Woman in Mind - Review

Duke of York's Theatre, London

*****

Written by Alan Ayckbourn

Directed by Michael Longhurst

Sheridan Smith

Sheridan Smith as Susan in Alan Ayckbourn’s Woman in Mind gives one of the finest performances to be found on a London stage. Barely a comedy, the play shows the playwright's deepest, darkest brilliance, his narrative exploring Susan’s descent into psychosis. Smith gives the most harrowing portrayal of a woman whose mind is decaying before our eyes, unable to separate the reality of her own naturally flawed family from the false creations of her illness-oppressed brain.

In what is perhaps Michael Longhurst’s greatest work as a director, Smith captures Susan’s complex fragility with a conviction that seems almost effortless and which belies her acting genius. Onstage throughout, Smith delivers a masterclass in her craft.

The supporting cast are almost as magnificent as their leading lady. Tim McMullan is Gerald, Susan’s husband. A vicar and historian, his loving support for his wife is made all the more poignant when set against her apparent hatred for his professional commitments. Fine work too from Louise Brealey who plays Muriel, Susan’s live-in sister-in-law, whose calamitous catering gives rise to the evening’s few truly comedic moments.

In a heavily promoted stunt-casting, comedian Romesh Ranganathan plays Susan’s doctor, Bill. Albeit an accomplished performer Ranganathan proves the show’s weakest link, lacking the heavyweight chops to tackle a major West End role. As Susan’s imaginary family however, Sule Rimi, Chris Jenks and Safia Oakley-Green are all magnificent. Similarly, and in a comparatively tiny role, Taylor Uttley as Susan and Gerald’s son Rick adds an exquisitely painful layer of emotional agony to his mother’s tragedy.

Technically outstanding, Soutra Gilmour’s set enhanced by Andrzej Goulding’s subtly haunting video projections, delivers a beautiful creation of an English garden. Paul Arditti’s sound design proves to be another of the production’s ingenious treats.

In a performance that demands to be recognised at the Olivier Awards, Sheridan Smith makes Woman In Mind unmissable.

Runs until 28th February in London

Then touring:

4 – 7 MARCH 2026

Sunderland Empire, High Street West, Sunderland SR1 3EX

10 – 14 MARCH 2026

Theatre Royal, Glasgow, 282 Hope Street, Glasgow G2 3Q

Photo credit: Marc Brenner

Two Strangers (Carry A Cake Across New York) - Review

Criterion Theatre, London

****

Written by Jim Barne & Kit Buchan

Directed & choreographed by Tim Jackson

Sam Tutty and Dujonna Gift

Two Strangers (Carry A Cake Across New York) is inspirational new musical theatre. Jim Barne & Kit Buchan’s two-hander takes the wildly inventive plot of a young Brit, Dougal (played by Sam Tutty), flying in to New York’s JFK to attend the wedding of his father who he’s never met and being met at the airport by Robin (Dujonna Gift), the sister of his father’s fiancée. 

This bold rom-com requires a steely narrative to sustain two acts and sixteen songs, but Barne and Buchan pull it off with an ingenious story that exposes both characters’ vulnerabilities and dreams, revealing credible plot twists and turns that are as surprising as they are both witty, shocking and ultimately moving.

Tutty and Gift are perfectly cast. He as the gauche young Englishman and her as the brash New Yorker, with both singing to perfection and giving immaculately nuanced interpretations of their respective complex characters.

Soutra Gilmour’s set is cleverly built around suitcases - some deliciously oversized - on two concentric revolves that define the brief transitory nature of the friendship that evolves between the pair. Tamara Saringer with only a 4-piece band under her baton makes fine work of the writers’ compositions.

A fine romance with today's zeitgeist baked-in!

Runs until 31st August

Photo credit: Tristram Kenton

Just For One Day - Review

Old Vic, London

****

Book by John O'Farrell

Directed by Luke Sheppard

Craige Els

In a fabulous musical tribute to the 80s, Just For One Day takes David Bowie’s lyric as a link back to the global phenomenon that was the Live Aid concert of July 1985 and the Band Aid single that had preceded it in Christmas 1984. For the over-45s in the audience it is an evening of unashamed nostalgia as hit after hit is pumped out from the outstanding onstage band and sung by a cast who are all at the top of their musical theatre game.

Disbeliefs need to be seriously suspended though, for while Craige Els offers up a decent Bob (Geldof) and Jack Shallo (vocally at least) a passable Midge Ure (younger readers please Google) the other characterisations don’t quite hit the spot. 

John O’Farrell’s book crafts a corny tale that follows composite fictional character, Suzanne, from her teens in the 20th century to a middle-aged woman today, looking back at the excitement of the concert in her youth. There’s also Amara, a relief worker working at the famine’s coalface in Africa who takes us through the horrors and the challenges of what the epic fundraiser was all about.

On the night of this review, understudy Kerry Enright stepped up to the role of Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, bringing just the right of comedy to counter the gravitas and delivering the show’s one original number written for the theatre, a rap duet with her and Els’ Bob: Mrs T/Mr G.

Soutra Gilmour’s striking set is driven by gig lights encased in a floor-to-ceiling 3-sided video box. It’s a stark concept that works well, conveying the rushed and improvised aura that actually belied the brilliant execution of both Band Aid and Live Aid.  

