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

Chum - Review

***

Screenplay by Joe Leone and Jonathan Zuck

Directed by Jonathan Zuck

2026, 93 minutes, Certificate 15

A bunch of wealthy Westerners head to Malta for a glamorous destination wedding - and as they charter a swish catamaran for a day out on the ocean, it soon becomes clear that rather than savouring a fine Wedding Breakfast, these hyper-privileged folk are destined to be feasted upon themselves by a rogue Great White shark that has unexpectedly made its way into the Med.

Let’s be clear. This ain’t Jaws - itself a masterpiece of exquisite acting, suspense practical special effects, and one of the best screenplays ever. The dialogue in Chum lurches from one cliche to the next, and while the actors make the best of the material they’ve been given, it would be flattering to their characters to describe them as even two-dimensional.

All that being said, Chum makes for slightly predictable but highly entertaining nonsense. The sound effects as the shark enjoys its various meals are a treat, even if the AI visuals prove to be a bit of a bloody mess!

Notwithstanding that the film appears to have been made on slightly more than a shoestring budget the image of Alice Eve, literally, jumping the shark, will stay with me for a long time.

Whilst not of the highest pedigree, Chum still makes for a fun evening’s streaming.

Three Ghosts of Silvertown - Review

Tate Institute, London

***

Written by James Kenworth

Directed by Jade Ward McFarlane

Jamal Abdul, Yasmine Meaden and Katie Smale

Set in the site-specific beauty of the Tate Institute, itself nestling in the massive shadow of its eponymous sugar refinery, James Kenworth’s play, his seventh in the Newham series, seeks to funnel Silvertown's history into a two-hour drama.

The play boasts impressive work from a gifted company of enthusiastic young locals that give the evening a pulse of authenticity. They in turn are led by four professional actors, all delivering solid work. Over the course of the narrative however there is only one standout monologue, from Katie Smale as Lizzie an East End prostitute, who harrowingly describes the horrors, humiliation and misogyny that she is forced to endure.

Otherwise Kenworth’s writing is shallow, crass and expositional. Amidst a relentless stream of (immaculately researched) facts, and focusing on the Silvertown Strike of 1889 led by Karl Marx's daughter Eleanor, Kenworth seeks to politically bludgeon his audience with all the subtlety of a Class War brick being hurled through a banker's window. There is no dramatic class to his writing and little credible storyline or crafted structure to care about.

And while Kenworth clearly sets out to bash the rich through his prose, he’s clumsily selective in his choice of targets. With his story lazily jumping through the ages, spanning the 19th century to the present day, he conveniently for example chooses to ignore London’s latter-day epidemic of knife-crime that is blighting the lives of so many of the capital’s more deprived young people.

Political and social messaging, especially about London, can be done with wit, class and pathos. One only has to consider the works of Charles Dickens, Barrie Keefe and, far more recently the lyrics of Louis Dunford, to appreciate the wry and sometimes brutal elegance with which social commentary can be skilfully delivered.

This show’s three stars are for its terrific young, local talent.

Runs until 30th August

Photo credit: Alexander Abimbola

Dinosaur World Live - Review

Troubadour Wembley Park Theatre, London

***

Written and co-directed by Derek Bond

Co-directed by Laura Cubitt

London has always been a paradise for little dinosaur lovers, its museums filled with exciting skeletal exhibits of these mysterious, extinct beasts. The 50-minute-long, award-winning Dinosaur World Live, currently running at the Troubadour Wembley Park Theatre offers a more immersive and exciting experience, as giant and highly realistic dinosaur puppets thump onto the stage. The gasps of pure excitement from the youngest members of the crowd were unmistakable.

On stage, we first meet Miranda (Lizzie Burder), a goofy and adorable explorer whose parents discovered a dinosaur island near Argentina. While the plot is rather simple, and perhaps could have been written in a more rounded and memorable way, it also allows the main focus to remain on the beautiful, fully puppeteer-operated dinosaurs, including a Triceratops, Giraffatitan, Microraptor, Segnosaurus and even a giant flesh-eating Tyrannosaurus Rex.

