Tag: london

REVIEW: The Spectacular

Published on by paddycardwellLeave a comment

Rating: 3 out of 5.

 An energetic and often funny play with a vital subject at its core, yet one which struggles to balance satire and seriousness.

For most schoolchildren in the United Kingdom, the history of armed conflict on the island of Ireland was not on their curriculum. This absence of education on Irish matters – dating back to the Anglo-Norman invasion of 1169, all the way through to the Good Friday Agreement of 1998 – is exactly what Séan Butler’s The Spectacular seeks to correct. Whilst this intention is certainly a noble one, the play unfortunately fails to give this important subject matter the attention and sincerity it deserves. 

The play consists of two young, dissident Republicans from Dublin named Jake and Naomi who insist they are “not the IRA”. The play follows them as they workshop different methods, or ‘spectaculars’, of Irish Nationalist activism in order to end the ongoing British occupation of the six counties that make up Northern Ireland. These vary wildly from the relatively benign and humorous to the harrowing and terroristic. As the drama progresses, a rift begins to form between the pair and they are forced to interrogate each other’s, as well as their own, motivations for their activism. They soon realise the profound differences in their attitudes towards the cause and end up reckoning with the fact that not all republicanism is made the same. 

The play is written and directed by Butler, whose kinetic lighting, sound and stage design give the drama a frantic, sometimes abrasive feel which fits well with the theme and provides funny and slapstick moments. The actors do a great job balancing the comedic with the serious and the screen behind the performers provides entertaining slideshows depicting both important Irish history and pop culture. 

However, the writing and development of these characters sometimes feels muddled. For example, Naomi is presented to the audience in the first three quarters of the play to be the more measured and intelligent half of the duo. It is even said that she left Dublin to study for a PhD at an English university and evidently serves as the brains to Jake’s brawn. However, her character arc seems to take a jarring 180-degree turn in the final act of the play, as her ‘spectaculars’ are revealed to be more brutish and ill-conceived than anything that the gullible and simpler Jake had thought of. The ensuing final moments of the play felt rushed and out of place with the rest of the piece. 

This unevenness extends to the play’s broader ambition. Butler clearly wants to use humour to expose British ignorance of Irish history, and there are moments where this lands, such as the slideshow sequences and quips about the British Royal Family which create a sharp comic rhythm that the rest of the play struggles to sustain. But too often the satire drifts into caricature. The wilful ignorance of the British population being lampooned is so broad and cartoonish that it never quite implicates the audience in the way it needs to. For audiences who already know the history, the treatment will feel shallow. However, for those who don’t, it may leave them with the impression that they have a better understanding now. 

The Spectacular is by no means without merit. It is energetic, often funny, and its performers are committed throughout. The decision to involve audience members was a welcome one, which provided moments of spontaneity and unpredictability that loosened the tension between the play’s heavier themes.

The play’s run at the Camden People’s Theatre has unfortunately coincided, entirely by chance, with a reminder of just how much weight this subject still carries. In recent weeks, a dissident republican group calling itself the New IRA attempted a proxy bomb attack in Lurgan, forcing a kidnapped delivery driver at gunpoint to a nearby police station with an explosive device in the boot of his car. The timing is unfortunate and certainly nothing that the play’s team could have anticipated. But it serves as a sobering illustration of why the topic of violent republicanism deserves more than a comedic framework can comfortably hold.

REVIEW: Flyby

Published on by annieyezhoua29f00172fLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

Ambitious musical grounded in human fragility

Flyby is a new musical written by Theo Jamieson, and directed and created with Adam Lenson, now playing at Southwark Playhouse Borough. At first glance, it presents itself as a musical about space, but beneath its interstellar aesthetic lies something far more intimate and human: a story about childhood trauma, the fragility of emotion, and the quiet, often invisible ways these forces shape adult relationships.

What immediately stands out is the production design. The use of screens is exceptional as an active storytelling device throughout the show. In the moments set in space, they create a genuine sense of vastness and isolation, making Daniel’s journey feel eerily real. More impressively, these same screens are repurposed to externalise his inner world, replaying countless shameful and deeply uncomfortable memories from his past with a clinical clarity. 

