The Story - Review

National Theatre, London

***

Written by Tracey Scott Wilson

Directed by Clint Dyer

The cast of The Story

A play about the search for truths in a world of blurred and corruptible sources, The Story sets massive issues of press accountability against a backdrop of racially charged American inner-city tension.

When a white liberal teacher is murdered in a deprived black neighbourhood of an unspecified city, the search for his killer throws up some curious revelations. This is set against power dynamics and personal petty squabbles within the newspaper industry - and as the evening unfolds, what could be a powerfully driven narrative on both journalism and deeply personal sacrifice descends increasingly into a melodramatic shouting match. With scenes jumping jarringly and the fourth wall frequently smashed, The Story feels more like an untidy collection of events rather than a coherent drama.

The story’s key protagonists - hardened publisher Pat played by Lorraine Toussaint and rookie journalist Yvonne played by Letitia Wright - are both magnificent. But notwithstanding Anna Fleischle’s impressive stage designs, this play could have been so much more.

Runs until 24th October

Photo credit: Feruza Afewerki

War Horse - Review

National Theatre, London

*****

Based on the novel by Michael Morpurgo

Adapted by Nick Stafford

Directed by Tom Morris

Revival directed by Katie Henry

The cast of War Horse

London’s South Bank is seeing yet another throughbred equine revival. As Peter Shaffer's Equus plays downstream at the Menier, the National Theatre's Olivier stage welcomes the return of War Horse where it premiered some 20 years ago. Michael Morpurgo’s richly layered yarn about the cruelties of war as seen from the perspective of a Devon-born horse has proved to be one of the National’s most successful productions, having not only toured the globe, but also been translated into a Steven Spielberg movie. Seeing the play back between the Olivier's gaping jaws however is a reminder of just how stunning good storytelling can be when the core narrative is strong and the theatrecraft deployed in its telling, is world class.

War Horse is the simplest of tales. The chestnut foal Joey is trained by a young Albert in a touching relationship of love for the animal and the richness of rural English history. As Joey grows into a full size Hunter, war breaks out and Albert's beloved horse is nefariously sold to the British Army. Albert, too young to sign up, lies about his age and ships out to the French battlefields, dreaming of being reunited with Joey.  Amidst this powerful narrative we are also introduced to another Hunter, Topthorn, with Morpurgo's yarn following the horses and the horrors of war that they are (and in real life, were) forced to endure.

The story's landscape is vast (possibly, in a slightly overlong second-act, too vast dare I say it) but with an enormous company and ingenious projections, the tale is beautifully told.

However, whilst the acting throughout is top-notch, War Horse is famous for the puppetry deployed in (almost literally) bring Joey and Topthorn to life. On the night of this review the three puppeteers animating Joey were Felicity Donnelly, Matthew Lawrence and Lewis McBean, while the team responsible for Topthorn were Rianna Ash, Michael Larcombe and Rafe Young. Toby Sedgwick returns to the production as the Director of Movement and Horse Choreography, and what Sedgwick coaxes from these six talented performers almost defies belief. The visionary genius of the Handspring designed puppets, leaves one gasping at the almost effortlessly realistic portrayal of the horses that these performers create. Theatre, and movement in particular, does not get better than this!

Even more uplifting, again on the night of this review, was to see the packed audience that filled the vast auditorium include a number of school parties. In a world of addictive screen usage and stories endlessly being told via CGI and AI, for these young people to witness such flawless practical theatre and movement being delivered so simply and yet so perfectly, with no digital assistance whatsoever, only added to the evening's beauty.

Runs until 30th July 2026

Photo credit: Brinkhoff-Moegenburg

Summerfolk - Review

National Theatre, London

***

Written by Maxim Gorky

in a new version by Nina Raine and Moses Raine

Directed by Robert Hastie

Justine Mitchell and Peter Forbes

Summerfolk at the National is one of those rare examples of art mocking life. Set in pre-Revolutionary Russia at the turn of the 20th century, Gorky’s tale was always one of entitled middle-classes squabbling amidst their privileges. The Summerfolk of the title are the prosperous Muscovites who decamp to their country daschas for the summer, folk who care little for their temporary rural surrounds, and looked on with envy and resentment by the local impoverished peasants.

Swap 1905 daschas for 21st century second homes or AirBnBs in Provence or Cornwall or Southwold - places where the local communities have been societally impoverished - and the echoes couldn’t ring louder. That such privileged folk are likely to include those that can afford London’s theatre ticket prices and the evening’s irony becomes even more acute.

Robert Hastie directs a massive company who for the most part are an entertaining troupe. Standout performances come from Peter Forbes as Semyon Dvoyetochiye, a wealthy old uncle to the story’s sprawling family and also from Justine Mitchell as Maria Lvovna, an elderly doctor who finds herself the complicated object of desire in the eyes of the much younger Vlass (Alex Lawther).

