Category: 5 star

REVIEW: This Is Not About Me

Published on by Ke MengLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

A strikingly inventive exploration of intimacy

What is intimacy? Is it awkward? Is it exhilarating? Is it something that will inevitably hurt? Is it negotiation over micro-powerdynamics, or a zero-sum game? Written and designed by Hannah Caplan, and directed and dramaturged by Douglas Clarke-Wood, This Is Not About Me acutely explores the shifting meanings of intimacy through Grace and Eli, a pair entangled in an intricate, long-standing relationship.

The design situates the show within multiple spider-like nets, with a trolley-bed at the central stage, and a projection screen behind. A pillow on the bed reads “Things we hate about each other”, followed by another declaring “Things we love about each other”. The pair meets after a long while to unwind their past. 

The first 20 minutes may feel a bit chopped up. There are witty exchanges and word-plays, but they are often lost amid overly frequent scene transitions, awkward puppetry, and indistinct video projections. Nonetheless, the play precisely captures and transfixes the awkward atmosphere of the pair whose history spans over intimacy, friendship and almost destruction. Interestingly, there is a kind of inverted parallel at work: while the narrative unfolds in reverse chronological order, its emotional intensity grows progressively deeper, barer, and much more unfiltered.

The use of subtitles is one of the best, if not the best, I have ever seen, perfectly reflecting what Grace indulges in as “contradiction and pretence as flirting”, while sitting in tension with the stark bareness of her “I love sex” speech. Their puppetry-based sex scene, in that sense, becomes a curious synthesis of both – something at once ultimately raw and predominantly pretentious. 

The show finds its strongest footing in the latter half, where it turns more metatheatrical, becoming a play about Grace writing a play about Grace and Eli, where their power-dynamic parallels the power-dynamic between those who have pen and those who have not, about the authenticity of self and how that self is (re)presented in other’s stories, as well as about physical theatrical presence and their visualised counterpart. 

One scene is particularly convincing. Eli (Francis Nunnery), in physical presence, interacts with a projected image of Grace (video designer Inigo Woodham-Smith), appearing almost like lying together. In the meantime, the physical presence of Amaia Naima Aguinaga, the actor of Grace, “puppeteering” Nunnery through those nets of ropes, thus embodying her fantasised imagery of Eli. Repulsed, Eli avenges by counter-writing a screenplay that polishes his own phallocentric fantasies.

The show ends up with the pair becoming absolutely bare about how they feel (including a fart joke), and the projection features their first meeting years ago. This dramaturgical and directorial decision somehow loses its momentum and feels a bit inadequate and undernourished. However, this does little to diminish its overall achievement, which offers probing perspectives, refreshing theatrical explorations and an exposed intimacy not just between Grace and Eli, but between the show and the audience.

This show runs from 25th March until 18th April. Tickets here.

REVIEW: Sunset

Published on by clemencxLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

Grief, virtuosity, chaos, and sunlight — SUNSET had it all, and then some.

Titled Sunset, the programme itself traced a kind of emotional arc, from intimacy and loss to absurdity, virtuosity, and finally clarity. It opened with Ottorino Respighi’s Il Tramonto, a setting of Shelley’s The Sunset, and one of the most quietly devastating works of the evening. Scored for soprano and string quartet, it tells of love abruptly cut short: a young woman awakening beside her dead lover, and carrying that grief throughout her life. Sarah Aristidou embodied this world completely. Aristidou stood centre stage barefoot, draped in a flowing, pale gown with a muted green cape, evoking something between a Greek statue and a mythological figure, her stillness as expressive as her voice. The music’s chromatic richness was matched by her ability to move between fragile lyricism and something almost recitative-like. It felt less like a performance and more like witnessing a moment suspended in time.

