Author: Jimena Batres

Theatre Reviewer. London, United Kingdom.

REVIEW: Shooting From Below

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

Reynolds constantly balances the gut-punch with the punchline, weaving serious critique through moments of effortless hilarity.

A blue hue washes over the Purcell Room at the Southbank Centre as the audience murmurs in anticipation. The crowd is eclectic, but united by the same electric buzz. A spotlight cuts through the noise. Suddenly, silence. Then BAM: Midgitte Bardot storms the stage to the roar of adoring fans, who greet her as if the Messiah herself had returned. And she looks incredible. In that instant, my expectations recalibrated. I knew exactly what I was in for: mayhem, filthy debauchery, and razor-sharp sexual wit, all delivered by an undeniable diva. I was completely on board.

Tamm Reynolds’ bold new show Shooting From Below, directed by Izzy Rabey, returns to the Southbank Centre for its second run– and it is as hilarious as it is bizarre. Equal parts riotous and tender, furious and joyful, the show confronts its audience with both Reynolds’ rage and their community’s lived experience… without ever sacrificing style. Over 60 minutes of glorious chaos, we follow Midgitte Bardot (Reynolds’ drag persona) as she is forced to apologise for a dreadful act she may or may not have committed (spoiler: it might involve those disembodied legs scattered across the stage). Through original songs, biting humour, and a tightly constructed narrative, Bardot shares her experience as a person with dwarfism (with fabulous wigs to match).

The writing is sharp, playful, and deceptively disarming. Reynolds lulls the audience into a false sense of comfort with jokes, audience interaction, and witty lyrics, before revealing the show’s true engine: rage. As they themselves note, the piece interrogates a world in which people wit dwarfism are too often reduced to spectacle– “entertainment, pets, toys, fetishes, dream sequences, musical numbers… most of the time.” It’s a brutal observation, but one delivered with such precision and humour that it lands without ever feeling sermonic or preachy– just undeniably true. Reynolds constantly balances the gut-punch with the punchline, weaving serious critique through moments of effortless hilarity.

As a performer, Tamm is effortless and easy to watch. They command the stage with ease, taking their time with complete confidence that the audience will stay with them– whether they’re adjusting a wig or slowly sipping water. And we do, because we’re hooked. A true multidisciplinary performer, they are a compelling actor, a strong singer, and a brilliantly instinctive comedian. That said, there are moments where pacing falters: extended pauses during costume changes occasionally disrupt the rhythm, particularly one sequence where the stage is left empty for too long. It begins as a gag but overstays its welcome. Still, Reynolds quickly regains momentum. And, as they declare in song, “They were jealous. I was charming.” They’re not wrong. The charm is undeniable.

Visually, the show is a triumph. Maisie Frater’s set design is inventive and striking: a surreal landscape of legs and feet entwined with ivy creates a strange, luminous playground for Bardot to inhabit. It’s imaginative, cohesive, cleverly tied to the narrative and genuinely beautiful– one of the production’s standout elements. The costumes, by Lambdog 1066, are equally impressive. Midgitte Bardot looks stunning throughout– meticulously detailed, perfectly tailored, and gloriously, unapologetically drag.

Overall, Shooting From Below is a riveting, unruly, and fiercely intelligent piece of theatre. And I, for one, will be keeping a very close eye on wherever Midgitte Bardot appears next.

REVIEW: Age is a feeling

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Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

A lovely exploration of a life and the human experience that struggles to fill the mammoth Soho Theatre Walthamstow

The time is finally here: the doors of the long-awaited Soho Theatre Walthamstow are open. And on arrival, the space itself is a spectacle. With the trademark palette of the much-loved venue on Dean Street, this brand-new big sibling looks like it belongs in the West End. With two floors, a massive stage and an impressive 960 seats, the venue is undeniably a sight to behold. The architecture retains the charm of its 1930s origins, when the Walthamstow venue opened as the Granada – a ciné-variety theatre. With all the excitement around the project and the undeniably beautiful restoration, expectations were high upon arrival. Age Is a Feeling, however, feels like a slight mismatch to inaugurate such a vast space. 

