Bauble level human to help with demand

Santa’s elves are exhausted, overworked and they just can’t meet the demands of the festive season, so the workers that are at the top of the Christmas tree are recruiting a bauble level human to help with demand. Upon arrival, the audience is given candy canes which will be used at the end of Elf Off to cast our vote on who we think would be the best candidate for the role.

The interview process is led by head elf – Gingersparkles Treacletart, a highly strung, rosy-cheeked bundle of nervous energy. As Gingersparkles, the charismatic Laurie Stevens introduces each of the seven candidates who then launch into impassioned pleas for the position. All but one of these monologues have been written by the performers themselves. With seven different writers of vastly contrasting styles and subject matters, there is every chance that Elf Off could feel like a really disjointed production.Thankfully, it avoided this pitfall by having Stevens’ character interject between each interviewee acting almost like a compare, a device which really helped to anchor the work.

At its core, Elf Off is an amusing satire that parodies many recognisable job interview tropes. For instance, Jonathan Price (Kim Hardy) is crippled by nerves bumbling through his generic answers, palpably nervous as he rummages through preprepared flashcards. A further level of vulnerability is exposed when we discover that this is the first interview since being made redundant. Hardy’s unexpected dark humour shines through when he reveals some of more unconventional devices that his therapist has recommended to help him cope with stress and anxiety. Another standout character is Hayley Baker (Angela Harvey) a despondent single mum on benefits whose only Christmas wish was for Santa to conjure up a dependable father figure for children.

The Old Red Lion Theatre is decked out with tinsel, glitter and presents aplenty. The perfect backdrop for interviewee seven Jade Smith (Rachel Stoneley) to burst into the space with her seductive performance of Santa Baby. It soon becomes clear that Jade has mistaken the nature of Lapland as an establishment and perhaps this scantily clad elf is more used to unwrapping presents then wrapping them. Stoneley is the most dynamic performer of the evening as she directly engages and interacts with the audience which in turn made for a more compelling exchange.

Elf Off is created and co-produced by a company of actors who have all trained of performed with The salon:collective. At a time of year when theatreland is saturated with pantomimes, it is refreshing to see a festive offering that dares to veer off the well-beaten, snow-covered track.

Makes you think about donuts in a whole new light.

Cast an eye over the audience of Little Red Riding Hood at artsdepot this half term and alongside little girls dressed up as the protagonist herself, you’ll also spot a couple of pint-sized people looking extremely cosy in slippers and pyjamas. Siblings Bridget and Stephen are having a sleepover at their grandma’s house, and we’re all invited. Struggling to get to sleep – partly because boisterous older sister Bridget can’t stop thinking about the uneaten donuts in grandma’s kitchen – the pair decide to tell a story. Equipped with only a toy-box, a wardrobe of their grandma’s clothes and their vivid imaginations the pair energetically transform into the roster of characters from Little Red Riding Hood. With upbeat songs, a replenishing wardrobe, and make-believe aplenty, Berry Theatre’s Little Red Riding Hood is a charming tale.

With a fairytale as ingrained in the collective conscience as Little Red Riding Hood, audiences are always going to be on the look-out for points of difference and what spins, if any, are put on the iconic moments. Well, in this production bossy older sister Bridget (played buoyantly by Lorna Jinks) is in charge of casting, telling her brother that if he wants to play the Woodcutter, he’ll also have to play Little Red Riding Hood and later on the aging grandmother as well. Reluctant at first to don the scarlet cape, a compliant Stephen (Iain Ridley) soon decides to play along. Ridley has great comic timing, with one stand-out moment being when he questions what Little Red Riding Hood’s actual name was, remarking that naming her after an article of clothing would be much like if he called his sister ‘Purple coat from H&M’. This production is littered with an abundance of giggles, as moments with shadow puppets, water pistols and, of course, a pair of underpants really tickle the young audience’s sense of humour.

Anybody who has ever seen The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe will know that cupboards can have magical capabilities, a trope that is used throughout this rendition of Little Red Riding Hood. Every time the wardrobe is reopened it contains another prop that wasn’t there before, and ultimately it acts as a portal for the children to leave their bedroom and explore the mysterious woods. In fact, a clear strength of this rendition of Little Red Riding Hood is the simplistic but effective use of props, for example Jinks is transformed into the ever-famished wolf using only a long grey fur coat. And, I won’t spoil it, but the production also orchestrates the pivotal grandma-being-eaten-by-the wolf moment in a rather clever and completely non-scary way.

It isn’t often as an adult that you attend a piece of children’s theatre aimed at ages 4+ and expand your vocabulary. However, a delightful song introduces the German word ‘Waldeinsamkeit’ which aptly means the feeling of being alone in the woods. This new addition to our lexicon is spelt out on colourful bunting, with a few other untranslatable words from other languages also thrown into the mix. The brief but educational musical detour is very welcome, and for me this was the most successful song of the bunch – the rest, although repetitive, didn’t quite pass muster as being catchy ear-worms.

A running time of an hour for a play aimed at such young children did feel a tad long, and in the last 15 minutes or so there was definitely an increase in impatient wriggling; in parts, the play could do with a little tightening to bring the overall running time down. That said, Little Red Riding Hood is a sweet, family half-term treat that will teach you a few new words along the way and may make you think about donuts in a whole new light.

