Tag: feature

FEATURE: The Leodis Prize

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“The inaugural Leodis Prize has unveiled its first-ever shortlist, spotlighting ten bold, original plays”

A new theatre prize is shaking things up – and it’s doing it for the writers who don’t usually get a look in.

The inaugural Leodis Prize has unveiled its first-ever shortlist, spotlighting ten bold, original plays from completely unrepresented voices. Launched in 2025 by Leodis Talent, the prize is all about opening doors in an industry that can often feel closed off unless you already have connections, credits, or a foot in the door.

And the response? Huge. Nearly 350 submissions poured in from across the UK and beyond, with a team of 30 readers helping whittle things down to a final ten. It’s a reminder that the next generation of playwrights isn’t lacking in talent—just opportunity.

The stakes are seriously exciting. The winning writer will get a fully funded production at the Edinburgh Festival Fringein 2026, plus representation, publication with Methuen Drama (part of Bloomsbury Publishing), and a £2,000 cash boost. Not bad for a first big break.

What makes this shortlist stand out is its range. These aren’t safe, predictable scripts—they’re weird, funny, raw, and ambitious. Damien Hasson’s One Hundred Fires dives into identity through a chaotic stand-up set, while Tom Draper’s Lad Lad Lad turns a pub reunion into something much darker. Elsewhere, Anna Wright’s Needs Network Narrative jumps between medieval fantasy and modern suburbia, and Nia Braidford’s Strings takes on the pressures of elite sport.

There’s also a strong emotional core running through the list. Mary Condon O’Connor’s Before I Was A Moth explores grief with humour and warmth, while Jacob Sparrow’s Sanctuary plays with time and memory to examine belonging. From TV industry satire (Sawdust) to intimate two-handers (The Definition), the shortlist feels like a snapshot of what young theatre-makers care about right now: identity, connection, pressure, and the messy reality of modern life.

The judging panel—including Tamzin Outhwaite and director Sam Yates—brings serious industry weight. But as founder Daniel Hinchliffe puts it, the real story is the “amount of unrecognised talent” that emerged.

At a time when breaking into theatre can feel nearly impossible, the Leodis Prize is a refreshing shift. It’s less about who you know, and more about what you’ve got to say. And if this shortlist is anything to go by, the future of new writing looks loud, diverse, and unapologetically original.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Paco Peña

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We sat down for an exclusive interview with Paco Peña, the world-renowned flamenco guitarist, composer and producer.

Paco Peña’s show Solera returns to Sadler’s Wells Theatre on 2nd-4th April- Tickets here.

As you return to Sadler’s Wells Theatre with Solera, how has your relationship with this stage evolved over the four decades you’ve performed there, and what continues to inspire you at 83?

It is a big stage, a great space: imposing and inspiring! I recently stumbled upon a recording of my group “Live at Sadler’s Wells”, made in 1980 and I did feel the buzz of those times. It was a wonderful space then and it remains a wonderful Institution that inspires me now as it has consistently done over the years!

In Solera, inspired by the Andalusian wine-aging system, how do you balance preserving the purity of flamenco tradition with embracing the fearless experimentation of younger artists like Dani de Morón?

Dani is a very special case. He is not only perfect for his role in the show, and I am delighted he is part of the group. I’m sure experimentation has been very much present in his working out ideas and compositions. But when it comes to him delivering them, there is already a rich, special solera taste in his playing! I’m sure he’s always loved his tradition, and his rare talent has allowed him to carry and display it naturally, ahead of the pack.

Having moved to London in the 1960s, how did presenting flamenco to international audiences reshape your own understanding of this deeply Andalusian art form?

My aim was to always project flamenco in what I understood to be its pure, true form so, it wasn’t really ‘reshaping’ but learning, by direct contact with audiences and their reactions, whether or not I was getting there! I also had never left my family or my culture behind; I was very connected with Córdoba and its people, my people; and obviously flamenco is very much part of that!

Your long creative partnership with Jude Kelly spans two decades—how has that collaboration influenced the theatrical dimension of your flamenco productions?

Enormously and in many ways. The first show we did was a trip, as it were, through flamenco’s history. I more or less knew how I wanted to start but, quite apart from the musical ideas Jude placed me at a desk working with a computer! She noticed I might have been somewhat alarmed at the idea and with total confidence she said; “Don’t worry, trust me, it will really work!” And from then on the scene revealed the rest of the company among old furniture, dry autumn leaves and more… and it placed us truly in another era. It was great! That was only the beginning of a wonderful journey with Jude and her incredible imagination!

As the founder of the Córdoba International Guitar Festival and the world’s first Professor of Flamenco Guitar, what responsibility do you feel in shaping the next generation of flamenco artists?

I think Solera tries to address that very question, and I would also add that new generations must remain absolutely in contact with – indeed, they must own – the universal range of emotions that flamenco contains and be fully prepared to express them in their projects, uncompromisingly!

Looking back on a career that has taken you from Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club to Carnegie Hall, what has remained constant in your artistic mission, and what continues to evolve?

A constant for me has been the nerves and cold hands I suffer before I walk onto the stage! When I am on it, though, I just want to tell the truth and honour it, while remaining open to new ways of interpretation.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Stasi Schaffer 

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Glasgow theatre and opera director Stasi Schaffer works internationally across new writing, musicals and opera, spanning both contemporary work and the established repertoire. Her practice is driven by a desire to create intelligent, relevant and exciting storytelling that resonates with audiences, illuminates their lives, and helps make sense of our place in the world. Alongside her directing work, she is also a lecturer at Royal Conservatoire of Scotland, where she is passionate about supporting and expanding opportunities for young creatives in Scotland.

