Ben Breen

REVIEW: Tr[ia]l

Published on April 16, 2026April 17, 2026 by Ben BreenLeave a comment

“A mysterious medical trial raises philosophical quandaries in this near-future psychological thriller”

Subject X (Freya Popplewell) wakes up in a clinical white room; a CCTV camera focuses on her bed. She has no memory of how she got here. So begins Tr[ia]l, a psychological thriller exploring identity and human responsibility.

It transpires that Subject X is one of 20 participants in a medical trial for BrightMind, a drug aimed at dementia and other memory-based illnesses. Each participant’s memories have been temporarily wiped in a process that can be reversed “if the drug doesn’t work”. As the days go on, this intriguing premise develops into a twisting story casting doubt on the trial’s integrity, and grapples with a big metaphysical question: what is it that makes us who we are?

Waking in a sterile white room surrounded by medical plastic sheeting, with no memory of giving consent, is inherently terrifying. But this is something Subject X readily agreed to, explaining via a pre-written note that mounting student debt made the £45k payment irresistible.

Supervisor Y (Macsen Brown) explains this, and also talks through how the trial works. He pops in each day to ask the same three questions: What’s your favourite song? What’s your first memory? What animal would you describe me as?

Popplewell and Brown deliver confident performances as the confused and uncertain patient, and the interested and bouncy research assistant. Supervisor Y speaks with the reassuring demeanour of a BA pilot – there’s a top note of privilege, undercut by a latent sense of fun. His voice notes narrate Subject X’s progress, marking each scene transition, summarising key findings and hinting that not all is as it seems in the research facility.

Aside from Supervisor Y, Subject X’s only company comes from a few novels, an old game of chess, and an AI welfare assistant. When she starts asking increasingly philosophical questions of this assistant – How do you know you’re not human? What body would you want if you were human? – her supervisor is clearly rattled, and the tension sharpens. Figuring things out at the same time as Subject X, the audience’s realisation gathers satisfying momentum, and this central twist collides with a second, less-telegraphed development to earn Tr[ia]l its thrilling moniker.

A short epilogue makes sense of these big revelations in a compelling discussion that zooms out from the medical trial but doesn’t quite capitalise on Tr[ia]l’s intrigue. It raises engaging questions without fully interrogating them. Implications for the in-universe characters, and also wider discussions of ethics, need more space to land their impact.

A second area requiring more time is the relationship between Subject X and Supervisor Y. Whilst there are some funny moments in the script – a satire of AI’s sycophantic responses, discomfort at losing a chess game against a test subject – the relationship lacks the texture of humour needed for the audience to fully warm to them.

Its opening is necessarily exposition-heavy. Popplewell at least gets a patient fact sheet to read from (available to the audience as they enter the theatre), but Brown’s rapid-fire monologues, dense with medical jargon, must have been a challenge to learn. This tendency to tell rather than show persists, paradoxically expecting a lot of the audience’s concentration while not trusting them to infer some obvious features of the trial.

A blackout towards the show’s conclusion would be a good opportunity to move away from exposition, but instead rehashes Supervisor Y’s earlier voice notes in the darkness. Music is generally under-utilised – a more coherent sound design would better sustain tension.

Nevertheless, as near-future sci-fi thrillers performed in the back room of a pub go, Tr[ia]l has a great deal in its favour. It remains rough around the edges – an over-explained script, sterile soundtrack and rushed epilogue – but the core idea is inventive, and its central twist pays off. Tr[ia]l’s pace and scientific focus mark it out, but the writing needs to trust its ideas as much as it explains them.

Tr[ia]l plays at the White Bear Theatre until 18th April, tickets can be purchased here.

REVIEW: Invisible Me

Published on April 11, 2026April 11, 2026 by Ben BreenLeave a comment

A warm, moving account of being single in old age

One in three UK divorces involve couples in their 50s and above, with over-50s the fastest-growing user base for dating apps like Tinder and Bumble. Invisible Me follows three such singletons, all newly 60 and living within a few streets of each other. Alec (Kevin N Golding) has bought himself a leather jacket, and still smiles at ladies half his age in the street and down the “caff”; Lynn (Tessa Peake-Jones) has taken a cleaning job to ensure she keeps leaving the house, her confidence having been crushed when her husband walked out on her years ago; Jack (James Holmes) runs through imagined conversations with his dead husband, debating whether now is the time to move on.

