Category: Feature

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Claudia Shnier

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We sat down for a quick chat with Claudia Shnier, writer, director and creator of Split Ends. Originally premiered at Brighton Fringe, where it was nominated for Best New Show 2025, before running at Edinburgh Fringe, Camden Fringe and internationally in Melbourne and Sydney, this is the first regional UK tour of the show.

Split Ends uses the metaphor of hair, hoovers and “splitting” to explore coercive control—how did you land on such a visceral visual language to tell this story?

    Well, ever since I was 14, I have had an obsessive ‘addiction’ to cutting my split ends, which I now know to be OCD. It’s a way for me to tolerate distress and to feel ‘in control’. But as soon as I start, I can’t stop, which makes me more distressed, making me want to cut my hair more. I then started dating an abusive partner, who also happened to be incredibly hairy. He would shed his hairs all over my apartment, and my OCD evolved into becoming obsessed with vacuuming his hairs. It was once again a way for me to feel in control, but yet again, the compulsion became debilitating and distressing to me, and I was ‘trapped’ in another destructive cycle. I thought the cyclicality of my distressing relationship to hair was a visceral way for me to explore the nuances of being ‘trapped’ in an abusive relationship.

    By personifying the vacuum as a romantic partner, what new emotional truths were you able to access about abuse, attachment and obsession?

    I think exploring how an inanimate object can have so much power over you and be a cause for immense emotional pain was interesting to me in my process of healing. I have two truths that contradict each other but co-exist, which I discovered. I discovered that the vacuum doesn’t have literal power if it is not plugged in; whether it is plugged in or not is up to me. But at the same time, it was not up to me. I have a big problem with the notion that part of the things that happened to me were because of the choices I made. It’s not that simple. Just like an illness, just like addiction. Sometimes you make choices because there are external influences that are controlling you. It’s complicated, and I think I’ve found comfort and dissolution of guilt by exploring this nuance in my play.

    How did your own lived experience shape the decision to blend autobiography with physical theatre, puppetry and multimedia storytelling?

    Honestly, it was just part of the devising process when I was creating it. The multimedia came because sound design and voiceover were a big part of my creative practice. I then discovered that I should put a face to the voice in my sound designs during the process of creating it. So then film became quite integral to the storytelling. As for physical theatre, this was also a big part of my practice, and I realised that in some sections of the piece it was more evocative to express the experience physically rather than through multimedia or speech.

    The show moves between dark comedy, confession and performance art—how do you navigate humour without undercutting the seriousness of the subject matter?

    I think I’ve written it in a way that I gain the audience’s trust quite quickly, which allows to be very playful but deliver hard truths without losing my audience. I also think I’ve made an effort to not layer scenes with similar tones or to quickly disrupt one scene with something else. It sounds chaotic, but it’s a controlled chaos, which an audience member described as “a very skilful punch in the guts.” I also let the heavier moments have time to breathe so that it’s not too jarring.

    You’ve taken Split Ends from Edinburgh to Australia and now a UK tour—how has audience response evolved the work over time?

    Since I first performed it, I have been blown away by the audience reception of this piece. I think because I am so open and honest and raw, it ignites a want for conversation or sharing in the audience. I have received more messages from strangers about how this show impacted them, than I have in my whole career. It’s been an incredible way for me to know that my show is having its desired effect. So that has been pretty consistent since the start, but I’ve changed bits in the play based on my personal growth over time as well as some constructive feedback I’ve received from audiences.

    Performing to NHS staff as well as theatre audiences is unusual—what conversations are you hoping the piece opens up in those settings?

    I received an email the other day from the doctor who came to see the show, who put me in touch with the NHS in Cornwall. I won’t share the whole email, but this is an excerpt of what he sent me, and I am so touched (brought tears to my eyes) reading this, and I think it speaks for itself.

    “In my job I see the victims and perpetrators of abuse, but because of the pressure, it tends to be a very brief overview, or touching on the effects on mood or anxiety etc, with no chance to gain any real depth or understanding. We may treat the symptoms if we can, or signpost to other services for psychological support, but it is too easy just to move on and deal with the next patient with their blood pressure or painful knee etc.

    The chance to watch you illustrating the experiences in such a deeply personal and moving way, yet with clever comedy and manipulation of emotions, was a true privilege. I was left wishing everyone who is ever likely to either be in a relationship, or deal with anyone in a relationship, should see for themselves to gain that insight. Every healthcare professional who deals with patients or clients who might have had similar experiences will, I think, be more understanding and able to give better care and compassion to the person they are dealing with if they were to see Split Ends.

    I would like to think that I am a better man, both personally and professionally for seeing you, and I feel very privileged. I am so pleased that I chose your production that day in Edinburgh and wish I had seen it earlier in life!”

    IN CONVERSATION WITH: Jonathan Reed

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    We sat down for an exclusive interview with Jonathan Reed about his show Jerusalem. Following its debut in 2009 at the Royal Court, Jerusalem has been hailed by critics as “the greatest British play of the century” and is an irreverent hymn to myth, mischief, and England’s lost wildness.

    Jerusalem runs from the 29th of April to the 9th of May at The Tower Theatre. Tickets here.

    Jerusalem has been called “the greatest British play of the century”—what felt most urgent to you about revisiting it for today’s audiences?

    The world is progressing at a speed none of us can comprehend; a reconnection to our lost wildness and a sense of magic and wonder seems more urgent than ever.

    Jerusalem is asking us if, in creating our modern, ordered world – as fantastic as it might be – if we have lost our connection to the mythic, and a sense of the unknown.  There is something deeply human and essential about this.

    How did you approach balancing the play’s mythic, almost folkloric elements with its sharp critique of modern Britain?