The evening’s acting may well be classy but the script is uninspiring.  Not speaking Russian, this reviewer is unable to comment on the accuracy or otherwise of the adaptation by Nina Raine and Moses Raine, suffice to say that the political pulse of the drama unfolds with very little sophistication. The politics of the piece is hammered out with such crass simplicity that it sounds more akin to a party political broadcast, rather than a sophisticated work of modern literature.  

A fortune, subsidised by Arts Council England, has been invested (squandered?) in Peter McKintosh’s impressive set that recreates the dascha’s Russian forest setting, complete with rivers and ponds. Given the shallow depth of the play's argument, it’s hard to consider that this has been money well spent. 

Summerfolk offers that rare opportunity of watching an audience seeing themselves dissected on stage.  Revolutionary theatre? Only time will tell… 

Runs until 29th April

Photo credit: Johan Persson

Man and Boy - Review

National Theatre, London

****

Written by Terence Rattigan

Directed by Anthony Lau

Ben Daniels and Malcolm Sinclair

Anthony Lau’s take on Terence Rattigan’s intriguing Man and Boy is a deliciously stylised slice of Manhattan in the 1930s.

Played out on a green baize and beneath an oppressively interrogatory lighting rig, the moments of the play’s high drama are delivered from table-tops. Rattigan’s world is one of high-stakes deals, with Georgia Lowe’s set and costume design creating an atmosphere that's driven by malevolent corruption and greed.

The plot hinges around the complex relationship between Romanian tycoon Gregor Antonescu and his sometime estranged son Basil Anthony - played by Ben Daniels and Laurie Kynaston respectively. 

Daniels’s Antonescu is a monster of corporate greed and manipulation - almost a Jeffrey Epstein of his time - with a compelling performance that commands both attention and contempt. Kynaston by contrast presents a complex creation of a profound fragility.

But in this melodramatic wonderland of neo-noir, it emerges that almost everyone is loathsome. Nick Fletcher turns in a great performance as Sven, Antonescu’s long-serving lieutenant. Malcolm Sinclair is equally magnificent as Mark Herries, a millionaire American industrialist who is as motivated as much by his homosexual cravings as he is driven for success on Wall Street. And then there’s Isabella Laughland as Countess Antonescu - a trophy blonde of a wife whose two-dimensionality is divine.

A fun script, cleverly performed, in a production that is fuelled by America’s era of Art Deco. As a glorious glimpse of human vileness, it’s quite possibly the finest show in town.

Runs until 14th March

Photo credit: Manuel Harlan

Hamlet - Review

National Theatre, London

****

Written by William Shakespeare

Directed by Robert Hastie

Hiran Abeysekera

Robert Hastie’s take on Hamlet is an exciting night at the theatre. Set on Ben Stones’s bold palatial staging that makes full use of the Lyttleton Theatre’s towering flys, Hastie mines the humour in this most famous of Shakespeare’s tragedies, making the narrative refreshingly accessible while staying true (for the most part) to the original text.

Hiran Abeysekera plays the Prince of Denmark, with a delivery that’s confident and wisely nuanced. At times perhaps his speech is too fast with moments of the verse’s beauty sometimes garbled. But Abeysekera’s authenticity shines through and he can be rightly proud of his impish energetic Hamlet. The final act’s fencing bout (brilliantly fight designed by Kate Waters) against Tom Glenister’s Laertes is exhausting to watch - so heaven knows what a physical challenge it must be to Abeysekera. Great theatre though, with Hastie splashing lashings of stage blood whenever the story gets gory.

Francesca Mills as Ophelia is enchanting. At first a provocative coquette, her descent into madness makes for harrowing drama and genuine pathos. Alistair Petrie as Claudius brings a patrician wickedness to the role and if Hastie has made the role of one of the Bard’s most brutal baddies slightly too melodramatic, it only adds to the evening's murderous mayhem. Other class acts in the company include Geoffrey Streatfield’s prattling Polonius (who is also gifted a hilariously bloody demise in the Closet scene) and Ryan Ellsworth who takes on the honours of the Ghost, Player King and First Gravedigger magnificently. If there is one scene where Hastie’s editing has been too severe, it is in the cutting of the Ghost’s brief speech in the Closet scene. Those six lines add a particular heft to the narrative.

Richard Taylor’s music adds to the occasion, as Hastie’s Hamlet offers up a noble stab at this massive tale. An evening of classy classic drama that will be enjoyed by both Shakespearean cognoscenti and novices alike.

Runs until 22nd November

Photo credit: Sam Taylor

The Importance of Being Earnest - Review

Noel Coward Theatre, London

**

Written by Oscar Wilde

Directed by Max Webster

Stephen Fry

When it opened at the National Theatre late last year, Max Webster’s take on The Importance of Being Earnest was a work of theatrical quality and imagination, delivered by a company that dripped in expertise and experience. Now, transplanted across the river for a 3-month West End residency, the original’s acting genius is replaced by stunt casting and celebrity that takes an inspirational concept, reducing it to poorly performed moments of silliness.

