REVIEW: Elgar Serenade for Strings


Rating: 4 out of 5.

A hauntingly intimate evening that journeyed from Elgar’s gentle warmth, through the
séance‑like anguish of The Immortal, to the majestic sweep of Sibelius’s Second
Symphony


The Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra’s concert on Thursday 26 th March 2026 offered an evening of vivid contrasts, anchored by the presence of Artist in Residence Mark Simpson. Under the poised direction of conductor Daniela Candillari, the programme moved from Elgar’s evergreen Serenade for Strings through the supernatural world of Simpson’s The Immortal to the expansive sweep of Sibelius’s Second Symphony, all within the setting of Liverpool Philharmonic Hall. The hall itself felt both tall and close, with glowing backlights and a clear, unfussy stage that
drew focus entirely onto the performers. The audience was mostly older, with only a
scattering of empty seats, which contributed to a reflective, attentive atmosphere making the quieter moments feel almost private. Elgar’s Serenade for Strings opened the concert as a gentle prelude. The orchestra shaped the opening movement with a subtle, almost storybook sense of adventure, as if inviting listeners into a journey rather than announcing itself with grandeur. A particularly expressive cellist became a quiet focal point, her visible engagement clearly charmed the audience as her lines adding depth and humanity to Elgar’s flowing textures. The music’s warmth and ease set an affectionate tone, a clear contrast to what was to come.

The centrepiece of the first half, Simpson’s The Immortal, arrived with a spoken introduction from the composer that proved essential. He described the work as an exploration of a man tormented by the clash between religious faith, Darwinism, bereavement and an obsessive turn towards séances, and the performance bore that psychological burden in full. From the outset, intimate strings established an uneasy calm before panic crept in through tremulous violins and dark, heavy textures. The sound world felt immediately tense, more akin to a staged haunting than a traditional choral-orchestral work.

Candillari controlled the buildup of tension, allowing layers of sound- panicked violins,
spectral vocal lines, and dense harmonies to accumulate without ever tipping into
incoherence. The lead voice was powerful and focused, riding above the orchestral turmoil with remarkable control, while the backing ensemble added eerie, ritualistic colour. Subtitles were invaluable in following the text, revealing a narrative of anguish and spiritual fragmentation that might otherwise have been overwhelming.

Visually, the piece was underscored by shifting backlighting that moved from warm glows to stark, seance-like silhouettes, reinforcing the sense of being drawn into a world of old horror and swampy supernatural atmosphere. At times the music felt almost mad and chaotic- a deliberate expression of inner torment rather than mere noise- and some listeners found it unsettling, even unlikeable. Yet the work maintained a gripping, edge-of-the-seat energy throughout, and when the final note released the accumulated tension, the applause was long and heartfelt.

After the interval, Sibelius’s Symphony No. 2 provided the evening’s final arc, swelling “like a mighty river” as promised in the programme, and crowned with its unforgettable closing theme. The opening had a pixie hollow-esq charm that was magical, exploratory, almost like stepping into an enchanted forest, before gradually broadening into something more monumental. Flutes and oboes played a prominent role in playful call-and-response figures with the rest of the orchestra, lending the early movements a light, airy character.

The warm, consistent lighting kept the visual world grounded and open, even as the music grew more turbulent. By the time the famous final theme arrived, the effect was undeniably majestic, reminiscent of a sweeping cinematic or even Disney-esque opening, but charged with Sibelius’s distinctive national and emotional weight.

Taken as a whole, the evening traced a compelling journey: from Elgar’s tender serenity,
through the haunted psychological landscape of The Immortal, to the confident, river-like surge of Sibelius’s Second Symphony. Candillari and the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra demonstrated impressive versatility and emotional range, offering a night that moved from the intimate to the immense, and from anguish to something close to catharsis.

REVIEW: Come Together


Rating: 4 out of 5.

A musical history tour following the evolution of Liverpool’s greatest band, The Beatles.