    For me, that conflict is everywhere in the play: whether that’s the synthetic, trance music of the rave dance and the traditional folk songs throughout the play by our wonderful composer Vahan Solarian, or the mythic symbols balanced against the serious, bureaucratic elements in the beautiful costume design by Kate Els, it’s everywhere to be seen, felt and heard. 

    I have to admit to falling flat out in love with the play’s haunting, mythic elements.  It’s part of what attracted me to direct the play, and those lost symbols are what make Jerusalem so powerful. I’ve leaned into this element in the sense that I want the audience to feel a sense of magic, and I hope a sense of reconnection to something ancient.

    Johnny “Rooster” Byron is such an iconic figure—what was key for you in reinterpreting him for this production?

    Johnny “Rooster” Byron is an absolute gift of a character, and I think he is many things to different people. He can be enchanting and beguiling, and frustrating and threatening. Johnny is a true shapeshifter in that sense.

    Giles Fouhy, who plays Johnny “Rooster” Byron, has brought such an incredible sense of humanity to the role, and what makes Johnny such a complex character is how he can appear differently in so many ways depending on who is looking at him.

    To the Kennet and Avon Council: a dangerous nuisance, a drug dealer, and a menace. To his gang of misfits: a sanctuary, a saint, and a supplier of illegal substances. 

    But Johnny is much more even than that, and in rehearsals we explored his role as protector and guardian of the woods he lives in, but also of the many teenagers that visit him. 

    I would say the true Johnny is who he is when no one is watching, but for Johnny, there are always eyes even in the woods, and he is never truly alone.

    As a director with a background in improvisation, how has that influenced the energy and spontaneity of this staging?

    What I want most for audiences seeing this production is to feel a sense of aliveness.  I’ve been saying to the cast: ‘If it feels alive for you, it feels alive for the audience.’ 

    My background is in improvisation – I think the reason why audiences love improvisation is that they get to experience that sense of danger and not knowing through you as a performer.  Capturing that sense of aliveness and spontaneity has been central to the rehearsal process.

    I’ve been lucky enough to work with some wonderful creatives, including Rebeca Pereira and Angharad Ormond, who have helped us build a movement and ensemble language so the actors can react and respond in the moment.

    I really hope an audience can experience a show that feels different every night. 

    What does staging Jerusalem at Tower Theatre bring to the play in terms of intimacy and audience connection?

    The Tower Theatre is a 100-seater theatre where an audience will feel as if they are right up close, in the woods with Johnny “Rooster” Byron and his gang of merry misfits.  The Tower Theatre is an incredible space: it’s intimate enough to feel that close connection to the actors, but it’s got a lovely sense of space that will make you feel right at the heart of the open woods.   

    I think that closeness is something I am probably most excited by in staging this production.  It’s been such a privilege to work with such a talented cast of actors, and I am excited about audiences being right up close with them, experiencing all the joy, all the mischief, and the magic. 

    The play resists easy answers about identity and belonging—what questions do you hope audiences leave with after this production?

    In Jerusalem, we are always somewhere in between worlds: a “Rooster” wakes us up as night turns into day, a clearing at the edge of a forest, the cusp of Winter as it turns to Spring. And so many of the characters’ identities and feelings of belonging are in question or in flux. 

    I think that’s why the play felt like it touched on a zeitgeist when it was first staged in 2009.  It tuned into a sense that the world was about to change profoundly, that we were on the threshold between one world and another.

    That brings us back to why the play feels so urgent, even today. As we approach the threshold of that new world, I hope audiences will ask if they can reconnect to that wildness and rekindle a sense of myth and magic. 

    Jerusalem runs from the 29th of April to the 9th of May at The Tower Theatre. Tickets here.

    IN CONVERSATION WITH: Enyi Okpara

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    We sat down for an exclusive interview with Enyi Okpara about his upcoming show, The Beautiful Game. Enyi Okpara is the newly appointed Fellow Conductor of the London Philharmonic Orchestra for the 2026/27 Season.

    The Beautiful Game is at the National Football Museum on the 24th of April. Tickets here.

    Conducting on a football pitch flips the usual concert dynamic — how has that changed the way you think about audience, energy, and performance?

    In many ways, the dynamic is very similar to being in a football stadium!

    I’m a massive Arsenal fan, and one thing I love about Mikel Arteta is his ability to galvanise fans for any big game. Since he started as Arsenal manager, he’s created a sense of unity between the fans and the squad. He made Louis Dunford’s song The Angel (North London Forever), Arsenal’s de facto anthem, to capture the club spirit. He goes on about the fans at the Emirates being the “12th man” on the pitch, and urges us to bring the atmosphere, so much so that we can influence matches. 

    The relationship between the audience, me, and the wonderful players of Manchester Camerata is very similar. Benjamin Britten used to talk about the holy triangle – the relationship between composer, performer and listener and the need for active participation between all three. We always have the composer doing their bit, and I’m very lucky to be responsible for the performance with the amazing musicians of Manchester Camerata. The crucial role of the audience sometimes doesn’t get as much credit as it should. The audience enables us to sound like musicians. Just like a fanbase allows players to play at their best. For an audience, and like a fanbase, their joy is our joy, their frustration is our frustration, and we’re all part of the same journey. An audience’s energy, expectations and mood can really enhance a performance, in the same way the energy, expectation and mood of fans can influence a football game. I hope that the audience becomes our “12th man.”

    Football chants and orchestral music both thrive on collective emotion — where do you see the strongest crossover between the two?

    In any football game, phases of play can result in varying emotions in a very short space of time. Anxiety, excitement, nervousness, frustration, joy. It’s the same when you journey through a symphony or concerto, or any piece of music for that matter. The rollercoaster of emotions one experiences listening to a Brahms, Haydn or Shostakovich symphony is the same type of emotion one experiences watching a title-deciding Arsenal, Man United or Liverpool game. They’re a lot more similar than people think! 

