Please note this play was reviewed from a recording of a live performance.
JUGGERNAUT, the debut play by Lyle Sauer, is a boldly original piece with a premise as bizarre as it is intriguing: a holy cryptid lies dead, a town begins to rot from the inside out, and Bill must resurrect the beast before everything collapses. Blending live music, ritual, and surreal humour, the production aims big: sometimes hitting its mark, sometimes missing it entirely.
The strongest element of the show is unquestionably its company of actor-musicians, who bring impressive musicality and a distinct folk-inspired atmosphere to the space. The live underscoring adds texture and mood, often elevating scenes that might otherwise feel thin due to the very sparse set design. Performances are solid across the board, particularly the expressive, colourful turn from the Officer, and the candy delivery driver whose occasional stutter adds an unexpected charm.
The dialogue is sharp and often enjoyable, though the exposition isn’t always clean, leaving the audience piecing together key story beats. Sometimes it feels on the nose, sometimes you need much more details. The necromancing taxidermist is an intentionally chaotic presence, but at times the chaos overwhelms rather than clarifies. The narrative leans heavily into themes of grief, belief, and decay, yet it sometimes struggles to say something truly new about its post-apocalyptic, ritualistic world, a territory that has been explored elsewhere.
Some of the more dramatic moments land awkwardly. The death of Bill’s mother, for instance, feels strangely comedic rather than tragic, which pulls the audience out of the narrative. The worldbuilding: sugar-addicted townsfolk, a beast functioning as a religious centre, and characters whose mental instability is foregrounded, doesn’t always cohere smoothly, and certain shocking acts feel weird for their own sake rather than purposeful.
Still, there are standout elements: the recurring refrain “Blessed by the juggernaut” has an eerie power, and the symbolic relationship between Bill and the parasite-like beast feeding on him is compelling. The production team, from musical direction to lighting and costume, work creatively within Fringe constraints, though the overall aesthetic sometimes feels stretched thin.
JUGGERNAUT is ambitious, unsettling, and performed with commitment. While not all of its ideas fully land, the show offers a unique and immersive experience for audiences drawn to the strange and uncanny. With refinement, its bold world could strike even deeper – but what world-building goes deep when the audience does not step into it?
“A spirited, socially-charged fable that sometimes stumbles in execution but soars in heart and purpose.“
Folklorica, produced by Climate Action Productions, is a powerful and imaginative tale that blends magical realism with urgent social commentary. Written, directed, and produced by Jade Alvara, the play reimagines the Latina fairytale through the lens of environmentalism, class struggle, and feminism.
Set against the smog and sweat of the industrial revolution, Folklorica follows Mira (Nicole Schretlen Montes), a young Latina factory worker navigating exploitation, pregnancy, and the supernatural. Alongside a resilient ensemble of women, she faces the grim realities of overwork, harassment, and survival until a mystical healer in the forest offers an escape into a dreamlike underworld where time, magic, and morality blur.
The production’s strength lies in its unapologetic energy and the authenticity of its Latina identity. The all-Latinx cast delivers heartfelt performances, with standout moments from Montes as the tender yet fierce Mira and Jade Alvara’s earthy portrayal of Mama Milagra. The camaraderie between the women feels genuine, capturing both the humour and heartbreak of collective struggle.
However, Folklorica’s ambition sometimes works against it. The dialogue can feel rushed, with emotional beats occasionally lost in shouting or quick pacing. Certain story turns (like the sudden pregnancy reveal or the healer’s acceptance of a morally conflicted choice) verge on cliché or lack the depth they deserve. Narrative lines of argumentation such as: “Abortion is a sin — but I need help — oh, okay,” flatten what could have been a nuanced moral conflict.
Thematically, the play grapples with trust and betrayal, particularly in its portrayal of men. From the manipulative factory boss who started as a suitor whose charm fades quickly (“A prize like you needs to be claimed”), Folklorica raises questions about male power and exploitation, though at times it leans into archetype. The transformation of a demon, the only male character, into a pig, for instance, is effective in symbolism but somewhat heavy-handed in delivery.
Despite its uneven moments, Folklorica is a brave and vital production. It celebrates Latina resilience, critiques systems of exploitation, and reclaims the fairytale as a space for rebellion and renewal. With its blend of grit, humour, and magic, the play stands as both a protest and a promise that Latin American voices will continue to be heard, and their stories, however fantastical, will speak truth to power.