From this introspection, the concert pivoted into dazzling theatricality with Antonio Pasculli’s Oboe Concerto on themes from Donizetti’s La Favorita. Pasculli, often dubbed the “Paganini of the oboe,” wrote music that pushes the instrument to its absolute limits, and François Leleux rose to that challenge with irrepressible verve. Leading from within the orchestra, he brought a sense of play that transformed the stage dynamic, weaving operatic lyricism with brilliance, the oboe almost becoming a singing voice and conductor in its own right. The northern French oboe player is exuberant, communicative, and endlessly engaging. The final flourish drew immediate emphatic applause, and his Bach encore was a nod to the approaching Easter season.

If the first half had already traversed grief and brilliance, György Ligeti’s Mysteries of the Macabre detonated into something altogether more unhinged, in the best possible way. Drawn from Le Grand Macabre, the work is a tour de force for soprano, sung by the delirious character Gepopo, chief of the secret police, attempting to communicate an impending apocalypse. Aristidou seized this with astonishing commitment. Beginning unseen, her voice emerged from the balcony behind the audience, immediately destabilising the space. As she moved through the hall, the performance became theatrical, immersive, and gleefully disruptive. By the time she reached the stage, interrupting, provoking, and playing off the conductor, Paul Watkins, the piece’s manic energy, teetering between urgency and absurdity, was fully realised. A well-timed joke from the podium, likening her character’s frantic authority to that of a Reform Party figure, landed perfectly with the audience, sharpening the work’s satirical edge. The orchestra matched her every move with remarkable precision, echoing her cries, outbursts, and sudden shifts of character with almost comic exactness that heightened the sense of chaos. Her vocal agility was staggering, but it was her dramatic instinct that made the performance unforgettable. She didn’t simply navigate Ligeti’s chaos; she revelled in it.

After the interval, Franz Schubert’s Symphony No. 5 offered something entirely different: lightness, clarity, and a kind of youthful optimism. Composed for a modest ensemble, its charm lies in its restraint. Under Leleux’s direction, Sinfonia Smith Square captured this spirit beautifully. After the intensity of the first half, it felt like stepping into an elegant and joyful sunlight.

What made Sunset so remarkable was not just the calibre of its performers, though that was undeniable, but the way the programme itself told a story. From the transience of life in Il Tramonto, through operatic passion and virtuosic display, to Ligeti’s surreal apocalypse and Schubert’s serene resolution, the evening traced something very human. It was, in every sense, a complete experience: thoughtful, theatrical, and performed with exceptional artistry. 

Sunset was a one-off performance on 29th March, presented as part of the London Chamber Music Festival. Tickets for other shows at the Sinfonia Smith Square Hall can be found here.

REVIEW: Guildhall Studio Ensemble with Snowpoet

Published on by clemencxLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

A breathtaking collision of jazz, electronica, and orchestral brilliance

The Guildhall Studio Ensemble’s collaboration with Snowpoet is nothing short of extraordinary; The immersive evening expands an already rich material into something even more emotionally charged and sonically expansive. Guildhall Studio Ensemble with Snowpoet is what happens when exceptional composition meets fearless reinterpretation. 

From the moment you step into the Milton Court hall, a full orchestra stretches across the stage, framed by a softly glowing silver disco ball, while round light bulbs flicker gently in and out, adding a subtle sense of movement throughout the performances. The audience is diverse in age, and with hardly an empty seat, there’s an unmistakable buzz of anticipation.

The first half is led by the students, divided into two alternating ensembles, each bringing a distinct character to the stage. What’s especially charming is their individuality, not just musically, but visually too. Each performer wears their own outfit, reflecting their personality and adding a sense of informality and authenticity to the performance.

The first group, fronted by vocalist Rosa Witts, delivers a fuller, instrument-heavy sound. Opening with Alive With Closed Eyes, they immediately set a high standard. Rosa’s voice is both powerful and nuanced, drawing you in with ease and carrying the piece.

In contrast, the second group leans into a more stripped-back feel. With four vocalists at the forefront, their take on Little Moon Man feels intimate and layered, the voices interweaving. Each singer brings something different, and together they create a sound that feels cohesive yet textured.