Topping the bill for the evening is Stephen Fry, best known for his screen achievements rather than a career on the boards. In an unexplained gender-swap, Fry replaces (the previously excellent) Sharon D Clarke as Lady Bracknell. In what should be one of the most exquisite roles in the canon for women over 50, Fry gives a hammy performance that other than showcasing his distinctly recognisable voice delivering some of the most famous lines in English literature outside of Shakespeare, adds nothing to Lady B whatsoever. He is of course a big star and will no doubt draw in the punters - but they’ll be disappointed to find the actor delivers little more than a pound-shop Julian Clary.

The evenings other star name is Olly Alexander as Algernon Moncrieff. Alexander focusses on silliness over dramatic heft and while the role is undoubtedly complex, one feels that he barely skims its potential. Likewise Nathan Stewart-Jarrett who seems to concentrate more on the mania of Jack Worthing rather than his character’s depths.

Kitty Hawthorne and Jessica Whitehurst are respectively Gwendolen and Cecily, two parts that again, inexplicably, Webster has chosen to play through channels of over-acted histrionics. The physical comedy of Hayley Carmichael, doubling up as the faithful retainers Lane and Merriman has faint echoes of Tom Eden’s genius as Alfie in One Man Two Guvnors - but its little more than that, as Carmichael’s work descends into repetitive cliché. In a rare moment of class, Hugh Dennis as the Rev'd Canon Chasuble is brilliant.

The scenery is tired. Back at the Lyttleton, Rae Smith’s original designs were sensational. Here, the grassy banks of the Hertfordshire garden scenes are shockingly frayed, while actors waiting offstage for their cue are clearly visible in the wings.

This is a poorly executed transfer and other than the stunt casting, it is hard to see why the National and their co-producers have staged it. Perhaps they could resist everything except temptation?

Runs until 10th January 2026

Photo credit: Marc Brenner

Inter Alia - Review

National Theatre, London

****

Written by Suzie Miller

Directed by Justin Martin

Rosamund Pike

Inter Alia is another theatrical gem from Suzie Miller, who in 2019 premiered Prima Facie. Staying within the jurisprudent ambit of the English legal system, Inter Alia sees Miller focus on Crown Court judge Jessica Parks and the challenges she faces in her domestic life when teenage son Harry is accused of a sex crime. 

Miller offers a meticulously detailed analysis of Park’s privileged life on and off the bench, where with her KC husband Michael, middle-class luxuries are plentiful until the idyll is painfully pierced. The script offers up a troubling glimpse of the manosphere, alongside Parks’s descent into her own personal hell as she finds herself facing profoundly personal conflicts. 

Coincidentally (one imagines), there are hints of the recent TV drama Adolescence in Miller’s narrative and if there is a flaw in the play that otherwise offers up a powerfully sympathetic critique of 21st century feminism, it is that much like Adolescence, the completely white casting of these stories’ lead families fails to reflect some of the more complex diversities of today’s world. And the end of Miller’s story, while being acutely painful, lacks a credibility.

The evening’s stagecraft however is world class. Rosamund Pike is Parks, onstage throughout the play’s 1 hr 40min one-act entirety, in a performance that is a breathtaking tour de force. As her character faces agonising realisations, Pike’s mastery of the dialogue is sensational, picking up the slightest nuances and inflections in Miller’s acutely perceptive script.

Jamie Glover steps up as her husband, also delivering a stunning take on middle-aged husbandry and fatherhood, with Jasper Talbot completing the play’s adult trio as the hapless Harry, again with an assured turn.

The production also showcases the flawless technical competencies of the National Theatre. Ben and Max Ringham’s sound design is exquisite, equally Natasha Chivers’s lighting work. Miriam Buether’s set is a wonder. In essence a staging of simple domesticity that momentarily can transform into a courtroom - however the brilliance of Buether’s achievement in the play’s final act has to be seen to be believed.

Runs until 13th September

Photo credit: Manuel Harlan

Till The Stars Come Down - Review

 Theatre Royal Haymarket, London

*****

Written by Beth Steel

Directed by Bijan Sheibani

Dorothy Atkinson

The West End transfer of the National Theatre's Till The Stars Come Down sees this stunning new play evolve into a production that is as stellar as its title.

Powerfully perceptive and set in a northern mining village where the pit has long since closed, Beth Steel’s writing focuses on three sisters on the day of the youngest sibling’s wedding. Rarely does a narrative soar from brilliantly observed (and perfectly timed) hilarity one minute, to harrowing family despair the next as passions, secrets and lies merge to fuel a narrative that culminates in perhaps the most exquisitely performed heartbreak to be found in London today.

