We sat down for an exclusive chat with Christopher, co-creator and director of Fight For America. Playing at Stone Nest until 7th July this is a groundbreaking participatory installation inspired by tactical tabletop wargames. Based on the storming of the Capitol on January 6 2021, the team invite you to come along and choose a side, confronting the tension between patriotism, protest, and power.
If Uncle Sam’s your gamemaster, does that make this the most patriotic board game night ever—or the most ironic?
We’re embracing the absurdity. Uncle Sam as gamemaster is directly inspired by “Uncle Jam,” one of the many costumed individuals who stormed the Capitol on January 6th, fervently supporting the false claim that the 2020 election was stolen. Putting that figure in charge isn’t about celebrating the chaos – it’s about exposing it. So is it patriotic or ironic? Maybe both. Or maybe it’s a mirror, reflecting America’s contradictions as it performs its ideals even while they unravel.
With over 10,000 miniatures and a giant Capitol model, what’s been the most unexpectedly fun or absurd moment during rehearsals?
Honestly, there haven’t been traditional rehearsals. The players are the performers, and the game unfolds spontaneously in real time. The absurd part is probably deciding to hand-paint 10,000 miniatures and 3D print a 14-foot Capitol model. But the most unexpectedly fun part? Playing a game with 20 strangers and watching a community form almost instantly.
What kind of player thrives in Fight for America! — the strategist, the chaotic wildcard, or the peacemaker?
All of them have their moments, but the players who seem to thrive are the ones willing to set aside politics, surrender to the experience, and fully engage. You play to win – but more importantly, you confront how far you’re willing to go to win, and what that reveals about the state of democracy.
How do humor, spectacle, and snacks collide with the gravity of insurrection to create a space that is both unsettling and deeply engaging?
That collision is part of the point. You’re invited to think about America, about democracy, and how far you’re willing to go in support of your beliefs. Then you step into a room with 20 strangers and 10,000 miniatures. There’s music, there are snacks – and Uncle Sam invites you to play a game about a recent national trauma. That tension forces a reckoning: are you just playing a game, or are you participating in something larger? One moment you’re laughing; the next, the room goes still. That friction – between play and consequence – is where the real engagement begins.
What surprised you most about how players behave once they take on a role from the “other side”?
How quickly people surrender to the role – and how far they’re willing to go to win. It doesn’t take long before strategy overtakes ideology, and suddenly players are justifying actions they might never consider outside the game. That shift is revealing.
In reimagining the Capitol riot as a live, playable scenario, what conversations are you hoping audiences will continue after the game ends?
Democracy, like a game, only works when people show up. On January 6th, people showed up ready to fight for their version of America – right or wrong. This experience asks you to consider how far you’re willing to go in support of your beliefs, and what that means for the future of democracy.
Faulty Tower the Dining Experience at President Hotel is an unforgettable night that will quite literally have you laughing your head off. Whether you’re a lifelong fan of the classic sitcom in the 70s (like myself – a millennium weirdo wasting her time watch silly old sitcoms), or completely new to it, like my friend was, you’re in for a riotous time.
The experience is built around three iconic characters: the snobbish and neurotic Basil (Lawrence Watling), the sharp-tongued and domineering Sybil (Nerine Skinner), and the ever-clueless yet endearing Manuel (Leigh Kelly). Together, they faithfully recreate the chaotic, dysfunctional atmosphere of the infamous hotel in Torquay. Following from a “normal” wine reception operated by ushers and hosts, Basil and Manuel opens the show full of orders and misinterpretations, instantly transforming the guests from a well-organised, decent international hotel in London to this little hostel full of dramas and unstable comics in southwest England.
Once the chaotic bread service kicks off, your dining experience officially begin. Of course, in this madhouse, the only thing you can predict is that nothing is predictable. The show cleverly weaves in familiar plots from the original series, including horse racing bets, a fire drill, the “hamster,” and of course, the Germans. No spoilers here further, as I do not want to ruin your intact package of surprises.