The stars of the show however are unquestionably Patrick Hurley’s 6-piece band, with standout guitar work from Matt Isaac and Kobi Pham. These musicians have the unenviable task of recreating many of the greatest rock songs ever recorded and they do so sensationally. Their work alone is worth the ticket price.

Runs until 30th March

Sunset Boulevard - Review

Savoy Theatre, London

***

Music by Andrew Lloyd Webber

Lyrics by Don Black & Christopher Hampton

Directed by Jamie Lloyd

Nicole Scherzinger

The essence of this production of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Sunset Boulevard is in its advertised titling, 'Sunset Blvd.' The 'Blvd.' a staccato spelling, stripped back, laid bare – Jamie Lloyd stamping his imprimatur not just upon the staging of the show, but on its publicity too. It is disappointing to note however that the credits for this production make no reference whatsoever to Billy Wilder who directed and co-wrote the 1950 Oscar-winner that was to spawn the musical. How fickle creatives can be.

Nicole Scherzinger steps up to play Norma Desmond, the famously faded Hollywood idol, an actress who decades after her heyday insists that she is still “big, it’s the pictures that got small”. Make no mistake – Scherzinger has a voice of anthemic, stadium-filling power and in some of Fabian Aloise’s dance routines, a sublime athleticism that unhelpfully belies her age. Considering that Desmond is meant to be the ultimate Hollywood has-been, for Scherzinger to move so amazingly across the stage suggests a woman close to the peak of her career, rather than in its deepest trough. She makes fine work of Desmond’s early solo number With One Look, but is found wanting in the second-act’s blockbuster As If We Never Said Goodbye. This latter number has the potential to leave an audience broken, such is its insight into the deluded Desmond’s return to Paramount Studios. Here however, whilst Scherzinger’s vocals are again magnificent it is hard to connect her performance with Desmond’s disconnected despair.

The final act’s lyrics have been changed to fit the leading lady – Black and Hampton wrote “nothing's wrong with being fifty, unless you're acting twenty.” In this show, the “fifty” is changed to “forty”, that only highlights the weakness in having cast Scherzinger (who in close-up looks fabulous in her forties) as the ageing diva. Much like Desmond's futile dream of playing Salome, has Lloyd cast Scherzinger in a role that is ultimately beyond her? 

Distinctly minimalist, and under designer Soutra Gilmour’s vision, Lloyd’s actors are given no props to work with while on stage. The costuming and the staging is completely monochrome, a nod to the early days of Hollywood and there is some ingenious live video close-up work that reflects the show’s cinematic foundation. The black and white colour scheme works and makes for an exciting visual treat.

For no apparent reason the second half opens up backstage with a live video broadcast tracking the story's Hollywood screenwriter Joe Gillis (played by Tom Francis) as he zips through the cast’s dressing rooms before exiting out onto The Strand and back in to the Savoy Theatre, all while singing the title song. Impressive work for sure – but no explanation is offered for this brief movie-in-a show. And why, when Norma tells Joe that she’s got herself a revolver, are we shown a semi-automatic handgun placed on Scherzinger’s backstage dressing table? Sloppy detailing that undermines Lloyd's approach. 

In keeping with Lloyd’s harsh interpretation the two songs that offer a touch of comedy amidst the noir (the ensemble numbers The Lady’s Paying and  Eternal Youth Is Worth A Little Suffering) have been dropped. These excisions however don’t sit well alongside some of the the corny moments that have been incorporated into the video work. Down in the pit Alan Williams’ musical direction is magnificent, delivering a gorgeous interpretation of Lloyd Webber’s melodies.

This production of Sunset Boulevard will be remembered for its casting and its distinctive style. It’s a flawed interpretation for sure – but very entertaining. You won’t be bored.

Runs until 6th January 2024. Rachel Tucker plays the role of Norma Desmond on Mondays.

Photo credit: Manuel Harlan

The Effect - Review

National Theatre, London

*****

Written by Lucy Prebble

Directed by Jamie Lloyd

Paapa Essiedu and Taylor Russell

After a gap of some 11 years, the National Theatre’s revival of Lucy Prebble’s The Effect is as timely as it is brilliant.

In this ingenious four-hander Paapa Essiedu and Taylor Russell are Tristan and Connie, two volunteers trialling an anti-depressant over a 4 week period in a secure residential facility. Michele Austin and Kobna Holdbrook-Smith are the clinicians Lorna and Toby, overseeing the trial, with Lorna being responsible for the trial’s execution, while Toby is from the drug company who have developed the medicine that’s being tested. In a tight single act that lasts 100 minutes, Prebble immerses us into the intensity of an improbable love that evolves between Tristan and Connie, while also exploring the doctors’ dynamics too.

Director Jamie Lloyd delivers electrifying theatre. Essiedu kicks off as the opportunistic chancer - eager to make a sexual conquest out of Connie, his swagger and machismo almost predatory in the play’s opening scenes. Russell’s Connie is an equally stunning performance as she explores her own responses to Tristan - and as the play unfolds, with one of them on the trialled medication and one on a placebo, the drama deepens to a level of human pain and passion that is at times unbearable to watch such is it’s intensity. In their own predatory sub-plot, the two medics are equally compelling.