This is a story about love, desire, resentment, ageing, grief and bigotry with Bijan Sheibani’s company of 10 all delivering faultless expertise in their acting. The sororal trio comprises Sinead Matthews (as Sylvia, the bride) and Lucy Black (as Hazel) returning to the production from the National, with Aisling Loftus (Maggie) a newcomer to the transfer. All three are powerhouse performers. Also returning are Philip Whitchurch as the bride’s Uncle Pete and Alan Williams as Tony, the sisters’ widowered father. Williams in particular delivers a turn that is a masterclass in understated excellence.

The evening’s comedy moments are driven by Dorothy Atkinson’s Aunty Carol, a woman who is as monstrous as she is relatable and recognisable. Gifted most of the evening’s snappy one-liners, Atkinson is the definition of tragi-comical brilliance.

The show is a technical treat with Samal Blak’s ingenious revolve being perfectly lit as ever by Paule Constable.

Beth Steel’s writing was good last year on the South Bank. Performed by this company at the Theatre Royal Haymarket, it’s bloody brilliant and the capital's drama highlight of the summer!

Runs until 27th September

Photo credit: Manuel Harlan

Here We Are - Review

National Theatre, London

***

Music & lyrics by Stephen Sondheim

Book by David Ives

Directed by Joe Mantello

The cast of Here We Are

It is a rare show indeed that combines a generous dose of magical creativity with the tedium of disappointing over-ambition, but so it is with Here We Are that’s recently arrived at the National Theatre from New York under the continued helming of Joe Mantello.

The musical, Stephen Sondheim’s final composition, is a nod to the movies of Luis Buñuel - well, two movies in particular, Exterminating Angel and The Discreet Charm Of The Bourgeoisie - with the show’s first act proving an incisively scorching satire on the shallow platitudes of the privileged middle-class, themed around a group of friends seeking, and serially failing, to find a restaurant for brunch.

Sondheim is at his best when he mocks society’s pretentious, pompous shallowness and the range of his melodies blended with the brutal wit of his lyrics are just sensational. By way of example, when one of the friends orders a coffee, the waiter, who we learn has no coffee nor indeed much else on the menu, parries the request with this sensational retort:

We do expect a little latte later,

But we haven’t got a lotta latte now.

The structure, rhyme and alliterate assonance of those lines is just brilliant. Every new writer of musicals should be made to study Sondheim to recognise the discipline and structure that goes in to crafting a good song. That the two leading musical roles (atop a starry cast) that drive the first-half’s wicked satire are played by the incomparable Tracie Bennett along with Denis O’Hare only adds to the outstanding entertainment on display.

But then it’s the interval and then it’s act two which sees the group of friends caught in the horror of being trapped under a spell from which they cannot escape. The most horrific consequence of this spell however is that it leads to the majority of the act being song-free, and when one considers that it is Sondheim's song writing sparkle that gives the show what zest it has, to deny the actors the oxygen of Sondheim's flair leads to a stifling of the show as it rapidly loses momentum, becoming a flaccid and boring interpretation of Buñuel’s brilliant original.

David Zinn’s ingenious set may well be stunning, equally Natasha Katz’s lighting, but neither are enough to rescue this flaccid hour-long dirge, with the second half proving to be little more than a self-indulgence by book-writer David Ives who, stripped of Sondheim's support, clearly lacks the creative nous to effectively translate an already brilliant movie into entertaining theatre. 

Producers take note : If this show were to be chopped at the interval it would make for a short, stunning tribute to the genius that was Stephen Sondheim.

Runs until 28th June

Photo credit: Marc Brenner

The Importance of Being Earnest - Review

National Theatre, London

****

Written by Oscar Wilde

Directed by Max Webster

The company

Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest is a sharply observed farce that sets improbably false identities against a gorgeously satirical examination of the hypocrisies of English society in the late 19th century. Given a makeover by Max Webster in his revival for the National Theatre’s Lyttleton stage, the production’s colourblind casting may give rise to moments of cultural inconsistency, but its performances are sublime and the cast’s delivery of Wilde’s script, exquisite

Sharon D Clarke is magnificently matriarchal as Lady Bracknell. Deliciously costumed in an African/Caribbean style, Clarke exudes commanding snobbery together with a sharp social awareness. Her interpretation of one of the canon’s most fearsome women is a delight.

As the two bachelors Algernon Moncrieff and Jack Worthing, Ncuti Gatwa and Hugh Skinner are on point throughout, their flamboyant japery delivered with pinpoint timing. Opposite them as Gwendolen Fairfax and Cecily Cardew, the subjects of their wooing, are Ronke Adekoluejo and Eliza Scanlen respectively who equally immaculately capture their roles.