Nevertheless, the real genius of the evening lies not just in these nostalgic tributes, but in the cast’s incredible improvisational skills to engage and play with the guests. They can always spot on a certain guest, taking up on the smallest cue and spin it into comic gold with effortless charm. If you’re something of a drama queen yourself, your willingness to join in will absolutely heighten your experience. But even if you’re more reserved, you’ll be thoroughly entertained as well. There’s more than enough madness on offer to have you in stitches.
As for the food – while I won’t pretend to be a food critic – I can faithfully report what was served: a soup starter (with a bit of harmless theatrical chaos thrown in), grilled chicken leg with vegetables for the main, and a cheesecake for dessert. Dietary requirements can be catered for, and the team will check with you in ahead of time. You’re not expecting for Michelin star dining here, but that’s perfectly fine. After hall, the food is solid, but the evening is all about the showy theatrical experience.
PORTAL 002 is an immersive art experience happening on 12th April at The Plant Room in London. The evening transforms the space into a surreal forest of set design, sculpture, video, and sound. It boasts the talents of artists like Dasha, Wolf Cutt and anetherealbooth (Charlie Jimenez) — pioneers of the underground conceptual performance art scene, known for uniting trans-human, internet-rooted expression with live, embodied practice. We sat down with Scarlett Wang who will be opening the experience.
How does your performance at PORTAL 002 blend with the surreal, immersive environment created by the other artists?
When I saw the theme of this edition—especially the Celtic deer mythology—I immediately thought of a cartoon I watched as a child called Nine-Coloured Deer (九色鹿). It’s based on a Buddhist Jataka tale, where a magical deer saves a drowning man, only to be betrayed by him. That story always stayed with me, and I was struck by how closely it aligned with Portal 002’s world: both stories deal with the act of chasing a deer, a kind of spiritual threshold that opens into another realm.
The performance became my response to that mythic overlap. As a part of the opening ritual, I wanted my performance to be the deer—an ethereal, seductive portal that draws the audience deeper into the event, like an initiation into something unknown.
The visuals and set design being developed for the show also resonate deeply with my piece. The mystical illustrations of spectral beings in forests, the use of organic materials like roots and bark in the sculpture Nym’s building—it all echoes the aesthetic of my performance: reflective textures, glittering blood, cling film, and lace. We’re all contributing different parts of the same dream, just in different media.
What themes or emotions are you hoping to evoke through your opening performance at The Plant Room?
I want the audience to feel something physical, maybe even uncomfortable—something between reverence and revulsion. The performance moves from tenderness to violence, and I’m considering using raw materials like real animal organs or meat to push that further. The beauty of the deer becomes disturbing when it’s consumed. That tension is the point.
There’s also something darker underneath—the desire to capture and possess something sacred. The act of chasing a divine creature to dominate it echoes histories of colonialism: the urge to own, to conquer beauty, to take what doesn’t belong to you. This performance is not specifically about colonialism, but I do think the power dynamics it explores open up many possible interpretations. I hope each audience member brings their own lens—whether it’s about gender, spirituality, violence, or systems of control. That ambiguity makes the work one step closer to mythology.
How do you approach integrating elements of internet-rooted expression with live, embodied practice in your work?
I think for many of us performance artists, there’s always that quiet thought at the back of our minds: What photo will I post after this? It’s a blessing and a curse. We’re constantly shifting between being fully present in our bodies and imagining how that presence will be captured, filtered, and shared. Honestly, this costume was partly born from that instinct—I wanted something that would look striking in photos. The reflective textures, the horns, the glitter—they catch light in a way that makes the image linger.
That combination of synthetic glitter and raw, natural materials also mirrors something deeper in our generation’s aesthetic—a kind of cyber-organic identity. We’re not fully digital, not fully physical. We’re both. So I guess the performance ends up expressing that blend too: something ancient and sacred, but also screen-bright and artificial.
What excites you most about collaborating with artists in such an experimental setting?
