Rachel Wood

REVIEW: The Body & Blood

Published on February 8, 2023February 7, 2023 by Rachel WoodLeave a comment

Polymath Carol Murphy proves one to watch in delectably dark Irish folk fable.

Artist, writer and filmmaker, the formidable Carol Murphy performs this one woman show as part of Leake Street’s VAULT Festival. The Body & Blood was written by Murphy over lockdown and launched online in January 2022 as five ten minute shorts filmed on her iPhone. Her first performance of the work as a piece of theatre took place in May last year at The Black Box in Belfast, and is now seeing its London premier at VAULT Festival’s Cavern venue.

Murphy describes the concept as a 19th Century Irish Famine Folk Fable told in verse, the story of Maggie Murtagh, a girl from rural Ireland who transmogrifies into The Vigilante Cannibal Nun after the death of her family. The threat of an unwanted marriage had prompted her escape with a plan to become a missionary nun in China, but upon being sent back to Connemara to set up a convent at the height of The Famine, she discovers her family’s fate and swears her revenge. So begins a rampage of coloniser-eating, rule-breaking violence and defiance, The Famine as a metaphor for madness, guilt and depression, the exaggerated, pantomime-like caricature of Maggie as self-destructive anti-hero opening new spaces in the excavation of invisible female Irish histories.

It is astonishing that Murphy does not come from an acting background – she is a captivating performer, herself transmogrifying into the bardic role with electrifying swagger and aplomb. The performance opens in darkness to a blood-curdling scream which gives way to cackling laughter, marking the onset of a masterclass in physical and vocal dexterity. A born raconteur, her story is punctuated with stamping shuffling sauntering dancing shimmying, the verses alternately fired out lightning-fast, stretched as if over a rack, or deliciously savoured, each lilting word tasted and rolled around in her mouth.

She is bedecked in glittering swag, her gold earrings, chains, belt, shades and tooth endowing her with gangster status, with an applique sacred heart on a white cossack hat, redcoat claimed from one of her victims, and Robin Hood-style boots nodding to revolutionary and Catholic iconography, as well as themes from Irish history. Truly exciting myth-making possibilities emerge, a postmodern reimagining of pre-modernity horror birthing a myriad of potential stories and legends, refuting a single, neat, linear narrative in the telling of a history at every turn.

Murphy deserves a venue in which the acoustics do justice to this work. The echoing Cavern snatched away much of her brilliant writing, leaving the audience to fill in the gaps of Maggie’s otherwise rich and lurid landscape. I was overjoyed to discover the five episodes of her tale at https://www.thebodyandblood.co.uk, as should you be – I highly recommend giving yourself over to a world of bloody vengeance, sex, diamond-thieving, cannibalism and other worldly sins. After all, why not break a few rules?

REVIEW: Welcome Home

Published on February 1, 2023February 7, 2023 by Rachel WoodLeave a comment

‘Religion, shame, some motherf*****s and what I did to them’ – strap in for the ride of your life in irresistible Willy Hudson’s Sci Fi extravaganza

(tw: homophobia)

Soho Theatre’s makeover in miscellaneous tin foil-wrapped objects, a my little pony cooler bag and multiple static-strewn tv screens jumbled on top of each other signal the onset of a rip-roaring voyage to outer space, and back again. Welcome Home is described as a ‘dark nightmare revenge’ by its writer, star performer, and ‘best boy’ among other credits (as declared by a hilariously narcissistic, space-opera style opening sequence), but in fact you’re in for a surprisingly uplifting show, and a fabulous night out at that.

Welcome Home’s semi-autobiographical action charts Hudson’s relationship with his sexuality in the context of growing up in the Church, amid the devastating homophobic ideology that taught him his queer identity was sinful. A recollection of his love for watching Dr Who, and a refrain he’d say with his dad before the weekly programme started – ‘let’s get them baddies!’ – leads him to do just that, returning to the source of his trauma in the form of the Church’s elders, seeking answers and vengeance. Hudson realises a deeply satisfying, heroic sci-fi revenge fantasy on these pillars of the community who have become weeping angels, in a brilliant bit of ‘Jesus is always watching – so don’t blink’ kind of reasoning. Of course, things aren’t so simple in real life. ‘I’ve just tried to tear down all of Christianity’, he sighs, after a distressing reenactment of the gaslighting he was subjected to by the Church’s leader upon confrontation. It is safe to say he emerges victorious, however, as is confirmed by the production’s standing ovation.

Hudson’s audience is here for a good time, and wonderfully receptive to his particular brand of showmanship. He is endlessly charismatic in all his cyberpunk-clad glory; it’s certainly the first occasion I’ve witnessed an actor convince a member of the front row to lend a sock after a segment on Robbie Williams and masturbation (the sock becomes a karaoke-warbling puppet, they’ll have been relieved to discover), before leading the entire auditorium in an enthusiastic rendition of Angels. I was a big fan of his own tongue-in-cheek opening number, This Wasn’t In Your Star Sign, written in response to a break up (‘You said you were a pisces/ I’m tired of all your lies-ies).