The exceptional puppets are the creation of Max Humphries. His detailed designs — including less commonly depicted dinosaurs with bushy feathers — along with some of Miranda’s science-based insights, gently enrich children’s knowledge about these prehistoric creatures without turning the experience into a dry museum lecture.

As the show is recommended for children aged three and above (and probably won’t be as interesting to those already entering their teenage years), directors Derek Bond and Laura Cubitt introduce the dinosaurs on a gradual and thoughtful scare scale. So by the time the full-sized, terrifying T-Rex siezes the stage, empowered by intense lighting, the children feel brave enough to enjoy the adrenaline rush as they shoo the beast away.

The show is highly interactive, with Miranda inviting little helpers from the audience to assist her with fun tasks involving various dinosaurs. My four-year-old, like many other children, perhaps felt a little disappointed at not being chosen and not getting to see the dinosaurs up close, but the production tries to make up for this with a brief — perhaps too brief — meet-and-greet session at the end of the show, when row after row is invited close to the stage to see a baby T-Rex named Tamora, who mainly ‘sniffs’ around the stage.

After the show, those who have paid for the VIP package can meet Miranda and the cutest dinosaur in the production, the baby Triceratops Beatrice, operated by a puppeteer. This includes a longer, more direct interaction with Miranda, during which children can pet baby Beatrice and take photos with her — an experience my little one thoroughly enjoyed. However, as the show is relatively short and supposedly interactive, it seems that at least the somewhat underwhelming meet-and-greet session could be longer, more accessible and more interactive, away from an “extra” VIP package.

That being said, my 4-year old had a fun time! 

Runs until 6 September, then on tour

Reviewed by Florit Shoihet

Photo credit: Piers Allardyce

Springwood - Review

Hampstead Theatre, London

***

Written and directed by Richard Nelson

Andrew Havill and Robert Lindsay

There’s a great premise underlying Richard Nelson’s Springwood. The title comes from the country estate in upstate New York that President Franklin D. Roosevelt would retire to when he wanted to escape Washington DC, with the play’s fictionalised action revolving around the actual visit of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth to the estate during the summer of 1939.

As war in Europe looms, Nelson picks out the birth of the Special Relationship between the USA and the UK in some delightfully nuanced conversations between FDR and Bertie (the King) as well as some deft interchanges between the two men’s wives.

The first half plods, weighed down with caricature and clumsily crafted exposition. The second act however sees the drama come alive from the perspectives of not only international statesmanship, but also the unconventionalities of the Roosevelt’s living arrangements

The overarching strengths of the evening lie in a handful of the performances on stage. Robert Lindsay as the polio-stricken President captures not only FDR’s sardonic strengths, but also his vulnerabilities too. As the two heads of state compare their respective afflictions (the King suffered from a distinct stammer)  the evening hits a rare note of profound pathos. There is equally fine work from Rebecca Night as Queen Elizabeth. 

Andrew Havill plays the King in a role that, albeit carefully crafted and faultlessly performed, has been epically mis-cast. The King was 44 in 1939, Havill is in his sixties and looks it. The effect on seeing him therefore is to associate him with more of a grey-haired elderly man (think perhaps of King Charles III) rather than the more youthful monarch that he was (for visual comparison, reference today’s Prince of Wales, also aged 44). Jemma Redgrave’s Eleanor Roosevelt is an incredibly complex woman given the strains and falsehoods of her marriage, and Redgrave does not dig deep enough to address her character’s emotional challenges.

Springwood is unquestionably entertaining theatre. But a play about the Special Relationship demands a special company. This isn’t it.

Runs until 25th July

Photo credit: Manuel Harlan

Barnum - Review

RichmondTheatre, London

***

Music by Cy Coleman

Lyrics by Michael Stewart

Book by Mark Bramble

Directed by Jonathan O'Boyle

The cast of Barnum

After a spectacular run at Newbury’s Watermill two years ago, while this innovative actor-muso take on Coleman and Stewart’s classic musical still showcases fabulous talent, the show has lost some of its Big Top magic on the road.

