Yes, Prime Minister.
The Richmond Theatre, London

Faced with a country on the brink of financial collapse, the only light at the end of Jim Hacker’s (Richard McCabe) tunnel is a considerably suspect potential deal with the Foreign Minister of Kumranistan involving the zigzagging of an oil pipeline through the entire of Europe. With the help of his close advisors, Hacker is forced to consider the possibility of his country falling further into crisis if he is unwilling to compromise his principles for the powerful (yet morally dubious) Foreign Minister’s ‘personal’ requests concerning sex with an underage girl. In true whirlwind style, Hacker’s problems seem to multiply by the minute as the BBC and an illegal immigrant cook seem hell-bent on exposing his blunders to the nation.



Following a sell-out initial season at Chichester Festival in 2010, Antony Jay and Jonathan Lynn bring their Yes, Prime Minister to Richmond. However, the trials of Prime Minister Jim Hacker and his furtive Cabinet Secretary Humphrey (Simon Williams) are catapulted into the current political state of the twenty-first century and the pair find themselves battling with sex scandal whilst simultaneously trying to stay afloat amidst the financial deterioration of the country. With the recession triggering an unfortunately too-well known recognition, Jay and Lynn cleverly make the content of their stage-adaptation farce (the pair were the original writers of the 1980’s TV series) readily accessible to audience members alike.

Uttering incessant political faux-pas, Richard McCabe creates a completely likeable, if not totally hopeless character of Jim Hacker – his wonderfully illustrative facial expressions sharing the (often troubled) PM’s thoughts before the dialogue even escapes his lips. Watching the floundering Hacker become increasingly more agitated as the mounting problems begin to bury him it’s difficult, nay, impossible not to sympathise as he buries his head in pillows, hides under desks and even resorts to prayer – even if it is through laughter. Equally, Simon William’s portrayal of the manipulative windbag Sir Humphrey Appleby is superb with his excellent delivery of his numerous convoluted speeches (which are reeled off at an astonishing speed and with faultless accuracy) receiving regular rounds of applause in their own right. Chris Larkin as the loyal but morally troubled Bernard and Charlotte Lucas as Claire Sutton also make use of their punchy quips – and that’s really where the magic of this production lies: in its humour.

To describe the script as being “peppered” with comic lines would be equivalent to describing the Himalayans as “speckled” with snow. The script oozes one-liner after one-liner, yet as with all quick paced comedies, the key lies in the delivery, something that all of the principle characters make exquisite use of. There are numerous wonderful moments where the extreme terror of the clearly lost Prime Minister are laid bare – at one particular moment, McCabe exclaims with sudden clarity how he “MUST do something!” before glancing nervously at his advisors and falling further into a state of uncertainty.

Completely ridiculous but utterly accessible – Yes, Prime Minister allows audience members to laugh out loud at a staged mania which is actually all too easily recognisable as the one in which we live.

Lidless.
Trafalgar Studios 2, London

In 2005, an 84-page interrogation log detailing the tactics and methods used on detainees IN Guantánamo Bay by the US military became accessible to the public – and, more notably, to the US media. The log described how physical and psychological interrogation methods were executed over long periods of time, including prolonged sleep deprivation, painful stress positions, physical abuses, and the execution of a sexual humiliation strategy titled ‘Invasion of Space by a Female’. The method is used to describe a number of tactics involving female interrogators straddling prisoners and molesting them, rubbing the neck and hair of prisoners, and even forced nudity.

“Show me what democracy looks like, I am what democracy looks like, show me what America looks like, I am what America looks like.”

Twenty-five year old Alice (Penny Layden) is an interrogator at Guantánamo Bay with best friend and moral arbiter Riva (Nathalie Armin). When a new memo arrives straight from Washington permitting any female officers or soldiers to execute the US Military’s latest tactics, Alice jumps at the opportunity to use her sexuality as a form of strategic torture. Years later, Alice has a daughter, Rhiannon (Greer Dale-Foulkes, who is extraordinary) and the hallucination medication that she used to take as though they were Tic Tacs have robbed her of her memories. Well, her conscious ones at least. Rhiannon grows increasingly interested in her mother’s military past. Despite her father’s (Christian Bradley) repeated warnings, the curious 14 year old can’t help but probe her mother on every available occasion. All is blissful until Bhasir, a former prisoner, decides to pay a visit to the woman who made his life a living hell. Bhasir (Antony Bunsee) has a month to live and is in desperate need of a liver transplant; the result of falling ill whilst a Gitmo prisoner. He pleads with a confused Alice for her help – they share the same blood type – offering the medical donation as a form of redemption. The only problem is that Alice can’t remember Bhasir or any of the terrible things that he accuses her of. What follows in Cowhig’s fascinating text is an exploration of the human condition – the ability to survive horrors by tricking the mind, the ability to forget and move past traumatic stress, the ability to become something other than the role that once defined you.