But it’s not just in the five lead roles that this production excels. Richard Cant as Revd. Canon Chasuble and Amanda Lawrence as Cecily’s Governess Miss Prism absolutely nail their deliciously nuanced parts, their modest but critically important contributions to the narrative only adding to the evening’s comedy. Similarly, doubling up as the butlers in both the town and country houses of the action, there is lovely work from Julian Bleach.

Rae Smith’s scenery and costumes are a marvel although one has to question the expensively costumed, camped-up pantomimes that are performed at the opening and closing of this production. The play alone is a gorgeously crafted - it does not need such accoutrements.

Only on for a few more days and mostly sold out, if you can grab a ticket it's well worth catching!

Runs until 25th January

Photo credit: Marc Brenner

Ballet Shoes - Review

National Theatre, London

****

Written by Noel Streatfeild

In a new version by Kendall Feaver

Daisy Sequerra and Justin Salinger

Noel Streatfeild’s Ballet Shoes is given an enchanting makeover by the National Theatre. In Kendall Feaver’s adaptation, Streatfeild’s tale of the three orphaned/foundling Fossil sisters, who are fused into a family by Malcolm an eccentric but gifted paeleontologjst who places them in the care of his adopted great niece Sylvia becomes a vivid drama.

The themes of self-belief and familial love run strong through the classic yarn and under Katy Rudd’s direction and Frankie Bradshaw’s impressive designs that fill the Olivier stage, the play makes for classy modern theatre.

On the night of this review understudy Katie Singh stepped effortlessly into the role of Sylvia. Playing (Great Uncle) Malcolm together with a host of other inspirational roles throughout the evening is Justin Salinger - who provides just enough quirky unconventionality to hint at something divine in his on stage presence.

The show however belongs to the three performers playing the adolescent sisters Yanexi Enriquez, Grace Saif and Daisy Sequerra, with all three carrying the story magnificently. Their supporting company are equally strong.

In a show that has dance in its veins, Ellen Kane’s choreography displays her usual creative excellence.

The play goes at a pace through the novel, at times perhaps for younger audience members, a little too fast in show that lasts more than two and a half hours. But this is a thoughtful family show, beautifully acted and imaginatively staged.

Runs until 22nd February

Photo credit: Manuel Harlan

The Grapes of Wrath - Review

National Theatre, London

***

Written by John Steinbeck

Adapted by Frank Galati

Directed by Carrie Cracknell

Cherry Jones

Frank Galaţi’s 1990 adaptation of John Steinbeck’s classic makes for an interesting glimpse of American history. The 1930s Dust Bowl, coming hard on the heels of the Great Depression and Wall Street Crash saw the fabled american dream evolve into a nightmare for millions, with countless Mid-Westerners migrating towards California, in desperate search of a living.

Simply staged, Carrie Cracknell’s production that comes in at just under three hours mixes quality with tedium. Greg Hicks and Cherry Jones as Pa and Ma Joad are a magnificent focal pair of Oklahomans leading their family west. Hicks only recently played an onstage farmer in the musical Oklahoma!, so there is a theatrical symmetry in seeing his decline from playing a prosperous landowner to an impoverished migrant.  Both he and Jones bring a perfectly weighted gravitas to their family’s struggles and amidst a luxuriously cast company of 27, there is standout work from Harry Treadaway as their son Tom and Mirren Mack as daughter Rose of Sharon.

Steinbeck’s Pulitzer Prize winning novel is brutal in its portrayal of the depths of the era’s hardships, not least in its harrowing finale that Cracknell and Galati effectively retain. The show however slips into cliché too often, with Maimuna Memon’s songs that have been written for this production. The #RefugeesWelcome theme to Memon’s lyrics offers a clumsily crass attempt to link a contemporary political relevance with Steinbeck’s magnum-opus and proves to be a disappointing distraction.

Good in parts.

Runs until 14th September

Photo credit: Richard Hubert Smith

Mnemonic - Review

National Theatre, London

***

Conceived and directed by Simon McBurney

The cast of Mnemonic

A one-act, two-hour, seven-hander, Complicité’s Mnemonic returns to London, revised from its original iteration some 25 years ago.

A bold conceit that explores the fragile strands of our memories, the play interweaves a series of pan-European micro-narratives all set against a backdrop of the discovery of, and research into, the frozen 5,000 year old corpse of a man found high in the Alps.

The acting, the design and the stagecraft on display are all flawless in a production that at times is mesmerising. But Icarus-like, Mnemonic strives to say too much and in the end delivers little more than a garbled message. The evening sees world-class production values mingled with undergraduate agitprop, in a clutch of shallow arguments that cling to a biased commentary on the sacred timelessness of the refugee in a world (or at least a Europe) that is, or the play suggests should be, frontier-free.

Simon McBurney returns to direct his original conception. Pure theatrical Marmite.