What a wonderful evening! The night started off with the comedic duo representing John Lennon and Paul McCartney taking the stage, silence befalling the audience as we all sat in anticipation. They introduced themselves as the very obvious Paul and John, with the hair and costuming to match (John clad in his infamous round glasses and long, slick-haired look). Behind them, a classic 6-piece band emerged. They began by talking us through the early lives of John Lennon and Paul McCartney – how they met and what the early years of the Beatles looked like. 

The show was formatted very clearly, set in Chapters following a chronological order of 1 through 8, following the life of the Beatles. Before we knew it, the band had launched into their first song of the evening with Paul and John centre stage singing the very well-known Love Me Do! Behind the band, Beatles-related imagery was projected onto the stage- picturing Strawberry Fields, Abbey Road Studios, and even our very own Penny Lane flooded the scene, setting the tone of the evening. The atmosphere was building with the audience excitedly bopping their heads, shy at the start, but with each song and chapter, as the story progressed, so did the viewers’ enthusiasm. By the end, we even had the audience on their feet singing and clapping along to the Beatle’s greatest hits. 

The band took us through the Beatles, launching into ultra stardom and the resulting Beatle Mania, singing tunes like the eponymous Come Together, Yesterday and Let it Be, broken up by bantersous quips from our resident Paul and John as they exemplify the breakdown of the pair’s relationship towards the end of the Beatles. The tone shifts from happier tunes to a more morose and serious atmosphere following the death of the Beatles’ late manager Brian Epstein, and we witness the band take on new musical directions inspired by the events occurring in their personal lives. Serenaded by song, we listen eagerly as the band strums on song after song, touching on albums such as Please Please Me, Rubber Soul. 

What felt like years later, as we had followed the Beatles through time, it appeared the evening was drawing to a close and in classic fashion, the band took to the stage for one last song. We all came together, and the crowd stood for a fantastic encore of Hey Jude. I looked around at the masses grinning ear to ear and felt a deep connection to those around me, all sharing a love for one of the best bands to form. Liverpool’s pride and joy. We were all united in that moment. One. 

This show runs from the 19th March to the 28th March at Liverpool’s Royal Court. Tickets herehttps://liverpoolsroyalcourt.com/main_stage/come-together/

Written by Tahiyah Tabassum

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Elizabeth Huskisson

We sat down for an exclusive interview with Elizabeth Huskisson, writer and performer of Where Have All Our Women Gone?

Where Have All Our Women Gone comes to Liverpool’s Unity Theatre for one night only, Friday 13th March – Tickets here.


International Women’s Day is often framed as a moment of celebration, but your work confronts what happens when women are missing, silenced, or erased. What does International Women’s Day mean to you personally, and how does Where Have All Our Women Gone? complicate that narrative?

International Women’s Day is of course a celebration and a day I always use to recognise the phenomenal women around me, particularly those who have been so integral in creating and championing this play. For me, IWD is also about reigniting the revolution inside myself and inside the work. I think celebration and rebellion can happen side by side, I think there can be a call to arms, a need for change and a moment to rejoice. It’s really important that we understand why IWD is fundamental and why a revolution is nothing short of vital. Every three day a man kills a woman in the UK. That statistic should haunt us, horrify us, and demand we make a change.

The play asks a stark, recurring question—where have all our women gone? On a day dedicated to women’s voices and achievements, what do you hope audiences are forced to reckon with after watching this work?

I always hope the women feel seen and are able to have a deeply cathartic experience, I hope they feel their rage is shared and valid. Often the women have something much darker to reckon with, the heartbreaking reality of being a woman and how violent that act of existence can be. That alone is enough for the women in the audience to reckon with. I hope the men reckon with their own complacency, complicity and capacity for change. I’m so keen for more men to engage with this work, because it’s not a lecture, it’s not an hour long criticism, it’s a piece of work that captures a feeling shared my thousands of women, it’s a reflection of a nation in a state of moral bankruptcy, in desperate need of change. I am always blown away by the responses from the men in the audience and it always reaffirms why I make this work. It’s deeply educational for them, emotionally educational and that’s crucial in engaging men in this conversation.