“Sometimes a role resurrects things you killed off as a child because people thought they were wrong.”



Takis’s design is stark, sterile and works brilliantly. Set in the round at Trafalgar Studios 2, scaffolding lined with lights creates a cuboid skeleton in which the majority of the play’s action takes place. Coupled with Matt Prentice’s severe lighting design, Cowhig’s character’s quickly find themselves within a cage not dissimilar to the one that Bhasir describes. The crispness of the production’s design is echoed in Amos’s costume design, which sees characters sporting identical white uniform, decorated with various defining qualities, most prominent being the almost iconic orange jumpsuit. After examining the script, it becomes clear that director Steven Atkinson and his design team have washed the colour even from elements noted in the original text. The result is a bleak palette in which only the items that Atkinson felt bore crucial relevance become prominent. It’s simple but extremely effective.

I could gush about this production for pages. The cast possess a wonderful earnestness and it’s obvious that Atkinson, (who has directed the piece since its debut at the High Tide festival in 2010 and is the company’s Artistic Director) has driven the piece with a clear confidence. And he should be confident: every line is delivered in a way that allows audience members to devour them in huge hungry chunks and pull from them ream upon ream of meaning. Nothing is wasted, each element is clean and succinct whilst remaining utterly engaging. This production engulfs you.

Blue Fence.
Pleasance 2, London

An examination of political labelling, Heather O’Shea’s Blue Fence tackles what it means to be considered disabled within the cultural sphere. When Claire (Flora Nicholson) is shortlisted to design a representative sculpture for the 2012 Olympics. the up-and-coming artist launches herself into the project, seeing it as an opportunity to make a statement about government funding. However, when she suffers an unexpected stroke she finds herself suddenly catapulted into the category of “disabled artist”. With her ability now being questioned, her cynicism quickly turns to frustration and panic. Whilst trying to breathe underneath the smothering of her friends and family, Claire is forced to consider how she is defined solely by her disability by many people, including those who fund her project.



Thomas Hunt and Antonia Kinlay share the rest of the characters – ranging from new squeeze and fellow artist Tom, to Claire’s protective brother Chris and his tactless fiancée Sophie. Kinlay and Hunt switch from one accent to another, but often more could be done physically to achieve clearer characterisation. The character of Benji lacks any real development, and with the dialogue doing more than enough to explain the strained relationship between Claire and her once loyal studio assistant, his character unfortunately becomes rather unnecessary. With an Irish lilt, Kinlay brings warmth to the character of Karen – managing to strike a comfortable tough-love/motherly-guardian balance, but overall the cast don’t quite convince me to invest fully in the characters they represent.

The Pleasance’s thrust studio space provides the perfect playground for director Francesca Seeley’s staging. The production uses a simple but constantly moving set consisting mainly of a rectangular platform and six moveable posts which, combined with the use of coloured strings to create temporary walls, define the ever-changing boundaries of the play’s different environments: the string walls form windows, hospital curtains and even Claire’s work of art itself. Scene changes are executed cleanly and efficiently by the actors, and the minimalistic style of Giulia Scrimieri works well, even if the shifts in scene are sometimes too frequent.

O’Shea’s concept is great: the piece tackles disability in a refreshing manner. With the encroaching Olympics a mere year away, an age-old political discussion is positioned within a relevant and highly accessible format. Claire’s struggle with her identity forces us to consider the shifting in political boundaries – who has a say in the categorising of “the disabled”? If the development and consistency of Seeley’s characters was on the par with the debate that Blue Fence has the potential to spark, the company would deserve more than a bronze medal for effort

Spend Spend Spend!
The Richmond Theatre, London

Based on the autobiographical book of Viv Nicholson, Steve Brown and Justin Greene’s Spend Spend Spend! tells the story of a couple from Castleford and their brief flirtation with the high life. In 1961 Keith and Viv Nicholson won £152,000 on the Pools – equivalent to around £5 million pounds now, in 2010. The reprised production, directed by Strictly’s Craig Revel Horwood and now touring extensively throughout the UK, tells the tale of the couples’ fifteen-year spending spree.

