Guest Author - Page 2

A Christmas Carol is one of the greatest stories ever told. Part of what makes it so brilliant is its universality and its malleability. There have been more adaptations of Charles Dickens's festive tale than the little knot of businessmen have had hot dinners, so why is it so often performed in its many permutations when, let's face it, the Muppets nailed it so exquisitely?

Dickens draws the most remarkable characters, there are few writers with whom we remember their characters above all else, but I think he is one of them. From Fagin to the Artful Dodger, Marley to Scrooge, Wilkins Micawber to Uriah Heep, he has created some of the most famous characters in literary history. What a privilege it has been to bring some of these characters to life on stage in David Copperfield.

I find myself once again poised to set sail aboard the peerless HMS Pinafore, with our production of Gilbert & Sullivan’s nautical-themed masterpiece opening at the London Coliseum tonight!

La bohème. Glyndebourne. Three trumpeters blare out a fanfare as the chorus pours onto stage, ready to deliver the myriad vocal interjections which mark out the beginning of Act 2. But Glyndebourne is No Ordinary Opera, and this is no ordinary scene. On a single musical cue, thirty-six choristers, dressed as Parisian waiters and cafegoers, unload and set onto stage eight tables and thirty-three cast-iron chairs, while delivering musical cues with pinpoint precision, in just 38 seconds. It is a feat of preparation, dedication, talent, commitment and painstaking rehearsal, and is an example of what makes the Glyndebourne Chorus one of the most special in the opera world.

There is no role in British theatre quite like the Pantomime Dame. The thrill I feel right now, heading into rehearsals at the legendary Stratford East, is electric. Stepping into a legacy that is equal parts mother, mayhem, and magnificent spectacle is an absolute gift for me.

This whole thing started with James Demaine. He’s into his occult, his gothic horror, his folk tales, so I shouldn’t have been surprised. It started with a raised eyebrow. It started in a technical rehearsal for another play entirely, three years ago.

Sophie’s Surprise Party, at its core, is a cabaret line up show. For those not in the know, a line up show is just a bunch of acts, one after the other, sometimes with a host, sometimes not. It’s a format we love, and one that we all cut our teeth doing. But we wanted to elevate that format, and evolve it.

My advice would be to don’t stop working on that thing. Whatever that writing project is. Feel free to become frustrated and put it away for a few weeks but keep it ticking away. I believe it’s immeasurably important for emerging writers - it is these spaces that shape the play, where mistakes can happen and solutions be found, without the pressure of a deadline or a looming opening night or financial stress. (On that note, we open 31 October at The Hampstead Theatre, please come?!)

I’ve been trying to ‘make it’ as a playwright for a decade. A decade of feverish all-nighters for first drafts, day jobs in retail, hitting brick walls on re-writes, and, of course, rejection after rejection - from writers’ groups, MFA programmes, residencies, awards, and open callouts. Now, in what feels a mind-boggling turn of events, I’m about to open my first professional production, and wondering if this is ‘making it’. And if so, how did I get here?

My play Ragdoll takes place across two timelines. In 1978, a young American heiress is put on trial for her role in an armed bank robbery that has captivated the nation. In 2017, a disgraced celebrity lawyer calls upon a former client to help him redeem his reputation. The former really happened. The latter did not.

As a deaf twenty-year-old whose main aim is to find the happy in every corner of life, I often struggle to engage with politics – especially those concerning disability rights. When I was a young teen I was much more actively engaged, speaking in parliament, contributing to campaigns, very much considering a career in that direction. I tired of that quite quickly, but have since found my political spark reignited, using theatre writing as an outlet instead. My love story Barrier(s) is the latest outcome, and I am very excited to see it off on tour.

In my play Dial 1 for UK, my character, an undocumented migrant who moves to London for a better life, smiles for a reporter and says: “It’s a dream to be here.” This line, and the play itself, reveals a profound contradiction: the dream is alive, but it's haunted. 

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been painfully shy. For equally as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be an actor. These may seem like divergent roads down the wood of a single personality, but I’ve found them to be inherently intertwined. It is shyness that made acting such a necessity to me. 

I’m looking forward to conducting Bizet’s Carmen for English National Opera (ENO) this autumn, alongside fellow conductor, Clelia Cafiero. Carmen’s extreme drama and memorable music makes it one of the best-loved operas by audiences worldwide.

It’s been 70 years since the publication of Patricia Highsmith’s celebrated thriller, and the introduction of one of literature’s greatest creations: Tom Ripley.  He’s appeared in four further novels, several films, most famously the Oscar-nominated one by Anthony Minghella, and a recent TV series on Netflix starring Andrew Scott.  This year, the numerous articles in the media about the character continue – what makes him so consistently compelling?

Konfetti er bestemt et besøg værd. Traditionen tro er Wallmans klar med et helt nyt dinnershow i september, i år under navnet ”Konfetti”. Og lad mig bare sige det fra begyndelsen: Jeg er begejstret! Som altid… 

When I was researching This Little Earth, I stumbled across an essay by social psychologist Serge Moscovici, in which he likens ‘the conspiracy mentality’ (the belief in conspiracy theory) to theatrical performance.

As a playwright who has spent a lifetime crafting optimistic, muscular comedies like Lend Me a Tenor and Moon Over Buffalo, I now find myself in the company of Agatha Christie’s most beloved crime-solver, Hercule Poirot. As Poirot himself might say, “Alors, how can this be?” 

​​​​​​​When we talk about representation in the arts, one experience that remains almost invisible in mainstream storytelling is what it’s like to have a parent in prison. It’s a silent crisis affecting tens of thousands of young people in the UK, and yet it rarely appears on our screens, our stages, or even in everyday conversation. That silence is part of the reason I wrote KAILEY.

This summer I found myself producing and writing two shows at the same time, in two different countries. On 6 August, Book Club premiered and sold out in New York at The Flea. Less than two weeks later, on 15 and 16 August, Tenner Bag sold out The Hope Theatre in London.