As the two groups alternate, the programme gains a natural momentum. A Chance to Hear the Rain and If I Miss a Star give Rosa another chance to take centre stage, the latter building into a standout moment where each instrument briefly steps forward before the music opens into an energetic and absorbing jazz section. The second ensemble responds with equally compelling interpretations of Skin and Facetime, marked by inventive arrangements and strong vocal character. Urtė Ginėlevičiūtė in particular leaves an impression, her distinctive tone cutting through with an unconventional edge.

The half concludes with Host Reprise, bringing both ensembles together into a playful collaboration, closing on a high before the interval.

After the interval, the ensemble returns dressed in coordinated black, giving the stage a sense of cohesion, before Lauren Kinsella and Chris Hyson step in – Kinsella in a vivid pink dress, Hyson in an oversized shirt – bringing the focus back to Snowpoet’s character.

From here, the music feels less like a set of songs and more like something being reshaped in real time. The jazz roots come forward naturally, with a looseness in rhythm and a confidence in the improvisation that gives each piece space to unfold. With such a large ensemble, the sound expands with a cinematic sweep. 

Tracks like Waves and Tenderness stretch into wide, almost film-like landscapes, while The Therapist / Under the Tree moves delicately between vulnerability and strength. There’s a clear sense of growth in these performances, especially in the newer material, where themes of family and parenthood bring a sense warmth and reflection.

What’s most striking is how well this music holds up at this scale. Instead of losing its intimacy, it feels deepened with each detail refracted through the ensemble without losing its core. The mix of jazz, ambient textures and orchestral colour creates something that feels both close and expansive at the same time.

By the time Roots closes the set, there’s a real sense of connection across the room with the musicians and audience in sync. It lands less like a finale and more like a shared moment that’s been building all along. 

This was a one off show by the Guildhall Studio Ensemble and Snowpoet at the Milton Court Concert Hall on Friday 27th March 2026. 

REVIEW: An Evening With Gregor Fisher

Published on by Ross BevanLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

Fisher’s flair for storytelling and absurd humour had the audience in fits of hysteria

Fans filled out the theatre as legend of stage and screen Gregor Fisher sat with Nigel West to discuss his life, career and everything in-between. Having always been known for his sly wit and particular brand of Scottish humour, Fisher hasn’t missed a beat and is just as funny as ever.

Before discussing his famous roles or really anything about his career, he reminisced over his childhood growing up in Scotland. From tales of almost drowning in sewage after taking unnecessary shortcuts to his multiple attempts to skive school, Fisher painted a vivid picture of his early days of mischievousness. However, he also delved into conversation regarding his relationship with his mother and recanted the interesting tale of asking where he was baptised. A conversation about family baptisms, young Fisher did not expect to be met with silence when posing the question, especially after asking as second time. Choosing to “give it up as a bad habit”, Fisher left the topic alone until his Mum knocked on his door one day (a very uncharacteristic action in a house where people came and went as they pleased without much concern). Fisher re-enacts the bashful way in which his Mum sat down with him and told him that the reason they didn’t know where or if he was baptised was that he was adopted. This came as quite the shock to the 14-year-old and it was never spoken of again. When West asked him how he took the news and if it caused him to act out in any way, Fisher admitted that there were times after where it could have caused him to be less than kind to his Mum which he states, “I’ll bitterly regret till the day I die”. It is clear though how much love and affection he had for, stating as the evening went on how she would always come to see him in any stage work he did. He also gave the audience an anecdote about what was said the first time she met his wife, Vicki Burton. Ever the impressionist, Fisher did his best version of her voice as he quoted, “Aren’t you aiming a bit high?” 

