No Hopers at the Dogstar in Brixton

Hannah and Cain are broke, jobless and are lacking any real direction - but at least they have each other to muddle through life with. Hannah played magnificently by Izzy Lim is a whirlwind of unbounded energy, abbreviates most of her dialogue and doesn’t suffer fools gladly. However, beneath her tough bravado filled exterior, Hannah is just a fragile little girl who longs to make it as an actress. No Hopers is a Fringe production that questions what lengths a person is willing to go to earn a little extra money. Would you be willing to compromise your morals and integrity whilst trampling on those you are supposed to care about the most? 

Firmly rooted in 2014, No Hopers'  modern present day context couldn’t be easily forgotten with the abundance, bordering on excessive use of contemporary references. The young couple are suffering from a severe bout of post-university blues. During a therapy session Hannah questions how her peers seem to be so much better at coping with being a grown up then she is. Struggling to survive on their joint job seekers allowance, both Hannah and Cain (Jumaane Brown) resort to some rather unconventional means to make ends meet, Hannah strays into the world of phone sex - a digression complete with an exaggerated chinese accent showcased Lim’s natural comedic talent. Cain on the other hand is seduced by the chance to earn an easy £3,000 by attending Flu Camp. With Cain away at Flu Camp, and Hannah acting in an educational tour of Snow White, the pair are forced to spend time apart. A separation that disastrously alters the course of Hannah and Cain’s relationship.

At times No Hopers felt very busy, almost as if writers Rob Skinner and Daisy-May Pattison-Corney had tried to cram too many complex subject matters into a play that was already thematically bursting at the seams. That said, there’s a lot to like in the work. For instance the female lead was presented in such a multi-faceted and believable manner that I felt sure that she simply must be based on a person from the writers‘ own lives. The role was brought to life exquisitely by Lim, whose frantic yet fragile nervous breakdown made for some truly tender moments. 

Alongside the two protagonists the rest of the ensemble each play three or four small parts. Multiple roles enable the group to showcase their versatility as actors. I particularly enjoyed the stark difference between mellow struggling artist Sam and over zealous theatrical Nathan- both of which were played with utter conviction by redhead Andrew Lavelle.

It may have been due to the extreme heat and lack of air at the Dogstar in Brixton, but at two and half hours, No Hopers felt quite long. I think it could do with a little tightening in parts and a few of the more demonstrative scenes could easily be shaved off. That said, No Hopers is gritty, topical and stayed true to the spirit of Fringe theatre    

No Hopers was playing at the Dogstar in Brixton 22-24th of July for details of future tour dates visit www.imaginaryfriendstheatre.com 

Two school groups take to the Olivier stage

Imagine performing your end of year play on the prestigious Olivier stage, at The National Theatre. As part of the Connections festival, over the past six days, ten schools and youth groups have been treading the boards at one of London’s most iconic venues, each performing a completely new play penned by a professional playwright. The double-bill I was treated to consisted of a piece called Pronoun by Evan Placey, which was performed enthusiastically by Cornwall College St Austell. The work centered around gender identity as a young teen struggled to come to terms with being transgender. The second offering of the evening, was Catherine Johnson’s A Letter to Lacey a musical in which Bristolian school group, John Cabot Academy explored the concept of domestic abuse in teenage relationships.  

As with many of the set texts I recall studying at school both plays were moralistic with clear educational messages. However, I couldn’t help but think that the greatest lesson that the 5,000 young people that were involved in the Connections festival across the length and breadth of the country will have take away from the project, was probably the unforgettable experience of performing on a professional stage. Both groups of young performers shone with self confidence as they commanded the space with buoyant conviction. 

The evening began with Pronoun a work in which childhood sweethearts, Josh and Isabella, are busy flicking through their Lonely Planets guides planning their gap year to Thailand. One thing they haven’t prepared for however, is Isabella’s decision to become a boy called Dean. This comical love story explores: transition, hormones and tolerance. As Josh and Dean, Chris Martin and Rebecca Herrington are very strong protagonists that convey the awkward teenage interactions in a naturalistic and authentically believable manner. I also enjoyed Cornwall College St Austell’s clever use of the ensemble, for instance when a large group of students spilt the part of one teacher or doctor,  with everyone of them accentuating the same gestures and echoing similar lines of speech, which comically magnified the exaggerated characteristics. Another standout performer is Chloe Bruce’s portrayal of the pair’s best friend Laura. Pronoun isn’t without it’s flaws, I personally didn’t really understand what the musical interludes added to the work, and Dean’s interaction with a anthropomorphic James Dean poster was a bizarre digression that felt out of place in an otherwise naturalistic work. That said, Cornwall College St Austell presented the complex and topical subject matter of being transgender in a mature and engaging manner. 

