IN CONVERSATION WITH: Alex Stroming and Jessica Potts

Selina Fillinger’s ‘Something Clean’ is an intimate, unexpected drama following one woman’s struggle to make sense of her own grief, love, and culpability after her only son is incarcerated for sexual assault. We sat down for an exclusive interview with Director Alex Stroming (she/her) and Assistant Director Jessica Potts (she/her) to learn more about the piece and their connection with the Survivor’s Trust, a national membership organisation supporting specialist rape and sexual abuse services in the voluntary sector.

Something Clean plays April 29 – May 3, 2026 at the Lion and Unicorn Theatre. Tickets here.


What challenges come with staging a story centred on the aftermath of harm rather than the act itself?

JP: A challenge I have noticed lies in how a brief description of the play can sometimes come across as “it’s about the parents of the perpetrator” when the story actually centres survivors in a way that I have never seen before. The piece is also largely inspired by the words of Chanel Miller’s victim impact statement without trying to re-use or over-dramatise her words. I think concern that we are somehow telling the wrong story (if those exist) quickly disappears when you see the play. It’s a piece that raises difficult questions without ‘clean’ answers.  

AS: A big challenge is to avoid sensationalizing the perpetrator or turning it into a “true crime” story. Selena Fillinger handles this quite well in terms of the play’s focus—the question of “Is he guilty/responsible?” is answered with a resounding “yes” and is never questioned. The question of “why did he do it?” is not the focus at all. The main question is “…what now?” What happens when the cameras and media turn away? What secret, earth-shattering statements never make it to the courtroom?  Here we see a journey of trying, stumbling, failing, and, ultimately, the beginning of healing. 

What conversations did you have early on about handling such sensitive material responsibly?

AS: As soon as we were granted the license for Something Clean, I reached out to the Survivor’s Trust. They do similar work as some of the characters in the play, so it felt essential not only for the sensitive material but also for authenticity! We connected with the lovely and incomparable Helen, who answered a ridiculously long list of questions, from “What does a typical day at a centre for survivors look like?” to “How reliable are sexual assault stats?” to “What do you love/hate most about your job?” She was so generous and supportive of the story, giving us the language of “secondary survivors” to describe the experiences of people who are not directly involved in a sexual assault but are very much impacted by the event.

Practically, we brought on an intimacy director, the lovely Liz Kent, who provides fantastic resources for self-care & awareness for the entire team as we engage with difficult material.

How have conversations with or resources from organisations like The Survivors Trust informed your approach?

AS: Jessie did some amazing research inspired by our conversation which she presented to our actors and sparked a valuable rehearsal room chat, so I’ll let her tell you more!

JP: The playwright has said the play is based on the Brock Turner case so we did a deep dive on the facts of the case, which is now ten years old, and a cornerstone of the MeToo movement. We also looked into some of the differences between the systems in the UK and the US to provide added context; things like campus police, fraternities and a US equivalent of the Survivor’s Trust: RAINN. From chatting to Helen from the Survivor’s Trust, what she loves most about what she does is the people she works with. There is a lot of joy in her life and her colleagues share a sense of humour. Studies show humour may play a significant role in preventing burnout in nurses (Diana et al, 2023), acts as a coping mechanism for social care workers (Fogarty & Elliot, 2020) and fosters resilience in anyone working in an intense environment. (Kyomigusha, 2025). This is reflected in the play and has also informed our rehearsal room ethos. At the end of the day we are not frontline workers, but taking a page from their book has informed the process and given valuable insight. It’s also a lovely way to work in general.

How did you ensure the production remains sensitive to survivors while telling a story centred on a perpetrator’s family?

AS: Without giving too much away, I would say this play is almost entirely focused on survivors, not perpetrators. The most pivotal character in the play is a survivor, and the majority of the play explores how people continue to live with trauma, highlighting that it’s not possible to just “move on.” Particularly with the language of “secondary survivors” that was introduced to us in our chat with Helen, I’ve been much more aware of how individual instances of sexual assault can affect an entire community. We are seeing this on a large scale in many places in the world—for example in Sudan, where horrific, widespread sexual violence is influencing an entire population (more information on this crisis and how you can help here).

Much like the myth that feminism is only for women, there is an assumption that fighting against sexual violence is primarily matters to (or worse, is the responsibility of) people who have experienced it first-hand. Unfortunately, that is still a lot of people, but I think those who haven’t, regardless of gender, would be shocked to realize how much sexual violence does impact them or their loved ones. The thing that Helen said she hates most about her job? Constantly convincing and expressing to people how much of an issue sexual violence is. If we can amplify the work of organizations like the Survivor’s Trust while we have an audience and authentically portray the complexity of the ripple effects of even one instance of sexual violence, hopefully we can make the work of the heroes like Helen a little easier. The play may be called ‘Something Clean’, but we are making noise and embracing the mess.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Elliot Cowan

We sat down for an exclusive interview with Elliot Cowan, who is playing Victor Franz in ‘The Price’.

