Step into the dazzling, hilarious world of a non-binary vamp: a cabaret like no other
“Dust off your cheap champagne, put on a sequin train, and jump into my brain…”
With these directory lines from their opening number Dr. Adam Perchard invites us into the mesmerizing, multifaceted, and uproarious world of a non-binary, gay, ex-academic vamp. The audience is treated to an hour-long cabaret set filled with enchanting songs about love, philosophy, self-acceptance, and body image, all delivered in the most captivating baritone voice I’ve heard in a while, complemented by stunning hair and a breathtaking sequin robe.
Structured as an interview, the show is a clever pastiche of the popular Anne Rice IP. The brilliantly talented pianist Richard Thomas guides us musically and thematically through the trials and tribulations of being a vamp. He is also responsible for composing all these enchanting songs.
Although we are invited to explore Perchard’s mind, there are moments that resonate with most of us. Feelings of insecurity or inadequacy, having a job you dislike while also feeling like a fraud, and the pitfalls of modern dating and love are all experiences the audience can relate to, regardless of background or sexual orientation. This isn’t to say that the show isn’t tailored towards queer individuals, specifically male-presenting people within the LGBTQ+ community.
Many of the jokes and scenarios draw upon a shared culture with specific references. This isn’t a drawback, as theatre shouldn’t be made solely to cater to the general public. Overall, the rapid succession of songs, along with an extraordinary performance from start to finish, makes for one of the most delightful and hilarious viewing experiences I’ve had in a long time.
An exploration of identity, masculinity, and happiness.
“Close Enough to Touch,” written by Henry Roberts and performed by Ross Barbour, is a witty, gritty, and beautifully honest account of one man’s struggle with his sexuality as he attempts to wrangle the two conflicting aspects of his life.
After a painfully awkward and unsuccessful job interview, one of many for our protagonist (Barbour), the audience dives right in via a crash course on one of his “hobbies”: cruising in public toilets, mostly in train stations and the underground. It’s everywhere if you know where to look for it. A man stands in the same urinal for 20 minutes, someone washing his hands for the third time, looking around at the other occupants of a place most wish to exit with haste. Once two have spotted each other, the exchange goes on with little preamble, and often nary a word is said between the two. Our protagonist seems to be an old hand at this now, but he explains that this wasn’t always the case, and besides, it’s just a hobby for him, not a lifestyle. He’s not gay. He’s got a long-term girlfriend, Steph, whom he loves. He does.
As the piece progresses, we unravel more and more of his life and experience all manner of emotions, such as fear, embarrassment, and joy, as his life becomes increasingly untenable until finally, he achieves some form of catharsis. Although it is unclear whether or not he has come to accept the part of himself, he has tried to hide from himself and the rest of the world for so long.
Roberts’ writing is poetic, witty, and engaging, and Barbour’s performance only adds to the “magic.” It had such an incredible flow and energy that one did not realise the time was passing. The minimal set, sound, and lighting design were also advantages, as they only highlighted Barbour’s brilliant performance.
“Close Enough to Touch” is a raw, empathetic, and intelligent piece on the challenges we still face with the ambiguity of our sexuality and the added complexity regarding our relationship to masculinity. I didn’t want it to end; I wanted more.
An evening of Christmas splendour that even Scrooge would find hard not to enjoy
Walking up to the Royal Albert Hall on a cold December night is, in and of itself, an experience that will make anyone feel the spirit of Christmas. So, the evening is already off to a good start as the audience, dressed in Christmas jumpers, sips and snacks on mulled wine and mince pies, take their seats in the iconic venue decorated in full Christmas splendour. The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra starts tuning their instruments, the National Youth Choir and the Royal Choral Society take their places. The conductor takes his place at the front of the orchestra, and the music begins. Christmassy music fills the air, and one starts to feel the mixture of nostalgia, longing, and happiness that only occurs during this time of year.
Presenter Jess Gillam welcomes us and announces the evening’s pieces, including carols where the audience is encouraged to stand up and join in and beautiful renditions of Christmas classics by the professionals on stage, including soloist Cleopatra Rey. One of the highlights of the evening was the rendition of the Twelve Days of Christmas. Every section of the audience, from the balcony to the stalls to the arena, was given a day and told to stand up as a group when their part came around. It later devolved into screaming one’s bit, but was very fun nonetheless.
