Author: Rachel Wood

I was involved in a lot of theatre groups growing up and at university, and am enjoying combining my love of writing with my love of theatre! In my spare time you can find me reading, swimming or feeding friends and family.
Credit: Freddie Houlahan

REVIEW: 113 at Hope Theatre

Published on by Rachel WoodLeave a comment

Rating: 2.5 out of 5.

‘Interesting ideas get lost in the sauce’

Written by Ethan McLucas and directed by Rio Rose Joubert, 113 follows two nameless prisoners in adjoining cells, identified only by numbers on their striped uniforms. 64 (George Loynes) and 49 (Isobel Glover) can’t remember who they are, and they can’t see each other, but they can talk and pass notes. They scramble for clues of their past lives amongst the handful of objects in their rooms: a coat rack, a rug, a chair, a chest, a notebook, a venetian mask, military dog tags.

The concept promises a meeting of Waiting for Godot and the critically acclaimed tv series Severance, with questions of memory and identity explored in a suspenseful dystopian setting. However, a string of loose ends means more questions are asked than answered, with a less than satisfying depiction of the pair’s shifting relationship as they work together to escape. 

64 has been in their room far longer than 49, and has ascertained that freedom is a matter of remembering who they are. Little else is revealed about the regime that has imprisoned them, or the motivations for doing so. The totalitarian forces holding them in existential purgatory are embodied in a mix of guards in fencing helmets and hallucinatory jester-like figures, manifestations of ‘J. Doe’ played by the assured Sali Adams. What could have been intriguing, mysterious depictions of a nebulous oppressor instead present as a series of confused and frustrating roads to nowhere. 

Initially overly spiky and frenetic, throwing aggressive reproaches over their dividing wall, 64 quickly softens towards his neighbour as 49 encourages him to write in his notebook, and suggests prompts to jog his memory. She has apparently done this many times before. The production focuses on this time being different, the bond formed between them intended as a poignant display of human connection removed from all regular contexts of personhood. Their relationship veers in less than credible directions, however, an accelerated warming towards each other suddenly escalating into uncomfortable sexual advances from 64 as a game of truth or dare gets out of control, before settling back to camaraderie. When 64 is ultimately faced with a choice between liberty and friendship, his decision is lacking in the emotional heft that would have come with a more powerful affinity between the two.

The set design does the play no favours – a wall dividing the stage means one half of the audience can only see one side of the action, depending on where they’re seated. Rather than putting us in the shoes of the isolated characters, occasional glimpses of the hidden inmate simply gives the effect of the view being obscured. 

An interesting idea arises when it is suggested that 49 does in fact know who they are, or at least has remembered before, and has chosen to stay in their present situation, preferring their captive identity to the reality of a failed previous life. A disruption of the trust and power dynamic between the two in this way has great potential for further exploration. 113 dabbles in some fascinating themes – honing in on one of them, establishing more solid character and relationship development, and a greater emphasis on world building would raise this production to the next level.

REVIEW: Little Brother

Published on by Rachel WoodLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

Powell-Jones here directs a phenomenal cast in communicating an urgent message for our times, by relaying the incredible experiences of one young man.

Little Brother charts the extraordinary modern odyssey of Ibrahima Balde, who travelled the immense distance from his village in Guinea across the African continent to Europe in pursuit of his younger sibling. After making his way to Irun in the Basque country in 2018, Ibrahima met the renowned writer, journalist and poet Amets Arzallus Antia, belonging at the time to a small group of volunteers who supported newly arrived migrants. Over ten months, Ibrahima and Amets searched for the words to tell Ibrahima’s story, publishing a bestselling book in 2019. It has since been translated into ten languages, and won the Silver Euskadi Award in 2020. Copies of Little Brother (Miñan) were given by the late Pope Francis to his bishops and recommended to the wider public, and in December 2023 Ibrahima and Amets were invited to a private meeting with him.

The playwright Timberlake Wertenbaker was compelled to translate the book into English, adapting it for the stage in the form of the play currently showing at Jerwyn Street Theatre until the 21st June, in its inaugural run of performances. Artistic Director of Jerwyn Street Stella Powell-Jones knew the intimate space would work well in bringing the audience up close to Ibrahima’s monumental journey, making a name for itself as the West End’s Studio Theatre. Powell-Jones here directs a phenomenal cast in communicating an urgent message for our times, by relaying the incredible experiences of one young man.