Haley McGee’s Olivier-nominated, Fringe First Award-winning play Age Is a Feeling has been widely (and understandably) acclaimed. After sold-out and celebrated runs at Soho Theatre, the Edinburgh Festival Fringe and Soulpepper in Toronto, the show charts the seminal moments, rites of passage and turning points of an adult life – your life – beginning on the day you turn 25 (when your dad reminds you your brain has finally finished developing) and ending with your death. 

Each night, the audience chooses six from twelve possible stories that make up the life unfolding onstage. The remaining six are left untold – the memories that stay private, that never quite make it into the world, and are buried with you. On the night of the 5th of March 2026, we heard Heart, Hospital, Book, Eggs, Diner and Crabapple.

Conceptually, the play is formidable. McGee’s writing is muscular, fluid and deeply perceptive. As she guides the audience through life’s gains and losses, its joys and regrets, she becomes a gentle navigator through the strange terrain of adulthood. The performance is consistently warm, funny and quietly moving. What becomes noticeable in this new staging, however, is the relationship between the show and the scale of the venue. Age Is a Feeling was born in the intimacy of fringe spaces, where the proximity between performer and audience forms part of the show’s emotional engine. In the vastness of the Walthamstow space, that intimacy becomes harder to sustain. 

The production attempts to counter this by lighting a smaller playing area within the stage, with McGee seated at its centre for much of the performance. This works beautifully towards the end, when the story reaches older age and the stillness feels purposeful, the weight of age visually complemented by her minimal movement. Earlier sections, however– those filled with youth, possibility and chaos– can feel slightly constrained by the static staging, especially when surrounded by such a large empty space. 

Mitchell Cushman’s direction is honest and grounded. Taking the baton from director Adam Brace (who sadly passed away in 2023), he does so confidently and with care. The only qualm is that, though assured and thoughtful, the staging doesn’t always fully adapt to the scale of the venue. There are moments where the theatre’s technical capabilities briefly enter the picture– at one point it rains onstage for a few seconds, only to stop just as quickly. While visually striking, these touches feel less essential to the storytelling than the simple, intimate connection that sits at the heart of the piece. Even from Row H of the stalls, relatively close to the stage, there was a sense of distance. It’s easy to wonder how the show might land for those further back or up in the circle. 

Soho Theatre promises “a vibrant and eclectic first programme of work, bringing the best of Soho Theatre’s acclaimed programme to a bigger audience.” With Age Is a Feeling, they certainly deliver on that promise: a beloved show from their Dean Street home, now shared with a much larger crowd. And while the evening remains thoughtful, funny and moving, the opening of this magnificent new venue raises an intriguing question: how will Soho Theatre adapt its brilliantly eclectic programming to a space of this scale? 

It will be exciting to see what comes next. Age is a Feeling is playing at Soho Theatre Walthamstow until March 7th 2026.

TICKETS: https://sohotheatre.com/events/age-is-a-feeling-3/#performances

REVIEW: SH!T-FACED SHOWTIME: A PISSEDMAS CAROL

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Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

This show is sure to get even the Scroogiest of Scrooges into the Christmas spirit.

A Christmas Carol is one of those stories we know by heart. Whether through Dickens’
novel, Disney adaptations, lavish stage versions, or The Muppets, we all remember the tale of the unfortunate man whose generosity is unlocked by three well-timed ghosts. But what happens when Ebenezer Scrooge is absolutely, unequivocally hammered? A Pissedmas Carol, currently playing at the Leicester Square Theatre, answers that question with two hours of laughter, improvisation, and festive chaos.

Directed by Katy Baker, written by Lewis Ironside, and produced by James Murfitt and
Johanna Rigg, A Pissedmas Carol delivers exactly what it promises– and then some. The
concept is simple and brilliant: one performer gets drunk onstage every night, rotating so no actor drinks more than four times a month. The result is a show that is never the same twice. Slurred lines, unexpected tangents, and delightfully inappropriate jokes, but the production never collapses into mess. Dickens’ plot acts as a loose guiding star rather than a rigid framework– an anchor amid the madness– allowing the cast to riff, respond, and rescue the story in real time. With panto-style audience interventions, reworked pop songs, and just enough interaction to keep things unpredictable, it’s a night guaranteed to leave adult audiences thoroughly merry.