Her upcoming new musical Flora, based on the life of one of Scotland’s most famous daughters Flora MacDonald, is set to premiere at Glasgow Pavilion this 26-28th March.

What initially drew you to Flora as a project, and how did your interest in Scottish stories influence your decision to direct this musical?

I was attracted to Flora because it was a musical about a historic woman told in a very interesting way. I really liked the idea that this story is quite unknown to most Scots, but that her part in history was very pivotal. I also really liked the idea of shedding light on untold women in history. It is important to me that their stories are told, and the fact that it has great music is a real bonus.

How would you describe your directorial approach to a new musical like Flora—particularly one that re-centres a historic figure like Flora MacDonald in her own voice?

I have been lucky to be involved with this story for quite a few years, so I have been able to work on the development of the piece from its early stages. I really feel committed to it because I was able to work with the writer and composers to get it where it is for production.

I am very focused as a director on what is Flora’s story. How can we make that clear, relatable and exciting for the audience? We have a great team and a terrific cast, so it helps that it is very entertaining as well. What is the story? What is Flora’s journey and how can we bring the audience in to join us?

The story of Flora MacDonald spans imprisonment, migration, war and family—how have you worked to balance the historical context with emotional storytelling for contemporary audiences?

When I first heard Flora’s story I was shocked. She was in the middle of two major historical events on two continents in her lifetime, so the drama is there and constantly exciting for the audience.

One of Flora’s major themes is home and family. That was so important to her—she was driven to keep her family together and be home. I think that is relatable to us all and feels like something we keep hearing about even as time marches on.

Collaborating with writer Belle Jones and composers AJ Robertson & John Kielty must bring unique energy—how have those creative relationships influenced your vision for the show?

Yes, it is so nice to have worked with them over the past few years. Not only do we have a good relationship, but I feel like I understand their intentions, which helps. They have all been generous with their time with the cast as well, and John is actually the musical director, so he is in the room with me contributing.

Knowing them all and the vision we are working towards together is great because I understand what their intentions were, which makes it easier for me to help shape the show. Because everyone is still involved, we can stay connected and have a united focus.

Your career spans theatre, opera and new writing—how do these diverse experiences inform your work on musical projects like Flora?

They all feed into the projects I work on. Flora has amazed me in that it combines all those elements—it’s a new musical that we developed, so a new work, it is a theatre piece, but it has a lot of music and many of the emotional moments are told through song. It is great to work on something that combines all of my interests.

I am a believer in the idea that all the work you have done before helps to teach you lessons for the next project, and I do think that this is a good example of the other work I have done preparing me for this one.

At RCS you teach and mentor emerging directors as well as create work—how does that educational role inform your own rehearsal room leadership and collaboration with cast and creative teams?

Working with the students at RCS is such a good reminder of good practice in rehearsal. After a while you can stop consciously thinking about certain details or things you do automatically. When I talk about them with students, I become more mindful of those details and can ensure they remain part of my practice.

The collaboration we teach at RCS is such an important aspect, and it inspires me to work hard at creating a great collaborative experience for everyone involved.

What do you hope audiences take away from Flora, both in terms of their understanding of Flora MacDonald’s life and their experience of the show as a piece of theatre?

This production deals with a very important part of Scottish history and tells the story of a heroine who is relatively unknown. I hope audiences leave with more understanding of that time and the forces at play. It also shares a lot of Gaelic culture, which is a valuable opportunity to see that represented on stage.

The show is very emotional, with both challenging experiences and joyful moments, and I hope audiences enjoy that journey. It also has a lot of earworms, so I don’t doubt people will leave humming a tune or two.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Hannah Caplan

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Hannah Caplan is a writer and visual artist working across painting, ceramics and fibre art. THIS IS NOT ABOUT ME. is her debut play, with her visual practice directly informing the production’s hand-crafted set and material language. We sat down with Hannah to discuss her upcoming performance.

THIS IS NOT ABOUT ME. will run at Soho Theatre (Upstairs) from 25th March to 18th April, running for 70 minutes. For more information and tickets, visit https://sohotheatre.com/events/this-is-not-about-me/. The show will then transfer to at 59E59 Theaters in New York City in May.

This Is Not About Me places a writer onstage who is actively shaping – and arguably reshaping – a shared relationship. What first drew you to the ethical tension between storytelling and ownership? Was this play born from a curiosity about memory, or from a concern about control?

God, it would be brilliant if it had been born from something high-minded… This play was actually born out of a really base, non-intellectual place; fuelled by Pro-Plus and a clawing need to make Dougie laugh.

But once I had a third or fourth draft, I started to get properly pretentious with it. I put on a turtleneck and read Jean Baudrillard; however, it really did just start with sex jokes and giggling.

What slowly emerged through the writing process became a much knottier question about who “owns” a shared experience. The play follows Grace staging her version of a relationship in front of the person who lived it with her. I became fascinated by the way memory is rarely shared in quite the same way between two people. So, the narrative of exploring what happens when someone you care for doesn’t recognise themselves in your version of events felt exciting and dramatic, and probably something that a lot of people have experienced in one form or another.

Grace frames the act of writing as processing and repair, yet Eli increasingly challenges her right to tell the story. Do you see the play as a critique of autobiographical art-making – or as a defence of it? Where do you personally sit within that debate?