Each of the cast give exceptional performances, with warmth, humour and depth of feeling brought to their multiple characterisations. The production is staged with expert brushstrokes – thoughtful costume, lighting and staging choices work to simply enhance our immersion, without ever detracting from Ibrahima’s story. The 70-seat space indeed does justice to the play’s utmostly personal insight into Ibrahima’s life – it is small enough for Blair Gyabaah, who portrays Ibrahima with poise and skill, to frequently arrest your gaze with his. The human element of this particular migration story is rendered unignorable, a person who would otherwise be lost in a sea of statistics and sensationalist headlines brought to urgent, life-size reality through the events that unfold throughout the hour-long production. It resists the distancing, coolly familiarising effect of daily media reporting at every turn, and in doing so Ibrahima’s trials while crossing the Sahara, Mediterranean, and punishing wall of bureaucracy he is met with on the other side become newly shocking and impermissible. 

By instead familiarising the audience with Ibrahima’s personality, his family, and the monstrous obstacles thrown in his way, the dominant narrative of Western countries whose borders are becoming harder, and attitudes towards those who try to cross them harsher, is disrupted. Ibrahima did not want, and did not plan to cross the Sahara and arrive in Europe; regardless, this is besides the point. The play will get further away from you, Youness Bouzinab, who plays Amets, tells us at its close, but you are here, now, and so are the Ibrahimas of this world – ‘every day Ibrahima arrives in Irun, or crosses another sea and arrives here, walking our streets, past us, silent.’ He urges us to hold onto that connection, the familiarity with Balde’s memoir, the outrage at the Home Office’s initial refusal to allow Balde to travel to the UK from Madrid, where he works as an auto mechanic, to watch the production’s opening night. I urge you to see this powerful piece of theatre, and to hold tightly onto it.

Credit: Stephen Floss

REVIEW: Join, Sadler’s Wells

Published on by Rachel WoodLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

Surprising, exhilarating, and breathtakingly beautiful at every turn

Join, choreographed by Ioannis Mandafounis, sees the Dresden Frankfurt Dance Company collaborate with dance students from the city each performance takes place in. Staged at Sadler’s Wells East as part of Van Cleef & Arpels’ Dance Reflections festival, the company here joins forces with the Rambert School, coming together at different stages of their personal and professional trajectories to create something astonishing.

The ensemble and students work at the cutting edge of the art form, world-leading in contemporary dance and often indistinguishable in terms of the meeting points of their careers. Where the company provides exacting standards for the next generation of London’s professional dancers, the students inject a playful, experimental lightness to their collaboration. Informally spread in front of the stage as the audience enters, we get a snapshot of their pre-performance movements, stretching and chatting quietly before they begin. 

This is a production concerned with the edges of performance, stretching the boundaries of formal etiquette to disrupt rigorously upheld artistic norms and question where theatre ends and life begins. Tony Kushner’s Angels in America leans heavily into this kind of disruption, with stage directions emphasizing the theatricality of its depicted angels: ‘the wires show’, they insist. This notion of the wires showing is evident throughout Join, while simultaneously demonstrating a seamless professionalism and mastery of craft. The imposing black temple of the stage has its walls toppled, the curtains falling and crumpling to reveal a simple, real(istic) backstage setup; the black floor covering is slowly heaved off by the dancers to uncover a luminescent white underbelly; and an instantly unnerving moment is conjured by the house lights throwing the audience into sudden, vulnerable exposure, while the stage remains in looming darkness. Fourth wall breaks of the kind favoured by Fleabag and Punchdrunk, unsettling the lines between performer and audience, don’t come close to the ominous effectiveness of this technique. 

Hand in hand with its imagining of new ways of performing, the dancers enact new ways of being and connecting with each other, in a kind of utopian dreaming. Themes of necessary playfulness and liberation underwrite each section: two young dancers with breath audibly flowing offer a new model of masculinity in their platonic, un-self-conscious exchange, falling and reaching towards and caring for each other. Two femme-presenting dancers bring children to mind in their equally carefree cavorting, immediately evoking years of friendship. It is testament to the hegemony of the strict codes that govern women’s conduct that they are most reminiscent of children in their uninhibited movements and relations – how joyful to see the possibilities that arise with the shaking of these protocols.