You describe the piece as both theatre and activism, using satire, sincerity, and the surreal to address male violence against women and girls. How do you balance emotional accessibility with political urgency—especially for audiences who may be encountering these realities for the first time?

I don’t know if this show is emotionally accessible, I don’t know if it should be, in so much as, the discomfort the audience experience, is an important aspect in provoking them into action. We have a lot of content warnings on this show, it can be triggering and it’s pretty relentless so I always try to provide an infrastructure for people to understand the world they’re about to walk into, but the play reflects reality so I refuse to sanitise it for people’s comfort. As you say, it’s urgent, so we attack this work with courage and conviction. And if you’re encountering these realities for the first time, then my honest thought would be, perhaps you need to reflect on the privilege you’re experiencing that means this doesn’t exist in your cultural sphere.

This production has been performed in extraordinary contexts, including within the police force. On International Women’s Day, what do you think institutions—not just individuals—still need to hear, acknowledge, or change?

In the words of the remarkable Giséle Pelicot, shame must change sides. We need to reshape the cultural conversation, the discourse in the media and institutional structures. I have seen in far too many companies and institutions where structures are not in place to ensure women’s safety or provide support. Including women in conversations to reimagine the infrastructures of our society is the only way to create a society that works for women. The threat we are facing is complex and vast, and statistically growing at an alarming rate. We need to believe the women, educate the men and demand the men educate themselves.

International Women’s Day often asks, what progress has been made? After performing this play repeatedly, do you feel hopeful, exhausted, or something more complicated—and where do you locate hope, if at all?

I have a lot of hope, rebellion is rooted in hope, we rebel because we believe change is possible. I have hope because of the remarkable women I have met whilst creating and performing this play. They are endlessly courageous. Their kindness gives me hope, their fierce belief in change gives me hope. And yet of course, it’s exhausting. And it’s terrifying. And I find it hard to believe, truly hard to believe that this is real.

REVIEW: Dear England at Liverpool Empire


Rating: 5 out of 5.


“A warm, Ted Lasso‑style celebration of Gareth Southgate’s England that proves football onstage can be funny, moving and joyfully life‑affirming for fans and newcomers alike.”


I saw Dear England at the Liverpool Empire on the 3rd March, and it turned out to be a warm, uplifting night that completely challenged what I thought football onstage could be. Going in, I found the concept rather interesting as in my head, the crossover between theatre and football was tiny- but I left feeling that the overlap is much bigger, richer and more emotional than I’d imagined.

On the surface, Dear England, written by James Graham and directed by Rupert Gold, is about Gareth Southgate (David Sturzaker) and the England team from 2018–2022. What really comes through is that it isn’t always about winning; it’s about the process, the culture and the people. The show has a very “Ted Lasso‑esque” tone- funny, heartfelt and quietly profound. It sends you out of the theatre seeing the more positive, hopeful side of life and the world. I loved looking around and seeing families, dads and grandads with kids, all sharing the experience together; it felt like the production genuinely bridged generations.

The football sequences themselves were hugely effective. The slow‑motion movement, crowd noise and tense sound design had me gripped, even when I already knew exactly how those matches turned out. I’m not a big football person and have only been to one game in my life, yet these scenes completely pulled me in. The impersonations of real‑life figures were another highlight: I could tell from the audience reaction that many of the player portrayals were spot on, and the Harry Kane impression in particular had the crowd roaring, so hats off to Oscar Gough in his theatre debut role. The ones I did know, like Gary Lineker (including a cheeky nod to his Walkers crisp adverts) felt delightfully accurate.

The show also had a lot of fun with political figures, using them to root the story in recent history. Cameos from Theresa May (complete with her infamous dancing), Liz Truss and Boris Johnson are hilarious, but they also serve as sharp little time capsules of what life felt like in those years. Because the play covers 2018–2022, it’s dealing with a period that is both “just now” and “a lifetime ago”: lockdowns, personal upheavals and national dramas. The way the production weaves these references in really underlines how the World Cup and Euros act as markers in our lives – a point made explicitly in the script when Physio Phil (Steven Dykes) talks about how you tie tournaments to life events: one World Cup you’re dating, the next you’re engaged, the next there’s a baby taking its first steps.

