, this is a great first outing for the company. It displays some real originality and strangeness that will hopefully come to brand them and their future productions. Watching the minds Wallace and Mynard play out on stage was a tickling experience, full of promise with what’s to come next. 

Unlikely: In a Building with a Broken Lift plays at the Baron’s Court Theatre until March 21st.

REVIEW: After Miss Julie

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Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

“Dadiow Lin’s direction of Patrick Merber’s play is phenomenal” 

Patrick Merber’s After Miss Julie reimagines August Strindberg’s classic tragedy on the eve of Britain’s 1945 election. With mass welfare reforms on the horizon, including the founding of the NHS, the story looks to interrogate the class structures of its time in light of this. It follows one night of scandal between Julie, the daughter of a Labour MP, and her servant, John, whose soon-to-be wife, Christine, is both caught up and cast aside in their affair. This form, of naturalistic plays analysing class in household settings, is a tried and tested format. But Merber’s script is truly a thrilling piece of work. This is something director Dadiow Lin clearly understands, and her edition of the play is made with great consideration of his writing. 

The result is a lead directorial debut by Lin which  is an incredibly tight piece of work. She stages Patrick Marber’s play in the round, making it all the more scrutinous. This choice is a great accompaniment to the story’s portrayal of the post-war British class system, also allowing for some subtly spectacular visual moments. For a show so contained, I was not expecting it to pack such a punch. 

The actors do a superb job giving real life to each character. Liz Francis makes an exceptional lead debut as the titular Julie. Francis’ Julie absolutely suffocates the room, played with a magnitude that is promising for any roles Francis hopefully takes on in the future. Tom Varey is excellent as John, who tussles with his power like it really is slipping away. There’s a desperation Varey gives John which deepens his character and manages to make him one you empathise with, even with his moments of violence. Charlene Boyd was a standout with her performance as Christine. Her use of voice is excellent, and not only in dialoge—one of the most exceptional moments of the performance came from a sharp breath she takes off stage. She brought alive the mundanity of Christine’s life, and performed with a restrained ferocity when needed. Many of Lin’s choices, to give space and moments of quiet, were on the whole great for these performances, even if some moments went on a little too long, or some moments of tension actually needed to be held a little longer. The dynamics between all three feel entirely organic, and watching them was an incredibly rewarding experience. 

Much of this is assisted by some solid design. The lighting, particularly, is incredibly effective, especially a large fixture that hangs from above, at one point glowing alone like the moon. It’s incredibly atmospheric. The set design is generally era-appropriate and practical for the show, although the white paint of the furniture felt a little too modern. The main counter was split into two which allowed for decent movement of the set, although sometimes this was a bit clunky. It might have been better to keep the set more still, particularly as the play takes place entirely in one room. Some offstage portions of the room were used as well for small moments, like washing and making tea, but this sometimes felt like a bit of an afterthought, with the action not being very visible or obvious. But most of the show takes place in the well-lit centre stage, and the world here is fully imagined. 

Lin’s edition of After Miss Julie is a gripping watch. It has you truly invested in its characters, and this engagement is very rewarding. The messaging about class is properly considered, and isn’t just played for the audience’s vindication. When John goes back to the same stool to clean his boss’ shoes at the end of the play he is lit by a solitary oil lamp, and the moment is played out at length, forcing us, after all the scandal, to rest with the inevitability of his mundane life. There’s a real sense of injustice here, and Lin’s inclination to let action rest on stage for a while allows us to really feel it. 

After Miss Julie is on at the Park Theatre in Finsbury Park, London, until 28th of Feb.

REVIEW: Safe Haven

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Rating: 2.5 out of 5.

‘A focus on western diplomacy dulls a genuinely terrifying period of Kurdish history’

On the night I saw Safe Haven, there was a performance by Kurdish musicians prior to the start of the play, and the walls of the Arcola Theatre were hung with historic photographs showing the events the play seeks to retell, accompanied by some useful placard information. There was a clear amount of care given to this night that gave a real impression of centring the culture and lives of the Kurdish people who the play seemed to centre around. Written by Chris Bowers, a former British diplomat, the play has some great insight on the governmental process of diplomacy. He clearly seeks to shine a light on a minoritised history most forget, but this centering on western diplomats ultimately limits the play’s narrative capability.