The Sci-Fi genre provides a welcome home for Hudson’s exploration of feelings of alienation and otherness, his overthrowing of monsters, and embracing of his identity. At once vulnerable and tender, riotously funny and empowering, this production is a must-see.

REVIEW: New Plays: Japan

Published on January 30, 2023 by Rachel WoodLeave a comment

New Plays: Japan leaves you seeing the world through fresh eyes, in a masterclass of new playwriting.

This exciting series of new plays at the Royal Court showcases some of the most talented and innovative voices of emerging Japanese writers. Staged in translation as script-in-hand performances, the plays are the outcome of a three year long collaborative project and intensive writing workshops between London’s Royal Court theatre and the New International Theatre Tokyo.

In an interview with Alice Saville, Eriko Ogawa, Artistic Director of the New National Theatre Tokyo remarks that the scripts from these young playwrights present Japanese culture from a fresh perspective. Artistic funding in Japan is rarely given to emerging writers, with regular international productions and traditional forms of Japanese theatre having more established platforms; this collaboration makes for some truly groundbreaking work. Ogawa notes that in addition, a lack of formal playwriting training avenues in Japan allows for great imaginative leaps in the scripts, with concrete, natural scenarios quickly giving way to highly surreal or abstract forms.

This phenomenon is evident in the two plays performed on the opening night, with Saori Chiba’s Onigoro and Shoko Matsumara’s 28 hours 01 minute demonstrating a flair for depicting both the realistic, mundane minutiae of everyday exchanges between coworkers and neighbours, and the fantastical, often horrifying worlds into which they are plunged. Established social relationships are stretched to their limits as characters navigate these uneasy dreamscapes, and familiar encounters are examined through the lenses of the mystical and the absurd, with invigorating results.

The rich, complex worldbuilding of Onigoro, described as a ‘supernatural folk horror’, situates the ancient world of Japanese legend and mythology in the heart of contemporary Fukushima, seven years after the nuclear disaster. Two contamination workers find themselves descending into a living nightmare deep in the region’s mountains, subject to the vengeance of angered gods, animal spirits, and the earth itself. ‘Why are people so scared of ghosts?’ one of the workers asks towards the start of the play; ‘human beings are much scarier’. Onigoro investigates the effect of human evil in the twenty-first century, compounded by capitalist greed and the capabilities of modern technology, through the perspective of the natural and otherworldly entities that have been around long before us, according to Japanese folklore. It is fascinating to witness the merging of familiar, modern horror tropes, such as the creepily giggling little girls in the woods, with deeper, older narratives of gods and spirits, and finally that most urgent evil, the self-inflicted destruction of our planet.

Matsumara’s 28 hours 01 minute presents some extraordinary writing, alternately hilarious, unsettling, and downright bizarre. The play analyses beliefs surrounding gender roles throughout Japanese culture and the conflicting desires of an expectant mother in the present day, whose values align with feminist ideology, but feels she doesn’t ‘have the power to fight any more’. When her simpering, condescending neighbour Uso (the formidably talented Kanako Nakano) brings her a tangerine, a strange, echoing series of increasingly surreal events unravels like the repeating layers of a bad dream. Again, metatextual inferences are wide-ranging: the expectant mother’s grotesque fears that the bloody foetus may burst out of her stomach reminiscent of the childbirth anxieties of Alien; the kafkaesque, russian-doll-like enclosing of scene after similar but twisted scene, with her husband eventually emerging in a rubber horse head mask; and a humorous bemoaning of the influence of the Edo Geishas on contemporary expectations of womanhood.

A theme the two plays have in common is a kind of gluttonous overconsumption, with one contamination worker gorging on sashimi prepared by his supernatural hosts sparking his transformation into a pheasant, and the fanatic gobbling of tangerines by the horse-husband and expectant mother. The eating of certain foods as a point of transition into other realms and states of being, and the exploration and punishment of human insatiability are long-established tropes in mythology from around the world, which are welcome in such unconventional and politically exciting contexts.

REVIEW: The Nutcracker

Published on January 5, 2023 by Rachel WoodLeave a comment

Birmingham Royal Ballet charm and delight in this exquisite production.

This festive season saw Birmingham Royal Ballet return to the Royal Albert Hall for David Bintley’s enchanting production of The Nutcracker. Choreographed by Peter Wright, Lev Ivanov and Vincent Redmon, with Paul Murphy conducting the Royal Ballet Sinfonia’s masterful execution of Tchaikovsky’s score, The Nutcracker is a treat not to be missed.