That idea really stayed with me. I found myself reminiscing about where I was during the 2018 and 2022 World Cups, what was happening in my life, and how those tournaments coloured the mood of the country. Seeing those years replayed onstage made me feel unexpectedly patriotic (not something I would usually call myself) and it genuinely made me want to get into football more, to feel that sense of connection to a team and a country. I came away with a huge admiration for Gareth Southgate as portrayed here: a man trying to make the “impossible job” possible by humanising the sport and treating players as people first. The refrain that “football is more than a game” doesn’t feel like a cliché in this production; it’s earned.

Visually and technically, the show is inventive and slick. The use of space and lighting keeps the stage dynamic, with the set and backdrops clearly signalling which players are onstage, where in the world we are, and which tournament or moment we’re in. Real‑life throwback footage and imagery help anchor the story in the specific World Cups and Euros being referenced. I particularly loved the unexpected ballet‑style transitions set to classical music, as well as the more modern dance sections with house tracks; they add texture and energy, and one of the ballet motifs cleverly links back to an anecdote earlier in the play.

Overall, Dear England is a genuinely feel‑good night out that works for devoted football fans and complete novices alike. If you already love the game, you’ll recognise the details and enjoy seeing your heroes and villains brought to life; if you’re more like me and not especially into football, you’ll still find a funny, thoughtful, human story about pressure, hope and belonging. And if you have a football‑mad friend or family member you’d like to tempt into the theatre, this is absolutely the show to bring them to- and, if it’s a sign of things to come, local football fans have more to look forward to, with Everton Football Legends visiting the Empire on the 28th of May.

The show is playing at the Liverpool Empire until the 7th of March, before heading to the Birmingham Hippodrome from March 10th until March 14th . 

Author:
Georgia von Broembsen

REVIEW: Woman In Black


Rating: 5 out of 5.

Finding new ways to make you jump


I caught The Woman in Black at the Liverpool Playhouse on Tuesday 24 February, and it turns out a decades-old ghost story can still make a whole room scream. This touring production leans into simplicity- using light, sound and clever staging to turn a quite bare stage into something quietly, and then not-so-quietly, unnerving.

If you don’t know it, the play (adapted by Stephen Mallatratt from Susan Hill’s novel) is framed as a piece of theatre being made in front of us. An older Arthur Kipps hires a young actor to help him finally tell (and hopefully lay to rest) the events that traumatised him years prior. As they rehearse his trip to the isolated Eel Marsh House, the neat lines between “now” and “then” start to blur, and the performance itself becomes part of the haunting.​

It’s a clever device that gives the show room for both humour and horror. At the start, there’s a lovely, self-aware playfulness in the way the pair complain about projection, pacing and performance style, all under the illusion that they’re performing to an empty theatre.

The production moved clearly between present and past with very little fuss. A shift in lighting (a warmer tone) is often all it took to tell us we’d left the rehearsal room and stepped into Kipps’ memories. That clarity makes the storytelling feel clean, and it lets the audience do a lot of imaginative work filling in the marshes, and long corridors of Eel Marsh House.

The performances are key to making this work, and the cast rise to the challenge. Older Arthur Kipps’ actor is especially impressive, constantly switching between his central role and a string of supporting characters with nothing more than changes in demeanour, accent and physicality. One moment he’s a haunted solicitor, the next he’s an office official or a wary villager, and each shift is so cleanly drawn that you never feel lost about who you’re watching. That precision gives the production much of its texture, and quietly underpins the play’s “storytelling-in-a-theatre” conceit.

The jump scares are, frankly, very effective. I flinched at least six times, which is a decent hit rate for a show that’s been around long enough to be on school syllabuses (there was a GCSE school trip sat next to me actually). The production doesn’t bombard you with constant shocks; instead, it spaces them out, letting tension simmer before breaking it with a scream, a slam or a figure appearing just where you don’t want it to.