Lee Mead is P.T.Barnum and to be fair, much like Matt Rawle before him, he’s a convincing king of flim-flam. Mead sings wonderfully and leads his show with an authentic enthusiasm. Not just vocally, Mead’s takes on There Is A Sucker Born Ev’ry Minute and The Colours Of My Life are magnificent, but his acting too is a blast with a stunning tight-rope act to close the first half.

Supporting Mead are original cast members including Monique Young as Charity, Barnum’s wife and Penny Ashmore as Swedish Nightingale (and Barnum’s mistress) Jenny Lind. Both remain exquisite, Young still breaking our hearts with her take on The Colours Of My Life.

But while the circus skills are breathtaking throughout and the actor-muso take on the score, delightful, the demands on one’s imagination that made General Tom Thumb and Jumbo the Elephant seem so glorious at Newbury, seem little more than bona-fide baloney when squeezed into the cramped confines of Richmond’s proscenium arch. 

If you want to see Barnum because you love the songs, then you won’t be disappointed.

Runs until 27th June, then on tour

Photo credit: Pamela Raith

Why I Stuck A Flare Up My Arse For England - Review

Garrick Theatre, London

***

Written by Alex Hill

Directed by Sean Turner

Alex Hill

The real-life lunacy of one England fan in 2021, who did indeed insert a lighted flare between his buttocks, was the inspiration for Alex Hill's fictional drama. In this one-hander, Hill plays Billy, a young man used by Hill so the production notes advise, to explore toxic masculinity.

Hill's writing is vivid and his performance throughout the 75 minute one-act piece sensational. His energy - and ability to adlib where necessary - are hallmarks of a production that has been honed in the harsh intimacy of the Edinburgh Fringe. Hill plays Billy, a Wimbledon fan, who we follow through his drug and alcohol-fuelled football fanaticism and hooligan violence, through his relationship with a girl that we know is doomed to failure from the outset and ultimately to the incident with the flare.

Notwithstanding Hill's terrific acting, his characterisation is far too stereotyped. Billy is portrayed as an uneducated white working class male, with Hill inviting us to laugh (sneer?) at the young man's lack of sophistication.

Of course we do not know the real journey that 2021's idiot to perform such a dangerous act, with Hill's writing being disappointingly cliched in its narrative. Fo an audience member with little or no knowledge of football, seeing this play is only likely to deepen pre-existing prejudices about the beautiful game.

After three successful years at the Edinburgh Fringe and a brief UK tour, Alex Hill's play made a one-night appearance at London's Garrick Theatre before crossing the Atlantic next month for a 10-night run in New York.

A cliched script, albeit stunningly performed.

Performing at Soho Playhouse, New York from 8th - 18th July

Photo credit: Rah Petherbridge

The Shawshank Redemption - Review

Richmond Theatre, London

***

Adapted by Owen O'Neill and Dave Johns

Based on the short novel by Stephen King

Directed by David Esbjornson

The cast of The Shawshank Redemption

There is always a risk in adapting an iconic film for the stage. Based (like the movie) on Stephen King’s novella, Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption, there was the possibility that Owen O’Neill and Dave Johns might have found their own unique interpretation, inviting the film’s fans on a different and exciting journey. After all, this is an emotionally loaded, years-long story with several interesting characters and it could have been approached differently.

Their play however does not go far enough, forcing the audience into endless comparisons with the 1994 Hollywood classic. By itself this is not necessarily a bad thing, indeed some fans might find it amusing material to chew over. But the play does a disservice to the film and to King’s core strength as a writer: his ability to generate genuine empathy even for the most heinous criminals. And that is, by itself, a sort of crime.

