Olivia Rook

By Dracula’s end, it is hard to keep up with Erivo’s many characters, and it’s a relief when she opens her mouth to sing the words “come with me”, like a siren’s call. It is a welcome reminder of the talented voice at the heart of this project, but is her West End return a show to die for? Not quite.

We are in safe hands with Game of Thrones and The Full Monty actor Mark Addy, who plays the titular Harold. His performance is the acting equivalent of putting on a favourite, comfortable old jumper — his Harold is a little rough round the edges, but he is good, real, stoic, and completely captivating. He sets out as a man seeking to provide comfort to another, but realises he is the one who needs to be healed along the way. Addy may not have the strongest vocals in the company, but the show’s penultimate confessional song “Dear Girl in the Garage” is rousing and layered with years of grief and regret.

As Susan, her emotions are always bubbling beneath the surface: in the ‘real’ scenes, she is buttoned up, foot tapping, eyes drifting around the room; in her imagined sequences she grins dreamily, bathed in Lee Curran’s warm lighting, and memorably gives herself over to the fantasy during an ecstatic rainstorm. Smith often appears to be on the edge of both tears and laughter, but her vulnerability is truly laid bare as the show’s hallucinatory quality turns sickly during a bonkers, nightmarish denouement.

While the sets and effects here are not as striking (though there is once again a bridge traversing the length of the stage, this time in set designer Dane Laffrey’s stalactite-encrusted Underworld), Casey Nicholaw’s production packs in big tunes, gorgeous costumes, and plenty of groan-worthy laughs.

Debicki channels the effortless grace she brought to Princess Diana in The Crown, ethereal in costume designer Richard Kent’s steel-coloured gown. However, she only really comes alive when facing Fleetwood, who gives a charged performance as Elena, seeking sexual validation from young architect Ragnar (charismatically portrayed by David Ajala) while yearning for emotional intimacy from her husband. Elena is broken and vulnerable, revealing the impact of two miscarriages following the death of her son; she is also biting and cruel, tearing down another woman in revenge for what she has lost. Fleetwood perfectly balances these complexities, and holds the production together with her acerbic tongue and shattering revelations.

Unlike James Graham’s Punch at the Young Vic, we don’t root for this damaged character — any feelings of sympathy for his past are overwhelmed by the knowledge of what he goes on to do. But Manhunt, like Netflix’s Adolescence, asks interesting questions about male violence, where it stems from, and how it can be controlled. Icke’s Royal Court debut is certainly thought-provoking.

Emma Flynn is the breakthrough star of this production. In the same way that the 1995 film put Alicia Silverstone on the Hollywood map, Clueless should help to make a star of picture-perfect New Yorker Flynn, whose bouncing blonde tresses and screeching Beverley Hills twang are quintessential Cher. Some moves have been made to add depth to her character, with soul-searching solos, but an opportunity has been missed to dig in more to her backstory, with a few, fleeting references to the passing of her mother who “died when I was two in a freak liposuction accident”.

Bailey is aided by a strong supporting cast. Pierreson’s Bullingbrook is a cool and calculated foil to Bailey’s impulsive king, bringing a powerful renegade energy to the production with his band of rebels. Martin Carroll, who stepped in as John of Gaunt, is desperate in his final moments, pleading for his country, which is being ruined at the hands of Richard. Simkins, no stranger to the Bridge stage having recently starred in its production of Guys & Dolls, is a committed Duke of York, unfailingly loyal even when it means selling out his own son, the Duke of Aumerle. This leads to a humorous scene between the Duke, Duchess of York (Amanda Root), and Aumerle (Vinnie Heaven), as they plead Bullingbrook’s forgiveness, scuttling across the stage on bended knee.