What excites me most is that all of them have developed such strong artistic languages. I still feel like I’m in a more experimental phase—there are recurring themes in my work like ritual, struggle, and emotional depth, but I’m exploring different ways to express them. So for me, this opportunity isn’t just about performing—it’s also about learning and expanding by being surrounded by artists I deeply respect.
How do you hope audiences will engage with and interpret your performance within the larger immersive experience of PORTAL 002?
I don’t want to control how people interpret the performance. My hope is that it feels like something they enter, rather than watch—something instinctual, visceral, maybe even uncomfortable. The deer isn’t just a character, it’s a kind of test: do you chase it, protect it, betray it, consume it?
Within the wider Portal 002 experience, I hope my piece acts like a gateway—subtle but charged. A soft opening that pulls the audience inward, deeper into the world the rest of the artists are building. I want it to stir something bodily first, then let meaning come later—if it wants to.
Back in the Liverpool Playhouse 15 years after its initial staging, three West End runs and one film adaptation later, Jeremy Dyson and Andy Nyman’s Ghost Stories is named on the Liverpool Playhouse website as “one of London’s best reviewed plays of all time”. Alongside this great acclaim, a foreboding warning reads: “We strongly advise those of a nervous disposition to think very seriously before attending.” Ha! I thought. Me, nervous? Me, a horror novel and film aficionado? Think again.
I couldn’t have been more wrong. I screamed. I jumped. And I, along with every other member of the audience, experienced an immensely immersive evening of fear.
The audience in attendance at the Playhouse on March 11th was treated to a post-show discussion with Dyson and Nyman, a dynamic duo in person as well as in output. During this, they posited that one of the reasons they have been successful in writing a truly scary play where others have fallen short is that other plays often feel like pieces of theatre threaded with scary elements, but they are pieces of theatre first and foremost. By contrast, Ghost Stories feels like a pure distillation of horror first and foremost, with non-stop homages to giants of the genre.
Of the show itself, some may argue there’s too much assault on the senses in terms of visuals and sound; I suspect that Andy Nyman’s work on Derren Brown’s TV and stage shows confirms that such choices are all intentional, to ensure the viewer never gets too comfortable or relaxed.
The audience was asked to keep the plot a secret, so in very broad strokes the show’s narrator is a professor of parapsychology, dead-set on debunking the paranormal, investigating three separate claimed hauntings. The play’s moments of levity, a welcome relief at first, soon gained that destabilising quality when the laughs were no longer dependable nor clear-cut, the latter theme of opacity being something this show plays with very well.
As you might expect, there are some very good special effects designed to induce maximum fright, and the show’s small company performs their roles admirably, but special mention must go to the set design and lighting – Jon Bausor’s clever sets play with perspective and movement to give the impression of massive space and convincing mobility, and James Farncombe’s lighting (or lack thereof) allowed the actors to melt in and out of scenes as required, adding an extra level of uncanny.
I, for one, left the theatre newly afraid of the dark, and I can’t think of a greater endorsement than that.
When I first walked into the intimate River Room at Riverside Studios I was equally intrigued and apprehensive of the premise of the show. As I walked in I said to my friend “this is either going to be really good or really bad”. As a lifelong fan of Dungeons & Dragons (D&D), I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. I’m pleased to say that the show was engaging, fun and silly.
For the uninitiated, D&D is a Tabletop Roleplaying Game that combines improv and maths in service of telling a collaborative story. Over the last decade, there has been no shortage of shows where actors play the game, Dropout’s Dimension 20, Geek and Sundry’s Critical Role and the McElroy Brothers’ The Adventure Zone have literally millions of fans. The Dimension 20 team recently played a show at Madison Square Garden. Though the River Room is a far cry from MSG, it was clear that the actors were just as passionate about the game.