I don’t think the play lands neatly on one side. I’m deeply suspicious of anyone claiming objectivity, including artists. I think it’s normal to make art in response to your experience of life. That’s certainly how we start, drawing crayon pictures of our families standing outside our homes, with labelled names for clarity. Personally, I can’t imagine how I could make art that wasn’t a reflection of the people I love, the music I listen to and the things that make me laugh. I think all art is autobiographical, every painting is a self-portrait, just some are more abstract than others. 

What would be messy, however, would be conflating autobiographical art with truth or reality. 

The production makes the act of writing visible through live typing, film and multimedia. How important was it for you that the audience witnesses the mechanics of authorship rather than simply consuming a finished narrative?

When I’m writing, I try not to think about the audience, or I think I’d go mental. Normally I’m thinking about Amaia, Dougie and Francis, and what will be fun for them to work with.

That said, I liked the idea that the story never feels fully settled. You watch Grace typing it into existence, sometimes changing it mid-flow, which is slightly exposing. The live text and film mean you’re aware of the edits as they happen so it’s like you can feel the narrative shifting as you watch; you’re never entirely sure whether you’re watching memory or invention.

In terms of authorship, I don’t think I’ll ever get over the transcendentality of creating. It’s a very special process that I am so grateful to get to experience. I tend to write about it because it means so much to me. 

Your background as a fibre artist directly informs the hand-crafted, crocheted set design. How does working materially – through thread, texture and physical craft – influence the way you construct emotional narratives on the page?

Fibre arts have taught me about the importance of craft, of practice and of learning from our elders. Writing is a skill I am developing and am constantly making mistakes in. I get better by continuing to do it and learning from people who have been doing it longer than me.

With fibre, you’re looping thread through itself, building something slowly, sometimes unpicking it when you realise you’ve gone wrong. It’s patient and occasionally humbling, which feels very similar to writing. When you watch Grace working through her version of events, she’s doing something comparable – adjusting, tightening, occasionally distorting the shape of things.

There’s something vulnerable about seeing the labour in something handmade. You can see where it’s been stitched together. I wanted the world of the play to feel like that too – visibly constructed, human, and honest about the effort it takes to turn experience into something shareable.

The play has been described as “a romcom with fangs.” How consciously were you engaging with the conventions of romantic storytelling, and at what point did you decide to tear that genre open rather than simply inhabit it?

Yes, Lynn Gardner wrote better copy about our play than we did so huge shout out to her!

One of the first things I knew about this script was that it was going to be non-linear. So I read as many non-linear plays and screenplays as I could find in order to figure out how they work. I noticed quite quickly that the vast majority of commercially successful non-linear plays and screenplays were variations on the romcom: Annie Hall, (500) Days of Summer, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and arguably Harold Pinter’s Betrayal.

I think perhaps, in order to go along with the conceit of non-linearity, audiences need the universality of the love story and the relief of comedy; otherwise it all becomes a bit too much head and not enough heart.

After I had written my version of the non-linear romcom, I brought it to Dougie, who said: “Hannah, I love it, but this is not a love story. It’s a horror.” We started to blend those genres from there.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Alexandrina Hemsley

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We sat down for an exclusive interview with Alexandrina Hemsley about her new show, Many Lifetimes, at Sadlers Wells.

This show runs from 26th March – 27th March at 8pm – Tickets here: https://www.sadlerswells.com/whats-on/yewande-103-many-lifetimes/

Many Lifetimes unfolds beneath a suspended linen canopy and a gentle rain of melting ice. Can you talk about the symbolism of these materials and how they shape the emotional landscape of the piece?

Of course! The symbolism of these materials stems from both personal experiences and wider cultural, embodied or psychological processes. Linen holds significance in burial rituals – and I drew on its light but structured textures within a close family burial several years before making this piece. I knew I wanted to work with it sensitively in some way as part of Many Lifetimes, and collaborating with set designer Rūta Irbīte became really crucial. I really trusted her approach and her encouragement to dive deeper into how something so personal could translate on stage. 

As part of making the canopy that is suspended above the performance space, Rūta buried the fabric for several weeks. Once she unearthed it, we then repaired the holes that had formed with orange-red overlocking thread. The threads become scars, rivers, and borders, membranes…symbolic of the fragmentation and the way lives re-form around grief. 

I’ve often turned to the emotional landscapes of water in my live works, films, and creative and critical writing. Across these pieces, I’ve explored how water can hold, flood, soothe, and nourish BIPOC disabled bodies across different timescales, from the historic to the contemporary.

I knew I wanted to work with ice in some way – to have an element of the set that operates on a different timeframe to the dancing. In the dance-installation, ice melts through the canopy and drips onto the stage. I love how this introduces its own rhythm and sense of time. Its symbolism is immediate and layered: from the climate crisis to the use of ice for pain relief. I’m drawn to elements that can hold multiple meanings and operate across different scales at once.

The work explores tidal cycles of love, loss and repair. How have your own personal archives and experiences informed the choreography and structure of this installation?

My experiences of motherhood, care work and bereavement have shaped both my artistic practice and my desire to explore how we navigate profound moments of change in our lives. Part of coming to terms with more traumatic experiences of loss and/or sudden illness has been finding ways to work with symbolism in the set and with emotional landscapes in movement.

The choreography is deliberately gently paced to allow space for audience reflection, perhaps for their own memories to surface. The structure of a solo that passes from one performer to the next traces shifts in state and lived, archival experience across each dancer. When we later dance as a group in an open improvisation, I wanted to get a sense of how important it is to hold diverse experiences within a community.

Yewande 103 places community at the heart of its practice. How did collaborating with dancers, musicians and disability access advocates influence both the aesthetic and the ethics of this production?