The performances anchor the piece. With a cast of just five, Flyby feels both intimate and emotionally expansive. Each actor carries significant weight, and the chemistry and passion between Daniel and Emily is electric whilst also being believable. Their relationship unfolds less like a romance and more like a collision of unresolved pasts, shaped by formative experiences that neither of them fully understands. What unfolds is a deeply human story about damage; how it’s formed, how it manifests, and how it perpetuates itself across relationships. 

Musically, the songs do a lot of heavy lifting as they actively drive the narrative forward, unpacking character psychology and moving the story along with purpose. The most powerful moment comes towards the end, when Daniel asks a devastatingly simple question: what does it take for people to be nice to him? It’s a line that cuts through the show’s conceptual layers and lands with disarming directness. In that moment, the spectacle falls away, and what remains is something raw, vulnerable, and deeply human.

Flyby is a striking, deeply moving and profoundly human piece of theatre. It lingers not for its premise, but for the uncomfortable truths it surfaces, particularly its unflinching portrayal of how even the most well-intentioned people, in trying their best to love, can still fall short and hurt one another.

This show runs at Southwark Playhouse Borough until 16th May. Tickets here.

FEATURE: Emma at Barbican Cinemas

Published on by clemencxLeave a comment

Seen through the lens of the London Soundtrack Festival, Emma reveals itself as a film elevated by its music. Introduced by composer Rachel Portman in an onstage conversation, it plays like a case study in how score can become structure, not just accompaniment, but the very thing that gives a film its tone and emotional coherence.

Douglas McGrath’s version of Jane Austen’s novel has long been characterised as light, witty, even “Miramaxed”, a work that prioritises accessibility over textual fidelity. But what becomes newly apparent in this context is how deliberate that lightness is. The film moves quickly, compressing social intricacies into bright and legible gestures. 

From the opening bars, her music establishes a world of buoyancy and control: lilting strings, playful woodwinds, melodies that seem to drift rather than resolve. These are now recognisable Portman signatures, but in Emma they align us with Emma Woodhouse’s perspective, a consciousness that experiences social life as something manageable and orchestrable. The score subtly endorses her world.

Gwyneth Paltrow’s performance sits comfortably within this tonal design. Her Emma is bright, composed, faintly insulated: a young woman whose confidence is cushioned by the film’s aesthetic softness. Around her, Jeremy Northam’s grounded Mr. Knightley, Toni Collette’s pliant Harriet, and Ewan McGregor’s performative Frank Churchill all move with a kind of musical logic, their interactions shaped as much by rhythm as by dialogue. Even the comedy, often cited as the film’s greatest strength, lands with a precision that feels scored as much as written.

Portman’s reflections on her process complicate this apparent effortlessness. Working primarily at the piano, she describes melody as a way of externalising something internal, translating instinct into structure. Watching a film, she identifies key stretches, not isolated scenes but clusters of time, and begins there, allowing themes to carry across narrative space. In Emma, that approach results in a gently insistent score that guides the viewer through Emma’s emotional arc even when the film itself resists introspection.

Her comments on changing industry practices are equally revealing. Where directors once encountered a completed score in something like a first performance, an unveiling, contemporary filmmaking often dissolves that moment through constant iteration. Emma belongs to that earlier paradigm, and the confidence of the music reflects it. There is little sense of compromise or over-explanation; the score trusts its own tone and, in doing so, asks the film to meet it.

Critically, the music has often been described in soft-focus terms, “sweet,” “soothing,” “string-rich”, sometimes even criticised for its familiarity. Yet that familiarity is part of its function. The repetitions, the circling melodies, mirror Emma’s own limited perspective, her tendency to see patterns where there are none, to impose narrative where there is only contingency. The score comforts but it also contains.

Placed against later interpretations, particularly the more overtly textured work by Isobel Waller-Bridge and David Schweitzer for Emma, Portman’s approach can seem almost restrained. Where the 2020 adaptation expands outward, layering themes and vocal textures, Emma (1996) narrows inward, committing to a singular tonal identity. It is less interested in variety than in consistency, less in reinterpreting Austen than in smoothing her into something continuous and playable.

Three decades on, Emma endures not because it resolves the tensions between fidelity and accessibility, but because it sidesteps them. It becomes, instead, a film about tone, about the management of feeling, about the quiet authority of music to make even the most familiar story feel newly composed.