Christmas is often a very challenging time of year, with familial tensions, financial stressors, and a general sense that this is a time when you are meant to be happy. If you aren’t, something is wrong with you. Many feel fatigue and malaise due to the exorbitant amount of gifts and food being purchased, as well as the old wounds that reopen when you spend too much time with your family.
But this evening at the Hall is an excellent remedy for all that; it reinvigorates the whimsy, joy, and wonder that we lose as we get older. Singing carols in a beautiful hall with a group of cheery and joyful strangers gave me a sense of peace and community I hadn’t felt in a while. I recommend anyone who needs a little pick-me-up to go and enjoy the evening’s joyful cheer, delicious mulled wine, and lovely carols.
A theatrical epic of fate, regret, and an undoubtedly Russian story
A Woman Walks Into a Bank serves as both the title and the opening line of Roxy Cook’s brilliantly written and directed piece. It also happens to be the inciting incident that sets in motion the intersecting lives of three individuals living in Moscow, Russia, during the years 2018-2019.
The piece predominantly utilises third-person narration, creating an overall impression reminiscent of an epic poem. How fitting, as we are about to embark on an odyssey of sorts.
As previously mentioned, a woman walks into a bank. More precisely, an elderly woman enters a bank in Moscow, Russia. Why? Is it because she needs money? She’s not too sure herself. Unfortunately, fate, or in this case, misfortune, plays its hand. An ambitious young bank manager seizes this opportunity as the perfect moment to secure his first significant victory and ends up selling her a high-interest loan.
The elderly woman, evidently suffering from dementia, promptly forgets all about it. However, being delinquent on loan payments is not something one wants to experience in Russia, as it leads to the harassment, threats, and violence of debt collectors. These collectors, chain-smoking, greasy-looking men all named Ivan, issue warnings to “pay it back or bad things are going to happen.” Unsurprisingly, one of them named Ivan goes after the old woman. He’s not a bad man; he’s just trying to provide for his family. Upon a chance encounter with the old lady’s cat, Sally, who has her own story to tell, the bank manager comes to terms with the consequences of his actions and the realisation that he’s still just a scared kid. Alone, reunited with Sally, the old woman isn’t sure who those two were or why they were in her flat, but she feels as though she’s had the best day she’s had in years.
Giulia Innocenti, Sam Newton, and Keith Dunphy all deliver electrifying performances, forming a dynamic trio that effortlessly plays off each other. All sequences flow seamlessly, and despite being choreographed, by fully engaging with the heightened style, it feels natural for these characters to move and act the way they do. The set, adorned with floor-to-wall carpets, conceals hidden panels that are unveiled as the play progresses.
In summary, it’s a humorous, visceral insight into a disillusioned post-modernist Russia, exploring our desperation for a better present and an easier future. Check it out and book tickets here.
Unmasking Identity: ‘Head Set’ – A Journey of Laughter, Neurodiversity, and Self-Discovery
Victoria Melody’s ‘Head Set,’ under the direction of John Gordillio, is a strikingly unconventional and ingeniously innovative performance right from the outset. It’s a unique blend of a one-woman show and a stand-up set, and it immediately captures the audience’s attention.
Victoria takes the stage dressed in a costume that can only be described as a fusion of all her previous odd jobs, which she discusses in the performance. These jobs range from a funeral director to a dog show handler and even a pigeon fancier. Her demeanor is marked by openness and joyfulness, and the stage is adorned with seemingly random props, setting the scene for something remarkable.
The audience is taken on a journey through Victoria’s experiences, from her odd jobs to her struggles in the amateur open-mic comedy scene. She explores the intricacies of conventional comedy and joke structure, at times embodying her antagonistic stand-up teacher to illustrate the challenges she encounters. The narrative takes a more profound turn with her ADHD diagnosis, highlighting the transformative impact of such self-awareness. Victoria reflects on feeling “a bit shit” and expresses her sadness for her younger self, who would have greatly benefited from an earlier diagnosis. The audience gains insight into her childhood through recorded audio from her mother, who provides examples of Victoria’s forgetfulness, impulsiveness, and obsessive behaviors, all of which align with neurodivergence.