The production has been described as a cross between Billy Elliot and Blood Brothers, and it’s an unsurprising comparison: much like the aforementioned West End musicals, Spend Spend Spend! isn’t prepared to gloss over the tragic elements of Viv Nicholson’s story with a flustering of jazz hands. After indulging in the euphoria of Viv and Keith’s enormous win with tongue-in-cheek humour and blokes dressed as bunny girls, the second act quickly depicts the misery that such sudden extravagance can precipitate. As an audience we’re left rooting for Viv and Keith to reach the same conclusion as we have, only quicker: that money can’t buy happiness.

Wonderful performances are given from Kirsty Hoiles’ ‘Young Viv’ (TMA Best Supporting Performance in a Musical 2009) and Greg Barnett’s ‘Keith’ with both providing a level of vulnerability that is evident even throughout their characters’ seeming bravado. Equally, Jack Beale’s slightly soppy ‘Matt’ is enough to evoke the protective instinct in any woman (something about the eyes?) as we watch him become shoehorned out of his own marriage.

An ever-present narrator (she even helps ‘Young Viv’ re-make the bed after her first sexual conquest) Karen Mann’s (‘Older Viv’) reflection on her life is a wonderful mix of brass humour and unfortunate knowing. The play’s strongest scenes are those that entangle the past and present of Viv’s story, not necessarily through duets, but through the aptly choreographed weaving of the two characters involvement in the same scenes. As we undertake a slow transition from young to old, Mann and Hoiles’ overlapping rendition of ‘Pieces of Me’ is stripped back and haunting. No longer blessed with the luxury of her youth, an exhausted and frightened Viv bounces from one car crash relationship to another in a desperate bid to avoid loneliness, all the while her winnings are rapidly dissolving.

Craig Revel Horwood’s choreography is less noted in the well-rehearsed (if a little un-adventurous) dance routines and more in the faultless arrangement of his characters from scene to scene. The exceptionally talented actors all remain on stage for the majority of the piece; if not as a specific character, as an orchestral member (all cast members play musical instruments). Arranged with the precision that only a dancer himself could systematise, the movement of large instruments, props and even set pieces is never awkward and characters seem to simply appear and disappear with an understated efficiency.

Brown and Greene’s script captures the gritty lifestyle of the northern miners, demonstrating how it collides catastrophically with the introduction of undeserved wealth. Entertaining yet poignant, Spend Spend Spend! is a well balanced mixture of guilty pleasure and truth, with the real-life tale of Viv acting as the firm basis for the show. Although I’d be eager to experience Viv’s story stripped back to nothing but a dialogue-heavy play, Revel Horwood’s production has a level of integrity that is often sadly lacking in crowd-pleaser musicals.

Two.
Dirty Dicks Wine Vault, London

Dispense Theatre give people a valid reason to enter Dirty Dicks pub, and it comes in the form of a two-handed Jim Cartwright gem. Set in a Northern pub, Two represents the working-mans struggle for fulfilment in the 1980’s. It’s easy to see why the original run in April received such a positive response as the production ticks all the boxes of enjoyable ‘pub theatre’, with an unexpected and poignant twist.

The play, although filled with wonderful nuances, is a simple and accessible concept: Landlord and Landlady welcome audience members into their public house, the busy hub of the community, and we gain insight into the varying shapes and sizes that make their way through the doors to prop up the bar on a regular basis.



Simon Pennicott and Nicky Diss conduct the two-hander with a comforting ease, flitting between personas to commandeer the fourteen characters that the play boasts. Although some of the characterisation could be perhaps a little more defined in some cases, there are some wonderful personalities that both Pennicott and Diss breathe life into: the elderly gent who talks of his late wife and the comfort that her ‘presence’ brings him daily is touching without being sombre, whilst the lovable anorak couple, although hilarious, provide a sweet glimmer of hope for singletons of all shapes and sizes with their “quite” happy pairing - fat and all. Other great characters include the drippy Maude who, after (what we imagine as) years of acting as a doormat, finally summons the courage to give her slimy Romeo-wannabe Moth the boot – but not before he’s tried his luck with a number of female audience members. The Landlord and Lady weave between the odd-job locals, sparring one another with banter-fuelled bickering that by the plays end begins to turn rather sour. It’s only after the punters have gone and the owners are left alone that we become privy to the tragic sheet of guilt and blame that smothers the pairs once loving relationship.

