IN CONVERSATION WITH: Haley McGee

Inspired by hospices, mystics and trips to the cemetery, Age is a Feeling is a never-the-same-twice show is a gripping story about how our relationship with mortality shapes the way we live. Charting the seminal moments, rites of passage and turning points in an adult life – your life – from the day you turn 25 through to your death, Age is a Feeling celebrates the glorious and melancholy unknowability of human life. We sat down with Haley McGee to discuss her upcoming performance.


Age is a Feeling shifts depending on the age of the performer playing it. Now that you’re revisiting the show at 40, what moments feel sharper, heavier, or more generous than when you first wrote it at 35?
When I wrote it at 35, I talked about seeing photos of your younger self and being astounded by the beauty you possessed even though you ‘had a meltdown in the mirror before leaving the house’. And now, at 40, I look at photos of myself at 35 and think, oh my gosh, I was so young—so fresh! I’m sure this is an experience that just keeps happening throughout one’s life.

But on a deeper note, there’s a story in the show where the protagonist loses a friend who is 39 to cancer. And now having lost Adam Brace, who directed the show, in his early 40s, that section takes on a new meaning, even though the details of his death are different.

The show asks audiences to imagine their life unfolding from 25 to death. What surprised you most about how different audiences respond to that invitation, especially across cultures and age groups?
The biggest surprise is that there hasn’t been much of a difference. I was really struck by this when I premiered the show in Edinburgh, where I could see the entire audience (because the theatre couldn’t achieve a blackout, and I was performing it at noon every day). I had expected the show to resonate most with women in their mid-30s, people like me. And many times, I would look out and see elderly men wiping tears from their eyes.

You describe the piece as a quiet rebellion against cynicism and regret. Was there a moment in your own life when cynicism felt especially tempting, and this show became a way of pushing back against it?
Candidly, I was starting to feel a bit cynical about my work in the theatre before I moved to the UK from Canada when I was 30. I’d formed ideas about how things ‘should’ be going, and that’s a mindset breads cynicism and entitlement.

Moving countries and starting again at 30 turned out to be an antidote to that. Suddenly I couldn’t take anything for granted — not friendships, not the smallest career opportunity. I felt grateful for everything. There’s nothing like placing yourself in an unknown situation to completely reframe feelings of cynicism or that you’re owed something from the world.

And more generally, in moments where I’ve felt despair or stuck, remembering how fragile and fleeting life is has been incredibly focusing. I made my will recently, and that was another stark reminder of how precious life is and how deliberately I want to live it.

Mortality is often treated as something abstract or distant, yet your work brings it into very ordinary, intimate spaces. How did you find a balance between tenderness and honesty without tipping into sentimentality?
Well, first of all, thank you for framing it in that way. I have worked hard in the editing process to tell the moments around mortality as truthfully and clearly as I can, oftentimes focusing on what was said and what was done. I think this helps.

Having seen Age is a Feeling translated and reinterpreted by performers aged 24 to 56, what do you think the show ultimately says about ageing, not as a number, but as a lived emotional state?
That actually, the best is always yet to come. Is that true? Maybe that’s too simple. How about this: That ageing is inevitable, but our relationship with the passing of time has a lot to do with how we feel about getting older. And how we feel about something creates an inner climate… and most of how we feel is determined by our inner climate.

Age is a Feeling plays at Soho Theatre Walthamstow 5-7th March, tickets are available here.

REVIEW: Manipulate Festival: Animated Documentary Shorts


Rating: 4 out of 5.

“A joyful, serious, and skilful showcase of international animators


Manipulate Festival takes to the Edinburgh Filmhouse for the very first time at tonight’s screening of eight animated documentary shorts. Animation and documentary don’t immediately overlap in any mental Venn diagrams; lazy assumptions take animation to be whimsical and creative, documentary always serious and formulaic. 

But ahead of the screening, Artistic Director and CEO Dawn Taylor explains to the audience why these art forms are so integral to one another: animation allows for the representation of things too unsafe or even impossible to film. It can recreate moments otherwise lost to memory, it can take the viewer into places never thought possible, and – above all, really – it can make the complex and overwhelming accessible and understandable. 