Victoria’s experience with ADHD medication leaves her despondent and on the brink of suicide, leading her to reject this form of treatment. However, a pivotal moment occurs during a disastrous gig where a man falls on a glass bottle. Victoria springs into action, administering first aid while simultaneously engaging with the audience. In this intense moment, she experiences a surge of euphoria, prompting her to draw a connection between ADHD individuals, who often lack dopamine, and stand-up comedy. The high-risk, high-reward nature of stand-up floods the body with adrenaline and dopamine. This revelation leads her to collaborate with a neuroscientist, resulting in performances with a Head Set that measures her interest, stress levels, and more in real-time.
This innovative approach proves highly successful but also increasingly taxing, both physically and mentally. Victoria eventually “unmasks” herself to the audience, revealing that she has autism in addition to ADHD. She shares how much more fulfilling her life has become since embracing her true self and relinquishing the need to conform to neurotypical norms. She continues to pursue her interests in science, stand-up comedy, and medieval dress reenactment while proudly embracing her unique identity.
Victoria Melody’s performance and storytelling are nothing short of brilliant, entertaining, and refreshingly original. The ninety minutes spent in her company fly by as the audience becomes engrossed in her captivating narratives and insightful observations. These are essential themes and issues that deserve representation on the stage, particularly for neurodivergent women, who are often underdiagnosed. Victoria’s performance offers a positive, authentic, and destigmatizing portrayal of neurodiversity, emphasizing that our differences need not be seen as disadvantages when embraced and harnessed effectively.
Unveiling ‘What It Means’: A Riveting Tale of Identity, Defiance, and LGBTQ+ Legacy
Upon stepping into Wilton’s Music Hall, one is immediately struck by the grandeur of the space. It is, in fact, an old music hall that carries an air of enchanting hauntings, having been imbued with theatre’s essence for generations. The set is simple—a room with a solitary wall at the back, adorned with books and clutter. All that awaits us is our encounter with Merle. He doesn’t keep us waiting long. “I’m here, don’t panic, I’m here,” are his initial words to us, and indeed, we mustn’t panic. Merle stays with us for over an hour, inviting us into his life and his mind.
“What It Means,” penned by James Corley and skilfully directed by Harry Mackrill, traces one man’s path to coming out and unravels the intricate truth behind a seemingly simple question: What does it mean to be homosexual? And what does it mean to Merle?
Of course, we all know who Merle Miller is, and he is well aware of it too. An acclaimed journalist, former editor of Harper’s Magazine, a resident of the quaint town of Brewster in upstate New York. Life is quite comfortable for Merle. He’s seated in his glass house, engrossed in his third novel. So why is he experiencing such distress? It’s because of the protestors outside, disrupting his peace. Who are they? Oh, they’re Queer people advocating for their rights, for gay liberation. Why now? Should that even be a question? Well, if you must know, in September 1970, Harper’s Magazine (Merle’s former workplace) published an article titled ‘Homo/Hetero: The Struggle for Sexual Identity’, where the writer, Joseph Epstein, stated: “If I had the power to do so, I would wish homosexuality off the face of the earth.”
Merle’s response: “I say this writer is advocating genocide for homosexuals.”
And from this juncture, we journey through stories from Merle’s life and other events, all in the quest to elucidate what it means, and, hopefully, what it no longer means to be a queer individual.
Merle Miller was a real person, writing an article for the New York Times, publicly revealing his sexual orientation. ‘What It Means to Be a Homosexual,’ published a year after Epstein’s article in Harper’s Magazine, was a loud and proud rebuttal. It was a public declaration of identity, a rallying cry for equality, and stands as an integral part of the modern LGBTQ+ movement.
Considering this deep and intricate history, along with the piece primarily being a one-person show, it demands an extremely challenging and formidable role, which Richard Cant made appear effortless. His performance was brilliant and enthralling. He commanded the space for over an hour, ensuring it never felt like we had been there for that duration. The subject matter itself isn’t the most accessible to an average audience, and if it isn’t handled correctly, it can become confusing and convoluted. However, through Cant’s embodiment of Merle, it didn’t matter if one didn’t grasp the context of everything he said. It was more about how it was conveyed. One truly got a sense of what Miller might’ve been like, especially during the writing of that article. At times funny and ironic, bordering on bitter and apathetic, and at other times, one could see the anger, fear, and genuine anguish that comes with hiding a part of yourself. “…when you keep one part of yourself secret, that becomes the most important part of you.”