Drunken theatre often benefits from lowered expectations, with audiences happy to watch one battered performer derail the evening while the rest scramble to recover. What makes Sh!tfaced Theatre’s A Pissedmas Carol stand out is the consistently high standard of performance beneath the chaos. The entire cast– Ashley Gerlach, Dan Quirke, Hari Kang, Hal Hilman, Issy Wroe Wright, and Alice Merivale– are sharp improvisers and confident singers, working tirelessly to keep the show afloat. On this night, a particularly inebriated Scrooge (Ashley Gerlach) gave them plenty to contend with, and watching the ensemble think on their feet was half the joy.

Dan Quirke deserves special mention for exceptional multi-rolling, delivering some of the evening’s biggest laughs as the Ghost of Christmas Present, a panto-Dame Mrs. Fezziwig (who took an audience member for a husband… and later a turkey), and Miss “Butcher”, the butcher. Charlotte Brooke, the musical director and onstage pianist, is the unsung hero of the show– a superb listener and rhythmic backbone who adapts effortlessly to every curveball. Equally vital is James Murfitt as Charles Dickens: fantastic host, narrative referee, and the steady hand that keeps the show moving despite its many detours. The Leicester Square Theatre proves the perfect home for this festive anarchy. Mulled wine, mince pies, and an intimate auditorium enhance the communal feel, while the Christmas-drenched set, sparkling costumes, clever props, and effective lighting create a warm, celebratory atmosphere. Occasional puppet appearances are an unexpected and delightful bonus.
Ultimately, A Pissedmas Carol is an absolute joy: silly, skilful, and full of genuine theatrical craft beneath the booze-soaked surface. Bring a friend, grab a drink, and embrace the chaos– it is Christmas, after all.

REVIEW: Vera; Or The Nihilists

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

“More than a lost curiosity, this revival of Vera is Wilde’s politics in sharp, timely focus.”

When we think of Oscar Wilde, it’s Earnest, Dorian Gray, An Ideal Husband that spring first to mind – works that cemented him as one of the most influential writers to ever live. But tucked in the shadows is his lesser known Vera; or The Nihilists, Wilde’s very first play. Premiered in New York in 1883 to poor direction and even poorer reviews, it has since failed to make the splash on the theatre scene that works like Earnest have. Now, at the Jack Studio Theatre, Vera resurfaces in a current and intimate revival, reminding us that Wilde’s pen was as political as it was playful, and that even his earliest work strikes at the heart of human conflict. 

Adapted and directed by Cecilia Thoden van Velzen, a politically charged theatremaker from the Netherlands, this is the first London staging of Vera; or The Nihilists. Set in tsarist Russia and loosely inspired by revolutionary Vera Zasulich, the play follows Vera Sabouroff (Natasha Culzac) as she seeks vengeance for her brother’s unjust imprisonment. Drawn into a faction of social radicals called “The Nihilists”, she quickly becomes their most ruthless assassin. United only by their hatred of tyranny, the group plots to murder the Tsar and ignite revolution. But when Vera falls for Alexis (George Airey)– the Tsar’s idealistic son who secretly sympathises with the Nihilists– her loyalties fracture, and she must choose between her morals and the cause. 

The tragedy feels alarmingly current, which makes this revival both timely and essential. At one point, Vera declares, “what stands between us and freedom in Europe is a few old men,” a line that lands with chilling resonance in today’s political climate. With a large cast for such

an intimate stage, van Velzen builds a world that feels populated, urgent, and alive. While the first of four acts takes time to gather energy, the second sustains a momentum that never falters. Culzac anchors the piece with a strong, grounded performance– easy to root for, emotionally truthful, and compelling throughout. The ensemble (George Airey, Kat Kim, Jonathan Hansler, Jo Idris-Roberts, Finn Samuels, Catherine Allison) deftly handle multiple roles, giving each character a distinct, lived-in presence. Jo Idris-Roberts and George Airey deserve a special mention– Idris-Roberts for their tactful approach to two very different roles: neither overstated nor pushed, but fully inhabited, nuanced, and three-dimensional– not an easy feat and a joy to watch. George Airey, meanwhile, has a way with Wilde’s text that makes it feel fresh and spontaneous– every thought seems to land new. His Alexis is endearing, lovable, and naïve, a welcome lightness against the production’s darker forces, and one of the evening’s strongest impressions. 