As ever, designer Soutra Gilmour provides the staging for Lloyd’s vision, in this instance boldly transforming the Lyttleton’s proscenium stage into a traverse space with racks of seating upstage with the action playing out centrally. The colour scheme is a harsh black and white that Jon Clark’s brutal lighting plots enhance magnificently.

There’s so much to chew over in The Effect - not just the grief and humanity that is played out on stage, but also a wider contemplation of the manipulative powers of Big Pharma. In this post-pandemic world that Prebble could barely have contemplated when she penned her script, the world’s physiological reactions to both Covid and its panoply of speedily rolled-out vaccines, offer up some unexpectedly troubling analogies too.

The Effect is modern writing at its best and again, spectacularly, our National Theatre at its very best too. In Jamie Lloyd’s hands this makes for a night of outstanding, unforgettable theatre.

Runs until 7th October

Photo credit: Marc Brenner

Further Than The Furthest Thing - Review

Young Vic Theatre, London

*

Written by Zinnie Harris

Directed by Jennifer Tang

Jenna Russell

If ever Arts Council England require reasons to justify their axing of funds for London projects, they need look no further than the Young Vic’s current revival of Zinnie Harris’ 1999 play, Further Than The Furthest Thing. 

As an exploration of exploitation, the story is a tedious study in how a remote island community is destroyed by the evil wider world. Drawn from the 1960s history of Tristan da Cunha, this production could have been so much more. Indeed, the supporting essays in the programme make for an excellent read.

It turns out that the essays are better than the production itself, for what Harris and director Jennifer Tang offer is overblown and lengthy with disappointingly two-dimensional characters. The usually brilliant designer Soutra Gilmour offers up a set that inexplicably (and quite possibly expensively) spins on the Young Vic’s revolve at a pace that’s as lethargic as the narrative. If Harris’ script had been filleted as ruthlessly as the island’s harvested crawfish then it might, just might, have had the potential to be an hour-long radio play. That around a third of the audience vanished at the interval is one of life’s easier to solve mysteries.

Jenna Russell, as always, delivers a top-notch performance. It is only a shame that the material she has to work with is so trite and dire. Further Than The Furthest Thing ain’t far enough for this dismal disappointment.

Runs until 29th April

Photo credit: Marc Brenner

& Juliet - Review

Shaftesbury Theatre, London



****


Music and lyrics by Max Martin and Friends
Book by David West Read
Directed by Luke Sheppard

Miriam Teak Lee

& Juliet is a new musical inspired by a Shakespeare classic and the back catalogue of one of the 21st century’s smartest songwriters, Max Martin.

David West Read has taken 30 Martin numbers – remember that the composer, who also co-produces, has written for most of the recent giants of the global pop music scene – and around them, woven a story that explores Juliet’s potential to have become a powerful and dynamic leading lady.

The show’s narrative may be slight but its twists and turns keep the audience hooked and the piece engages with its classic references that display an imaginative wit matched only by an outstanding cast and creative team. Miriam Teak Lee takes the title role, convincing in her chic interpretation of Juliet complete with powerhouse vocals, while alongside her are some of musical theatre’s strongest performers. David Bedella compels as Lance, while Melanie La Barrie’s Nurse, Arun Blair-Mangat's May and (cover) Dillon Scott-Lewis’ Francois are equally sensational.

Luke Sheppard directs with his hallmark visual flair that lends itself so well to such a music and dance driven story. Jennifer Weber’s whip-smart choreography is thrilling, with Soutra Gilmour’s typically provocative design work, lit by Howard Hudson, combining romance with excitement. Dominic Fallacaro’s nine piece band deliver an electrifying pulse to Martin’s melodies.

Suitably woke and with a nod to issues of both gender and sexuality, & Juliet is that unique musical that fuses classic English literature with the modern classics of pop. It’s a fun night at the theatre.

Now booking until 30th May 2020

Evita - Review

Open Air Theatre, London


*****

Music by Andrew Lloyd Webber
Lyrics by Tim Rice
Directed by Jamie Lloyd

Samantha Pauly and Trent Saunders

Jamie Lloyd’s revival of Evita at the Open Air Theatre, albeit staged in its intended 1940s style, proves to be a masterclass of contemporary political theatre. In a production that is as much rally as world class musical, Lloyd transforms the piece into a commentary on recent times as well as a showcase of some of the finest performing talent to be found on both sides of the pond.

Lloyd, with his regular design partner Soutra Gilmour and choreographer Fabian Aloise, takes the story of Eva Duarte (subsequently, Peron) and charts her rise and fall in a stark brutal staging that is unashamedly sexual and politically brutal. The stage is bare and tiered – save for a rusting and distressed “EVITA”, fashioned in stark iron letters, that hangs over the space. The costumes are evocative of time and place, but it is the lithe writhing movement of the ensemble that define Argentina’s betrayed poor, from whose ranks Eva was to rise to become the wife of President Juan Peron. The occasional use of hand-held cabled mics adds a touch of campaigning urgency to the piece

But it is not just Lloyd’s visualisation of the piece that defines its political punch – although show’s smoking flares and confetti cannon do add to the impact. Rather, the political wit of Tim Rice’s lyrics proves as timeless today as when they were first sung in 1976. There is a veritably cruel incisiveness to Rice’s words that resonate as metaphors for the 21st century. Lloyd offers us hints of Farage and Trump in his contexting, while Rice’s merciless exposition of socialism in And The Money Kept Rolling In makes Jeremy Corbyn’s contemporary canards promising free-stuff to the impressionable seem ruthlessly resonant.