The It’s Your Role team, led by Dungeon Master Elliot Reeves-Giblin, are attempting to bring a fresh take to the saturated market of D&D Actual Play shows by involving a different audience member each month alongside a regular cast of actors (Ben Welford, Lydia McNulty, Max Jukes, Edward Shock). Each show is recorded and put up online for listeners to enjoy in podcast format.
The energy from the crowd was electric as Reeves-Giblin threw a giant inflatable dice into the crowd to determine which lucky audience member would be joining in on the story for the night (congratulations to Adam who stepped up wonderfully). For the crowd work averse, do not worry, it is entirely voluntary! From there the improvisers created an original story. Our show involved a Belgian Detective named Lady Gaga, a model train building dragon and an attempt at making the perfect curry. Humour is definitely prioritised over strict adherence to the rules and I can see some stalwart fans of the game taking umbridge with some of the calls made in the moment. There are several ways for the audience to get involved, suggesting humourous names for non player characters and being able to reverse or alter certain player character choices. It’s Your Role are able to achieve the unexpected, creating a new and original take on the D&D Actual Play format, and for this I commend them highly.
Accessibility to the game is prioritised, cast members would give brief explanations for actions where necessary and D&D 101 QR codes are placed on each table. As the shows continue it will be interesting to see if it will be possible to achieve real emotional stakes for the mainstay characters given the wild card nature of the show. The accessibility extends to the ticket price, which is kept to £10.
Whilst the nature of improv means that I cannot guarantee the quality of any given show, the mechanics of audience participation, the love of the game by audience and performers alike and the willingness to be silly mean that I’m certain that it’ll be a fun night for old and new fans of the game alike.
We sat down for an exclusive interview with Liam Holmes who wrote Mr Jones: An Aberfan Story – performing at Union Theatre 27th February to 1st March.
Also reprising the role of Stephen Jones, Holmes talks to us about creating this immersive production, the supportive team behind him and the tragic history it seeks to remember as well as the community who pulled together and showed undeniable resilience and strength.
Mr. Jones: An Aberfan Story explores a deeply emotional and historical event. What inspired you to write this play, and how did you approach balancing personal storytelling with historical accuracy?
I grew up in Nelson, a small village just six miles from Aberfan, so the disaster was something that hovered in the background of my childhood, though it was never fully explored in school. We’d mark it briefly every year, but the full weight of what happened wasn’t something that was ever really unpacked. My understanding of Aberfan came more from the hushed conversations of older generations, people who lived through it, but who often seemed reluctant to speak about the tragedy. As a child, I couldn’t grasp the scale of it; the sense of loss, the collective trauma—those things didn’t quite compute for me.
But over the years, as I revisited those conversations, it became clear that every single family in the area would have felt extreme loss. What really struck me was how, despite that, there was this quiet, almost unspoken expectation to just keep going. Life continued, and yet everyone was carrying this invisible weight. It was heartbreaking to realise how many lives were forever changed, yet those stories remained largely untold, locked away in the silence of the community.
When I began writing Mr. Jones, it was really important for me to honour those untold stories, to build the play around the very real experiences of people who lived through the disaster. Characters like Stephen Jones and Angharad Price are inspired by real people, their voices, their struggles. I wanted to make sure that the play wasn’t just about historical events, but about the emotional aftermath, about the lives of those left to pick up the pieces. It was crucial to me that their personal stories—the rawness of their grief, the sense of loss, but also the resilience—be at the heart of the narrative. In a way, it’s a reflection of the South Wales valleys themselves: a place where hardship and strength exist side by side. So, while the historical accuracy of the disaster itself was fundamental, what felt just as vital was capturing the human impact, the stories that have often been overlooked.
The play has received high praise for its immersive experience, including live music and performances. How important was it to you to create an atmosphere that transports audiences to Aberfan?
Creating an immersive experience was a real challenge, especially given the nature of the subject matter we’re exploring. I know the valleys, and I know what they feel like—not just the physical environment, but the spirit of the community. But translating that feeling into a show, into something that others can feel and experience, is another matter entirely.