These stories are initially told as distinct monologues, narrated across each another but independently. It’s a bleak portrait of aging in the UK – framing a kind of quiet social disappearance. Each character remains onstage as the others talk, bodies scrunched up or slumped in a chair. As each story unfolds, however, they grow in confidence – one character finds themselves on OnlyFans! There are opportunities for healing – some taken, others missed. Across the show’s tight 80 minutes, a combination of dark humour and emotive drama simmers beneath.

Becoming familiar with each character amplifies this humour and drama. Lynn’s path most closely tracks the show’s trajectory: a chance encounter with a sex worker sets in motion events empowering her to seize her own narrative. Jack is harder to reach, torn between the fidelity of his memories and the need to continue living his life. The show doesn’t shy away from this rending sadness, and James Holmes similarly pulls no punches when delivering it. These are consistently the play’s most affecting moments. Alec is written as a “positive” counterweight to offset the doom and gloom; but instead comes across as frightened and in denial. The show’s misreading darkens the piece, sharpening the drama but leaving earlier scenes unrelenting in their sadness.

Much of the humour derives from the banal specifics of ageing – excitement at free London bus travel, the joy of grabbing a coffee whilst everyone’s at work, and the inevitable medical test kit through the letterbox – ably delivered by the whole cast. A very funny scene involves all three independently discovering the depravity on online dating, and another where Jack catalogues each aspect of his body in the mirror, complete with attractiveness rating from 1-10.

The show’s singular perspectives effectively capture each character’s unique isolation, and as their narratives slowly intersect each life is woven into a shared story. A satisfying conclusion provides a thoroughly joined-up testament to the healing power of human connection. It’s a subtly beautiful storytelling device, naturally building pace as each character emerges from their shell.

Invisible Me started out livestreamed as part of the Bloomsbury Festival during the COVID19 lockdowns of 2020, which can only have heightened its feeling of isolation. In this in-person version, the staging grows alongside its characters – starting out minimal, and blooming into confidence. By pushing the characters into unusually extreme situations, the show blunts its observational insight. And weightier issues are alluded to – an AIDS diagnosis, an abusive relationship – but left unexplored.

Invisible Me tackles a rapidly expanding but under-represented experience with confidence and creativity. Its perspective is narrower than it should be, but still delivers both gut-punches and belly-laughs. Bold direction and strong performances ensure the characters’ journeys are captured not just in their words, but in the show’s staging itself. The result is a piece that earns its uplift without softening its emotional edge.

Invisible Me plays at the Southwark Playhouse until 2nd May, with Tuesday and Saturday matinees. Tickets can be purchased here.

REVIEW: Sea Shanties

Published on March 29, 2026March 29, 2026 by Ben BreenLeave a comment

A surprisingly restrained journey through the history of the sea shanty

Sea shanties erupted into the public consciousness with Nathan Evans’ TikTok rendition of Wellerman deep in the COVID-19 pandemic. It’s not hard to see how a genre focused on bringing people together felt particularly resonant at a time of such separation. But long before TikTok, the sea shanty was a musical mechanism for co-ordinating the manual labour of sailors; ensuring everyone was pulling in the same direction (literally).

Fans drawn in by the compulsive percussion of Wellerman and propulsive vocals in Assassin’s Creed: Black Flag will be surprised by The Manchester Collective and Sean Shibe’s interpretation. Here, the sea shanty becomes a more melancholy, restrained beast. Charting a course across 500 years – from Dowland and Purcell to the contemporary – much of the repertoire is instrumental, with restrained percussion. It’s a beautiful sound, but an unexpectedly reserved one. Interleaving a few more crowd-pleasing numbers would make for a more engaging experience.

The first half of the show evokes the soundtrack played as you enter the tavern in a pirate video game, for both good and bad. It’s a pleasant, often beautiful sound that periodically erupts into something more evocative. But it also feels like accompaniment rather than the centrepiece. The musicians’ performances are accomplished and adept, but it feels like something else should be happening alongside them.

In its second half, the show becomes more playful and takes more risks. Its earlier stuffiness evaporates. Beibei Wang’s percussion is transformative, and Jonathan Morton pulls out wonderfully haunting sounds with every bow stroke. The audience contribute their own chant (“Ho, Row”) to Donald Grant’s arrangement of the traditional Scots Gaelic Ailein Duinn, a nì ’s a nàire (Brown-haired Allan, alas and alack) – this desperately sad piece about a whole family lost at sea is irresistibly rhythmic, and a clear highlight. It echoes around the room and into the very soul.

