Franco Milazzo - Page 2

There’s a fine line between genius and idiocy, and, in his determined effort to “save literature”, Garry Starr doesn’t so much walk it as perform the can-can on it wearing black tails, orange flippers and nothing else. In a show that drops jaws (and, in at least one case, drawers), he flaps through a catalogue of Penguin classics, bringing each to life in a gloriously stupid way.

In Tinned Laughter’s The Bang Gang, Don Lambrini is in trouble. He got on the wrong boat leaving Palermo in 1946 and, instead of his preferred destination of the Bronx, ended up in Blackpool. Thirty years later, his “waste management” firm is under threat from local competitors and now his nemesis has sent a button man to whack him. “Fray Bentos sends his regards,” says the hitman. “Why do they only send their regards when they want to murder someone?” wails the mafia boss as the assassin’s bullets plough into him.

Ever wondered what it would be like to walk off a high street and into Ancient Rome?  Eclipso’s latest VR adventure plunges its audience into the roaring atmosphere of Rome’s Colosseum and explores a world of gladiators and gods. 

Despite the enticing cultural dissonance of its title, Black Sabbath – The Ballet is, by definition, a terrible idea. It is the conceptual equivalent of putting a tuxedo on a pit bull, or hiring Prince Andrew as your PR manager. This is what happens when the civic-minded folk at a major arts company, having dutifully listened to enough AC/DC to establish their street cred, decide they can bottle the anarchic essence of heavy metal and sell it in three-act bottles to those living off the ever-sweet smell of nostalgia and the kind of people who buy all their concert T-shirts from Vinted.

If you’re anything like me — a man of taste, decency, and a healthy suspicion of anything that smells of group therapy — you approach a one-person play about depression with the same enthusiasm you’d reserve for an unexpected colonoscopy. The title, Every Brilliant Thing, only amplified my well-fed scepticism. It sounds like it should be a self-congratulatory bumper sticker on an electric vehicle or the name of a hastily manufactured boy band.

In Calum Finlay’s Fanny, sibling rivalry and musical history occasionally seem barely more than mere pretexts for a superlative slice of Mischief-adjacent tomfoolery. When Fanny Mendelssohn finds out that not only is one of her works a favourite of Queen Victoria but her brother Felix is taking credit for it, the enraged composer begins a madcap journey from Berlin to Buckingham Palace to set the record straight.

Hofesh Shechter — the Israeli choreographer who loves to make dance and music “because I believe those things make the world a better place” — is a dreamer, but he’s not the only one. With a raft of co-producer credits reaching from London to Shanghai, Theatre of Dreams is a heartpounding continuation of his bombastic style.

The true crime genre has already provided one bona fide London smash this year in the sublime Kenrex but Łukasz Twarkowski takes a very different approach with this four-hour-long opus.

Why has the arrival of Tilly Norwood, a virtual actor apparently on the cusp of actual agent representation, caused outrage and panic among screen veterans but barely a murmur from their theatrical confrères? Julian Spooner’s take on the controversial Mistero Buffo offers one explanation why.

One minute you’re in an East London street, the next you are immediately transported to early-1970s Kingston: the style, the sounds, the rhythms, the smell of ambition and frustration. The Harder They Come at Stratford East is a vivid, energetic production that honours the cult classic film while breathing new life into it.

Hampstead Theatre has seen its fair share of gore. Even so, Max Webster’s Titus Andronicus leaves the boards drenched in something more caustic than fake blood: the acid tang of a civilisation eating itself. Shakespeare’s revenge tragedy is a grotesque feast, and here it’s served up with relish.

The Sicilian Vespers is always going to be a challenging proposition. In a move smacking of sheer hubris, Verdi’s original version lasted over four hours and featured half an hour of ballet partway through. Stefan Herheim's production for the Royal Ballet & Opera removes that dance sequence but transports the plot from Palermo to Paris with the Sicilian rebel leader Jean Procida now portrayed as a mutinous ballet master. What next: Che Guevara as a South Kensington Zumba instructor?

Incredible as it seems, globally renowned magicians Penn & Teller have finally got around to their first residency in London’s theatre district. Now both in their seventies, this could well be their West End debut and farewell. 

As the iconic philosopher Ferris Bueller famously opined, “life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” Following on from 2023’s 24 (Day), this second instalment of the Almeida Theatre’s “Islington Trilogy” really and truly digs into the essential and universal nature of being.

From the moment the curtain raises and smoke billows away to reveal a barely lit stage, it’s clear that Rambert’s The Redemption of Thomas Shelby isn’t interested in gently inviting you in and asking how you take your tea. If anything, this is a rough kidnap of the senses, dumping you into a World War I battleground in a way that makes the opening to Saving Private Ryan look like a trip to Tesco.

It may be one of the most beloved musical movies of all time but are we going to be hopelessly devoted to Secret Cinema’s second stab at Grease? Is this what the one that their devoted fanbase really want (ooh ooh ooh)? 

From the moment the first note rang out, this was no ordinary Proms night. Four wildly different pieces, one restless thread: mischief. Mendelssohn is the marquee name here but really this was a foray into the world of fairytale birds, lyrical longing, mythological monkeys and death-defying pranksters.

So, finally, Elvis Evolution has entered the building. 

In what feels like something of a Blue Peter moment, here comes a play which the departing Rufus Norris made earlier last year. 

With Indefinite Leave To Remain, the singular Hersh Dagmarr lifts and shifts the hits of The Pet Shop Boys into a cabaret setting. It is a curious creature of an evening: part musical theatre, part confessional, and lashings of his rambling yet magnetic dialogue.