The Shawshank Redemption pulls us back to the late 1940s, to an American prison in Maine full of hardened criminals. That in itself makes for an interesting experience to watch in 2026. An all-male play — a theatrical man cave, if you like — where one can dive into thought-provoking themes of masculinity, sexual harassment among men, the power of friendship and the adherence to hope in the face of blatant injustice. But as the play struggles to plant the seeds of empathy deeply enough, there are very few brief moments of catharsis in which the emotional involvement overshadows the grim, casual mention of the reasons why many of these men are in prison in the first place (usually the murder of women in their lives).

Ben Onwukwe, as Ellis ‘Red’ Redding, steps confidently into the big shoes of Morgan Freeman as the main narrator, delivering his own effortless interpretation of one of the story’s most beloved characters. Onwukwe’s Red, as a resourceful and well-connected prisoner, provides a good mixture of heart and comic upbeat, while showing us the gentle forging of a brave friendship with the prisoner Andy Dufresne, who has been sentenced to life imprisonment for the murder of his wife and her lover, despite his professions of innocence. Joe McFadden’s Dufresne, however, struggles to bring to life the unforgettable, nuanced character of the wise, confident and yet alien nature of his character that the story requires. Instead, his Dufresne comes across as fragile and almost neurotic — which does not quite fit the story arc.

Elsewhere, Samarge Hamilton as fellow inmate Rico provides well-measured comic relief, Kenneth Jay as the elderly prisoner Brooksie, enthrals the audience in one of the most emotionally gripping scenes, while Bill Ward charismatically plays the corrupt and ruthless Warden Stammas.

The evening’s flaws include distracting inconsistencies in the actors’ American accents, together with the director’s struggle to mirror the passage of time. The clever use of changing musical fashions adds authenticity to the story, but does not serve well enough as the main indicator of passing time inside the prison walls.

With a running time of more than two hours, while The Shawshank Redemption makes for entertaining theatre, it might simply be easier to grab your remote control and drift back into Freeman’s familiar narration once again.

Reviewed by Florit Shoihet

Runs until 6th June

Photo credit: Jack Merriman

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

The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry - Review

Theatre Royal Haymarket, London

***

Music & lyrics by Passenger

Book by Rachel Joyce

Adaption co-created by Rachel Joyce, Peter Darling & Katy Rudd

Directed by Rachel Joyce

Mark Addy, Jenna Russell & company

There’s a flicker of a good yarn at the heart of The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry. Rachel Joyce’s story sees the titular Fry walk 500 miles across England, fleeing the baggage of a grief-laden marriage, to visit the bedside of a dying friend.

Not only are there the makings of a good story, the show also boasts standout excellence from Mark Addy as Fry and Jenna Russell as his wife Maureen. Both leading characters are deeply damaged and it is a credit to both performers that they deliver performances of a tender complex fragility.

It’s just a shame that such excellence is smothered in an evening of mediocre musicality, wrapped up in a plot that lurches from one shallow cliche to the next. Passenger’s lyrics are found to be frequently expositional and witless, while the band of crusties who follow Fry on his pilgrimage appear to be little more than a bunch of lazily drawn two-dimensionals, straight out of central casting. 

The musical’s (rare) highlights both fall in act one with a classy tap-routine in From The Rooftops, and a moderately amusing set of lyrics in Out of Luck. 

Those who love Rachel Joyce’s book will probably enjoy the show. Otherwise The Proclaimers’ 1988 single I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) offers a similarly themed story, and in under four minutes.

Runs until 18th April

Photo credit: Tristram Kenton

Mrs President - Review

Charing Cross Theatre

***

Written by John Ransom Phillips

Directed by Bronagh Lagan

Keala Settle

By a curious coincidence, London’s Trafalgar Square is currently proving a theatrical shrine to Mary Todd Lincoln. As Oh, Mary! plays on Whitehall, just around the corner sees artist John Ransom Phillips’s Mrs President making a return visit to the Charing Cross Theatre, offering its own perspective on this most intriguing of First Ladies.