The London Soundtrack Festival concludes on Sunday April 12th 2026, with a variety of concerts, talks, Q&A’s and podcast recordings on offer.

REVIEW: Shooting From Below

Published on by Jimena BatresLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

Reynolds constantly balances the gut-punch with the punchline, weaving serious critique through moments of effortless hilarity.

A blue hue washes over the Purcell Room at the Southbank Centre as the audience murmurs in anticipation. The crowd is eclectic, but united by the same electric buzz. A spotlight cuts through the noise. Suddenly, silence. Then BAM: Midgitte Bardot storms the stage to the roar of adoring fans, who greet her as if the Messiah herself had returned. And she looks incredible. In that instant, my expectations recalibrated. I knew exactly what I was in for: mayhem, filthy debauchery, and razor-sharp sexual wit, all delivered by an undeniable diva. I was completely on board.

Tamm Reynolds’ bold new show Shooting From Below, directed by Izzy Rabey, returns to the Southbank Centre for its second run– and it is as hilarious as it is bizarre. Equal parts riotous and tender, furious and joyful, the show confronts its audience with both Reynolds’ rage and their community’s lived experience… without ever sacrificing style. Over 60 minutes of glorious chaos, we follow Midgitte Bardot (Reynolds’ drag persona) as she is forced to apologise for a dreadful act she may or may not have committed (spoiler: it might involve those disembodied legs scattered across the stage). Through original songs, biting humour, and a tightly constructed narrative, Bardot shares her experience as a person with dwarfism (with fabulous wigs to match).

The writing is sharp, playful, and deceptively disarming. Reynolds lulls the audience into a false sense of comfort with jokes, audience interaction, and witty lyrics, before revealing the show’s true engine: rage. As they themselves note, the piece interrogates a world in which people wit dwarfism are too often reduced to spectacle– “entertainment, pets, toys, fetishes, dream sequences, musical numbers… most of the time.” It’s a brutal observation, but one delivered with such precision and humour that it lands without ever feeling sermonic or preachy– just undeniably true. Reynolds constantly balances the gut-punch with the punchline, weaving serious critique through moments of effortless hilarity.

As a performer, Tamm is effortless and easy to watch. They command the stage with ease, taking their time with complete confidence that the audience will stay with them– whether they’re adjusting a wig or slowly sipping water. And we do, because we’re hooked. A true multidisciplinary performer, they are a compelling actor, a strong singer, and a brilliantly instinctive comedian. That said, there are moments where pacing falters: extended pauses during costume changes occasionally disrupt the rhythm, particularly one sequence where the stage is left empty for too long. It begins as a gag but overstays its welcome. Still, Reynolds quickly regains momentum. And, as they declare in song, “They were jealous. I was charming.” They’re not wrong. The charm is undeniable.

Visually, the show is a triumph. Maisie Frater’s set design is inventive and striking: a surreal landscape of legs and feet entwined with ivy creates a strange, luminous playground for Bardot to inhabit. It’s imaginative, cohesive, cleverly tied to the narrative and genuinely beautiful– one of the production’s standout elements. The costumes, by Lambdog 1066, are equally impressive. Midgitte Bardot looks stunning throughout– meticulously detailed, perfectly tailored, and gloriously, unapologetically drag.

Overall, Shooting From Below is a riveting, unruly, and fiercely intelligent piece of theatre. And I, for one, will be keeping a very close eye on wherever Midgitte Bardot appears next.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Callum Pardoe

Published on by ayoungishperspective1Leave a comment

We sat down for a quick chat with Callum Pardoe, writer and director of CHANNEL SURFING AT THE END OF DAYS, which runs at the Hen & Chickens Theatre, Islington from 20 – 25 April. Tickets and info at https://unrestrictedview.co.uk/events/channel-surfing-at-the-end-of-days/#prettyPhoto

How do you balance the different moods throughout the anthology?

I think it’s all about having a knack for sensing degrees of intensity. Channel Surfing is a fairly bleak affair overall, but it’s still essentially about life. Life, to me, is a lot of mundanity and struggle, but there are crucial moments of joy, beauty, and love scattered throughout. The rarity of these brighter moments makes them all the more special, and I wanted to reflect that in the play. You have a lot of discomfort going on, but here and there are these little pockets of light and strangeness. I think the big challenge with judging the mood of the various vignettes in the show was seeing how much heaviness I could trust the audience with before things got too much, my intuition has been my barometer in this case.