Structurally, each act is framed by a narrator, guiding us through shifts in space and time. This device could have felt intrusive in a fully immersive staging, but here it underlines the production’s central aim: to honour Wilde himself. The blunt closing line– “End of Drama”– followed by an acknowledgement of the play’s disastrous 1883 reception, makes the point clear. This is as much a tribute to Wilde’s overlooked legacy as it is a retelling of his play, and in that respect, it succeeds. 

Design also plays a vital role. Ruth Varela’s set and lighting, with stark white modular structures, create a cold, sculptural landscape that heightens the atmosphere of tension. Minimalism builds an eerie, clinical atmosphere, heightened by van Velzen’s sharp sound design. The same white aesthetic extended to the props, including fragile-looking white swords, which unfortunately undercut the menace of fight scenes. What might have been a bold stylistic choice ended up distracting, deflating otherwise charged moments. 

Overall, this revival of Vera; or The Nihilists is a hidden gem: ambitious, resonant, and far more urgent than a “lost Wilde” might first suggest. It reclaims a neglected play and reframes it for today– proof that Wilde was grappling with politics and power long before he sharpened his wit for comedy. 

Vera; or The Nihilists will be on at the Jack Studio Theatre until September 27th. Tickets here: https://brockleyjack.co.uk/jackstudio-entry/vera-or-the-nihilists/

REVIEW: Tango In Silk

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A tango that longed for a bigger stage to breathe

Rating: 2.5 out of 5.

Tango In Silk is a five-minute tango choreographed and performed by Xi Liu, with partner Mingcong Hu. Having made an impression at the Edinburgh Fringe, the piece drew loyal audiences– one woman beside me had even travelled from Cambridge to see it again after falling in love with the performance there. This speaks volumes about the impact the duo is capable of achieving, though on this particular night in London the magic didn’t quite land in the same way. 

Visually, the work is stunning. Xi Liu, radiant in a flowing red dress that nodded to her heritage, offered a striking image onstage. The costuming was elegant and evocative, drawing the eye from the opening steps right through to the final pose. The music, too, was beautifully chosen: a blend of Argentine and Chinese melodies that anchored the piece in its central theme of cultural fusion. In these elements, the show succeeds– interweaving the sensuality of tango with the shimmering glamour of 1930s Shanghai. 

The choreography set out to tell a story: the experience of an East Asian woman arriving in the UK, her journey from fear and displacement toward confidence and transformation. While the lifts and poses were impressive, the narrative arc didn’t always come through as clearly as intended. Moments of connection between the dancers, so essential to tango’s intensity, felt underplayed, which diluted the emotional power of the piece. 

The ending was particularly abrupt. When the lights came up, the audience seemed momentarily unsure if the performance had truly finished– an unusual silence filled the room. No one lifted from their seats, no one spoke– a woman had to come in and say “You can take pictures with the company on stage. That was the show”. It was telling when the audience member beside me, who had spoken so fondly of the Edinburgh run, whispered, “It wasn’t like that in Edinburgh.” 

To be fair to the dancers, the venue might have been a mismatch for the show. Whilst The Etcetera Theatre is a wonderful and accessible venue, it is perhaps not the best fit for a piece involving such expansive lifts and sweeping movement. The dancers seemed slightly confined by the stage, which may have contributed to a sense of hesitancy that rippled through the performance. Even so, both Liu and Hu are clearly talented dancers with a compelling vision. Tango in Silk promises a poetic, culturally rich experience, and with some refinement– and perhaps a more suitable venue– it could fully deliver on its potential.

REVIEW: LIGHTBULBS 

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Rating: 5 out of 5.

A piece that glows long after the lights go out. 

Love: the most celebrated, complicated, irresistible of emotions– the muse of poets, the heart of myths, the hero of every story. It’s so deeply human that we recognise it from the moment we enter the world, and spend our lives seeking it in others and in ourselves. However, in today’s hectic, disconnected world, love feels harder than ever to define, let alone find. With overstimulating media, social anxiety, unrealistic expectations, and noisy hate, opening ourselves to another can feel impossible. Vulnerability gives way to guardedness: we commit to non-commitment and keep intimacy at arm’s length to avoid being hurt. Lightbulbs dives straight into this tension, offering a tender exploration of the modern “situationship” through a queer, interracial couple. What emerges is a grounded, gentle, and recognisable portrait of love in all its fragility. 