    Along with that, there’s a sense of collectiveness in both orchestral music and football. Both the experience of watching a football match and the experience of going to a concert enable communities that connect people across different spaces and social backgrounds. There’s collective joy at a football game if your team win, in the same way, there’s a collective sense of fulfilment at the end of Beethoven’s 7th. I’ve found that the ability for both football and classical music to foster a sense of community is incredibly special.

    This programme blends everything from Sweet Caroline to Eleven — how do you create a coherent musical journey from such different sources?

    The programme that we’ve put together can be split into three categories. Classical music is known to football fans because of its use in football. Music by composers who were football fans or used football to inspire their music. And bangers you would hear at a football game! 

    With the first category, we were keen to show the role that classical music has played in the modern game. We’ll be performing Faure’s Pavane – a piece featured on the soundtrack of the 1998 World Cup. Faure’s music is just one example of this. Handel’s Zadok the Priest was adapted by the composer Tony Britten to create the UEFA Champions League anthem. Pavarotti’s Nessun Dorma was sung at the 1990 World Cup. There are so many more classical music snippets in football!

    The second category shows that classical musicians can be football fans! And football has been a primary source of inspiration for a lot of music making! You’ll hear music by Elgar, Shostakovich and James MacMillan – all very avid football fans! Elgar was a massive fan of Wolverhampton Wanderers and is widely credited for writing the first-ever football anthem. His love of Wolves was sparked by his friendship with Dora Penny, who was immortalised by the Dorabella variation in his Enigma Variations, which you’ll hear in the concert. Shostakovich was crazy about football and saw it as a way of escaping the pressures of life, living in the Soviet Union. He was a big Zenit St Petersburg fan and a qualified referee. And James MacMillan – one of the world’s most prominent living composers – is a passionate Celtic fan, and his piece Eleven celebrates the eleven players on a pitch. 

    Songs like Sweet Caroline and Wavin Flag, alongside various football chants, do so well to create a shared sense of identity, solidarity, and loyalty in any football game. I hope that by performing this music, the audience feels a strong sense of belonging to this concert, as they would to a football game!

    You came to conducting after studying law — what mindset or skills from that world have unexpectedly shaped your approach on the podium?

    When I was a law student at the University of Bristol, I had a personal tutor who used to talk about critical analysis. It involves deeply examining and interpreting a text, concept or work to gain a deeper understanding of its content and implications. He always used to talk about “peeling the onion.” To understand situations or any piece of legal doctrine, you need to strip away the superficial layers to reach the core truth. 

    I think score study and conducting are very similar. To really understand any piece of music, you have to go beyond the surface-level observations and into specific, detailed analysis. I really enjoy getting into a composer’s mind. At what point in their life are they writing? What’s influencing them? What’s the message they’re trying to tell? And how does that inform why they’ve written what they’ve written? It enables me to get closer to the crux of a piece of music. I recently spent a week conducting the amazing National Children’s Orchestra, where I was asked to do a “Thought for the Day” for these incredibly talented, brilliant, young musicians. Mine was about listening to a wide range of music and always being musically curious. I was trying to stress the importance of always asking questions when you approach any new music and having the drive, curiosity to explore, learn about and understand music. From the mechanics of a single chord to the cultural history of an entire genre. I think that mindset has been partly driven by my legal past and legal analytical way of thinking from my undergrad degree. Weirdly, it’s really informed the way I approach any score! So, thank you to my wonderful personal tutor from all those years ago! 

    Manchester Camerata is known for its deep community connection — how does that ethos come alive in a project like this?

    What’s fantastic about this project is the shared sense of belonging that it creates. A project like this really has something for everyone. From the wide-ranging repertoire to the sheer fact that it’s being performed on a football pitch at the National Football Museum, this concert isn’t just for classical music lovers. It’s also for football fans and anyone with an interest in sport. I think, especially in this day and age, projects that do well to bring communities from different backgrounds and social groups together are so important as they’re forward-facing and really create a level of accessibility. There’s never a sense that anyone wouldn’t belong at a concert like this, and it’s incredible that Manchester Camerata champions this ethos so well!

    As a lifelong Arsenal fan, do you approach this concert as a conductor, a supporter, or a bit of both — and does that change how you hear the music?

    A bit of both! As a conductor, I’m hoping that we can tease out the varying emotions certain pieces evoke, to show that the journey you go on listening to classical music and watching a game aren’t that dissimilar! As a supporter, one of the great things about being a football fan is that whenever I go to the Emirates, it doesn’t matter what walk of life you come from. You always feel that you belong. There’s a shared sense of unity behind your team and behind the beautiful game. Drawing on those experiences, I hope that I can encourage football fans to feel like they ‘belong’ to any concert hall, be it on a football pitch or wherever. And also proving that classical music can be, in its own special way, its own beautiful game.

    The Beautiful Game is at the National Football Museum on the 24th of April. Tickets here.

    IN CONVERSATION WITH: Monsieur Chevalier

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    We sat down for an exclusive interview with Monsieur Chevalier, Artistic Director of the Ballet National Folklorique du Luxembourg.

    ‘The Great Chevalier’ is on for one night only at The Place Theatre, London. Tickets here.

    Monsieur Chevalier, how do you balance your devotion to national folklore with your evident appetite for shaping the very myths that sustain it?

    ‘Myth’ can be a very loaded term, as it can imply that there is no empirical truth contained within. Your comment aside, I have never seen a contradiction between devotion and authorship. Folklore, if it is truly alive, is not a dusty museum artefact – we are not in Liechtenstein! – she is a living organism.

    One must tend to her, but also mediate, refine, and at times provoke into new forms. My responsibility as Artistic Director of the National Ballet Folklorique du Luxembourg is not only to preserve what we have inherited, but to ensure that it continues to speak with urgency to our current situation. Here is where the world meets Luxembourg and I accept this burden without hesitation.