The eight films curated for tonight’s showcase are all highly varied in tone and content: we begin with ‘My Dead Dad’s Porno Tapes’ which is about, well, director Charlie Tyrell’s dead dad’s porno tapes. But not really: it’s about grief and taboo and intergenerational trauma and reticence and anger. It is exceptionally moving and exceptionally funny – as will emerge as a theme of tonight’s documentaries, it takes the insurmountable (death and everything in its wake) and focuses on the seemingly irrelevant mundane (a 2008 Radiohead concert, Hot n Horny Harlots on VHS).

It’s also true of the screening’s most overtly political films, such as ‘Our Uniform’ (a beautiful and textured exploration of being a girl in Iran – but mostly their school uniforms) and ‘I Died in Irpin’ (the horrendous story of fleeing Ukraine from Russian bombs – but mostly about regretting your ex-boyfriend). There’s something almost deceptively soothing about the animated mode; it’s misleadingly easy to watch, distractingly gorgeous to look at. It draws you in and sucks up your attention, until you’re left astounded by the weightiness of what you’ve just learned – educational entertainment, at its very best.

Animals and their tendency to get tied up in culture are another theme. ‘Percebes’ follows the journey of shellfish in Portugal’s Algarve, which seemingly has the same tourism complex as Edinburgh: they need them, they hate them (‘We can’t enjoy when the city is alive, because we’re working’, says a fishmonger). ‘Veni Vidi Non Vici’ is another Portuguese offering, focussing on the tradition of bullfighting and the tricky ethics of balancing tradition with modern morality. ‘The Harbourmaster’ is perhaps the emotionally lightest of the night, animating the life and forcible death of a chain-smoking, troublemaking Norwegian swan – like a Scandi Bojack Horseman. 

The most affecting film of the lot is indisputably ‘Inside, the Valley Sings’ (Natasza Cetner and Nathan Fagan), an almost unbearably vivid insight into the interior lives of American prisoners held in solitary confinement. Banging their heads against the wall, directing movies on a brick wall, fantasising of their children’s voices. It is a gut punch and it is a masterful piece of animation; the hand drawn faces of the incarcerated contrasted become imprinted in your mind. One particularly powerful moment comes from Frank de Palma, a man who spent 22 years in solitary confinement. There were no mirrors in his cell, and he tells of seeing his 58 year old face for the first time since he was in his 30s, ‘I cried – I had gotten old.’

Manipulate Festival’s Animated Documentary Shorts screening was a wonderful display of international talent, highlighting the very best of how animation can educate, move, and firmly press itself into the deepest corners of an audiences’ brain (much like fingers in stop motion clay).

This screening was a one-time event shown at the Edinburgh Filmhouse on the 7th of February as part of the Manipulate Festival which is running in venues across Scotland from the 4th to the 10th of February.

REVIEW: Obscura 


Rating: 4 out of 5.

“A heartwarming double bill, bursting with intention”


Obscura, a double dance bill by Company Chameleon, is a masterclass in storytelling. Made up of two separate pieces – ‘Umbra’ and ‘Refuse’ – they both feature choreography that is rich with life, original and perceptive in its conveyance of humanity, intimacy and conflict. Made even fiercer by the incredible performance by the cast, it’s difficult to pick my jaw up off the floor where it lays. 

Firstly, Obscura by Company Chameleon is marketed as a double bill, however, I must also acknowledge the incredible opening show from Chameleon Youth. The talent of those young people is mighty, and I think it’s a fantastic move to have them open for the company. It’s a great way to foster community, and this was definitely felt amongst the audience. I’d love to see more theatre companies do this too. The choreography was electric and soaring with energy and dedication, a thrill to watch. 

Thematically, Umbra explores exclusion and understanding in its many forms. A piece that is tender and understated yet simultaneously searing and alert. There were several gasps when one performer jumped completely over the head of another one, capturing this pyretic energy, yet also a shared sense of awe for gentler moments and stillness. The piece definitely told a story, but also left it open enough that the audience member could identify their own personal meaning with it, which is a beautiful balance, and one difficult to strike. Made even more gratifying when paired with the second piece, which feels more narrative-based, it was fantastic to see two different formats in which Chameleon can tell stories. 