Ernaux’s memoir defies form — it is both personal and objective, employing the collective ‘we’ to discuss communal experiences. The word ‘I’ is absent in her writing, but Arbo brings us even closer to Ernaux by relaxing this objective stance in choice moments, such as a forced first sexual encounter and an abortion scene. The result of both is shattering, thanks to moving and raw performances by Mohindra and Garai. The latter performance, which has been the subject of numerous headlines since the play’s first UK outing at the Almeida Theatre in 2024, is particularly brave from Garai, as she bucks on a table, toes curling, her thighs coated in blood. The scene is horrific without being gratuitous, though the show’s well-signposted trigger warnings are much needed.

A popular culture hit, and subject to countless memes, Titanic was ripe for a parody take — and the musical’s writers have left no stone unturned in bringing all of the film’s most iconic moments to the stage. The cast recreate scenes such as “Draw me like one of your French girls”, with Rose (played by Kat Ronney, a dead ringer for Kate Winslet) sticking up a middle finger and pulling lewd facial expressions while Jack (a foppish Rob Houchen, sporting Leonardo DiCaprio’s curtains) attempts to draw her with limited artistic skills.

Mason Alexander Park as the spirit Ariel brings an ethereal, otherworldly presence to the stage, descending from the sky dressed in a gold corset and feathered neckerchief. They veer between fearful servitude and biting anger, spitting out the demand to be given “my liberty” in a rich, husky voice, which also sings beautifully. Forbes Masson is grotesque as the slave Caliban, emerging from volcanic rubble head first, with black spittle running down his chin. When his full body is revealed, it is clad in a bondage style corset, while the rest is covered in dirty smudges. He snarls and thrusts, crawling through people’s legs in a show of his baseness, and cleaves to pretend lords Stephano (Jason Barnett) and Trinculo (Mathew Horne, both ridiculous though mildly entertaining).

While this run marks Barcelona’s UK premiere, the play had its first outing in 2013 and is set in 2009. Debates about Iraq and terror attacks, while relevant later in the play, feel forced, as do Irene’s repeated discussions around her ancestors’ pioneer history and the huge cultural gulf between Americans and Europeans. Wohl’s play truly sings when she hits us with some big revelations and these two strangers are shown not to be so dissimilar after all — each struggling with their own demons, in need of another to show them the way out of the darkness.

Lesley Manville delivers an astonishing performance as Jocasta in this lean and pacy production, which reframes Sophocles’ story of incest, power, and ignorance within the context of a political contest. It is election night and Oedipus is on the brink of claiming victory, prematurely toasting his success with his wife Jocasta, their three children, and brother-in-law and advisor Creon (a calculating and slightly unsettling Michael Gould). As they await the results of his sure-fire win, devastating revelations about Oedipus’s true parentage surface, with repercussions for both his family and the country.

Staged in rep for the first time and sharing press performances on 30 July, Michael and Delroy have gone off without a hitch, with Closing Time beginning previews on 22 August. While the shows can still be seen individually, they’re dynamite in rep, the interconnected stories and different narrative perspectives offering a far richer understanding of what it means to be British when viewed together.

They are the same cast that premiered the musical at The Donmar Warehouse in 2023, in a production by director Michael Longhurst, and it is clear that their bond has only strengthened since then, which is crucial for a show that interrogates such heavy themes. Indeed, from the opening number, there are already signs of Diana’s mania, and by the second, she is assembling stacks of sandwiches across the stage floor at breakneck speed, throwing around slices of cheese and ham.

While Cox’s performance is undeniably strong, he is often outshone by Patricia Clarkson’s Mary, who veers between drug-induced serenity and a frantic energy, her sentences running into each other as reflections on the past and present thoughts collide. One moment, she is doting and anxious about Edmund’s health, and the next, she is abrasive and cruel in her observations. Clarkson perfectly captures a desperate picture of addiction, her mind clouded like the fog that surrounds their seaside home, which is signalled by sound designer Tom Gibbons’s unsettling foghorn that rings out even during the interval.

One of the most ingenious parts of Butterworth’s scripting is his ability to say more in the silences – and in what the characters fail to say – than in their actual conversations. There is a brief pause in the second act, which cleverly allows the audience a chance to digest what they have seen only moments before. A huge revelation explains why the Webb family has become so fractured, and the pregnant silence that follows is chilling.