    You speak often of “ferocious lyricism”—is that something you discovered within yourself, or something you’ve carefully cultivated as part of your legend?

    “Ferocious lyricism” was first observed in me, not declared by me, though of course I embody this quality absolutely. As a child, I was noticed by a revered teacher dancing in the Place de la République of my hometown of Arles. I moved instinctively; there was no method, no self-conscious construction. I have never been so happy and so free as I was in that moment. Over time, I have disciplined that instinct and sharpened it like a blade. This volcanic freedom of creativity has always been as natural to me as oxygen, whether it is through dance, my rock bands or my vineyard. The same spirit bursts forth.

    To what extent is the Ballet National Folklorique du Luxembourg a reflection of cultural truth, and to what extent is it a vehicle for your own authorship of history?

    Cultural truth is never singular, but it is absolute. What we present at the Ballet National Folklorique du Luxembourg is a pure articulation among many possible, and inferior, readings of our shared cultural experiences. It is rooted – staunchly – in tradition; as a means to show the people of Luxembourg, and beyond, the power of our origins and the confidence it gives us as we navigate the world. I do not insult my audience with neutrality. Authorship is inevitable; the question is whether one exercises it consciously and rigorously. I do.

    Your origin story has the quality of myth—do you believe great artistic leadership requires a certain degree of fiction to be fully realised?

    People always say that I am a very private person, but I am not! Come to my winter schloss in Bavaria, and I will gladly throw open my doors and introduce you to my world-famous pigeons! This is a little-known fact about me, actually, I breed a pigeon of my own design – the Pigeon Crinolé Impérial – a beautiful, white bird with the long mane of a horse. I digress. Folklore is a form of coherence and truth. Myth and fiction are a sin. I reject fiction absolutely. What we are creating here is real. When I come to London and perform the world-famous Pigeon Dance at The Place, this will be, for those who see it, among the most truthful experiences of their lives. Great artistic leadership does not require fiction, it requires clarity, narrative and truth – something that can be grasped, repeated, and believed in. Without that, authority and strength evaporate.

    How do you respond to those who see your work as a form of propaganda, albeit a beautifully choreographed one?

    I am concerned by these questions now – we are entering some troubling territory. The word “propaganda” is often used when people encounter a conviction they do not share. It suggests lies. We are back to the word ‘fiction’! My work is unapologetically assertive in its aesthetic and its values. It proposes a vision of cultural identity that is disciplined, embodied, and above all truthful. Now, if this is perceived as persuasive, even forceful, I accept that characterisation – but I reject the implication that persuasion is inherently suspect. Picasso said; ‘I do not seek – I find’. The truth of the work already exists; my job is to simply translate.

    In a world increasingly sceptical of authority, what makes audiences still want to believe in figures like you?

    I disagree with this statement completely. In fact, we see all over the world a yearning for structure, order and discipline. Scepticism, of endless questions and criticism, is what has led us to this moment of crisis. Audiences want clarity, rigour, and to learn from those at the apex of artistic power. I do not ask to be believed in as an individual, I am merely a vessel for work that reflects heritage, continuance, and necessity. When that is achieved, belief follows – not as an act of submission, but as a recognition that something has been realised with total commitment. Nothing less is acceptable.

    IN CONVERSATION WITH: Gwithian Evans and Marie Williams

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    We sat down for an exclusive interview with Gwithian Evans and Marie Williams to discuss their upcoming performance in knife-violence centred double bill ‘He Said/She Said’.

    He Said/She Said runs from 21st April-2nd May at The White Bear Theatre – Tickets here

    Both plays centre on perpetrators rather than victims — how did you each navigate finding empathy for characters who commit acts of violence without excusing them?

    Gwithian: I always try to be curious about everything, rather than judge or condemn. What Richie does in the play is extreme, but it’s fascinating to learn about why he reacted in the way that he did and what led him to that moment. It’s through that curiosity I’m able to find empathy for him. I certainly don’t forgive him, but I can at least understand him more. It’s a valuable lesson in how we treat people in real life as well. Be curious. Also, it’s reassuring to know that Richie is a character in a play, and I will only step into that mindset for a short period of time.

    Geebs: For me, firstly take away the label ‘perpetrator’ and call the person ‘someone who has committed X offence’. As soon as I have the instinct to judge, I remind myself to be specific. Instead of saying “Her is a bad person” for example, I try to make factual statements: “Her makes impulsive decisions, she shows a disconnection from the reality of what she has done and often lies”. Being more specific, provokes questions which builds a more detailed picture of a person rather than a binary image of a ‘villain’.

    These are intense solo pieces; what techniques did you develop to sustain psychological tension and keep the audience complicit throughout a monologue?

    Gwithian: For the majority of the play, Richie addresses the audience, which immediately increases the intensity. Looking people in the eye, very unnerving. The White Bear is an intimate space, so that’ll help to further intensify that. I did a play called ‘DIG’ in 2020 where it was myself and another actor performing to 10 audience members… in a shipping container. That setting alone created more than enough atmosphere. If you want to create tension and engagement, you’ve got to think about the space and the audience in it.

    Geebs: Remains to be seen! I imagine that once in the flow of performance, the intensity will come from connection with the audience.

    Knife crime is a very real and contemporary issue — how conscious were you of the social resonance of the work while shaping your performances?

    Gwithian: This is veering into a spoiler zone so I’ll tread with caution. Whilst both plays have a knife and a crime, they’re not about the wider systematic issue of knife crime in the UK. My focus for ‘Misconduct’ is the character of Richie and his story, which just happens to have a crime involving a knife.

    Geebs: I always aim to assess how a show might speak to an audience and how it might be seen in the context of today. I am mindful of not over sensationalising the violence, and asking myself,where appropriate, “is my choice coming from a place of truth?”. On the flip side, there are some very heightened moments in this piece and I don’t want to shy away from the text which at some points is very shocking and intentionally, comedic.