Lightbulbs is a one-act, movement-driven exploration of fear in love, told through a series of intimate moments. We follow Oran (Reuben Oladehin) and Ezekiel (Max Burns) as they fall for one another, glimpsing both the joys and fractures of their relationship. Their connection is mirrored by the only set pieces onstage– two bare lightbulbs, flickering on and off to reflect who is reaching for whom, and when (rarely together). At its core lies Oran’s fear of commitment–shaped by overthinking, internalised homophobia, and a struggle with vulnerability– compounded by the couple’s lack of healthy communication. Directed by TJ

Roderick, who co-wrote the piece with his production company co-owner Heather Woodhouse, the show is quick, tender, and quietly truthful. 

The portrayal of the relationship in Lightbulbs is both thoughtful and deeply intimate. Heavy movement sequences form the show’s central language, layered with poetic dialogue and situations that uncannily mirror real life. The result is a piece that feels both stylised and utterly truthful. Oladehin and Burns deliver outstanding performances, particularly through their physicality. The choreography is dynamic, sexy, and heartbreaking– executed with a sense of ease and playfulness that makes it all the more compelling. From fluttering moths conjured by fingers, to Oladehin’s endearing zoomies as Burns quietly devours an ice cream in real time, to a dazzling nightclub sequence where spinning bodies dissolve into spinning heads and spinning hearts– the show is consistently inventive, engaging and alive. 

The casting choices further elevate the work. While this story could resonate with anyone because of its humanity, the interracial and queer pairing adds a poignant layer of complexity. Cultural sensitivity shapes the struggle of each character: they connect immediately as people, yet wrestle with the acceptance of their love. This tension is most visible in Oran, whose fear of intimacy and internalised homophobia drive much of the conflict. As Ezekiel patiently reaches out, Oran retreats– unable to admit the flowers in his hand are from a boyfriend and not for a girlfriend, dismissing Ezekiel’s declarations of love with hedges and deflections, and even cutting him down with remarks about desire. It’s painful to watch, precisely because it feels so recognisable: fear masquerading as rejection, self-doubt sabotaging connection. Oran is, in his own words, “happy in suspension”– yet it is the landing, the act of commitment, that terrifies him. 

The direction is outstanding. While Woodhouse and Roderick’s script is already strong, TJ Roderick’s vision elevates it with precision and creativity. The piece is structurally strong, balancing moments of playfulness and joy that make the heavier drama hit harder, and featuring choreography that deserves particular praise– Roderick is certainly one to watch. Lighting and sound design further enrich the work: Liam Walton-Bell’s ethereal, fluid lighting choices lift the piece with striking colours, while the original music by Andrés Peña, Parsa Valiany, and Emma Haines/Haiines is thoughtful, uplifting, and well-judged. Just as effective are the silences, which ground the piece and make the music shimmer all the more when it arrives. 

Overall, Lightbulbs captures the paradox and struggles of love with honesty and artistry. It’s quick, tender, and full of truth– a piece that glows long after the lights go out. 

Lightbulbs is playing at the Jack Studio Theatre until August 23rd at 7:30 pm. Grab your tickets here! 

REVIEW: BBC PROMS – Shostakovich’s Fifth by Heart 

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Rating: 5 out of 5.

By teasing, teaching, and then unleashing musical brilliance, Shostakovich’s Fifth by Heart floods you with Shostakovich’s genius. 

The BBC Proms is arguably one of the UK’s most iconic musical events. Since its conception in 1895, its mission has remained the same: to bring the best of classical music to the widest possible audience. Yet with younger generations increasingly detached from the genre, organizers have had to rethink how to capture the attention of listeners who are more likely to queue Doja Cat on Spotify than pay to sit through two hours at the Royal Albert Hall. While I count myself a fan of classical music, true success lies in drawing in those who don’t yet see its value. Which raises the question: did this year’s Proms manage to appeal to young(ish) audiences? Thanks to the Aurora Orchestra’s electric performance– enhanced by actors and dancers dramatizing the history behind Shostakovich’s Fifth– the answer is a resounding yes. 

