Tag: theatre

REVIEW: The Events

Published on by nmcgarrityLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

An electrifying performance you will not forget

‘The Events’ is a play written by David Greig, directed by Jack Nurse, and assistant directed by Morgan Ferguson. It follows the journey of Claire (Claire Lamont) – a priest, a choir leader, and the sole survivor of a church mass shooting – as she grapples with trauma, grief, and confusion. A summary doesn’t fully do justice to the plot and story unfolding in Greig’s play, which offers a visceral hope for the future even in the face of the darkest aspects of humanity.

Wonder Fools, along with the live community choir, put on a performance that is jarringly unsettling, tearfully hopeful, and deeply beautiful. Walking into the theatre, the choir is smiling and cheerful, the overhead lighting warm and inviting: you are offered tea, coffee, and to join in with the choir’s warm-up songs. It is impossible to feel uneasy or anticipatory for the dark events about to unravel. Indeed, in the face of the choir’s easy welcome, the audience is lulled into a sense of security and comfort. When The Boy (Sam Stopford) — the shooter, never given a name — appears onstage, this security shatters. For that split second, the audience feels the same fear, horror, and shock as the choir do, as it is revealed The Boy murdered them all. The people in the choir feel real: as they disappear into the darkness, and as the audience understands them to be dead, it is hard to shake the connection that we had with the choir, and the feeling we have lost something, along with Claire.

From this electric beginning, I knew I was watching a five-star performance, and I was never proven wrong. Lamont’s grief and desperation to understand what has happened to her is devastatingly compelling. Lurching between the past and the present and the possible, Lamont’s portrayal of Claire’s spiral is beyond impressive. Confronted with the impossibility of the question – “What if bad things just happen?” – in her search for reason after unthinkable violence, Lamont demonstrates victimhood and the healing process as complicated, ugly, agonising, angry. 

Stopford oscillates between equal parts menacing, despicable, lost, and tragic. Stopford also has the challenging task of playing other characters that Claire seeks out on her journey – a racist politician who condemns The Boy’s actions but believes his message worth listening to; a neglectful father who rejects The Boy in one breath and talks about mocking him the next; Claire’s girlfriend, Catrina, who suffers from Claire’s obsessive compulsion to uncover the truth about The Boy. Despite the monumental difficulty of making each of these characters compelling and fleshed-out, Stopford goes above and beyond. 

The choir is what ties this whole performance together. At times jovial, other times haunting or frightening, their songs and presence add another tier of uneasiness. They exit the stage very rarely, almost always watching, and it is impossible to forget their fates. Each member of the choir was a vital addition to the play: their presence is a necessity, and each one of the choir members is equal parts chilling and painfully human.

From the haunting music (by composer John Browne, sound designer Gary Cameron, and community choir directors, Calre Haworth and Gerard Johnson) to the powerful use of lighting and shadows (from lighting designer Lizzie Powell), not a single area of the performance detracts from the story. While I personally wished the ending was different, I believe it remained true to the overall message of the play – that forgiveness may not be possible, or complete understanding, but empathy is always an option for us, even in the face of the worst moments of our life. 

A magnetic, incredible show in every aspect, Wonder Fools’ performances of ‘The Events’ is not to be missed. The show has concluded its tour at the Tron Theatre in Glasgow, but continues at Dundee Rep on the 25th February before going to the Traverse Theatre in Edinburgh on the 27th and 28th February.

REVIEW: Little Sister

Published on by mollypavordLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

Tense, tender and deeply unnerving

It’s been 21 years since she disappeared. Then, one night, a young woman turns up at the door – bloodied, shaken, and recounting details only a long-lost sister could possibly know. Do you let her in? Or do you keep the door firmly shut?

Little Sister follows three siblings thrust back together by this impossible return: the eldest, presumed lost; the dutiful middle child who has held everything in place; and the youngest, still fragile, still living in the shadow of absence. From the outset, we are invited to study them closely. Who are they now? Who were they then? And crucially – what does each of them want?