One of the evening’s nice surprises is the way the actors use the entire space. They don’t stay politely on stage; they come down the aisles, they appear in unexpected corners, and at times they’re even seated among the audience. That choice instantly makes the story feel closer and more alive as it’s happening in and around you.

The audience around me responded really well. Early on, there were laughs from the rows as the characters played up the idea that no one was watching them. Later, those same people were screaming at the darker moments.

This Playhouse run of The Woman in Black trusts in atmosphere, timing and the audience’s imagination. The clear lighting shifts between past and present, the bold use of the whole auditorium and a handful of genuinely well-timed scares combine into a confidently old-fashioned ghost story that still knows how to get under your skin. If you like your horror built on suggestion rather than gore, and you enjoy the shared thrill of a whole audience jumping together, then it’s well worth a trip into the dark.

The Woman in Black is showing at Liverpool’s Playhouse until February 28th.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: JAMES GRAHAM

The National Theatre’s smash-hit play Dear England is embarking on its first ever national tour and is coming to Liverpool Empire. Multi-award-winning stage and screen writer, James Graham, sits down to talk about the play, his inspiration, background and more. Dear England plays at the Liverpool Empire Theatre 3-7th March. Tickets are available here.


What did you feel when you met Gareth Southgate?

Well, he’s a hero, so I felt nervous.  But I was relieved that he didn’t remotely disappoint.  I felt moved by his humility, his evident decency and his normality. He gave me confidence. I felt like a bit of a fraud in the world of competitive male sport. I wasn’t a sporty person at school. PE was my least favourite subject. I wanted to do plays, but I felt safe with Gareth – he’s a bit more like me, slightly shyer and softer and not an alpha male in the traditional sense. In a very Gareth Southgate way, he was mortified that the play was happening and that a famous actor was playing him. He said he wanted to help, but he would never come and see it. 

Have other England players come to see the play? 

Former England greats such as Gary Lineker, David Seaman and Ian Wright have come along. Lee Dixon too. And members of the women’s team such as Alex Scott.  The reaction has been really positive because they think that what Gareth has done is extraordinary and it’s exciting for them to come to a theatre and see their world reflected. They also enjoyed the comedic impressions of people they’re familiar with. Gary Lineker thought Gunnar Cauthery, who played him when he caught the production in 2023, was bang on.

Dear England is now being made into a four-part TV series for BBC One. Can you tell me about that?

I’m writing it as we speak and we are going to be filming it over the summer. On stage, it’s a big panorama, quite comedic and the football is very abstract. That all plays to theatre’s strengths. On television, it’s going to be more literal and naturalistic, with more of the behind-the-scenes machinations and more of the players’ interior lives.

Were you a sporty kid or a nerd?

An absolute nerd.  I tried to get out of games all the time. I did support Nottingham Forest and Mansfield Town but didn’t follow club football like some people do. It was the sheer operatic scale of World Cups and international tournaments, the stakes of them, the fact that they only come round so often, that I loved. I had to get over my imposter syndrome with this play, and in a very Gareth Southgate way, what I’ve learned is you can’t fake it.  I knew I had to walk into a room of young actors who could explain the offside rule in two and a half seconds and admit that there are things about football I don’t know or feel innately. I feel the drama and passion of it but I don’t know the data. 

Why do you love theatre so much?

Because there’s nothing else in the modern world except arguably sport, arguably football, that demands you leave your home and go to a physical space and sit in proximity with your community and laugh and cry together. You interrogate your nation together, and the systems that run it, and what it is to be alive together and it’s that final bit of being together that makes it just electric. I felt that the first time I was ever in a play at school. The feeling of making your neighbours laugh and sharing it as an endeavour with your castmates.  The chemical reaction of it is extraordinary. It’s the most eruptive thing I experience in my life, and it is so satisfying.