A Letter to Lacey, tells the troubling story of Kara a naive girl who was suffered at the hands of her abusive boyfriend Reece. Two years on, and now a single mother - Kara feels compelled to write a letter warning Reece’s new girlfriend about his violent temper. The role of Kara is divided between Polly Rorison who narrates the ordeal, bright-eyed Jade Goodyear who plays a giddy and slightly ditzy younger version of Kara, and Kim Veitch who evokes the present day downtrodden manifestation of the protagonist. All three incarnations of Kara deliver emotive performances, and are strong singers. As per Catherine Johnson’s previous form with her hit Mamma Mia, A Letter to Lacey is also a musical. For me, there is something uncomfortably jarring about having  upbeat all singing all dancing moments injected into a play that focuses on the idea of domestic abuse. 

After the jubilant John Cabot Academy had taken their bow, new artistic director of National Theatre, Rufus Norris took to the stage, and recounted his own involvement in youth theatre at the age of just 15. Norris is clearly a champion of the next generation being exposed to the arts from as young an age as possible, experiences and opportunities such as Connections are clearly instrumental in ensuring that this tradition continues.

So much more than 'just a housewife'

Contrary to what the title of her one woman show suggests Pippa Winslow is so much more than ‘just a housewife’. This sassy Californian with a mischievous glint in her eye, who toured with the Broadway production of Phantom of the Opera for many years, has a colourful dating history and a penchant for selecting just the right song from the musical theatre back catalogue to illustrate pivotal events from her life.

This semi-autobiographical evening of memoir and songs took place in the epitome of a fringe venue, a tiny theatre called the Rabbit Hole, tucked away in the cellar of the Duke of Hamilton pub. Many would have been phased by performing in a dimly lit space to an audience that was sadly thin on the ground, but instead Pippa delivered a show that was intimate yet oozed gumption. It is worthy of a more impressive venue and certainly deserving to be seen by a larger audience. Skilful song choice coupled with Pippa’s frank and sincere delivery made for a highly entertaining and engaging performance.

Staged simply with just the bare black walls, a stool to perch on and Andrew Hopkins tinkling the ivories, beneath the harsh spotlight Pippa is extremely exposed from the start. The opening number ‘I Want It All’ may well be from the musical Baby, but it’s lyrics read like the soundtrack to Mrs Winslow’s life. For instance the chorus of “I want adventure, love, career, kids large and small I want it all” the desire to try and achieve everything all at once rings extremely true to her own personal narrative. She recounts honestly that even when her acting career was at its peak, all she truly longed for was to settle down and have children. However, that picturesque domesticity came at the price of her career, as in order to raise her children she had to sacrifice her own dreams and become a housewife. The reoccurring theme in Just a Housewife is Pippa’s struggle to come to terms and embrace this new phase in her life. Yes, Pippa is a superb singer, but what truly sets this show apart from the countless other evenings with songs and anecdotes currently being performed, is that Pippa’s tales are honest and genuine, speaking about a subject matter that many could undoubtedly relate to.

What really struck me about Just a Housewife was how well-crafted it was, it was apparent from the start that each song and anecdote had been thoughtfully chosen. I also appreciated the way in which Pippa and her musical director and pianist Andrew Hopkins had delved beyond the clichéd and over-performed repertoire, to uncover some gems that I for one had never heard before. Such as ‘Shattered Illusions’ from Fascinating Aida, and the highly comical ‘Los Pinguinos’, a South American love story about two penguins which comically involved Pippa making penguin noises and sound effects as part of the rendition. Pippa has a fine sense of comic timing, and was perhaps most at ease when performing character pieces, such as the frazzled runaway bride in ‘Getting Married Today’ from the little-performed musical, Company.

In short, Pippa dazzled the audience from start to finish transforming what was formerly a dark and dingy beer cellar into a glistening performance space fit for a Broadway starlet. 

Don't feed the plants!

There aren’t many musicals that have an all singing, all dancing, carnivorous plant with an unquenchable thirst for human blood as one of their central characters, consequently I have always had a soft spot for Howard Ashman’s and Alan Menken’s science fiction inspired production Little Shop of Horrors. Brought thrillingly to life by Seedtime (a Company of talented final year students from performing arts school London Studio Centre that have chosen to specialise in musical theatre), who for the most part delivered high-octane and accomplished performances.  Showcasing that many of the musical theatre stars of tomorrow have honed their singing, dancing and acting abilities to such a high standard that they are what the industry commonly refer to as triple-threats.

