Category: Review

REVIEW: Lobster Pot

Published on by jaybingham2 Comments

Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

An exploration of fear, both gripping and thought-provoking

(TW: scenes of physical violence and emotional distress, discussions of sexual violence. Suitable for ages 14 and over.)

Lobster Pot is exciting. It is frenetic and frightening. The three actors utilise every inch of the stage, delivering a story that is intense both in action and emotion. Though the story may seem quite scattered at times, its overarching themes of misogyny and fear are conveyed clearly and effectively. The sound design is particularly effective at creating tension, forcing us into the physical space and the daunting mindsets of each character.

In the centre of Lobster Pot is Katy (played by Nicole Nadeau), a woman hiding in a cleaning cupboard while gunmen terrorise the outside. However, the cupboard is plagued with demons of its own, and Nadeau masterfully portrays a sense of claustrophobia. We feel held captive right alongside Katy, which makes Nadeau’s every move all the more captivating. Not only do the anger and panic in her voice demand the attention of the audience, but the micro-expressions of her physicality – the tremble in her legs, the dread in her eyes – also keep us enrapt. Kudos to Nicole Nadeau for a stunning performance!

The two supporting actors, Ellie Stones and Blake Crimson, give brilliant performances. Not only do they hold their own throughout the play, they highlight Nadeau’s strengths too. Lobster Pot involves conflict in every sense, physical, verbal, and emotional, and the three actors work incredibly well together to flesh out even the most difficult scenes. The interactions between the actors are exciting to watch, worth every second. 

A significant element of Lobster Pot is its lighting design. The set is minimalist, what with only fluorescent vests hanging on the back wall and polystyrene mats stacked on top of each other to resemble seats. However, the lighting is brilliantly used to make every aspect of the story larger than life. With the different colours and positions of the lights, we are given a different setting. Interpret a different tone. Told a different story. The lighting designers know exactly which part of the story demands our focus, and they certainly do make us focus!

Lobster Pot contains discussions of misogyny, in particular sexual violence. Though writer Nicky Osborn could have been more seamless in tying the immediate action of the play to the theme, he impactfully communicates the inescapability of misogyny. We see how it permeates the places that we think are safe, plays with the psyches of all people. There is always an underlying distrust, both the characters and audience being kept on their toes. We search for the flaws and monstrosities in each character almost obsessively. NO ONE IS SAFE. 

The play lives up to its name – we are all lobsters in a boiling pot, feeling the pain of the intense heat and yet unable to escape. Lobster Pot is scary, uncomfortable, and an absolute must-watch. High praise to the cast and crew of this brilliant play!

Lobster Pot played at Barons Court Theatre 14-18th January 2025.

REVIEW: Copla: A Spanish Cabaret

Published on by Victoria AshfordLeave a comment

Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

A fun, interactive performance unleashing the inner diva in all of us.

From queer migrant performer, Alejandro Postigo, we are taken on a cultural and political journey through the years: how Copla was born, whatits definition is, the importance of it in the Spanish culture and how it adapted under Franco’s dictatorship.

This is the first English translation of its kind, in which Alenjandro draws on his own personal experiences to help us to understand Copla. With clips of notable Spanish films and tv, he brings the essence alive with his alter ego La Gitana, casually slipping into different diva’s by simply taking a new costume hung up on the wall. We are drawn into the character and to what the song that being performed is about.

With a talented pianist and a violinist, Copla in all its glory is brough to life. Alejandro goes deeper, explaining how Copla was a tool for resistance, with women, ethnic minorities and queer people seeking solace from the regime through song and the impact that ideologies have had on Spanish society, almost questioning issues of identity, social norms, sexual identity and of place where you feel like you are living an in-between life.

With humour brimming, Alejandro really does engage with the audience, bringing a playfulness that I get the impression comes with Copla song. His audience interaction in this lecture-come-cabaret-come-singalong adds a fun element to an otherwise deep and meaningful performance. Simplistic staging-costume and props, brightly coloured against a black background and dramatic lighting for those diva moments, just help to place us in a Spanish bar, where I could imagine such songs being sung. Alejandro does a wonderful job of making the audience feel welcome: it feels like you are talking to a friend reminiscing about their life and the audience interaction, with himself and audience to audience, helps us to understand the connection that Spanish people have with their home when singing Copla.

Copla is an interesting piece. Not only does it introduce the audience to something that perhaps a lot of people haven’t been exposed to- but it is also in some ways, a history lecture full of humorous moments. Despite its cultural significance, there weren’t many times I felt out of place or felt like I wasn’t included in the joke, despite being from a different country and often not knowing the tv show or film being spoke about, which, I think if you boil Copla down to, is what it is all about.