The second piece, ‘Refuse’ explores migration, asylum, refuge, displacement and humanity. Inspired by Théodore Géricault’s painting ‘The Raft Of The Medusa’, this performance shares the same emotional weight. I don’t want to give too much away, but what you must know is that it is a thoughtful, empathetic piece that offers up so much conversation for no words spoken, a case study for the power of dance.The moment at the end where the lighting lifts on the audience and the performers stand furthest downstage possible, looking into the eyes of the audiences is chilling and resonant – seeming to ask them ‘What side of history do you stand on?’ Obscura opened at HOME on 6th February and played for one night, it is now touring to The Arts Centre, Edge Hill University on Wednesday 11 February and Pegasus Theatre, Oxford on Friday 6 March, before concluding.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Daisy Day and Peggy Pollard


We sat down for a quick chat with Daisy Day and Peggy Pollard about ‘Gannet’, a new black comedy returning to Playhouse East Theatre as part of Feb Fringe from 24–25 February.


Why did a bird feel like the right lens for exploring isolation and belonging today?

The choice to use a bird emerged organically from the earliest drafts of ‘Gannet’. The first version of the show, written by Daisy, was a one woman show which used the colloquial meaning of “Gannet” as a synonym for greed to examine her OCD and disordered eating which intensified during the isolation of lockdown. While this version proved too heavy on its feet, we felt the image of the Gannet still gave us a lot to work with when thinking about isolation in modern society on a larger scale.

As the show evolved, the Gannet became an increasingly clear embodiment of the outsider experience. Especially when we placed this wild seabird, in the setting of a capital city. Visually, gannets are rather striking, their bright white body, long beak, and vast wingspan make them stand out against the grey urban landscape, a contrast reflected in the costume design. Furthermore, whilst in flight, Gannet can take quite literally a bird’s-eye view of the human world. Gannets are also migratory birds, existing in a state of movement and impermanence. This liminal, fragile existence mirrors the themes at the heart of the show: displacement, isolation, and the uncertainty of belonging. For these reasons, the choice of a bird, and more specifically the Gannet bird- is not incidental. 

How did you balance the show’s absurd comedy with its darker emotional edge while writing together?

We found the balance between absurd comedy and darker emotional material through constant workshopping. Our writing process has been cyclical: writing, testing material in the room, rewriting, and repeating that process. Because ‘Gannet’ is still very much a work in progress, that balance isn’t something we feel we’ve “solved,” but something we’re continually discovering and refining together.

Crucially, we are always reminding ourselves that ‘Gannet’ is not a pure comedy. While it uses humour, clowning, and absurdity, it is ultimately a piece of theatre with a clear narrative, and that narrative is a dark one. Much of the material is generated through improvisation in rehearsal, but we constantly ask how each character, gag, or moment serves the wider story. If something is funny but doesn’t connect to Gannet’s journey, it doesn’t stay.

The characters we gravitate towards are often silly, exaggerated, and ridiculous, but they almost always carry a darker edge. Many of the characters in ‘Gannet’ are satirical: their humour comes from exaggerating recognisable behaviours and social roles, often rooted in the harsher or more uncomfortable aspects of the human condition. 

In this way, the absurd comedy and darker emotional edge of ‘Gannet’ are inherently intertwined. Like much satire, ‘Gannet’ uses silliness and exaggeration on the surface to carry something more unsettling underneath, allowing humour to coexist with, and even sharpen, the show’s darker emotional themes.

With so many characters in a solo show, how did you choose which versions of the city Gannet encounters?

With so many characters in a solo show, the aim was not to represent the whole city, but to distil it into recognisable versions of urban life. We wanted the people Gannet meets to feel familiar, close enough that audiences might recognise them, or even themselves.

Although the city is vast and colourful, we focused on characters that feel specific to big-city life, which is why the world of the play is centred around a skyscraper. These buildings sit at the heart of capital cities, both physically and symbolically, and felt like the right place to explore ideas of success, isolation, and survival.