How do you translate the cinematic and theatrical work of Lynch and Joy Division into a theatrical setting?

I don’t think I’m looking for translation in this case so much as channelling an essence. I have huge respect for both Lynch and Joy Division, but ultimately my work has to stand alone. We can’t keep recycling things. We must take with us the essence of the past and use it to reach a new future. With Lynch, I was inspired by his work ethic and approach to an uncompromising body of work, and Eraserhead has a particularly thematic resonance with Channel Surfing. To me it always reads as an exploration of a kind of apocalyptic anxiety. Joy Division’s dour, foreboding sound was also helpful. I wanted the mood of Channel Surfing to evoke how I felt listening to Unknown Pleasures for the first time.

What drew you to the anthology format for this piece?

When I started the first draft of the play during the first COVID lockdown, I really wanted to experiment with writing dialogue. It was more of an exercise for me, so I decided not to restrict myself to unity of place, time, and character. It was really liberating to be able to work like that, piecing all of these fragments together in real time. I’m sure it’s not the most conventional way to make and do a play, but it worked for me. When it comes to making art, I don’t really think there are any rules worth paying attention to aside from the ones you give yourself.

The characters don’t know the world is ending – what impact does this have on their behaviour and the tone of the piece more generally?

As far as the characters’ behaviour, I would say it’s been impacted pretty much not at all. Aside from a few outliers, all of them are too deep in the moment of their own lives, and that’s why they’re beautiful. The end times are hurtling towards them, and they’re worried about the book they’re reading, their jobs, or whether the person they love loves them back in return. It’s all so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, and yet, at the same time, unfathomably complex. I think it’s quite a moving thing to see life’s fleeting, individual splendour writ large against something that will subsume it entirely.

Why do you think the apocalypse is so important to us?

Have you seen the news lately?

How do you explore the ‘fleeting beauty, silliness, and heartache’ of humanity in both your writing and directing?

Humanity, as an extension of life, is an inherently chaotic thing. Writing-wise, I’m always on the lookout in the real world for fragments of strangeness, of resonance. They come in all different shapes and sizes, and you come to understand that they last for exactly as long as they’re supposed to. A glimpse of a child on crutches laughing with her mother can last half a second, yet it’s a moment that says so much, exactly what it needs to. You don’t need to turn a moment like that into a full scene to get it across, it just works. In the rehearsal room, I’m chasing those moments again, this time in collaboration with my cast to recapture the feel of the fragment once more. It’s a conjuring trick.

REVIEW: Homegrown Heroes

Published on by Miles MorganLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

If you have a particular fondness for British screen history or nostalgia for film and TV from yesteryear, this is your ideal night out.

Homegrown Heroes: From Bond to Thunderbirds at the Barbican proved to be a spirited and richly nostalgic celebration of British screen music. The evening set out to showcase some of the UK’s most iconic cinematic and television soundtracks, and it succeeded in delivering both spectacle and sentiment in equal measure.

The event was the opening gala of the London Soundtrack Festival, which is now in its second year. It was brought to life by Artistic Director Michael Beek, conductor Ben Foster and esteemed film composer David Arnold. Arnold was present on the night and told anecdotes about the inception of each composition. He was also presented on stage with the Gunning Inspiration Award, which recognises industry figures who have made a lasting impact on music with their distinction and craft. The recipient of the award headlines the festival each year. The orchestra celebrated iconic British screen heroes, from the retro-futuristic charm of Thunderbirds to the suave cool of 007. From the opening bars the orchestra leaned confidently into familiar territory with themes including Thunderbirds, Poirot, Atonement, Wallace & Gromit, 633 Squadron and All Creatures Great and Small being performed alongside more contemporary compositions including Rivals and First Dates.

There was a clear sense of enjoyment among the performers which translated well to the audience and helped maintain momentum throughout the first half. These session players really are the unsung heroes of soundtrack music.