Dear England, the uplifting, thought-provoking and inspiring story of Gareth Southgate’s England men’s team, is visiting Liverpool Empire. “I feel like Liverpool has become my second home”, says playwright James Graham.  “Because I adapted Alan Bleasdale’s Boys from the Blackstuff for the stage, I’ve spent so much time in the city in workshops, building that show.  Getting to spend time with a Scouse legend like Alan and with the Liverpool actors and audiences, I feel I’ve got to know the city really well and come to celebrate it.  I’ve always felt that in Liverpool, in terms of football, it’s club first and country second.  Getting to take this play there and interrogating what the England team means feels like a fascinating endeavour.” 

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Amy Dunn

We sat down for an exclusive interview with Amy Dunn who plays Evi Travers in War of the Worlds.

Using miniature environments, model worlds, camera tricks and projection,ning the award win imitating the dog mix the live and the recorded, the animate and the inanimate to create a thrilling, audacious and timely retelling of H. G. Wells’s classic novel.

War of the Worlds will be at The Lowry from 25-28 Feb and then tour till 2 May. For all tour dates and tickets visit https://www.imitatingthedog.co.uk/project/war-of-the-worlds/


How did playing Evi Travers challenge or change your own understanding of survival when order breaks down?

Before playing Evi, I’d always imagined I’d be good in a crisis. But seeing how pragmatically she responds made me realise I’m not sure I’d be that practical…. 

What I love even more about Evie is that, in a post-apocalyptic world, she holds onto her kindness. While others slip into pure survival mode, she remains willing to help. 

How did the production’s use of miniature worlds and live/recorded elements affect the way you built Evi’s emotional reality?

Working with live cameras made me want to start by focusing on keeping everything grounded and truthful. Cameras can catch the smallest shift in thought, so I wanted to start by building a clear inner life for Evie.

At the same time, we’re still in a theatre, sharing the space with an audience, so the challenge has been balancing something intimate and filmic with something that still feels alive in the room and watchable on stage. It’s a balance I’m really enjoying — and one I know I’ll keep discovering more about as the run continues.

In a world driven by fear and moral compromise, what inner logic guided Evi’s choices?

When we first meet Evie, she’s completely frozen by fear, so her choices have been about keeping herself safe. As she moves further from home and meets people along the way we see her compassion and sense of what’s right guide her decisions, even when it would be easier to just look after herself. Not only that but she challenges others when she feels they are making the wrong choice.

Was there a moment in the process where the question of how far you’d go to protect others felt uncomfortably real?

Without wanting to give too much away, this wasn’t something we explored during the rehearsal process. Instead, I think the question that stuck with me was when do we use the idea of an external or existential threat to justify beliefs and behaviour we otherwise might not be proud of? 

How does placing War of the Worlds in a contemporary British context alter our connection to Evi’s story?

Setting our production in Britain in 1968 highlights the expectations and stereotypes around women at the time and I think that makes Evie’s bravery and directness feel even more striking.

 What freedoms or constraints did imitating the dog’s blend of the animate and inanimate bring to your performance?

The great thing about working with imitating the dog is the blending of different mediums – it’s been a really exciting challenge as an actor. It’s not always been easy, there’s a steep learning curve with the cameras and multitasking as a performer, but it’s taught me to be more playful and less precious as an actor. When you’re balancing a camera on your hip to frame a shot, whilst stepping into another shot and playing the scene you quickly learn you just have to jump in, trust yourself and your cast mates, and enjoy the chaos!

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Charlotte Pickering

We sat down for an exclusive interview with Charlotte Pickering, writer of Kittel: Doktor Faustus of the Third Reich.

This show runs from 23-24th January at Unity Theatre, Liverpool – Tickets here.


KITTEL tells a real historical story, but you frame it as a Faustian deal with the devil. Why was that theatrical lens important for reaching contemporary audiences? 

As soon as I started thinking about Kittel’s spectacular fall from grace, I realised that he was the real-life Doktor Faustus. 

Today’s audience has a sophisticated understanding of human psychology that makes it receptive to the Faustian deal with the devil.