Foregrounding this production is a glorious sense of playfulness, with bright, light-footed dancing, sumptuous flowing costumes, and a welcome input from the Royal Ballet Junior Associates as the young children at Drosselmeyer (Rory Mackay)’s party. Often consigned to the sidelines in productions of the Nutcracker while the adults take centre stage, the performance allowed for a wonderful showcase of their work, injecting moments of humour as they flexed their acting chops to boot. One can only imagine the delight of the young talent to hold their own in such a magnificent program.

Drosselmeyer’s magic is realised with nimble elements of physical theatre, his magician’s scarves and fiendish stage trickery demonstrating a seamless sleight-of-hand from the dancers and production team. Emerging from celestially emblazoned trick boxes, the stylised ballet of Riku Ito’s Harlequin and Rachelle Pizzilo’s Columbine is a highlight in this segment. The Nutcracker’s renowned range of personalities is reflected by John Macfarlane’s costumes in astounding contrast and detail, with Max Maslen’s Jack-In-The-Box flaunting possibly the most exquisite piece of character costumery I’ve seen.

This is a bold statement in the context of this production, with the tutus of the performers of the Dance of the Mirlitons (also known as the Dance of the Reed-Flutes, or simply Marzipan) seeming good enough to eat, and Clara (an exceptional Karla Doorbar)’s gossamer-soft nightgown presenting further strong competition. I’ve always wanted to wear one just like it, ideally while drifting to sleep on multitudinous, fluffy cake-layers of eiderdown and satin, blissfully ignorant of any stray peas hidden under the bedding. I’m getting carried away, but The Nutcracker really does quite magically reawaken the imagination of childhood – you’ll be hard pressed to see a fairy tale come quite so spectacularly to life on stage.

I initially baulked at the projections, the first of which felt more Doctor Who than Tchaikovsky, a glowing ring of light strands spreading outwards from the centre of the stage’s back wall. However, the final image, a close-up projection of the bottom of a Christmas tree, is indeed highly effective in indicating the transformation of scale marking the transition into the enchanted kingdom of the toys. (I can’t help but feel a painted backdrop would have done the job just as well for this section, but that’s a slippery slope towards my editor renaming the publication An Ancient-ish Perspective). I was also a fan of the humongous sky baubles ponderously suspended above the auditorium here. The projected drawings of individual toys in the second act is more effective still, and has more charm; the contrast between their sketched stasis and the vivaciously animated dancers helps enhance the magic.

Momoko Hirata’s dancing of the Sugar Plum Fairy is simply heart-stopping. Those exquisitely executed sequences burst with life: her precision, focus and strength, and the power held within each highly controlled yet ethereal, seemingly effortless movement moved me to tears. The first time I saw The Nutcracker aged six, I felt very grown up to be taken to the theatre to see such a spectacle, and kept a treasured postcard of the production’s Sugar Plum Fairy on my wall for years, before forgetting it like so many other relics of childhood. This time around, I felt wonderfully childlike – Hirata was of course just like the fairy on my bedroom wall, who I remembered all at once with great delight.

Drosselmeyer ponders at the ballet’s close whether the events that unfolded were all a sleepy little girl’s dream, reminding us to never underestimate the power of a little girl’s imagination. A gorgeous, sparkling feast for the eyes; Birmingham Royal Ballet will leave you feeling full of heart and curiously light on your feet.

REVIEW: A Christmas Gaiety

Published on December 6, 2022 by Rachel WoodLeave a comment

Wouldn’t Christmas be better if it was a little more queer? A Christmas Gaiety confirms that yes, yes it would.

Baby it’s cold outside, but you’re in for a warm welcome at the Royal Albert Hall this season – South Kensington’s esteemed institution has thrown open its doors for the glittering festive explosion that is A Christmas Gaiety.

Far from a silent night (or a particularly holy one for that matter), prepare for a variety show quite unlike any other: think kinky panto meets orchestral drag excellence, draped heavily in tinsel and delivered in time for Christmas by the seriously cheering Peaches Christ and Edwin Outwater. Edwin introduces himself as our ‘conductor, co-host and daddy’ for the evening, and Peaches arrives bedecked in enough sequins to put the cast of Saturday Night Fever to shame. She forgets her muff, apparently the butt of several opening jokes, but rides it out with aplomb – ‘Oh it’s hairy and it has fluffy balls, yada yada’ – as only a queen can.