    Your characters justify their actions in very different ways — where did you locate the moments of self-deception versus genuine belief?

    Gwithian: Writer, Dom Riley, has done an excellent job of detailing where Richie goes back and forth between denial and delusion. Richie will often repeat the same phrase over and over again to convince others and mostly himself of the truth his trying to fabricate. At the time of writing these answers we haven’t entered the rehearsal space, but I know that these moments will have a spotlight on them.

    Geebs: There are several moments of self-deception throughout Ladykiller; these were quite easy to locate for me (but of course that is only my interpretation of the text) – I won’t give them away.

    How did you approach building the inner lives of these characters beyond the text, particularly in moments where silence or stillness carries the weight?

    Gwithian: My approach is similar to all plays I do: Go with instinct. There is always a great deal of planning to be done for the Actor before rehearsals, however I believe too much prep can hinder and stop new ideas emerging. If I arrive to rehearsals with a fully formed character, I have nowhere to go and I will almost certainly find conflict when working with the text. Acting is all about playing and the ‘play’ happens inside the rehearsal room, not before.

    Geebs: I concentrate on the things that Her can see immediately in that moment, and I ask myself what does that trigger in her inner world? I have formed my own images of the people in her life that I bring to life in my own head to build her inner world.

    As a double bill, the pieces speak to each other — did engaging with the other performance influence or shift your own interpretation in rehearsal?

    Gwithian: We had a readthrough not too long ago and that really helped to understand how these two plays complement each other. It’s important that they stand alone as two separate plays, with only their theme of violence connecting them. However, both pieces have contrasting energies, and I think Claire’s decision to put Misconduct first is a wise one. Misconduct is a runaway train, a burst of energy. Ladykiller is calculating, methodical and disturbing. I realised in the readthrough how Misconduct serves Ladykiller, almost like a warm-up act.

    Geebs: I’m sure it will do. Gwithian is a wonderful performer, and a great listener. I think if the pieces are truly speaking to each other, which I hope they will be, we will feed off of each other’s performance.

    Copyright: Park Circus

    FEATURE: Million Dollar Baby

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    As part of the BFI’s ‘The Cinematic Life of Boxing’ season, a screening of Million Dollar Baby (2004) was followed by a Q&A with broadcaster and former athlete Jeanette Kwakye, retired boxer and writer Ruth Raper and professional boxer Laura Akram. The season explores the boxing lens and its unique ability to platform stories of love, social injustice, politics and above all, the strength of the human spirit.

    Clint Eastwood’s Million Dollar Baby is one of cinema’s greatest examples of this; on the surface it’s the sad story of a remarkable female boxer and her reluctant trainer, but in truth it’s a story of family turmoil, gender inequality and, as Clint Eastwood himself described ‘a father-daughter love story’.

    Oscar-winning Hilary Swank stars as underdog Maggie Fitzpatrick, who finally convinces coach Frankie Dunn (Clint Eastwood) to take her under his wing, aided by gym caretaker and narrator Eddie Scrap-Iron Dupuis (Morgan Freeman). It’s got everything you want from a boxing movie: grit, determination, heart-warming success, out-of-character vulnerability and a devastating ending.

    Eastwood’s idea for the film was initially rejected by Warner Bros – ‘It’s about a woman in boxing! Nobody will want to see that!’ – but he convinced them with a small budget and strong will. It’s true, in 2004, not many people did want to see women in boxing; women’s boxing wasn’t even in the Olympics until 2012, and even now women’s matches are knocked down to the bottom of line-ups. Raper discussed the current attitude towards women’s boxing, noting that there is ‘still a long way to go’.

    The first ever all-female boxing card to headline a major venue was just last year at the Royal Albert Hall, and still they are paid a fraction of what their male counterparts receive. The former boxer turned writer/presenter discussed this with current boxer Laura Akram after the screening. They discussed the truth of the film, its moments of dramatisation and accuracy, and how it made them, as female boxers, feel. It was clear that the film’s tragic ending isn’t conducive to improving the sport’s dangerous reputation, but that its portrayal of the typical boxing gym, the themes it discusses and the relationship between coach and athlete were handled truthfully.

    There was a general sense of hope from the panel; female boxing has come a long way since 2004, with world champions Katy Taylor, Caroline Dubois and Claressa ‘T Rex’ Shields, to name but a few, leading the way for aspiring young women. Representation in cinema is gaining traction, with Ryan Destiny’s portrayal of Claressa Shields in The Fire Inside (2024) Sydney Sweeney starring in Christy, the 2025 biopic of legend Christy Martin.

    Also up for discussion was the accuracy of the film’s ‘Hit Pit’ gym, Raper noting that boxing gyms are often ‘in places where they are needed’, in deprived areas, working mens clubs, and that Million Dollar Baby does a good job of representing this element of the sport. The side stories of Danger Barch (Jay Baruchel) and the gym regulars are a big part of this, symbols of the social and symbolic power of boxing beyond its definition.

    Wonderfully facilitated by Jeanette Kwakye, the evening was an inspiring and eye-opening peek into the world of women’s boxing, and an excellent meeting between cinema and sport, highlighting the importance of their intersection expertly.

    Copyright: Park Circus

    FEATURE: The Boxer and Q&A with Barry McGuigan

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    This year the BFI is hosting a season celebrating The Cinematic Life of Boxing, showcasing a diverse range of films that represent the sport on the big screen. From genre-defining giants like Stallone’s Rocky, to historical documentaries exploring its harsh realities, Dr Clive Chijioke Nwonk has curated a series of screenings and Q&As that see cinematic life through a boxing lens, using it as a way to ultimately explore ‘the human spirit’ itself. 

