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.
Like much science fiction, US playwright Matthew Gasda’s Doomers has to contend with one crucial issue – how do we make sure that the dramatic stakes remain high, when nobody yet knows the end result of the technology driving the story? Doomers is concerned with where the balance is between prog
Lock a few theatre characters in a room together, sit them around a dinner table and they surely won’t leave without revealing a few hidden resentments, infidelities, or family secrets they thought they’d take to their graves.
Even though the Finborough has been transformed into a lush 1920s drawing room, with emerald green walls and an intricately stuccoed fireplace, cloyingly nostalgic period piece this is not.
There’s something of the early feminist short story The Yellow Wallpaper to the conceit of Vermin – the escape from a marriage tainted by violence is found not outside the house, but inside it.
So much ink has been spilled on the perilous joy of being young, but this new slice-of-life drama set in a deprived London suburb puts it better than most: youth is about always being “on the precipice of choice”.
‘What do you look for in faith?’ This is the question proclaimed by Italian performer Elena Mazzon in The Popess, before she launches upon unsuspecting audience members in search of individual responses.
If you happen to be strolling around Piccadilly in the next couple of weeks, you’d be forgiven for thinking you’d stumbled upon an arcane cult ritual – or perhaps an unusually urban episode of The Traitors.
‘This is Illyria,’ bellows the sea captain conveying the shipwrecked Viola to shore, in what is surely one of Shakespeare’s most straightforward opening lines.
Marisha Wallace, Broadway’s current Sally Bowles, has had a career in New York and London marked by starring roles in musicals about women surviving tough circumstances.
There’s a make-or-break moment towards the end of The Publicist, where Julia Pilkington’s titular PR professional stands trapped on a phone call between two rails of clothing, a TV producer and former friend berating her on one side, her client trying to severe their professional relationship on
This is a great opportunity to hear the breadth of Beethoven’s work performed in a novel way, and the drama does have its flashes of brilliance.