The production values of this show are close to flawless. In the title role, Samantha Pauly is the first of the show’s three trans-Atlantic imports. Pauly perfectly captures Evita’s curious fusion of strength and vulnerability, with a grace in movement and a vocal presence that are spine-tingling. Amidst the darkening trees of Regents Park, Pauly’s big number Don’t Cry For Me Argentina is imbued with a rare beauty.

Another Yank in the show is Trent Saunders as Che. Lloyd has fun with Che, defining him very much as the voice of the Argentinian people as well as the role of questioning chorus to which he had originally been created. Saunders provides the usual amount of deprecating irony towards Evita – but splashed with paint in the final act, he very much represents the spent and abused populace. 

The final American on stage is Ektor Rivera’s Peron. Aside from bringing the production a Latin authenticity, Rivera captures Peron’s sexual irresistibility as well as a convincing, uncaring, fascist governance to his leadership.

There is excellence in the key supporting roles too, with the wonderfully voiced Adam Pearce giving a thuggish sleaze to Augustin Magaldi, while Frances Mayli McCann enchants with Another Suitcase In Another Hall. Placed to the rear of the action and slightly above the stage Alan Williams' orchestra handle Lloyd Webber's South American melodies immaculately - with a particular mention to Ollie Hannifan's exquisite guitar playing. 

Tickets are still on sale, but at the time of this review availability is limited. Rush to see this show – it makes for a thrilling night at the theatre.

Runs until 21st September

Photo credit: Marc Brenner

The Wild Party - Review

The Other Palace, London


****


Book, music and lyrics by Michael John LaChiusa
Book by George C. Wolfe
Directed and choreographed by Drew McOnie

Frances Ruffelle and John Owen-Jones

The arrival of Michael John LaChiusa's The Wild Party in London marks a number of premiere moments. It is: the first production of the show this side of the Atlantic; it is also the debut production staged in the newly re-branded The Other Palace (formerly known as the St James Theatre); and even more importantly the production marks choreographer Drew McOnie’s elevation to director, alongside his recognized craft of choreography. 

Drawn from Joseph Moncure March's 1928 poem of the same name the show is an unrelenting tale of bastardry in 1920s New York. Frances Ruffelle's Queenie and her husband Burrs are a pair of fading Vaudeville artistes. But Queenie loves to party, wildly and the musical evolves into a blurred flurry of decadent debauchery that is ultimately to end in rape and murder. The details of the plot are barely significant - think of The Great Gatsby without the glamour, or perhaps a glimpse into what Stephen King's Overlook Hotel may have been like in its once wonderful pomp.

John Owen-Jones is the terrifyingly brilliant Burrs - at times grotesquely sporting a clown's white slap and red lips. To Gavin Mallett's muted trumpet early on in the show his compelling voice and presence defines misogyny - his white-gloved jazz hands as capable of beating up a woman as whipping up an audience. Owen-Jones is never less than compelling, think Archie Rice with a hint of Amos Hart and you start to get close to his monstrous creation. (There's a doomed mania to the partnership of Owen-Jones and Ruffelle that makes one long for a one-day future pairing as Sweeney Todd and Mrs Lovett.)

It's hard to track the flow of guests - there are so many cameo turns, for the most part performed flawlessly, that the plot's details dissolve into a carefully choreographed cocktail of humanity. These are partying gadflies desperately clinging to a life of social semblance, yet all, for the most part, little more than vapid, vacuous vamps. And throughout there's a pulse of jealousy fuelled by Victoria Hamilton-Barritt's Kate and her insouciant lover Black played by Simon Thomas.

LaChiusa has structured his work so that all the ensemble get their moment(s) in the spotlight and to be fair, with only a couple of exceptions, they all give of their entirety to make this punishing show deliver its punch. Memorable amongst the cast are Genesis Lynea and Gloria Obianyo's androgynous twins, Tiffany Graves intriguing Madeleine, Steven Serlin's violated Goldberg and Dex Lee's serpentine Jackie.

As with any McOnie production, the movement comes first - and The Wild Party is a virtually constant flow of lithe fluidity as the cast writhe through their roles. Where perhaps the flaws in McOnie's directing skills peek through, is in the occasional moments where the acting sometimes fades away. Seasoned troupers like Owen-Jones and Ruffelle can act their hearts out blindfolded - but elsewhere McOnie needs to have taken some of the cast deeper into their roles.

Soutra Gilmour's set is a multi layered confection that's a treat to look at,  save for Richard Howell's lighting which a tad too often blinds the audience with its stadium-powered wash. Up above the stage, Theo Jamieson's eight piece band are nothing short of remarkable as they deliver LaChiusa's score, a composition as relentlessly brilliant as the narrative.

Whilst the music and movement are stunning, The Wild Party's not easy on both eyes and ears and is probably best enjoyed by genre aficionados. A couple of pre-show gins or juleps are recommended too.