Shostakovich’s Fifth by Heart is both a musical and dramatic exploration of the composer’s Fifth Symphony– a work that earned him acclaim in the Soviet Union and the West, while its true meaning and intent remain hotly debated to this day. Across two 50-minute acts, the Aurora Orchestra, conducted by Nicholas Collon, first stages a dramatized retelling of the symphony’s creation and reception before performing the piece entirely from memory. Playing without sheet music gives the musicians a lot of physical freedom and opportunity for stage dynamics, particularly in the first act: they weave among actors, are lifted by dancers, and move across the stage as scenes unfold. At its core lies a theatrical imagining of how the symphony might have been judged by a committee of officials tasked with censoring art under Stalin’s regime in the 1930s. After this breakdown and exploration of possible interpretations, the evening culminates

in a complete performance of the symphony. The final concert feels all the more magical with an audience now attuned to the work’s four movements, primed for deeper appreciation by the dramatic groundwork laid before. 

The first act is both informative and entertaining, full of music and humour throughout. We meet three Soviet officials (Polly Frame, Craig Stein, Sarah Twomey) tasked with deciding whether Shostakovich’s (Max Revell) music is suitably “Soviet Union–friendly.” After Stalin attended a performance of his opera The Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District– a work that had previously been acclaimed– he declared that the young composer was “capable of great work” but in need of “guidance.” Soon after, the Communist Party’s official newspaper, Pravda, vilified his music and publicly tarnished his reputation, pressuring him to produce something more ideologically correct. The result was several years of failed or compromised compositions, until 1937, when he presented his Symphony No. 5 in D minor, Op. 47. The work moved audiences to tears and seemed to satisfy the state, though many continue to interpret it as a bold act of defiance hidden beneath its triumphant surface. 

The actors explore both interpretations– state-sanctioned triumph or covert resistance– while Aurora’s founder and conductor Nicholas Collon (impersonating Mravinsky, who defended Shostakovich before Soviet officials) guides the audience through orchestral demonstrations and narration. Meanwhile, individual musicians are freed to move across the stage, some violinists and flute players even being lifted into the air mid-performance. The result is beautiful yet, at times, incredibly frustrating: the music is dissected in little teasing fragments, never allowed to run free. By the end of the act, I was aching to hear the symphony in full. 

Which is, of course, the point. The second act finally gives us what we’ve been longing for: uninterrupted music, enriched by the dramatic and historical context we’ve just witnessed. The anticipation makes the performance all the more exhilarating; having learned some of the symphony’s possible narratives, we hear it with fresh ears. The orchestra plays with contagious joy, and the effect is both deeply moving and immensely satisfying. 

Overall, this Proms offering achieves exactly what it sets out to: educational, accessible, entertaining, and beautiful. In the grandeur of the Royal Albert Hall, the experience resonates all the more powerfully. Whether seasoned classical enthusiast or curious newcomer, any audience– young or old– is sure to be captivated.

REVIEW: (Un) Shakespearean Nightmares

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

An energetic, modern romp that lets Shakespeare’s forgotten characters have the last
laugh.