Although perhaps a simple observation to make, the most impressive aspect of this performance is the imaginative use of the performance space. Dispense must have had a considerable job in seeking out pub that was willing to hand-over an active function space (as the play is based literally behind a working bar), so acquiring the space that Dirty Dick’s offers, although perfect, is also an accomplishment in itself. With the majority of characters speaking in monologue both cast members make excellent use of eye contact and interplay. Although finding myself in an audience of only three, Pennicott and Diss are clearly so at home with audience interaction that audience members of a full house would still struggle not to feel involved in this production.

Punk Rock.
The Lyric Theatre, Hammersmith



Having been quite disdainfully referred to as “The History Boys on acid”, the only similarities between Bennett’s play and Simon Stephen’s Punk Rock is the choice of school setting during A-level time. Punk Rock requires no classic comparison for validation. Dealing with the overwhelming pressures that young adults are put under concerning A-levels, even GCSE’s, and further education, the play provides a glimpse into the environment of those who are busy bettering themselves.

It wasn’t that long ago that I myself was haunted by insomnia and racked with loathing for UCAS forms and anything or anyone associated with them. Sadly, the governmental push on young people to attend university has resulted in not a “if you should choose to go…” attitude, but a “when you choose to go…”. Don’t get me wrong, I adored my university more than anything, however I was the daughter of incredibly supportive parents who were hell-bent on me making my own decisions and smothered me lovingly with an “as long as you try your hardest that’s the best you can do” attitude. Ruth Milne’s character, Cissy, demonstrates how sadly, such support systems aren’t always available to young people, and Punk Rock illustrates the explosive affect that such unbelievable pressures can lead to.

However, there is far more at work here than mediocre fretting about exam failure. The play delves into the social dynamics of an adult-free school environment and the dangerousness of such authoritative freedom: the characters create their own social hierarchy, one that sadly exists all too readily within schools up and down the country. Punk Rock of course acts to magnify the situations that the audience are presented with, but the suppressed and eventually unleashed violence that is shared between characters is resonate with the unbelievable pressures of not just life within school, but life in general. Each and every social situation presents a target like Chadwick [Mike Nobel] or an overbearing bully like Bennett [Edward Franklin]. Punk Rock demonstrates how too readily we become comfortable with such social categories not only existing, but also functioning within our social surroundings.

The comparison between the Columbine shootings and Stephen’s play acts almost like the pink elephant in the room. Even down to the play’s central setting within a library cocoon it becomes difficult not to draw comparisons between the chilling, widely broadcasted, Columbine footage and the going’s-on within the world of Stephen’s characters. However in his intelligent portrayal of the deeply troubled William, Rupert Simonian provides frequent glimpses of the young lad that he could have been had things turned out differently. Simonian presents William as a potentially sympathetic character despite his horrific actions, demonstrating director Sarah Frankcom’s concern with understanding the mentality of the play’s characters rather than portraying them as monsters lacking intention. Despite my best intentions, there was a part of my heart that bled for the tragic seventeen year-old, even up until the end of the very last scene.

It’s obvious as to why the play is now in its second running (the play made its original UK debut in September 2009). Stephen’s provides chillingly realistic dynamics between his characters, embodied superbly by Frankcom’s cast, (which has now become a collection of ‘old’ and ‘new’ cast members since last year). The play’s events, although emphasised, reverberate truly with teenagers across the board.

I was lucky enough to attend a brief Q&A session with the actors which only cemented my opinions regarding the plausibility of the play: the fresh-faced cast members were only too aware of how the personalities and occurrences within the play incorporated themselves into their own school experiences – especially so for the few who were recent graduates. The only thing I don’t quite recall throughout my school days is the students speaking quite so articulately - or ever using words such as “chump”.

In a society that pounces upon ‘the youths of today’, it’s refreshing to witness a playwright challenging the typical assumptions made of violence originating from under-privileged or uneducated backgrounds. Questioning our values of the education system, Punk Rock side-steps the easy attribution of blame and opts for a far more controversial origin for the play’s underlying violence, with Stephen’s shedding light upon the shocking cruelty from within a well-respected grammar school.