‘The Price’ runs until 7th June at Marylebone Theatre- Tickets here


1. The Price is one of Arthur Miller’s most personal works. How did playing Victor reshape your view of life’s quiet compromises?

It’s clearly rooted in Arthur Miller’s own life, particularly the loss of his father’s business during the Wall Street crash, which echoes in the brothers’ story. But what interests me is not just the biography, it’s the structure of comparison. Two men with the same beginnings, who make different decisions, and only later discover what those decisions meant.

Playing Victor shifted something for me around how those decisions are experienced. At the time, they don’t feel like compromises. They feel coherent, even necessary. Victor gives up education to care for his father, becomes a policeman, builds a stable life. None of that feels like loss in the moment. It’s only when he stands opposite his brother, who pursued ambition and achieved visible success, that the question arises.

I’m at a similar point in life, approaching fifty, having spent decades in one profession. I chose acting early and never really questioned it. But over time, especially now, you become aware of the paths you didn’t take, and the narrowing effect of earlier decisions. The play doesn’t offer a clean answer, but it does suggest that those “big decisions” are often invisible when you make them. You only recognise them when the results start coming in, and by then you’re living inside them.

2. Victor is defined by duty and sacrifice. How do you balance making him both justified and tragic?

I don’t approach him as tragic, and I don’t think the play is a tragedy in the strict sense. It has elements of comedy, particularly in the marriage, which is under strain but ultimately survives. That structure is technically comic not tragic.

With Victor, the key is not to “balance” anything. If you try to add tragedy, you reduce him. He experiences himself as justified. His choices made sense to him, and in many ways still do. The tension comes when that logic is challenged, not by an external judgment, but by the presence of his brother and the life he represents.

There are aspects of Victor that are difficult, he can be resentful, passive-aggressive, even self-righteous. But those qualities sit alongside genuine sacrifice and loyalty. The play, and Miller is very clear about this, asks us not to judge either brother as simply right or wrong.

What I find more interesting is that Victor arrives at a kind of acceptance. He begins to see value in the life he has lived, even if it doesn’t match the dominant idea of success. That, to me, is not tragic. It’s quietly liberating.

3. How does the attic setting heighten the emotional tension between the two brothers?

The attic concentrates everything. It’s one space, in real time, with no escape. That alone creates pressure.

But it’s also a space filled with objects that carry memory. Every piece of furniture represents something unresolved, something held onto. So the past isn’t abstract, it’s physically present. The brothers aren’t just arguing about ideas, they’re surrounded by the material evidence of their shared history.

There’s also a structural pressure. The building is about to be demolished, the furniture has to be sold, a decision has to be made. So you have time compressing the action, and space containing it.

In that sense, the attic is both literal and symbolic. It’s where things are stored and forgotten, but also where they resurface. And once they do, there’s nowhere to put them back.

4. What draws you back to theatre for a piece like The Price, and how does your approach differ from screen work?

Theatre gives you continuity. You carry a character through the entire arc in real time, in front of an audience. That demands a different kind of responsibility. You can’t correct or adjust later, you live with the consequences of your choices as the performance unfolds.

On screen, you’re working in fragments. You might only need to deliver ten seconds of truth at a time, and those pieces are assembled later. That requires precision and focus, but it’s a different relationship to the material.

What theatre offers, especially over a run, is repetition. And repetition builds freedom. You become so familiar with the structure that you can start to let go inside it. The work becomes less about managing nerves or hitting marks, and more about being responsive in the moment.

I find that process recalibrates me. It brings me back to the fundamentals of voice, body, and attention in a way that’s harder to access on set.

5. How did you and your co-star build a believable shared history between Victor and Walter?

You don’t build a single shared history, you build two interpretations of the same events.

Victor and Walter don’t agree on what happened between them. That’s where the tension comes from. So the work is to be very clear about what your character believes, and allow those beliefs to conflict.

Practically, it starts with trust. You establish boundaries around physical and emotional contact, so that you can work freely without second-guessing. Then you look at the text in detail, what’s said, what’s avoided, what’s contradicted.

From there, it becomes more instinctive. You bring your own experience of relationships, of family, of conflict, and allow that to inform the interaction. Over time, the history starts to feel less constructed and more lived, because it’s being tested in real time between you.