In previous times, human evil was framed in religious terms such as the Fall of Man, temptation, the devil, and sin. By the end of the twentieth century, the Freudian idea of the human shadow, as popularised in novels such as Jekyll and Hyde and Frankenstein and the non-fictional writings of Carl Jung, Erich Fromm and Hannah Arendt, was embedded in our self-understanding. Twenty-first-century people have even greater scientific understanding and articulacy to frame aberrant thinking and behaviour in terms of, for example, compulsion, addiction and obsession. This moves the modern person’s appreciation beyond the more limited conception of human error as sin. So, I think that Gerhard Kittel’s spectacular moral collapse is one which the modern viewer will appreciate, potentially, on a number of levels: as a product of his time, his place, his ideology, other people’s ideology, his psychological makeup… There are many ways in which the human shadow can be articulated. Perpetual damnation for Kittel, remember, is not the fires of Hell (a construct the modern person probably refutes, anyway). For him, perpetual damnation is being forgotten, being erased from history, from the theological canon. It is shame and disgrace. The modern person gets that, I think.

How do you find the balance between the seriousness of the themes and the need to make the show entertaining for audiences?

This is a clever question. Goethe and Marlowe recognised the need to light relief in their interpretations of the Faust legend. Rather like Shakespeare’s drunken Porter interfaces the terrible events (regicide, infanticide, suicide) catalogued in Macbeth, so clowns and daft peasants feature there. Humour is an important moral signpost in even the most tragic drama and is certainly deployed in KITTEL.

Tell us about the research that went into the play?

The story is inspired by a real-life, historical figure. Quite by chance, I came across Robert P Eriksen’s research into Gerhard Kittel. Eriksen was picking up the trail from German researcher Leonore Siegele-Wenschkewitz. Leonore’s research into Kittel was crushed by post-WW2 German academia. Hers is a key voice in the play. 

KITTEL is the result of extensive background research into the intellectual history of WW1 and WW2, German antisemitism, and the Holocaust. I also looked at the historiography of German theology and German 19th and 20th century politics. I spent many hours thinking and writing in the Liverpool Hope University Library, and in the Wiener Holocaust Library in London. I travelled to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, as well as archives in Tübingen and Cuxhaven, to look at documents — letters, memos, papers. Many of the digital resources came from the DNB (Deutsche Nationalbibliothek). The primary sources are Kittel’s own writings. Several of the original editions — which I own because buying them was the easiest and cheapest way of accessing them — are props in the stage show.

When representing real-life characters, how do you decide what to portray and what to leave out?

As with plays of this type (Bolt’s “Man for All Seasons” and Shakespeare’s “Macbeth”, for instance) the coordinates of the story are historical facts. In the fictive mapping of these facts, the human tragedy that emerges is a function of authorial imagination and deep reflection.

You’ve described the play as a warning for “our own time”. What conversations do you hope audiences have as they leave the theatre?

The lessons to be drawn from Gerhard Kittel’s story transcend antisemitism. One key parallel between the 1920s and today that the play brings out concerns narratives. Today, just as in the period after WW1, originally extremist views are becoming increasingly mainstream until they are no longer questioned at all. KITTEL is a historical play, not a political manifesto, but its relevance for the present cannot be overstated.

REVIEW: Varna International Ballet – The Nutcracker


Rating: 4 out of 5.

“Varna International Ballet delivers a classic tale which brings audiences tradition, hope and the magic of storytelling”


The Varna National Ballet’s production of The Nutcracker delivered a beautiful interpretation of this Christmas classic. It had a familiar feel of festive magic that draws audiences in each year. From the moment the lights dimmed and the familiar music of Tchaikovsky filled the room, the anticipation was electric, reminding me why these productions are so popular among families and ballet fans alike.

From the start, the company moved with effortless grace across the stage. Their visual expressions brought the characters to life, and the corps de ballet delivered a performance that was confident and cohesive. Their movements were flawless as they danced across the stage with an elegance that you know comes from years of practiced discipline and trust amongst the dancers. The individual soloists brought their own artistry and interpretation to the characters, as they led the audience on a journey of wonder and discovery that can only be imagined in our dreams. 