As you may have gathered, a few of the performers have quite possibly made the naughty list this year, and theatre goers would do well to heed the show’s instructions to leave the kids at home. It is definitely the first time the Royal Albert Hall’s five thousand-strong audience members have obediently moaned in unison to the crack of a whip, following the appearance of Peaches’ scantily clad ‘sexy dom daddy’ assistant in riding boots and cap, complete with jockstrap, choker and all-important riding crop. There are a lot – and I mean A LOT – of christmassy innuendos in this show, and the tyranny of jokes on the theme of acclaimed organist Anna Lapwood’s ‘huge organ’ and the ‘size of her pipes’ threatened to overwhelm (Lapwood’s solo performance was, however, breathtaking, utilising all of the hall’s bells and whistles to showcase a dazzling festive medley). The London LGBT Fourth Choir’s saucy take on The Twelve Days of Christmas is more successful, gleefully belting ‘five c*ck rings…and a ticket to go see Kylie’ with the utmost grace and professionalism.

A doorbell rings to announce the arrival of each member of the star-studded line up, including the opera-singing, bearded drag icon Le Gateau Chocolat, RuPaul’s Drag Race UK contestants Cheddar Gorgeous and Pixie Polite, and Broadway and West End wonder Marisha Wallace. Le Gateau Chocolat’s gorgeous baritone rendition of Frozen’s Let It Go is a highlight, performed with a combination of expert comic timing and top-tier queeny irreverence. Peaches reappears at the opening of the second act in the sparkly pink ball gown of your fairy godmother dreams, having remembered her muff this time around, and is treated to a present by her guests – she is less than impressed with the British yuletide delicacy of mince pies, and someone in the front row receives a hastily re-gifted jar of jellied eels.

The BBC Concert Orchestra are clearly having as much fun as the queens (though the two are not mutually exclusive – a violinist made their drag debut as miss Violin Femme), with a trombonist sporting bouncy reindeer ears and a percussionist in full ‘gay penguin’ costume furiously going to town on the sleigh bells, those punishingly repetitive minims mined for comedy gold. It is majestically entertaining to watch a live orchestra of such a high standard, particularly one playing a yassified Jingle Bells.

I really cannot stress the sheer Christmassiness of this show enough. My companion had had a late night the night before, and already believes the holiday should be celebrated every other year at most. Towards the end, I looked over as Marisha blasted Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas, each special guest returned to the stage and dancing away, the orchestra and speakers at full volume, every Christmas light in the house lit, twinkly snow visual effects galore, audience on their feet with their phone torches out, the penguin going nuts on the bells again. He slowly turned to me with a double thumbs up, a gritted smile and not a small amount of pain behind his eyes: ‘tis the season!’ he grimaced weakly.

Some of the American vs. British, lost-in-translation style jokes did grate a bit, and the humorous topical commentary felt pretty on the nose. However, Edwin, Peaches and co are nonetheless guaranteed to rock your Christmas socks off in bringing San Francisco’s hit seasonal spectacle to the famed Hall for the show’s London premiere performance. Marisha’s spectacular tribute of West Side Story’s ‘Somewhere’ to all chosen families hit an urgent note, acknowledging that for many, the holiday period is a difficult time of negotiating antagonistic family members, opposing political views and the rejection of one’s identity. In stark contrast, A Christmas Gaiety felt like a big queer Christmas party to which everyone is invited, allowing for all the glitzy indulgence of the season with none of the fallout. Pour yourself a tall glass of the holiday spirit (I’d opt for tequila) and get down to South Ken for a magical night of queer festive fun.

REVIEW: Avocado Presents: Improv

Published on November 13, 2022 by Rachel WoodLeave a comment

Perhaps I caught them on a bad night – regardless, this show needs work.

My mum nurses a soft spot for improv. I once had the privilege of witnessing her cry with laughter at a late night Fringe scratch show, where the disparate threads of increasingly absurd audience suggestions were spun into comedy gold before our eyes. Recently, I reviewed the inimitable An Improbable Musical at Hackney Empire. Ever my favourite proofreader, she told me it made her desperately want to see the show, but sadly the run was soon coming to a close. Imagine my delight when the opportunity to review an improvised one-act play by improv duo Hamza Mohsin and Jake Migicovsky, together forming Avocado Presents, presented itself – I gleefully asked her if she’d like to be my guest on her birthday.

We were handed a couple of flyers upon descending the stairs separating theatre and watering hole, The Curtain’s Up pub. Curiously, none of the glowing review quotations had been accredited to anyone, or even put in quotation marks. I recognised this trick immediately – I attempted it myself when first producing a show at university before being admonished by the director. Cripes.

A ‘one act play’ is a generous description of the series of divergent skits that followed. Rather than taking audience suggestions, which tends to lend a feeling of veritable spontaneity to improv, the duo just kind of vibed, which lent a feeling of an unrehearsed sketch show. Connecting themes, if any, seemed to be exploring traits of toxic masculinity, getting wasted and working out what to do with the broken chair from the set of the preceding show.