Punk Rock isn’t scared to ask big questions and put a difficult subject matter – especially when considering the activities a few months back within the UK – up for discussion. Verdict: Phenomenal.

Kiss Goodnight/Crime in a Madhouse.
The Etcetera Theatre, Camden

Born in 2006, relatively new company Theatre of the Damned’s only prerogative is to explore the potential of horror and suspense in performance. Kiss Goodnight/Crime in a Madhouse interested me instantly as other than The Woman in Black, I had never before witnessed ‘horror theatre’ or ‘thriller theatre’ or anything in between, and so I jumped at the opportunity to catch this Fringe 2010 production with the hopes of being terrified. I even brought back up with me for support.

The two one-act plays that the company choose to present are neat little pocket-plays with simple yet effective twists, both from the Grand Guingol’s repertoire: Kiss Goodnight is a two-hander, whilst Crime in a Madhouse boasts a larger cast of seven. Simon Pennicott plays spurned victim of Kiss Goodnight; previously attacked by his mistress (Laura Steel) with acid and left a bloodied mess of disfigurement and scarring. Pennicott is positioned on stage, face swathed in bandages as we all enter the tiny room. Although I can’t speak for an entire audience, I, and certainly the people either side of me visibly cringe as Petticott gives the instructions for Steel to “remove [his] bandages”. Steel builds impressive suspense in her dragged out unravelling of Henry’s bandages, however as is true with most horror pieces, the anticipation is often far worse than the actuality: make-up artist Donna Griffey has done an admirable job in creating Pennicott’s wounds, but in this case, the text’s description paired with my imagination proved more powerful (for me at least).

Crime in a Madhouse is actually the stronger tale of the two for me as it simultaneously provides a strange mix of dark humour and appalling horror. I also felt that in terms of the themes, there is more offered in Crime in a Madhouse: the various levels of fear provide this play with a further dimension and there is simply more at work. A young girl (Kate Quinn) is trapped in an insane asylum, despite her insistence that she is well and becomes terrified by the strange goings-on during the night. I won’t ruin the climax of the piece, but will express how the company make particularly good use of an otherwise simple stage affect in order to create something visually unsettling.

Between performances the latest video work by Sangam Sharma (Black Mental) is shown, which effortlessly acts to link the two pieces as it deals with both disturbing physical disfigurement and mental aguish. However, technology was clearly not on the company’s side last night and with the television playing games, what I presume had been planned as a slick changeover unfortunately became a bit messy.

Fringe theatre is always challenging – that’s why so many love it; it’s an opportunity to see theatre sometimes a little rough and ragged round the edges, because cast and crew members are required to fill an allotted time with a performance, usually under strict time and space restraints and often in a weird location. Situated above popular hot-spot The Oxford Arms, The Etcetera Theatre is dark, cramped and creaky. It also has a specific musty smell that makes it the perfect venue for an intimate horror. Yet it’s location also provides many challenges: for example, actors’ battle with the downstairs sound system as warblings of The Kooks are belted out and vibrate through the floor, as well as the general din from (by 10.30pm in Camden) rather heavily intoxicated customers. However, the company do well in refusing to let such extraneous factors affect their performance, and thankfully refuse to adapt their delivery to merely compete with the noise levels below.

Horror in theatre is difficult. I once watched a production of Sarah Kane’s Blasted and had to stop myself becoming irritated because when Ian was having his eyes eaten it didn’t look realistic enough for me. The sad thing is, audiences have been desensitised by large-scale film effects, which makes it incredibly difficult for theatre audiences to then feel satisfied with fake blood or prosthetic makeup. Was I terrified beyond all belief? No. However there were points where I genuinely didn’t want to look. The company do well to create an uneasy atmosphere and build suspense effectively, as well as dealing with a translated text that at times appears a little patchy. Overall, I’ll be sure to follow the relatively new group on Twitter as I think that what they’re playing with is essentially a great concept. I’d suggest you do too

Romeo and Juliet.
The Mosaica Chocolate Factory, London

‘Shakespeare meets Skins’: MokitaGrit’s latest production of Romeo and Juliet provides audiences with a modern twist on the timeless classic.