The spiritual, the animalistic and the essentially human blend in the hands of these extraordinarily talented groups, aided by a refrain of instant blackouts, shaping segments and undermining our initial perceptions. Surprising, exhilarating, and breathtakingly beautiful at every turn, be sure to follow the Rambert School’s students throughout their careers, and to catch Dresden Frankfurt Dance Company when you next have the chance.

Credit: Emma Kauldhar

REVIEW: Mariposa

Published on by Rachel WoodLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

DeNada’s dance drama is fierce, unexpected, beautiful, finding a powerfully generative medium for storytelling in its melding of art forms

Choreographed by Carlos Pons Guerra, DeNada Dance Theatre presents Mariposa, a queer tragedy inspired by Puccini’s Madame Butterfly. The operatic dance drama ‘transports Puccini’s Orientalist libretto to post-revolution Cuba, to a dockland world of faded showgirls, hopeful rent boys, troubled sailors and divine queer spirits’. The production is a sumptuous, electrifying and deeply moving exploration of what Guerra describes as the queer art of sacrifice, retelling the story of Puccini’s tragic protagonist, Cio-Cio San – the ultimate theatrical symbol of sacrificing selfhood in hope of love and acceptance.

At the heart of Guerra’s world-class, dynamic choreography is the relationship between a Cuban sex worker, Mariposa (‘butterfly’ in Spanish), and Preston, a Western sailor who finds himself on the shores of politically turbulent 1970’s Havana. Danced expertly and tenderly by Harry Alexander and Daniel Baines, their love sparks near instantly upon meeting and unfurls with exquisite joy and pain amongst the docks. Throughout the performance, fate and circumstance push them together and pull them apart again like the uneasy tides that deliver Preston into Mariposa’s world.

DeNada’s dancing is fierce, unexpected, beautiful, finding a powerfully generative medium for storytelling in its melding of art forms. Longing for the absent Preston, Mariposa pirouettes by means of the classical ballet technique of spotting, fixing your gaze on a point while turning your body. However, when he gracefully spins his head around, it is toward the spot his lover departed from, his eyes, and whole being irresistibly drawn to the urgent new anchor of his reality.

Luis Miguel Cobo’s exceptional score underwrites the production’s heady atmosphere of repressed desires and incendiary emotion, particularly potent in its evocation of the spirit realm that meets and blends with Mariposa’s oppressive earthly circumstances. Bjorn Aslund and Elle Fierce become Imle, Santería patron of queer people, and Ochún, Santería goddess of love, respectively; Mariposa is protected by and dances with them as one of their own. The music swells to a terrifying, metallic, grinding beat with the arrival of sex tourists to the Caribbean port; Elle Fierce’s depiction of brothel owner Gertrudis, and her sinister control over Mariposa, is notably strong. She manipulates his movements, and Mariposa complies as if pulled by strings attached to her, or by an unseen force.

Sacrifice in this production means loss, but also rebirth and celestial transformation, writes Guerra. The traditions of Santería, an Afro-Cuban religion of spiritual necessity born from malevolent origins, come together with Mariposa’s story to create a fable of queer divinity. A successful conceit centres the second act: pointe shoes as a signifier of artfully constructed, perfect femininity, as well as of Western artistic elitism, are donned by Mariposa as an act of queer resistance. Holly Saw dances Kate, Preston’s new wife, and encountering Mariposa she rises onto full pointe in the exact manner of a deer lifting its ears at a sound in the forest. She scurries lightly backwards bourrée en couru, in a series of tiny steps on straight legs, without breaking her searching eye contact. While Mariposa initially stumbles on pointe, bound by the constricting markers of binarised gender and further bowed under harmfully misapprehending gazes such as Kate’s, she ultimately soars, not only performing idealised femininity but harnessing it in aid of her own unique expression of selfhood. Guerra’s playful, revolutionary deconstruction of Western womanhood, so closely tied to the tropes of classical ballet, is masterful.