The performance culminates in the world premiere of Ben Nobuto’s Arksong. It was said that, with the rise of steam-powered ships drowning out the singing, “steam and music are irreconcilable”. Nobuto captures this as a tug-of-war between dissonant (yet strangely compelling) sound and his musician’s skillful fluidity. Wang’s voice beats out a series of orders, jerking the musicians into mechanical motion; later, humanity wrestles back agency and control. This is music as performance art, contrasting with the reserved performances of the show’s first half and ensuring the audience leaves energised and happy.

Shibe and Grant provide background on the upcoming songs between sections, including discussion of original lyrics – a piece based on a Kipling poem about supply ships, written just before the outbreak of the First World War, stands out. Grant acknowledges the unexpectedly dreary tone of the first half. But recognising this dissonance isn’t enough – interleaving some more popular shanties would have elevated the whole performance through its contrast. As it is, the audience would be forgiven for feeling a little tricked by the show – it’s a strong and interesting set of performances, but not what was expected going in. The show never quite reconciles this expectation and reality. It isn’t toe-tapping, but it is undeniably beautiful.

This was a one-off performance at The Southbank Centre. More shows from The Manchester Collective, who perform around the world, can be found on their website.

REVIEW: The Murmuration of Starlings

Published on March 7, 2026March 7, 2026 by Ben Breen2 Comments

A tepid exploration of memory loss that’s easy to forget

The Man, The Boy, and The Girl are hiding from The Predator, a malignant alien that warps their memories and steals their time. The Woman appears to have some sort of protective influence, at least within her house. Whatever its sci-fi thriller marketing might suggest, at its heart The Murmuration of Starlings is a gentle exploration of memory loss, with The Predator representing dementia’s creeping influence. The play’s most affecting moments lie in its intimate domesticity, particularly Jenny Johns’ performance as The Woman, torn between her own reality and The Man’s distorted perceptions. A disjointed narrative fails to tie these moments together, leaving a confused final production.

The use of magical realism – capturing truths about our own world through the fantastical Predator – is original, but only partially successful. In its best moments, The Murmuration of Starlings unpicks dementia’s everyday tragedy. A particularly compelling scene sees The Woman bullied into singing The Man’s favourite song, only for its initial calming effect to backfire into explosive rage. The Boy (Jonny Dagnell) and The Man (Steve Hay) discuss the pursuing alien: “no one sees him coming”, before ending up “trapped in this version of ourselves”. These moments deliver genuine emotion and empathy.

Loose narrative connections prevent this impact from building across the show, afflicted by a lack of momentum. This isn’t just an overarching issue, but a problem within most scenes: it’s rarely clear why characters are in a particular situation, or what they aim to achieve. Perhaps this is an attempt to capture The Man’s inner turmoil, but it comes at the expense of entertainment and engagement. This lack of coherence feels more like a symptom than a choice, leaving scenes unable to build meaningfully on one another. A recurrent theme is unravelling the mystery of a red book and the number 28 bus, which does pay off towards the end but is neither present nor important enough to build a two-act show around.

This is a shame, because some clever ideas are on display. The Man and The Boy wear identical outfits, colour-swapped on their top halves, hinting at a deeper connection between them. An opening scene invites the audience to guess who is really losing their memory, before slowly drawing back the curtain. Behind the stage, a projection screen is put to good use, particularly when capturing the titular swirl of starlings during The Man and The Boy’s first meeting. The fact that no character is named builds an otherworldly, discordant atmosphere.

There’s an irony in a play about losing one’s memory being so forgettable, but that’s the reality of The Murmuration of Starlings. Jenny Johns’ excellent performance, along with some clever design choices, isn’t enough to hold its disjointed scenes together, robbing the narrative of its promised impact.

The Murmuration of Starlings plays at Seven Dials Playhouse until 14th March. Tickets can be purchased here.

REVIEW:Josh Sharp: Ta-Da!

Published on February 22, 2026February 21, 2026 by Ben BreenLeave a comment

PowerPoint and storytelling combine in a masterclass of hilarity and precision

2000 slides, 75 minutes. US comic, actor and writer Josh Sharp has just 2.1 seconds per slide on average and, through fiercely intelligent construction and delightful silliness, makes superb use of every single one. Ta-Da! plays like a naughty TED talk, with Sharp pacing the stage armed with presentation clicker, delivering an impressively dense, varied array of jokes. Likeable and with propulsive comic timing, he smuggles some genuinely affecting stories amidst the rapid-fire comedy – his experiences wrestling with being gay; his mother’s losing battle against cancer; his own near-death experience – both amplifying the laughs and arresting the audience’s attention in an instant.