The immersive experience will be set ten years after the disaster, in the rugby club where many of the community members would gather. It was and still is a space where people come together, to remember, to mourn, but also to celebrate the bond they shared. For me, the rugby club represents the heartbeat of the valleys—lively, fun, and full of life. It’s not just about the sport; it’s about the deep sense of togetherness and reliance on one another. There’s a real beauty in that, and I wanted the audience to feel it. But I also wanted to capture the underlying isolation—the sense that this community, while vibrant and full of life, is also carrying these collective wounds, and there’s only each other to turn to for support.
I think a rugby club is so central to valley life; it’s a place where people come together in all sorts of emotions. From the laughter and music to the quiet moments of reflection, I wanted to bring all that into the experience. It’s why we have 11 incredibly talented actors from the Guildford School of Acting, alongside Welsh actor Leona Vaughan, who will help to guide the audience through this journey. Their energy and dedication really brings the space alive, and I can’t wait for people to feel like they’re stepping into this world.
From the immersive experience to the transition back into the events of the main show, my hope is to create an atmosphere that mirrors the strength of this community—a place where joy and pain coexist, and where everyone leans on each other, no matter what.
Stephen Jones and Angharad Price are both described as witty and self-proclaimed in their talents. How did you develop their dynamic, and what do they represent within the wider story of Aberfan?
It’s funny because Stephen and Angharad, in many ways, embody the heart of the valleys—two people who are complete opposites, but who are also deeply connected by the same place, the same trauma, and the same sense of community.
Stephen, a nineteen-year-old rugby prodigy with a strong Welsh identity, represents what you might think of when you picture a “valleys boy.” He’s a bit of a stereotype, but one I know intimately. It’s the same stereotype that rings true for my own family—my dad, uncles, and many others in the community. The surname “Jones,” for example, is the most common in Wales, and in many ways, Stephen is the everyman. He’s someone with a big personality, full of light-heartedness and charm, but at his core, he’s also a product of a community that has been irreversibly altered by tragedy. When the disaster strikes, it forces a change in him, just as it forces a change in the play. Stephen is not just a victim of the Aberfan disaster—he’s someone whose life is turned upside down, and his transformation throughout the story mirrors the community’s transformation as a whole.
I wanted to write this as a two-hander to really let Stephen’s experience unfold in a way that felt real and intimate. Instead of just telling the audience about the disaster, we feel it through Stephen’s memories. We see how he steps in and out of those memories, revisiting them through conversations with his father. This method of storytelling allows us to see the full weight of the disaster, and also how it’s shaped Stephen, even in his moments of levity and wit.
Then there’s Angharad, who offers a very different perspective. She’s a nurse who worked in the local hospital after the disaster, and her role is vital in showing us the broader picture of Aberfan. While Stephen is rooted in the valley, Angharad’s restlessness and desire for something more outside of her small town are just as important. Where Stephen can’t imagine leaving, Angharad is driven by the desire to break free. Her discontent contrasts with Stephen’s contentment, and that tension between them is something I really wanted to explore. Despite their differences, though, they need each other. There’s a complex, almost sibling-like dynamic between them—protectiveness, but also a sense of reliance on one another. They don’t always know how to define their relationship, but it’s clear that they have no one else but each other.
Through both Stephen and Angharad, we’re given a window into a community whose stories have often been silenced or forgotten. They represent two sides of the same coin—how trauma affects people differently, but also how it binds them together in ways that aren’t always easy to see. In a way, they are two very different reactions to the same place, but they both share that unspoken understanding of what it means to carry the weight of a tragedy that changes everything.
As both playwright and performer, what unique challenges and advantages does wearing both hats bring to the production process?
Honestly, writing Mr. Jones has been an incredible experience for me. I’ve never written a play before, and stepping into this new role has definitely been both exciting and daunting. Coming from an acting background, I’ve always been used to interpreting someone else’s words, so the challenge of creating my own felt a little intimidating at first. But it’s also been incredibly rewarding. It’s like I’ve been able to write the story I’ve always wanted to tell, and that process has been both freeing and humbling.