Pauline Faget was particularly enchanting as Marie, taking the audience into her dream world and leading them through this captivating tale of wonder and mystery. Her Pas de Deux with the Prince (Danylo Motkov) was elegant and a beautiful sight to see. Their chemistry was effortless and their movements and power show why they were chosen to play these characters.

Visually, the production leaned into tradition whilst also having a more modern feel to it with the scenes being changed by a visual display at the back of the stage. It meant the changes were effortless and did not need huge set pieces to tell the story. It is different from other Nutcracker productions in this sense, as I have not seen one that has used this way of scene setting before. It did not take anything away from the production, and was hardly noticeable with all the dancing going on right across the stage. 

The costumes were so detailed and vibrant, they really made the production lifelike. It was easy to tell what characters and themes were going on in each scene. From the Fairytale about Hard Nut, to Marie’s dream in the Nutcracker’s world, that included dances from different countries, the costumes really played a huge part in adding personality to each scene, without taking away from the choreography.

Tchaikovsky’s iconic score filled the room with familiarity and a richness that added to the warmth of the production. It brought an emotional depth that helped to carry the story forward, from the quiet, more delicate moments to the sweeping score of the more dramatic scenes, the room was filled with an energy only Tchaikovsky’s brilliance could bring. Conducted by Azat Maksutov, the orchestra worked together to add balance and harmony to create poignant peaks that make The Nutcracker feel so timeless.

Overall, this was a heartfelt interpretation of the traditional Nutcracker story that delivered exactly what people need; hope, imagination and a little bit of magic. Through strong work from the corps de ballet and the soloists, this ballet brought a beautiful, familiar story to life that brings people together and gives audiences an enjoyable evening that they will remember for a long time after the curtain falls.

REVIEW: The Hive


Rating: 3 out of 5.

A unique idea slightly tied down by its commitment to its delivery.


The Hive is an innovative new opera which casts a lens across the world of female serial killers through a hypothetical case study created from the real research of writer Carole Hayman. The orchestral backing is minimalist, possibly a necessity given the smaller space of the auditorium, but is well selected and offers a suspenseful backing to the operatic pieces. Unfortunately it can be quite loud in relation to the singing of the performers and often the nuances of some of the more verbose dialogue (of which there is quite a lot) is lost under the swell of the double bass or the rolls of the harp. This is a shame, as with a more refined sense of balance the musical arrangements would really serve to underscore the more dramatic moments of the opera, rather than simply downing them out.

The singing itself is, as might be expected, remarkable, with an excellent range of vocal performances delivered throughout. An especially excellent turn is delivered tonight by soprano Olivia Bell whose singing is truly remarkable – engaging throughout and possessed of fantastic range and emotion. 

The writing is unfortunately a sticking point that cannot be entirely buoyed by the skilled delivery of the cast. Much of the overly clinical and, as mentioned, verbose language feels quite clunky when in the context of this operatic setting and, in combination with the somewhat inconsistent volume of the instrumentation, can make much of it – ironically – rather difficult to follow. It is possible this is tied to the productions undercurrent of dark humor and used as a juxtaposition with the often more grandiose art form it is enveloped within, but this does not fully redeem it from a disappointing lack of clarity as to the events and plotlines being enacted.

The subject matter itself, whilst dark and at times verging on unsettling, however, is handled well – there is a level of nuance to its treatment of the case it creates which is both interesting and thought-provoking. 

The costuming is not extravagant but is cleverly set up to allow performers to alternate between their roles quickly and with clear visual signposting for the audience as to the scenarios and characters on stage – something very welcome when the expository dialogue can be so difficult to engage with. Similarly the lighting and stage dressing are both decisive and minimalist: The same bloodstains that bedeck the lower parts of the chorus’ costumes are daubed on the legs of the folding chairs that make up some of the only props and scenery used, tying the visual theming together well. The spotlights are used to great effect in portraying a sense of isolation and throwing the performers at various times into harsh relief, sometimes even with an air of vulnerability.

An ambitious and well executed production here which could only be somewhat improved by some more well manicured writing and a finer attention to acoustics. Worth a visit for those interested in either true crime or the opera and provides an audience with an intriguing two hours.