Ta-Da! is an impressive feat in its own right, with Sharp learning 2000 individual cues; even more incredible is how genuinely funny and well-constructed each moment feels. Despite this tight choreography, there’s an easy confidence to Sharp’s delivery, and he’s unafraid to go off-script when the moment calls for it. The slides themselves – mostly black text on a plain white background – amplify the laughs by adding visual gags, or veer off-piste to deliver their own punchlines. Ta-Da! is most compelling when Sharp delivers his narrative alongside a different idea being told by his slides – a bold demand of a late-night Friday audience, yet expert pacing and natural charisma ensure everything lands.

This performance remains compulsively accessible despite its cleverness. The slideshow’s rapid momentum combines with dense, varied jokes to push the show along at an incredible pace. With 2000 slides, if one joke doesn’t land, another is just around the corner: don’t enjoy Sharp’s pun about ejaculation opening the show? You only need wait a few seconds for an incisively observed rant about umbrella etiquette, and a few more for meta-commentary on the show’s construction. Laughter rolls through the audience, ebbing and flowing depending on individual taste; when Sharp wants to slow down and provoke emotion, it’s more powerful by contrast. Some credit must go to director Sam Pinkleton, bringing the same chaotic comic energy he most recently lent to Oh Mary! (also in the West End, and also possessing a titular exclamation mark).

Beneath the laughter lie genuinely touching stories. Sharp becomes teary-eyed at a photo of his parents onscreen, outlining his mother’s up-and-down battle against cancer; a childhood deal with God to avoid being gay is heartbreaking. Sharp shows real flair walking this tightrope between hilarity and pathos.

If ever a show deserved a Netflix special, or at least an Edinburgh run, Ta-Da! is it. This is a performance everyone needs to see. The room fills with genuine laughter from slide 1 to slide 2000, rippling through the audience as a continuous wall of joy. Like all good TED talks, there’s a hopeful message at the show’s core – but what’s truly remarkable is its precision and side-splitting comedy.Josh Sharp: Ta-Da! plays at the Soho Theatre, having just extended until 7^th March. Tickets here

REVIEW: Go Feral Like the Big Dogs

Published on February 7, 2026February 7, 2026 by Ben BreenLeave a comment

An excoriating satire of graduate ambition and corporate greed

Recent graduates Alex (Josh Gordon) and Rachel (Maddie Frutig) are fully immersed in the London rat-race, negotiating insurance deals from their high-rise offices. Alongside the early-morning tube journeys and musty night-buses, anger and frustration dominate their lives. Resentful to be giving so much and receiving so little in return, their lives feel soulless and draining. So when an opportunity to seize their ambitions and whiplash into a promotion well above their station arises, it looks tempting. All it will cost is their integrity. A two-hander with heavy reliance on dramatic monologue, Go Feral Like the Big Dogs dismantles the corporate dream sold to so many young people with humour and drama, in a compelling production held back by uneven pacing.

Alex and Rachel resemble the least likeable candidates on The Apprentice: dripping with ambition, prepared to do whatever it takes, and ever-ready with a one-liner (“men work better when they have a semi”). Gordon and Frutig capture this arrogance adeptly, particularly when monologuing both sides of a conversation. As Alex is called for a meeting with his senior partner, lightning-fast pivots between outraged inner monologue, deferential employee and frustrated boss are impressive. A wordy script cramming multiple ideas into long sentences doesn’t prevent writer-performer Gordon from crafting biting lines. Alex’s boss is “like someone’s eaten Michael Gove” and Rachel captures corporate thinking: “there is no team, there is the work you produce”.

This brings a biting satire to Go Feral Like the Big Dogs, but also renders its duo difficult to sympathise with. As their story fills with drama, this narrative of horrible people doing horrible things never justifies why the audience should care what happens to them. More damaging, many of the show’s best lines are delivered rapid-fire, particularly at its outset. This apparent attempt to build intensity has the opposite effect, robbing sharp observations of their power and denying laughs time to land.