The main downfall seemed to be a flagrant ignoring of the first rule of improvisation, lesson one of any am-dram improv workshop: namely, the ‘yes, and’ rule. If someone throws an idea out into a scene – ‘Bill, your hair’s on fire!’, for example – all other parties should ideally rush for an imaginary bucket with which to douse the unfortunate Bill, rather than say, ‘no it’s not’. There are many exceptions to this rule, of course, which frequently do make for some of the funniest comedic moments, but it is the first rule for a reason. Hamza and Jake’s interactions were characterised by an overwhelming sense of negation, as opposed to the affirming ‘yes, and’ rule. While potentially riffing on themes of male conflict and friendship negotiated amid societal pressure to assert dominance and exert power, it mostly meant the scenes just didn’t go anywhere, and were frequently stopped in their tracks. This was epitomised by Hamza putting away the aforementioned broken chair, before Jake brought it back and insisted on fixing it. It decidedly could not be fixed, as he discovered in front of his bewildered audience.

A road trip interrupted by two policemen indeed provided an apt metaphor for the show. Ironically, this was the best of their scenes, containing fun moments which acknowledged the elements of surprise and play central to their work. As Jake whipped around to the other side of the vehicle to become a second officer, Hamza and his character’s reactions aligned with a mildly startled, ‘Oh, there’s another one’. Jake jumped back into his initial role, quickly establishing he had been too baked to participate much in the proceedings. ‘Is there a law, officer, against driving with a foot?’ he manages to ask (he had been driving with his foot), to the biggest laugh of the night.

However, they tended to fall back on these scenarios in which the comedy rested on their being drunk or high, exemplified by Jake pushing for there to be ‘something else’ in the suitcase on their road trip, with Hamza insisting there was just clothes, shoes and underwear in it. Again, this negation resulted in Jake’s pushing going nowhere, prompting him to reach behind his seat and magically find a leftover joint for them to smoke. Rejecting the literally infinite possibilities for the contents of that suitcase, and indeed for any number of weird and wonderful things that Jake might have stumbled across in his car, this simply comes across as lazy storytelling. I feel like I’m being quite harsh here. However, there are only so many opportunities for the flourishing of the lush, diverse multitudes of underrepresented, emerging talents in the comedy sphere, and these guys occupy one of those rare spaces. It’s time to shape up or move on.

Maybe the problem was I cared too much – they were pretty endearing, working hard to practise their craft, and clearly had talent – so it was frustrating when they simply never took off the ground. Perhaps a final few sketches would have provided this opportunity, but the night came to an abrupt end when, I sh*t you not, an improbably hammered audience member two seats down threw up over the row in front. Somewhat worryingly my mum laughed much, much harder at this than she had the entire evening. Next time, I’m taking her to see The Nutcracker.

REVIEW: A Butcher of Distinction

Published on November 6, 2022 by Rachel WoodLeave a comment

Darkly comic, curiously timeless gothic tale sparks intrigue and chills galore at Barons Court Theatre

Directed by Macadie Amoroso, the action of Rob Hayes’ A Butcher of Distinction unfolds in a dark and eerie pub basement. Fittingly enough, Baron’s Court theatre is actually situated in the tiny basement of The Curtain’s Up pub, serving to suspend any remaining disbelief amongst the audience of this intensely intimate, 52-seater venue. Those who are sorry to see the end of spooky season should be sure to catch A Butcher of Distinction in the heart of West London until the 12th November.

Country-born and raised twins Hartley (Connor McRory) and Hugo (Joseph Ryan-Hughes) have been sent down to London upon their parents’ untimely deaths ‘looking like a couple of croquet referees’, as their new acquaintance observes: the inimitable Ethan Reid as Teddy, a wondrously sinister, scruffy, growling pimp, who manages to be all arms and legs yet incredibly imposing, with just about the most impressive swagger I’ve ever seen. Reid has one of those rare talents where he doesn’t even seem like he’s acting, but simply a real person going about his life – I caught him checking his beard in a mirror above the narrow stairs down to the theatre before the performance, where he said a knowing hello, paving the way for a heady blurring of fiction and reality as we unwittingly descended into his world.

Laura Mugford’s fantastic set design is peppered with careful details that draw us ever deeper into the dingy, unfamiliar landscape the boys find themselves in, navigating all the trappings of a sordid, secretive life stuffed under the streets of London in the hope no one would find it. While sorting through their father’s curious possessions in the search for things they can sell, including bottles of pills and ether, a broken hairdryer, various items emblazoned with the family crest, and a bag of human hair, they are interrupted by Teddy, who after hearing of the old man’s demise, demands they pay the odd quarter of a million he is owed. They are indeed penniless: the boys have apparently been given away like any other of their father’s assets, his most prized possessions used to pay off his debts.

Teddy has got fingers in lots of pies – ‘apart from the pie business, that’s a fortress’ – but his primary enterprise is ‘providing things money can’t buy…things you can’t speak about at the dinner table’. This turns out not to be ‘immigration!’ as Hugo pipes up, but the sex trade, going on to inform the disbelieving duo of their father’s after-hours affairs with a story involving their dad shaving a sex worker entirely bald, with not a single hair left on his body – ‘and we checked’, he says with a shake of his head. Suddenly the previously found bag of human hair takes on an appalling context, produced anew by a horrified Hugo (Hugo’s facial expressions are brilliant throughout).