An immersive experience in perception, rhythm, and sensory transformation
A Possibility is a bold new work for the theatre by Dutch artist Germaine Kruip that explores the possibilities—and limitations—of perception, sound, and performance. This is not a play in the traditional sense; rather, it is a sculptural and sonic experience that challenges how we see, hear, and feel. What makes it so compelling is the fact that the power of interpretation rests squarely with the audience. Meaning is not given—it must be constructed, felt, and sometimes endured.
The first part unfolds as a purely abstract performance—an interplay of shadow and light that becomes increasingly unsettling. The stage is stripped of color entirely. Everything is rendered in stark monochrome: black, white, and in-between shades of grey. It opens with minimalistic light play, but soon descends into darker and darker sequences that feel almost panicky. Dense fog rolls across the space, and lights flicker in unsettling rhythms. At times, the visuals verge on optical illusions—you begin to question whether what you’re seeing is really there or if your mind is filling in the gaps. The shadows transform in tightly choreographed, deliberate ways, creating a heightened sense of tension. Without clocks or clear narrative progression, time becomes elastic. You drift into a limbo-like state, unsure how long you’ve been sitting or how far along you are in the performance.
Visually, the production has remarkable depth. The shifting screens—at times half-black, half-white—act almost like portals into different perceptual states. There are extended sequences that feel like being inside a sensory deprivation chamber, stripping away recognizable cues. And yet, paradoxically, the soundscape is anything but minimal. What starts as faint white noise slowly morphs into a complex and haunting auditory experience. The sound envelops the audience—it is loud, unrelenting, and deeply atmospheric. It doesn’t just accompany the visuals; it transforms them.
In the second act, bodies enter the scene. Kruip introduces four percussionists—Youjin Lee, Akane Tominaga, Victor Lodeon, and Gil Hyoungkwon—who perform live with brass sculptures. These sculptures, developed by Kruip in collaboration with the esteemed German manufacturer Thein Brass, serve both as set pieces and as musical instruments. The result is a kind of ritualistic music theatre. The new score, composed by Emily Howard, blends strings and percussion into a flowing dialogue with electronic compositions by Hahn Rowe.
Here, rhythm becomes the dominant language. At times, the beats are monotonous and repetitive to the point of discomfort—almost like an aural form of endurance. Other moments open into expansive and emotionally rich soundscapes that send shivers down the spine. The vibrations of the metal bars are both heard and seen. The physicality of the percussionists, moving in perfect synchrony, adds an almost meditative intensity to the experience.
A Possibility is not a performance you passively watch—it’s one you survive, absorb, and reflect upon. It leaves you raw, cleansed, and oddly invigorated. A theatre piece that doesn’t just speak to the senses—it recalibrates them.
A promising experiment that struggles to find its rhythm
Plucky Culprit’s The Girl with the Enamel Eyes offers a reworking of the Coppélia ballet that feels both ambitious and somewhat confused in its execution. Framed as a one-act musical, the show attempts to blend satire, horror, and comedy but never quite settles into a cohesive tone or structure.
One of the most perplexing creative decisions is the choice not to pair Franz and Swanhilde romantically. The dynamic between them, while featuring impressive comic chemistry, lacks narrative payoff and emotional depth. Their scenes are often lively—Franz’s ballad, in particular, is a highlight, mixing sincere delivery with musical theatre parody—but the absence of a clear arc between the two leaves a gap where the story’s heart might have been.
Likewise, Swanhilde’s motivations for exploring Dr Coppélius’ home have been altered, but without a clear reason or emotional grounding. In the original ballet, her actions carry urgency and purpose; here, they feel incidental. Most notably, she no longer plays a role in saving Franz, a change that removes a major point of tension and resolution.
Visually, the production leans into atmosphere. The dim lighting and minimalist set design do well to support the eerie, haunted tone of the latter scenes. However, the second half of the show feels underdeveloped. What begins with a promise unravels into a sequence of rapid, disjointed events. The pacing doesn’t help—time seems to stretch out comfortably at first, only to rush to a close, compressing plot developments that could have benefited from more space.
The show’s ensemble appears committed, but not always unified. While some performers aim for naturalism, others play their parts in a more heightened, pantomime style. This tonal inconsistency is especially noticeable in the portrayal of the mayor, who seems to be in an entirely different genre than the rest of the cast.