REVIEW: Łukasz Twarkowski: The Employees

Published on by Ke MengLeave a comment

Rating: 3 out of 5.

A hardcore tech and aesthetic art installation experience absent of something exciting and new.

Adapted from Olga Ravn’s 2021 Booker-shortlisted sci-fi novel, The Employees marks Polish theatre director Łukasz Twarkowski’s UK debut. Little doubt, featuring hallmarks of European theatre, such immense slow-motion, live camera avant-garde design, and extra loud music, The Employees is indeed a theatrical awe, but unwrapped as bland and banal at its core.

Set aboard a spaceship workplace staffed by both humans and their humanoid clones (brilliantly played a cast of seven, probably signalling at the seven deadly sins), the show is told through fragmented witness statements. It endeavours to explore workplace ethics alongside human–humanoid relationships. As the humanoids become increasingly odd and rebellious, the corporation decides to terminate the spaceship, discarding their bodies while uploading their memories elsewhere.

A massive cuboid stands onstage, with four tik-tok style vertical screens fitted its four outside-walls, and four live-screens on top of the entire cuboid. The audience can walk around and peer into the cuboid anytime during the performance, ostensibly choosing which live moments to observe (no doubt for the night I attend, it’s the sex scene between two female humanoids). There are also three “mini-intervals”, each for three minutes, where the audiences are encouraged to move, to change seats, and to dance. However, the cuboid is almost conspicuously concealed from our views as it is all covered by colourful strips, making it rather hard for the audience to follow the live action.

As a result, audience participation becomes purely superficial formality. To follow the “narrative”, you must rely on the topped live-screen, and I’m still not convinced of the point of attending a theatrical event if the entire experience is spent watching screens. In fact, for most of the time, I feel I’m watching European art movies. There is a meta-theatrical moment I find amusing, where the spotlights and the corporate AI voice becomes self-aware. It is a witty annotation to the show’s theme, but to better understand the nature of human-object relationships, a standard humanoid-awakening plot is far behind.

Twarkowski unreservedly shows his muscles in the last termination part with a true sense of intensity. Twarkowski layers live slow-motion, live video (Jakub Lech) on the top screens, and delayed live video on vertical screens to amplify the termination of the humanoids, creating an astounding, apocalyptic mise-en-scène with some references to religious paintings such as Dürer’s Adam and Eve and Michelangelo’s Pietà. It’s a pure triumph both in hardcore technology and aesthetics, though some of the slo-mo stretches drag on. In fact, the whole production runs too long, exacerbated by drawn-out scene changes where nothing seems to change.

During the Q&A, a historian asked about non-human agency: What does it mean to say “I love you” to a stone that can’t respond? How does that shape our network of relationships, and ultimately, humanity? Like her, I was drawn to the promise of examining human–nonhuman dynamics, only to find the disappointing narrative fall back on the familiar trope of humanoid awakening and rebellion.

In an episode of Yes, Prime Minister, the BBC producer advises Jim to wear a dark suit against a traditional wooden background with leather portraits if he’s announcing something exciting and new, but a modern suit against a colourful background with abstract paintings and high-tech furniture if his speech is absent of creativity and originality. The Employees ultimately feels like the latter, I’m afraid.

REVIEW: Last Rites

Published on by kizzydvdsnLeave a comment

Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

A deeply moving and grounded play developed by the multi-award-winning physical theatre company, Ad Infinitum.

Last Rites is a deeply moving and grounded play developed by the multi-award-winning physical theatre company, Ad Infinitum. The play sensitively raised questions about culture, identity and the education system. British Sign Language was used as a way of honouring the deaf community and bringing context to what was being performed, which not only connected the audience and the performer but also created a level of intimacy with the audience.

The play was a one-man-show which demonstrated the talent and openness that Ramesh Meyyappan was able to convey during the performance. He held the audience for the full hour not dropping concentration or specificity in his work. As a hearing audience member, I was able to immerse myself within the deaf experience and how a deaf person’s life differs hugely from my own. The play was a great balance between exploring the themes of deaf identity and culture. There was a powerful crossover of the father’s willingness to educate his son about his Hindu culture and the father’s inability to listen and respond to his son’s culture of being deaf in a hearing world.