The production leans confidently into its folk horror frame, weaving an eerie Irish folkloric thread throughout. There is something ancient humming beneath the domestic setting, something unsettling that never quite shows its full hand. The atmosphere is sustained with control and restraint, allowing tension to simmer rather than explode. It’s subtle and powerful, never blatant, never obvious.

The writing feels embedded and found in the moment – conversations overlap, emotions flare and retreat with realism. Flynn delicately sprinkles breadcrumbs through the script, guiding us towards a twist that lands with quiet brilliance. When it comes, it doesn’t scream for attention; it simply shifts the ground beneath your feet. The audience is asked to reassess everything. Is this really the sister? And if not – who is she?

Importantly, moments of comedy are threaded throughout, offering brief relief before another sharp turn plunges us back into uncertainty. That balance is carefully judged. Just as we settle, the unease creeps in again.

The performances are strong and grounded, each actor fully inhabiting the shared history that binds these women. We feel the weight of the missing years, the blame that lingers, and the questions that were never answered. The impact of a missing person ripples far beyond the individual – into family, community, and those who try to help. Fingers point home. They always seem to.

Lighting and sound are supportive and effective, enhancing mood and subtly marking shifts in time and place without ever distracting from the story.

Liam Rees’ direction is confident and slick. The pacing is sharp, the storytelling clear and generous. Above all, the piece explores how grief changes you – how it can eat you alive, or quietly turn you into something unrecognisable.

A wonderful, eerie and unsettling production that lingers long after the door closes.

Watch Little Sister at The Glitch, Waterloo, London until 1st March.

REVIEW:Josh Sharp: Ta-Da!

Published on by Ben BreenLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

PowerPoint and storytelling combine in a masterclass of hilarity and precision

2000 slides, 75 minutes. US comic, actor and writer Josh Sharp has just 2.1 seconds per slide on average and, through fiercely intelligent construction and delightful silliness, makes superb use of every single one. Ta-Da! plays like a naughty TED talk, with Sharp pacing the stage armed with presentation clicker, delivering an impressively dense, varied array of jokes. Likeable and with propulsive comic timing, he smuggles some genuinely affecting stories amidst the rapid-fire comedy – his experiences wrestling with being gay; his mother’s losing battle against cancer; his own near-death experience – both amplifying the laughs and arresting the audience’s attention in an instant.

Ta-Da! is an impressive feat in its own right, with Sharp learning 2000 individual cues; even more incredible is how genuinely funny and well-constructed each moment feels. Despite this tight choreography, there’s an easy confidence to Sharp’s delivery, and he’s unafraid to go off-script when the moment calls for it. The slides themselves – mostly black text on a plain white background – amplify the laughs by adding visual gags, or veer off-piste to deliver their own punchlines. Ta-Da! is most compelling when Sharp delivers his narrative alongside a different idea being told by his slides – a bold demand of a late-night Friday audience, yet expert pacing and natural charisma ensure everything lands.

This performance remains compulsively accessible despite its cleverness. The slideshow’s rapid momentum combines with dense, varied jokes to push the show along at an incredible pace. With 2000 slides, if one joke doesn’t land, another is just around the corner: don’t enjoy Sharp’s pun about ejaculation opening the show? You only need wait a few seconds for an incisively observed rant about umbrella etiquette, and a few more for meta-commentary on the show’s construction. Laughter rolls through the audience, ebbing and flowing depending on individual taste; when Sharp wants to slow down and provoke emotion, it’s more powerful by contrast. Some credit must go to director Sam Pinkleton, bringing the same chaotic comic energy he most recently lent to Oh Mary! (also in the West End, and also possessing a titular exclamation mark).

Beneath the laughter lie genuinely touching stories. Sharp becomes teary-eyed at a photo of his parents onscreen, outlining his mother’s up-and-down battle against cancer; a childhood deal with God to avoid being gay is heartbreaking. Sharp shows real flair walking this tightrope between hilarity and pathos.