Betty O’ Barley and Harry O’Hay spend their days scaring crows away

Betty O’ Barley and Harry O’Hay are a happy-go-lucky pair who spend their days scaring crows away. This duo of scarecrows are so smitten with each other that they decide to have “the best wedding ever, the best wedding yet, the wedding that no one will ever forget.” The Scarecrow’s Wedding is a charming retelling of Julia Donaldson’s book: this much loved children’s tale has been placed in the safe hands of Scamp Theatre (who are the team behind the ever successful Stick Man and Tiddler). Once again, Scamp Theatre have added their enchanting touch to a Donaldson text, and brought Axel Scheffler’s illustrations playfully to life. The Scarecrow’s Wedding combines clever staging, melodic folk songs and an array of instantly loveable characters. It’s a firm favourite that can be enjoyed by all the family.

For those unfamiliar with The Scarecrow’s Wedding, the plot is as follows: in order to get married Betty and Harry must scour the farm to find feathers for the dress, a shell necklace, pink flowers, two rings and bells. Their search leads them to make friends with many animals along the way, often played by the charismatic chameleon Michael Palmer. Simple yet effective costumes such as a vibrant green space hopper transform Palmer into a military-minded toad; a clothes line of bells instantly evoke a herd of busybody cows. The Scarecrow’s Wedding is propelled by the power of make-believe and the infinite realm of a child’s imagination.

Completing the cast are straw-filled lovebirds Matthew Hamper and Lucy Wells, who dart across the stage with boundless energy. All the members of this small cast of three play an array of instruments including a fiddle, a banjo, a soprano saxophone, cajón and even a kazoo. The Leicester Square Theatre is enveloped with sounds of folk-filled drawl, as Darren Clark’s songs compliment this quaint tale perfectly. Some songs such as ‘Life of Scarecrow’ are quite the ear-worm, whereas some of the others fail to make a lasting  impression.

It’s a surprisingly nuanced piece – miniature versions of Betty and Harry can be seen in the faint distance, to be coupled with the idea that inanimate objects come to life when their owners aren’t looking (which felt like a nod to Rosie and Jim). In fact, there are a couple of seemingly subtle nods to children’s television: the slightly tatty dog on wheels is reminiscent of the programme Dog and Duck.

Those that have read The Scarecrow’s Wedding won’t be disappointed with this adaptation, and those that haven’t will no doubt be hurrying out to buy it.

Pirate or Privateer?

Pirate or Privateer? Upon arrival the audience is divided into these two groups, to experience Iris Theatre’s interactive production of Treasure Island. This high-energy adventure tale takes place in the picturesque grounds of The Actors’ Church in Covent Garden. With sea shanties, swigs of rum aplenty andeven a full-sized pirate ship, Treasure Island is a swashbuckling adventure that will ignite your inner buccaneer.

With Captain Flint’s treasure map in tow, the audience is lead out of The Actors’ Church to the rousing chants of “Fifteen men on the Dead Man’s Chest – yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!” Corralling such alarge groups for a promenade piece isn’t without its’ difficulties as waiting for everyone to arrive in the variety of locations often means that the action lagged slightly.

Upon this fateful deck, the young Jim Hawkins (Harold Addo) comes of age while losing his way among the pirates on the open sea. A boy who would rather keep his word than save his skin, Jim pits his wits against one-legged Long John Silver (the estimable Dafydd Gwyn Howells). Jim must learn to spy and plot and fire a pistol if he is to ever see the shores of home again.

The young Addo has a lot of pluck and charm, but he doesn’t have the grit to make Jim’s brush with death resonate deeply. Howells, on the other hand, may well have been born to play the infamous buccaneer with the peg leg and the opinionated parrot. Suffusing Silver with equal parts swagger and desperation, Howells puts the wind in the sails of this production, which struggles with its momentum as the narrative unfolds. His unabashedly charismatic performance captures the dualities of the iconic pirate, a figure that Jim comes to love despite his villainy.

The soundscape composed by Candida Caldicot is atmospheric and heightens the sense of seafaring peril. Valentina Turtur’s designs are the show’s most arresting feature.

Some of the smaller members of the group are roped in for some endearing audience participation. At times when the audience have divided in two, the alternate scenes unfold in earshot, there’s a real sense that you might be missing out on some gems.

At two and half hours this production could do with a little tightening. That said, it is an endearing production brimming with enthusiasm.

‘Give me a child until he is seven and I will show you the man’

The Last Word Festival is The Roundhouse’s annual spoken word platform, vibrant with its diverse programming and a true celebration of some of the kaleidoscopic range of talent that exists in the current poetry scene. One such act is Brooklyn-born Baba Israel, whose piece The Spinning Wheel premiered at the Roundhouse before it embarks on a UK tour.

A tribute to late father Steve Ben Israel, who was a poet, a radical, a non-violent anarchist, and all-round performer on the underground jazz scene. Using a fusion of hip hop, projections, video footage and anecdotal memories Baba paints a picture of a fascinating man and all round eccentric but, above all, a man he admired and who continues to inspire his work.

The phrase ‘Give me a child until he is seven and I will show you the man’ feels like it could be applied to Israel’s upbringing. He was raised going to political rallies, attending his father’s shows, and had the power of free speech and an inquisitive mind ingrained in him from a young age. These ideals reverberate throughout The Spinning Wheel;Israel is principled and his natural warmth exudes. The Spinning Wheel is a very personal tribute to his father; he projects some video footage onto a stack of cardboard boxes – structurally it’s very poignant to listen to Israel talk so fondly about his late father and then build towards seeing his face. It almost feels like we have been invited to Israel’s house, heard some familial anecdotes and then settled down to look at a family photo album.