Runs until 1st April

Photo credit: Scott Rylander

Doctor Faustus - Review

Duke of York’s Theatre, London


***


Written by Christopher Marlowe and Colin Teevan
Directed by Jamie Lloyd

Jenna Russell and Kit Harington

Christopher Marlowe’s story of Dr Faustus is well-known. The scholar no longer able to find interest in the traditional fields of knowledge (law, religion and medicine) who delves deep into the dark arts and to make a pact with the Devil, selling his soul in exchange for 24 years of godlike powers. 24 years of fame and success followed by eternal damnation. 

Black and existential in its original form, here Marlowe's play is given a more cynically contemporary twist as Colin Teevan introduces new texts that connect today’s transient and trashy pop culture with the moral vacuum Faust makes for himself. 

The result is  fascinating, disturbing and at the same time farcically ironic, like a delirious post-hangover nightmare. The barely-dressed actors inhabit Soutra Gilmour’s stage as already-damned souls, occasionally with an unbearable tension much like the slow-motion protagonists of a Bill Viola video, at other times simply with aggressive violence.

Kit Harington plays a young Faustus, in possession of both human frailty and ingenuity. His pact with Lucifer however is firmly set in the 21st century, with our anti-hero seeking TV celebrity rather than the traditional order of regular superpowers. No longer a scholar, he becomes a magician like David Copperfield or Dynamo, desperate for popularity. Faustus’ longing for a show in Vegas reveals the height of his ambition: we're not in 1592 anymore and people’s deepest desires have changed. 

Harington, albeit looking more comfortable delivering the modern sections by Teevan than the originals, convinces as the easily-duped Faustus. The real strengths of this production however lie with Jenna Russell’s Mephistopheles and Forbes Masson as Lucifer. Russell’s performance is magnificent, part demonic seductress and part talent agent. Her ability to convey the suffocating love/hate relationship with Faustus – Who is really the master, who the servant? – is outstanding. In her nightgown, with her short hair, Russell remains the powerful central focus of her scenes and don't linger too long in the bar either - her on-stage singing towards the end of the interval is an infernally ingenious treat.

Masson shines as a sardonic and auto-ironic Lucifer, dangerously mellifluous more than straightforwardly intimidating and a nod too to Tom Edden for his representation of the seven deadly sins. Helped by Jon Clark’s lighting, his is a spectacular transformation through the sins. 

It certainly makes for a stimulating night at the theatre. Lloyd and Gilmour have a well-established partnership that leads to stunning visuals, usually supported by outstanding performances. Russell is fabulous, Harington’s Faustus is likely to be best enjoyed by his fans.  

Runs until June 25th.

Reviewed by Simona Negretto

Photo credit: Marc Brenner

The Ruling Class - Review

Trafalgar Studios, London

*****

Written by Peter Barnes

Directed by Jamie Lloyd

James McAvoy

Director Jamie Lloyd continues to prove a deliciously petulant force in London theatre with productions of The Hothouse, Urinetown and most recently Assassins that have all sought to parody an accepted view of society, government or history. With his new production of Peter Barnes’ The Ruling Class, Lloyd again takes aim at what is shown to be a blatant madness that lies within institutionalised power structures, specifically in this work the control and influence of the English political and moneyed elites.

Barnes 1969 satire displayed a vision for the timelessness of sharp political farce, with The Ruling Class feeling as painfully poignant and relevant amongst today’s New Labour and Cameron’s Bullingdon buddies as it would have done in the Swinging Sixties, yet with moments in the play that resonate with our era’s phone hacking scandal and a ruling “Old Boys” club.

Lloyd again pairs up with James McAvoy, directing the Scottish actor in an unrelenting portrayal of the schizophrenic 14th Earl of Gurney. Mcavoy's performance will have one both crying with laughter and shifting uncomfortably, such is the recognisability of Gurney’s world. As the play progresses it darkens, becoming increasingly disquieting yet enthralling. Gurney’s arc highlights the contrasts of his world, and when he is ultimately brought into the fold of the ruling class, McAvoy offers a truly terrifying reality, performed brilliantly - and thats even without his topless unicycling!

The entire cast’s energy is sensational throughout, with Joshua McGuire in particular continuing to display his talented versatility. And in the event that Barne's carefully crafted irony may have been lost on the audience, a tenet of the play’s message is spelled out in an interjection from Anthony O’Donnell’s butler, Tucker, reminding us that it is 1% of the country owns 50% of the nation's property. A comment that is as relevant today as ever.

In what is fast becoming a recognised double act of theatrical creativity, Lloyd turns to Soutra Gilmour for her distinctive design work. Staged in the Trafalgar Studios, a venue that, in a previous existence as the Whitehall Theatre was famous for farce in the 50’s and 60’s there is a comforting appropriateness in the location. Lloyd however would be appalled should his shows ever be mistaken for comfortable viewing. The Ruling Class is satire at its best, powerfully written and sharply presented. Unmissable.

Runs until 11th April 2015

Assassins - Review

Menier Chocolate Factory, London

*****

Music and lyrics by Stephen Sondheim
Book by John Weidman
Directed by Jamie Lloyd

Carly Bawden and Catherine Tate

It is a thrilling, chilling intimacy that infuses the Menier's production of Assassins, Stephen Sondheim's compelling work that unfolds via the back stories of those who have taken a pot-shot at America's Presidents down the years. The audience enters a traverse space through the sinister open jaws of an oversized clown, with Soutra Gilmour's inspired design placing this show's prescribed fairground setting in a decayed theme park. Video-gamers will find more than a hint of Batman's Arkham City amidst the grotesque paraphernalia - and that's even before setting eyes on Simon Lipkin's Joker-esque Proprietor.