The world of the piece is similarly ambiguous. Though it gestures toward a folkloric, Eastern European setting, it never clearly establishes a time or place. Culturally, geographically, and thematically, it feels like it’s hovering near the border of something—Galicia, perhaps—but never steps fully into it. Thematically, some scenes lack a clear narrative drive; at times, the story feels like a theatrical pastiche, almost like watching a Scooby-Doo reenactment without a clear villain or mystery to solve.
Coppélia herself is portrayed not so much as an automaton but more like a half-formed idea—part uncanny creature, part symbolic presence. It’s an interesting take, though one that lacks a strong emotional or dramatic hook. The repeated breaking of the fourth wall further muddles the framing; there’s a line about dancing “for you,” but the show never establishes who the “you” is. The theatrical device feels dropped in without setup, making it more confusing than thought-provoking.
In all, The Girl with the Enamel Eyes is a bold experiment with moments of real promise, particularly in its performances and visual design. Still, its attempt to reimagine a three-act ballet into a single, genre-blending piece may be too much too soon. A clearer focus—both in tone and in story—would help ground its ambitions and give future versions more weight. That said, this feels like a promising beginning for the team behind it, and one hopes their next outing allows their obvious creativity to shine with greater clarity.
The Midnight Bell is a haunting dance of love, loss, and longing
Nobody can deny the genius that Matthew Bourne is in terms of choreography. But where he truly shines is in making poignant art into a well-rounded package that can be consumed by the masses – and suddenly, all the intricate choreography and music seem to create the most “hip,” trendy expression, a story with a hook so strong that nobody can resist. And in the countless shows I have seen, it never happened to me not to hear a pin drop from the audience. Nobody said anything for the duration of the first act of The Midnight Bell at the Lowry.
The Midnight Bell presents lonely hearts yearning for connection, inspired by the novelist Patrick Hamilton – the opposite, you may say, of Noël Coward, who showcased only the wit and high class of the 1930s. Hamilton gave us the grit, the shadows, and the overlooked – and Bourne made that darkness dance with nuance and empathy.
George Harvey Bone, a man gripped by schizophrenia and lost in the fog of his mind, stands out as one of the most chilling figures. Drawn from Hamilton’s Hangover Square, he drifts between eerie quietness and violent fantasy, obsessed with a woman who eludes him. Then there are the two men navigating a cautious, coded romance—furtive, tender, and deeply moving in its subtlety.
From darkness, we shift to heartbreak and delusion: a cheerful barman with a puppy-like devotion to a sex worker—his affection clearly earnest, hers transactional and tinged with melancholy. This autobiographical thread echoes Hamilton’s own doomed entanglements. There’s also the spinster, stiff with restraint, who begins to thaw under the attention of a smooth-talking cad—only to have her hope and purse quietly taken. And finally, a young barmaid, wide-eyed and polite to a fault, unable to fend off the clingy affections of a lonely patron.
The show features contrasting and complex characters. You never quite know if they are awake, tipsy, or entirely “gin-soaked.” Their stories explore shifting attitudes to class and culture through six interconnected narratives – unrequited, one-sided, exploitative, even violent.
The music, composed by Terry Davies, is a contemporary score, not a pastiche of 1930s tunes, which gives the piece a fresh, grounded mood.
The movement is very fluid, with a cast that uses their physicality to create powerful, believable stories. It is significant and insignificant at the same time. I almost believed it was real – the only thing that took me out of the world built by the company was the small glasses, which didn’t resemble the kind you’d expect to find in a proper English pub.
The dance is incredibly expressive. Each character has a distinct body language. If in a traditional theatre piece you can tell who’s in the ensemble by the end of the first half of an act, The Midnight Bell only needed about three full songs to make every role, every movement, and every intention perfectly clear.
Review: Quentin Blake’s Box of Treasures with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 5 out of 5.
Whimsy packed into two shorts
Undeniable style – perhaps best known for Quentin Blake’s illustrations in beloved classics such as The BFG, Willy Wonka, and Matilda – his free-drawing characters are instantly recognisable and full of life. This performance was a true celebration of his whimsical world.
It was a pleasure to hear two original compositions tailored specifically for the visuals he created. 80 amazing musicians from the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra brought the stories of Jack, Nancy, and Mrs Armitage to life, under the precise and expressive baton of Robert Ames. The inclusion of subtitles was a thoughtful touch – making it easy to follow the narratives without missing a beat of the music.