Shakespeare: the man, the myth, the legend. The same writer who gave us some of the
most iconic tales ever told– wrapped in poetry, pulsing with human nature. His plays have been performed for centuries, day after day, across the world. No celebrity will ever outshine Romeo, no mythical being is more dissected than Puck. But what if those characters had a conscience? What if they were doomed to live their plays over and over– so often that Romeo began to hate Juliet, that Viola grew tired of Orsino? What if, after all this time, they turned on the pen that wrote them?
That is the hilarious premise of (Un)Shakespearean Nightmares, a riotous comedy that lets Shakespeare’s heroes– and more importantly, his overlooked side characters– finally have their say. Fed up with bowing to a tyrannical, self-absorbed Bard, they decide the only solution is murder.
We follow Rosaline (Bianca Tornea)– Romeo’s forgotten love before Juliet– as she reveals
her hand in the star-crossed lovers’ tragic fate and sets her sights on an even bigger prize: Shakespeare himself. Persuading the Bard to pen one more play that allows a sidelined character to step into the spotlight, she cleverly distracts him while recruiting Caliban, Romeo, Hamlet, Viola, and even Touchstone the Jester to plot his downfall. Their weapon?
Not swords or spells, but Shakespeare’s own overinflated ego. What unfolds is an hour of gleeful scheming, interrupted by absurd detours: Ross and Lennox sloppily delivering news reports, the Three Witches serving up a rap about quiche, and Sir Nathaniel and Holofernes
rebranded as hyper-masculine “alpha males” trying to turn Shakespeare into an incel. The
result is a show brimming with silliness that had the audience giggling throughout. The
nonsense lands squarely with a modern audience– from Hamlet and Romeo played as
“bros” sneering at a hatless Viola but embracing a capped Cesario, to a spoof “Sword VPN” advert designed to protect Shakespeare’s quill.
The ensemble (Bradley Stephen Lewis, David Donnelly, Lauren Rowlatt, Jake Burlow and Bianca Tornea) is energetic and funny, slipping between roles with ease. Everyone onstage delivers a strong performance, with Bradley Stephen Lewis and David Donnelly deserving a special mention. Lewis swaggers as a pompous Shakespeare, while Donnelly sparkles in his double turn as Hamlet and Caliban. Strong sound and lighting sharpen the comic beats, paired with writing that’s wittily constructed– though the programme omits their names, the creative team deserves credit.
Overall, (Un)Shakespearean Nightmares is a bold and playful debut for Just Add Salt
Productions (founded by Tornea). Funny, lighthearted, and packed with giggle-worthy
moments, it makes for an infectiously entertaining night out.
(Un)Shakespearean Nightmares is part of the Camden Fringe’s SHAKEFEST. It will be on at the Old Red Lion Theatre until August 17th. You can get your tickets here:
https://camdenfringe.com/events/un-shakespearean-nightmare/?fbclid=PAZXh0bgNhZW0C
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REVIEW: A Two Woman Hamlet

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Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

A quick-change Hamlet that’s clever, funny, and refreshingly human—if a little light on tragedy

“To be or not to be. That is the question.” Arguably one of the most quoted lines in all of Shakespeare, Hamlet may be the playwright’s most notorious tragedy. Mention his name and we picture the young prince holding poor Yorick’s skull, or the play-within-a-play that haunts GCSE flashbacks. Yet, as beloved and famous as it may be, many now see it as outdated– even misogynistic. A Two Woman Hamlet clearly recognises these problems and tackles them head-on, with two performers sharing the weight of this mammoth play and injecting it with fresh energy. 

A Two Woman Hamlet is fun, fast-paced, and fearlessly cut down, using Shakespeare’s original text but stripping away hours of runtime. Directed by Nora J. Williams and written by Mara Sherman in 2018, the piece digs for new nuances in the characters and relationships, especially giving Ophelia an agency and sense of personhood which is often erased in traditional productions– and in the text itself. Where the original sprawls across thirty-two characters and two to four hours (or four-and-a-half if you’re a true masochist), here Sharmila Peake (Hamlet, Laertes, Fortinbras, Gertrude, Ophelia, etc.) and Lolly Taylor (Horatio, Claudius, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, Gertrude, etc.) take on every role between them with surprising success. 

The performers tackle the character overload with wit and precision. The speed with which they switch characters works well: each character has a signature costume piece tossed over plain white tops and black trousers, instantly signalling the change. These items become characters in their own right– if a prop is held beside an actor, that character is “present” in the scene, even if no one’s wearing it. Quick swaps keep the pace snappy, and clever solutions– like having the king’s ghost possess Horatio or Gertrude to avoid a costume change– keep things flowing. One of the funniest touches is the “Exeunt box,” a graveyard for dead or otherwise discarded characters; watching Polonius’s cane get unceremoniously dumped there was hilarious. 

The best thing about the show is how it fleshes out the characters orbiting Hamlet. Ophelia’s relationships with Laertes and Hamlet, in particular, are endearing and grounded in humanity. By “playing against the text” at times, the pair create dynamics that feel fresh– a Hamlet and Ophelia who banter, conspire to trick Polonius and Claudius, flirt, and genuinely seem to adore each other. But this freshness comes at a cost. It undercuts Hamlet’s descent into madness and his unraveling; I never truly believed he was contemplating suicide, nor that he was the brooding, contemplative figure we usually see. Peake’s Hamlet is manic, larger-than-life, and quick to pivot from flashes of obsession to playful flirtation, making the meditations on death and revenge feel somewhat hollow. This choice retains the new Ophelia dynamic, but it inevitably sacrifices some of the play’s psychological depth. 