6. What do you hope audiences take away from Victor’s story today?

I’m less interested in what they “take away” and more in what the play asks of them.

What’s striking is how current it feels. Victor’s suspicion of systems, of a version of success that prioritises winning above all else, lands very clearly now. There’s a pressure in the world towards visible achievement, financial dominance, and constant advancement.

Victor challenges that, not through argument, but through his existence. He represents a different set of values, duty, care, modesty, which are often dismissed as failure in that framework.

If the play works, the audience doesn’t settle on one brother as right. They move between them, recognising something in both. And that creates a more uncomfortable question, which is how they themselves measure a life. What counts as success, and at what cost.

If that question stays with them, the play has done its job.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Sammy Moore

We sat down for an exclusive interview with Sammy Moore about his show Derrière on a G String by Some Smith & Moore coming to The King’s Head Theatre this May.

This show runs from 6th May to 7th June – Tickets here: https://kingsheadtheatre.com/whats-on/derriere-on-a-g-string-md7x


This show tells its story entirely without words, relying on movement and timing. As a performer, how does that shift your approach to storytelling compared to text-based theatre?

The best thing about that is it means I get to use my face much more than I’m usually allowed. Somehow, my face moves quite a lot and has been described as “elastic” by previous audience members. There is nothing subtle about this show, and taking out the words means everything else has to be huge, and that’s so much more fun! The jokes within each piece of movement are timed with the music, which, of course, is a challenge, but it creates this unique feeling within the audience that there must be a punchline coming up because the music is leading them that way. The comedy then comes out because this beat is satisfactorily met or purposefully subverted! 

The piece blends slapstick, dance, and classical music into something quite anarchic. How do you balance precision as a dancer with the chaos and unpredictability of comedy?

Every single movement is choreographed with precision. It has to be because the chaos means there is a lot happening, and if we don’t all stick to our tracks perfectly, there is a potential danger of an accident. In a similar way to Tommy Cooper being a brilliant magician but pretending to be awful, we as a cast have to nail every step so the chaos can ensue! The music very much leads the narrative of each joke, and the fun is playing with whether we go with that or subvert it! 

You’ve previously performed this show at Sadler’s Wells—how has the piece evolved for this new run at the King’s Head Theatre, and what feels different in this iteration?

Derrière is essentially a sketch comedy show, and this means that some jokes from previous iterations, with the passing of time, no longer work, and we have to get rid of them, but excitingly, that also means new, current and socially relevant jokes can be put in. I’m so excited to see how audiences react to these new pieces that we have come up with! This is the biggest and best version of the show we have ever done, and thanks to the previous iterations, it will also be the most slick and polished, which makes for a better viewing experience. There is a brand new set/costume/lighting and sound design with some rather extravagant ideas…strap on. 

The show plays with “awkward, absurd, and unexpectedly intimate moments.” How do you negotiate humour that borders on the risqué without tipping into discomfort?

It’s certainly a difficult balance between a desire to be outrageous and yet keep the audience at ease. We exaggerate things to the point they are patently ridiculous, which I think helps alleviate any awkwardness that could come from sexual scenes. Whereas the genuinely intimate moments aren’t sexualised, there’s romance to them. So it’s never serious at the same time as being sexual, which I think is where that awkwardness would come from. If you’re watching a drama on television with your mum and there’s a sex scene, there’s nothing more awkward, and you have to suddenly dash off and make a cup of tea. But you can laugh at an innuendo together. That’s where the line is, and we toe it as well as we can.

There’s a strong lineage here—from Laurel and Hardy to Mr Bean. Do you see yourself consciously working within that tradition of physical comedy, or are you trying to subvert it?

We do love to subvert things and keep everything unexpected! But that mostly comes from flipping the music on its head; the physical comedy itself actually is more traditional. It’s often said in comedy that people don’t want new stuff, they want a new version of the last thing they liked. And by maintaining some of the time-honoured devices of comedy, we’re able to achieve this while packaging it in a wholly original concept. There’s something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. 

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Christopher Howell and Desireé Burch

Step into a world where illusion and storytelling intertwine, and magic becomes something far richer than a sequence of tricks. In Rabbits Out of the Hat, performers Christopher Howell and Desireé Burch reimagine the traditional magic show, weaving narrative, character, and emotion into every illusion. Drawing on years of international experience, their work invites audiences to be swept up in a theatrical journey, one where the mystery is only part of the magic, and the story takes centre stage.