There is as much history as there is entertainment in this show. Broadway import Aaron Tveit is the first of the shooters, playing John Wilkes Booth, Abraham Lincoln's Confederate murderer. Booth was committed to opposing the abolition of slavery that Lincoln championed and proves to be one of the musical's few assassins who is drawn to kill purely in pursuit of a political even if reprehensible political motive. There is little that's crazy in Tveit's sensitive portrayal of a man who sees Lincoln destroying his nation and whilst many of the other assassins are executed, Booth's suicide as his captors close in, evokes a surprising pathos from the American actor.

Aside from the Proprietor, Sondheim's key narrative thread comes from Jamie Parker’s guitar-strumming Balladeer. Amidst moments of brilliant irony, Parker achieves a subtle blend of satire and tragedy as he weaves his way through the show's haphazard chronology, his final transformation, from everyman to Lee Harvey Oswald, is one of Sondheim's most chilling creative concepts.

The power of this show lies in its construction as an ensemble piece and Jamie Lloyd has assembled a world class company to portray this clutch of infamous inadequates. Catherine Tate cleverly underplays her comic genius as Sarah Jane Moore who was to have a pop at Gerald Ford, whilst in a separate bid to kill Ford, Carly Bawden's Lynette 'Squeaky' Fromme offers up another carefully crafted slice of ditzy 1970's Americana.

Rising star Stewart Clarke electrifies (literally) as F.D.Roosevelt's would be killer Giuseppe Zangara. Clarke's last Latino turn was as Pirelli in NYMT's Sweeney Todd and this young actor's Italian job has to be seen to be believed. Andy Nyman offers a perfectly nuanced nebbish as immigrant Charles Guiteau who shot Garfield in 1881. Nyman's disturbingly hilarious reprise of The Ballad of Guiteau, complete with jazz hands as his character's corpse swings from the gallows (great stagecraft from Freedom Flying) must rank as one of the most ghoulish moments in the canon.

Canadian Mike McShane is perfectly placed as the oft forgotten Samuel Byck, a middle-aged unemployed salesman who plotted to fly a 747 into Nixon's White House. Lumbering on stage in a Santa suit and in a role that credits him with no sung solos but rather rambling monologues, McShane leads the company in Assassins' most portrayal number, Another National Anthem. (And if McShane is one day cast as Willy Loman, remember that you read it here first)

Lipkin is an assured force throughout - and as each President is in turn shot at, he dons a paper target on head, back or torso, inviting gunmen to take aim. His is a performance (that also includes his acclaimed puppetry skills), that like the show itself, is as exciting as it is thought provoking. With no interval, Assassins proves to be a relentless roller-coaster ride. The most famous assassination of them all, that of John F. Kennedy in Dallas, sees the Menier's stage flooded in crimson petals, mimicking the famously televised bloody horror that the world witnessed in November 1963. 

As one of London's visionary directors and a creative force who consistently brings a perceptive flair, often sprinkled with just a hint of carnage, there was an inevitability that Jamie Lloyd would want to tackle this troubling show. His execution is flawless, ably supported by musical director Alan Williams' interpretation of Sondheim's complex melodies.

Sold out until March, this show is a work of genius that deserves a wider audience. A West End transfer may yet be a possibility, but nothing will match the cockpit-like intensity achieved in this versatile venue. The finale's ensemble of the assassins, guns aimed at the audience and all singing Everybody's Got The Right will, to quote Sondheim, stay with me for a long time.

Runs until 7th March 2015

Urinetown - Review

Apollo Theatre, London

*****

Music & lyrics by Mark Hollmann

Book & lyrics by Greg Kotis

Directed by Jamie Lloyd

Jonathan Slinger

After a successful three year run on Broadway a decade ago and a recent stint at London’s St James’ Theatre, Urinetown finally makes it to the West End. Set in a dystopian, drought-ridden future where corporations control the only toilets and the down at heel population must pay for the ‘privilege to pee’, Urinetown’s producers must be wondering what will put audiences off first – its title or its subject matter. It would be a great shame if either did because this is a seriously funny, subversively witty show. (And actually, Greg Kotis’ knowing script gets that joke in long before any reviewer has thought of it. Breaking the fourth wall at will, Jonathan Slinger’s deliciously degenerate narrator, Police Officer Lockstock, tells us that nothing kills a show like ‘too much exposition’. ‘How about a terrible title?’ asks local urchin Little Sally).

Weaving the broadest slapstick humour into a grim, highly relevant and perhaps portentous Malthusian tale, Urinetown is a musical that never stops poking fun at its own genre and unlike so many of that ilk, resists the temptation to eventually embrace its clichés in the final act. Driving it all along is Mark Hollmann’s excellent score – ranging from gospel pastiche, to rousing ‘Les Mis’ chorus – and witty lyrics. Some of the songs may be a little forgettable, but they’re still perfectly pitched within the show.