Performing the play has been its own kind of challenge. The first time I stepped onto stage in front of an audience, it was terrifying in a way I hadn’t experienced before. There’s something uniquely vulnerable about performing a piece that you’ve written yourself—it feels like every word, every emotion, is so deeply personal. But that vulnerability is also what makes it powerful.
I’m incredibly lucky to have worked with a brilliant director, Michael Neri, who’s been a huge support throughout this process. He’s really helped me step back and trust him with the direction, allowing me to focus on being the actor and letting him guide the rehearsals. That was necessary — there’s a lot of pressure when you’re wearing both hats and having someone like Michael to shoulder that responsibility has been a gift.
I’m also so grateful for the incredible cast and crew around me. Rhiannydd Andrews, who plays Angharad, has brought so much to the role. She’s given the character a depth and energy that I’m thrilled with, and it’s been such a joy exploring the dynamic between Stephen and Angharad with her. The lighting design by Massimo Neri has truly elevated the piece in ways I couldn’t have imagined. And Thomas Moakes, my long-time friend and co-producer, has been instrumental in making this production happen. It’s easy to say, “I wrote it and I act in it,” but this production is the result of so many people coming together—everyone plays a crucial part in making it what it is. I’m really proud of what we’ve created together as a team. The support I’ve received from everyone involved has made all the difference.
Mr. Jones has had a successful run from London to Wales. How have audiences in different locations responded to the play, and what has surprised you most about their reactions?
The response to Mr. Jones has honestly been overwhelming, and I’m so incredibly grateful to everyone who’s supported the show along the way. When we first performed in London, I think we were met with a bit of uncertainty, as many people weren’t familiar with the Aberfan disaster or the history of South Wales. That’s when it really hit me how important it was to bring these stories to a wider audience who might not know much about the region or its past. And yet, the audience connected with the themes of loss, resilience, and community in such a deep way. Even without knowing the specifics of the disaster, they could feel the emotional weight of the story.
But the reaction we had when we took the play to Merthyr, which is just outside Aberfan, was something I’ll never forget. That was the moment I felt the true heart of the piece. Many of the people who came to see the show were directly impacted by Aberfan—some of them had lived through it, and some had never spoken about it before. They were sitting in the front row, listening to their own stories being told. I won’t lie, I was nervous. It felt so personal, almost like we were walking a fine line between honouring those memories and telling a story that felt true to what they’d lived. But the response we received was beautiful. It was so moving to see how connected the audience was to the characters and the emotions we were exploring. People were coming up to us afterward, sharing their stories, expressing how it felt to have their voices echoed in the play. That’s something I didn’t expect, and it truly humbled me.
The same kind of warmth and understanding followed us as we travelled around Wales. The communities there have such a strong bond, and they connected with the play in a way I didn’t realise was possible. They understood the layers of grief, survival, and strength that Stephen and Angharad go through because, in many ways, it mirrors their own lives and histories.
As we head back to London to perform at the Union Theatre, I feel like we’re bringing a piece of home with us. This time, we’re not just introducing the valleys to a new audience—we’re sharing the story of a community that’s shaped who we are. I’m excited to see how audiences in London respond, but more than that, I’m grateful that we’ve had the chance to share this story in so many places, each time with a new level of connection and understanding.
What do you hope audiences take away from Mr. Jones: An Aberfan Story, particularly those who may not be familiar with the history of Aberfan?
At the core of Mr. Jones is the heart of the valleys and the spirit of village communities. I really hope that, even for people who may not know the history of Aberfan, they’ll come away with a sense of just how much these communities mean to one another. It’s not just about the disaster; it’s about the people, the resilience, and the way life in a place like Aberfan was forever changed—and still is, to this day.