Runs until 10th August

Photo credit: Johan Persson

Boys from the Blackstuff - Review

National Theatre, London

*

Written by Alan Bleasdale

Play written by James Graham

Directed by Kate Wasserberg

Barry Sloane

Recent weeks have seen the stage translations of two television classics from the late 20th century open in London. John Cleese’s adaptation of Fawlty Towers has been a delight - taking his claustrophobic Torquay hotel and literally transporting its set, characters and storylines across both miles and decades to create theatrical magic. James Graham’s attempt at transitioning Alan Bleasdale’s bleakly brilliant Boys from the Blackstuff however marks a departure from Graham’s typically trademark genius and proves a depressing disappointment.

In the 1980’s Bleasdale’s six teleplays, each exquisitely photographed and acted around Liverpool, spoke with wit, tenderness and tragedy as they told of the challenges faced by the city in those times. The desperation and desolation of a group of men who’d previously earned their living laying tarmac (the titular blackstuff) won the nation’s hearts. Back in the day when there were only (just) four UK TV channels, Boys from the Blackstuff, with the late Bernard Hill’s remarkable interpretation of the defiantly damaged Yosser Hughes made for sensational viewing.

Indeed, the 1980s were fertile years in which the performing arts captured Liverpool’s pain with Willy Russell’s musical Blood Brothers emerging to be a timeless gem, still packing out theatres to this day. With hindsight, James Graham should have left the era well alone. Bleasdale’s original, skilfully directed by Philip Saville, took an hour-long episode to graphically flesh out each of the series’ characters. Today’s iteration sees Graham snatch vignettes from each of those original storylines and attempt to mould them into a two-hour blob of drama. The result is shallow, crass and un-engaging, with the tragic pathos of Bleasdale’s original, sacrificed on an altar of pseudo-relevant scenery, projections and a distracting (and on this press-night, technically disastrous) soundscape. 

The play has moments of a fine portrayal of human suffering from Barry Sloane’s Yosser, but otherwise - and this is a disgrace for a show that stems from such an outstanding pedigree - the evening is a bore.

Music from the 1980s is piped into the auditorium before and after the show. The Special’s Ghost Town, playing before curtain-up, could have been foretelling the post-interval gaps that were to emerge in the audience. And indeed when the somewhat depleted throng did return to their seats after half-time, it was Paul Weller coming through the Olivier’s sound system with The Jam’s song That’s Entertainment. If only.

Runs at the National Theatre until 8th June

Then at the Garrick Theatre from 13th June - 3rd August

Photo credit: Andrew AB Photography

People, Places & Things - Review

Trafalgar Theatre, London

*****

Written by Duncan Macmillan

Directed by Jeremy Herrin

Denise Gough

The titular people, places and things are those that a recovering addict should steer clear of on their post-rehab journey if they are to maximise their chances of avoiding relapse. Duncan Macmillan’s play for the most part explores the journey in rehab as Emma, an actress, played by Denise Gough first has to acknowledge her addiction to alcohol and substances, before undergoing the clinical process of breaking her addictions.

Gough’s performance is stellar, her 2016 Olivier Award clearly justified in a brilliant interpretation of agony and human dereliction. On stage throughout and aided by Bunny Christie’s ingenious set designs and a talented company we witness the hallucinogenic nightmares and pain of Emma’s addiction, before a nirvana-esque second act that sees her receptive to group therapy and her ultimate return to her parents’ home. 

The production is as uncomfortable to watch as it is brilliant. There is a macabre credibility to Jeremy Herrin’s direction of this revived production that chills in its depiction of Emma’s agonies during her therapy followed by a tragic endgame that explores the impact of her addiction on her parents, who with Emma grieve their son and her brother. This nutshell glimpse of the impact of bereavement and familial resentments is acutely perceptive, recognisable and heartbreaking.

Sinead Cusack offers a masterclass in supporting acting, delivering a memorable double-act over the course of the evening, firstly as the clinician/therapist leading Emma’s recovery and then later as her deeply damaged mother.

Gough has taken her Emma from the National Theatre, to the West End, to Broadway and now returned to London. She is magnificent - and for those that can handle her interpretation of human suffering, People, Places & Things is unmissable.

Runs until 10th August

Photo credit: Marc Brenner

London Tide - Review

National Theatre, London

*

Based on Charles Dickens' Our Mutual Friend

Adapted by Ben Power

Songs by Ben Power and PJ Harvey

The cast of London Tide

Like an incoming tide of the River Thames, so has London Tide, PJ Harvey and Ben Power’s musical adaptation of Our Mutual Friend, washed over Charles Dickens’ original reducing the 19th century classic to a slurry of mediocre melodrama that runs for more than a mind-numbing three hours. 

Alongside the writers, Ian Rickson’s direction is equally to blame for such an uninspiring evening. Rickson reduces the Thames’s majesty to a figment of our imagination, treating the Lyttleton’s massive proscenium space as a virtual warehouse, albeit one that has a floor that rises and falls along with undulating rows of lighting gantries - suggesting the river’s tidal flows.