The introduction of the ‘Boy from Pittsburgh,’ portrayed by Cayvan Coates, marked a significant shift, as the audience and Merle had been lulled into the comfortable dynamic of just us. Coates’s performance was explosive and youthful, countering Cant’s ironic wit with raw vulnerability. He didn’t have an upstate New York country house to retreat to. For him, coming out could mean homelessness. Merle’s glass house might allow the world to peek inside, but he’s still shielded from the cold. While the introduction of the Boy was a welcome change in pace and tone, the execution felt a bit muddled, with insufficient time spent allowing us to comprehend his place in the piece.
“What It Means” may no longer carry the same significance as it did for Merle Miller and countless others, but it is crucial for us to remember this often-overlooked part of history. The queer community still battles substantial prejudice and discrimination, and fear and alienation are still prevalent. Hard-won progress is being challenged and destroyed, often by those in positions of power. We cannot afford to let the courageous actions of individuals like Merle be forgotten.
Step into the shadows and confront These Demons: A haunting tale of family, identity, and the supernatural
Upon entering the generously sized Theatre 503 in Battersea, the audience was welcomed by a set reminiscent of a cabin in the woods, evoking the eerie ambiance often seen in horror movies involving ghosts and demons. It didn’t take long for us to experience our initial encounter with something otherworldly. The character Leah, portrayed brilliantly by Olivia Marcus, took the stage and declared, “If the eye had the power to see them, no creature could endure the mazzikim. (…)”
These Demons, penned by Rachel Bellman and skillfully directed by Jasmine Teo, is a dizzying, humorous, unsettling, and compelling piece that delves into themes of family, identity, assimilation, and prejudice through the perspective of three Jewish women from the same family.
Leah (Marcus) is a sharp-witted, snarky young teenager who becomes fixated on uncovering the truth behind her Aunt Mirah’s accident. She had grown close to her aunt during her weekly Shabbat visits to Mirah’s dilapidated cottage in the woods. Flashbacks reveal that it wasn’t her aunt’s food that kept drawing her back, but her tales of demons, Lilith, and Jewish exorcisms. Mirah, portrayed by Ann Marcuson, appears haunted by her past and persecuted in her present, as she is targeted by a young boy who leaves an anti-Semitic message in her garden.
Danielle, brought to life by Liv Andrusier and Leah’s older sister, serves as a contrasting character. Carrying the weight of an older sibling, she attempts to persuade Leah to return home. However, due to resistance, a lack of signal, and slashed tires, she ends up joining her younger sister for a night in the cottage.
As anticipated, the night descends into chaos as the demons, whether real or imagined, make their appearance. A tumble into a river and an exorcism lead to a fire and a severed toe, and we conclude with both Mirah and Leah meeting each other in real-time, both freshly out of the hospital and relying on crutches. It’s an awkward and tense moment, with a palpable rift forming between the two as Leah declines Mirah’s invitation to come for Shabbat next week. As they both start hobbling away, Mirah makes a final chilling observation: amidst the ashes of her cottage, they discovered peculiar birdlike footprints.
Bellman’s writing is crisp, familiar, and skillfully interlaces us into the family dynamics, mysticism, and enigma. Leah is daring and highly intelligent, yet she retains a childlike sense of excitement. Her frustration with Danielle is highly relatable to anyone who has a “perfect” older sister. Olivia Marcus balances these elements with apparent ease, drawing us into the play’s world and the character through her open and emphatic performance.
Liv Andrusier portrays Danielle with authenticity and heart, effortlessly becoming the most relatable character in the piece. Initially, she disregards the uncomfortable truths surrounding her, but ultimately, she confronts these demons by embracing her identity as a Jewish woman. She had made an effort to assimilate into gentile society, inadvertently distancing herself from her culture and heritage.
Marcuson’s portrayal of Mirah embodies both strength and fragility, acting as the sisters’ mystical guide in this haunted woodland setting. She is a multifaceted woman, with a past as murky and seemingly tragic as the stories she writes about.
These Demons may or may not be real, but the experiences, dynamics, and emotions expressed in this piece undoubtedly are.