Staged within the courtyard of the Mosaica Chocolate Factory, from the second you enter the intimate space audience members cannot help but feel incorporated in the urban world that director Adam Welsh is aiming to create: music pounds and reverberates in my chest whilst free-runners and hip-hop dancers body-pop and back-flip around me. The atmosphere definitely creates a sense of ‘event’ rather than ‘play’ and you instantly feel as if you’ve been dropped within a pre-existing situation. Gang tensions become apparent immediately between the dancers and the parkours who banter with them from the rooftops above, challenging them to perform and ridiculing eachothers’ trips or falls. I sit and find myself (rather embarrassingly) awestruck by the way in which the young performers move about the space – movements seem utterly effortless as their bodies move like liquid. The strong sense of movement and its relationship with Shakespeare’s text is a consistent element of the entire production. Performers physically create the vault-like doors to Friar Lawrence’s cell, free-runners slickly manipulate scene changes and Roger Martin’s tightly choreographed fight scenes incorporate dance and martial art-style movements.

Esther Smith captures the innocence of Juliet with absolute perfection. Her small stature and delicate features enable Smith to pass easily as a girl no older than fourteen, and it’s this visual reminder of Shakespeare’s intended age for the young Juliet that makes the woeful love story all the more tragic. However, Smith does far more than simply play ‘naïve’ to secure her character: the emotional depth that she provides Juliet with is unfaultable and impossible not to feel affected by. Smith’s onstage ‘true love’ – Kyle McFail – is equally flawless in his portrayal of the troubled Romeo. With a warm Scottish lilt, McFail depicts as honest-a-Romeo that I can imagine: he doesn’t provide a text-book representation of love, but one filled with infatuation, elation, anxiety, lust and utter despair. To see McFail and Smith embrace is truly beautiful and although I’m not big in any way on crying in the theatre, to witness them together throughout the final stages of their tragic love-tale is extremely moving.

The exceptional star-crossed lovers are supported by a strong and finely tuned cast and it was exciting to find that for a handful of the young cast members it was their first real stage debut. Not that I could have handpicked who those newbie’s were without the aid of the programme – which I always take as a good sign? Duncan Wilkins as Mercutio is a tremendous crossbreed of Jonny Depp circa the ‘Jack Sparrow’ era and Russell Brand, only more eloquent and more outrageous. There is something desperately sad about Wilkins’ depiction of the clowning Mercutio – a subtle hint of unhappiness underlies his otherwise hilarious outward persona. Again, like Smith and McFail, Wilkins provides his character with depth so that we may view him as something grittier than ‘Shakespeare’s Mercutio’ as we’ve possibly (definitely!) seen performed time upon time before. At the risk of dedicating a paragraph to each cast member, Tom Greaves’ Paris was also wonderful. A character that tends to receive minimal attention with regards to the larger or louder characters, Greaves’ awkward and cringe-worthy Paris worked brilliantly to combat traditional alpha-male representations of the intended suitor for Juliet.

Aside from a cast that I cannot help but gush shamelessly about, the most interesting aspect of MokitaGrit’s production is the staging and the arrangement of the audience. We’re nestled between the high walls of buildings; at one end is a wall with windows through which characters deliver lines, at the other is a rooftop platform that acts as a multitude of settings, including Juliet’s delivery of ‘where for art thou Romeo?’. The audience is split in two and positioned, facing one another, on either side of the ground-level space. This arrangement works in a number of ways. Firstly, as some of the action takes place literally behind you at some points (there is definitely a ‘better’ end to sit at!) it means that audience members sometimes find themselves craning to spot where the action is coming from, or at some points, choosing which part of the action they’ll dedicate their time to. Secondly, audience members find themselves face to face with one another, separated by a performance space perhaps only 4 metres wide. At one point during the very last scene, I recall glancing at the gentleman sitting directly opposite me, watching his expression to the heartfelt speeches that were being given a mere couple of feet between us. And that’s the thing – with such an arrangement, you do end up at times focusing on other audience members, searching for expressions and often, finding them mirroring yours. Not that I consider that a bad thing. If anything, it added a further dimension to what I was watching.

As far as Shakespearean productions go, MokitaGrit’s Romeo and Juliet provided me with some interesting characterization choices, interesting staging aspects and gave an otherwise classical production an urban twist. The cast still spoke in Shakespearean dialogue, and characters were still rather distinctly split in terms of status, yet I felt that I was able to fully invest – emotionally and psychologically – in Welsh’s characters to a point of engrossment. We all of course know how Romeo and Juliet’s story ends, yet this production had me clawing for some impossible hope for the two young lovers.