Mrs Armitage on Wheels It was refreshing and delightful to see a story centred around a woman in STEM – an inventor – and her loyal dog Breakspear. The tale was humorous and clever, filled with playful inventions and surreal turns, including skydiving while doing sudoku. The score by Stefano Cabrera was majestic and rich, complementing the action beautifully. The conducting felt very gentle and intuitive, allowing the orchestra’s dynamics to shine through in a warm and nostalgic way. This story resonated with both children and adults – showing how childlike wonder and technical creativity can coexist so naturally.
Jack and Nancy A charming seafaring adventure, full of lovely, encapsulating sea shanties and the thrill of jungle magic. The South American-inspired rhythms by Cabrera added a layer of excitement and colour, bringing depth to the journey. The story was colorful and playful, easy for children to follow yet layered with clever humour and emotional nuance for adult viewers. Jack and Nancy, like all of Blake’s characters, were deep and relatable, with their own admitted flaws. The concept of accidentally travelling the world using only an umbrella was pure Blake – fantastical yet oddly believable. There was also wonderful attention to detail – such as the pirate whale with a missing fin replaced by a hook – which showed the loving craftsmanship behind both the animation and the music.
Both animations were a delight – even for a young(ish) watcher like me (though no longer a child). The orchestral performance was spot-on. Often with “movies in concert,” you find yourself choosing between hearing the dialogue or appreciating the score, but this production struck the perfect balance. The music supported the visuals without ever overpowering them, and the result was a moving, funny, and entirely magical experience.
Review: The Hallé and Chorus of ENO: Opera Favourites
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 4.5 out of 5.
“Always free, I must live from joy to joy”… now with a Mancunian ENO
It seems classical music is in safe hands in Manchester, and the announcement that the English National Opera (ENO) will establish its headquarters here is a welcome one for lovers of music and opera. As this programme marked the first performance of the ENO opera chorus since the announcement, it carried a sense of celebration and optimism for what’s to come. Manchester has long suffered from the lack of a consistent operatic presence, despite having ample venues for performance—even an opera house. This performance suggested that the future might finally match the city’s potential.
The evening featured a jam-packed programme that balanced well-known highlights with a few refreshing choices off the beaten track. Of course, it also included the classic soprano and tenor pieces that audiences expect and love in recitals of this kind.
The Verdi overture from La Forza del Destino opened the evening with drama and atmosphere, setting the tone beautifully. Under the dynamic baton of Alpesh Chauhan, the music came alive with a mix of joviality, subtlety, and command. Later, Madeline Boreham’s gentle but powerful voice soared in Mascagni’s Easter Hymn from Cavalleria rusticana, offering reverence and emotion in equal measure. In contrast, Luis Gomes was especially moving in Puccini’s Nessun dorma, bringing a personal touch to a famously towering aria—no small feat.
One of the more intimate and unusual moments came with the Humming Chorus from Madama Butterfly. Without the use of words, the choir created a world of softness and passion. They became almost like an instrument themselves, transmitting emotion through pure texture and tone.
The duet section from La Bohème—featuring Che gelida manina, Mi chiamano Mimì, and O soave fanciulla—offered a lovely interplay between Boreham and Gomes. Their voices met in a convincing, playful dialogue, with real on-stage chemistry that added charm to the vocal finesse.
Choral strength came through brilliantly in Verdi’s Libiamo from La Traviata, bursting with festivity and ensemble energy. Mozart’s Placido è il mar from Idomeneo brought serene precision, while Britten’s Choral Dances from Gloriana, conducted with elegance by Matthew Quinn, added a touch of modern drama and complexity.
Overall, this concert was a strong showcase not only for the soloists but also for the chorus and orchestra, each integral to the operatic experience. With performances like this, Manchester can look ahead with confidence—its operatic future may finally be catching up with its musical promise.
Manchester Collective: The Body Electric
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 5 out of 5.
Electric and visceral
Manchester Collective never fails to impress. Known for their distinctive style beloved by Mancunian music lovers and beyond, their performances are enhanced by atmospheric smoke and lighting, creating a fully immersive experience. They have a unique talent for bringing together pieces that might seem incompatible, but prove that music can transport us anywhere. The evening opened with a journey into outer space, setting the tone for an adventurous night.
The first piece, David Lang’s Mystery Sonatas, Movement 1: Joy, felt like flying—atmospheric, moving, and full-bodied, despite being performed on a single instrument. There was an eerie, almost spooky quality that captivated the audience.