If ever a show deserved a Netflix special, or at least an Edinburgh run, Ta-Da! is it. This is a performance everyone needs to see. The room fills with genuine laughter from slide 1 to slide 2000, rippling through the audience as a continuous wall of joy. Like all good TED talks, there’s a hopeful message at the show’s core – but what’s truly remarkable is its precision and side-splitting comedy.Josh Sharp: Ta-Da! plays at the Soho Theatre, having just extended until 7th March. Tickets here

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Tobi King Bakare

Published on by ayoungishperspective1Leave a comment

We sat down for an exclusive interview with Tobi King Bakare, a member of the cast of SUPPLIANTS OF SYRIA. A multimedia performance that reimagines a 2,500-year-old Greek tragedy by incorporating filmed testimonies from Syrian refugees interacting with actors live on stage, whilst also including participatory debates on migration, talks, music, and dance from local asylum seekers at London’s Hoxton Hall.

This show runs from 3rd March – 8th March at Hoxton Hall – Tickets here.

Suppliants of Syria places you on stage not as a fictional character, but as yourself—an intermediary between the audience and the testimonies of Syrian women. How did that shift in responsibility affect your approach as a performer?

Personally, I find playing myself really challenging. It can feel very exposing. However, that discomfort works in service of the play’s subject matter. We’re not shying away from the difficult conversations this show will generate. In fact, we have them as ourselves on stage. The themes are uncomfortable, and sharing these stories from a place of vulnerability helps keep our intentions clear and focused.

The production reimagines Aeschylus’ Suppliants, one of the oldest surviving plays, through contemporary refugee testimonies. What struck you most about how this ancient text speaks to today’s global asylum debates?

I couldn’t believe how relevant the original text still feels. 463 BC is a very long time ago, yet the question the play raises remain the same. The relationship between humanity and war felt particularly fascinating to explore. We’ve been reflecting on the role of human nature or, more specifically, the nature of men and why we seem to keep making the same mistakes.

The show deliberately brings together live performers and projected testimonies, male and female voices, European and Syrian experiences. How did you navigate that tension on stage without speaking for the women whose stories anchor the work? 

The work speaks for itself. Our role is to act as an amplifier for the women’s accounts rather than to speak for them. By bringing our own stories into the process, we hope to build common ground and generate empathy. The show has been designed with great care to ensure our involvement supports rather than overwrites the women’s voices.

Having previously appeared in For Black Boys Who Have Considered Suicide When the Hue Gets Too Heavy, you are no stranger to theatre that invites social reckoning. What do you feel theatre can uniquely offer when addressing urgent, politicised issues like displacement and migration?

I believe theatre is about human connection.  A space to see ourselves, find ourselves, purge ourselves, and heal ourselves.

All this play asks is that you see the perspective of someone going through something you’ve probably never experienced. Often, that’s what this kind of theatre invites. A space to hear unheard voices and to receive an authentic representation of what a person or community is going through.

Suppliants of Syria incorporates live debate alongside performance, echoing the Greek idea of theatre as democracy. How does that live exchange with audiences change the energy—or even the risk—of each performance?

The live exchange gives audiences a chance to be heard. Suppliants by Aeschylus is the first play to include the word “democracy,” so it feels fitting that dialogue sits at the heart of the experience. Even if we may not agree with all opinions raised, they still deserve to be heard.  And appropriately debunked if need be…! 

The energy of the show depends on the audience and that’s exciting! No night will be the same.

The project places strong emphasis on shared responsibility, from solidarity tickets to refugee-led collaboration. When audiences leave Hoxton Hall, what conversations do you most hope they continue beyond the theatre walls?

I’d love to hear conversations about how we can do more. Living in a big city can sometimes make you like a small fish in a massive pond, but I’m starting to realise how strong a position I actually have. Right now, it feels more urgent than ever to shift the narrative around migrants. I hope this show circulates in groups that are in need of a different perspective. 