    As part of the season, on Tuesday 14th April BFI Southbank screened Jim Sheridan’s 1997 film, The Boxer, loosely inspired by the life of prolific boxer Barry McGuigan. The film follows Danny (played by Daniel-Day Lewis), a former provisional IRA volunteer who returns to his hometown after spending 14 years in prison. His inability to escape his past and his reconnection with his childhood sweetheart forces him to confront his old allegiances, exploring the competing agendas and intense violence of the Irish Troubles. 

    McGuigan’s boxing career, as explored in the Q&A session with him after the film, was marked by the conflicts sparked by his success. A man heralded in the international boxing hall of fame, he held the WBA and lineal featherweight titles from 1985-86, and has represented Ireland, Northern Ireland and competed for British titles in his fights. 

    Though he advocated for an end to sectarian violence during the Troubles, McGuigan’s neutrality was ill received, with IRA members and loyalists wanting him to pick a side.The Boxer explores these tensions, released in the final year of the Troubles, and showcases how the sport became a place to reconcile political differences. Throughout his career, McGuigan chose not to wear sectarian colours, and continually asserted that boxing had nothing to do with religion, sect or division. His experience sparring in his local boxing gyms with Catholics and Protestants alike meant that to him, the sport was non-sectarian. Amidst a backdrop of riots and street violence, the gyms became a place to access complex emotions with structure and discipline.  

    A striking moment in the film that embodied this sentiment saw Danny competing against a Nigerian man in a boxing match in London. The scene explored the intense physicality, strategy and high emotional stakes of boxing matches, made even more tense by the political weight of what Danny represented. As Danny was about to win the fight, he threw in the towel, recognising that any more contact could have ended his opponent’s life. McGuigan described how Sheridan and co-writer Terry George had changed the events, as the boxer’s real life opponent had lost his life in that fight. This choice powerfully showcases filmmaking’s capacity to reimagine history, and became an important symbolic gesture for peace. 

    McGuigan’s experience as boxing consultant for the film, as he trained Daniel Day-Lewis for a year in Ireland, reaffirmed to him that every fight has an arc, a story that makes it ‘majestic’. In the face of violence, he had tried to use the sport to create happiness, and in doing so captured the paradox of how a brutal sport played a crucial role in breaking cycles of political violence. The depiction of the events on screen have only amplified the incredible story. 

    IN CONVERSATION WITH: Gabrielle Norma-Griffin and Taylor Carmen

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    We sat down for an exclusive interview with the performers of ‘Don’t Panic’, Gabrielle Norma-Griffin and Taylor Carmen, who is also the writer.

    ‘Don’t Panic’ is a dark comedy about two stage hands who, stuck together during a nuclear lockdown drill, debate the purpose of living in a world that’s poisoned the human experience.

    This show runs from 21st-26th April at Etcetera Theatre Club, London- Tickets here

    Taylor, Don’t Panic marks your writing debut. What first sparked the idea for this story?

    Taylor Carmen: There was a time about three years ago I had been really struggling to engage with my art; I had graduated university into the pandemic and by the time acting and the arts reopened, I felt very displaced. Inundated by news cycles that painted a darker and darker reality for where our society is headed, I felt
    overwhelmed and frustrated. This play emerged from this place of feeling lost in
    the chaos, struggling to find purpose within it. These two characters are having a
    really vital conversation I think all artists are struggling with today, and it’s a
    conversation I was having alone in my head until I wrote it down and turned it into
    “DON’T PANIC”.

    Working on a two-hander places a particular focus on the relationship between performers. How did you begin building that connection in rehearsal?

    Taylor Carmen: One really beautiful way I think we established a sort ofchemistry pretty quickly was by talking about other art that we loved. Bonding over movies or music gives us a better sense of who this other person is, what has informed their life and inspires them as an artist. Finding little things we both feel very passionate about, honestly things we fangirl over, gave us a shared language we then got to use throughout the play.

    Taylor, how has it felt to be inside the work both as its writer and as Mani?

    When I say “It feels like a rollercoaster” I don’t mean it’s been up and down, I mean it truly feels like that stomach-drop horrifying but scream-inducing thrill of a journey. Sharing your writing is a very vulnerable experience, so I feel grateful and humbled to have this room of people who are expanding this story with their imaginations. And as an actor, it’s been a joy to discover this character more intimately. I’m no longer negotiating which words to use, I’m actually finding how Mani walks and talks and it’s like meeting a version of myself I didn’t know existed.

    Gabrielle, what was it like stepping into a brand-new piece and helping to shape The Kid from the ground up?

    Gabrielle: It was so much fun! As an actor, it is my job to give a character flesh and bones,paying full respect to their humanity, and Kid just makes it so easy to do that. Kid is so reflective and relevant and so easy to love. I believe that because I am having so much fun, it doesn’t feel like work and makes stepping into someone else’s shoes that much easier.

    What have you both found most rewarding about this collaboration?

    Gabrielle-Norma Griffin: The opportunity to play has been so rewarding. Perhaps it’s because I am playing a literal child. Nevertheless, it has been fun jumping into the skin of someone who is so free with their imagination and creativity.

    Taylor Carmen: The generosity these artists are giving to a new work has been a gift beyond imagination. It doesn’t feel like just my project, it feels like a little community is all putting in work to create something magical and important. It’s a microcosm of how I want the world to look, people eagerly showing up against all odds, asking “OK, how do we do this?” and then finding solutions together, one step at a time.

    When audiences leave Don’t Panic, what do you hope stays with them?

    Gabrielle-Norma Griffin: I hope they take the hope that this play provides.
    When the world is on fire and it seems like everything will end, humans have a
    way of bouncing back.


    Taylor Carmen: A spirit of relentless, rebellious creativity.

    IN CONVERSATION WITH: Josephine Burton

    Published on by Antonia ConstantinLeave a comment

    We sat down for an exclusive interview with Josephine Burton, Artistic Director of Dash Arts and director of ‘Our Public House’.