Teddy knows all the tricks in the book, a master of emotional manipulation as he switches from threat and violence to being strangely empathetic, offering words of understanding and promises to look after them through their service. He pries his way into the boys’ weak spots to divide them, putting ideas into the more impressionable Hugo’s head – ‘does he make all the decisions’ – he jabs a thumb at Hartley (who is older by ten minutes) – ‘or do you ever get a chance to think for yourself?’ There is a particularly chilling scene in which Teddy speaks about his unenviable plans for Hartley on the phone to an anonymous business partner while staring straight at him, working to further his siege of terror and power over the unfortunate twins.

The ageless, timeless quality of the temporally ambiguously set and costumes – I had assumed these events were taking place at some point in the first half of the 20th century at the latest – is disturbed by Teddy’s manifesting a small, chunky Nokia, jolting the scene into the relative present. This still leaves much room for error in pinpointing an exact year, however, a technique employed by products of the horror genre such as David Robert Mitchell’s It Follows, which features black and white movies, old cars, and futuristic mobile devices. This serves to further disorient and unnerve us by placing the action in an in-between, liminal space, somewhere familiar but nonetheless uncannily Other.

Speaking of the horror genre, this show gets neo-pagan horror-core real quick – Hartley’s mannered performance gives way to an efficient and unhinged killer, coming into his own as the eponymous butcher. I will say no more, other than to beware the lonely goatherd. My main concern with the play was that of the issue of forced male prostitution being engaged with for seemingly no other reason than to lend seediness, dramatic intrigue or gravitas, without sufficient justification for or thoughtful exploration of the traumatic subject. While undoubtedly compounding the nightmarish situation the boys find themselves in, it simply feels unnecessary, and is moved on from strangely quickly.

Generally, however, Butcher is quirky, creepy, and often bleakly hilarious – it’s a real treat to witness these talented actors at such dangerously close range.

REVIEW: The Importance of Being Earnest

Published on November 4, 2022November 4, 2022 by Rachel WoodLeave a comment

A handbag?? Fresh Earnest revival packs a punch with a wildly successful take on this illustrious comedy.

Playing at The Rose Theatre in Kingston until 12th November, don’t miss this deliciously witty, fast-paced new production of Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest, which takes on a sizzling modern feel in the hands of director Denzel Westley-Sanderson. The actors are a joy to watch, working playfully with Lily Arnold’s set, Beth Duke’s sound design, and Tinovimbanashe Sibanda’s choreography to bring the script wholly to life in a series of fiercely fun twists.

This majestic interpretation challenges a particularly dangerous historical amnesia pertaining to the history of Black people in England. Algernon (Abiola Owokoniran)’s stylish townhouse is bedecked with contemporary African art reminiscent of Aboudia Abdoulaye Diarrassouba’s work, in which he dabbles himself, undermining common perceptions of the Western artistic canon and positioning Black art at the height of fashion and good taste in Victorian Britain. In Jack (Justice Ritchie)’s country retreat, the walls are testament to a long and proud ancestral history, the de rigueur, imposing portraits of prominent familial or societal figures typical of a period manor house in this case paying homage to a forgotten generation. Westley-Sanderson’s vision for the play involved bringing to centre stage the often overlooked Black Victorians who were an integral part of nineteenth century English society. In conversation with Arnold’s set design, Costume Supervisor Sarah Holland and Costume Maker Elspeth Threadgold play a substantial role in realising this vision, with sumptuous outfits tailored thoughtfully to each character working to quash the myth of there being no Black Victorians, indeed no Black people in the country prior to the arrival of the Windrush generation from the 1950s onwards. Westley-Sanderson states that ‘if seeing Black people who look stunning in Victorian dress, who were rich, who weren’t just on the plantation, prompts some curiosity about Black Victorians, I’ll be very happy.’

Westley-Sanderson employs some effective exploration of gender fluidity amongst the characters, with Lady Blacknell played by Daniel Jacob, AKA Vinegar Strokes of RuPaul’s Drag Race fame. Miss Strokes brings all the pomp and vigour of drag performance to the nineteenth century text, commanding our attention entirely whilst on stage, and exiting her scenes umbrella-first in traditional queen style. Valentine Hanson doesn’t miss a chance to inject some delightfully camp comic timing into even Merriman, Algernon’s Butler (with the playtext’s original cucumber sandwiches switched to cucumber martinis, which feel more fitting for this production). Miss Prism (Joanne Henry) catches the eye of Dr. Chasuble, here played by a fantastic Anita Reynolds in a compelling subversion of Victorian gender roles. It was not lost on Westley-Sanderson that Wilde was imprisoned for homosexuality, and this interpretation of one of his most famous works celebrates the progress made in the interim: while not nearly far enough, seeing the play’s erotic possibilities manifested in this manner are only further steps in the right direction.