It all worked out though as the two were eventually married, even if West did playfully hint that “she gave him the runaround” for a while beforehand. The two met on a production of A Midsommer’s Night Dream, with Fisher going on to do various other stage roles in productions such as The Importance of Being Earnest, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and The Wizard of Oz, the show that led to Fisher and West’s first encounter as the director hired him to play The Cowardly Lion. We were even treated to renditions of songs from both these musicals, showing that despite his claims he took these jobs as “tax breaks”, he still remembers the work fondly. That was not the only rogue joke made about his past work as Fisher candidly referred to the popular rom-com Love Actually as a “skidmark”. Despite not believing much in the script, he seemed to at least enjoy his time spent with his fellow actors on the project.

Fisher’s most famous role, of course, is playing the titular character in iconic Scottish sitcom Rab C. Nesbitt. When asked why he thought the show worked, he mentioned he’d never quite understood the how or why. He spoke about how if people could work that out, “they’d have the Holy Grail for good television”. This prompted and audience member to loudly exclaim, “YOU ARE THE HOLY GRAIL!” This was a sentimental moment in the evening and while Fisher seemed to slightly play up his emotion for laughs, it was clear to see he was genuinely touched by this comment. That character absolutely still lives in people’s hearts as when West turned to the audience for questions, many revolved around the hit show. When asked if he would ever return and if the character would still work in this day and age, his response was “Never say never”. A more specific question revolved around whether there were plans for a skit involving Rab following the Tartan Army to this year’s World Cup. Though he hadn’t thought of it, Fisher was quick to mention that this was a very good idea, even stating he may pitch this. Another idea he appreciated, in which the entire audience were in sound agreement, came from one of the final audience questions in which a woman asked if he “could save us and finally give us a good Hogmanay this year”. Having only recently returned to living in Scotland after living in France for several years, Fisher was unaware of the dire state of Hogmanay television, a sentiment held by all. Hearing this plea, he simply said,” I’ll write to them”. Perhaps Hogmanay celebrations may be saved after all.

Overall, Fisher’s roguish charm and at times self-deprecating humour made for a night of laughs and stimulating conversation. The way he did small character bits here and there as well as impressions of friends and family really added to the night. It was truly delightful to hear about the life of a true Scottish legend, not only as a reminder of how much he has contributed to the craft over the years but to see how much he still has to offer. 

It’s arguable that even for those who aren’t longtime fans, they could have sat in that room and been turned into one just listening to Gregor Fisher talk. For those who are, this tour won’t disappoint.

REVIEW: Jaja’s African Hair Braiding

Published on by Rose-Charles RajLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

a lesson in excellence and a phenomenal story rooted in culture and relationships

Jaja’s African Hair Braiding is an incredibly powerful production that exemplifies excellence in every way. From stagecraft to design to music, the show is a masterclass in production quality, a direct example of how passion and storytelling can be seamlessly integrated.

At its heart, the play offers audiences an intimate glimpse into the lives and relationships of women working in a Harlem hair salon. What playwright Jocelyn Bioh does so beautifully is craft small, vivid moments that allow the audience to fall in love with each character. These aren’t huge moments more than it’s in the banter, the humor, the tension, and the honest confessions. Each woman is navigating her own sense of self, her exhaustion, her dreams, yet need and crave another through shared womanhood and connection. As many of the characters are African immigrants, the play also highlights the deep longing for familiarity and sense of home, something they find in each other despite different cultures and opinions. 

The world of the play is brought to life with striking authenticity. Set designer Paul Willis creates a Harlem salon that feels lived-in and culturally rich. Adorned with vibrant African flags, posters of intricate hairstyles, and bursts of color, the set pulses with identity and pride.

Director Monique Touko stunningly weaves together every performance element. The movement direction by Kloé Dean and sound by Tony Gale keeps transitions fluid and engaging, drawing the audience in without distraction. Even the act of hair braiding, a pivotal aspect of  the story, is executed with such precision that changes happen almost invisibly. Every element of Bioh’s script is handled with such care and detail.

What makes culturally rooted plays so interesting is how differently audiences may connect to them especially those who are unfamiliar with the culture. As the play is grounded in the experiences of African women in America, it still holds a familiarity with the global Black female experience, touching on identity, survival, ambition in ways that feel universal. On press night, the audience was surging with laughter, comedy, joy and excitement despite their personal connections. That’s the beauty of Bioh’s work, it’s just human.  