REVIEW: Revenge: After the Levoyah

Published on by Rachel WoodLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

A clever, chaotic Jewish heist comedy with political bite

Directed by Emma Jude Harris  (Stage’s Fringe Five 2024), Revenge: After the Levoyah is an exciting, fast-paced, incredibly funny, yet refreshingly thoughtful piece of new theatre. Nick Cassembaum’s (Fringe First winner and Popcorn Writer’s Award nominee) script spits and crackles with chutzpah, unpacking different ways to be Jewish in the UK following the pre-pandemic furore surrounding the Labour party.

Set in 2019, Jewish twins from Essex Dan and Lauren attend their grandfather’s funeral only to be caught up in 80-year old East End gangster Malcolm Spivek’s urge to ‘do something’ about the rise in antisemitism, fuelled by increasingly frothing media coverage. His plan for action takes the form of kidnapping Jeremy Corbyn. Oy. 

Gemma Barnett and Dylan Corbett-Taylor’s acting is a feat of technical skill and physical endurance, portraying a sprawling cast between only the two of them. It is credit to their talent that smooth, lightning-quick character transitions hilariously and effectively evoke a bustling shiva (“‘you shouldn’t cook in a time like this’ – Eileen hands me a ziploc bag of fish goujons”), a full-blown, multi-factionary shoot-out (“we can’t tell you who we are, but let’s just say our boss wears a crown!”), and a hodgepodge, wisecracking octogenarian hit squad (“at least we weren’t florists – what are you gonna do, arrange them to death?”). The siblings’ initial shared disbelief at Malcolm’s heist plot, before becoming swept up in the pleasurably absurd action grounds the production and mirrors the audience’s experience beautifully.

Alys Whitehead’s set design is fantastic, with red threads criss-crossing over our heads echoing the chaotic plans drawn up on revolving blackboards, locations and targets connected by red string. Clearly there is much untangling to do – of mass hysteria, inflammatory reporting of the UK press, the path to radicalism, and genuine fear, such as that of Dan and Lauren’s nan, who becomes afraid to leave her flat amidst the balagan. Pivotal moments of the kidnapping are comically undercut with the doubts and revelations of even Jeremy’s kidnappers – ‘I always quite liked him’, offhandedly comments one of the motley crew, a doc marten-sporting, ex-ANTIFA liberal rabbi. The production succeeds particularly in its intelligent presentation of a range of different Jewish voices and opinions (as it should – what’s new?).

Continuing to have conversations about antisemitism in the UK, unknotting very real prejudice from the harmful misuse of the term with ulterior, obstructing motives, and with the effect of undermining genuine threats, remains of the utmost importance. This week, over 800 British Jews have signed a letter condemning the Metropolitan Police’s attempt to ban a march on questionable grounds of antisemitism. After the Levoyah is a beacon of hope and reason, in spite of its frenzied, surreal events – our world is desperate for art such as this. 

Revenge:After the Levoyah plays at the Yard Theatre until 25th January. Tickets here.

REVIEW: Hold Onto Your Butts

Published on by Rachel WoodLeave a comment

Rating: 3 out of 5.

Don’t walk, run to get your tickets, as per the production’s instructions – this is a theatrical parody with bite.

Created by New York-based creative ensemble Recent Cutbacks, Hold Onto Your Butts is exactly what it says on the tin: a ‘shot-for-shot’ parody of the classic ’90’s dino thriller (Jurassic Park). The whirlwind of physical theatre, audience-based improv and foley artistry make for rip-roaring comedy, which you can catch at the Arcola Theatre until the 11th January.

The absurd premise, and seemingly impossible task – to recreate Spielberg’s wildly successful feature-length film with only two actors, live sound effects and a motley crew of props in the space of 60 minutes – is teed up nicely by a choice series of trailers made by the theatre company. These include Inside Out, featuring an actor’s jumper worn, you guessed it, inside out, and A Brief Encounter, interpreted as literally as you can imagine. Hold Onto Your Butts is thus introduced, and I’d recommend you do so before embarking on this theatrical rollercoaster. That is a weird thing to say, right? I don’t think the kids were saying it in 1993, or ever really. Apparently Jurassic Park screenwriter David Koepp heard the line from director Robert Zemeckis when working on the 1992 Meryl Streep comedy Death Becomes Her. But how fun to hone in on and pick apart the incongruities of such a revered piece of popular cinema, to ridiculous effect, and in the process still manage to present a veritable love letter to the original material.