There are a lot of concepts to get our heads around.It feels like the type of show that takes a while to digest and perhaps could do with multiple viewings. One of the brilliant standout moments is an audio recording of a conversation between a young Israel – he sounds like he could have been no older than four at the time – talking to his father about how he wanted his audiences to react to his shows. The key message from this sweet interaction is that Israel Sr. wants his audiences to listen and to think. Like father like son, the Israel dynasty certainly makes their audience actively listen, and leave them with a lot of food for thought.

Israel is joined on stage by musician Yako 440, who adds another dimension to this multimedia-filled production. Israel describes The Spinning Wheel as a tale told ‘through spoken word, video, and live music’, the show preserves and animates the collectivist impulses of New York counterculture while carrying on a family legacy of generosity via a son’s loving tribute to his father.’ That is a rather fitting description.

A tightrope between spoken word, live literature & comedy

Annie is 17, defiant, anaspiring artist and a daydreamer. After 15 years of living in sun-soaked Australia, Annie and her mother are relocating back to the UK, Birmingham to be precise. Her father, Paul, has been in a coma for over a decade, kept alive only by a wheezing ventilator.

Lost in Blueis Debs Newbold’s one-woman show (well, technically the instantly likeable Brummie is also joined onstage by Roland, a loop back and sound effects machine that Debs claims is her collaborator), a piece of live literature that follows Annie, her mother Sarah and a whole assortment of characters as they try to rebuild their lives back in the UK, lives for many that have paused, frozen in time the day of Paul’s catastrophic accident.

Newbold is a storyteller who weaves her yarn in such a fascinating and controlled manner. She knows exactly how to hold an audience in the palm of her hand and, although we hang on her every word, there is an intimate quality to Lost in Blue;it feels as though she is recounting the tale of her strained family dynamic to you and only you. A wordsmith at her core, every word is considered; for example, Sarah doesn’t simply chop the vegetables, instead she ‘beheads the carrots’. Her comical and eloquent lexicon is a real joy.

Although Paul is lying motionless in his sick bed, we are privy to his internal monologue and his active, wandering mind. There are echoes of The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, particularly apparent in the pair’s father-daughter relationship that forms the heart of the tale. In Paul’s alternate reality, he escapes to the Blue Room, Vincent Van Gogh’s Blue Room. Without giving too much away, the scenes between Paul, Van Gogh and Newbold as the narrator are laugh-out-loud funny. AlthoughNewbold is the mouthpiece for all of the characters, we half expect to see the protagonists standing side by side, a testament to the vivid picture she paints.

Lost in Blue walks

a tightrope between spoken word, live literature, comedy. Newbold is charismatic and we root for her from the off. In Lost in Blue explores the empyreal power of art and the unbreakable bond shared by a family.

Send a teacher into space

Carrie is lost. A young teacher who’s struggling to come terms with her mother’s passing, Carrie wanders aimlessly through her daily life looking for direction. while sorting through her late mother’s belongings she comes across a tape recorder, that contains a message from the maternal figure that she misses dearly. Hearing her voice again not only provides comfort, but also gives her a much needed sense of purpose that propels Carrie to go on a voyage that will take her on a journey far further than she ever thought possible.

Voyager is the latest offering from esteemed physical theatre company Idle Motion. Many of the young cast are also Artistic Directors and Producers in the company and it shows, as they perform with real conviction and a genuine sensitivity, they are portraying so much more than merely characters as for them Voyager is a palpable labour of love.

At the school where Carrie (who is played by the bright-eyed and emotionally nuanced Grace Chapman) works, the fragments of dialogue are littered with recognisable schoolteacher tropes such as: ‘that bell is for me not for you’ and ‘ slow down, there’s no need to run Mr.’ As Jason, Julian Spooner is particularly humourous as he nails the PE teacher who seems all too convinced that the whole of year of eleven should be solely focusing on the rounders lesson he’s teaching and nothing else.

A distracted Carrie, joins this gaggle of well observed teachers for an after school all staff briefing; where they learn that they can to apply for the new ‘Teacher Goes To Mars’ programme. Bemused at first by this far from conventional field trip, it soon pricks a few of their interests, including Carrie’s, who despite not consulting with her finance first feels compelled to apply for the programme.

The deceptively simple white backdrop is used a wide variety of manners. In parts high quality projections and space landing footage is projected onto it. Different compartments from the backdrop act as unexpected entrances and facilitate seamless transitions. The use of perspex screens with a thin border of white lights to evoke flashbacks of her parents was touchingly beautiful.

Everything about Voyager feels considered, from Chris Bartholomew’s futuristic and voyage evoking soundscape, to Greg Cebula’s and Ellen Nabarro’s lightning design and l design respectively complement Idle Motion’s cleverly crafted physical theatre. The combination of these elements, coupled with moments of stillness and almost weightless slow motion are utterly transfixing.

A recurring motif that runs throughout Voyager is the idea that we live in a world where we all spend too much time absorbed in our smartphones, that we don’t take the time to truly appreciate the beauty of the world around us. A poignant message, executed in a innovative, considered, self reflexive and insightful manner.

Putting the drunkard into drunken sailor

Magnificent Bastard Productions have come up with an award winning and crowd-pleasing combination with their shit-faced formula. Take one well known play, in this case The Pirates of Penzance, add one particularly drunken sailor, in this case Connor Going who prior to playing Frederic the swashbuckling pirate slave was obliged more than a few fair rums (on this case his tipple of choice was beer) and then he continued to wet his alcoholic whistle through out the performance. As you can imagine with songs and full blown dance routines, quick changes and rather whimsical plot hilarity soon ensues.