As an ensemble-driven piece, the performances are exceptionally strong. Every actor serves the story with intention and excellence. Jadesola Odunjo brings depth and nuance to Miriam, balancing fear, motherhood, sacrifice, and resilience with remarkable ease. Her arc is handled with sensitivity and strength. Bola Akeju is a commanding presence as Ndidi, embodying both authority and care with a grounded confidence that fills the stage. Renée Bailey delivers sharp comedic timing, bringing levity and energy at just the right moments.

One of the most dynamic relationships in the play is between Bea (Dolapo Oni) and Aminata (Babirye Bukilwa). Their connection feels deeply authentic, two women bound by dependence, and love, yet unafraid to clash. Their exchanges are honest, messy, and refreshingly real, capturing the complexity of true relationships. Across the board, the ensemble operates in harmony, fully inhabiting the same world.

Though the show is relatively short, it leaves a lasting impact. The ending is bittersweet, echoing the realities of immigrant life and the sacrifices that often go unseen. More than anything, this production stands as a testament to womanhood, to African and African American culture, and to the resilience it takes to keep pushing.

If you’re looking for a production that not only tells a story that’s enriched with culture and history but teaches you something about storytelling itself, this is not one to miss.

REVIEW: Flora

Published on by hannahbethjackson1Leave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

A powerful, ceilidh-charged celebration of Scottish history

There’s something really special about a show that feels completely rooted in where it comes from, and Flora absolutely does. Performing at the Pavilion Theatre in Glasgow, this new musical doesn’t just tell a story, it celebrates Scottish heritage in a way that feels fresh, alive, and genuinely exciting. From the moment it  begins, there’s a real sense of energy and purpose that carries right through to the final moments. 

Written by Belle Jones and directed by Stasi Schaeffer, the production feels clear in its vision and confident in its  storytelling. Most people know Flora MacDonald for helping Bonnie Prince Charlie escape, but this show goes  much further than that. The first act gives us the story we recognise, while the second act digs deeper into what  came next, showing the reality of her life beyond the legend. It adds real depth and makes the story feel far more complete. 

The decision to split Flora into two (Junior and Senior) is such a strong creative choice. Karen Fishwick brings  energy and determination to Flora Junior, while Annie Grace gives a more grounded, reflective performance as  Flora Senior. There’s a real sense of contrast between them, but it works beautifully and helps show the full  journey of the character. 

The wider cast are just as impressive, particularly in how they move between acting and playing instruments  throughout the show. It’s a demanding setup, which adds to the energy and creates a strong ensemble feel. A  special mention has to go to Lana Pheutan as Annabelle/Lady Sleat, who brings a real presence to the stage and  stands out in every scene she’s in. 

Musically, the show is a real highlight. With music by AJ Robertson and John Kielty, the score blends traditional  Scottish influences with a modern edge, creating something that feels both authentic and accessible. The live music element adds so much, especially with the cast being so involved in creating the sound on stage. There are also moments of rhythmic, almost spoken storytelling that give it a contemporary feel without losing its identity. The use of Gaelic alongside English adds another layer and strengthens that connection to Scottish culture. 

Visually, the production is simple but very effective. The costumes, overseen by Head of Wardrobe Jenny Lööf, feel authentic to the period while still allowing the performers to move freely between scenes and musical  numbers. Everything has been curated to serves the story. 

Benny Goodman’s lighting design also plays an important role in shaping the atmosphere. It shifts smoothly  between the more intimate moments and the larger ensemble scenes, helping guide the audience through the story. At times it creates a real warmth, especially during the more communal, ceilidh-style sequences, and at others it sharpens the focus for the more serious moments. 

What really stands out is how well everything comes together. The performances, music, and staging all feel  connected, creating a show that’s easy to get lost in. There are moments where it genuinely feels like you’re part of the experience rather than just watching it. 