By contrast, slower-paced scene transitions are more effective, with Alex and Rachel moving dreamlike against high-octane soundtracks. A particularly powerful moment ejects the audience from one such transition into the consequences of the pair’s ambition, with a roaring explosion followed by a prime ministerial statement on the news.

As a dismantling of the corporate mindset, Go Feral Like the Big Dogs is effective. But failing to present any alternative through either its characters or story results in a lack of purpose that makes the show forgettable. It seems to sense this, with a middle act composed of dueling monologues – Rachel bumps into a boring, needy ex; Alex plots his rise to prominence – which are entertaining, but do nothing to move the story forward.

The general sense of anger and frustration about the lies sold to graduates by the corporate world resonates, feeling sharply contemporary and recognisably real. And there are flashes of brilliance: pointed lines in the script; precise sound and lighting cues; a wonderfully dramatic final moment. But without the confidence to give key story beats the space to sink in, and in the absence of an alternative to the soul-crushing reality of Alex and Rachel’s lives, the show never fully earns the impact it aims for.

Go Feral Like the Big Dogs ran at the Union Theatre from 5th-6th February. This run has now concluded.

REVIEW: Pierre Novellie

Published on January 25, 2026January 25, 2026 by Ben BreenLeave a comment

Precise observations, as funny as they are well constructed

Pierre Novellie’s business suit and florid tie are incongruent with Soho Downstairs’ crammed-in seating and smell of stale beer. But this exceptionally well-pitched show is unimpeded, and delivers a masterclass in observational comedy. The incisive descriptions and occasional flights of fancy in You Sit There, I’ll Stand Here feel capable of running for twice as long without ever losing momentum.

A consistent highlight is Novellie’s brilliant use of analogy, sketching hilarious portraits of everyday life sparingly. Comparing competitors on The Traitors with a 13^th-century peasant mob is multi-layered and impressively accurate. More conventional stand-up fare – from moving house to growing older – remains fresh thanks to this unique ability to describe things with precision and hilarity. Novellie worries about his weight in the same way a Tesco security guard encounters a shoplifter, relayed through a joke-dense description that is right on the money.

Increasing cantankerousness with age (and middle-class comfort) is a recurring theme, as Novellie interrogates which “new opinion” is reactionary nonsense and which is a sensible worry – a distinction captured through evocative analogy with 70s punk rock. Along similar lines, he also discusses the evolution of observational comedy in the modern era – “so many of the things I observe are depressing” – and the ever-shrinking sphere of shared reference in an age of on-demand content and algorithmic recommendations.

Longer stories dotted throughout allow Novellie to show off his full skillset. Many anecdotes surround hospitality, from a game of chicken with cleaning staff at a Melbourne hotel to a precise dissection of Premier Inn’s “looking forward to your stay” e-mail. You Sit There, I’ll Stand Here culminates with a joke-packed story racing across London to beat a moving company, only realising, once stood in the middle of a tube train clutching frozen meat to his chest, that he could be mistaken for a hallucination. Novellie’s trust in his audience to get the joke is compelling – one minute painting a surreal image, the next referencing the fall of man through Winnie the Pooh – and his biggest laughs often come after the second of silence it takes for a reference to click. This pause amplifies the enjoyment, and encourages intelligent punchlines.

Perhaps a consequence of this intelligence, You Sit There, I’ll Stand Here can feel quite rigid – audiences on this 12-night run will hear the same ideas in the same order. Novellie’s jokes aren’t any less funny as a result, and their delivery is no less skilled, but some audience interaction or off-the-cuff remarks would add a welcome element of unpredictability.

Surprisingly, Novellie’s cynicism crescendos into hope, which likely helped earn his fourth “Best Reviewed Shows of the Fringe” listing in a row, and is also very satisfying and funny in its own right. In a world of mainstream alternative comedy, there’s something reassuringly solid in the ‘intelligent observations, a microphone, and an audience’ simplicity of You Sit There, I’ll Stand Here. A masterclass in modern observational comedy.

“Pierre Novellie – You Sit There, I’ll Stand Here” plays at the Soho Theatre until 31st January, before embarking on a tour of the UK and Ireland. Tickets for Soho Theatre can be purchased here, and for the tour on Novellie’s website.