Next came J.S. Bach’s Prelude from Cello Suite No.1 in G Major, a baroque masterpiece foundational to classical music. This piece is well-known even among TikTok audiences and is often likened to the Mona Lisa or Water Lilies of cello repertoire. Zoë Martlew’s performance was breathtaking, combining virtuosic skill with deep emotional expression.
Following Bach, Zoë Martlew presented G-Lude, a physical and cathartic response to the Bach piece. It was original and visceral, expressing struggle and peace simultaneously. The spirit of Bach seemed to guide her through a performance that was at once decomposed and reassembled, filled with powerful moments—including over 30 audible gasps that complemented the music.
Missy Mazzoli’s Vespers introduced a trippy, unsettling atmosphere. The use of technology to augment the instruments created strong echoes and beats, resulting in a big, immersive soundscape that evoked anxiety and fascination.
Returning to Bach, the Allemande and Sarabande from the same Cello Suite were beautifully performed—relaxing and melodic, showcasing the cello’s lyrical qualities.
The program closed with LAD by Julia Wolfe, arranged by Rakhi Singh. Originally composed for nine bagpipes and pre-recorded violins, the live arrangement made Singh feel like a rockstar. The piece felt like a physical rearrangement of the listener’s body and soul, combining drums, brass, and a deep cathartic energy. The music moved through three distinct parts: a loud, visceral cacophony of dissonant harmonies evoking the soundtrack of a horror movie; a slow, meditative second movement; and a fast, energetic finale that left a lasting impact.
Overall, The Body Electric was a thrilling and diverse journey: bold, innovative, and deeply emotional, confirming Manchester Collective’s status as one of the most exciting ensembles today.
Finale
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 4 out of 5.
Great way to finish the Manchester Classical
This was the fullest scene I have ever seen—a truly massive assembly featuring a full orchestra, a full choir, and an additional balcony packed with instrumentalists. The scale of the ensemble was breathtaking, creating an overwhelming and immersive sound experience that filled the entire venue.
John Adams – Short Ride in a Fast Machine The piece perfectly captures the rhythm and exhilaration of a fast-paced ride. Its staccato yet melodic pulses, combined with a metronome-like precision, give a strong sense of time passing grandiosely. The music is rhythmic, triumphant, and exhilarating, setting a powerful tone for the evening.
Iain Farrington – Street Party (world premiere) This new work brilliantly evokes Manchester’s industrial past, bringing it to life as a vibrant street party. The joyful rounds spotlight different instruments, symbolizing a community coming together. The music acts almost like a rallying call between various groups of instruments, with the choir adding simple “nah”s that immediately engage the listener. The melody is cleverly passed between groups, and then the party is humorously interrupted by police sirens, ending with a playful “arrest” of the composer. It’s a genuinely funny and jovial piece that had the audience smiling.
Borodin – Polovtsian Dances This powerful, multi-voiced piece sent chills down my spine. The combination of voices and orchestra is rich and full, sparking a desire to see the full opera. The music’s combative and tactical nature is full of character, bringing intense drama and energy to the program.
Respighi – Pines of Rome A joyful and fitting conclusion to the concert, Pines of Rome blends uplifting and somber moments with chilling passages that build toward a triumphant, full-bodied sound. The violin adds delicate touches of color, while the recorded birdsong provides a charming natural element. The peaceful ending wrapped up the evening beautifully, like a bow tying together an unforgettable gift.
Conducted by Alpesh Chauhan, this remarkable performance brought together musicians from the Hallé, the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra, RNCM, The Chorus of ENO, and the Hallé Choir, showcasing incredible talent and coordination.
While the performance was impressive in scope and quality, I would have appreciated a more cohesive setlist to enhance the overall flow and narrative of the concert.
“An ambitious sequel that ultimately twists itself into confusion”
Very few sequels manage to outshine or even match the impact of the original—Twisted! is not the exception. Much like Love Never Dies, this continuation of Oliver! attempts to recapture the emotional weight and narrative magic of Dickens’ world, but ultimately delivers a production more confused than compelling.
Set fifteen years after the death of Nancy, Twisted! picks up with Oliver Brownlow (Guglielmo Maria d’Avino) now a young man navigating the injustices of Victorian London. Though the premise hints at timely themes of systemic inequality and violence, the show stumbles in both structure and execution.