REVIEW: Christmas Carol Goes Wrong

Published on by Ross BevanLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

Christmas Carol Goes Wrong will make your cry with laughter. So good, even the set manages to be funny, a must see!

Calamity ensues in Mischief Theatre’s production of Christmas Carol Goes Wrong, ultimately meaning it was an absolute success. This company arrive at the King’s Theatre in Glasgow, bringing the usual hijinks and tomfoolery they have become so synonymous for.

Another addition to the Goes Wrong universe, Mischief once again take on the collective roll of the Cornley Drama Society, filled with zany, temperamental characters each seeking to be cast in the company’s new production of A Christmas Carol. Despite a most embarrassingly unprepared audition process, everyone is cast as they are the only 5 people who show up for auditions. Much to the chagrin of his fellow cast mates, director Chris Bean takes on the title role of Scrooge in an attempt to have further control over the success of the production. However, as we can all gather from the title, control doesn’t go very far when disaster strikes.

For fans of slapstick comedy, this really is an absolute riot. The running gags throughout this show had the audiences in stitches, myself included. There’s a golden rule in comedy known as the rule of three. This is utilised consistently in the gags within the show and to great effect. For those wishing to avoid spoilers, now would be a good time to skip to the end. Perhaps the best gag throughout the show is the set itself. Director Chris has a model of what he plans for the set to look like, asking production to follow the design exactly. What he is unaware of is that the cast have messed around with it before being delivered (as well as a stage light crashing down upon it). This leads to set pieces such as a giant Malteasers box in Scrooge’s office and a Barbie’s Kitchen Playset for nephew Fred’s home. The absolute highlight though revolves around Tiny Tim and the use of puppetry. The less said the better as it truly needs to be seen but this may be the funniest part of the entire production. The Glasgow audience were in fits of laughter.

The wacky nature of each character really fuels the fun with this show. Whether it’s Dennis writing all his lines on props and even castmates to help throughout the performance or Robert constantly trying to incapacitate Chris so he can play Scrooge. Each character really feels fleshed out and unique which is a testament to the writing as well as the brilliant talents of all members of the company. It was greatly appreciated. The positive (if somewhat oblivious) nature of Annie’s character shines through, both as herself and in the various parts she plays within the play. These characters are all very rewatchable so, it helps that there are multiple shows surrounding the fictional company.

In truth, the only way I can fault this production is that it is now February, meaning this is very off-season to be watching something that centres on a story so inherently Christmassy. However, to their credit, the focus really boils down more to the characters within the play and the comedy so, it is definitely worth catching, even if you’re the type of person who likes to keep Christmas contained to December.

Overall, it’s absolutely hilarious! This show provides the kind of levity that only great comedy can and if you enjoy silly humour and crazy shenanigans, Christmas Carol Goes Wrong will take care of you, whether it’s your first Mischief show or your fifth.

This production is on at the King’s Theatre in Glasgow from now till the 22nd February. This is the final stop on their tour.

REVIEW: Viy

Published on by tgilfillan4512d47d4dLeave a comment

Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

Impressive in its use of physical theatre, haunting staging and absurdist dark comedy

Viy is an adaptation of the 1835 novella by Nikolai Gogol: a sinewy, monstrous story full of shadow and horror. Writer and Director Angelina Voznesenskaia has undertaken a challenge in turning this strange and puzzling tale into a bold piece of theatre.

The story revolves around Homa, a student who is about to graduate from a Kyiv seminary. Homa, played by Ross Barbour, is a wily and carefree Philosophy student who leads a trio of friends, Halava (Morgan Avery) and Tiberius Gorobets (Olivia Merritt). They create a convincing sense of camaraderie, with well-judged comic timing. When Homa travels home with his friends for the holidays, he encounters a strange witch (Rianne Snape), who he murders, whereupon she transforms into a beautiful young woman. Especial praise must be given to Rianne Snape, whose physical embodiment of the witch was a masterclass in shape-shifting prowess. When Homa is forced to pray over the young woman’s body for three nights, her demonic reanimation from her coffin, from the moment her hands clutch the sides, is truly terrifying.