Aberfan is one of those stories that’s so powerful, but it’s often overshadowed, and I think it’s really important that we not only remember it but also understand how deeply it transformed an entire community. I want audiences to walk away with a feeling of connection—not just to the tragedy, but to the people who lived through it and who continue to carry its weight. What we’re trying to do with this show is ambitious, yes, but I truly believe it’s going to be a special experience, one that will resonate with people in ways that are personal and meaningful.
For those who don’t know much about Aberfan or the valleys, I hope they’ll leave feeling like they’ve had a glimpse into a world that’s beautiful, heartbreaking, and full of humanity. The story of Aberfan is, at its core, about people and how they carry their pasts into the future. So, I’d just say—come and join us. We can’t wait to share this with you, and I hope it stays with you long after the show is over.
“In this production, which fuses technology with theatre in a wholly unanticipated manner, the end of the world is made into a tangible experience“
Rose is an AI chatbot, created to guide you through the end of the world. Rose is powered by a “black-box of memories from people whose worlds have already ended.”
Two people’s memories predominantly make up Rose’s pool of knowledge. A man and a woman, referred to as ‘Mother’ and ‘Father’ whose relationship, or rather the demise of said relationship, is chronicled through Rose’s fragmented exploration of the memories of the woman who created her. Aided by projections, Rose takes us through the story of Mother and Father as their worlds literally and figuratively end. Jumping around a timeline we slowly piece together their love story, and as we learn more about them, so, it seems, does Rose.
Each audience member is armed with headphones that create an immersive experience. While perhaps not ultimately necessary, the headphones do create an unmistakable intimacy. The immersive experience is heightened further by the audience’s role in pursuing the story. We guide the way in which the narrative is propelled by choosing between two options presented to us by Rose. For instance, the projections display our two options: start at the beginning or start at the end. An emoji of a hand signal indicates how we can request our chosen option. The audience then holds up the hand signal that corresponds with their chosen option, and so Rose begins with the chosen option. Many immersive shows have a tendency to become gimmicky and indulgent, with the audience participation nothing more than an attempt at creating an impression on the audience members, artificially heightening the experience. This was certainly not the case for Stampin In the Graveyard. At the core of this production is an AI chatbot whose very existence requires participation by an outside party. Involving the audience not only makes sense dramaturgically, but it too emphasizes the piece’s message.
Written and performed by Elisabeth Gunawan in collaboration with Matej Matejka, this production was a treat to witness, even in the face of its heartbreaking content. Gunawan’s performance was truly otherworldly. Gunawan genuinely embodied a robot in a wholly unique and somehow authentic manner. Despite the stoic expression used as default to embody the emotionless-state of AI chatbots, Gunawan still somehow felt brimming with emotion. There were few dry eyes left in the audience by the play’s close.
A spook-tacular show with some beautiful storytelling and physical performances: a great Halloween night out
The Haunting of Hoxton Hall is an on brand Halloween experience, offering a thrilling mix of vivid storytelling, eerie ghost tales, skilled aerial performances, and physical theatre. This immersive show takes you on a spine-chilling journey, where each moment is designed to keep you on the edge of your seat.
Not knowing quite what to expect from a production like this, I found myself pleasantly surprised. From the moment the lights dimmed, I could sit back and enjoy the spectacle, all while being kept gripped by the heart racing jump scares. The show really works to draw you into its supernatural world.
The Haunting of Hoxton Hall is a show by Airealism, with an original score by the talented Tristan Jakob-Hoff. Taking place in one of London’s most atmospheric venues, the Victorian-era Hoxton Hall. The hall’s historic charm and eerie ambiance serve as the ideal backdrop for this ghostly tale where three friends reunite to discover the truth about their friend’s mysterious death.
While the show occasionally lost clarity in certain moments, it made up for it with heart-stopping acrobatics and daring aerial stunts. The performances were skilful and committed, creating genuinely creepy characters. At several points, the audience was left gasping, and I found myself jumping in my seat. The aerial sequences, in particular, added an extra layer of beauty and tension that complemented the narrative. The performers used the space with incredible physicality, blending circus arts with storytelling in a way that was both graceful and unsettling.