Over There.
Digital Theatre, The Royal Court

Mark Ravenhill’s Over There ran recently at the Royal Court throughout March, directed by Ravenhill himself and Ramin Gray as part of the ‘Off The Wall’ project; celebrating twenty years passing since the fall of the Berlin wall. I however, watched the production last night for the very first time, from the comfort of my living room. Over There is my first experience of the Digital Theatre’s push towards a digitalisation of theatre productions: shows are filmed, and stored in an online library, where viewers who have registered can pay to download their chosen plays and watch.

On approaching the production, I actually find myself rather unsure in how to review this performance. Do I treat it as I would a film? Do I ignore the fact that it’s a recording altogether and focus solely on the production itself – the performances of Luke and Harry Treadaway as twins Franz and Karl, the set and stage design, the statements that Ravenhill makes in his script? I certainly don’t feel in a position to discuss it in accordance with other live productions that I’ve seen recently as for me, it appears in an entirely different context to anything else I’ve ever seen and I feel it should be treated as such. So I’ve decided to do exactly that.



Set in Germany, Over There depicts the relationship between twins Franz and Karl who have been separated since birth in an East/West Berlin divide. However, in 1989 when the wall is pulled down the brothers are no longer bound by checkpoint regulations and they find themselves free to wander in and out of each another’s lives. Ravenhill explores the dangers of this apparent freedom as Karl struggles to comply with the ways of the Western coloniser with devastating results.

There are two things that this production requires me to adjust to pretty sharpish: the fact that there are no apparent scene changes, and the use of dual dialogue. Brothers Mark and Harry Treadaway carry the entire sixty-minute production without a single exit. Changes in scene are simply indicated by key snippets that refer to time having moved on – with the very beginning ‘flash-forward’ scene acting as an exception. Ravenhill’s dialogue is incredibly choppy – with sentence upon sentence remaining unfinished. However, his choice to share an enormous amount of the dialogue between his two characters weaves an underlying current of anxiety into the performance: as words hang perilously in the air, there are countless ‘will he/won’t he’ moments before the sentence is completed by the other twin. Not that it’s necessary. I’m normally incredibly vocal about my hatred of dual dialogue (as more often than not it’s done badly) but I must admit, as I watch the two actors on stage pick up and drop each other’s words with sheer ease I am in awe of their on-stage partnership and concentration. Ravenhill’s use of this technique only emphasises the shifting relationship between the brothers who after finding themselves so in sync it borders on telepathic to begin with, find themselves speaking different languages (literally) by the play’s end. Ravenhill clearly knows a thing or four about relationships.

As a play, Over There quenches almost every one of my thirsts. The brotherly exchanges are seasoned with quick and witty humour that contrasts strongly with the sudden interjections of callousness from one brother to another. It’s a combination of Ravenhill’s dialogue and the Treadaway’s partnership that represents so well the sporadic love/hate sibling relationship that being a sister myself, I can certainly vouch for. The wonderful thing about Ravenhill is that he provides you with opportunities to view his characters as rounded individuals – the moments that depict Karl (Luke) in his lowest state, slathering himself with flour and ketchup provoke an extremely visceral response – yet he simultaneously plays with our ideas of ever really ‘knowing’ his characters. With snippets of dialogue, fired out between the two actors at a fast pace, I certainly found myself in a strange limbo; where although I’m affected by the situation of Franz and Karl, I don’t particularly care about them specifically as individuals. I’m not entirely sure why this is (could be the dual language thing again – I’m like a record with the needle stuck…) but I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing.

I suppose that one of the reasons I have trouble investing in Ravenhill’s characters is the 2D format in which I meet them. I’m a child of the twenty-first century; I enjoy technology, and there are some truly valid reasons that make me enthusiastic about digital performance (anything that widens accessibility to the arts is surely a good thing?). Likewise however, there are some aspects of the idea that don’t quite sit right.