Every person holds their drink differently, and I’ve no doubt had the drunken Russian roulette landed on another member of the cast we have witnessed a completely different form of merriment. As Frederic Going exudes an impish playfulness, as he skips and prances round the stage, pushes his luck seeing if he can steal a few cheeky extra kisses from Dora Rubinstein who plays the dainty songbird Mabel. Not dissimilar to an inebriated individual trying to convince that a police officer that they aren’t over the limit, Going hurtles through his lines at lightening speed. Which although is impressive, does make some of his key dialogue hard to follow.

The quick changes, and Tom Reade’s melodic tinkering of the ivories is it apparent that Shit-faced Showtime: Pirates of Penzance is a slick well oiled machine. No matter how tipsy any of this stellar cast may be, they never veer too far from the narrative. Our drunkard in question definitely hams up his drunken state, playing to a crowd who paid to see an intoxicated chap stagger through an operatic classic.

That said, when Going accidentally stumbles over a cable tripping their sound system, he looks genuinely worried, that he may have ruined the entire show. Equipped to deal with all eventualities and esteemed pros at improvising at the motley cast take the buzzing and the intermittent sound interference in their stride.

The camaraderie present between the players is tangible. More so than Going, the rest of the cast have tricker job of keeping a straight face despite the drunken tomfoolery, Reade as the Modern Major General, takes charge and steers the sometimes wayward ship back onto its narrative course with real buoyancy.

Shit-faced Showtime: Pirates of Penzance is another well honed and exquisitely executed show to add to Magnificent Bastard Productions shit-faced cannon. Watching a drunk person attempting to stagger their way through a play was always going to be amusing. They must have to tolerate fair few hangovers, but suppose it all part of the package when being shit-faced is your USP. These drunken sailors, pirates and maidens know exactly what they are doing, as they are quite simply masters of their craft.

He glistens, he rants & most importantly he entertains.

Glittering skirt, clashing prints, a necklace made of pencils, tatty heels complete with knee-high football socks all offset by clownish makeup applied with a trowel – there’s no mistaking David Hoyle’s inimitable style. Part cabaret act, part drag and all round dazzling starlet, Hoyle holds the captive audience in the palm of his hand (complete with badly painted fingernails). As he addresses the “Ladies, gentleman and those of you clever enough to transcend gender.” The first five to seven minute involves Hoyle roaming the Spigletent to tell various members of his audience just how fabulous who thinks they look. Clearly at his happiest when improvising, Hoyle barely thinks twice before answering an audience member’s ringing phone.

Hoyle’s opinionated – we are treated to rants on the misuse of tax money and also his musing’s on politics, homophobia and his abhorrent disgust towards the lower middle classes. None of these segments last too long, and in-keeping of his own mantra of keeping things frothy, he diffuses any potentially controversial topics by bursting into song.

It won’t surprise you to learn that Hoyle doesn’t simply take to the stage and sing, he would rather also do this in an avant-garde manner. For instance, Maybe This Time from Cabaret is performed to sounds of an MRI scanner. Hoyle belts out numbers in the style of a self-assured crooner with the sass of all of the great divas.

Hoyle is the epitome of an artist in every sense of the word. Showcased by the speed painting he does of two girls from the audience, as he promises to immortalise them on the canvas. Some people were born to be on the stage, Hoyle is one of these people. Charismatic, talented and spirited. Nothing is ever understated or subdued about Hoyle. He glistens, he rants and most importantly he entertains.

Confessions of a Red Headed Coffeeshop Girl

Confessions of a Red Headed Coffeeshop Girl, follows the story of Joanie Little a flame-haired college graduate who finds herself stuck in a dead-end job as a barista. Part comedy, part monologue and with a few spirited songs thrown in for good measure. Joanie is the lovable and slightly eccentric girl next door, who keeps herself entertained by likening her customers to animals and spending a little too much time talking to a portrait of Jane Goodall. Joanie grins and bears her humdrum life, until one day the unexpected arrival of Marco, the mysterious coffee drinker who leaves his business card behind, makes quite the impact on Joanie’s run of the mill life.

As Joanie, Rebecca Perry is an accomplished performer who morphs back and forth impersonating a wide range of customers with great ease. The redheaded protagonist has great comic timing, is a klutz and reminds you of a Canadian version of Jess from the American sitcom New Girl. The coffee shop related observational humour is far from groundbreaking, however, the whole production is crafted in a very slick manner, with characters that are established earlier on rearing their heads again at opportune moments. A personal favourite is Sue, the jogger who, like a deranged roadrunner, can never stop jogging, not for even a moment to make her coffee order.

Alongside the comedic moments in Confessions of a Red Headed Coffeeshop Girl, there are also a series of songs written by Perry herself. Ranging in style from jazzy renditions through to the last number which has beautifully melodic folk like undertones.

Confessions of a Red Headed Coffeeshop Girl is very slick and delivered seamlessly, not surprising considering the flyer states that it has been performed to critical acclaim in 14 cities. At the end of the play, Perry reveals that at this year’s Edinburgh Fringe Festival she will be performing the sequel. In Joanie, Perry has created a charming character and no doubt folk will be curious to find out what unfolds on her next adventure.

Powerful + gut wrenching piece of theatre

The nature of the Fringe, is you never really know what you’re going to see or what impact if any, a production will have on you. You don’t expect to watch Groomed, written and performed by Patrick Sandford with a lump in your throat, a knot in your stomach and to feel truly moved by what you had just witnessed. Groomed is a difficult and uncomfortable watch, as Sandford recounts his own true story of child abuse – when he was molested by a school teacher with wandering hands at the age of just 10 years old.