The residents of Skid Row are downbeat, dejected and struggling to make ends meet. One such failing business is Mrs Musnik’s rundown florist, with no customers passing through, it like many other businesses on Skid Row will surely face inevitable closure. That is until Seymour (Jamie Tibke), a gawky floral assistant discovers a new species of “strange and interesting” plant, that once displayed in the shop’s window captures the publics interest and drums up some much needed custom for the business. His botanical discovery, which he names Audrey II, unexpectedly catapults a social awkward Seymour to fame, as he becomes an overnight media sensation. However, Audrey II - whose gravely and blues infused tones are voiced superbly be Ryan Ridley, is an ill tempered plant, whose constant demands for human blood, force Seymour to go to sinisterly immoral lengths to satisfy his plants insatiable needs

For the most part Seedtime’s production of Little Shop of Horrors stays true to the characterisation used in Frank Oz’s 1986 filmic version of the work. For instance, the quintet of Ronnettes echo the sassy and vivacious nature of the original brilliantly. I was particularly impressed that as Audrey, Abigayle Honeywill was able to sustain the same high-pitched Tweety-Pie-esque voice (that Ellen Greene memorably created for Audrey) for the duration of the piece. I thought Honeywill captured Audrey’s sweet, ditzy and vulnerable nature perfectly. Her formidable singing voice was showcased superbly in Suddenly Seymour  and her final musical number the reprise of Somewhere That’s Green.    That said, I did think that for a character that is described as a “semi-sadist”, Connor Minney’s depiction of Audrey’s controlling boyfriend Orin could have made more of his characters manic and sadistic tendencies. Another performance that is worthy of note is Robyn Richford, who played an assortment of parts within the ensemble, whenever she was onstage my eye always seemed to be drawn towards her animated performances. 

Seedtime’s rendition of Little Shop of Horrors, was engaging,enjoyable and the entire Company’s sheer delight and enthusiasm for being onstage was undeniably infectious. 

“I like ballet, just not all the nonsense” said Dada Masilo

During her post show talk, South African choreographer Dada Masilo commented “I like ballet, just not all the nonsense”. Masilo’s interpretation of the classic Swan Lake is a refreshing retelling of the archetypal ballet that combines African dance, ballet and contemporary dance - contrasting dance styles that are stylistically linked by a spattering of highly comical moments that pulsate through the work.

Dada Masilo’s Swan Lake, begins with a tongue in cheek deconstruction of many of the tropes used in the original work, referring to the corps de ballet as “surplus girls in the moonlight” and branding the male dancer’s grand jetes as “virility jumps”, many of Masilo’s wry observations rely on a level of familiarity with the source work. In a similar vein to Matthew Bourne who is also closely associated with creating a new interpretation of Swan Lake (his version was perhaps most striking as his cast of swans is entirely male, all of whom skillfully perform on pointe) Masilo, like Bourne also drastically alters the familiar narrative. In this version Masilo herself dances the lead female role of Odette, who in this interpretation is a rather coquettish swan whose shimmies and tutu shaking evokes carnival like exuberance. Her groom to be Siegfried (Songezo Mcilizeli) is somewhat intimidated by his betrothed’s confident and overpowering nature, however it soon becomes clear the reason that he is reluctant to commit to Odette is that his heart belongs to male swan called Odile who is danced gracefully by Llewellyn Mnguni.

One clear thematic thread that runs through this Swan Lake, is the lack of the division between the genders, a divide that is normally so commonly defined in classical ballet. One way that Masilo shuns this convention by having both her male and female dancers wear white tutus, another is that whilst the rest of the company dance barefoot Odile, the forbidden object of Siegfried’s attention is the only dancer that dances on pointe. Freed from the stringent constrictions of classical ballet provides the work with both comical and truly poignant moments. Siegfried’s and Odile’s duet in act two, was a tender amalgamation of beautiful movements, as both men supported each other in a series of suspended lifts. Performed superbly to the sounds of Slow, Steve Wright Variations for Vibes, Pianos & Strings (2005) Pyotr Tchaikovsky - Swan Lake, which in itself is a reworking of a piece from Tchaikovsky’s original score. One of Masilo’s overriding messages within the work seemed to be challenging the idea that there is only one possible way to tell a familiar tale.

Being performed for just two nights as part of Sadler’s Wells’ Sampled Festival, Dada Masilo’s Swan Lake marks Masilo’s UK premiere. Her choreographic voice that blends African dance with ballet and contemporary technique is not only refreshing but uniquely different as I think she is quite unlike any other choreographer who is currently producing work in the UK. As I left the theatre two thoughts ran through my mind, the first was that I felt very lucky to have just watched such a remarkable piece of dance, the second was the assurance that Dada Masilo would be a name that we would be hearing a lot more of in the future.