Thank you so much for asking about aesthetics specifically — it feels important to say that disabled artists are so often asked to consult on access, or to demonstrate accessible work, rather than being given space to experiment with how we talk about the work we make and what aesthetics emerge because of working in accessible ways. Those are very different invitations.

Throughout the Many Lifetimes process, I kept wondering why I had turned to water again, and why the first live work I was presenting in London in five years had a slow and gentle dramaturgy. It was only in reflection that I realised I had made a work through and of crip-time — without consciously intending to. I had embodied and choreographed an aesthetic out of something I had long used as a tool: bringing compassion to my own experience as a disabled maker, and what I bring to organisations I consult with. It was a strange and moving thing — a concept moving from thought into body. From theory into choreography.

Part of the collaboration has been trying to understand why I keep returning to water — the heartache and the solace of it — and finding that reckoning held so richly in the work of Black poets and scholars. That became something to do in collaboration, not alone.

Ethically, a central partnership has been with We Are Sensoria, and we’ve worked hard to hold flexible rehearsal schedules — genuinely trying to honour crip-time rather than just naming it. We have also worked with Shivaangee Agrawal to integrate poetic audio description into the work. 

But I also want to be honest about the tensions. The lights reflecting off the mirrored floor can be very bright, and the ice can be slippery — so accessibility is sometimes held in a real conundrum rather than a clean resolution. The same symbolism that lets us explore watery, tidal aesthetics can pull against the politics of inclusive practice. I find that tension worth sitting with rather than smoothing over — it feels more truthful to the work.

The performance is described as a “community of transforming solos,” with movement passing tenderly from one performer to the next. What does that act of transformation mean to you artistically and politically?

I guess I understand processes of change as a series of questions rather than a landing point. How have my inner and outer worlds changed? Am I allowed to change, or to be changed? And perhaps most tenderly,  can a community hold change? Can it bear the weight of someone else’s processing?

The phrase “community of transforming solos” feels true to something I believe about the hope of how change could be held within communities and how change could move — not as a single sweeping shift, but passed between people. 

My practice has long been about finding ways to ask embodied questions into wider political landscapes; whether that’s transforming who gets to be on stage, how Black and disabled and neurodivergent people are represented, or being part of a broader ecology of artists and advocates who are genuinely trying to imagine more equitable futures.

Accessibility is embedded into the performances through audio description, relaxed performances and touch tours. How do you approach access not as an addition, but as a creative driver within the work?

I approach access as a continual, exciting ecology of needs. I have learnt a great deal from the disabled communities I am a part of and how we are each approaching exactly this – how to bend expectations of accessibility in creative ways. Since making my open template access rider in 2019 (freely available for anyone to download), I ask what access needs are of those I work with. I work with improvisation as an invitation to let a body express itself in a very individual way and then consider (and re-consider) what working conditions best support a person to do that within the work. How to make work accessible is a question we return to over and over again in a creative process – not one to tick off and then move on from. 

I still can’t realise certain visions I have due to not only competition for funds but, more pertinently,  funding practices. For example, I have big dreams of one day animating poetic, creative captions or actually paying myself and my freelance collaborators for rest days, but the industry standard of including access costs within the main budget of any callout or commission is really stifling the production values of disabled-led work. Things are shifting, and separate access budgets are being seen more, but there is still work to be done through solidarity and undoing restrictive, discriminatory policies and habits for non-disabled people and institutions so that disabled people aren’t the only ones imagining otherwise. 

After 17 years of creating contemporary dance nationally and internationally, what feels different or newly urgent about Many Lifetimes at this point in your artistic journey?

It really does feel like a work that connects so many different aspects of my creative practice- movement, poetry, collages, access advocacy, and intergenerational performance. And that’s quite something to pull together in one space! It’s a work that relishes in being more than one thing, and I think that is as pertinent today as when I first started making work that refused to be captured by any one definition of identity. 

It feels like a solidifying moment, too, somehow. In seeking to make a work that arose out of wanting to hold my own lived experiences of bereavement and profound change within a community, I feel like I got to reflect on the personal-political power of gathering to witness change and grief in 2026. I also realised how much I welcome inviting audiences from all walks of life and backgrounds into my work – a chance to hold and be held.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Cathy Waller

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We sat down with Cathy Waller to talk about Cathy Waller Company’s new triptych of live dance, film and visual art, You & Us that asks timely and urgent questions about invisibility, identity and what it truly means to be seen.

You & Us tours to Winchester (24 March), Bradford (10 April), Ipswich (17 April), Liverpool (24 April) London (7 May), and Banbury (13 May).

Tickets are available at www.cathywaller.com/you-and-us 

What inspired you to create You & Us as a triptych blending live dance, film and visual art within Cathy Waller Company?

It was two things really, the first being the artistic challenge. I wanted to step beyond my usual ways of creating dance for stage or outdoor audiences and push myself into something a bit unknown. The idea of building a triptych felt both exciting and daunting, but it felt natural that this work needed to be experienced in multiple ways. 

The second was the story behind the work. I wanted to explore different visual forms so the ideas could reach more people and allow more audiences to see themselves reflected in it. Bringing together dance, film and photography felt like a way to open doors between art forms, inviting photography audiences into dance, and dance audiences into film and visual art. Seeing people’s reactions to seeing dance for the first time has been so joyous. 

How did drawing on the lived experiences of more than 400 collaborators shape the emotional core of You & Us?

Listening to people’s experiences of invisibility was incredibly powerful. The project began with my own reflections of being disabled and that largely being invisible to others, and how that shapes the way I move through the world day to day. But as I began speaking with friends and colleagues, I realised that the feeling of carrying something unseen reaches far beyond my own experience.