The play incorporated the ritual of hand washing which was really emotional at times as it felt like he was washing away his ability to communicate in order to conform to the Hindu culture of purity and cleanliness. Ramesh performed with such versatility and flexibility with both characterisation and the specificity of his performance. His movements were fluid and his comedic timing was brilliant. I was to go to the post show discussion for Press Night Ramesh Meyyappan and David Ellington talked about the meaning behind the play and how he was able to bring his personal experiences into the role. This opportunity was really interesting to see how the play came to fruition.

Overall, this was an absolute stunning piece of theatre which I am grateful that I got to see. To me, it is important for theatre to explore important stories and this play did exactly that. The play will be touring around the UK in the next coming months and I urge you to watch this comedic and thought-provoking physical theatre piece.

REVIEW: A Good House

Published on by Ben BreenLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

A fascinating kitchen-sink drama interrogating race, class, and assimilation

In the aspirational neighbourhood of Stillwater, a mysterious shack has sprung up, clashing with the cul-de-sac’s uniform new-builds. Its owners are nowhere to be seen, and the neighbours want it removed.

This premise anchors A Good House, taking the audience into the living rooms of three Stillwater couples. The shack looms at Andew and Jess through the front window of the house they’ve just moved into; Lynette and Chris are trying to start a community action group to petition for eviction; and Shihle and Bonolo are the couple everyone else wants onside. Of course, there’s also the shack’s living room conjured from the residents’ imaginations: masses of people crammed around an open-coal fire belching smoke.

But this isn’t really about the shack, it’s about the fears it comes to represent: of being defined by a single characteristic; being confined in the social pecking order; not knowing what you can and can’t say any more; and the happened in “the next town over”. These deeper issues underpin the simmering drama which makes A Good House compelling, with every conversation about the shack morphing into a wider discussion of identity. Sihle (Sifiso Mazibuko) has struggled to overcome being seen as “another black guy”, whilst his wife Bonolo (Mimi M Khayisa) worries her privileged experiences make her “not black enough”. Meanwhile, Andrew (Kai Luke Brummer) and Jess (Robyn Rainsford) are concerned that everyone can see they don’t belong, and Lynette (Olivia Darnley) and Chris (Scott Sparrow) fear the judgement of not taking “the PC line”.

This claustrophobic atmosphere ratchets up the drama one conversation at a time, gradually building tension as the shack becomes a totem for each couple’s worries. A Good House is at its strongest when these tensions boil over, especially in a gripping clash between Sihle and Bonolo about whether the shack dwellers deserve eviction. And – really – whether they connect more with the “insiders” or “outsiders” in their community.

Skillful writing ensures the debate remains nuanced throughout, with each couple forced to explore their own prejudices. Amy Jephta’s rapid dialogue and believable characterisation means there’s no obvious “good side” to root for, and as the characters’ positions evolve over the course of the play, so do those of the audience.

A Good House’s comedy is equally slow-burn, relying more on character and situation than punchlines. A slow start ramps up in laughs as the audience gets to know each couple, encouraged by well-placed callbacks to earlier conversations. Sparrow’s physical comedy and Brummer’s rapidly cycling emotions also provide some laughs, but the reliance on uncomfortable silences and middle-class awkwardness feels overplayed by the end. Instead, it’s when A Good House eschews this comedy and commits to the drama it’s at its best, with Mazibuko and Khayisa’s evocative, powerful performances stealing the show.

The production itself is put together with confidence, as set design and lighting amplify a building sense of unease. The shack is an omnipresent menace at the back of the stage, but often obscured by the walls of each couple’s living room. A touch of folk-horror emerges as Andrew becomes convinced the shack morphs between scenes, but the script misses an opportunity to explore this intriguing idea. In group conversations, spotlights crash to Sihle and Bonolo, amplifyig the intimacy of their relationship even in disagreement.

A Good House treats its audience to both kitchen-sink drama – the concerns of middle-class suburbia – and a much wider exploration of class, race and what it means to “fit in”. Told with sensitivity and nuance, this is a story both thought-provoking and entertaining. Whilst its comedy occasionally gets in the way of the drama, what drama it is!

A Good House plays at The Royal Court until 8th February, with Thursday and Saturday matinees. Tickets can be purchased here.

REVIEW: LOOKING FOR GIANTS

Published on by ayoungishperspective1Leave a comment

Rating: 2 out of 5.

Looking for Giants holds promise, but has yet to pull new wisdom from the depths of pain it plumbs.