As long-standing members of The Magic Circle and creative partners since 2006, the duo have developed a distinctive collaborative process grounded in curiosity, experimentation, and a shared passion for performance. In this interview, they reflect on what sets their show apart, the personal inspirations behind key moments, and how audiences around the world continue to shape the way they bring magic to life. We sat down with Christopher and Desireé to discuss their upcoming performance.


1What makes Rabbits Out of the Hat different from a traditional magic performance? 

Christopher: Most magic shows are presented in a ‘for my next trick’ sort of way. It’s all about the ‘tricks’ for their own sake. What we think really takes magic to another level though is when you can use it to tell a story. That’s what we do in Rabbits Out of the Hat. We think it’s really exciting when the magic grows organically out of the story you’re watching on stage. You get swept away in the drama of it all and leave having been moved by it rather than just being left wondering how on earth we did the magic (which you’ll get in this show as well!) We hope that wondering about the secrets becomes the least important part of the experience. Probably part of why many magicians choose not to tell stories with their magic is that to do it in a way that feels natural and unforced is very hard work!

Without giving too much away, is there a particular illusion in the show that feels especially meaningful or personal to you? 

Desireé: The levitation on the broom scene is a very meaningful moment in the story. We wanted Josephine to be active in this illusion, since most magicians assistants are usually hypnotised while it’s performed. In our case, the assistant is actually the one ‘willing’ herself to levitate. When I was growing up, I always loved watching old episodes of Lucille Ball. She made me laugh and ultimately without me realising, she showed me the blueprint of what you can do as a female performer. It was a joy when we were told by our mentor, the master magician Jeff McBride, that Lucille once did this illusion with Orson Welles and that she was the first assistant to talk all the way through the routine. It all makes sense. That’s why this is one of my favourite moments in the show. 

How has being members of the The Magic Circle influenced your approach to performance?

Christopher: The Magic Circle was actually founded the year that this show is set: in 1905. Its founding president was a very influential British magician called David Devant. One of David’s mottos was ‘All done by kindness’. This was something he thought was important when performing magic, rather than ridiculing audience members, making them feel uncomfortable. Kindness and fairness are certainly two themes that we deal with in our story. Also, one of the core values of The Magic Circle is that a magician never reveals their secrets. This is also something we hold true to. In fact every person who works with us in a capacity where they will have to learn our magic secrets has to sign a non-disclosure agreement to ensure they take any magic secrets they learn with them to the grave! Magic is so much better when it leaves the audience in a state of wonder and disbelief.

You’ve worked together since 2006 – how has your creative partnership evolved over time?

Christopher: By now we can read each others’ minds! (Hey, we should put that in the act!) But seriously, our ‘method’ – if we have one – hasn’t really changed over the years. The starting point to a routine or idea is always different. It might be a classic magic effect that needs to be redressed to fit a new sort of situation, so then we brainstorm ways to do it. It might be a story we’re trying to flesh out and looking for magic that could help tell it. We just try things and get on with them. It can be messy, with lots of trial and error. We’re both a couple of work horses and that helps get us through the dark moments! 

You’ve performed all over the world – from Hollywood to Berlin – how do different audiences respond to magic and humour?

Desiree: American audiences wonderfully extroverted; they’re rooting for you even before the show begins! British audiences – thanks to the panto tradition – like to play with you and be a part of it. There can be a fun cheeky tension there. Then you go to a Russian audience where they’re intense and observant: they can love your show to bits, but you’ll never know until they rave about it afterwards. It’s always different. But every audience is always different, even in the same theatre! The important thing to remember is that they’re at your show to have a good time, to escape their routines and to dream. So regardless of what ‘temperature’ you might feel in the room, just keep dishing it out. Sometimes a ‘good’ audience is loud and responsive and sometimes a ‘good’ one is very quiet because they’re leaning in to hear a pin drop. 

There will be two performance of Rabbits Out The Hat at Jackson Lane on 10th May. Tickets are available here.

FEATURE: Metropolis


“A mind-melting modernist masterpiece as fresh as ever- the very best of Weimar era German cinema”

It is testament to the excellent programming at the BFI this summer that within a fortnight you can see one of the worst films ever made* followed by one of the best. Fortunately for us, today was the latter.

Fritz Lang’s 1927 modernist masterpiece Metropolis is set rather fittingly in 2026. A black and white dystopian tale exemplifying the powerhouse of German silent film, there is no exposition to give you context and you are left to your own mental contortions for the next two and a half hours.