The show follows Catherine (Beth Burrows), a diplomat working for the British government, trying to manage the aftermath of the first gulf war. Paired with Clive (Richard Lynson), the two work to try and figure out a way to protect the Kurdish people fleeing Saddam Hussein’s regime, two of which are Najat (Eugenie Bouda) and Zeyra (Lisa Zahra).

Lisa Zahra is an undoubtable standout in the show. Her performance has an adaptability and distinction that allows her to play both the wife of a diplomat (Anne) and a Kurdish refugee (Zeyra). Props must also be given to Beth Burrows, who handles the show’s narration with care, and Mazum Gül, who gives the story some of the urgency it needs, playing the real-life Iraqi diplomat, Barzan Ibrahim al-Tikriti, and real-life Kurdish activist Dlawer Ala’Aldeen. Gül does not get much stage time as these characters, which was surprising given the subject matter. It is unclear whether or not Catherine and Clive are real people also. 

Some design choices felt a little confused, with props left onstage and a split stage that didn’t always feel necessary. Scenes taking place between office furniture and garden furniture could have taken place on the same blocks, given the play’s already non-naturalistic design. This would have given more space to the storyline following the Kurdish women fleeing. During their scenes, it often felt like they were working around these sets, which was somewhat how the show felt as a whole. The stories of the Kurdish characters felt somewhat secondary to the story of the British diplomats. Seeing the process of diplomacy laid out was insightful, but this didn’t quite carry the same urgency as the plight of the Kurdish people fleeing Saddam Hussein’s regime, so having them side by side, felt like a jarring contrast. The focus on this diplomacy dulls what could be a far more gripping play. It would have helped to see how the movement around this mountain range was physically exhausting and restrictive for our Kurdish characters, but working around these constant sets of Western offices and garden tables made for a somewhat subdued environment.

At the end, Clive congratulates Catherine saying “It’s not everyday someone tries to stop a genocide”, presenting her kind of diplomacy as something sort of noble. But it is her paid job, and the sudden discussion between the two about working against or within the system would be an interesting angle if it had been explored throughout the play. Catherine drops a line about how many Kurdish people and children died during the pass through the mountains, which came as a total surprise, given this is not mentioned or portrayed at all prior to this conversation, which only comes after the safe haven has been formed and agreed to. 

It’s clear that Bowers has experience in diplomacy. The script is thorough to the point of overdensity. For someone well studied in politics and its functions, the show might be insightful. But for others, there is less focus on the human aspects of the play, even if they’ve been considered. Bowers’ efforts to include Kurdish characters in this narrative are appreciated, but incomplete. There is no stage time given to the Kurdish protestors who staged protests in London in 1991, occupying the Iraqi embassy, storming the Turkish one too. It is a bit of a travesty that the actions of those who were equally instrumental in getting the government to act are failed to be represented at all on stage.

REVIEW: Imposed

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Rating: 2.5 out of 5.

“A crucial topic is failed to be fully explored” 

[contains spoilers and discussions of online sexual violence]

The sheer lack of restrictions on AI content is a deeply concerning aspect of this emerging technology. Without proper, thorough regulation, the potential damage is scarily expansive. Despite this, tech companies and governments appear to be working hand in hand to keep the bubble growing. After all, growth is all that has mattered over the past four or so decades, even if few of us are feeling its benefits. It is this lack of regulation that Ben Hatt’s new play Imposed seeks to explore, focusing on the moment two women discover their likeness has been used to create deepfake AI pornography.

The premise is horrifying, yet not unfamiliar. AI use is significantly more common among men than women, with AI then being deployed by some of these men as a tool to enact violent misogyny. There has been extensive reporting in recent months on the violence of deepfake AI pornography, most notably the use of Elon Musk’s AI bot ‘Grok’ to unconsensually undress women online. Hatt’s play unmistakably exists in our world, offering a chance to zoom in and centre the lives of women surviving this kind of violence.

This is all to say that the material of Imposed is important. It is crucial to see on stage and to explore thoroughly. Unfortunately, the script offers limited exploration of the systems that have led to this epidemic of violence, instead framing itself as a whodunnit that rarely expands beyond what is already outlined in the programme.