Of the acting company Jake Wood is woefully underused as Gaffer Hexham a muscular, menacing Thames Boatman. Elsewhere, the actors try to make the best of this ghastly script, in a show that is not helped by Harvey’s monotonous melodies being poorly sung. The modern songs are grim and lazily written. By way of example, “London is not England, England is not London” must surely rank as one of the most inane lyrics ever to have been sung on stage.

It’s not just the wilful damage that Power and Harvey have wrought on Dickens’ writing - it’s that a sizeable slice of the National Theatre’s all too precious budget will have been consumed in this deluge of pretentious moralising.

London life has been far better served by Lerner and Loewe’s My Fair Lady and Barrie Keefe’s The Long Good Friday, both of which portrayed the city’s gritty contrasts. When it comes to musical interpretations of Dickens, the capital can consider itself well in to be seeing the return of Lionel Bart’s Oliver! later this year.

Runs until 22nd June

Photo credit: Marc Brenner

Nye - Review

National Theatre, London

*****

Written by Tim Price

Directed by Rufus Norris

Michael Sheen

Giving an extraordinary performance, Michael Sheen embodies Aneurin (Nye) Bevan in Tim Price’s new play. As Bevan lies dying of stomach cancer, Sheen takes us on a morphine-induced hallucination through the Welshman’s life, from his early career (following a brief stint down the mines) amidst the small town politics of Tredegar, through to his election as the MP for Ebbw Vale in 1929 and ultimately Cabinet Minister for Health and Housing and the visionary creator of the National Health Service in 1948.

In what is a fascinating analysis of both history and British socialism, Price’s narrative takes in Bevan’s unconventional yet loving marriage to Scottish MP Jennie Lee (fine work from Sharon Small) and sees him wittily spar with Tony Jayawardena’s brilliant cameo of Winston Churchill. Jon Furlong is equally brilliant, if repulsive, in his Mandelsonian take on Herbert Morrison (who was of course grandfather to the current Lord Mandelson). The other standout supporting roles are from Stephanie Jacob as Clement Attlee (driving a motorised No 10 desk around the stage), Rhodri Meilir as Bevan’s coal miner father David and Kezrena James as the starched yet supremely empathetic Nurse Ellie.

The story of the NHS’s formation is testament to Bevan’s strongly held belief in free health care for all at the point of need, forged from the iniquities of poverty and deprivation that he had seen in the Welsh mining valleys and throughout his career. Act Two’s revelation of the mercenary, self-preserving attitude of Britain’s doctors who fought tooth and nail against the privatisation of their highly lucrative profession makes for gripping drama.

The stagecraft on display is the National Theatre at its finest. Vicki Mortimer’s set sees hospital bedside curtains drawn across the stage in a variety of permutations including an ingenious suggestion of the House of Commons. Canny projections and an inspired use of laser-light to depict an underground seam of coal, only add to the evening’s theatrical magic.

The night however belongs to the pyjama-clad Michael Sheen. On stage virtually throughout and in a turn that includes a fabulous cover of Judy Garland’s Get Happy, Sheen is a tour-de-force treat in an evening of exquisite, unmissable theatre.

Runs until 11th May at the National Theatre and then at the Wales Millennium Centre from May 18th to 1st June

Photo credit: Johan Persson

Standing at the Sky's Edge - Review

Gillian Lynne Theatre, London

***

Music and lyrics by Richard Hawley

Book by Chris Bush

Directed by Robert Hastie

The cast of Standing at the Sky's Edge

Transferring to the West End from an acclaimed run at the National Theatre, Standing At The Sky’s Edge charts three occupancies of a duplex home built in Sheffield’s Park Hill estate. The show’s timeframe runs from the estate’s opening as a massive social housing project in 1959, replacing a significant proportion of the city's slum accommodation, then through a period of neglect and dilapidation and finally to the estate's gentrification in the early 21st century and transition into private ownership. Park Hill was a massive development and to this day remains the largest listed work of architecture in Europe. A prominent feature of Sheffield’s cityscape, the estate's history offered a bold conceit for the musical’s narrative.

It is a disappointment therefore that Chris Bush’s book is little more than a thread of cliched agitprop observations of the duplex's three occupying households. From a newly wed steelworker and his bride escaping poverty, through to refugees fleeing civil war in Liberia and ultimately, a comfortably middle-class professional running away from London and a failed relationship, Bush shoehorns in as many passing nods to Sheffield’s social landscape of the last 60 years as she can. The collapse of the steel industry, the miners’ strike, Thatcherism and even Brexit are all acknowledged with shallow passing references, though one can only speculate as to why the child grooming scandals that also tarnished so much of the South Yorkshire region during this period, fail to get a mention.

