Alexander Cohen - Page 7

The guns fire loud and sonorous for the opening salvos of Clint Dyer and Roy Williams’s Death of England trilogy. A staggered premiere over four years at The National Theatre from 2020, new kid on the theatreland block @sohoplace (it’s really called that) have collated the trilogy (Michael, Delroy, and Closing Time) in rep in the West End.

When food takes centre stage, it is usually as a conduit for humanity. Somewhere in the pseudo religiosity of ritual and the flurry of flavours we summon stories of cultures, families, histories across time and geography.

The lights flash on, a writer stumbles into his scantly decorated flat. A woman follows, champagne on her breath, flirtatious glances smuggled between them. It’s late at night and the inevitability of retiring to the bedroom looms. But it is not what it seems.

For a play that wears controversy as a badge of honour the last thing I expected to feel was slightly bored

Few directors are as comfortable helming a sparkly winter panto as they are a psychologically gruelling Sarah Kane play. But few directors have credits as varied as Tinuke Craig. A former Bayliss Associate at The Old Vic, she is now making her RSC directorial debut with Richard Sheridan’s The School for Scandal, a restoration comedy written in 1777. 247 years later – what can it tell us today?

It takes its time to warm up. But when this American four hander stretches its dramatic muscles a pummelling emotional workout results

Is this one mnemonic to forget?

Persevere with its mercilessness and you will be richly rewarded

Jude Christian's new production playfully inverts Shakespeare's misogyny

Katie Mitchell returns to the Royal Court with a curious but dense adaption of Maggie Nelson's poetry

Good writing doesn’t have to explode off the stage, but can gently lull you with buckets of charm and laser point focus.

Terry’s Richard is a hyper masculine misogynist grunting, lumbering, and bruising his way to the throne.

Theatre at it's most ruthlessly elusive.

Sparks fly in this plucky grime infused play, but it doesn't quite catch fire

An excellent cast are let down by self-obsessed direction.

It ought to echo with eerie prescience in 2024 as an ever-closer prophecy for an age where AI and algorithms will dictate the minutiae of our lives. But David Haig's new stage adaption is more like a cyberpunk-themed orgy at Printworks.

Nadine Sierra’s enthralling central performance helms this nerve-jangling revival.

A cathartic and powerful moment, a veinous fist unclenching.

Aesthetically malnourished, London Tide lacks the lustrous life blood that so warmly floods through the veins of Dickens’s literary world.

Ian McKellen is a mesmerizingly athletic Falstaff in Robert Icke's iconoclastic fusion of Henry IV parts 1 and 2