Above all else, I’d recommend rewatching the original before seeing HOYB. Recent Cutbacks clearly have many times, to nail the impressions of the cast members, and at points get a bit lost in the sauce. I watched the film a few days prior, and even then was occasionally struggling to keep up with the rapid character switching, ‘bloodsucking lawyer’ Donald Gennaro signified by a red tie, and the majority of the rest of the characters by sunglasses of varying shapes (although in Jeff Goldblum’s case, absolutely fair enough, and the rapid sunglasses switching is very funny). Samuel L Jackson is simply referred to by name, but the increasing number of cigarettes in his mouth at a time gives the game away anyhow. Cretaceous-era characters, however, are unfailingly brought to life by the talented Jack Baldwin and Laurence Pears in hilarious and spectacular fashion, by means of traffic cone tails, bicycle helmets, umbrellas and some inspired pointy party hat placement.

The true star of the show is Foley artist Charlie Ives. With incredible skill and impeccable comic timing, she uses her voice and a plethora of household objects to realistically – well, sometimes less realistically, like when she offsets her immense vocal skill with a flat, spoken ‘roar!…in the distance’ – recreate Jurassic Park’s sonic soundscape, and of course, iconic soundtrack, with the help of kazoos. The ensemble are intensely in tune to each other’s movements, showing this off when the slightest action in a naturally noisy scenario has to be mimicked vocally by Ives. She also brought some real magic to the dramatic concluding t-rex scene, starring as the dinosaur.

Don’t walk, run to get your tickets, as per the production’s instructions – this is a theatrical parody with bite.

REVIEW: Sinfonia Smith Square: The Orchestral Forest

Published on by Rachel WoodLeave a comment

Rating: 3 out of 5.

Classical music like you’ve never experienced before provides a glimpse into a forgotten world

In her memoir A Sketch of the Past, Virginia Woolf refers to life’s ‘moments of being’, the powerful, transcendent points of expanded consciousness that resonate in the memory and make up core facets of our psyche. I remember a walk in remote Wales on the brink of becoming a teenager – approaching a mass of black pines, I listened to Coldplay’s Cemeteries of London on my iPod, the air swirling with mysterious, exciting possibility. Those ~deep~ minor chords and the onslaught of pubescent hormones were a potent mix for a little brain in a vast, beautiful forest – the feeling has stayed with me, and connects to those other times I’m moved to take a step back and see under the surface of things, to a realm of emotion, connection and magic. Back in another forest, an orchestral one this time, the world swelled and opened up again.

Creative Director Matt Belcher’s vision for The Orchestral Forest sees the audience experiencing a classical concert from within, free to wander between the ‘trees’, our orchestra blooming from scattered podiums across Sinfonia Smith Square’s hall. The programme celebrates the hidden beauty of the UK’s ancient rainforests, with Belcher’s guide to the performance informing us that at one time, ‘as much as 20% of the UK was covered in temperate rainforest. Today, as little as 0.07% remains. Most have been replaced by conifer plantations – dense, silent monocultures that are intensively grown and felled on repeat…as a result, these forests are now among the rarest and most vulnerable in the world.’

The Orchestral Forest tells the story of Britain’s ancient woodlands, with classical pieces from composers inspired by nature’s majesty, soundscapes from temperate rainforests in Wales, Cornwall, and Scotland, and verdant lighting design from George Andrews. Moving amongst the musicians, you are encouraged to follow the sounds, the unique set up allowing for an immersive musical experience which places the audience in control of how they hear the music. There’s nothing quite like feeling the rich vibrations of cello strings up close amidst the soaring harmonies of a professional orchestra, the gorgeous, complex movements of modern composer Dobrinka Tabakova’s The Patience of Trees heard from this position sparking transcendental joy. 

Further pieces in the programme included Felix Mendelssohn’s lively Overture from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Vagn Holmboe’s Prelude to the Pollution of Nature, Nadia Boulanger’s Vers la vie nouvelle, and Michael Nyman’s Strong on Oaks, Strong on the Causes of Oaks. The musicians have fun with the latter in particular, relishing the impossibly fast-paced concluding minims in response to Maxime Tortelier’s thoughtful, energetic conducting. First violin Emma Purslow shines – a born performer, she corralls her ensemble with great skill and enthusiasm.