Remarkably, the work is not so much a piece of dramatic fiction as a (quite possibly ghost-written) authorised biography. On reading the production's programme notes we learn that the writer “..heard her [Mrs Lincoln]. She said, “I want you to tell my story”” Ransom Phillips also tells us that spirits are part of his life. But if the man is truly hearing voices then he is either mentally unwell, or alternatively and quite possibly, gifted with a truly remarkable access to the spirits of presidential wives.

A two-handler, Keala Settle is breathtaking in her take on the title role, exploring Mary Lincoln’s love for her husband and her grief at the loss of three (of four) children as well as witnessing President Lincoln’s assassination. Opposite Settle is Hal Fowler as Mathew Brady, the photographer who captured Lincoln’s portrait for the USA’s Five Dollar bill. Brady also morphs into other male characters who impacted upon Mary’s life, with his performance proving as carefully crafted as Settle’s.

Set throughout in Brady’s studio, the structure of the play (that has been 10 years in the writing) hints at a fascinating potential. But Ransom Phillips’s writing stumbles from expositional lecture (there’s an awful lot of history to cram into the evening’s one-act of 85 minutes) through to pseudo-psychodrama as he explores Mary’s tragedy. There’s a sound core to his narrative, but as a play it’s all just too inconsistent to sustain credibility.

Keala Settle’s work alone is worth the price of admission, even if Ransom Phillips’s script does not match her excellence. But if the writer can truly access the minds of America’s First Ladies, I can’t wait to see his take on Jill Biden.

Runs until 8th March

Photo credit: Pamela Raith

Indian Ink - Review

Hampstead Theatre, London

***

Written by Tom Stoppard

Directed by Jonathan Kent

Felicity Kendal and Ruby Ashbourne Serkis

Tom Stoppard’s Indian Ink is a time-hopping study on India towards the end of the Raj, that’s written and researched with meticulous detail and acted, in this revival, with equal finesse.

A coquettish young flapper named Flora travels to India in the 1930s to restore her health. A poet with a love for art, as she beds her way across the subcontinent we witness her discovery of the complexities of Indian society and politics. Ruby Ashbourne Serkis plays Flora, as Felicity Kendal plays Mrs Swan, Flora's (now elderly) younger sister who, towards the end of the 20th century, looks back and reflects on her sibling's short, colourful life.

Jonathan Kent directs his cast with pinpoint precision, against Leslie Travers’s ingenious (if sometimes wobbly) set and Peter Mumford’s impressive lighting design, but it’s all just far too long. Stoppard’s attention to the historical minutiae was impressive, but the evening for all its excellence, feels like a tedious, culturally name-checking, three hours. That this 1995 play started out as a 1991 radio drama, In The Native State (that back then, in an enchanting theatrical alignment, starred Felicity Kendal) is revealing, for it is possible that Stoppard's arguments may have been forged more concisely under the discipline of radio.

Indian Ink may perhaps crave yet a further adaptation, this time into a TV mini series such is its richness. On stage today however it feels like a bloated self-indulgence, albeit brilliantly performed.

Runs until 31st January 2026

Photo credit: Johan Persson

Cinderella And The Matzo Ball - Review

JW3, London

***

Written by Nick Cassenbaum

Directed by Abigail Anderson

Talia Pick and Debbie Chazen

Cinderella and the Matzo Ball marks the JW3rd pantomime from Nick Cassenbaum at London’s eponymous community centre.

Talia Pick plays the titular heroine in a fantastic performance. Talya Soames as Buttons is equally strong. 

Yet again however, Cassenbaum and his director Abigail Anderson choose not to cast a man (or men) in drag for some of this classic fairytale’s famously monstrous roles. There’s scope for hideousness (which both adults and children adore) in Cinderella’s famously ugly sisters and while the competent Libby Liburd and Rosie Yadid dutifully fulfil their sisterly responsibilities with strong turns, the show would have been so much funnier if they’d been replaced by men in frocks. At long last however Debbie Chazen is perfectly (and appropriately) cast in a JW3 panto as the story’s Fairy Godmother.