The characters Gannet encounters are largely focused on their own welfare- hustling, chasing money, and navigating competitive, transactional jobs. While heightened and theatrical, they are recognisable figures in an inner-city setting, making Gannet’s exclusion feel even more real.

How does audience participation reinforce Gannet’s outsider status rather than just driving laughs?

Within the world of the show, the audience are only ever invited to interact with the human characters Daisy adopts, never with Gannet himself. This directorial choice deliberately isolates Gannet, positioning him alone in a world that is familiar to the audience but deeply unfamiliar to him. Although the audience are present and active, they are unable to help or connect with Gannet, reinforcing his vulnerability and exclusion. 

As a result, audience participation becomes a mechanism for showing what happens when individuals who are already vulnerable are ignored or pushed to the margins. Gannet’s increasing frustration and eventual revenge emerges not from inherent villainy, but from sustained isolation and disregard. 

How do clowning, drag and classical theatre collide to shape the world and rhythm of Gannet?

Daisy’s background in clowning and drag informs the show’s exaggerated physicality, rapid character shifts, and satirical edge. The dynamics of clowning play an important part when approaching the performance, given the show contains many different characters with one performer, there are moments in the show where we acknowledge the absurdity of the situation. Between character shifts, and in particular moments, Daisy as the performer, acknowledges her status as a clown in a ridiculous situation. The human characters in Gannet’s world are also very clownlike. They banter with and respond to the audience’s energy; in a way which Gannet does not. 

Drag, as an exaggerated performance of gender, strongly influences the world of ‘Gannet’: many of the characters Gannet encounters are male, reflecting Daisy’s interest in caricaturing men and exploring the humour and critique that comes with adopting male personas. Gannet himself is a male bird, a choice that emerged through rehearsal as his physicality became increasingly slouchy, boyish, and awkward, almost like a lost teenage boy, reflecting his naivety and unfamiliarity with the human world. Because the performance involves significant gender bending, Gannet’s costume was designed to be deliberately androgynous while remaining recognisably a bird. This allows Daisy to move fluidly between characters and genders without costume changes, with shifts communicated through physicality and facial expression.

In this context, classical theatre refers specifically to the narrative arc of the odyssey: a lone protagonist on a long, eventful journey, encountering a series of strange and transformative figures. This structure provides cohesion and momentum, holding together the multiple characters, voices, and performance styles. The collision of this classical narrative form with drag and clowning techniques shapes the distinctive world, humour, and rhythm of ‘Gannet’. 

What do you hope lingers with audiences after they leave Gannet’s uncaring city?

At its core, ‘Gannet’ explores what happens when individuals are repeatedly ignored and pushed to the edge, and how small, everyday acts of disregard can accumulate, deepening isolation. While the show centres on an outsider, a bird entirely new to the human world, it also speaks to the wider loneliness of contemporary society. As young people ourselves, ‘Gannet’ reflects our experience of growing up in a highly individualistic culture, where young people are increasingly more anxious, disconnected, and lonely than previous generations. Our protagonist Gannet becomes a lens through which to explore how newcomers and young people become isolated.

Ultimately, we hope what lingers is an awareness that individual choices matter. Not as grand gestures, but as small, human decisions: whether to acknowledge someone, to listen, or to offer care. ‘Gannet’ suggests that when we repeatedly fail to make these choices, things begin to unravel. 

REVIEW: Guidline at New Diorama


Rating: 4 out of 5.

Dark descent into the internet age. 


Although the advent of social media is such a recent phenomena in our history, we can’t help but see that there is something primordial about the way it twists our human nature. 

“Guidelines” invites you into the dark abyss that is the internet like a Brothers Grimm folk character leading you into a black forest. After years of development, this debut work by writer Pip Williams and director James Nash, under the new company Conglomerate, is brought to the New Diorama stage, standing as both a fantastic introduction to the company and a cracking example of New Diorama’s championing of multi-disciplinary performance.

Rachel Leah-Hosker and Alexandria McCauley are the lead performers who invite us into this world. They take us through the ‘guidelines’, the terms and conditions of the contract that we all unwittingly make when we use the internet. The threat of corruption is always there, but we are encouraged to turn a blind eye to it. Leah-Hosker and McCauley bounce about the stage with satirical abandon, keeping this rendition of the Metasphere darkly comic.