A larger space would have done greater justice to this transfixing vision – the audience size meant that freely wandering between sections isn’t wholly possible, with care taken to navigate the crowd and avoid disturbing the performers somewhat detracting from the listening experience. Large numbers also meant that you might get temporarily stuck in parts of the room, and if right by a microphone, the corresponding section may drown out the balance of an overall composition. While raising awareness of these precious remaining pockets of rainforest, the scale and human motivations of their destruction is only hinted at, with no clear action signposted for listeners to take in order to help protect and revive them. However, such a shake up of format to the classical tradition, creating an eye-opening celebration of these ecosystems is a spectacular treat – I can guarantee you’ve simply never heard music performed quite like this before.

REVIEW: London City Ballet: Resurgence

Published on by Rachel WoodLeave a comment

Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

London City Ballet has made an exceptional comeback to Sadler’s Wells – there’s plenty of vibrant life-blood in the company yet, having proved its ability to dance the line between tradition and innovation like no other

London City Ballet, former resident company of Sadler’s Wells theatre, makes a triumphant return to their home venue after almost thirty years off the stage. The programme is preceded with a dive into the company’s history, press clippings charting its founding in 1978 by Director Harold King up until its closure in 1996. The introductory reel highlights London City Ballet’s successes and legacies, behind-the-scenes footage of early rehearsals, and the patronage of Princess Diana, a great admirer of dance. While surly pictures of the people’s princess slouched against a ballet bar make for entertaining viewing, the projected montage style does feel somewhat dated. A history in the programme would have sufficed; the dancing that follows is good enough to speak for itself.

Artistic Director Christopher Marney opens the inaugural programme for the company’s relaunch with Larina Waltz, originally created as the finale to a Royal Opera House-based tribute to Tchaichovsky in 1993. This is a chance for the dancers to show off their technical proficiency in the art form’s classic guise, and the glamour and grace of the piece’s four couples makes one’s heart soar. Next, a departure from traditional form in a chamber work premiered at Lisbon’s Nacional de Sao Carlos in 1972, made up of a cast of three male dancers and one female, guest artist and ballet icon Alina Cojocaru CBE. Projected scenes of rolling, verdant mountains and a vintage motor car evoke a European holiday, and a minimalistic, white cube-reminiscent stage design sets the scene for the poker-like social machinations and vyings for Cojocaru’s attention. The movements are sleek, modern and exciting –  a dancer lifts and suddenly drops her, catches her in air, to a cascade of falling piano notes; they gently spin her vertically, effortlessly; she hops and artfully stumbles; a lover playfully ducks her leg as it sweeps over him repeatedly, gazing up at her with wry adoration. Deliberate breaks from form allow for glimpses of human vulnerability, but only when they decide to let you see behind the curtain. Such moments are so artfully performed it’s a teasing reminder of how talented these performers are.

The third dance in the first act is the best by far. A male dancer in a side split dress undulates with the intensity of a tidal wave against a sunburnt orange backdrop. The colours of this dance are so heart-stoppingly beautiful, it makes you want to run out and learn colour theory immediately. Artistic director Marney and Wardrobe Manager/ Designer Emily Noble’s vision shines here: pearlescent ocean greens, turquoise and burgundy swathe our newly androgynous cast, who swim and slice through the air. Unexpected moments set the heart racing: couples meet forehead to forehead, lurch over each other in spiky movements at odd angles, and desperately cling to their partners as if an anchor or mast in a surreal sea storm. They perform the impossible, managing to be both urgent and completely relaxed. These dancers express the extent to which we contain multitudes, performing precisely choreographed feats of power and elegance, before sliding across the stage in socks. They punctuate each other’s movements, spell a lilting sentence in the air with their toes, and meet each other again and again with curiosity, harmony, and intimacy. To break the rules like this, you have to know them inside out, to breathe them. They run into a flash of light, jump into air before a sudden black out. 