Homa’s character arc is well developed by Barbour, from impish student rifling around for tobacco to tortured soul praying with utter desperation. His gradual descent into fevered torment, as the nights progress, is performed with a hysteria that never descends into pantomime. A particularly effective moment within this sequence is the interlude of the frenzied Cossack dancing with two servants (also played by Merritt and Avery). The trio captures a sense of wild abandon which is particularly effective as the other side of the coin to deep terror and despair.

The story is woven together by the charismatic narrator (Callum McGregor), who sets the wry, observant opening tone of the piece, to be later demolished by the terror of the supernatural unknown. McGregor is also convincing in his dual role of Pannochka, the father of the witch. The set designer Daria Gorbonosova makes a praiseworthy effort with a simple set design, creating a sense of earthiness and aliveness through natural materials such as straw, wheat and pine. These elements provided an effective contrast to the horror that unfolds within the entrapping confines of the church scene, a reminder of Homa’s attempts to cling to reality as his world spins out of control. However, the danger of exploiting religion as a tool of manipulation, a stated aim of the piece, is not conveyed with conviction in the script, and the tale’s take on moral hypocrisy feels more of a sidenote than a well-developed theme. The play is well-paced with astute direction, creating an entertaining performance of intermingled comedy and horror. However, with a lack of a clear deeper message, it is down to the audience to draw their own interpretation from the essence of the folklore inspired tale, rather than to leave with a real sense of the impact of this particular adaptation.

REVIEW: Becoming Mrs Danvers

Published on by ayoungishperspective11 Comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

She does what she must, and lives with what it makes of her. 

In Becoming Mrs Danvers, Heather Alexander delivers a masterclass in solo performance of a haunting and psychologically rich piece of theatre that lingers long after the end of the play. Inspired by Mrs Danvers from Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, this is not a retelling but a original imagining of a story that asks what happens when the past refuses to stay buried.

The play follows a young girl cast into an orphanage in the early 1900s. From that beginning unfolds a life shaped by survival, injustice and the necessity of doing “what must be done.” 

From the moment the audience walks into the theatre, Heather Alexander is already in character, moving through the space as if the story has been unfolding long before we arrived. The staging is striking: chalk words scrawl across the walls covering the room in fragments of thought, accusation and memory. Everyday objects: a clothes rack, scattered garments, domestic relics and pictures wait silently in the space. Each item carries weight, though its purpose is not immediately clear. As the story unfolds, these objects are activated meticulously, transforming from innocuous props into symbols. 

As a performer, Alexander is extraordinary. In this demanding one-woman show, she commands the stage entirely alone, accompanied only by voiceovers, music and evocative lighting. Sometimes the space resounds with those voiceovers but most of the time, it is her raw and immediate narration that drives the action. She shifts seamlessly between a frightened, vulnerable child and a calculating, composed woman hardened by experience. The physical precision of her performance is remarkable: whether sewing quietly or spiralling into emotional intensity, every movement is purposeful and exact.

Alexander’s control of tone is equally masterful. She knows when to dominate the room with steely resolve and when to let herself be swallowed by it in moments of softness and fragility. The audience hangs on her every word, utterly convinced. 

As writer and director, Alexander and Tina Melini master storytelling. The structure unfolds like a psychological puzzle, each revelation carefully timed and building towards a climax that is both shocking and disturbingly inevitable. At its core, Becoming Mrs Danvers confronts the lifelong impact of trauma and the systemic violence faced by women and girls,  a reality that has always resonated and feels especially relevant today. The piece does not sensationalise this pain; it examines it with unflinching honesty and clarity.