Although my attention occasionally wavered, the vivid storytelling kept me hooked. The creepy revelations and unexpected twists always pulled me back in, heightening the sense of suspense and mystery. There were enough spine-tingling moments to maintain a constant level of intrigue.
The synergy of Jakob-Hoff’s haunting score, the striking lighting design, and the dedicated performances brought the show together in a way that made the experience unnervingly beautiful and for the most part, captivating. The lighting, in particular, was masterfully curated to enhance the suspense, drawing the audience into the supernatural world.
In summary, The Haunting of Hoxton Hall is a genuinely thrilling, spook-tacular show, packed with surprises and perfect for anyone looking for an entertaining Halloween experience that will both delight and unnerve. The audience, including myself, left buzzing with excitement, a little shaken, but overall a really memorable experience.
A simultaneously entertaining yet eerie retelling of Orwell’s classic 1984
As someone who has always been amazed by how George Orwell’s 1984 has managed to stay truly relevant since its inception 75 years ago I was incredibly excited to see it in theatre format. It’s safe to say my expectations were high (especially when I found out it was immersive) and after 75 minutes of being assessed as a new party member I would say the show passed the test.
Hackney Town Hall takes centre stage in Adam Taub’s adaptation which creates the perfect administrative feel. This is a true selling point of the show and is something Pure Expression is known for as a theatre company considering all its productions are site-specific retellings of classic stories.
As a new recruit for the administration, audience members are directed to and from two rooms (both stairs and lift accessible) where the show takes place. Right off the bat, audience members are handed badges with specific numbers before the show begins and are greeted as said badge number.
As a timid theatre go-er who starts sweating at merely the word “immersive” I was curious (and anxious) to see exactly how immersive the experience would be. Luckily, all immersive elements are voluntary, but the cast still manage to evoke just the right amount of fear to be spoken to or picked on while still keeping it fun. From beginning to end, you are made to feel part of Oceania and the 1984 universe – which is not too far from our current one.
In terms of the story, the adaptation follows some key plot points (with some minor alterations) but ultimately is not a play by play of the novel. All to the show’s benefit as it keeps the material fresh for existing fans while still retaining the essence of the novel for audience members who are not familiar with it.
My one critique would be the seating arrangements where the show predominantly takes place. I understand what was trying to be achieved however I feel like at some points it is very difficult to see which is a sure-fire way to cause an audience member to lose interest.
Regardless, as someone who is familiar with Orwell’s 1984 or not this immersive retelling challenges what we consider to be the truth in today’s society all while providing the entertaining (but still creepy) element that is necessary for a successful show. Running from now until 22nd of December, join the party for a Halloween excursion or a pre-Christmas thrill.
Immersion can paint an entire world within the blank slate of your mind.
With Darkfield’s new immersive experience “Arcade” attempts to transport the players/audience into a world of warfare and deceit, all through the power of binaural sound and an interactive arcade machine. Although the ideas at play here are fascinating and hold potential for truly groundbreaking experiences, “Arcade” fails to capture any sense of world-building or pathos.
The audience are taken into a cargo container filled with identical arcade machines, instructed to turn off any devices that may emit light and listen to the instructions for how to operate the arcades. But then you are plunged entirely into darkness, as the voice of your character, Milk, and the characters that people her world enter your ears through a set of headphones.
The story follows a path of a choose-your-own-adventure, branching out in different directions depending on your choices, which are made by pressing the only button on the blank arcade board. We are led to imagine the real-life game we are playing through the blank canvas of the darkness that surrounds us, which is a wholly inventive way to create immersion.
I would say that the story works hard to keep you engaged, with a fast pace and vitriolic dialogue, but there is no sense of emotional pay-off at any point. The piece itself ends with a lacklustre finale, calling to mind a very disappointing rollercoaster.
The potential for greatness is there, but with a short runtime and empty story, Darkfield’s “Arcade” does not hit the mark.