The second half was dedicated entirely to Arnold’s cinematic compositions, with a rousing sequence which included the symphonies from Independence Day, Godzilla, Sherlock, Good Omens and others. But it was the unmistakable swagger and drama of Bond themes which set the tone. Compositions from Tomorrow Never Dies, The World is Not Enough, Casino Royale and Quantum of Solace hit all the right notes with clear-cut precision and were arguably what a large portion of the audience had turned out for. White Knight, the nine- minute-long theme of the opening action sequence in Tomorrow Never Dies, was undoubtedly the spine- tingling highlight of the whole concert. The orchestra handled it with flair, capturing both the sultry elegance and explosive energy that define the franchise.

Overall, Homegrown Heroes was an entertaining and warmly received tribute to Britain’s rich legacy of screen music. While not flawless, it delivered enough charm, energy, and nostalgia to leave the audience satisfied. A strong four-star performance that both celebrates the past and reminds us why these scores continue to resonate today.

The London Soundtrack Festival concludes on Sunday April 12th 2026, with a variety of concerts, talks, Q&A’s and podcast recordings on offer.

REVIEW: Mackerel Thursday

Published on by Flora HemmingwayLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

Absurd, intense and darkly funny – this uncannily entertaining tragicomedy expertly plays with allegory and ambiguity.

The plot follows three individuals living together in an apparently humble flat; Cameron (Aoife Moss) and George (Christopher Cox) live under Nancy’s rule with what is apparently a ‘mutually’ agreed upon constitution. Nancy (Malcolm Webb, also the playwright) claims these rules-to-live-by protect them from the outside world, but we see the invasive ways in which he dictates their lives. The constitution includes such statutes as the following:

  • No Speaking Spanish
  • No Franchise Burger Consumption
  • Deodorant will not be tolerate
  • Swearing is reserved for Fridays
  • Strictly no outsiders
  • Fish will be eaten every Thursday

Webb juxtaposes moments of sinister control with ridiculous humour and the audience is drawn into the characters’ inner worlds and co-dependent dynamics. As we watch these almost non-events play out, we’re invited to draw connections and infer meaning from these most mundane yet ridiculous scenarios, from enforced group dinners of fish and a single small potatoe or drinking tea with the exact ‘right amount of ‘sugar’ and smuggling Lynx Africa contraband. The story keeps its audience on its toes as we must make and remake our assumptions about what this play is truly about.

The relationship between each character is initially vague but slowly develops throughout. Ultimately ambiguous, we are led to believe in a kind-of cold, hard father-son relationship between Nancy and George, and a spousal relationship between Nancy and Cam; with Nancy as the patriarchal head of the household. But these characters aren’t actually related and can love truly grow in such conditions of control? Is the action an allegory for political regimes of the past and future, or the lines between addiction and freedom versus protection and control. Nancy makes decisions for all in the household with every single move made by Cam and George being monitored and restricted. We see them struggle to leave this clearly uncomfortable and humiliating situation. The play leaves the audience wondering at every turn, why do they stay? What’s truly stopping them from walking out the door and never seeing Nancy again? Is the world beyond that door really so awful?

The clever direction and excellent acting built tension organically and humorously. The transitions between scenes were effective and inventive whilst the set, props and lighting helped paint this subtly uncanny yet familiar depiction of a ‘home’. Moss’ performance had brilliant energy and physicality while the intense highs and lows her character faced were well impeccably executed. These contrasted interestingly with Cox’s goofier, sensitive and genuine performance as George. Webb’s deft portrayal of strangely caring dictator with undeveloped ‘daddy issues’, psychotic tendencies is darkly funny and reminiscent of Red Dwarf’s insufferable, exacting and somehow still palatable Arther Rimmer.

An entertaining and intellectual play with great direction by Alec Osburne, exploring liberties, human connection, and freedom vs protection with accessible humour. Mackerel Thursday certainly delivered on their promise of a unique experience as ‘equally as left-field as it is emotional’.

This show runs at The Old Red Lion from 9th-11th April. Tickets available here.

REVIEW: Short & Mighty

Published on by dianaunam35Leave a comment

Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

An eclectic evening of bite-sized plays, ranging from delicious pieces to others still finding their flavour.

If Short & Mighty recalls Spain’s tapas culture with its show-hopping model, Instituto Cervantes proves the perfect host for this dynamic theatre event, in which five new short plays run in rotation across the building. Produced in collaboration with Untold Collectiv, this micro-theatre experience offers an evening of stories about power, each performance with a limited audience of fifteen people.