Jamie Lloyd’s direction, aided by Soutra Gilmour’s wonderfully dingy design, is razor sharp and Ann Yee’s choreography is at times a comic masterclass all of its own. Musical director Alan Williams delivers not just an excellent band, but also, in the big second act showstopper ‘Run, Freedom, Run’, quite simply some of the tightest and most polished chorus singing to be found on a West End stage.

The cast is of the very highest quality – Jenna Russell is predictably wonderful as the fearsome gatekeeper of the urinal Miss Pennywise, while Slinger's Lockstock relishes many of the best lines. Karis Jack’s Little Sally and Mark Meadows’ sleazy senator deserve special mentions, as does an exceptionally strong ensemble.

Urinetown is modern musical theatre at its very best.


Booking to 24th January 2015 

Urinetown

St James Theatre, London

****

Music & lyrics by Mark Hollmann

Book & lyrics by Greg Kotis

Directed by Jamie Lloyd

Richard Fleeshman confronts Jenna Russell

More than a decade after it's acclaimed Broadway debut, Urinetown splashes down on this side of the Atlantic, premiering at London's bijou St James Theatre. Brash and brassy, the show is set in an America of the future. Water is scarce, sewerage is rationed and evil big business controls the municipal toilets, where "spending a penny" costs just that and sometimes considerably more. Packing a seriously portentous message (wise minds have long suggested that future wars will be fought over water rather than oil), the show is a satirical meta-musical, that not only takes the piss out of peeing, but also out of its own genre too.

The style throughout is of a 1960’s graphic novel. The bad guys are really bad, the cops are in the pay of the suits and the poor are down-trodden. The violence is beautifully choreographed and when the (copious) stage-blood flows it is often as a thick black goo as well as the classic scarlet, mimicking the comic-books' monochrome. Thomas Malthus is the other literary reference that streams through the show. Jonathan Slinger (who only recently was the RSC’s Hamlet at Stratford) opens proceedings as sardonic cop Officer Lockstock, sat on stage in a mise en scene, quietly reading from the 18th century philosopher as the audience take their seats. Malthus’ apocalyptic predictions drive the tale, prophesying that ultimately the world’s resources will not be able to sustain its geometrically expanding human population. 

Jamie Lloyd again lays down his marker as a creator of visionary theatre. Working with a first class company his caricatured characters are as hilarious as they are disturbing. Musical theatre's grand dame in waiting, Jenna Russell, is Penelope Pennywise the grotesquely rubber-aproned supervisor of Public Amenity 9. Her role down amongst the city's low lifes is to guard the facility, ensuring that only those who pay, can pee. With her ghostly, ghastly, white-slapped face Russell is sublime and her big number, It’s A Privilege To Pee, is a masterclass in performance.

Also starring is Richard Fleeshman as Bobby Strong, the hero who dares to challenge the system. Fleeshman does not disappoint and if his big number Look At The Sky is a touch too heavy on the ironic melodrama, he more than makes up for it in delivery. As corporate baddie, Caldwell B. Cladwell, Simon Paisley Day is everything a villain should be. With a moustache inspired by Moriarty and the sharpest satirical dialog, Day relishes the role and is a joy to watch throughout. At times the show’s structure creaks more than it leaks. Lockstock's role is also that of occasional narrator, a mechanism that too often seems to be an easy way out for the writers, checking up that the audience “geddit” just in case the show has nauseated rather than amused.

The strengths of this production however lie within the carefully crafted values that producer Julian Stoneman has evidently insisted (and spent a fortune) upon. The acting company is top drawer throughout with even supporting roles being outstanding. Karis Jack’s Little Sally is a cracker and Adam Pearce’s thuggishly rotund Officer Barrel (Lockstock’s sidekick) is another modest glimpse of excellence. After the interval the glorious ensemble number Run, Freedom, Run displays every sign of evolving into the show-stopper that the cast clearly hope it to be. Soutra Gilmour's ingeniously grim designs of sewer and slum with multi-level multiple revolves suit the steeply raked theatre perfectly, alongside Ann Yee’s choreography and Kate Water’s multiple fight designs that are delivered with pinpoint drill and perfectly timed conviction.

Urinetown is musical theatre of the highest standard. Clearly staged with a deserved transfer in mind it is the work of a cast and creative team at the top of their game and demands to be seen. You're in for a treat!

Runs until 3rd May 2014

From Here To Eternity

Shaftesbury Theatre, London

***

Lyrics by Tim Rice

Music by Stuart Brayson

Book by Bill Oakes

Director Tamara Harvey

A passionate wartime romance, a star studded cinema legacy and Tim Rice's lyrics all suggest a musical of grand ambition and spectacular promise. But whilst From Here To Eternity is welcomed as a new piece of musical theatre, as for so many shows or movies themed around Hawaii in that fateful 1941 winter, it proves to be heavy on Pacific promise but, like Soutra Gilmour's (effectively) minimalist set designs, light on artistic content. 

It's a grand canvas indeed that has a show climaxing with the USA being drawn into the second world war. Set around the American naval base at Pearl Harbour, we meet First Sergeant Warden, who is to fall for his womanizing Captain's wife Karen Holmes and Private Prewitt, a member of Warden’s company, who is to lose his heart to Island whore Lorene. Where one love interest is usually enough for most musicals, to be writing for a quartet of lovers is a potential distraction to both writer and audience. Rice's ambitions are noble, but his scope is just too broad to effectively support such romantic complexity.