Becoming Mrs Danvers is theatre at its most powerful: intimate, unsettling and human. It is a showcase for an exceptional talent who understands how to use space, silence, language and body to devastating effect. Heather Alexander has created something provocative and unforgettable, a gripping story of survival that demands to be seen.Becoming Mrs Danvers runs until Sunday 22nd February at Upstairs At The Gatehouse, London. 

REVIEW: What I’d Be

Published on by sarasioufi1Leave a comment

Rating: 3 out of 5.

 A showcase for two finely tuned performances and a thoughtful exploration of sisterhood under strain

In the intimate upstairs room of the Jack Studio Theatre in Brockley, What I’d Be sets itself a deceptively simple task. Written by Tanieth Kerr and directed by Katy Livsey, the two-hander follows estranged sisters Makayla and Ally as they meet on a park bench after their mother’s funeral. Over the course of a tightly contained hour, the play asks whether shared history is enough to repair a fractured bond.

The Jack Studio, perched above the Brockley Jack pub, is not a space that tolerates half measures. The stage is compact, the audience close enough to catch the smallest flicker of doubt. It is here that the production finds its greatest strength. Both actors are utterly present, inhabiting the space with a concentration that never slips. In such proximity, any false note would clang. Instead, their performances feel precise and lived-in.

The constriction of the stage sharpens the drama. The actors use that to their advantage. Their exchanges crackle not because the dialogue is showy, but because the listening is active. Each line appears to land and register before the next is fired back. The sense of shared history is palpable, not just in what is said but in how quickly the temperature changes.

The play tackles raw material: grief, estrangement, and the long shadow cast by a formative rupture in the sisters’ past. There is a temptation in such narratives to overstate, to heighten every confrontation into a crescendo. Instead, the production opts for restraint. The tone is tender without becoming sentimental. Even at its most painful, the writing maintains a degree of composure, allowing the actors to carry the emotional weight rather than forcing it.

The sisters’ dynamic is sharply observed. Their humour is edged, their affection reluctant. They slip easily into old patterns of provocation and defensiveness. What makes it compelling is that neither woman is positioned as entirely right or wrong. The play understands that estrangement rarely rests on a single grievance; it accumulates, layer by layer, until the distance feels irreversible. Watching them attempt to unpick that accumulation is the evening’s quiet triumph.

Where the production falters slightly is in its structure. The most significant twist, the revelation that reframes much of their history, takes place offstage and is relayed through dialogue. As a result, the play leans heavily on exposition. Characters recount events, clarify misunderstandings and piece together timelines. While this deepens our understanding, it also slows the momentum. The audience is told about the rupture rather than experiencing its shock alongside the characters.

That decision limits the dramatic impact of what should be the play’s most seismic moment. Because we encounter it second-hand, its emotional reverberations feel somewhat contained. The script gestures towards the enormity of the event but stops short of fully interrogating it in the present tense. There is a sense that the material could withstand greater risk, that a more sustained confrontation might have unearthed further complexity.

And yet, even in its more explanatory passages, the production retains its grip thanks to the actors’ discipline. They find subtext in lines that might otherwise feel functional. A simple correction of a memory carries accusation; a moment of hesitation suggests doubt about one’s own narrative. In this way, the play becomes less about the factual details of the twist and more about the competing stories we tell ourselves to survive.

Importantly, What I’d Be resists tidy resolution. The sisters do not arrive at catharsis in the conventional sense. Their reconciliation, if it can be called that, is tentative and partial. The damage remains visible. This refusal to overpromise feels honest. The play acknowledges that some wounds alter the shape of a relationship permanently, even if contact is restored.

In a larger venue, the piece might struggle to command attention. At the Jack Studio, its intimacy works in its favour. The audience is drawn into the sisters’ orbit, made privy to a conversation that feels almost private. When the lights fall, the prevailing mood is not one of spectacle but of recognition.

What I’d Be may rely too heavily on exposition to deliver its central revelation, but as a showcase for two finely tuned performances and a thoughtful exploration of sisterhood under strain, it makes a persuasive case for the power of small-scale theatre. In a room where every breath counts, it holds its nerve.