But what happens when the guidelines we have agreed to abide by are manipulated and abused? A video of two girls in a forest at night circulates on social media, the reality behind which is obscured but the ripple effects are very much felt. We are made to question the outward effects of exposure to violent content, on an audience in a theatre and to children online. The evocation of this forest crafts an insidious world, one we step into every time we log online.

Nash’s direction, in tandem with the creative decisions offered by the rest of the team, not only compliment the world Williams has wrought into being, but stand as the very foundations of it. Patch Middleton’s sound design is atmospheric and unsettling, assisting in keeping an audience on the edge of their seats for the sixty minute duration. Coupled with Adi Currie’s evocative lighting design, which pulses with unnerving energy, the deepness of this forest is rendered on stage, filling you with dread as to what may lie beyond the trees. Jida Akil’s work on the set is simple but effective too, utilising swinging ropes from the ceiling to evoke both the vines of the forest and the insidious tendrils that reach down into the bowels of the internet. 

“Guidelines” is a haunting expression of the ancient depths of the human psyche, made eternal and present by the all-encompassing grasp of the internet age. 

Running until 14th February at New Diorama Theatre. 

REVIEW: Go Feral Like the Big Dogs


Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

An excoriating satire of graduate ambition and corporate greed


Recent graduates Alex (Josh Gordon) and Rachel (Maddie Frutig) are fully immersed in the London rat-race, negotiating insurance deals from their high-rise offices. Alongside the early-morning tube journeys and musty night-buses, anger and frustration dominate their lives. Resentful to be giving so much and receiving so little in return, their lives feel soulless and draining. So when an opportunity to seize their ambitions and whiplash into a promotion well above their station arises, it looks tempting. All it will cost is their integrity. A two-hander with heavy reliance on dramatic monologue, Go Feral Like the Big Dogs dismantles the corporate dream sold to so many young people with humour and drama, in a compelling production held back by uneven pacing.

Alex and Rachel resemble the least likeable candidates on The Apprentice: dripping with ambition, prepared to do whatever it takes, and ever-ready with a one-liner (“men work better when they have a semi”). Gordon and Frutig capture this arrogance adeptly, particularly when monologuing both sides of a conversation. As Alex is called for a meeting with his senior partner, lightning-fast pivots between outraged inner monologue, deferential employee and frustrated boss are impressive. A wordy script cramming multiple ideas into long sentences doesn’t prevent writer-performer Gordon from crafting biting lines. Alex’s boss is “like someone’s eaten Michael Gove” and Rachel captures corporate thinking: “there is no team, there is the work you produce”.

This brings a biting satire to Go Feral Like the Big Dogs, but also renders its duo difficult to sympathise with. As their story fills with drama, this narrative of horrible people doing horrible things never justifies why the audience should care what happens to them. More damaging, many of the show’s best lines are delivered rapid-fire, particularly at its outset. This apparent attempt to build intensity has the opposite effect, robbing sharp observations of their power and denying laughs time to land.

By contrast, slower-paced scene transitions are more effective, with Alex and Rachel moving dreamlike against high-octane soundtracks. A particularly powerful moment ejects the audience from one such transition into the consequences of the pair’s ambition, with a roaring explosion followed by a prime ministerial statement on the news.

As a dismantling of the corporate mindset, Go Feral Like the Big Dogs is effective. But failing to present any alternative through either its characters or story results in a lack of purpose that makes the show forgettable. It seems to sense this, with a middle act composed of dueling monologues – Rachel bumps into a boring, needy ex; Alex plots his rise to prominence – which are entertaining, but do nothing to move the story forward.

The general sense of anger and frustration about the lies sold to graduates by the corporate world resonates, feeling sharply contemporary and recognisably real. And there are flashes of brilliance: pointed lines in the script; precise sound and lighting cues; a wonderfully dramatic final moment. But without the confidence to give key story beats the space to sink in, and in the absence of an alternative to the soul-crushing reality of Alex and Rachel’s lives, the show never fully earns the impact it aims for.