From the outset, it’s clear that the audience is expected to arrive with a working knowledge of the original characters and plotlines. Unfortunately, the world-building here is sparse and often clunky, relying heavily on exposition that tells rather than shows. New characters are introduced with little development, while returning ones feel more like echoes of their former selves than meaningful continuations.
The direction offers little help—odd choices abound, including fake violin miming, background ensemble members awkwardly loitering onstage, and ill-fitting theatrical devices that break the show’s internal logic. (A particularly bewildering moment came during “The Ripper’s Dance,” which featured backup dancers with black wings—an out-of-nowhere surreal flourish in a production otherwise grounded in realism.)
Character motivations are shallow at best, and the plot meanders with a number of scenes and songs that serve little narrative purpose. The show’s structure is especially weak, lacking momentum or satisfying payoff. When Jane (Maria Karelina) is shot, only to return moments later for the finale in bridal white, the dramatic stakes collapsed entirely.
Musically, Twisted! offers an ambitious original score that blends contemporary styles with traditional musical theatre motifs. Yet too often the lyrics lean on clichés—“poor” rhyming with “pour” stands out—and several songs felt like filler, existing only to stretch runtime rather than enrich character or advance plot. On top of this, sound issues plagued the performance, muddying lyrics and sapping emotional moments of their impact.
That said, not all was lost. Maria Karelina (Jane) and Guglielmo Maria d’Avino (Oliver) shared lovely vocal chemistry, and their duets offered welcome moments of sincerity and melodic clarity. Dan Riley, portrayed with gripping intensity by Richard Allen, was the undeniable emotional core of the production. As a brutish, haunted alcoholic mourning the loss of his sister, Allen delivered a performance with real depth and pain. His request for forgiveness was one of the few genuinely affecting scenes of the night.
The rest of the cast worked hard, particularly the ensemble, who powered through some bewildering choreography and staging decisions with commitment. Robbie Swan delivered a predictably cocky Dodger, while Amber Simone’s Bet exuded a magnetic stage presence in every scene she appeared.
Unfortunately, the technical elements struggled to support the story. Lighting changes were jarring, and transitions felt rushed or awkward. The choreography, though occasionally inventive, often felt disconnected from the emotional stakes or narrative flow.
In the end, Twisted! feels like a show with the ambition to say something powerful about poverty, injustice, and redemption—but it lacks the structural, lyrical, and emotional clarity to do so. There are seeds of a strong story here, but as it stands, this sequel offers little more than a tangle of missed opportunities, inconsistent tone, and a plot that ultimately leads nowhere.
TWISTED! The Musical tours the UK this summer. Tickets are available here.
Great piece of storytelling – Pieces of Work is an ambitious and emotionally resonant hour of theatre that finds James suspended in the liminal space between youth and old age, birth and death. As he sets out to create a new show, he simultaneously searches for the meaning of home, armed with little more than words, handmade maps, and Shakespeare’s Hamlet. What unfolds is a poignant meditation on memory, identity, and the fragile geography of belonging.
James paints a picture of the country in its full emotional range – its beauty, its pain, and its quiet kindness. The result is moving, often profoundly so, but also elusive. The piece wrestles with topics like suicide and death, rendering family members who feel smaller than the shadows they leave behind. These weighty themes are powerful, yet sometimes feel hard to grasp fully, as if the show deliberately resists emotional closure or cognitive clarity.
The use of Hamlet as a narrative scaffold is inspired. The chosen fragments from Shakespeare’s text add depth and resonance, providing echoes that enrich rather than overshadow the original material. The parallels are subtle yet effective, and help elevate the work from personal meditation to something closer to cultural reckoning.
Staged within a stark black box setting, the minimalism intensifies the introspection, allowing words and silences to take centre stage. However, the show does suffer from a lack of narrative focus. It often meanders, with certain detours that distract more than they deepen the experience. These moments dilute the emotional throughline, making the performance feel at times more like a series of evocative fragments than a cohesive journey.
By the end, one is left with a swirl of images and emotions, but also a yearning for a firmer conclusion – something to hold onto. Pieces of Work is an experience that lingers, but it also asks a lot from its audience in terms of patience and interpretation.
In sum, this is a bold and intimate theatrical work that shines in its poetic ambition and raw vulnerability, but might have benefited from a tighter structure and clearer resolution.
Bollywood hearts meet Broadway-style spectacle in a cross-cultural musical with wit, charm, and just enough bite
Come Fall in Love – The DDLJ Musical, the stage adaptation of the Bollywood blockbuster Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (DDLJ to its legions of fans), lands in Manchester with a bright heart, a dazzling set, and a thoroughly Western-Bollywood fusion that feels both nostalgic and new.