As much as Looking For Giants —- a one-woman show playing at the King’s Head Theatre after a successful Edinburgh run —- pulls off the magic of activating the audience’s imagination, it does so seemingly for the thrill of it, getting lost in the sauce of its own preciousness. Watching it felt like rubbing a bruise just to admire its colors. 

The “giants” of the play’s title are the people who leave marks on us — the fleeting relationships that turn into seemingly pointless, yet obsessive, fantasies. In the narrator’s first few words: “There’s no way you can avoid them. And though you sometimes wish these people weren’t so huge, or that they weren’t even there in the first place, they keep you company somehow.”

The piece’s message is clear, but it never changes. The first ideas presented aren’t pushed towards new regions of insight or emotion. 

Narrated by the talented young Glaswegian actress Abby McCann and written and directed by Cesca Echlin, the play is divided into three stories of obsessive fantasy. The Narrator recounts the memories of three men of whom she’s made “giants” in her life. Beginning with a postgraduate tutor, then a dating app match, and culminating with a school crush, these relationships each technically fail. In reality, they proffer nothing. But on the inside, they mean everything.

With nothing but a stool and a microphone (and complex lighting and sound that too often clash with her remarkably peeled-back performance), McCann effectively opens up the audience. She expertly pulses the text, lulling attention to the silences and then to our own memories. At one point, one could practically hear each of our own ghostly giants entering the theatre and lining up along the walls, like latecomers to a play.

The narrator says of these ghosts, “These are the people who have come to mean something to you… When you look down, you see they’ve left these invisible marks on your body, which only you know are there. When you are alone you can press down on them.”

Giants is not a vanity piece, but its preoccupation with pressing these “invisible marks” ultimately flattens it. With no energy left to guide its audience’s emotional memories to new realms of discovery and self-awareness, it coasts on the same plane, bookended by the same argument with which it begins: that these giants of impassioned, inflated memory will inevitably cause us perpetual pain… but they can also be fulfilling ‘company” too. 

For a play that predominantly tackles gender dynamics in the romantic and sexual life of a young woman, it was surprising to be presented with such a positive spin on very toxic intimate relationships. Yes, maybe someone can swoop in and change a person’s life in a matter of moments, but none of these three stories convincingly presents evidence that this kind of “exciting” suffering makes anything better. The play falls short of demonstrating how this “company” is indeed fulfilling. There is certainly an argument to be made there, but the production hasn’t quite teased it out yet.
Looking for Giants holds promise, but has yet to pull new wisdom from the depths of pain it plumbs.

REVIEW: Bernstein, Barber and Glass

Published on by nickjkehoeLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

“A varied and rousing showcase of modern classics”

The performance tonight begins with Samuel Barber’s Essay No.2, a piece which itself starts
strong and forward with percussion, then goes on to rise and fall intermittently before swelling
with the string ensemble so characteristic of much of Barber’s work. As with all the choices of
music this evening they make a point of putting on show the great range within these pieces,
and the great range of this orchestra.

Barber’s Essay is only one movement, however and we quickly move on to tackle Phillip Glass’
Violin Concerto No.1. The first two movements of the concerto (the somewhat idiosyncratically
titled ♩ = 104 – ♩ = 120 and ♩ = ca. 108) are heavy and redolent with Glass’ haunting string and
Celeste arpeggios – a cornerstone of some of his more famous work and reminiscent in many
parts of certain movements of Koyaanisqatsi. Chloë Hanslip performs excellently here as key
violin and elevates many of the smaller sections of arpeggiation to an impressive height. The
last movement (♩ = ca. 150 – Coda: Poco meno ♩ = 104) is a different beast entirely – after a
small lull by way of the softer, more mysterious, second movement we enter a back and forth,
almost a dialogue, between light and airy trills one minute and bombastic, big-band-style stings
the next. This was, for me, the orchestra’s greatest opportunity to showcase their skill and
control of the material and they did this with aplomb.

Said orchestra, as is almost to be expected from such veteran musicians, played flawlessly
throughout. The range previously mentioned is truly a defining mark of their performance and
with many instruments serving various duties, for example in the scheme of the different timbres
of each piece, it really is a delight to see the performers tackle each work on display tonight.
Returning from the interval we now have two pieces by Bernstein: Symphonic Dances from
Westside Story and Three Dance Episodes from On The Town. As a return, these are
appropriately jazzy and indeed are performed with great enthusiasm; this now is truly the piece
which serves to enjoing most of the orchestra in the performance. The impressive swings
between the great walls of sound necessitated by some of the livelier dances and the
mellifluous lilt of the lighter numbers are accomplished with ease and do a phenomenal job of
walking you through the story of which they are a part. This is a section of the performance that
will undoubtedly prove a delight to any fans of the music of Westside story

As the softer tones of the more romantic symphonic arrangements fade, we are left with just that
small selection of dances from On the Town as our last full piece. These function now almost as
a palate cleanser at the end of the night and truly showcase for us a microcosm of the variety
and range inherent in the evening’s performance. We go at first from the brassy swing of The
Great Lover Displays Himself to another lull with Lonely Town: Pas de Deux (here almost mirroring Glass’ concerto) and then bringing us right back with the loud and jazzy Times Square: 1944 to round out a truly inspired evening of modern classical variety.