Groomed is both brave and ambitious in that in succeeds in recalling the ordeal from both the abused and the abuser’s perspectives, achieved by having Sandford flit between playing both parts. Groomed doesn’t present a black and white depiction of abuse, instead, it explores the intricacies and subtle shades of grey that exist. Demystifying many of myths, and commonly held misconceptions that are present in society.

It is an extremely powerful statement to have Sandford play both the 10-year-old schoolboy and the teacher, as it visually exemplifies the idea that many abusers were abused themselves as children. Although Sanford will never be able to justify what the abuse of trust that his teacher committed, the fact that now, at the age of 63 he can relate to fact that his teacher was also a victim in that he too was also failed by a society who didn’t intervene or offer him support before it was too late, this is both humbling and hard-hitting.

Throughout Groomed, Sandford is accompanied by the saxophonist Tomm Coles who at times juxtaposes the harrowing tale by playing jazzy and upbeat music, and other moments when words fail Sandford, the melancholic tones go part of the way in expressing the heartfelt emotions that have left him speechless. The recurring use of the melodic When You Wish Upon A Staris particularly haunting.

Every performance ends with an audience discussion, during which ,without a script to protect him, Sanford seems all the more vulnerable and exposed, as he bravely answers the crowd’s probing questions.

Groomed provides a platform (supported by the charity Mankind) for Sandford to speak truthfully and honestly about a dark secret that he had previously suffered in silence. Occasionally a play moves you and lingers in the mind long after the final applause, Groomed is one of those powerful, gut-wrenching pieces of theatre.

Triumph of imagination

Airswimming is the tale of two best friends Dora and Persephone who refer to each other affectionally as Dorph and Porph who find themselves in St. Dymphna’s Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Spanning over fifty years, the pair meet to undertake their daily duty of polishing the stairs and the bath. Written by Charlotte Jones in 1997, the characters in Airswimming still feel relevant and intriguing. Our protagonists personalities are almost kaleidoscopic, in that you are never sure exactly who you are going to encounter.

They laugh, they quarrel and soothe each other. Starting off as untrusting strangers it is touching to watch Dorph’s and Porph’s friendship to involve to one that is so close that they are bonded together like sisters. There are stellar performances from both Tanya Chainey as Dorph and Alison Nicol as Porph, their onstage chemistry is at its’ most tangible when they escape into their fantasy alter egos of Porph as Doris Day and Dorph as a toy solider of the highest regiment. Portraying insanity in a believable manner is no mean feat and the pair do so triumphantly.

The songs of Doris Day are recurring motifs throughout Airswimming. They are sung on stage, the use of a piano and a whistled version of Que Sera Sera acts as a particularly haunting ear-worm. Another memorable momentis the simple but effective choreographed unison of the duo going swimming through the air. Nicol’s gleeful childlike innocence foiled perfectly my Chainey’s brisk jolly-hockey-sticks manner.

In may be just quite how airless and hot the venue is, but at an hour and five minutes, Airswimming does feel a little long, and could perhaps do with some tightening in places.

Airswimming is dark, funny and surreal. A celebration of the triumph of imagination and above all the power of friendship.

Shining a light on a gimmick

As a concept, Comedy in the Dark doesn’t take too much explaining. Cheeky-chappy Joey Page comperes an evening with three comedians on the bill, that are each brought onto the stage in the light, before the lights are turned off and both the performers and the audience are plunged into darkness. Last night, alongside Page, Chris Betts, Ahir Shah and Ellie Taylor all attempted to get a titter out of a silhouetted room that they couldn’t read the reactions of. Page quips that we should have just stayed home and listened to comedy on the radio… but quickly added that this was better because it’s live. Watching comedy in the dark is certainly a gimmick, but does it add anything to theoverall experience?

With a varying weekly lineup, some comics enter into the spirit of lights being out more than others. For instance, Page’s playfully takes off his shoes so that we can’t tell where he is in the space. For many, at any comedy gig there’s an inbuilt fear that at any moment as an audience member you could be picked on to participate or be mocked. Page still plays for audience interaction, but people’s blushes are saved as instead he asks us to cheer in agreement to certain statements, quite liberating really to be able to answer honestly without any judgement from those sitting around you. Page is charismatic performer both with and without the lights on.

Next up Canadian Betts whose material seems to be more an acquired taste, but those that find him funny are highly amused. Noticeably not as playful as Page, and I am not sure if he used the possibility of performing in the dark to its’ full potential. It was helpful to see Shah in the light prior to the dimmer being hit as there was a real disconnect being his appearance and what you would expect him to sound like. An observation that formed a key part of Shah’s routine. The final act of the evening was the chirpy and slightly crass Taylor, whose material was a bit hit and miss, as even she herself acknowledged that some of her material relied heavily on visual cues. Felt very much like this was a warmup for her Work in Progress gigs that are happening next week in Brighton.

Comedy in the Dark is a showcase of four comedians each with a twenty-minute slot, well programmed to tickle a variety of funny bones. 

Seeing it in the dark is a novelty that doesn’t really add anything to the overall enjoyment of the evening, but is a fun gimmick.

The most beautiful shell in among the pebbles

Thorn is a superb one-man show written and performed by Thom Jordan. There’s an unshakable honesty and grit to his delivery, as he takes inspiration from his own childhood growing up as the son of a minister in Australia and skillfully interweaves his own upbringing with the real-life scandal of a minister who faked having leukaemia.