At its core, this musical—featuring music by Bollywood power duo Vishal-Shekhar and a book by Nell Benjamin (Legally Blonde, Mean Girls)—speaks about the experience of being first- and second-generation immigrants. While it doesn’t dive too deeply into the complex layers of identity, it offers plenty of food for thought, particularly around microaggressions and cultural assumptions.
Ashley Day as Roger and Jena Pandya as Simran bring infectious chemistry and razor-sharp comedic timing to the stage. Their journey from strangers to lovers may be predictable, but it’s delivered with such warmth, wit, and English-adjacent humour that you’ll find yourself smiling all the way through. There are plenty of witty jokes and playful moments that make the story not only palatable but genuinely refreshing.
Not a very complex exploration of origins and identity, but a great mirror for those who’ve navigated biracial, bicultural relationships—and a soothing balm for the ones who’ve lived to tell the story from the other side of a breakup.
One of the show’s standout elements is the scenic design by Derek McLane and the video design by Akhila Krishnan. Audiences are whisked away on a visually stunning journey through Europe and beyond, with clever stagecraft that makes the world feel both expansive and intimate. It’s a feast for the eyes.
There’s also something quite modern and moving in how masculinity is portrayed here. Roger is a heartthrob, yes, but he’s also in tune with his emotions, behaves like a true gentleman, and seems intent on breaking generational cycles. Day commands the stage with charm and tenderness, making the character as emotionally resonant as he is dashing.
Credit: Matt Crockett
There are areas that could use refining. The first act could benefit from some tightening, and one particular number—“Hot and Independent and Hot”—might warrant rethinking. While it’s understandable that Kuljit’s perspective is shaped by a limited exposure to life outside India, the number edges dangerously close to eurocentrism and racial fetishization, flattening Western women into a monolith. Greater care and nuance in addressing cultural differences would strengthen the show’s otherwise thoughtful handling of identity.
Still, Come Fall in Love feels fresh, has heart, and offers an inclusive reimagining of a beloved story for today’s global stage. It doesn’t rewrite the playbook—but it sings, dances, and jokes its way right into yours.
A chilling tale of obsession and deception on the stage.
This latest theatrical reimagining of a Peter James story plunges into the world of fine art, counterfeit dealings, and the obsessive lengths people will go to in order to complete their prized collections. Crafted for the stage by Shaun McKenna, the narrative pulls the audience into a web of intrigue that twists and turns with increasing frequency as it approaches its climax.
There’s no shortage of surprises, and the production certainly manages to keep you invested as the mystery unfolds. That said, the pacing feels somewhat uneven — tension takes a while to build, and a number of dialogues come across as unnatural or overly expository, which slightly detracts from the realism of the relationships between characters. Some moments feel like they are spelling things out for the audience rather than allowing the plot to develop organically through action and interaction.
A handful of characters verge on caricature. Stuart Piper, the flamboyant and unscrupulous collector, teeters on the edge of parody, while Freya and Harry Kipling, the earnest couple weighed down by debt but guided by principle, sometimes feel a little too idealised. Dave Hegarty, a reformed forger now making a living through legitimate replicas, is one of the more layered figures, emblematic of the blurred boundaries between morality and survival that underpin the story.
Visually and sonically, the production excels. Jason Taylor’s cool-toned lighting casts a fittingly eerie atmosphere throughout, and Max Pappenheim’s sound design lends a cinematic quality to key moments, especially in the second half, when the pace finally begins to pick up and stakes become clearer. These design choices subtly reinforce the story’s underlying sense of unease.
Adrian Linford’s inventive set design deserves praise for its fluid transitions between spaces — an artist’s studio, a modest home, and a lavish country house — all captured with economy and style. However, the scenes set in the police station feel somewhat isolated in tone and staging, missing the seamlessness that ties the rest of the environments together.
Among the cast, Jodie Steele is a clear standout as Roberta, an ambitious art consultant who refuses to let ethics stand in the way of profit. Her performance brims with confidence and cunning, injecting much-needed energy whenever she appears on stage.
While it may not deliver edge-of-your-seat suspense in the way some might hope, the play offers enough intrigue, atmosphere, and strong design to make it a worthwhile evening, particularly for those drawn to tales of ambition, deception, and the murky ethics of art.