It is also hard to fathom why Cassenbaum has upended the traditional narrative by making the usually anodyne (but charming) Prince Charming, in this iteration, a money-grabbing villain. There’s enough antisemitic tropery in the world as it is, without such a troublingly unhelpful blunder.

For the most part Cassenbaum's gags are weak. The one truly sparkling gem of humour is his take on Wicked’s Popular, reworked here into Secular. Josh Middleton’s musical adaptations are excellent, with Yael Lowenstein’s choreography similarly an impressive treat in the tight confines of the JW3 space.

Children will love the show with its strong acting and visuals - Cinderella's transition into her ballgown is a delight - and parents will enjoy their kids' laughter. But this show could have been so much more.

Runs until 4th January 2026

Photo credit: Charlie Flint

Wyld Woman: The Legend of Shy Girl - Review

Southwark Playhouse, London

***

Written by Isabel Renner

Directed by Cameron King

Isabel Renner

In a non-stop 70 minute whirlwind of a solo performance, Isabel Renner brings the New York angst of a single, virginal woman to the Little Space at London’s Southwark Playhouse.

Whether the play is an accurate depiction of the female psyche is not for me to say. As Renner explores her character’s frenetic anxieties, skipping backwards and forwards across the fourth wall as she does so, it is not easy to determine if her script is a brilliant study on the vulnerabilities of post-modern femininity, or more simply a sensationally sexualised and frequently tawdry self-indulgence.

Renner’s acting is top-notch. It’s hard to say the same about her writing.

Runs until 15th November

Photo credit: Charlie Lyne

Don't Look Now - Review

New Wolsey Theatre, Ipswich

***

 

Adapted by Nell Leyshon

From the story by Daphne du Maurier

Directed by Douglas Rintoul

Evie Marlow

Don’t Look Now is a tough story to translate to the stage. It is a tale of the rawest emotional cruelty, as we find leading characters John and Laura trying to come to terms with the recent loss of their five year-old daughter Christine to meningitis. That the story is set in Venice, against a backdrop of psychic phenomena and a serial killer on the loose, only adds to the challenges facing the show’s creative team.

Daphne du Maurier crafted her yarn perfectly, paying perfect respect to John and Laura’s unimaginable grief. In a compellingly scary tale, she wove the returning spirit of Christine into her parents’ Venetian stay via two sisters, one a blind medium, whose paths frequently and coincidentally collide with the grieving couple’s in the city’s restaurants and cathedrals.

Perhaps the biggest horror story of the night is Nell Leyshon's creaking adaptation. For while the script bears a resemblance to the du Maurier original in its plotline, the dialogue on offer is a disappointment. The incredibly sensitive subject of the loss of a child is tackled with far less care than is merited. To condense the work of a genius into a one-act 100minute thriller requires writing and acting skills of the highest quality. Sadly, Douglas Rintoul directs a cliched take on the original which, for all his cast’s good intentions, barely rises beyond melodrama.

Mark Jackson and Sophie Robinson play the bereaved parents, as Alex Bulmer plays the medium and Olivia Carruthers her sister. All put in solid performances, together with the excellent young Evie Marlow whose Christine is spookily fun. But for any story’s suspense to truly work, let alone a horror story, its first requirement has to be to suspend our disbelief. Sadly such suspension is patchy at best and while the story’s bloody climax offers a moderately satisfying dose of gore, it’s a long time to wait for a slashed splash of stage blood.

There’s a modicum of Halloween horror to be enjoyed in Don’t Look Now. Just don’t look to set your expectations too high and you won’t be disappointed.

Runs until 25th October then on tour

Photo credit: Manuel Harlan

Sing Street - Review

Lyric Hammersmith, London

***

Music & lyrics by Gary Clark & John Carney

Book by Enda Walsh

Based on the motion picture written and directed by John Carney

Directed by Rebecca Taichman

Grace Collender and Sheridan Townsley

Together with Gary Clark, John Carney has taken his 2016 movie about the power of music, love and dreams to conquer the poverty of 1980’s Dublin, translated it into a musical.