REVIEW: The Olive Boy

Published on January 17, 2026January 17, 2026 by Ben BreenLeave a comment

This poignant monologue exploring loss and grief doesn’t always trust its audience – but earns them anyway

A one-man show lives and dies by how well its main character connects with the audience. In The Olive Boy, writer and performer Ollie Maddigan plays his 15-year-old self, grappling with his mother’s death, adjusting to a new school, and living with a father he barely knows. Maddigan sketches a well-observed portrait of a noughties teen: an explosion of bravado and insecurity that is, at times, quite annoying. The Olive Boy is most emotionally resonant when this mask slips, landing genuine gut punches of emotion. Too often, however, the audience is not trusted to engage fully that authenticity, with scenes that feel heavy-handed or overwritten.

Ollie processes his grief like most teenagers would: badly. Projecting all hope of future happiness into getting with a “hot girl”, Maddigan captures a very particular state-school millennial teenage mentality. There is more than a hint of The Inbetweeners in this portrayal, including a revolting house party vomiting incident. Ollie’s faux-masculinity and desperate need to seem cool, alongside the crudeness of his humour, can make him a frustrating person to spend time with, but the script successfully morphs this into genuine pathos by the show’s conclusion.

At times, though, this transformation is too spelled-out, as if Maddigan doesn’t trust the audience to feel the “right” emotion. A disembodied therapist’s voice (Ronnie Ancona) breaks up several scenes, never appearing onstage, which reinforces the distance between a grieving teenager and the professional trying to help him. That idea is undermined by sound distortion that underlines emotion the audience can already grasp, insisting rather than allowing the feeling to emerge naturally.

This is frustrating, because Maddigan’s writing and acting can deliver organic moments that hit hard. A father-son argument stokes ominous tension as Ollie edges closer to outburst, while a rejection from his former stepfather is heart-wrenching. Smart lighting and sound design capture the discordance of Ollie’s emotions throughout the narrative, moving cleanly between locations and timeframes without being distracting. The Olive Boy is also at its funniest in these more authentic-feeling moments, with its biggest laughs coming from the sarcastic throwaways Ollie uses to defuse tension.

For all its lack of subtlety, the show succeeds through its charisma. Maddigan delivers a dynamic, active performance that commands the stage. Whether whispering an embarrassing nickname to an audience member or high-fiving the front row to celebrate securing a date, everyone is dragged into Ollie’s story. The titular olives become a recurring symbol: a loving mother-son nickname; a snack between shots at a drug-infused house party; and the distended skin of a newly discovered corpse.

The Olive Boy is bookended by real home-video footage of Maddigan and his mother, with both performer and audience visibly moved. A rapturous standing ovation, with more than a few tears being wiped away, makes the show’s impact clear. Yet some scenes lack trust in the audience, feeling overwritten and insistently on-the-nose. As Maddigan’s debut it is very impressive, but The Olive Boy has more to give.

The Olive Boy plays at Southwark Playhouse Borough until 31st January, with Tuesday and Saturday matinees. Tickets can be purchased here.

REVIEW: God, The Devil and Me

Published on January 8, 2026January 8, 2026 by Ben BreenLeave a comment

This dark comedy about a psychotic break lacks polish, but delivers laughter and pathos

As the audience enter the Lio & Unicorn Theatre, they’re invited to “sit wherever you like” by The Devil (Campbell Maddox), who is seething at the absence of his co-star: God (Neo Jelfs). Audience members chit-chat with the literal embodiment of evil, who narrates his passion for controlled chaos, apologises for profanity in the show programme, and reminisces about performing at the Edinburgh Fringe. The show proper begins with a churlish God rocking up late, before teenager Gabe (Noah Edmondson), hallucinating both religious figures, enters his bedroom. Much of the comedy comes from God and The Devil bickering like an old married couple, juxtaposed against Gabe’s real-life teenage woes. But God, The Devil and Me also has a lot of heart, and a surprisingly sensitive and affecting portrayal of mental health in crisis.

As a theatrical route into discussing psychosis, it’s strikingly inventive. There are genuinely funny barbs thrown out by both hallucinations, with Maddox’s camp and needy Devil a highlight. But as the narrative progresses, and Gabe’s life becomes more stressful, the hallucinations take a darker turn. They erode Gabe’s trust in his family and friends, stoking paranoia and delusions of grandeur. Director and writer Fionnuala Donnelly’s real-life experience of a schizoaffective diagnosis adds a sharp edge to the events unfolding on stage.