The tone is well balanced throughout. There’s humour and lighter moments, but they sit comfortably alongside  the more serious themes of war, survival, and identity. It never feels too heavy, but it also doesn’t shy away from the reality of Flora’s story. 

By the end, it’s hard not to feel completely swept up in it. Flora manages to be both entertaining and meaningful,  which isn’t always easy to get right. It feels like a show that knows exactly what it wants to say and delivers it with confidence. 

This is more than just a musical, it’s a celebration of culture, storytelling, and identity. If you get the chance to see it, don’t hesitate. It really is something really special.

REVIEW: Mysteries: Beethoven and Mozart

Published on by Natalie BorensteinLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

Sinfonia Smith Square discovered unity in mystery

Performed by the talented fellows of Sinfonia Smith Square, ‘Mysteries: Beethoven and Mozart’ was a dazzling contribution to the London Festival of Chamber Music. The programme opened with Beethoven’s Cello Sonata No.5 in D major, Op. 102 No. 2, an introspective and experimental work typical of his late style, followed by Mozart’s Sinfonia Concertante, a lively piece composed during the young Mozart’s tour of Europe (1778-1779). Juxtaposing Beethoven’s late style with Mozart’s youthful voice proved particularly compelling in performance. After the interval, the programme then returned to Beethoven, concluding with his Triple Concerto for Violin, Cello, and Piano in C major, Op. 56, written in the early 1800s as the composer began to go deaf. 

In the capable hands of cellist Paul Watkins and pianist Alessio Bax, Beethoven’s Cello Sonata No. 5 was a captivating experience. The Allegro hinted at a delicate rapport  between the two performers, while the ensuing Adagio was soft, sensitive and positively dripping with dynamic contrast. In a venue like Smith Square Hall, with its  grand Corinthian columns, lofty ceilings and sweeping golden chandelier, the effect was enchanting. Every sustained legato filled the hall, commanding the space with a sombre grace. The Allegro, too, had real character, with the faster pace allowing for a  little extra flourish from the pianist.  

Moving into Mozart’s exuberant Sinfonia Concertante, the interplay between violinist Alena Baeva and violist Lawrence Power was just as impressive. The pair were remarkably responsive to one another throughout, creating an intimate dialogue that was fascinating both aurally and visually. Far too often, the poor viola is on the receiving end of a great many mean-spirited jokes while the violin steals the spotlight, but in Sinfonia Concertante, the viola and the violin share the spotlight as co-soloists in  conversation with the orchestra. Alena Baeva and Lawrence Power embraced this rare opportunity, offering up a feast of coy exchanges that felt deliciously flirtatious.  

It always makes such a difference when you can feel the performers enjoying  themselves on stage, completely engrossed in the music. Baeva and Power should be applauded for their presence. The orchestra, in turn, matched the soloists’ energy,  driven by the exacting baton of conductor Paul Watkins, who was practically jumping up and down in the final bars of the Presto. This momentum then carried seamlessly into Beethoven’s Triple Concerto, producing a unified sound that was fittingly majestic. Right up until the final Rondo all Polacca, every performer was beautifully in sync with one another, listening and responding as one; it was this unity between musicians that ultimately made for a very special concert. Brava, really.

REVIEW: Maricel

Published on by justinemsjonesLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

“Cultural immersion, done beautifully”

Maricel is a beautifully crafted film, shining a light on a reality faced by millions of Filipino families. With the space it allows to explore the quiet moments, it raises important questions and invites questions on the cost of success.

Zar Donato is excellent in the role of Maricel. She completely captures the complex, conflicting emotions of the situation unfolding in front of her. From the meticulous standard of support she provides to the elderly Greek couple in her care to the earned bursts of frustration, her performance reflects Filipino culture authentically.