Go Feral Like the Big Dogs ran at the Union Theatre from 5th-6th February. This run has now concluded.

REVIEW: Burnout: A Verbatim Play


Rating: 4 out of 5.

A highly emotive and educational piece of theatre vital for the modern world.


From the premise alone, Burnout: A Verbatim Play promised to be fascinating. Composed of dialogue entirely from twenty-seven interviews conducted by writer Ellen Bradbury, Burnout revolves around experiences of (you guessed it) burnout, and the pervasiveness of this feeling throughout society. Four incredible actors – Ellinor Larsson, Ewan Little, Pablo López Sánchez-Matas, and Evie Mortimer – took to the stage to relay Bradbury’s findings on burnout to a wider audience. Over the course of an hour, the play explores burnout across a myriad of areas, such as education, healthcare, and activism. 

The stories told – despite the characters’ insistence – could belong to anyone. This is both a strength and slight weakness of the show. While it ensures the audience can resonate deeply with the narratives they hear, I found it hard to connect to the characters themselves. With twenty-seven different voices, the actors felt more like conduits for the stories, rather than characters. This isn’t a comment on the acting, which was superb. Rather, I felt the set-up – where each actor portrayed multiple interviewees – limited the depth of the individuals behind the stories. It was difficult to feel attached despite the actors’ commendable performances. However, this is a very small issue I had and didn’t detract much from what was overall a highly moving show.

Occasionally half-hidden in deep shadows, occasionally exposed with a flood of light, each actor brought a compelling mix of humour and vulnerability to every story they told. There was not a moment where the actors didn’t have the entire audience’s attention. From the heartfelt to the hilarious to the hopeful, each one gave a believable, beautiful performance.

The writing, by Bradbury, and the directing by Emma Ruse together painted a strong image. Chairs onstage highlighted the growing clutter of a mind in burnout; the stutters included in Bradbury’s script kept the stories true to life and a showcase of the difficulties in talking about such a personal issue. Also highly notable are the uses of lighting (Tom Showell) and sound (Maia Imogen Harding), which further create tension.

While I felt the structure of the play and its contents were sometimes very safe, that does not stop it from being a fantastic performance. At only an hour long, the content covered is incredibly impressive. What starts as individual stories ends with the actors talking not only to the audience, but to each other. It emphasises the play’s message: during burnout, despite what you may feel, you are not the only one experiencing this. Burnout, Bradbury tells us, is a symptom of the system we live in – but we don’t have to deal with it alone. 

This show’s run is now concluded and ran from 6th February 2026 until 7th February 2026 at the Tron Theatre in Glasgow.

REVIEW: Monstering the Rocketman


Rating: 5 out of 5.

An exceptional retelling of the cautionary tale of journalistic hubris


The story of Elton John’s defamation case against The Sun newspaper is well established among journalists, both aspiring and established. The infamous “sordid rent-boy orgy” stories published by Sun editor Kelvin MacKenzie, and the subsequent lawsuits they prompted, are now a staple of UK media law teaching and a stark reminder of the excesses of tabloid journalism at its most reckless.

Henry Naylor’s Monstering the Rocketman, which he also performs, dramatises the affair with precision and urgency. The play skilfully navigates the tension between ambition and truth, exposing the moral compromises demanded by an industry that often prioritises career progression over basic journalistic integrity.

At the centre of the play is a doe-eyed junior reporter, affectionately nicknamed Lynx after his penchant for the deodorant of the same name, who also serves as the narrator. Eager to make his name in the prime of Fleet Street, Lynx secures work experience at The Sun, the nation’s most-read newspaper. There, he is placed under the tutelage of the grizzled tabloid veteran Jane and the maniacal editor Kelvin MacKenzie. He is quickly thrown in at the deep end, tasked with covering the nation’s favourite performer’s alleged depraved sex parties and claims that purportedly included underage boys.