Phoebe Campbell (Cecily) and Adele James (Gwendolyn) masterfully bring out the vivacious, multi-faceted potential of Wilde’s female characters, managing to override the casual misogyny in the original text by means of tone and facial expressions. Their voices drip with exuberant, humorous irony as they laud the bravery of their romantic conquests, while said conquests cower submissively at their feet, and the women’s observations of the relative cowardice of the sexes ring true, though likely received with the opposite meaning by this contemporary audience in particular. It was a true pleasure to watch this production’s maximisation of the personality and agency of Earnest’s female characters.

The general feeling of the play is a glorious sense of fun, style and farce, the quick-smart shade-throwing of nineteenth century, not-so-polite society brought up to date in a ravishing satire for our times.

REVIEW: The Solid Life of Sugar Water

Published on October 24, 2022October 24, 2022 by Rachel WoodLeave a comment

Indiana Lown-Collins’ revival of Jack Thorne’s hilarious, devastating insight into a relationship proves a triumphant amplification of disabled voices – a stunning work of theatre.

Jack Thorne may be known best to the readers of A Young(ish) Perspective as the writer behind Skins, with his screenwriting credits also including This is England, Cast Offs and Enola Holmes. His theatre credentials include Let The Right One In, A Christmas Carol and Junkyard. The Solid Life of Sugar Water was first produced by Graeae Theatre Company in 2016, moving on to the Edinburgh Fringe and The National Theatre before a halt in productions in the UK. Thorne stipulated that the actor playing Alice had to be deaf, ‘and no one seemingly could make that work’. Director Indiana Lown-Collins chose Sugar Water as her entry to the JMK Award, which allows up-and-coming directors to stage a professional production of a play of their choice. As the 2022 winner, she triumphantly brings Thorne’s exceptional piece of writing back to the stage.

Playing at Richmond’s Orange Tree Theatre until the 12^th November, Sugar Water delves into the relationship between Alice (Katie Erich) and Phil (Adam Fenton), with no painful, cringeworthy or intimate detail left unshared. Revolving around their horrific experience of Alice’s stillbirth, the play sheds light on a topic that often goes unspoken, with 2,597 babies dying from stillbirth in 2021 and yet little being heard on the issue. Lown-Collins speaks of the importance of what this play helps to do, to give people a platform to ‘say their baby’s name if they wish to, or share their story’.

Despite the gravity of the subject matter, a great deal of the experience of watching this production is made up of laughter – Thorne’s writing is witty and razor-sharp, and our two actors are singularly talented, at once hilarious, endearing and able to carry the emotional weight of their characters’ pain. Focal to Ica Niemz’s masterful set design is a bed, alternately made and unmade as the couple reveal the twists and turns of their connection, with crumpled off-white sheets not unreminiscent of Tracey Emin’s. Aptly, the bed later provides a comical demonstration of the kind of modern art Phil is at a loss to describe when on a date with Alice at a gallery, a ball of burst-pillow feathers perched atop a pile of linen becoming a piece he feels pressure to comment on insightfully: ‘it says the artist slept with his sister then killed his mother…interesting…’

The stalls were often riotous with fits of yelping as the couple describe the messy, awkward sexual truths of their relationship. This is how people really have sex, presented in a realm far from the glossy exploits of mainstream pornography, and it is a reminder that this kind of honesty is not seen enough, in how wonderful their clumsy endeavours are, the audience sharing bursts of joyful, vocal recognition. You can’t help but root for them both, and indeed Alice describes Phil in this way – that ‘you want him to do well’. She expresses her pleasant surprise at their first sleeping together, musing ‘well, he’s a tigger – and once you fuck a tigger, there’s no going back.’

Phil tends to take centre stage due to this energy – it’s hard to draw away from such frenetic charisma. Because of this, one initially wonders about Alice’s depths, the dreams and pain that get swept up in Phil’s sparkiness. Yet it is Phil who turns his head towards Alice in the final scene, lying side by side on the bed, and his pure devotion to her is clear throughout. Alice switches to signing in the aftermath of her time in hospital, and expresses herself powerfully, full of exhausted emotion. The bed has a transparent frame beneath it, bands of lights with clever mirror placement seeming to refract forever below, and where elsewhere these may suggest untold personal depths, here they become a feat of symmetry. The inner lives of both characters are explored exquisitely above, Sugar Water a clear window into their personhood.