First ever venture to the Royal Court

Jeeto Gill has spent her life working her fingers to the bone and making countless sacrifices for her two children. Widowed and now in her sixties, she is looking forward to returning to her motherland in the Punjab, as she longs to spend her days relaxing on her newly-built verandah whilst gazing out at lush green pastures. However, for the time being Jeeto (Sudha Bhuchar) spends her time nursing a cup of chai whilst trying to convince her son Pal (Rez Kempton) that, despite his reluctance to do so, it is his familial duty to continue running his late father’s corner shop. Pal’s western wife Liz, who is played endearingly by former Eastenders and Mr Selfridge actress Lauren Crace, is bubbly, well-versed and assimilated into Punjabi culture and desperate to start a family of her own. Gurpreet Kaur Bhatti’s aptly named play Khandan (which translates as “family”) is a detailed study of the complex interaction, dynamics and cultural difference between the various generations within the Gill family. Khandan is a real joy to watch, tackling so many of the same thematic strands that this gem of a play could easily be mistaken for the sequel of Damien O’Donnell’s much-loved film East is East.

Khandan is so well paced and naturalistic it is easy to forget that you are watching a play at all, instead it feels like the audience have all been invited into the Gill family’s homely living room and offered their own cup of chai. This is largely thanks to Kaur Bhatti’s character-driven narrative that is executed superbly by the small cast of six. The best word to describe this well-nuanced piece of theatre would be ‘authentic’ – everything from the rotis and saag that are cooked live on stage right through to comedic moments, such as when Jeeto justifies that the reason she needs to shout down the phone is so that the relatives on the other end of the line in India can hear her. These moments enable the audience to escape into the naturalistic verisimilitude of the piece.

I particularly enjoyed Kaur Bhatti’s varied depiction of the female characters in the work: from Jeeto, the highly critical matriarch, to her wry and wayward daughter Cookie, and of course the over-enthusiastic daughter-in-law Liz, who is eager to please at all times. Each and every one of the female parts are multi-faceted and engaging to watch. My only slight criticism of the piece would be that the plot twist that is instigated by Pal’s destitute cousin Reema (Preeya Kalidas) is slightly predictable, and teeters on the edge of being soap opera-esque. That said, on the whole Khandan is one of the most enjoyable plays that I have seen this year. I would strongly recommend spending the evening in the company of the Gill family, sipping a cup of chai that Jeeto will probably complain has been made with too much milk.

Shock, confusion and family tension.

At just 19 years-old Polly Stenham penned the award-winning gritty family drama That Face, which resulted in her being the toast of the Royal Court. Now, eight years on, Stenham’s latest offering is a dark and disturbing three-act play entitled Hotel.

Robert (Tom Beard) has taken his family on holiday to a remote Kenyan island in an attempt to repair his marriage which is in tatters following the revelation that he was involved in an internet sex scandal. Following mass media coverage of the story his wife Vivienne (Hermione Gulliford) has been forced to resign from her post as Secretary of State for Trade and Investment. Meanwhile, unbeknown to them, their teenage son Ralph is also harbouring a destructive secret. An unexpected plot twist soon makes their initial problems pale in comparison and causes this family’s stay in paradise to rapidly descend into a hellish ordeal.

Hotel is a play of two dramatically different halves. The first half is stylistically typical of Stenham’s previous works and centres around the interplay between family dynamics. This is illustrated brilliantly by the exchanges between siblings Ralph (Tom Rhys Harries) and his precocious younger sister, Frankie (Shannon Tarbet). For instance, the pair can often be found bickering playfully, as Frankie teases and cajoles Ralph into indulging her every whim – which includes persuading him to join in with her highly comical Destiny’s Child dance routine. However, Hoteldoes not circumnavigate the familiar territory of a dysfunctional family for long, as the second half – which is instigated by Kenyan hotel maid Nala (Susan Wokoma) - takes a drastically explosive turn that is extremely reminiscent of Sarah Kane’s play Blasted.

Thematically, Hotel centres around ideas related to betrayal, fear, revenge, blame, accountability and post-colonialism – vast themes that this work struggles to explore in any great depth. This is not surprising considering they are all crammed into a play that is only 80 minutes long. However, both director Maria Aberg and the accomplished core cast should be commended for their disturbing and physical portrayal of violence and brutality. In particular, Wokoma’s writhing around in pain was delivered with such plausibility that it made for uncomfortably visceral viewing.

In Hotel, Stenham has created a series of engaging characters that inhabit a plot littered with shocking twists and turns. However, the element I found most surprising was the work’s abrupt ending. By opting for a cliff-hanger style finish the piece lacked any resolution, and I was left feeling unclear what message (if any) the audience were supposed to take away from what they had just witnessed.

If Stenham’s intention was to lure her audience into a false sense of security, only to then pull the pristine white hotel rug from under their feet, and leave many in an open-mouthed state of shock and confusion, then she succeeded.