The micro-theatre model (indeed coined in Madrid) may echo immersive experiences or short play nights, but it has its own particularities. In Short & Mighty, audiences
are divided into groups with colour-coded programmes indicating the performances’ running order, room and time. Each group then journeys across the building’s four
floors, the atmosphere quiet and organised.

Unlike immersive theatre, the venue itself is not part of the world, and moving between performances feels like pressing a pause button. The brief expeditions between shows become a subtle bonding experience, as audiences find their way together and chat in whispers while the next show resets.

Every bite-sized story brings different flavours to the table: from surreal comedy to grounded realism, from tension-heavy drama to absurdist scenarios. Those with a blue programme begin with a strong opening in Spread, by Maya Owen (directed by Felipe Jara, performed by Helena Westerman, Isio Ighofose, and Bradley Tiffin). A queer young woman, a self-absorbed teenager and a mythical drag being find themselves stuck on a late-night train. Vibrant and witty, this surreal encounter explores personal space and nudges us to resist snap judgements, landing as a playful piece with a feel-good aftertaste.

Next comes Raquel Bartra’s Devolved (directed by Emma J Lever and performed by Farbod Montazeri and Esther O’Loughlin), in which a disillusioned politician is unexpectedly made Mayor of his hometown. None of his fellow townsmen seems to understand what that entails, except one: an old, power-hungry friend. A tale of
political blackmail, the dialogue traces a clear path but is short of dramatic drive. While it doesn’t quite ignite the turmoil faced by those in power, it remains a timely piece discussing the weight of leadership.

In The Target, by Diana Hognogi (directed by Raian Moore, performed by Sammy Attalah, David Hebb, and Shashank Sharma), two broke flatmates swim the deep web waters in a naïve attempt to make money, which spirals into a life-threatening enterprise. The piece is playful and packed with twists, and even if comedy and tension don’t fully land, its premise feels sharply relevant in times of financial
precarity.

Then follows Children of the Empire, by Jake Turner Chan (directed by Sofia Zaragoza, performed by Marisol Rojas and Tristan Pretty), in which a father and daughter drive through the city, quietly removing English flags. A powerful interaction neatly encapsulated, it evokes a political landscape in a deeply intimate way. The pair give truthful performances and achieve a moving 3D quality, their rebellious night ride revealing both disenchantment and hope. 

A gripping duo brings to life Jessica’s Trap, by Laura Bay (directed by Rebeca Pereira, performed by Durassie Kiangangu and Chloe Wigmore), in which a woman finds herself captive in a room with a colleague she barely knows; though he knows everything about her. Impactful from the start, the room holds a quiet, breath-held
tension as we trace the layered psyche of a man caught between devotion and obsession.

An eclectic evening with varied outcomes, Short & Mighty is perfect for the curious theatregoer. At its best, it truly hones proximity to magnify the stories’ resonance, and captures how brief moments can carry lasting weight. Together, these pieces offer a reminder of how unstable and shape-shifting power can be.

REVIEW: TWO

Published on by isabellescerriLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

An impressive performance that raises a glass to those who are often misheard

When the sun’s out, where can you often find Londonders? The local boozer is certainly your best bet, and Jim Cartwright’s TWO provided for a perfect evening of entertainment. Set in a bar, the talented Peter Caulfield and Kellie Shirley welcome us into the hustle and bustle of life within and beyond the pub. From the off, we are introduced to the pure skill and commitment of the actors as they serve drinks, collect glasses and provide an authentic montage of demanding hospitality work. 

Originally written in 1989 and first performed at the Bolton Octagon Theatre, Cartwright’s play seeks to tell the tale behind the drunken regulars, odd tourists and inter-generational punters that visit the pub. Playing 14 different characters, the audience gets to experience the inner turmoil and relationships that are often overlooked. 

James Haddrell’s direction is on point. From the swift costume transitions to neat entrances and exits, the performance struggles to miss a beat. The characters mostly feel full, and particular stand out characterisation lies in authentic accent work and body language. We meet a range of pub goers, from old ladies to hilarious eccentric couples. The story begins with the pub’s landowners, and from the play’s beginning, we learn of a lengthy and complicated life-work relationship. 