The fourth piece showcases Andrew Murrell’s world-class lighting design, with a couple’s nude clothing transformed to bright peach. The duet is framed by a vast, yawning, soft-edged sun, and a dancer circles her arm as if to mimic its rising and setting cycles. The final dance is a true showstopper, boasting the most effective narrative vigour of the five. In a retelling of the Fall, Eve’s perspective is foregrounded, with a focus on her relationship with the servant. Eve is portrayed ‘not as a symbol of sin, but as a person full of intellectual curiosity’. A projected bird disappears as a lone dancer reaches out to touch it, with a looming, stomach-dropping thud of bass. Leaves spin and lift unnaturally; the serpent, in red bodysuit and green trench coat appears. Ominous, thrilling music from composer Jennie Muskett MBE gets under the skin as Eve sits on his back a moment, strokes his face. She looks apprehensively behind her, but he persuades her to follow him, slinks under her shoulder and lifts her towards temptation. The music shifts, she is furious with him; he clings to her and they become a horrific eight legged creature. An extraordinary choreographic choice sees Eve holding the bitten apple in her mouth for an extended period of the dance, while swirling mists and crawling figures are unleashed from under a screen. The dancers’ bodies become the serpent’s body, contorting as one.

London City Ballet has made an exceptional comeback to Sadler’s Wells – there’s plenty of vibrant life-blood in the company yet, having proved its ability to dance the line between tradition and innovation like no other.

REVIEW: Deadnamed

Published on by Rachel WoodLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

Fizzing with star quality, Dian Cathal will make you laugh, cry and thank the theatre gods for fringe fests

Deadnamed kicks off with a really good bit – award winning writer, stand-up comedian, and actor Dian Cathal bursting from a cardboard coffin centre stage. He struggles to get out, acknowledging that they’re not usually meant to be gotten out of. What follows is an hour of mesmerising theatre, throughout which Dian’s bright, charismatic comedy shines. 

Deadnamed is part of London’s South East Fest, hosted by two venues known for supporting innovative new work, The Bridge House Theatre in Penge and the Jack Studio Theatre in Crofton Park. The first half of September will see 24 performances of eight different productions across the festival, and as a South East girlie it’s glorious to see such a vibrant programme of performance this side of the river. 

Dian frames the show as a funeral meets a queer circus, with the aim of unpicking the fact that much ‘mainstream language around coming out as transgender is about loss for the person’s family and friends, as if the person they knew had, well, you know…’ Dian decided to throw his own funeral – well, a funeral for his old self – and everybody’s invited. While the play was originally written and performed in 2021, discourse in the UK surrounding trans people has since festered into a maelstrom of toxicity, with Dian’s sharp, endearing humour exploring trans experiences re-emerging at a prescient time. ‘The trans debate with an actual trans person, can you imagine?’ he quips in the show’s bio.

Dian is an exquisite actor, and holds the audience in a steely grip as he plays the fictional character of his mother, delivering a chilling tirade taken near-verbatim from a true coming out story. Dian challenges our need for ‘drama, trauma, tears’; what people are really seeking when they ask questions like ‘how did your parents react?’. It’s important to remember that amidst the sordid spectacle of the culture wars, where inflammatory ‘debate’ is staged for entertainment purposes, mainstream media would have us forget that it’s the rights and lives of real human beings that are being debated. 

Stories from Irish mythology and folklore are utilised as metaphors for moving through the world as a trans person, and complement the piece of theatre’s brushes with magic. Dian (in character) tells us he felt he must have been a changeling child growing up, with the dark reality of such folk tales giving scope for the justification of horrific treatment of autistic and disabled children. He speaks of the power of a name, that it is said you must never give a faery your name, for they would be able to control you. Telling a stranger your dead name is an act of great trust, he explains – you must trust that they will know it, and never use it; else to be run through with one’s own sword, handed over willingly. 

Despite tackling such weighty material, the piece is light hearted, warm, and hilarious more often than not – a testament to Dian’s talent for scriptwriting and performance, along with bucketfuls of natural charm and wit. It concludes with an audience Q and A, inviting thoughtful reflection and engendering real connection. SE Fest is providing a vital space for powerful, fresh voices and queer joy in London’s theatre scene, and you don’t want to miss a minute of it.

REVIEW: The Weyard Sisters

Published on by Rachel WoodLeave a comment

Rating: 3 out of 5.

Beautifully written Shakespearean herstory could have been weirder.