REVIEW: Belly of the Beast

Published on by rinreolusolaLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

A compelling, thoughtful exploration of the inadequacies of our binary education system

‘Belly of the Beast’ presents the tender story of YoungMartha and NowMartha, two versions of one person traversing the challenges of a binary system they don’t fit into. With a script that sizzles with authenticity and humanity, this award-winning play urgently interrogates the ramifications of an increasingly corporatised education system, putting Black, queer voices at the centre. The play isn’t just a social commentary however; it showcases a deeply emotional journey of self acceptance, with an unapologetic, nuanced exploration of gender identity.

Saana Sze’s script is witty and poetic, insightful and subtle. The framing of the narrative provides the perfect setting to explore the themes of race, class, gender and identity. Showcasing Martha as both a student and a trainee teacher gives us valuable perspective from both sides of the education system. The play is well paced and served as an effectively condensed dramatisation of huge personal and political themes.

The production is very well constructed, with every element creating a cohesive and well crafted story. Max Pappenheim’s innovative binaural sound design grounds us in the two worlds, the past and present, and delineates between them perfectly. When combined with Arnim Friess’ atmospheric and purposeful lighting, and Delyth Evan’s creative and economic use of space in the set, we are plunged into a world far bigger than the theatre we find ourselves in.

Dadiow Lin’s direction remains dynamic and cohesive, utilising every corner of the stage and showcasing an expert attention to detail. The casting choices are to be commended, as the play reveals two characters who not only look similar, but whose similarities are reinforced with visual and verbal echoes across the two worlds, present both in the script and evident in the actors’ mannerisms.

The play’s ultimate strength, however, is its two leads, who maintain the vast energy required for a two-hander with professional ease. Sam Bampoe-Parry’s childlike characterisation as YoungMartha is endearing, and they astonish with a remarkable ability to believably embody different characters within a short space of time. A commendable professional debut! Shiloh Coke, who is no stranger to the industry, showcases their maturity and satisfyingly counters YoungMartha’s endearing nervous energy with NowMartha’s composed restraint, delivered with admirable emotional complexity.

The play’s only real shortcoming is that it misses the opportunity to showcase a deeper connection between the two selves. We are often set up with near-misses, where YoungMartha and NowMartha almost connect with each other whilst inhabiting their separate worlds. This encourages a yearning for them to acknowledge each other that isn’t quite realised. Though the play ends with quiet triumph, I found myself aching for more of a confrontation between the characters, which made it bittersweet.

‘Belly of the Beast’, though ultimately critical, offers a glimpse of hope for a more inclusive school system, and world. The play ended with enthusiastic and raucous applause, which was well deserved. Thought provoking and incredibly relevant, it is a true coming of age tale, told twice over.

REVIEW: Perfect Dead Girls

Published on by Iona GoodallLeave a comment

Rating: 3 out of 5.

Part primary school disco, part Hunger Games

In Perfect Dead Girls, a new performance co-created by its cast, Elizabeth Robbins and Chelsea Grace, with movement direction by Steph Austin, we enter a liminal space between life and death – but one where the judgement of society still looms over everyone.

Two girls are trapped in this space – one, a peppy perfectionist with a psychotic edge, and the other an Avril Lavigne-esque emo who refuses to recount how she died. Both know they need to escape this room to move on, but neither knows how they should go about doing that. Over the course of the 50 minute piece, they career from choreographed dance to C’est La Vie by B*Witched, to rehearsing their own funerals, to full throated breakdowns, negotiating their relationship to each other in this space.

The piece is jam-packed with intense and thought-provoking commentary on what it means to be a girl in modern society, and especially a dead one. It touches on the suffering Olympics when the girls fight over who has had the most difficult time in life (and death), body image, and the inherent competition women are placed into by simply both existing. It makes the penultimate scene, where one is granted the chance to leave, but only by abandoning the other, gut-wrenching, as we see the other girl descend into madness and violence in her desperation to figure out what she is missing.