    ‘Our Public House’ is on tour from 15th May-4th July. Tickets here.

    1. ‘Our Public House’ draws on the real voices of over 600 people across the UK. What was the process of transforming these lived experiences into a cohesive theatrical narrative?

    It was genuinely iterative and for a long time, deliberately open-ended. We didn’t arrive at the workshops with a play already mapped out waiting to be illustrated by what we heard. We went out not knowing what we’d find or what form the eventual work would take. Verbatim? Documentary? A piece of music theatre? The research came first and the form followed.

    What gradually became clear was that the speeches we’d gathered were too alive, too specific, too individual to flatten into a single narrative voice. Each one belonged to a particular person in a particular place with a particular set of experiences behind them. So rather than creating verbatim theatre, we let them become the interior lives of fictional characters – the thing each character knows and feels and has been quietly carrying. Barney Norris was extraordinary in that process. He has a gift for building fictional worlds that are genuinely porous to reality without losing their dramatic shape.

    The pub setting helped enormously. It gave us a container – one place, a storm outside – within which all these different voices and perspectives could credibly collide. And the music gave us a way to let the speeches themselves be heard, transformed into songs, without stopping the drama dead.

    2. Your work with Dash Arts often sits at the intersection of theatre, music, and social enquiry. How did that cross-artform approach shape the creation and staging of ‘Our Public House’?

    At Dash we’ve always believed that the big questions deserve the full range of artistic tools – that music can get somewhere text alone can’t, that movement can articulate what speech won’t. So the cross-artform instinct was there from the start. But what was interesting about ‘Our Public House’ was that each element found its own organic justification within the world of the play, rather than being imposed from outside.

    The music exists in the play because Sanjana’s pub hosts an open mic night. The speeches exist because she runs a speechwriting workshop for her locals. The BSL exists because one of our characters is a deaf politician who communicates in multiple ways. Nothing is decorative. Everything is load-bearing. In this project, we were reaching for an integration where the form and the content are genuinely the same thing, and I think we found it.The staging reflects that too. We’re working with Good Teeth Design on a set that’s rooted in the pub but flexible enough to shift as the drama shifts; expanding to include the community cast, opening up to blur the line between the world of the play and the world of the audience. The pub becomes the nation, and the nation becomes the pub.

    3. The play explores a community that has collectively disengaged from politics. What conversations or questions were you most interested in provoking in audiences through this story?

    Honestly, what struck me most over three years of workshops wasn’t disengagement, it was the opposite. Everywhere we went, people had ideas. Specific, considered, passionate ideas about what wasn’t working and how it could be better. About NHS waiting times and what might actually help. About school funding and what teachers are up against. About the cost of housing and who it’s locking out. The disengagement from formal politics masked something much more alive underneath.

    What I really wanted to bring into the play was that energy, the sense that change doesn’t have to wait for an external agent to arrive and sort things out. It can come from within a community. It often does. And alongside that I wanted to bring the solidarity I witnessed in those rooms. There’s a story we’re constantly told through social media and through the news about a country divided against itself, polarised beyond repair. That simply wasn’t my experience. In workshop after workshop, in prisons and schools and working men’s clubs and deaf communities, I found kindness. Curiosity. A genuine interest in other people’s experiences. I wanted that spirit to live in our pub.

    So the conversations I hope audiences leave having are less about “Aren’t politicians awful?” and more about: “What would I say, if someone gave me the floor? What do I actually think needs to change? Who in my community is already doing something about it?” The play asks those questions not as an assignment but as an invitation.

    4. This production brings together hearing and deaf performers and incorporates BSL, SSE, and creative captioning. How did accessibility influence your creative decisions, beyond simply being an added feature?

    It reframed the whole project, in the best possible way. Working with deaf communities in Manchester and Birmingham during our research phase wasn’t a box-ticking exercise, it was genuinely formative. We learnt things about communication, about what it means to truly listen, about how it feels to live in a world where you are given no power or space to make the changes you need to live well, about the different ways a person can hold multiple linguistic and cultural identities at once, that fed directly into the writing and the staging.

    When we brought a deaf actor into the rehearsal room at the National Theatre Studio early in the development, the question immediately became not “How do we include BSL?” but “How does this character’s experience of the world shape everything around her?” Accessibility wasn’t an add-on and a creative proposition. Mary, our deaf politician, ended up being in some ways the moral centre of the play. She’s the first politician in the drama who genuinely listens to her community. There’s something I find quietly radical about that: the character who moves between two languages, who has had to fight to be heard her whole life, is the one who actually hears people.

    Captioning every performance and interpreting at least one of them at every stop in our tour isn’t separate from the artistic vision. It’s part of the same commitment – to make a show that speaks, in every sense, to everyone.

    5. The idea of the public house as a civic space feels both nostalgic and urgent. What drew you to this setting as the heart of the story, and what does it represent to you today?

    I’ve been thinking and creating work for a while now about what sociologists call third spaces – the places that are neither home nor work, neither fully private nor fully public, where you encounter people outside your immediate circle in a setting that still feels safe and recognisably yours. The squat. A dive bar. The townsquare. The pub. These are the spaces where communities actually form, not through grand civic gestures but through accumulated small interactions over time. And we’re losing them. As those spaces close or become unaffordable or simply fall out of the rhythms of people’s lives, we retreat into our own bubbles. Online. At home. Among people who already agree with us.

    The pub felt like the perfect place to put that question under the light. It’s quintessentially English – locally inhabited but a national institution, carrying centuries of social and political life within its walls. And yet it’s also changing, disappearing, and in some ways has never fully belonged to everyone – there are plenty of people in 21st century Britain for whom the pub has never felt like their space. That tension interested me enormously. Who does the pub belong to? Who gets to feel at home there? What does it mean to reclaim it as a genuinely shared civic space?