The quality of the acting varies between cast members, and there’s a lack of polish in places: some jokes are overexplained, flattening what should be funny offhand remarks into repetitive slogs; a laugh track introduced halfway through never pays off. But God, The Devil and Me still lands with both laughs and pathos. Most resonant are moments where the audience sees Gabe’s breakdown through others’ eyes, stripping away the hallucinations entirely. A memorable argument with his mother (played by writer Fionnuala Donnelly) sees God and the Devil whistle to obscure attempts at bridge-building, become increasingly irate with one another, and physically prod Gabe into lashing out.

A second act psychotic break, leading to a stint in hospital, dials down the laughs and replaces them with the power of human connection. Gabe’s burgeoning friendship with fellow patient Hannah (Maisie Lee Mead), and words of kindness from a nurse on the ward (Neo Jelfs) are touching. But an emotional revelation during a family therapy session tips into cliché, feeling unearned (appropriately enough, this is the commentary God gives from inside Gabe’s head – but self-awareness doesn’t make it less true).

God, The Devil and Me is rough around the edges, but there’s a lot to admire. A strong epilogue – with God and The Devil riffing on organised religion and the Bible – sends the audience away happy, but it’s the nuanced, touching portrayal of psychosis that lingers once they’re out the door.

God, The Devil and Me plays at the Lion & Unicorn Theatre until 10th January, at 7:30 each evening. Tickets can be purchased here.

REIVEW: Most Favoured at Soho Theatre

Published on December 16, 2025December 16, 2025 by Ben BreenLeave a comment

A perfectly-cast character comedy which goes in an unexpected direction

Eight months of one-night-stands might be seen as a worrying symptom of the decaying social contract, a courageous reclamation of female sexuality, or even the start of a celebrity career. For thirty-something Mary (Lauren Lyle), it’s her new year’s resolution, designed to inject some spice into her life. And perhaps also just a bit of a cry for help. David Ireland’s very funny two-hander takes place after one of Mary’s conquests, as each lover shares a secret with their recent bedfellow. It’s a snappy script rich with observational humour and character comedy, keeping the audience laughing throughout.

Most Favoured isn’t about rapid-fire gags; instead, it feels like a comforting sitcom, where the better you know its characters, the funnier each scene becomes. Mary’s neurotic need for things to make sense combines well with the puppy dog energy of American tourist Mike (Alexander Arnold). Alongside excellent character comedy, there are some laugh-aloud observations, taking in topics ranging from KFC fries and wake-up sex to the UK-US language barrier. Both roles have been perfectly cast, with each character forming a ready connection with the audience; Lyle in particular pulls some cracking facial expressions.

In the show’s early scenes, Mike seems just a little too stereotyped as the goofy small-town American: he claims not to have heard of KFC, is easily distracted, and brushes off Mary’s dramatic revelation as if he hasn’t grasped it fully. But when his own secret comes to light, these earlier scenes make sense through a new lens. Whilst another script would milk dramatic tension from Mary’s revelation, Most Favoured isn’t like other shows, and its pace and humour are all the better for Mike’s flippant response. By the time the curtain goes down, the audience feel tenderness and warmth towards both characters.

From the outset, there’s a lot of flesh on display: Mary begins wrapped in a towel, and Mike wears a small pair of white underpants. But as Mary’s revelation approaches, and the audience gain a sense of her context, layers of clothing are added, telling their own story. When Mike dresses towards the show’s conclusion, his outfit is similarly well-chosen, augmenting the plot unfolding onstage. Similar attention to detail extends to the set, with an excellent visual gag hidden in plain sight. From casting to costume to set, everything comes together and amplifies the laughs.

It’s a real steal for Soho Theatre to host David Ireland’s World Premiere – his last show opened at the glitzier, considerably larger Soho Place with Martin Freeman ably supported by rising star Joe Locke. Most Favoured is certainly a sillier show, with funnier one-liners, but it retains the sharp, intimate chemistry that makes Ireland a writer to watch. The smaller space fits this one-act, 45-minute show well, and the pint-sized performance does nothing to diminish Ireland’s sharp writing and intimate character work.

At its heart, Most Favoured is a very funny, superbly acted, and precisely designed character comedy, which keeps the audience guessing. An earlier start time suggests audiences could catch another show afterwards, but this press night overruns by ten minutes, making it a stretch. Nevertheless, Most Favoured is an excellent appetiser ahead of a West End main course, and also stands on its own as a bite-sized piece of compelling comedy.

Most Favoured plays at Soho Theatre until 24th January. Tickets can be purchased here.