Richard Hawley’s songs are musically beautiful but lyrically lazy - the tunes land gorgeously on the ear but their frequent repetitions of phrases suggest a lack of creative wit behind the songs’ otherwise powerful foundations. The cast, as is to be expected on a leading London stage, are all magnificent with standout performances from Laura Pitt-Pulford, Rachael Wooding and Lauryn Redding. Ben Stone's stage designs together with Mark Henderson's lighting are equally impressive.

40 years ago Willy Russell's Blood Brothers offered a far sharper musical take on the impact of Thatcherism on England's north and of attempts by planners to rehouse a city's poor. Perhaps in a site-specific venue on the estate, Standing At The Sky's Edge may have packed more of a punch. The musical opened in Sheffield in 2019 where regional ticket pricing would have made it affordable to many of the city’s residents. In the capital however, where ticket prices are comparatively eye-watering, agitprop has been replaced by champagne-socialism.

Booking until 3rd August

Photo credit: Brinkhoff-Moegenburg

Hadestown - Review

Lyric Theatre, London

****

Music, lyrics & book by Anaïs Mitchell

Developed with & directed by Rachel Chavkin

The company of Hadestown

Anaïs Mitchell’s Hadestown is drawn from one of the strongest tragic storylines around: Orpheus’ love for Eurydice that draws him into the Underworld in his quest to rescue her from Hades’ grasp and return her to the mortal world. It’s a banger of a yarn and credit to Mitchell and Rachel Chavkin whose cracking songs and outstanding cast have breathed a bold life into this ambitious vision. The UK first encountered the show in its 2018 premier at the National Theatre. Now in the West End it’s a glorious fusion of a raft of musical styles, sung perfectly.

Dónal Finn and Grace Hodgett Young are the two doomed lovers. Both are magnificent with Finn possessing a gorgeously fragile tone that makes his number Wait For Me sparkle. Amidst the grown-up roles, Zachary James’ Hades offers a bass baritone the like of which is rarely heard in musical theatre. His is a towering performance of vulnerable cruelty. Gloria Onitiri is Persephone, wonderfully reprising the part from her time at the National, while in a sensational turn as (basically, narrator) Hermes, Melanie La Barrie cleverly weaves the tale’s threads together. Sung through, the show is an impressive performance from Tarek Merchant’s 7-piece onstage band. Rachel Hauck’s set design is ingenious - think Hell fused with New Orleans - brilliantly lit by Bradley King.

The show’s frustration lies in its crass shoehorning of a modern political agenda onto the Greek classics, with the narrative not being enhanced by the childishly oversimplistic That’s Why We Build The Wall that closes the first act.

But there is excellence on stage here and for what is (mostly) a bold piece of new writing, Hadestown is worth seeing.

Booking until 22nd December

Photo credit: Marc Brenner

Dear Octopus - Review

National Theatre, London

*****

Written by Dodie Smith

Directed by Emily Burns

Lindsay Duncan, Billy Howle, Bessie Carter and Malcolm Sinclair

Dodie Smith’s 1938 play is given a glorious revival at the Lyttleton. Dora and Charles Randolph (spectacularly played by Lindsay Duncan and Malcolm Sinclair) are celebrating their golden wedding in their country home that has been the family base for generations as relatives including children, grandchildren and one great-grandchild join them for the weekend’s festivities.

The sensitive genius of Smith’s writing is to observe the dynamics between the couple’s four daughters and a son - and to extract from all of these relationships the tender complexities of love, embarrassment, shame and even loss with a language that while of its time and dated, remains just as poignant for the 21st century and which never once descends into mawkish sentimentality. A lengthy first act slightly drags - but the second half soars through moments of the sweetest reconciliations amongst the assembled clan.

The cast are all magnificent. Of the adult children Bethan Cullinane’s Cynthia stands out for the remarkable interplay between her and her mother, while Billy Howle as gauche son Nicholas is another performance of remarkable sensitivity. Outside of the family, the role of the housemaid Fenny is a part of acute emotional complexity, skilfully delivered by Bessie Carter. A nod too to Kate Fahy’s Belle, Dora’s sister and a woman who has aged disgracefully yet wonderfully.

Duncan and Sinclair head their family with a perfect combination of warmth, understanding and gravitas. Duncan in particular delivers her role in a spectacular display of understated excellence. Rarely is such a loving matriarch to be found on stage.

The time and place of Dear Octopus (the plays title is drawn from a reference to the tentacular grasp of the family) is reflected both in Smith’s text - the losses of the Great War still smart, as the radio tells of a need to prepare for war as Chamberlain appeases Hitler - and in Frankie Bradshaw’s glorious set design that makes full use of the Lyttleton’s lofty fly tower and impressive revolve

Emily Burns has directed with a sure but nuanced hand, coaxing and crafting an evening of the finest talent from her company. Exquisite drama. 

Runs until 27th March

Photo credit: Marc Brenner