The Christmas Thing is a variety show with a little too much variety, and sometimes feels like a showcase for its talented performers (and perhaps a few game audience members) rather than a standalone show.
This is a tale exhilaratingly told, and if it fails it fails for being too inventive, rather than not inventive enough.
This David Copperfield is far more than a cheap facsimile of its source material.
Few Shakespeare plays have received the ‘updated for the current political moment’ treatment more than Julius Caesar.
If you’ve ever worked a remote job, and been strapped for cash, you’ll recognise the temptation to take on additional casual work on the side.
Here are all the hallmarks of any good Shakespearean comedy: love polygons, gender trouble and a shipwreck to get things going.
What do we do when the world is falling apart around us? We sing.
You’d be hard pressed to find a more striking opening outfit in a play than #FATKARY: The Corrido of a Tragic Ex-Fat Woman.
There’s something of Heartstopper to the design of Barrier(s), pastel sketches of suburban living rooms and nervous texts to a crush etched out lovingly on the projector.
Romeo a Juliet does not make any of its political points overtly, and this is an occasion where some things are better left unsaid, without cheap gimmicks.
In Sheffield, the self-proclaimed “lesbian capital of the North”, a revolution is coming.
If you’re one of the lucky few to be seated on the stage during new one-hander Wyld Woman, you’ll be treated to a close-up of US writer-performer Isabel Renner acting out some of the worst sex you’ve ever seen (one particular metaphor about Covid tests sticks in the mind).
During the interval at Crocodile Fever’s London premiere, we’re all rushed out of the Arcola auditorium a little quicker than we would be normally.
Many a recent headline has luxuriated in Gen Z becoming one of the largest demographics at church services in the UK – we’re the ones who made the papal conclave go viral, after all.
Both director and designer have slightly too many ideas about what the show could be, and what is left is unresolved potential.
Some Soho Theatre audience members at My English Persian Kitchen over the next month may be more enticed by what comes after the show than by the show itself.
Lee Krasner has now received her flowers, with major retrospectives at the Barbican among other European galleries in recent years, but it wasn’t always that way.
Once the provocative point has been made, that violence against the planet and against women are one and the same, Uprooted seems unsure of where to go next.
This is rich, layered writing on mental illness which avoids tired cliches of germaphobes forever washing their hands.
A biracial actor stands in the harsh glare of the spotlight, about to recite the St Crispin’s Day speech from Shakespeare’s Henry V, clad in a bulletproof vest.