As is common in the tabloid press, Lynx soon discovers that editors grant themselves a generous degree of creative licence when it comes to the truth. This tendency is heightened by the bitter rivalry between the two most-read papers of the time, The Sun and the Mirror. Some of the stories produced during this period, such as the one about Elton John, were not merely exaggerated but entirely fabricated. Lynx is forced to grapple with his desire to climb the career ladder, no matter how undignified, against his commitment to truth and basic human decency.

Writer and performer Henry Naylor and director Darren Lee Cole make particularly effective use of the play’s set, periodically pasting real tabloid front pages from the era onto the stage. These moments are shocking reminders of just how malicious and invasive the tactics of the red tops were. One especially haunting example is the 4 May 1982 headline that The Sun ran following the sinking of the ARA General Belgrano during the Falklands War — an act that some historians argue meets the legal threshold to be considered a war crime. The headline reads simply: GOTCHA. This is without even mentioning the overwhelming stench of homophobia that marinated much of the copy directed at Elton John.

Naylor’s writing addresses this dark period of journalism through an effective metaphor in which the ink on the page rubs off on, and permeates, the populace that consumes it, shaping the nation’s collective psyche both literally and figuratively.

The play also feels timely. Nearly four decades after The Sun published the ‘rent-boy’ story at the centre of Monstering the Rocketman, Elton John has once again found himself in court, arguing that his privacy has been breached by tabloid journalists. In a recent today, he said “I have found the Mail’s deliberate invasion into my medical health and medical details surrounding the birth of our son Zachary abhorrent and outside even the most basic standards of human decency,” — words that resonate all the more powerfully after watching Monstering the Rocketman.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Oliver Kaderbhai


We sat down for a quick chat with Oliver Kaderbhai about his latest project. MILES is a bold theatrical work inspired by the life and legacy of Miles Davis and his musical influences with a live Jazz underscore. Offering an imagined portrait, the play explores the inner world of an artist driven by innovation, ambition, and contradiction. Running at Southwark Playhouse Borough 4 Feb – 7 Mar 2026, tickets here: https://southwarkplayhouse.co.uk/productions/miles/


MILES. moves fluidly through time, memory, and music — what drew you to a non-linear, jazz-like structure as the best way to tell Miles Davis’s story?

The question in the show is ‘how did Miles arrive at a place in his life where he was able to create the album Kind of Blue by the age of 32?’. So I focused on his influences, including people, places and events from the first half of his life, and of course on the music itself. ‘Time’ has a different meaning when used in the context of music, and I grew up playing jazz in bands, so I essentially turned the play into a ‘head arrangement’ where the ‘head’ is any time we return to the conversation between Jay and Miles and the ‘solos’ are when Miles speaks directly to the audience or takes us into a scene from his life.

Kind of Blue is often mythologised as effortless genius — what did you want to reveal about the pressure, conflict, and chaos behind its creation?

It’s always been interesting to me to pull back the curtain on the creation of something. It’s important that we’re still able to surprise our audiences so there’s a balance to find in not being too revealing, but ultimately most art is created by groups of people as a result of their combined experiences. It’s the culmination of lifetimes of lessons and mistakes, so inherently effortful. Of course, I have imagined the conversations that might have happened between Miles and others, and I have inferred the impact of events from his life through what I discovered in his autobiography and interviews, but it has been important to me that the portrayal is authentic and the story as honest as possible with the information I’ve had access to.

How did working so closely with a live musician shape your approach to direction, and where did you allow the music to lead the storytelling rather than the script?

Jay’s decades of experience as a musician have been invaluable. He has deep knowledge of music and specifically jazz and the people who created it. He even gave Benji (playing Miles) a few trumpet lessons. He has also been hugely gracious by letting me embellish and invent aspects of his life to create his character, which is an imagined version of him. The music led the storytelling, including the creation of the script. I wanted to feature every track from Kind of Blue in the show, so I had to figure out how, when and why to do so. And it’s such a treat to hear Jay play the music live in such an intimate setting, so it quickly became clear when the music needed to (metaphorically) take centre stage.

Miles Davis was both revolutionary and deeply flawed — how did you navigate portraying his brilliance without softening the darker costs of his genius?