Thorn is extremely well paced, Jordan begins by introducing Paul, a happy-go-lucky chap who is instantly likeable, at first it feels like the audience may have stumbled into a comedy gig rather than a one-man play. The ease that Jordan feels onstage transmits to the audience and a rapport is soon established. A dynamic which is tested throughout Thorn as he asks us questions, and later we transform into Paul’s captive congregation as he sermonises with gusto-filled intensity.

Thorn is raw and fearless, as it tackles taboo topics such as greed, religious exploitation, hypocrisy and a preacher’s abuse of power over an impressionable congregation. As is the culture of any fringe festival the audience numbers fluctuate, and despite only having sparse numbers, Jordan performs with such conviction and boundless energy as if he were addressing a room of hundreds – a testament to Jordan’s professionalism and commitment to sharing this tale.

The staging is simple, with a set of brown chairs and a clothing rail at the back of the stage containing various costumes to help signify different stages of Paul’s life. Taking the one man show mantra a little further Jordan also acts as his own stage manager cueing his own music. Which in turn only adds to the authenticity of the production.

In many many ways Thorn feels like a very special piece of theatre, like you’ve discovered the most beautiful shell in among the pebbles on Brighton beach. No doubt that this won’t be the last we see of either Thom Jordan or Thorn.

A few drops of mead for good measure

It isn’t often that, within moments of sitting down in a venue, every audience member is encouraged to take a swig from the artists hip -flask of mead. That’s exactly what the audience of The Things We Do For Loveare encountered with, the owner of the mead in question – Damian ‘BB’ Wood, a professional storyteller and complete with a feather or two in his cap (or more aptly trilby).

Wood is self-assured raconteur, who holds the room in the palm of his hand, as you eagerly wait to hear the next twist in his tale. You have to admire the bravery of man, who is willing to strip back any theatrics and just stand in a blank empty space telling stories. Wood’s delivery is a melange of storytelling around a campfire meets sage and slightly cryptic gentleman who shares a story or two in a local country pub.

The first story of the evening is that of Hodja Nasreddin who set off on a voyage accompanied only by a donkey, that he rode for such a long time the donkey eventually dropped down dead. A distressed and guilt-ridden Hodja became arecluse and didn’t speak to anyone for many years, until one day he was reunited with his father. This tale reminded me of many other quest tales, such as Don Quixote, Yvain and Iseult and many Arthurian romances and fables. The exchange of stories is at the heart of some many communities, and it is refreshing to see a piece of theatre that the stripped it back to its narrative essence.

Having been captive listeners, the audience is then called upon to become the narrators of their own tale that, with a guiding hand from Wood, theyweave collectively – told to close their eyes for a period of time, and then to share the image or scene they had imagined with the group. Ever the skilled wordsmith, Wood is able to craft a tale using the suggestions of: a tree that turned into a man and then back into a tree, a little brown bear that wanted to join in with the opera, and children playing happily on a beach in Los Angles, into a tale that has real narrative thread.

Wood, in this setting, is playing to a familiar crowd of friends and those that had seen him before and occasionally did veer into the territory of anecdotes and in-jokes that were a tad difficult to grasp for outsiders. The Things We Do For Love is quite a vague umbrella title for the evening, but it is a charming, quirky and all-round playful evening, with a few drops of mead thrown in for good measure.

Everything that is little will one day grow up to be big.

Even before entering The Biggest Marionette Circus in the World Part II you are greeted by life-sized puppets of an elephant, a lion and a giraffe, an intricate and impressive sight that impresses both little people and adults alike.

The ringmaster of The Biggest Marionette Circus in the World Part II has been asleep for hundreds of years, so consequently two modern incarnations of Dr. Seuss’ Thing One and Thing Two wake him from his slumber using a giant key. At first, the ringmaster is a little dazed and confused and then slowly he remembers all of the many acts on the roster of his circus.

The first of these acts are the little animals, scaled down versions of the safari animals that the audience has passed just moments before, on their way into The Warren. Wide-eyed children look on as the puppeteers articulate the miniature animal trio in a skillful and lifelike manner. Another popular circus act that captivates many of the babes in arms are the brightly coloured flying fish, that swooped off the heads of the first few rows majestically, in touching distance of lots of little grappling hands.

The festival may be starting to take its toll on the ringmaster, as he sounds a little hoarse and it is often a struggle to hear his commentary over the music. There are, arguably, one too many quips for the parents ears only and turns of phrase such as ‘off the cuff’ are difficult and inaccessible to be included in a piece of children’s theatre. That said, he utters the mantra, that at The Biggest Marionette Circus in the World anything is possible, with the small animal puppets at the helm, the Ringmaster leads the joyous troops outside. After all, we are told everything that is little will one day grow up to be big.

Once outside the smallest among us are allowed beneath the roped barrier and to play with and interact with the miniature elephant, lion and giraffe for a short period of time, before being asked to return to their parents behind the barrier. Some of the children found it difficult to get their heads around why, one moment they were allowed to roam freely in the performance space, and then suddenly they weren’t. Needless to say, quite a few persistent little people that repeatedly toddled towards to the animals. Perhaps this confusion could have been avoided by waiting until the end of the performance to encourage the children to interact the puppets, rather than so early on in the production.

We discover that Emmanuelle the Giraffe has a melodic singing voice, Leonardo the Lion is quite naughty and, for some of the more sensitive souls among us, him threatening to eat the lion tamer proves to be a little too scary. Some loud roars and a few of the ringmasters asides, does make you question exactly which age group The Biggest Marionette Circus in the World Part II is aimed at.