We connected with hundreds of adults and young people through workshops, conversations, surveys and informal chats – sometimes over coffee, sometimes across continents. What became clear very quickly was that almost everyone holds something hidden at times: whether it’s masking emotions, hiding parts of ourselves to feel safe, or simply carrying things others can’t see.

As a choreographer with a hidden disability, how does your personal perspective inform the themes of invisibility and identity in this work?

My perspective really sits at the root of the work. Many of the themes come from experiences I recognise – the feeling of being unseen, misunderstood or quietly judged, and the isolation that can sometimes follow. But there are also moments where invisibility can bring a kind of protection or choice, moments of joy and harmony, and that complexity felt important to explore too.

What stayed with me most during the process was how often people spoke about empathy. Again and again, the conversations circled back to the simple reminder that everyone is carrying something. If we could hold onto that – that sense of shared humanity – perhaps there would be less struggle and more understanding. The work has become a reflection of that, a reminder that we are often more alike than we realise.

What did filming You are also Us across National Trust sites in Dorset add to the sense of scale and visibility within the project?

Interestingly, the scale and beauty of the landscapes intensified the themes of invisibility and isolation within the film. Standing in these vast, open spaces makes you feel both connected to the world and incredibly small within it, which mirrored many of the emotions explored in the work.

Working with the National Trust was a real privilege. Their partnership allowed us access to extraordinary locations that brought the film to life in a way we could never have imagined otherwise. One moment I’ll always remember is watching fifteen dancers move together at sunrise near Old Harry Rocks, with the chalk cliffs and waves crashing below. It was breathtaking in all the ways imaginable. 

How does the collaboration with MOBO Award-winning musician Lewis Wright influence the physicality and rhythm of the live performance?

Music sits at the heart of how I create movement, so working with Lewis (who I met 20 years ago when we were both studying at TrinityLaban) has had a huge influence on the physical language of the piece. Almost everything I choreograph begins with the way music makes me feel – something instinctive and human that sparks the desire to move.

Lewis has created a score that carries the audience through a real emotional journey. At times it feels energetic and uplifting, making you want to leap into the movement alongside the dancers. In the next moment it can become incredibly intimate and reflective, drawing you inward. That emotional shift shapes the rhythm of the choreography and allows the dancers to move between strength, vulnerability, and connection. There’s an eclectic mix of driving rhythmic beats, harmonious voices and soothing strings. 

With Unseen | Unmasked by The1Harris completing the triptych, how important is it that audiences encounter multiple perspectives on neurodivergence and being truly seen?

It feels essential, because neurodivergence – like identity itself – is never one size fits all. Each person’s experience is different, and that diversity is something to celebrate rather than simplify. Too often we make assumptions about who someone is or how they experience the world, and those assumptions rarely tell the full story.

Having multiple voices within the triptych allows audiences to encounter different perspectives and ways of seeing. Harris’s work adds another layer to that conversation, expanding the dialogue around visibility, identity and understanding. Ultimately, I hope it encourages people to pause, listen more closely, and approach one another with a little more empathy. If we can remember that everyone is navigating something, perhaps we can be slower to judge and more open to allowing people – and ourselves – the space to simply be who we are.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Choir Boy

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We were delighted to attend the media call for Choir Boy, set to open at Stratford East later this month. The play is a transfer from the critically acclaimed Bristol Old Vic run in 2023, picking up 3 Black British Theatre Awards including Best Director and Best Production. We had the incredibly exciting opportunity to watch a scene and song from the show, and interview the cast and creative team afterwards. 

Choir Boy is a coming of age story set in an elite all Black boarding school in America. 

“Pharus is a confident and gifted singer who has earned his position as soloist. But when his pride is sullied by one of his peers, he falters… what does it mean to be a young, Black, queer man – and to be one at the Charles R. Drew Prep School for Boys?” 

We are presented with a scene from the beginning of the play, where we are introduced to the boys in their choir room, settling into another day at school. We immediately get a sense of the dynamics between the students, particularly the sense of responsibility and leadership of Pharus, and the cynical, antagonistic nature of Bobby. The scene ends with the boys joining hands in prayer singing the song I Couldn’t Hear Nobody Pray. We sat down with Tatenda Shamiso, co-director and cast members Daon Broni, Khalid Daley, Michael Ahomka-Lindsay and Martin Turner to discuss the production.

In Conversation with: Tatenda Shamiso, co-director

Interviewer: How does it feel to step back into doing the show after two years? And how has your life perspective or experiences or context changed in between runs?

Tatenda: It’s an absolute gift being able to return to this play. We had the most amazing time [doing] the show in Bristol and we were really hoping for the opportunity to be able to share it with more people. I feel like the work is a lot more urgent now in 2026 than it was in 2023. The United States, but also the world in general, certainly the West, is sort of taking this lean further towards fascism. I do think that we are in more segregationist times in the U.S., so to have this space where we are dealing with the pressures of maintaining a black legacy and the pressures of black excellence on a group of very young boys […] it feels like a very important time because it’s a conversation that’s reverberating all over the country and the world. We’ve all gotten more seasoned and [the] new faces in our cast have reinvigorated us with new life. Now we’ve got this extra time, we get to really focus on the storytelling and the journey that these boys are going on, which is such a beautiful opportunity. Stratford’s house is so beautiful it feels like a great place to be bringing it from Bristol Old Vic. We’ve all come back really hungry.

I: So, the show is set in an elite boys school in America. What kind of inspirations did you give to the British members of the team to kind of bring that authentic Black American experience? 