Simultaneously anti fascist and anti communist, the film follows Freder Frederseon (played by Gustav Fröhlich), the son of Jon Fredersen (played by Alfred Abel) who runs the art deco monstrosity that is the city of Metropolis. Freder learns of the plight of the underground workers whose labour with machinery fuels the city’s function. Switching places with a worker, he soon finds himself enamoured with Maria (played by Brigitte Helm) whose Mother Mary-like figure appears to galvanise the workers into waiting
for The Mediator who will join the Head (Jon Fredersen) with the Hands (the workers) via the Heart (Freder). Unbeknownst to Maria and Freder, who by this point have fallen for each other, Jon’s mad scientist colleague Rotwang (played by Rudolf Klein-Rogge) has turned to revenge. He is obsessively in love with Jon’s wife Hel who died giving birth to Freder. He decides the way to destroy Jon, Freder and his city is to create a sinful android clone of Maria to turn the workers against Jon and Freder, eventually destroying the city, and taking the original Maria to be his new incarnation of the perfect Hel. The ending will remain spoiler free.

This film is staggeringly visually complex, using optical illusions and techniques that were named after their inventors in this film. The art deco forced perspective of the city is given over to a scale matched possibly only by the operatic sets for Wagner’s Ring Cycle. The Schüfftan process was created here by cinematographer Eugene Schüftan, using angled mirrors and careful projection through cutouts in the mirror’s silver backing to create scenes in which live actors can be placed seamlessly into large futuristic cityscapes. Enigmatic grayscale backed by the panache of the pantomime performances compliments the sci-fi representation of android Maria- an image so iconic it inspired the design for Star Wars’ C-3P0.

Watching Metropolis on the big screen is s truly special event, not least because the BFI’s NFT1 screen is itself beautifully designed for it- an art deco recessed proscenium arch and plush red chairs. The audience too respected the requirements of a nearly 3-hour long silent film- not a cough or phone screen light around. Barely anyone dared to get up to go to the toilet lest they miss something- just getting to watch the full film feels like a coup- in 2008 almost 25 minutes of lost footage was recovered when a near intact copy was found at Argentina’s Buenos Aires Cinema Museum. Being able to watch such a cinematic spectacle on a huge widescreen (notwithstanding its 4:3 aspect ratio) is emblematic o the efforts the BFI undertakes to ensure older classics, rarely seen completed features and everything in between gets a chance to be enjoyed as it was meant to- on the silver screen, wowing audiences and making them pay attention to cinematic creativity that’s politically and thematically relevant as any current podcast.

Metropolis is part of the BFI’s Kinaesthesia season, which took place from 17th – 19th April 2026.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Kenneth Butler

We sat down for an exclusive interview with Kenneth Butler, performer of Asante in ‘The Last Black Messiah’.

‘The Last Black Messiah’ runs from Tuesday 28th – Saturday 16th May at the Jack Studio Theatre – Tickets here


Asante sits between observer and participant—how did you navigate that tension in performance? 

To navigate the tension, it is important to remember when I need to become the observer and when I have to actively manipulate the situation. It’s very important that i find those shifts.

Having previously played Martin Luther King, how does The Last Black Messiah complicate or challenge your understanding of leadership and legacy?

The two shows explore the different tactics that black Americans have always had to use in the struggle for freedom. I think, if anything, doing these two shows highlights that there are many leaders in our struggle, and for their good or bad, they should be remembered. 

What drew you to Asante’s perspective within such a politically and emotionally charged two-hander? 

I am very understanding of both Asante’s belief that there is a way to find safety within the system and Oko’s perspective that the system is built against us. It is only human to want to protect yourself and your loved ones, and in Asante’s case, he does what he believes is safe.

How do you balance the intellectual debate with the deeply personal stakes between Asante and Dr. Oko? 

The debate between the two characters is the surface for the subtext and the stakes that each character is dealing with, behind the scenes. It is important for me to always have the stakes for Asante lingering in my mind. 

What does the play reveal about the cost of documenting versus actively shaping history?

I think the play reveals that history is not always documented by those who shape it. Sometimes, the most influential events and people don’t get to have their story told honestly. 

In a story rooted in the 90s, what feels most urgently contemporary to you as a performer today? 

I think it is important, especially for us now, to remember that there has been a lot of work done to bring us this far, and there is a lot that we still need to do.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Jonathan Reed

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Enyi Okpara

We sat down for an exclusive interview with Enyi Okpara, who conducts the pioneering orchestra Manchester Camerata on 24 April. The programme, The Beautiful Game, takes place at the National Football Museum with concerts at 18:30 and 20:00. Tickets available here.

Enyi Okpara is the newly appointed Fellow Conductor of the London Philharmonic Orchestra for the 2026/27 Season.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Monsieur Chevalier

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Gwithian Evans and Marie Williams

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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