That said, for many this will have been their first introduction to puppetry and marionettes on this scale and the closest most will get to seeing a circus featuring performing animals. For a child, whenasked what he wanted to be when he grew up, to proudly reply “an elephant”, this production has obviously made quite an impression. The Biggest Marionette Circus in the World Part II has a lot of promise and, with a few structural and linguistic tweaks, it has the potential to be utterly mesmerising.

A cross between Quentin Crisp and Stewie from Family Guy

Despite donning heavy black eyeliner, fishnet gloves, a top hat and a floor-length cloak, (all in his signature shade of black) Nick struggles to be taken seriously as a goth. He laments his cheerful upbringing with well-adjusted parents, reluctantly resorts to sleeping in an armchair due to the fact that despite his strongly worded letter Ikea don’t yet stock coffins and you’re more likely to find him listening to Steps than Metallica.

About a Goth, a one-man play by Tom Wells, is brought charismatically to life by Dominic Thompson. The first thing that strikes you about Nick, the wannabe goth, is, that despite being from Birmingham originally, he regales the room with a hyperbolic accent that sounds like a cross between Quentin Crisp and Stewie from Family Guy.

The play is peppered with witty one-liners such as “I ordered the mint frappuccino, the most gothic of drinks” and “the bus wasn’t due for another ten minutes so I decided to self-harm with my badge.” All of these quips are delivered by Thompson with excellent comedic timingand aplomb. Alongside poking fun at the societal perception of the moping teenage goth, there were also some more vulnerable and exposing moments. Such as his closeted relationship with his Brummie best friend Greg or when he volunteers in a care home and spends hours playing rummy with ailing resident Rod. Nick’s character is a vocal chameleon, who flits seamlessly between different accents and personas to evoke those that circumnavigate his life lurking in the shadows.

The simple staging of an armchair and a black duvet that doubles as both a cloak and a shroud works well. Blasts of Britney Spears, Steps and the Sugarbabes complete with an over enthusiastic dance routine, are an expected but amusing additions to About a Goth. When an excitable Nick is watching his parents’ historical reenactment, he seems quite young and childlike, whereas during his awkward exchange with his classmate Emma, who bluntly probes “Why are you a goff?” he seems older. Consequently, it is quite hard to place the protagonist’s age.

The death of a someone dear to him leaves Nick feeling emotionally flummoxed, as despite wanting to live a nihilistic existence devoid of any emotions, his loss causes him to start feeling ‘stuff‘ which he struggles to process emotionally. The final image of About a Goth is a powerful one, Nick has removed all the elements of his gothic getup and costume and is left naked on stage with a harsh spotlight and only a black duvet to cover his modesty. Beneath the gothic Noel Fieldingesque caricature , Nick is so much more than an emotionally stunted goth, he’s a vulnerable, insecure child that is contemplating painting his bedroom walls magenta.

A high-octane banquet of fun for all the family.

Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the makings of some festive fun. Flamboyant dames, an abundance of innuendos and a generous sprinkling of magic have taken over theatres across the country, as we’re firmly catapulted into panto season. Hackney Empire’s offering this year is a rambunctious Jack and the Beanstalk, and it delivers everything you could hope for from a pantomime and a great deal more. It’s witty, fast-paced and brimming with plenty of charm – a high-octane banquet of fun for all the family.

We find ourselves in a frostbitten Hackneydale, where local residents have been forced to endure an eternal winter and live in fear of the evil reign of Giant Blunderbore. It’ll come as no surprise to learn the narrative thread that unfolds involves: the selling of a beloved family cow in exchange for some magic beansm, which then sprout overnight into an oversized beanstalk that Jack must climb to defeat the evil Giant Blunderbore. Like a comfy pair of slippers, the plot of Jack and the Beanstalk is reassuring and familiar; the other conventions you expect such as audience participation, slapstick and puns aplenty overflow from this exuberant production.

As well as ticking all of the traditional boxes, one of the reasons that Hackney Empire has such a loyal panto following is due to its flair for innovation. Director and writer Susie McKenna has her finger firmly on the contemporary pulse with bursts of every chart-topping song, from ‘Shake It Off’ to ‘Uptown Funk’ and even Drake’s ‘Hotline Bling’ making an appearance, alongside references to the Apple Watch and the 5p plastic bag tax. For me, the best deviation from the plot was the addition of Jack’s Jamaican sidekick Snowman who is the perfect medley of the Genie from Aladdin meets Olaf from Frozen, brought to life brilliantly by a zealous and instantly likable Kat B.

The jewel in Hackney Empire’s panto crown is Clive Rowe as Dame Daisy Trott, his veteran status and masterful aplomb lighting up the stage. For Rowe double-entendres roll off the tongue with ease, he delights in making reluctant audience members squirm and is a vocal powerhouse. Although there is a slightly grating sense of one-upmanship from some of the other members of the cast, nobody is going to steal Rowe’s limelight. His stellar costumes and gaudy headpieces quite literally are the cherry on the top of the sumptuous cake.

The chorus comprises dancers from Hackney Empire’s ADP Dancers and the Vestry School of Dance and Performing Arts; they are energetic and their enthusiasm is infectious. Without wanting to give anything away, I’ll also tease that the deception of the Giant and his entrance is one of the best I’ve seen.

You can’t help but smile and feel jovial watching this rendition of Jack and the Beanstalk. I got to boo and hiss to my heart’s content and was throughly entertained from start to finish. It’s a delightful Christmas treat complete with all of the trimmings.

That time I saw a play entirely in Russian...