It’s a tall order for any story to be so transformed and (for the show’s first half at least) the photographed beauty that underscored the movie fails to be replicated on Hammersmith’s Lyric stage. Enda Walsh has been drafted in to write the musical’s book, but for all Walsh’s innate understanding of Irish culture, his storyline lurches clumsily through too much expositional cliche.

The evening’s strengths however rest on the extraordinary talents of its young cast of gifted actor-musicians, many of which are making either their London or professional debut in the show.

Sheridan Townsley and Grace Collender (respectively Conor and Raphina) lead the narrative as the young lovers destined to be together. Both have a vocal strength  and charisma that suspends disbelief and drive the story through its cliched backdrop. There is great work too from accomplished singer Adam Hunter as Conor’s older brother Brendan.

It is Carney and Clark’s songs however that power the show, restoring this jaded reviewer’s faith in new writing. Where so much new musical writing can fail to land, in Sing Street, and in the second half in particular, as Walsh’s book fades into insignificance, the songs and more importantly, the passion and power with which they are delivered, make the evening soar.

This show's actors and songs are fab. With a sharper storyline and the 2hr 40 running time trimmed by half an hour, this could yet be a fantastic show.

Runs until 23rd August

Photo credit: Manuel Harlan

Evita - Review

London Palladium, London




***



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

The cast of Evita

Six years after bringing an outstanding Evita to London’s Open Air Theatre (click here for a review of that 2019 production) and amidst a blaze of well orchestrated publicity, Jamie Lloyd helms his show into the London Palladium. But what was once wondrous in Regents Park, fails to stun in the West End.

In 2019 it was Samantha Pauly, an actor relatively unknown in the UK who played Eva, delivering a performance that shone both in its excellence and its leading of her supporting company. Today however it is Hollywood’s wunderkind Rachel Zegler who heads the bill, a young woman who knows how to play to the camera but who lacks the chops to convincingly act through song on stage.

Familiar with delivering leading roles in starry close-up on the big screen, Zegler has amassed a following of millions. But with only a modest exposure to having performed in (let alone leading) a major show on Broadway or in the West End, it appears that much like Eva Duarte herself, Zegler has been hired for star quality over experience. 

Any production of Evita has to rest on the strengths of its leading lady, who in this production is sometimes found to be missing in action. As has been widely reported, Zegler sings Don’t Cry For Me Argentina, from the Palladium's outside balcony to a bunch of assembled passers-by, while the paying crowd *inside* the theatre are reduced to mere voyeurs, watching her via a big screen livestream. That the translucent screen barely shields the show’s upstage orchestra who remain visible throughout, is a distraction. 

Much has been made of Lloyd’s use of live-action video, notably with his 2023 take on Sunset Boulevard that saw Tom Francis careering around London’s Strand before winding up back on stage at The Savoy. But that of course was different. Francis was not the show’s main star, nor his song the evening’s biggest number.

At the Palladium we find Evita performing one of the most exquisite songs in the canon, from a remote location that is at best, acoustically compromised. Unlike previous on-stage Evitas, remove this Eva’s microphone and she doesnt just become hard to hear, she becomes completely inaudible, Lloyd's staging denying the audience the experience of hearing Zegler's natural tone and timbre as she delivers the classic number. It is not an unreasonable expectation that a live musical (and especially this musical, for which the money keeps rolling in at up to £245 per ticket) should deliver songs that are sung live on stage, all performed to the highest standard that the performers’ voices and the venue’s acoustics will allow. At the Palladium, the audience is being cheated. 

And while the outside throng of several hundred are no doubt appreciating the nightly free rendition of the show’s nine o’clock number, as Lloyd’s camera pulls back to reveal Soho’s mostly empty Argyll Street (including the distracting logo of the next door Pret restaurant that hoves into view), it all seems a little tacky and contrived and, both literally and artistically, many miles away from the narrative's intended romance of Buenos Aires and the Casa Rosada. Good theatre should suspend the audience's disbelief, transporting the audience to another place. When the only place that they are transported to is a grimy London side street, then that fragile bubble of imagination bursts.  