Though the pace and rehearsed transitions are highly applaudable, the weight of showcasing fourteen different characters does somewhat come to show. Some punters demonstrate some darker themes, which could dictate an entire play. Where an emotionally and physically abused couple come into the picture, it seems the demands of the play’s rapid multirolling reduce the space and attention that is needed for such situations. The moment a young boy walks into the bar sparks a turn in the relationship between the landlady and landlord, and we see an emotional breakdown from both sides. This moment is rather heavy-hitting and allows for an emotive opening from the bartenders. Nearing the end of the play, this moment adds to an intense buildup. Though very key, I think the outburst that this child’s entering the establishment caused would have benefited from some previous hints from the landlords. 

Nevertheless, the commitment to characterisation and audience is quite spectacular. The joy and warmth that accompany the familiar pub setting are a credit to all of TWO’s creative team. Where the set and direction are on point, the energy and dedication of both Peter Caulfeild and Kellie Shirley in performing as fourteen different characters is really impressive. The play leaves the audience with an abundance of feelings. TWO makes you feel warm, sad, giddy and ready to go to the pub, all at the same time. 

REVIEW: Invisible Me

Published on by Ben BreenLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

A warm, moving account of being single in old age

One in three UK divorces involve couples in their 50s and above, with over-50s the fastest-growing user base for dating apps like Tinder and Bumble. Invisible Me follows three such singletons, all newly 60 and living within a few streets of each other. Alec (Kevin N Golding) has bought himself a leather jacket, and still smiles at ladies half his age in the street and down the “caff”; Lynn (Tessa Peake-Jones) has taken a cleaning job to ensure she keeps leaving the house, her confidence having been crushed when her husband walked out on her years ago; Jack (James Holmes) runs through imagined conversations with his dead husband, debating whether now is the time to move on.

These stories are initially told as distinct monologues, narrated across each another but independently. It’s a bleak portrait of aging in the UK – framing a kind of quiet social disappearance. Each character remains onstage as the others talk, bodies scrunched up or slumped in a chair. As each story unfolds, however, they grow in confidence – one character finds themselves on OnlyFans! There are opportunities for healing – some taken, others missed. Across the show’s tight 80 minutes, a combination of dark humour and emotive drama simmers beneath.

Becoming familiar with each character amplifies this humour and drama. Lynn’s path most closely tracks the show’s trajectory: a chance encounter with a sex worker sets in motion events empowering her to seize her own narrative. Jack is harder to reach, torn between the fidelity of his memories and the need to continue living his life. The show doesn’t shy away from this rending sadness, and James Holmes similarly pulls no punches when delivering it. These are consistently the play’s most affecting moments. Alec is written as a “positive” counterweight to offset the doom and gloom; but instead comes across as frightened and in denial. The show’s misreading darkens the piece, sharpening the drama but leaving earlier scenes unrelenting in their sadness.

Much of the humour derives from the banal specifics of ageing – excitement at free London bus travel, the joy of grabbing a coffee whilst everyone’s at work, and the inevitable medical test kit through the letterbox – ably delivered by the whole cast. A very funny scene involves all three independently discovering the depravity on online dating, and another where Jack catalogues each aspect of his body in the mirror, complete with attractiveness rating from 1-10.

The show’s singular perspectives effectively capture each character’s unique isolation, and as their narratives slowly intersect each life is woven into a shared story. A satisfying conclusion provides a thoroughly joined-up testament to the healing power of human connection. It’s a subtly beautiful storytelling device, naturally building pace as each character emerges from their shell.

Invisible Me started out livestreamed as part of the Bloomsbury Festival during the COVID19 lockdowns of 2020, which can only have heightened its feeling of isolation. In this in-person version, the staging grows alongside its characters – starting out minimal, and blooming into confidence. By pushing the characters into unusually extreme situations, the show blunts its observational insight. And weightier issues are alluded to – an AIDS diagnosis, an abusive relationship – but left unexplored.

Invisible Me tackles a rapidly expanding but under-represented experience with confidence and creativity. Its perspective is narrower than it should be, but still delivers both gut-punches and belly-laughs. Bold direction and strong performances ensure the characters’ journeys are captured not just in their words, but in the show’s staging itself. The result is a piece that earns its uplift without softening its emotional edge.

Invisible Me plays at the Southwark Playhouse until 2nd May, with Tuesday and Saturday matinees. Tickets can be purchased here.