The simple, routine moments shine across both cultures. Food plays a continuous role in the film. The showcasing of lesser-known Greek cuisine, rooted in what is readily available, highlights the simplicity of Greek cooking. The preparation of honey and ginger tea to soothe ailments, and the presence of carefully stored, plastic-wrapped snacks, will feel familiar to many within Filipino households. The running joke around long-grain rice was subtle and well done.

The tenderness and honesty with which the sexual realities of OFWs are portrayed are moving and deeply affecting. The film presents, in a strikingly beautiful yet unflinching way, how difference and vulnerability can lead to exploitation. It powerfully captures the spectrum of experiences – from those who endure and adapt, making the best of difficult circumstances, to the harsher, more unsettling realities that many have had to confront and overcome.

As the daughter of an OFW who lived in Greece, this film feels deeply personal. Seeing the crossover of Tagalog, Greek and English brought to life feels almost sacred, a detail handled with great care. The emphasis on particular phrases – where “bastos” comes to mind – feels charmingly natural. The emotional turmoil of balancing the loss of family and the acceptance of another family met with a quiet, stoic resilience echoes the determination of OFWs to create a better life for their families, often at great personal cost.

After the screening, director Elias Demetiou took part in a Q&A. He spoke openly about his family’s personal experience with Filipino workers, affectionately referring to the woman who inspired Marciel as a sister. His brother also composed the moving score, a first for the brothers after many years of Elias’s requests. 


Marciel is a human story, told with care and details that resonates well beyond the screen. Showcasing 52 feature films, including nine UK premieres and eight world premieres, catch the Manchester Film Festival until 29th March. Tickets are available here.

Image taken from https://royalcourttheatre.com/events/john-proctor-is-the-villain/

REVIEW: John Proctor is a Villain

Published on by Victoria AshfordLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

“The most validating theatrical experience a young woman can have!“

“Five young women running on pop music, optimism and fury are about to shed light on the darkest secrets in their small town. A story about girlhood, power, and questioning the narratives we’ve been taught.” Written by Kimberly Belflower and directed by Danya Taymor, this eagerly anticipated Broadway transfer moved the audience to tears at the Royal Court Theatre last night. Whether from tears of joy, feminist rage, or undefinable overwhelming emotion, people of all ages and genders have a lot to connect with in John Proctor is a Villain. 

This sold-out production (limited returns available) tells the story of five female students in a “one stoplight” American town during the thick of the #MeToo movement and Trump’s first presidency. Within this conservative Christian community, each girl has a distinct personality that shines through, from their unique family backgrounds, differing opinions and ways of expression. This was an extremely refreshing take on shows that are set in a high school, as we have seen countless teen musicals that supposedly centre the young female experience, but never from this perspective. As a young woman who was a teenager when the play is set (2018), I immediately felt protective of these characters who felt like an alternate universe, American version of my own school friendship group. John Proctor is a Villain is shockingly universal (most Royal Court audience members won’t be from small town America), and compels everyone to consider the true intentions behind a “witch hunt” and the consequences of defending a man’s reputation. 

The young characters frequently use language and pop culture references that you would definitely hear a teenage girl say in 2018 (“to quote Taylor Swift, we are NEVER getting back together! LIKE EVER!”). Sometimes these references feel somewhat cliche, (“and that’s what you missed on Glee!”) but it is an understandable move for wider audience appeal. Any awkwardness or cringe that is felt in these moments is completely overridden by the feeling of sheer love and respect that the creative team clearly have for these characters. The girls are never portrayed as silly or wrong for any of their opinions. They are treated with emotional depth and sincerity, inviting the audience to do the same. While some of the girls seem to stand on opposite ends of the feminist spectrum, the play never points fingers at which girl is “correct”, you always get the sense that each of these characters are on their own journey, and must be engaged with as valuable and complex individuals. 