Back inside the theatre, Fabian Aloise’s choreography remains exciting and imaginative, equally Jon Clark’s brutal lighting designs heighten the violence of Peron’s fascism. But the production's sound design is ghastly, with too many songs coming across as though they are being shouted from the stage into an inaudible oblivion.

The Palladium balcony scene has proved a brilliant marketing gimmick, with the show having grabbed news headlines across the country and word of mouth spreading like wildfire. In reality however, the scene’s flaws see it amounting to little more than a modern interpretation of The Emperor’s New Clothes.

Jamie Lloyd’s revived Evita proves that star quality is no substitute for talent.

Runs until 6th September

Photo credit: Marc Brenner

The Midnight Bell - Review

Sadler's Wells, London

***

Directed and choreographed by Matthew Bourne

The company of The Midnight Bell

Inspired by the novels of Patrick Hamilton, The Midnight Bell plunges us into the murky, world of 1930s Soho. And there, thanks to Paule Constable’s gloomy lighting, it remains for one hour and fifty minutes (apart from a twenty minute interval). While Lez Brotherston's set design is atmospheric, the action is not always visible. That the follow-spots sometimes fail to light their intended subject doesn’t help matters. 

The titular Midnight Bell is a pub where various people – lonely, listless, cocky or whatever – meet. Most are looking for love or sex in some form or other, with some of the encounters working out better than others.  

Of course the choreography is sensitive, imaginative and very watchable. Some of the gestures are witty too and it’s all very human. This is Matthew Bourne, after all, and he’s a master of his own form of body language.  But the story telling is too vague and given the shadowy lighting it’s often hard to distinguish one character from another although each is, apparently, drawn specifically from the novels. 

Terry Davies’s evocative music, pre-recorded by an eleven piece orchestra with a singer, fits the mood of the piece perfectly. He deploys an effective use of voice, sailing over the top of the musical texture, to create mystery, sadness or wistfulness. Like Bourne, Davies is very good at evoking mood with, for example, a minimalist percussion rhythm accompanying a sex scene in a seedy hotel that is aurally arresting. Less successful is the use of characters miming 1930s songs which simply feels lazy. Dance in general, and ballet in particular, is a non-verbal medium and the songs are a jarring interruption. 

This revival of The Midnight Bell, first seen in 2023, is reasonably enjoyable theatre, athough the second half drags. Not Matthew Bourne’s finest.

Runs until 21st June, then on tour.

Photo credit: Johan Persson

Reviewed by Nicola Klein

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

Faygele - Review

Marylebone Theatre, London

***

Written by Shimmy Braun

Directed by Hannah Chissick

Ilan Galkoff and Andrew Paul

In an immaculately performed production Faygele tells the story of Ari Freed, a gay young Jewish man brought up in a strictly orthodox household and who was to take his own life as a consequence of his parents’ failure to embrace their son’s sexuality. In an evening that is occasionally moving, Shimmy Braun’s script can be perceptive while at other times coming across as shallow and two-dimensional.

Under Hannah Chissick’s assured direction Ilan Galkoff turns in an accomplished performance as Ari, at times speaking to us after death, at other times speaking in real life flashback. There is a measured energy to Galkoff’s work (including a seamless comment to an audience member to silence their mobile phone!) that impresses.

Ari is the story's most rounded character. Elsewhere, despite Braun’s sometimes flawed script, there is fine work from Ben Caplan as Ari’s monstrous father Dr Freed and in particular from Andrew Paul as the family’s rabbi. Clara Francis plays Ari’s mother in perhaps the most well constructed of all of Ari’s supporting characters.

Faygele speaks to a painful and complex subject that cries out for deeper consideration than Braun is able to offer. Mercifully the play’s one act, 90-minute duration keeps the evening short.

Runs until May 31st

Photo credit: Jane Hobson