The play opens with Kate (Elizabeth Colwell), hungover on the sofa. While this opening scene feels somewhat bloated, introducing the character through a humorous and relatable moment does effective work in humanising her. We are then introduced to Mark (Aaron Lynn), a neighbour and apparent friend of the flatmates. He laments not being funny enough for a date before leaving, not to return until the end of the play. Kate soon receives a notification on her laptop and her face drops in horror. Her housemate Allie (Josselyn Ryder) enters, and Kate shows her the video.

Colwell’s performance here is nothing short of excellent. Her characterisation of Kate is precise, and her emotional range is impressive. Across the board, the actors do strong work with the script, which is generally a solid example of naturalistic writing. The issue, however, is that the writing itself is not especially expansive. Kate and Allie move back and forth in frustration and disbelief, but we gain little insight into their inner lives beyond the immediate and obvious horror of the situation.

It is only towards the end of the play, when the two women make very different choices in how they handle their perpetrator, that there is a glimpse of deeper interiority. However, there is little build-up to this divergence, resulting in an ending that feels indulgent and melodramatic. Even in moments where they are not explicitly arguing, Kate and Allie appear to be in constant opposition. While solidarity is not a necessity, its near-total absence feels like another inconsistency in the portrayal of their relationship.

The choice to set the play in Washington DC, with Allie working for Congress and Kate as a lawyer, is an interesting statement. These details, however, seem to serve the mechanics of the plot more than the development of character. The bones of something richer are present, but they rarely connect. The whodunnit structure ultimately proves limiting, and the identity of the perpetrator is obvious from very early on.

Imposed gestures toward a genuinely terrifying truth: there is currently no meaningful legal framework for victims of deepfake AI pornography to seek justice. This is a grave aspect of the story, yet it does not stand out as a particularly resonant moment in the script. Nor is there much exploration of what addressing this absence could look like. There are more compelling avenues this premise might have taken, and it is hard not to wonder what Imposed could have been had it pursued them more fully, perhaps through a more restorative lens.

REVIEW: A Microscopic Odyssey

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

An exceptional debut from the Mycelium Theatre Company

I hated science at school. For whatever reason, it was the one subject I could never get my head around. Subsequently, I was not sure what to expect going into A Microscopic Odyssey, which, as the title suggests, is a close up lens of our biological world. But even for someone who is historically STEM-averse, the Mycelium Theatre company’s debut show was nothing short of exceptional. 

The show is a visual marvel. The design, by Enza Kim, bolstered some of the most incredibly intricate, imaginative effects I have seen on stage in a while. In a description of the company, the programme highlights the company’s passion “to preserve theatrical craftsmanship and analogue technologies as we move deeper into a digital age” and the show lives up to this claim absolutely. Some spectacular visuals are made onstage using only a projector and some stencils to bring attention to the similarities between our small and large natural world. Its approach to this is sensitive, creating a genuine sense of the delicacies of biology. It helps that this was accompanied by some really well considered sound choices by sound designers and composers Caleb Wilton and Charlie Jones. The movement, directed by Bianca Mikhaïl, is visceral. It plays well with the more whimsical elements of the play, bringing us out of the more tender moments into something physical. It’s a good reminder that the body, too, is a part of the natural world. All these components make for a piece that almost reads like an adult-contemporary My Neighbour Totoro, handling its themes with a childlike wonder. 

At times, the show teetered on being too earnest for its own good, though these moments did overall feel well earnt. But moments of comedy, particularly during Weiss’s lecture, cut through this, giving the show balance, which it could do with a little more of. The plot takes a bit of a back seat, which is fine, especially considering its mosaic approach to exploring nature. Some storylines are never really explained, which isn’t necessarily needed, though some more callbacks to the show’s own narratives could help tie the piece together some more. Particularly, one that seemed to pertain to an abusive childhood felt a little underexplored and oversimplified. 

The ensemble, though, are the breath of life in this piece. Each one handles every second on stage with precision and care, down to their movement of objects off and on stage. There was always something to watch. Elijah Bai Bangura was a particular standout from the ensemble, showcasing a really dynamic performance. 

With a little tightening, this show has the capabilities to reach far and wide. A heavily detail oriented play, it’s well worth seeing in its current form anyway. If A Microscopic Odyssey is anything to go by, the Mycelium Theatre company are definitely one to watch.