The Royal Court is a perfectly intimate space for this phenomenally talented cast to connect with the audience. Special congratulations to the professional stage debuts of: Charlie Borg, Reece Braddock and Molly McFadden! Molly leads the gang as the straight-A student Beth, who is beginning to immerse herself in modern feminism. Molly gives an appropriately highly-strung and energetic performance, capturing the kind of girl we all knew (or were!) at school, on the precipice of activism but not quite knowing how to express herself yet. Miya James is outstanding as Raelynn. She is one of the most grounded characters in the show, and the way she juggles many real and complex relationships while still feeling like an awkward, funny teenager is very impressive. Sadie Soverall as Shelby deserves every piece of praise that is guaranteed to come her way. Perfectly balancing the awkwardness, hurt, vulnerability and bravery of her character, she leads the show with the strength of a West End veteran. 

The direction and movement of this show felt very realistic to how teenage girls would speak and move. At times some line deliveries felt slightly unnatural, but it admittedly seems difficult to make pop culture references and (now slightly outdated) teenage slang feel fully ‘off the cuff’. The lighting and sound design elevated the already fantastic script, punctuating the inner angst that comes across in the acting. The show was gripping throughout, but the play builds to a moment of extreme catharsis, if you weren’t already tearing up, you will be sobbing by the end. The genius use of female pop music (Green Light by Lorde) in this moment perfectly encapsulates how overwhelming it feels to be alive as a young woman at this point in time.

John Proctor is a Villain is more than an ‘urgent’ play. It’s the most validating theatrical experience a young woman can have.

REVIEW: D is for Distance

Published on by tgilfillan4512d47d4dLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

A profoundly moving and astonishing portrayal of a young man’s experience of Epilepsy.

D is for Distance is a strange, beautiful meditation on memory, truth and family, bound with tender fragility around the experiences of a young man with epilepsy, tracing his story from pre-condition to the current day.

The young man, Louis Petit, is the son of Chris Petit and Emma Matthews, both filmmakers and the directors of the film. It is a proliferation of different materials, from home videos of Louis taken by his mother as she tracks his seizures on the advice of doctors, to old cartoon clips, other old cinema clips and family travel footage. The glories of the artistic imagination seed out of the stark reality of the home video material, including some of Louis’ own artistic work. His paintings reflect the hallucinations that were a side effect of seizures during his adolescence, creating perplexing dreamscapes on his canvases.

When Louis has his first seizure as a young boy, the family embark on a journey into confusion and fear around his life-threatening condition, worsened by the ineptitude of the NHS doctors treating him with misprescribed medication. The film slips between materials with the same slipperiness as the condition, with its unnerving uncertainty, its terrifying unpredictability.

One result of Louis’ seizures is a loss of childhood memories, lending a pathos to the footage before his condition asserted itself, and there is a sense that this loss of memory is tied to a loss of innocence for the family as a whole, as his condition draws a stark line between before and after. The film is heartbreaking in its vulnerable probing into the secrets of the subconscious: what can be found, perhaps through art, and what is lost forever.

This loss of innocence is also portrayed in the parent’s dawning awareness of the ‘hubris and bureaucracy’ of a broken medical system. The NHS refuses to provide the medical cannabis medication that alleviates the symptoms, leading to the necessity of procuring it from Europe with the attendant financial anxiety.

As the film slips between materials, so does it meld Louis’ story with Petit’s own unfinished film project, centered around the American artist and writer William Burroughs and the former CIA chief James Angleton. Petit’s interest in the subconscious manifests here in the study of addiction and paranoia, and with minds that shared a fascination with secretive systems of control and surveillance. The film circles around the mystery surrounding Angleton’s suspect activities whilst working within the CIA, grasping at a mind muddied between truth and lies.

The film is narrated with calm lucidity by Jodhi May, whose third-person narration gives this story a calming throughline, amongst the beautiful disorder of material. Rich with imagery, music and seamless yet surprising material slippage, the film nonetheless imbues a sense of peace and hope within suffering, that lingers after both nightmare and dream have passed away.

D is for Distance will be released in UK and Irish cinemas on 3 April 2026 by BFI Distribution. A BFI Player release will follow on 11 May. See the new trailer here