The intimacy of the production is potent, all the more so for occasionally catching the eye of someone across the theatre in the round witnessing the same private scene as you, heightening your awareness of the voyeuristic element of watching Sugar Water. Such is the truth of the play’s depiction of a relationship, with the couple’s meet-cute becoming symbolic of these themes of honesty and intimacy. Alice finds herself behind Phil in the line for the post office, who is posting a comically large package (‘NO METAPHOR’, Alice insists), which inevitably explodes, revealing its mixed contents, some less kosher than one might like to be laid bare before the clientele of your local post office. However, everyone helps to pick up the pieces, including Alice. There is connection in the aftermath of that messy human mistake, of Phil’s quirks and hang ups and private sense of humour being exposed, his socially acceptable veneer shattered in an act of faux pas – and here, that vulnerability leads very quickly to love.

An extraordinary exploration of life and loss, which does the vital work of placing disabled voices at the heart of the narrative, something which is not yet seen nearly enough in the arts – an essential watch.

REVIEW: An Improbable Musical

Published on October 24, 2022 by Rachel WoodLeave a comment

Please stop what you’re doing, immediately, and go and see this show.

I’m not joking – it is imperative that you mime putting down your teacup, tie your imaginary shoelaces, have a think about what rhymes with ‘lackadaisical’ and run, don’t walk, to a world of musical improbability at the Hackney Empire.

Every night from the 21^st – 26^th October, Lee Simpson, Josie Lawrence, Ruth Bratt and Niall Ashdown are joined by puppeteers Aya Nakamura and Clarke Joseph-Edwards to spectacularly manifest the seemingly impossible: an entirely improvised, professionally produced, ninety-minute musical, complete with a live orchestra accompanying the actors’ frequent bursts into never-before-heard song. Luckily for us, this feat of theatre indeed turns out to be merely the highly improbable.

In a style familiar to those who have seen some form of improvised theatre before, particularly sketch shows, the production opens with the cast taking three suggestions from the audience. They first called for a ‘good place’ – an audience member shouted ‘Downing Street’, which our unruffled thespian rejected, on the basis that they had radically reinterpreted the definition of the word ‘good’. An herb garden became the winning suggestion here. Next, we were asked for a word that feels pleasant in the mouth to say out loud – ‘lackadaisical’ was successful, after some relaxed confirmation of its definition between the cast members (to not care, be apathetic, etc, if you were wondering). Finally, we were urged to provide a ‘beautiful sentence’, with some excellent nonsense being proffered in the form of ‘the murder was horrible, yet the wind whispered’.

Oh readers. I could tell you about the unparalleled joy of watching the live births of such musical delights as ‘Why Is My Dill So Ill’, ‘Dust Cake’, ‘Nobody Loves You’ and ‘Pick Your Herbs In Your Own Garden (Stay On Your Side Of The Fence)’. These all have the promise to be smash hits – that is, if they were ever to be seen on stage again. You will simply have to see what happens on your particular night, which is of course a great part of the fun.

Some of these theatrical births are more painless than others, although the ultimate roaring success of a section with a shaky start is genuinely thrilling to witness. After Nakamura and Joseph-Edwards, two hitherto less prominent cast members wordlessly played with items in a tea set for an anxiety-inducing length of time, a completely magical moment of realisation rippled throughout the theatre, as a teapot, saucer and three teacups became, improbably, wondrously, a thoroughly charming, abstracted puppet creature. Ashdown jumped in with a spiel about the plight of the last duckling in every brood to jump into the pond for the first time, and suddenly I found myself caring very much about the fate of, what had been moments ago, a collection of inanimate household objects.

There are the occasional highly funny fourth wall-breaks, in which our cast acknowledge the inevitable mistakes, inconsistencies, and ‘where the hell are we going with this’ moments that are part and parcel of improvising a coherent narrative to a live audience for an hour and a half. This has the effect of winning us ever more round to their side, with what could have been glaring inconsistencies transformed into humorous highlights of the performance. Nakamura leaves a scene taking place in a shed via multiple exits, which is immediately picked up on by the other cast members. They note the strangeness of new doors appearing in the garden infrastructure and ceremoniously dub her ‘the magical lady in the shed’, who becomes a significant character in the unfolding plot.

I particularly enjoyed the creative use of props accidentally left behind from previous scenes. A scrunched-up ball of brown paper from the preceding ‘Dust Cake’ number (formed by means of an old couple’s lackadaisical approach to housekeeping over 39 years, and which bizarrely turns out to have regenerative properties when eaten) becomes ‘the ancient pebble’, the meeting point for our two unfortunate murder victims. A dropped umbrella which previously functioned as a walking stick sparks a relationship-ending conversation between two characters who have let the weeds grow in their romantic life. Such is the feeling that there is truly nothing a song can’t be written about.

My companion and I clutched each other in the stalls throughout, mouths agape with delight, tears in our eyes from laughter. I truly could not recommend this show more highly – pure theatrical magic.