    And practically, it’s a wonderful place dramatically. Intimate and public at the same time. Full of music and confession and argument. A place where people say things they wouldn’t say anywhere else. What more could you want for a play?

    6. With ‘Our Public House’ touring to different regions and incorporating local community participants at each stop, how do you anticipate the production evolving as it travels?

    I think it will keep surprising us, and that’s exactly as it should be. Each city brings its own particular preoccupations, its own specific anxieties and ambitions, and the local ensemble members speak to those directly through the speeches they deliver on stage. Our professional cast respond to those speeches in character which means the drama genuinely shifts depending on what’s being said. A speech about social housing in Leeds lands differently from one about green spaces in Cornwall, and our characters have to meet it where it is.

    What I’m most curious about is how the professional production will be changed by touring how the cast will be affected by spending time with communities in each place as they perform. We’ve always found that the workshops feed the work in ways you can’t predict or manufacture. Something about sitting in a room with people who have something real at stake in the questions the play is asking changes how you perform it. It grounds you. It reminds you what it’s all for.

    By the time we reach London, ‘Our Public House’ will have been genuinely shaped by Leeds and Prescot and Coventry and Cornwall and Sheffield. It will carry all of those places with it. That feels right for a play about a country trying to understand itself.

    IN CONVERSATION WITH: Kai Tomioka

    Published on by Ke MengLeave a comment

    25 years after Michael Nunn and William Trevitt’s critically acclaimed debut performance Pointless at the Roundhouse, pioneering dance company BalletBoyz will return to the stage with Still Pointless leads audiences on a retrospective journey through a quarter of a century of daring commissioning, producing, and performing dance across stage and screen. We interviewed one of the dancers, Kai, to share how they feel.

    This show looks both backward and forward at once. When you are dancing a piece with history like Critical Mass, do you feel more like a custodian of legacy or a creator of something new?

    Thinking about lineage and legacy, Critical Mass sits somewhere in the middle of those two things, and when I’m performing it, I have to consider being a both custodian and a creator at the same time. By definition, contemporary dance talks about the present, so performing something that was contemporary 25 years ago requires reinterpreting to make it able to say something about where we are now. Dancing a work like Critical Mass means honouring what has come before, aspiring to what may lie ahead, and that way create a container for both the past and the future. But when I perform the work live, it is solely about that present moment in time. 

    BalletBoyz is known for blending film and live performance. How does that shift the way you inhabit the stage? Do you feel you are dancing for an audience, a camera, or something in between?

    The depends on the what the work is and how it is intended to be perceived, but for me as a dancer, although I have a degree of responsibility for the audience, ultimately my responsibility is about performing it for myself as an artist and for the integrity of the work. The added factor is that BalletBoyz sits in the margin between contemporary dance and classical technique to an extent, and classical dance has a different presentational project to any audience, whether it is live on stage or for the camera. As a dancer, I have to think about where I sit within that, and how I balance projecting out versus projecting in. 

    The programme spans a wide range of choreographers and styles. Which piece challenged you the most personally, and why?

    We’re currently about halfway through the rehearsal period, and I have found Fiction particularly challenging. The character I perform in the work is separated from the rest of the group, which means I have struggled to find a consensus with everyone else about what the work considers and what it has to say. Fiction was created very specifically on and for the people who were in the studio at the time, so now I need to start working on making it my own. We’re still at the point in the rehearsal process where we’re replicating something that has come before, and we as a company of dancers need to now determine how we make this something new that we can give our own contribution to. It brings up questions about how we inhabit the history and legacy of each work, whilst also transforming it into something that is reinterpreted and forward-looking. But we have to learn the work first, because how can you change something that you don’t know? We need to be able to understand it first in order to translate it.

    There is a signature irreverence to BalletBoyz, a refusal to take ballet too seriously. How does that philosophy show up in your rehearsal room day to day?

    I’m not sure that the irreverence of BalletBoyz is a refusal to take ballet or dance too seriously. The definition of serious doesn’t mean cold or formal, warmth and joy and personality can also be synonymous with taking something seriously or being passionate about it. The misconception of what serious looks like warps the perception of what dance can mean and how it can be viewed – I think the irreverence is more about finding a different path to creating valuable art. We don’t need to suffer for what we do. How this manifests in the studio, which is full of hard-working, passionate, dedicated, and serious artists, for me is about the fact that I am allowed to be a person before I’m a dancer. This allowance to be myself adds layers to the work that is presented on stage. The philosophy also shows up in the studio through the realisation that creativity is, has to be, both play and hard work at the same time, and understanding that art is not found through limitation but through freedom. 

    You are performing work by choreographers such as Christopher Wheeldon and Maxine Doyle alongside a brand-new commission. How does it feel to move between established voices and emerging ones within the same evening?

    For me, dance is dance, identity is identity, refinement is refinement, so the difference between an established voice and emerging voice isn’t necessarily materialised in us as dancers or in how we present work on stage. 

    If you could describe this 25-year journey not in steps but in a feeling, what does Still Pointless mean to you as a dancer right now?

    I wouldn’t be doing what I do now if I thought that it was pointless, which is what the 25-year journey of BalletBoyz encapsulates. For some people dance may be pointless, and the importance of dance is being diminished all the time, which we’re being told through funding cuts and reduced performance opportunities and everything else that’s happening in the industry. But there’s a duality to dance: it can mean nothing but it can also mean everything, it’s something that is both completely imaginary and also the most real thing we can do. For us as dancers, it has always had value and it always will, and that gives us a reason for doing it, otherwise we wouldn’t put ourselves through any of this. So this is all we can do, all we can do is continue dancing. I don’t mean that in a hopeless way, I mean to say that this is the most hopeful thing I or any dancer can do in this environment – just to simply keep doing it. 

    For tickets and listing, please visit here.