T: I think we are lucky in that Nancy (the director) is American, I’m American myself and our voice and dialect coach Andrea Fudge is also from the US. Also Ingrid McKinnon, our movement director, is North American as well. So we’ve got a pretty sturdy, American stronghold in the creative team to hold that. 

I think that because the precinct of this story is so specific, we were able to delve into the history quite precisely. So it was notions of black excellence, which I think are really important to deal with here because these boys are at this elite school, [there’s] the pressure to not just be academically good, but academically excellent. This is an environment that is meant to be leading the black future of tomorrow. As a result of that, we’re also looking at important orators that were really vital in the civil rights movement, such as, James Baldwin or Malcolm X. Also religious leaders like T.D. Jakes in more contemporary times. [We also thought] about the legacy of spirituals, because all of these songs are spirituals in that they’re acapella. [We looked at] the history of what spiritual and gospel music in the U.S. is, African American religious history, what it is to be part of the black church as opposed to different denominations of Christianity. I think a lot of that has formed the bedrock of our context, and it’s so great to visit those historical periods of the US and return to that legacy in a time where we really need black orators to be speaking up.

Terrell Alvin McCraney is an amazing playwright and has also given us so much to work with in terms of understanding the cadence of the speech of each character. So it’s not just a general American thing – this is a boarding school! They’re all coming from different parts of the country. [We’re asking] what is it like to come from this backwards part of Georgia? One of us is from Boca Raton. One of us is from Virginia or New York and what does the melting pot of American culture look like distilled in this one school?

I: How do you feel London audiences will respond to this show in comparison to the previous run?

T: I think that London’s going to love this play. I think that there’s always that question about bringing in cultural imports when the Black British experience is such a prevalent thing. And we don’t necessarily have the same repertoire or the canon of Black British writing. [Whereas] I feel like we’ve got a wealth of African-American writing now over the last several decades that can exist and be imported across the ocean. We do have a growing canon of Black British plays [and] it’s so important to stage those as well. But I do think that we’re at a time where America sneezes and the UK catches a cold. I do think that there are so many conversations that translate across the Atlantic in this show in particular. I think conversations about faith right now are really important. I’m Gen Z and I feel like [Gen Z] are shifting towards systems of faith and organized religion or just spirituality right now to find answers in such troubled and uncertain times. So it feels like the right time to be bringing this show to London.

In conversation with the cast Daon Broni, Khalid Daley, Michael Ahomka-Lindsay and Martin Turner: 

Interviewer: So how does it feel to step back into the roles after this original run? 

KD: I always say this to everyone – it feels like a gift from heaven. just to work with this piece, this writing, and this group of people. Yeah, it’s so special. It was special the first time, it feels even more special the second time because we’ve had time away, like you grow and you age. 

MA-L: I don’t know about you, I didn’t age!

KD: Yeah, you live life and then you come back to these characters and you’re like, ‘oh, okay, what have I learned about myself that I could bring to them?’ Which is incredibly rewarding. It’s been wonderful. 

MA-L: It is cool to sort of come back to something when you’ve changed yourself and your perspective has changed. It makes me think about hindsight as well because the play in general is about younger people. We’ve spoken a bit about how you look back on that time in your life and you can feel it. What’s even more interesting is how I have more hindsight now than I had then. And so there’s more I’m remembering or seeing about this experience in the play this time [around]. Hindsight really is 20-20! And the more hindsight you get, the better the sight is. 

MT: I feel three years older. Different things have happened in my life since then. I’m just getting to the right age [of my character], these guys are allwell past the appropriate age.

MA-L: Well! That “well” was heavy! 

I: So the show is set in an elite boy’s school in America and you guys are all British. What kind of inspirations from the American experience did you take (or were you given) to bring to your roles? 

MA-L: The music is one of the first and biggest gifts in the show. You hear the spirituals but also their voices and the way they speak is the most immediately recognisable thing when you’re reading the script. Everyone has a certain way and certain vernacular […] and the songs mostly live within the American cultural perspective. We did a lot of work on where each person comes from and how that’s relevant to their relationships and their stories. Who comes from where, who’s further away from home, who’s got a different way of speaking to other people, who has a different relationship with their religion […] just to try and create more detail. 

I: I appreciate the detail this show goes into. I really enjoy the intersection of cultural geography and theatre! 

MA-L: An interesting geographical and historical thing […] there used to be hundreds of black boarding schools in the US and now there’s only four left. It’s all connected to the history of the US, and the civil rights movement. [Looking at] why these schools were set up and what they were trying to achieve, which takes us into the black excellence lens. [Exploring] what these people are going through and what the institution represents, which is unique to America, really. We don’t have historically black universities in the U.K. so it’s something specific.

I: It’s some of your first times working at this venue. How do you feel coming back (addressed to Khalid) or bringing this show to this well-established, prestigious venue? 

KD: It’s such a blessing to come back. The first time I came to Stratford East, I did The Big Life – that was two years ago. I’d never experienced an audience like that who was so ‘in it’. And not just in the sense of like, ‘oh they’re watching’, they’re so ‘in it’. Like they’re rooting for characters and even being vocal about how they’re rooting for these characters. So I’m excited for the audiences to… eat this one up!

I: I am going to be eating it up! I love reacting to theatre and rooting for characters.

KD: It’s amazing, it feels unapologetic which I love. Sometimes I feel as though with British audiences it can be very reserved [like] ‘we don’t want to be too loud’. But here I think because it feels like such a treat and they’re so engrossed they can’t help but make noise, they can’t help but be vocal and say something! 