Throughout my watching Over There, it isn’t clear whether or not the performance is filmed in one take, or actually a montage of various performances. This is only due to the fact that although the breadth of the stage is filmed from time to time, the camera angles change frequently – much like in soap operas – so you get a sense of possible cutting and pasting of scenes. I also feel a little manipulated throughout the experience: at times the camera switches from character to character, and while this means that I don’t miss things like subtle reactions, I feel robbed of the opportunity for interpretation. I can’t decide whether I want to focus on Karl or Franz at any particular time because the decision has already made. The sceptic in me can’t help but get a little frustrated. Actors should have to work hard upon the stage to convey and likewise, audience members should work equally hard to extract meaning and draw their own conclusions from what they’re witnessing. They should be encourages to react to what they’re seeing. The prospect of having a camera zoom in and out for me, so that I may never miss any subtleties that require acute attention kind of makes me feel as if all the hard work is taken care of.

Although a thoroughly engaging experience, I won’t be substituting the live experience of theatre for downloadable versions just yet. Practically the idea of digitalisation is wonderful – I can only rave about the tool that this can provide for scholars or researchers such as myself, when our subject is usually so inconsistent – yet the role of the audience member shifts significantly once a camera takes on the role of ‘viewer’, and we are nudged into the background. Which is an irritating experience – no matter how liberated I may feel watching Ravenhill in my pyjamas.

Tales from the Blackjack.
The Lowry, Manchester.

“Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?”

After a successful stint at Preston’s up and coming Tringe Festival in 2009, Richard Holdsworth’s Tales from the Blackjack secures itself a three-day slot at The Lowry, Manchester. Receiving abundant praise from the Lancashire media a year ago, the production has developed somewhat from the two-man project that it began as: Holdsworth and fresh-out-of-university actor Alex Moran have traded their humble pub venue for a chic studio space, and the production team has grown to include director Graham Easterlow (of Dead Square Productions) and Preston-based writer Luke Murray.

The play aims to provide an insight into the dangerous highs and lows of the gambling realm, exploring the stories of character Mary, a once-savvy business woman pushed to the brink of prostitution by her gambling needs, Mr Chang the infamous unlucky lucky Chinese man, local Mitchell Brother ‘Big Baz’ and most poignantly, The Croupier himself. All four characters of this one-man show are portrayed by Moran with zealous energy and enthusiasm. The nimble actor launches himself about the stage in a heavily physical routine and strikes a happy medium of a potentially difficult balance: his effective use of the space and relentless energy fills the stage, never allowing it to seem bare (a danger that all one-man shows face) yet simultaneously Moran ensures that throughout the forty-five minute production, all eyes are firmly on him. The young actor does impeccably well at creating the buzz comparable to the casino ‘highs’, and his switches between characters are clearly executed - my only request would be that he slows his speech slightly. Otherwise, the never-faltering pace makes for an incredibly engaging performance.

All of Holdsworth characters have their own distinctive features – made all the more apparent by Moran’s physicality and rapidly shifting accents – however some could benefit from a little more development. I adore The Croupier’s nasty but nice personality and the mischievous role that he takes on as the narrator, but personally the character of Mary doesn’t quite push my buttons. The danger with a male actor portraying the opposite sex is that there is always an underlying current of humour, and with the dark nature of Mary’s story I wonder if a little more grit would just provide that tale with a further level? It might just be the ‘Berlin-effect’ still rattling around in my system, but the production has a very real potential to explore the real dangers of gambling if it would only take a few more risks and delve deeper into Mary’s desperate state – remove the light-heartedness surrounding prostitution and it’ll already be half way there.

The piece is peppered deliciously with musicality; the biomechanical movement piece that opens the show to The Killers is one of the moments that just work perfectly, demonstrating how right the team can get it when all elements simply ‘click’. I also personally revelled in the inclusion of nursery rhymes throughout – the twist on The 3 Little Pigs is great, although the ending has altered considerably from what I remember as a wee lass! However my favourite little touch overall (intentional or not) is the parallels drawn between ‘Wilson’ the ominous Casino manager and Harold Pinter’s infamous character of the same name. On every mention I can’t help but draw comparisons between Holdsworth’s creation and the omnipotent threat that Wilson poses in Pinter’s The Dumb Waiter; acting as the true puppeteer in the lives of Moran’s sorry characters.

The great thing about this production is its potential to grow and develop constantly. With a string of festival performances lined up across the UK, Tales from the Blackjack finds itself in a state of flux – and I mean this only positively. With the best of the UK’s theatre festivals acting as the production’s playground, I have no doubt that with a little experimentation the play will evolve into something truly superb. It’s already got a damn good hand.