What I’d Be ran at the Jack Studio Theatre, Brockley, from 17–21 February 2026.

More information: https://brockleyjack.co.uk/jackstudio-entry/what-id-be/

REVIEW: This Grief Thing 

Published on by Meg WardLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

This Grief Thing isn’t a shop. Not really. It’s a space to really sit with our grief.

Stepping into This Grief Thing, you might feel unsure about what you are walking into. A shop, about grief? The initial reaction could be to feel trepidation – pairing the complex, world-ending experience that is grief with selling you things could feel inappropriate. In the wrong hands, this is a concept that could have woefully missed the mark. But with Fevered Sleep’s caring, astutely intelligent touch, the concept becomes an experience we should all rush to take part in.

This Grief Thing isn’t a shop. Not really. It’s a space to really sit with our grief. To turn grief from an isolating, lonely feeling we all have to suffer through, into a community space where we are allowed to feel our deepest, most difficult emotions.

Grief is something we will all undergo in our lives. To be human, is to grieve. And yet, we are so bad at talking about it. We lack the words. Fevered Sleep gives them to you. Fevered Sleep gives you permission to not have the words, but to show up anyway. It provides something so important, that is lacking from society. Space to grieve.

In the shop, you can find a take on Victorian mourning broaches, which makes you consider the different ways humans have grieved across time. Grief postcards which give you words when you have none. T-shirts and other apparel with the words too. It is a pay what you want system – there’s no obligation to buy anything, or to pay the price listed. And not everything is for sale. Towards the back of the ‘shop’ you’ll find sofas, a stack of grief literature, a box of tissues. You can just sit. Sit and feel what you need to.

 The sofas face on to a white wall filled with postcards, where other visitors to the shop who have shared their stories, with such candour and honesty. You’ll find it nigh on impossible to keep the tears at bay spending time here, and it will feel so cathartic to cry openly – for your own pain, and everyone else’s. We’re all grieving, aren’t we?

As part of my trip to the shop, I was lucky enough to hear from Fevered Sleep’s creative directors, Sam Butler and David Harradine, who shared how they came to put the shop together. The talked through the research they had conducted to create the space, and their own experiences, and what the shop has taught them. As they rightfully said, grief is so often silenced, hidden and ignored. In these four walls, it isn’t. What a magical thing.

This Grief Thing runs until Sunday 22nd February at the Barbican’s Level G Studio as part of Scene Change, the Centre’s season of transformative events in unexpected places.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Selorm Adonu

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We sat down for an exclusive interview with Selorm Adonu, actor in Please Do Not Touch. The show asks important questions about colonial legacy, contested heritage and how stories are told, whilst shining a light on the Criminal Justice System.

Watch the show trailer here.

Please Do Not Touch centres on a young Black man wrongly imprisoned for stealing a Somali afro comb from a historic house. How did you approach building this character — particularly balancing his vulnerability with his sense of dignity and resistance?

For me the starting point was humanity. Before his politics of being a young black man and the symbolism of the comb, I wanted to recognise that Mason is actually just a young boy who is scared, confused and trying to hold on to himself in a system that is trying to define him. I didn’t want to play him as a victim, (even though he is victimised) but I didn’t want to play him as this arrogant angry black kid. So I felt like a core approach for me was just allowing myself to sit in his vulnerability. When he is angry I ask myself “where does that come from?” When he is joking and dancing, where does that come from, when he is sad, having a panic attack, all of it comes from his humanity and vulnerability and sitting in that allowed me to tap into real truthful emotional states that I felt allowed me to play with the rollercoaster of emotions that he goes through. 

The play interrogates colonial legacy and contested heritage while also shining a light on the Criminal Justice System. As the sole actor carrying this story, how do you navigate the political weight of those themes without losing the emotional intimacy of the piece?