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Mohammedally Hashemi

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Set in a high-pressure Mayfair fashion atelier, Where There Is No Time explores the cost of ambition in the modern fashion world. The play centres on Yusuf, a British Iranian-Yemeni designer preparing a career-defining collection while navigating competing pressures of heritage, commerce, and creative control. We sat down with Mohammedally Hashemi to discuss their upcoming performance.

Where There Is No Time plays at Seven Dials Playhouse from 17–28 March 2026. Tickets are available here.

What inspired you to set Where There Is No Time within the fashion world, and how does that environment sharpen the play’s exploration of ambition and identity?

I was drawn to the fashion world because it’s a space where image, ego and vulnerability are all constantly on display. It felt like the perfect pressure-cooker for a story about someone trying to define themselves while the world is busy defining them for its own purposes.

In that environment, ambition is always heightened: every show, every collection, every campaign is a test of worth, relevance and legacy. For Yusuf, that world exposes the fault lines between who he is, who his family expects him to be, and who the industry wants him to become. By setting the play in fashion, I could sharpen questions of identity, heritage and compromise in a world obsessed with surfaces, where the cost of success is often paid for in very private, internal ways.

How did your own British Iranian-Yemeni heritage shape Yusuf’s character and the emotional stakes of his creative journey? 

A lot of it does. As a British-Iranian-Yemeni actor, writer and producer, I’ve absorbed so many conversations and contradictions around identity, success and representation, and I’ve poured those observations into this play. I’m very conscious of how tempting it can be to profit from pain and politics, especially when the industry often rewards artists for taking very visible stances on certain issues, like the situation in Iran.

For me, it feels honest only when it comes from a genuinely personal place, not because it’s fashionable or financially advantageous. The problem is that, from the outside, there are always people who see the economic value in that pain, and that can make even sincere work appear inauthentic. Yusuf’s struggle with heritage and commerce is my way of interrogating that tension: how do you honour where you come from and what you believe, without allowing your story, or your politics, to be packaged and sold back to you.

The play wrestles with the idea of sanitising culture for commercial success — what conversations are you hoping audiences will leave the theatre having about that tension?

I don’t think that part is really up to me. Once the play is in front of an audience, it belongs to them, and what they take away will always be coloured by their own lives, experiences and questions.

What I hope is that it stirs something in them — whether that’s reflection, discomfort, recognition or simply the feeling of having been immersed in a world that stays with them on the way home. The rehearsals are for us, but the show is for them, so above all I just want them to have a good time in the theatre

What has it been like to write and perform such a personal story simultaneously, and how do those roles inform each other in rehearsal?

It’s a completely different experience speaking words you’ve written yourself. As an actor, you’re usually interpreting someone else’s truth; here, I’m carrying my own, and that brings a strange mix of vulnerability and power.

In rehearsal, the writer and actor in me are constantly in dialogue. If something feels false in my mouth, I can adjust it in real time, and if a moment unexpectedly lands emotionally, I can deepen it on the page. There’s a real sense of freedom in that — complete freedom — because the text and performance are evolving together, and I don’t feel bound by anyone’s rules but the story’s.

In portraying the pressures of perfectionism and legacy, how did you approach showing the psychological cost of creative success on stage?

We approached it by letting the audience feel Yusuf’s unraveling in real time, through his body, his silences, and the mounting chaos around him. The toll is intense: he’s desperately clinging to the innocent passion that first drove him, even as he’s forced to make ruthless calls to save his company and secure its future.

On stage, we show that psychological cost not through exposition, but in fractured rhythms — moments where his polished facade cracks, where private doubts spill into public spaces, and where the weight of legacy starts to physically bend him. It’s about making visible the quiet violence of perfectionism: how success doesn’t just demand your time or talent, but starts to hollow out the very joy that fuelled it.

As an emerging playwright moving from film into theatre, what possibilities does live performance offer you that other mediums don’t?

Live performance is its own electric animal—like stand-up comedy, where you’re learning in real time exactly how the writing lands with an audience, breath by breath, laugh by laugh, silence by silence.

There’s nothing more beautiful than that immediacy: you can feel what resonates, what needs sharpening, what shifts a room, and it teaches you more about your own work in one night than months of editing ever could. Theatre gives me that raw, unfiltered dialogue with the crowd that film, with all its control, just can’t replicate.

Image Credit: Dave Hutchinson

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Rowland D. Hill

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Charlie & Striptease is a double-bill of razor-sharp political satire by Sławomir Mrożek, blending absurd humour with unsettling situations, running at Golden Goose Theatre 21st April – 9th May 2026. Tickets available here. We sat down with producer and actor Rowland D. Hill to discuss their upcoming production.

What first drew you to the work of Sławomir Mrożek?

I was approached by Orsolya Nagy, theatre maker and director, who had been researching 1960’s and 70’s Eastern European theatre. Orsolya introduced me to Striptease and invited me to perform in a test production at the Birmingham Theatre Festival in 2025. Working on the play was a delight and audience reaction in Birmingham was very positive. As a result I scoured the internet and found a copy of six plays by Mrozek in English translation. They are all exceptional – entertaining and thought-provoking – and speak strongly to the situation in the world today. I was keen to do more!

What felt important about presenting the two plays together as a double-bill?

Striptease is a forty minute play, and it was clear that to have a viable evening of theatre we needed an accompanying piece. I proposed to Orsolya that my company, DRH Arts, should co-produce a run of two Mrozek plays (Striptease and another) and we researched the other work before determining on Charlie as the companion piece. In fact I was torn between a play called Enchanted Night and Charlie. In the end Charlie won out because it is just so funny and absurd, and has wonderful characters and situations to explore. It sits well with Striptease as a contrast in terms of characters, but explores similar themes in a very different and eccentric way.