The show is not helped through the star-casting of Darius Campbell as Warden. Chiselled looks and beautifully voiced for sure, he looks heroic but his acting lacks subtlety and depth and he fails to capture our belief. Robert Lonsdale's Prewitt is a performance that is West End worthy. His take on the song Fight The Fight is stirring and convincing as he grapples with his conscience over being required to fight in conflict. Two reprisals of any song is usually at least one too many and that this song re-appears so often, with other musical motifs returning throughout the evening, indicates that composer Stuart Brayson lacks the talent to match the scale of the show and the renowned wit of his lyricist.

The two lead women delight. Siubhan Harrison is Lorene, a character whose tough shell conceals a wise and tender heart and who inthe number Run Along Joe, gives two pleasing and well-crafted perspectives on the same song through its reprisals. It is Rebecca Thornhill as Karen Holmes who shines out amongst the cast. Her loveless marriage now worn threadbare through countless army flings, the poignancy of the love she craves with Warden is compelling. 

Harvey's direction and Javier De Frutos's choreography is sound throughout even if the constant carrying of metal beds on and off stage by the male ensemble intrudes at times, no more so than half way through the title song From Here To Eternity. The creative pair are at their best though with the routine for You Got The Money that becomes an exciting array of dance, lifts and beautifully timed rendezvous.

The story famously builds towards the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour. A big event that in the West End demands effects that are state of the art. In an era of digital illusion and to audiences used to the best of CGI, the attack as presented here is a damp squib. If, on a fraction of this show’s budget the Southwark Playhouse managed to impressively sink the Titanic earlier this year, then it cannot have been beyond the wit of Rice and his co-producers to know that something spectacular was called for above and beyond the projections that we witness shone onto the Shaftesbury stage. 

Notwithstanding a closing nod to the human cost of war that is both respectful and moving, From Here To Eternity is much like the US Pacific Fleet, ill-fated and unlikely to remain afloat for long.

Now booking into 2014

Candide

Swan Theatre, Stratford upon Avon

*****

A new play by Mark Ravenhill

Inspired by Voltaire

Sarah Ridgeway

Mark Ravenhill’s Candide, is one of those rare pieces of theatre that not only sets out to challenge some widely held perceptions on life, but actually succeeds in its mission, via provocative stagecraft that is close to perfect.

Ravenhill's starting point is Voltaire’s hero Candide, an eternal optimist who believes that all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds. Candide’s progress however sees him encounter a succession of grim realities that continually test his gloriously naïve and eternally hopeful presumptions, until the argument is ultimately proposed that optimism is simply people tricking themselves.

That’s it for the philosophical comment of this review and if you want to learn more, see the show! But if Voltaire provided the seed of Ravenhill’s journey, then the structure of his play is at times more of a nod to Doc Brown’s time machine from the movie Back To The Future rather than the classic French tale. The play opens in 18th century Westphalia where Candide, in a performance from Matthew Needham that just occasionally feels slightly forced, is expelled from his adoptive home after virtually seducing his young cousin Cunegonde. Conscripted into the army, battle follows and whilst at all times following Voltaire’s underlying themes, Ravenhill brutally lurches us into the present day and the birthday celebrations in a swanky hotel of an apparently catatonic Sophie. Awakened from her trance like state, Sophie in a performance of electrifying menace, massacres her family one by one, whilst bewailing her grief at the destruction that modern humankind is wreaking upon the planet. Candide’s arc broadly continues in modern times, amongst shocking, visceral theatre, beautifully envisioned by Lyndsey Turner that is as exhilarating as it is disturbing to watch. If Ravenhill’s mission has been not only to provoke and to stimulate his audience but also to entertain them, then he gloriously succeeds.

Stylish writing is matched here by sublime performances. Ian Redford (is this really his RSC debut season?) shines as Sophie’s Ray Winstone like grandfather, going on to threaten as an ultimately corrupt Pangloss. Sarah Ridgeway’s Sophie brings a chilling intensity rarely seen outside Tarantino movies, to leafy sleepy Stratford whilst Rose Reynolds, who like many of her peers has delivered consistent excellence throughout this season, is a delight as the wide-eyed coquettishly climactic Cunegonde. John Hopkins as cynical film director Tim again shows his versatility in a range of roles, whilst Kevin Harvey’s Voltaire is just a delight to listen to. Harvey's scouse diction, so perfectly clipped and matching his immaculate presence enhances all his scenes, whilst veteran Susan Engel’s final act is as shocking as it is enthralling. Soutra Gilmour’s designs that bridge continents as equally as they span the centuries keep up with the mania that appears to be Ravenhill’s powerfully creative mind.

This production is such a stunning confection of ideas and imagery that it deserves a wider audience. With apologies for yet another cinematic comparison, but the political and philosophical absurdity of Ravenhill's interpretation of Candide's journey suggested echoes of Lindsay Anderson's seminal movie, O Lucky Man! The RSC who well know how to exploit a successful production, should consider engaging a British filmmaker to translate Ravenhill’s visions on to the big screen. His ideas have a contemporary beauty that is rare, wonderful and refreshingly free of all pretension and his Candide is a story that must be seen.

Runs until 26th October 2013