I knew it would be an almost impossible task to get the balance ‘right’ between these aspects of Miles’ personality, so it then became a case of trying to tell the story in a way which focuses on the art and the music whilst not shying away from the darker parts of his life. In his autobiography he speaks openly about racism, drug use, and his treatment of women which are some of the more difficult parts of his story. As such, it became a little more straightforward to include those things. For me, the aim was to understand the man and celebrate the music. I don’t expect the audience to always agree with him.

The production sits between concert, theatre, and biography — what excites you about blurring those boundaries for a contemporary audience?

It’s a combination of the things I most enjoy so it’s been a lot of fun to build a show which is so reliant on both music and theatre. It has been a challenge to get inside the mind of a man as complex as Miles. For weeks I had his music on repeat and books about his life with me wherever I went. My work as a director has always had a strong relationship with music, so to include a live musical element has been a thrill because it creates an electricity in the room which is unique. The fact its jazz means we are able to build in improvised elements every night, so we have leant into that facility and no two shows will be the same.

Bringing the show to Southwark Playhouse during the centenary of Miles Davis’s birth, what do you hope today’s audiences take from his legacy now, rather than as history?

I love watching audiences nodding along or tapping their feet with the music whilst learning about the people behind it, because they were pioneers who literally put their lives on the line to create music which transcends the impossible societal tightrope they were expected to walk at the time. The themes in the play are unfortunately cyclical: divided societies, unfair pay, the rise of technology etc. It’s important to me that we keep these stories alive and it’s something touched upon within the play. The legacy of this music isn’t co-incidence. It lives on because of the effort of the people behind it. If we can have a hand in encouraging our audiences to give it another listen, then our job is done.

REVIEW: Daniel Moore’s Definitive Guide to Failure-Free Living


Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

A funny, uncomfortable, intense, sweaty night of brilliant theatre


Matthew Edgar’s curation of Daniel Moore’s Definitive Guide to Failure-Free Living is
without a doubt, one to look out for. A co-production with Drayton Arms theatre, Edgar
situates the audience in a room of anger, sweat, masculinity, whales and decisions. As
the audience enters the space, through the brilliant direction by Harry Daisley, the scene
is already unfolding. As a scruffy looking Daniel Moore pumps out push-ups, erratically
dresses himself and paces the space, a sense of unease fills the room and our first
interaction with this character pre-empts what we are in for.
The narrative seeks to prove that Daniel Moore does not fail, as he adheres to the
deadly glow of a button in the centre of the room. He has pressed this button as it lights
up for 19,999 hours, and we are here to join him in his 20,000 hour, to which he would
have succeeded his job and will call it quits. As we are welcomed into his world, he
seeks to expand his knowledge beyond his own self-appreciation, dreaming of
spreading his wisdom to those who haven’t had the privilege of hearing of it so far. The
harsh bodily movements, unsettling constant slicking back of greasy hair and low
mumbling proves that we are in fact, trapped in this dimension with him.
At first, the performance seems somewhat situated within the solo narrative of his
mission- to press the button, to not fail. As the performance unravels, we learn that
Daniel’s motives reach much further into his own being. The multi-rolling performed by
Edgar was impeccable. The ability to formulate an entire scene with three characters
varying of age, gender and physicality was highly commendable. The sharp transitions,
alongside very rehearsed accents, felt beyond convincing. The pace throughout the
performance certainly paralleled the growing understanding of the character and the
reasons behind his obsessions.
The creation of this piece, outside of its talent to draw in the audience, felt very
important to a wider world too. Where 2025 saw the impacts of the likes of Andrew Tate
and a national hit of the TV drama Adolescene, Daniel Moore’s Definitive Guide to
Failure-Free Living felt very important in carrying on discussions in 2026. What I really
commended about this piece, is its unpredictability- nothing was handed to the audience
on a plate. Moreover, an underlying link to male violence felt extremely important.
Where Edgar created room to draw the lines between his intensity and uncomfortable
sexual behaviours and remarks, he manufactured a piece which reached beyond
theatre. Edgar confined us within his characters space, yet left us filling in our own
gaps, and placing our own red buttons in our worlds. A really brilliant night at the
theatre, and an even greater impression left on the audience’s mind.