Mrożek’s writing blends deadpan absurdity with sharp political insight. How have you approached bringing that balance to the stage?

It is always a pleasure to work as an actor and theatre maker on scripts such as these, which have emotional integrity and great characterisations. As performers we have to find the truth of the characters, and the relationships between them. The political insight is something that the audience will hopefully enjoy, but the characters are not stating that, rather their situation illustrates political issues that in some ways the characters are struggling with. The comedy is opened up and revealed if we are honest in our portrayals and in the goings on between us. Hopefully we’ll achieve that! 

Taking on both producing and acting roles can be demanding. How does being a producer change the way you approach your performance?

Being a producer does not change my approach to performance at all. I have a lot of experience as a producer and understand how that role works and what is required, so I am able to separate the two roles.  I’ve done it before and have also been writer and producer (in 2025 for my play Who is Claude Cahun? at Southwark Playhouse), which in some ways was more difficult because I was not on stage presenting the work! Sometimes it’s necessary to be proactive in facilitating the work you want to do and hence being willing to act as a producer. The challenge is probably the work load that is required, especially when, as with Charlie and Striptease, there are large character parts to learn and rehearse. It’s lovely to get in the rehearsal room and forget about the producer bit for a time!

If someone is unfamiliar with Mrożek’s work, what would you love them to discover through this production?

I anticipate that many people seeing this double-bill of theatre will be unfamiliar with Mrozek, as indeed I was until Orsolya’s introduction! He is an extraordinary writer who deserves to be much better known in the UK. It should be said that his reputation remains high and high profile in Poland and some other Eastern European countries. I think people will be awe struck by the quality of the writing and by the imagination that has created these ridiculous situations and events, but which so strongly satirise the claustrophobic and unjust world of an authoritarian regime. I hope people will chuckle at the plays and at the same time understand the dangers they warn against.

    FEATURE: Pink Narcissus

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    The British Film Institute brings a newly restored version of James Bidgood’s once-anonymous 1971 film “Pink Narcissus” back to UK screens. 

    A newly restored “Pink Narcissus,” the once-anonymous 1971 film by James Bidgood, returns to UK screens through the British Film Institute, reframing a cult artefact as both a recovered artwork and a reclaimed authorship. Presented at BFI Flare: London LGBTQIA+ Film Festival ahead of a wider June release, the restoration underscores how preservation can extend beyond film stock to restore cultural ownership and queer cinematic legacy.

    For decades, “Pink Narcissus” circulated as an orphaned object, visually unmistakable, yet detached from its maker. When it first appeared in 1971, the film carried no director’s credit, the result of a breakdown between Bidgood and his financiers during production. Disagreements over creative control and completion led Bidgood to withdraw his name, leaving the film to emerge anonymously, its authorship obscured even as its imagery gained underground notoriety.

    That absence became central to the film’s identity. Audiences encountered not only a dreamlike portrait of a hustler dissolving into fantasies of power and beauty, but a work unmoored from a recognised creator, a rarity that complicated its place within film history. Some 20 years later, when Bidgood was publicly acknowledged, did “Pink Narcissus” begin to be restored to a lineage of queer authorship from which it had long been excluded.

    The BFI’s presentation of the new 4K restoration, undertaken by the UCLA Film & Television Archive from 35mm elements including an internegative, print and track negative, operates on two levels. Technically, it restores the film’s saturated colour, intricate lighting and handcrafted sets, all of which had faded over time. Culturally, it restores authorship itself, reaffirming Bidgood’s role as a singular creative force who spent years constructing the film largely within his own apartment.

    That labour is evident in every frame. The film unfolds with almost no dialogue, transforming a confined interior into a succession of elaborate tableaux: a Roman slave bathed in colour, a matador celebrated before imagined crowds, and a series of idealised figures shaped by desire. Seen at the BFI Screening Rooms, the restoration reveals not just visual excess, but precise construction, each fantasy designed, lit and staged with photographic discipline.

    In this sense, the restoration reframes Bidgood not simply as a filmmaker, but as a total artist working outside  and often against  traditional production systems. His withdrawal from the original release reflects a broader pattern in which queer artists, particularly in the pre-mainstream era, struggled to retain control over their work in the face of financial and institutional pressures.

    By situating “Pink Narcissus” within BFI Flare, the institute places the film within a living continuum rather than treating it as a historical curiosity. Festivals such as Flare do more than showcase; they actively construct cinematic memory, allowing restored works to be seen in dialogue with contemporary queer filmmaking. The wider UK and Ireland release on June 12, aligned with Pride Month, extends that function beyond the festival space, bringing the film into broader public circulation, alongside a BFI Blu-ray release on June 15.

    The restoration also invites new interpretations. Beyond its status as a landmark of experimental queer cinema, “Pink Narcissus” can be read as an early meditation on self-fashioning ,a theme that resonates in an era shaped by curated digital identities. Its handcrafted illusions stand in contrast to contemporary image-making, yet feel strangely ahead of their time.

    Ultimately, the BFI’s re-release demonstrates how restoration can serve as an act of cultural repair. In recovering the film’s visual richness while reinstating Bidgood’s authorship, it restores a missing chapter to queer film history  not simply preserving the past, but reshaping how it is understood and who is recognised within it.

    Pink Narcissus screens at BFI FLARE: London LGBTQIA+ Film Festival on Thursday 19 March 2026 and is released in selected cinemas in the UK/Ireland on 12 June to mark Pride Month and on BFI Blu-ray on 15 June