The Weyard Sisters at Riverside Studios is framed by Dana Pinto’s effective set design of several evenly spaced ionic columns, marble exclamation marks punctuating a backdrop of grainy white cloth – though the columns could be doric, I can never quite remember which is which. Or should I say, witch is witch? (No, no I shouldn’t). Director and Playwright Helen Alexander weaves infinitely better wordplay throughout her darkly funny, female-centric sequel to Shakespeare’s Macbeth, verbally referred to as the Scottish play within the industry in keeping with time-honoured superstition. This ‘definitive sequel’ centres around the ‘weyard’, or weird, sisters in the original script, with an excellent bit of etymology spelled out in the programme:

‘Although most modern editions of Macbeth have generally regularised the “sisters” description of themselves to “weird” (meaning peculiar), in the First Folio this word is three times spelt “weyword”, three times “weyard” (meaning wayward). But weirder still, is the fact that the word “weird” appears to only have evolved in the English Language during the mid-17th century, and perhaps came into existence because of a play which never printed it!’

The production succeeds in flaunting a delicious command of Shakespeare’s tongue and a true talent for constructing the hidden herstories of the text. Agatha (Mother to England’s crown prince Edgar)’s daughter Margaret’s disdain for the volatile, camo-clad Malcolm who has seized the throne mirrors that of all the play’s women for the men whose wars and whims dictate their lives. ‘Weird and bearded’ sisters Erlynn, Marlin and Portia stand hairs on end as they swirl and creep around their captive in the opening scene, sporting roughly hewn, bone-hued masks with piercing noses and stretching woollen chin hair tickling their hapless captive. Portia provides some highly entertaining exposition in the context of her worldly role as Brewstress with the gift of the gab, revealing an unpaid debt racked up by Malcolm when they were children in Inverness, soon to take on an historical significance. ‘Woe betide a wise woman who chooses not to see’, a later confined Portia laughs knowingly to herself, fated to face the brutality of Macduff’s interrogation. The tragedy and cruel injustice of witch hunting practices in the UK makes for a potent brew, with the dialogue of Dr John Stearne, assistant to mid-17th century Witchfinder General Matthew Hopkins, based on his original explanation for witchcraft and its ‘remedies’.

The acting is exceptional from the entire cast, with stand-out performances from Jan Shephard (Portia), Claire Morrissey (Agatha, Pedrolino, Peg Speed) and Kiera Murray (Margaret, Beulah, Nancy Gance, Sister Joan, Il Capitano, Meg). Each displayed an impressive command of the audience, and a captivating presence on stage. However, the feel of the production is somehow dismayingly static, with exposition favoured over action, the script and intricate plot overly dense, to the point that myself and my companion often struggled to grasp in which directions the abstracted events were moving. There was much telling, and less showing, to the production’s detriment. Such beautiful language and exciting values in interpreting Shakespeare’s text needed some more room to breathe, and perhaps imbued with a higher degree of looseness and strangeness – the play claims to focus on the weird witchery of the sisters after all. I’m a fool for all things witchety and was hoping for more weirdness to boot, so I came away a little disappointed in these respects. 

The play takes off when it embraces its theatricality, particularly towards the end of the second act when the device of a medieval travelling troupe of players enters into the mix. A heady confusion and skewering of contemporary values, a topsy-turvy world glimpsed at and danced with is the exact dose of canny distortion the tale needs. Claire Morrissey is again jaw-droppingly good in her embodying of an ethereal mime, lingering a little longer in the ‘real-time’ world of the play after their scene is done with the effect of an unctuous, psychedelic blurring of worlds, a reluctance to cut the strings connecting them. Fun is had with a chronological leap to modern Scotland and a television crew hovering over an archaeological dig like the portentous crows above them. Perhaps a switching between these time periods throughout the production would have benefited from its lively effect of opening a spine-chilling window into history.

I’d recommend The Weyard Sisters for true Shakespeare fiends, and my head is still reeling with the beautiful twists and turns of its words – a strong claim is made for its being Macbeth’s definitive sequel. However, original productions aimed for appealing to the sensibilities of their contemporary audiences, with lively theatrical action and often slapstick-style movement entertaining the masses. In the context of a 21st century world well versed in interpretations of witchcraft and its scope for the exploration of female power and solidarity, the play so titled demanded a deeper leaning into the uncanny, the unknown, the dark and divine feminine, and a rallying call to get weirder, sisters.