The stand out performance for me was definitely Elizabeth Robbins in this role, covering her desperation and fear with Britney Spears and glitter. The final scene, where she moves to the front of the stage, eyes sunken in shadow, and asks (threatens?) the audience to “tell me you love me”, was equally haunting and thrilling. The way she bounces back and forth between her bubblegum persona and twisted inner self, covering her slip ups with a “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean it”, kept the audience guessing throughout.

Chelsea Grace’s role as an emo teen wasn’t given as much pathos, and often felt reduced purely to Scottish stereotypical jokes. All we know about her is that she is a victim, and loves Irn Bru and Evanescence, all of which we might have guessed from the off. She never reveals any depths to her, except a hatred of shallow sentiments. I wish she had had a moment to speak directly to the audience as the other character did, and I wish she had a line half as revealing as the other girl telling us that she had pulled off her suicide perfectly first time, so as to not make a mess.

The show manages to cover a great deal of ground, thanks to its device of playing a fast-forward sound effect while they place themselves for the next scene – almost as if the audience are bored spectators waiting for some more drama. There were a couple of moments that I did hope had lasted a little longer, such as the aftermath of an attempted strangulation to the tune of Toxic, but it did give the show great pace and humour overall.

There are a thousand reasons this show is relevant to nowadays, despite being set in the Y2K era, and it leaves you buzzing with thoughts and questions. It could use a little more humour, and a little less therapy-speak (which seems incongruent with the setting of two teenage girls in the early 2000s), but in terms of impact this is a show that punches well above its weight.

REVIEW: Carousel: A Theatre Show

Published on by ayoungishperspective1Leave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

A tender, hilarious hour that’s part stand-up, part heartfelt memoir—raw, relatable, and irresistibly real.

Ivo Graham’s Carousel does not feel far removed from a tight 1-hour stand up set. Except sadder. Matched, however, by humour! And that’s the best kind of show: you’re engaged the whole way through, you laugh about half of the time, and then you aggressively restrain the tears for a quarter, because why are you crying, you sentimental fool? An excellent balance. And an excellent length for all of us now incapable of sitting still longer than an hour. Of which, I am manifestly one.

In one hour, Graham carouses through his life and memories, largely from the last 12 years, since he graduated Oxford. A self-professed hoarder, Graham has turned pathology into a one-man show. His narrative vehicle is ‘Ten Things I’ll Never Throw Away’. And we travel through time in ten different lenses, from Graham’s favourite photos, to a note from his late grandma scribbled on the back of a Mr Kipling’s packet, to a tiger costume (for his ritual The Tiger who came to Tea re-enactments, naturally). There is no logic to the timeline beyond these items, and we are hurled from 2012 to 2018 back to 2012 and onto 2022. Graham makes a joke about the two thinly differentiated timelines of Greta Gerwig’s Little Women, but his own timeline makes Little Women look like a Biff and Chip book by comparison. But that’s okay: the timeline of the narrative isn’t really that important. Because despite the frantic time jumps, you are captivated, and entirely locked in. Which is no mean feat, given that this show is really just Ivo Graham standing in from of an intimate audience, and telling us about his life through what is largely chachka.

The heart of Graham’s show is his young daughter, and weight of his dysfunctional parental set up (he and his daughter’s mother have not been together since she was very young)
Given the monumental task of merely engaging people in something that pertains solely to Graham’s own life, what’s particularly successful – and scary – is just how relatable Graham is. And I don’t have a child to contend with.

Graham is raw, compelling, and unfiltered. Except, of course, he is filtered, because he’s written the show and is following his own script. And yet, unlike many comedians, Graham has succeeded in cultivating that intangible quality that makes him feel honest and ‘real’, not a parody of himself, or an exaggeration of the everyday Graham. He feels like a real person, and that, is a real achievement.

If I had to nitpick, then I would point out that the jumpy timeline along with the pseudonyms donned for his ex-girlfriends did give a sense that the titular ‘carousel’ pertains to a busy Carousel of Women (not of the Louisa May Alcott variety) mwhich I don’t believe is, in fact, the case.

The vibe of a sadder-than-usual standup makes for an unconventional hour of theatre, that doesn’t feel very theatrical – bar his emotionally manipulative, but effective, deployment of music -but it is a wonderfully crafted piece of theatre, and one that will stay with you. Especially because you get given a dinky laminated train ticket memorialising his show: a sweet treat for all his fellow hoarders.