Last night was the first time I’d seen a play entirely in Russian; it was also my first time seeing Belarus Free Theatre perform. It was not, however, the first time I had heard of the underground theatre group as their reputation proceeds them, a guerrilla troupe forced to perform in secret before being exiled from their homeland. Belarus Free Theatre strives to use theatre as a vehicle for political change. Being Harold Pinter is one of the pieces that forms part of their two-week Staging A Revolution season. There’s an undeniable sense of urgency that underpins the evening, as impassioned and angered Russian prose tumbles out and the audience are forced to read the surtitles at breakneck speed. As the narrative rapidly flits between excerpts from Harold Pinter’s canon, to harrowing testimonies of Belarusian prisoners, it is a lot for the audience to process and take in all at once. Far from an easy watch, Being Harold Pinter examines injustice, human dignity and the state of your moral compass.

We are confronted by a stark black stage, a row of red chairs and a large-scale, piercing cut-out of Harold Pinter’s eyes. Pinter’s gaze is both omnipresent and duplicitous; at times, the windows to his soul are doted upon as if they belong to a deity and at other moments they have a totalitarian dictatorial quality. As Pinter, Aleh Sidorchyk explains that for him all characters begin as simply being A, B and C. Their basic relationships and the way in which they interact with each other come later, often spawned by the characters themselves and, much to his annoyance, sometimes beyond the playwright’s control. A series of vignettes unfolds: a discordant relationship between father and son, a woman suffering domestic abuse at the hands of her husband and a series of visceral military interrogations. These are segments that stand alone in their own right, but together are all united by the thematic thread of the abuse of power. This in turn provokes a sense of tangible unrest, and as a stunned audience watch on passively as these graphic and immoral ordeals unfold, there is a collective feeling of helplessness to intervene.

The relentless pace at which Being Harold Pinter hurtles through the text, coupled with my lack of my Russian linguistic ability, inevitably results in there being far too much verbal imagery to digest. However, Belarus Free Theatre’s performance quality is very physical, with images such as the entire cast being engulfed in a a sheet of tarpaulin, repeatedly catapulting themselves towards the front of it – all you can see is their trapped distressed outlines, as they struggle to break free. It is a simple but haunting visual. Presented as a striking metaphor for Pinter’s overbearing control over his characters’ destinies, this could also be viewed as a physical representation of governmental oppression suffocating individual human rights.

During her introduction, Artistic Director Natalia Kaliada explains that when the company perform in Belarus, the audience are told to bring along their passports so if their performances get raided by the police, the whole administrative process will run more smoothly. Yes, Belarus Free Theatre’s work is entertaining; but it is so much more than that, as at its core it has an important message that deserves to be heard by the masses. We live in a society where freedom of speech is a right we take for granted, but in many parts of the world being able to express yourself freely is still a constant battle. Belarus Free Theatre are tireless campaigners for the intrinsic human rights of justice, equality and ensuring that your moral compass is intact.

Risque, clever staging, if a tad too long.

Many times in my life I have heard the phrase: “the arts have power to transform lives”. When Nancy (Sally Messham) first goes to the Palace Theatre where she claps eyes on Kitty Butler (Laura Rogers), a Victorian music hall singer and male impersonator who wows and astounds the crowds by daring to perform in trousers (a highly controversial clothing choice for a female in that era), Nancy is mesmerised. Seeing Kitty’s act transforms Nancy’s life from one of hardship and simplicity – shucking oysters in her family restaurant in Whitstable, to being dazzled by the bright lights of theatre when her dapper idol Kitty employs her to be her personal dresser. However, those familiar with Tipping The Velvet know only too well that the effect of meeting Kitty impacts every iota of Nancy’s existence, in particular by awakening her female sexuality and desires.

When I heard that the Lyric and playright Laura Wade were adapting Tipping The Velvet, my first thought was: that’s quite a difficult text to stage, and I wonder how on earth they are going to tackle it. The creative team have taken these numerous challenges in their stride, and if anything some of the ways in which they have approached these obstacles are some of the finest and most ingenious aspects of the work. For instance, you can’t tell the story of Nancy’s gay sexual awakening without including sex scenes. However, these are far from ordinary run-of-the-mill encounters, as they all elaborately unfold while the protagonists are suspended from the ceiling and partake in some beautifully choreographed aerial work, in the form of sensual physical entanglement.

Tipping the Velvet isn’t without its faults. Personally, I found the ‘me old mucker’ Cockney-style narrator-cum-ringmaster extremely grating. His interjections are unnecessary and the garble that he uses to start and stop every scene, and to fast forward through the more mundane chapters of the book, is quite frankly irritating. In the opening scenes I found his presence quite distracting. Another trope that doesn’t hit the mark is the use of modern songs against a Victorian backdrop. Yes, I did find it amusing to hear Nancy’s rendition of ‘Wrecking Ball’ and ‘Back to Black’, but for me their inclusion is quite frankly bizarre. That said, the modern songs sung in a barbershop quartet style work well, as they are stylistically in keeping.

Without wanting to ruin Tipping The Velvet‘s innovative staging, I can safely say I have never seen a play that contains both singing pig carcasses and a crude but hilarious rendition of ‘God Save The Queen’. Our starlet and fallen angel for the evening is a tour de force – a triple threat that masters the multifaceted Nancy with gusto-filled gravitas.

At three hours long, this reviewer did find herself glancing towards her watch occasionally. It could benefit from a little shaping, but that said there are many seeds of potential that, with a few revisions and a generous sprinkling of water, mean Tipping The Velvet could grow from being a great piece of theatre into an incredible work of art in full bloom.