The other drawback is the lack of tension. Granted, this isn’t trying to be a classic tragedy. It’s self-aware, a little ridiculous, and carried entirely by two performers. With constant role-switching, a bunny Guildenstern, and Peake sword-fighting herself as both Laertes and Hamlet, emotional gravitas was never the goal. Still, the absence of tension lowers the stakes, leaving you unable to fully lose yourself in the story. Instead, it feels like watching two women perform Hamlet rather than experiencing Hamlet itself. The focus is on the performance, not the tale. 

Overall, A Two Woman Hamlet is an inventive, enjoyable distillation of the original. The performances are sharp, the character-switching is handled with style, and it’s an impressive feat to tell the whole tale in just 75 minutes. Not a definitive Hamlet—but certainly a good night out. 

A Two Woman Hamlet is playing at the Old Red Lion Theatre and Bar until August 14th at 6:30 pm. It is part of the Camden Fringe. Get tickets here.

REVIEW: None of Them Will Get Out Alive 

Published on by Jimena BatresLeave a comment

Rating: 2 out of 5.

Witty in moments, but genre confusion stops this mystery from truly shining. 

When we hear murder mystery, a very specific image springs to mind. Between The Mousetrap, Poirot, Knives Out, The Play That Goes Wrong, and even Cluedo, the genre has carved out a well-loved and recognisable formula– one that artists continue to lean into simply because it works. It’s fun. It’s timeless. Occasionally, creators subvert or modernise the trope (think Death on the Nile or See How They Run), but audiences generally know what they’re there to enjoy: a whodunnit with flair. None of Them Will Get Out Alive clearly aims for that classic tone– but despite its best efforts, it ultimately misses the mark. 

None of Them Will Get Out Alive is a self-described “thriller in the style of Agatha Christie, Among Us, and Squid Game… exploring the lengths people will go to in order to survive.” Written and directed by Samuel Winner, it follows 6 characters (Sophie Ellis Rue, Max Young, James Hardy, Sofia Robbins, Jean-Paul Mark Shlom, Colette O’Brien) over the course of a single night, in which, as the title suggests, they begin to be picked off one by one. There are twists and turns, unexpected alliances, and motives that unfold in quick succession. 

The play is self-aware– and that’s one of its greatest strengths. From the first “murder” victim (Jean-Paul Mark Shlom) twitching dramatically on the floor with his tongue out, to his soon-to-be-revealed sister Georgia (Colette O’Brien) pointing to a spotless floor and exclaiming, “That’s blood!”, the piece embraces its clichés with a wink. These moments of meta-comedy genuinely land, and when the show leans into its low-budget, trope-filled identity, it’s at its most enjoyable. 

But this tone isn’t sustained. The play repeatedly veers into more serious, thriller territory before the absurdity has time to hit its mark. The result is that neither end of the spectrum fully works: the jokes often fall flat because they’re undercut too quickly, and the stakes of the story feel deflated, because the show has already invited us not to take anything too seriously. The tonal shifts end up clashing a bit, and the piece feels caught between wanting to parody the genre and wanting to play it straight. 

The script contains flashes of cleverness– most notably in a moment of physical comedy brilliance where Bertie (Max Young) is shot in the bum, and Mary (Sofia Robbins) launches into a dramatic, utterly absurd attempt at bum-CPR. It’s genuinely hilarious, a perfect example of the kind of camp energy the show could have embraced throughout. But because the tone is so undecided, many of these good ideas get lost. What could have been a gloriously over-the-top romp or a tense night of murder instead becomes muddled, with performances pulling in opposite directions. Some actors play it for laughs, leaning into the parody, while others veer into genuine thriller territory– complete with shouting matches and high-stakes drama. The result is a show where the cast feels like they’re in different versions of the same story, making it hard to emotionally invest in any of it.

Overall, None of Them Will Get Out Alive feels like a work in progress. There are glimmers of a fun, chaotic, self-aware whodunnit buried within, but the show needs to decide what it really wants to be– and then commit to it with flair. 

None of Them Will Get Out Alive is playing at the Hen & Chickens Theatre until August 6th as part of the Camden Fringe 2025. 

Ticket link: https://camdenfringe.com/events/none-of-them-will-get-out-alive/