Honestly the truth is that Casey’s writing makes it easy for me. His writing does something so precise and detailed that actually embeds the politics within the personal. I am an actor playing a young kid who literally finds personal joy in making videos about colonial legacy and heritage, so his personal feelings and joy towards it already helps me naturally balance his emotional intimacy because it is directly connected to the political weight of all the things he is talking about. So there is no need for me as the sole actor to “play the message” because then it becomes heavy and boring. And also because I’m the only actor onstage, the audience is in direct conversation with me the whole time, and that also creates a kind of intimacy that cuts through the politics. They ain’t just watching a debate about the criminal justice system, they’re watching a young boy try to make sense of why a comb that represents his culture and identity is treated as a priceless artefact in a glass case whilst he is treated as disposable. The balance is in the writing and I just get to have fun with that, by being truthful and specific to the text. 

Casey Bailey has spoken about moving beyond the poetry collection that inspired the play, allowing the story to stand on its own. As a performer, how do you embody language that carries poetic roots while ensuring it feels grounded and immediate on stage?

I’ll be REAL! I did struggle at first. Poetic language can sometimes feel over stylised or elevated especially in a narrative that feels so grounded but for me the key is intention. “Why does Mason feel the need to go into poetry at this point?”, are questions I had to ask myself each time. But again Mason is also discovering poetry in the moment, so that helps a lot too because it feels like the poetic roots is actually coming from Mason discovering the poetry, and the words, and the flow of it in the moment, and that is what allows it to feel grounded. Not because he is trying to ‘break into poetry’ like some sort of musical, but because the discovery of writing and speaking poetry in a prison is what is actually grounding him whilst he is locked up. So holding onto that is just as human and grounded as anything else someone would do if they were in a prison with nothing else to do. 

The production was developed alongside heritage workers, prison inmates and young people. Did that research and community engagement process influence your understanding of the character or the stakes of the story?

100%! Coming into the rehearsal process and hearing the different stories about how prisoners reacted to the show and how they were touched by Mason’s journey was so powerful because it actually reminds me that even though the writing is fiction, this IS someone’s life! There is a young black boy in the system right now who is experiencing the criminal justice system in an unfair way and is just trying his best to find his way through it. That for me made me realise it’s not enough to just get onstage and say some words and leave. The comb is not just some invisible prop. The stage is not just some made up prison cell. The stakes are high because the stakes are someone’s reality and recognising that, I feel, heavily elevated the work and detail I wanted to bring to this show.

The show has been described as thoughtfully written and sensitively performed. What conversations do you hope audiences are having as they leave the theatre — particularly in cities with their own complex histories of empire and justice?

I hope people are asking questions about value. What we protect, what we preserve, and who we protect with the same urgency.  I wanted to avoid audiences feeling that they have been preached at, but instead for them to feel somewhat unsettled in a productive way. To consider how easily someone’s humanity can be reduced to a headline or a charge sheet, for a misunderstanding. And also for people to leave with some empathy. I always say that sometimes you can feel the fear and instant judgement that comes from people when they see a young black boy. But those young black boys in the system now in jail, were once innocent kids filled with joy and hopes and dreams. That kid is still in all of us, we just hide it in order to survive. That’s why that sensitivity and vulnerability is so important to bring to this because it exists in all of us. So if people are able to leave with a sense of empathy, whilst also still talking more about heritage and justice and LEGACY, then myself, and the piece, have done our job.

Tour details here:

21st February 2026 | Derby Theatre

15 Theatre Walk, St Peter’s Quarter, Derby, DE1 2NF

28th February 2026| Mercury Theatre

Balkerne Gate, Colchester CO1 1PT

5th March 2026| Attenborough Arts Centre

Lancaster Road, Leicester LE1 7HA

7th March 2026| Brighton Dome

New Rd, Brighton, BN1 1UG

12th – 13th March 2026| Leeds Playhouse

Playhouse Square Quarry Hill, Leeds LS2 7UP