Cindy Marcolina

Erik Kahn’s play tested very positively in the States early last year and has gained even more resonance since then. Reviewing it on the day of the United States Presidential Inauguration, where Elon Musk gave a hasty Roman salute to Trump’s rapt audience, hit differently. In front of us, Charlotte Cohn impeccably directs a fish tank of cruelty from the past. On our screens, another one plays out.

After a stellar run in Stratford-upon-Avon, Joe Murphy and Joe Robertson’s RSC-fuelled project takes hold of London. Flashback to 1997, the United Nations are desperately trying to draft up an arrangement that might save the Earth. The deadlock on global warming hadn’t eased for years: each representative cautious about their involvement and an American lawyer deep in the pockets of his country’s oil tycoons doing anything to stall. Can the world come together to protect itself?

The American production of George Bernard Shaw’s The Devil's Disciple was, famously, the first financial success for the Irish writer. Though originally set during the Revolutionary era, Director Mark Giesser adapts it to a later war, perhaps in an attempt to modernise its themes and draw a parallel with contemporary topics of discussion. Rebellion and sacrifice unfold out against a field of racism, violence, and colonial dynamics, but none of it hits as hard as it should.

Oswald Mosley’s Blackshirts are getting a foothold in London’s East End. Shylock, here a single parent, requests a pound of flesh from Antonio, part of Mosley’s aficionados, in order to clear his debts. The demands of the Jewish moneylender who’s endlessly abused in public by the same people who require her services immediately gain further nuance in Brigid Larmour and Tracy-Ann Oberman.

Though we admit that venturing as far as saying that the witch looks like a mix of Margaret Thatcher and the old Queen might be just us being fastidious with our interpretative vein, the links are there to see and analyse. Yes, it’s a bit cheesy and adults playing children is always slightly jarring, but it’s also a prime example of how we can navigate world politics with your kids.

Now at its second run and presented in an updated version, Cutting the Tightrope puts together a list of brilliant playwrights (Hassan Abdulrazzak, Mojisola Adebayo, Phil Arditti, Sonali Bhattacharyya, Nina Bowers, Roxy Cook, Ed Edwards, Afsaneh Gray, Dawn King, Ahmed Masoud, Joel Samuels, Sami Abu Wardeh) to tackle the line between entertainment and engagement. From programmes built on fake promises to selective outrage, they pull no punches. 

This is an Earnest for a new generation, Bridgertonian in its approach and just brat enough. Everybody is a little gay. Everybody is incredibly horny. Everybody has the smoothest comeback. Webster forgoes any sanctimony with sacrilegious extravagance. Gorgeously anachronistic costumes by Rae Smith splash on Smith’s own set design, shaking up the comedy of manners conventions in favour of a more original take.

Mark St Germain adapts Jaku’s life story into a 90-minute one-man show that overflows with empathy and hope. Directed by Ron Lagomarsino, the piece transcends the limits of theatre.

We all know that sport is easily the most straightforward gateway for male friendships. Whether it’s watching any sort of match or meeting up for a five-a-side game, so many men only bond when they’re supporting the same team. Rajiv Joseph builds King James at the intersection between the human need to be social and healthy sportsmanship.

Director Christopher D. Clegg assembles Jacob Fowler (Hunter), Abbie Budden (Heidi), Mary Moore (Susan), and Thomas Oxley (Jeff) as the quartet, while Tom Chippendale is their accompanying pianist Larry. New casts will never have that je-ne-sais-quoi of the artists playing themselves, but, if the chemistry is there (and here it is indeed), the material is a boisterous enough journey through music and stressful deadlines bolstered up by meaningful friendships. Mind you, the piece is reasonably sized but, here, it regrettably comes off as a filler production to tide the venue over. 

A failed engagement and extended repression are a deadly concoction in Ivo de Jager’s new play Sweetmeat. It’s sexy and repulsive, horrid and argumentative - a truly compelling project that just needs some tidying up and a stronger dramaturgical control.

Sam Rees’s The Food Bank Show is very aware of all the limitations of his viewership. He marries political philosophy and underground mobilisation with extensive journalistic research and humanity to provide a collaborative production that defies the rules of the genre. It’s a sophisticated invective in the form of a one-man act, a direct indictment of the failures of modern civilization. He doesn’t offer much hope or easy way-outs'; he doubles down on governmental shortcomings with a grim point of view.

When we talk about slavery, our minds immediately land to the olden days of colonies and plantations; perhaps we think of the much discussed reparations provided to the victims or their descendants, or we draw back to those tedious corporate trainings that address a problem that seemingly doesn't belong to our world. The thing is, nearly 50 million people can be considered slaves today. It’s a horrifying thought.

The start of Sanaz Toossi’s Wish You Were Here sees girlies being girlies in 1978 Iran. While more protests keep breaking out around the country, five friends plan their lives between waxing each other’s legs and dreaming about their future husbands. Their youthful Iranian bliss is rudely interrupted by the escalation of the Islamic revolution of 1979.

There’s a number of compelling sides to Carrick’s script, but it ultimately feels over-written, under-directed, and over-performed. The writer-director opts for a rather naturalistic vision and the narrative is ostensibly imbued with detailed historical research; the factual study sets the scene and informs the world-building aspect of the piece, but the major lack of a hook stunts the ultimate outcome.

Flashback to a dreary Thursday evening in mid-January. Not exactly prime time for prestigious announcements. We were at a show, relaxing on our sofa, or having one last drink before heading home when phones started vibrating left and right. Out of the blue, apparently randomly, two different productions of Sophocles’ most buzzy tragedy were announced.

Greek mythology has always had a hold on pop culture, but it seems like it’s taken a place of honour in recent times - especially on stage. Just a few streets down from the Lyric, where Eurydice and Orpheus fall in love every night in Anaïs Mitchell’s musical, Jermyn Street Theatre focuses on the myth’s tragic heroine with Sarah Rhul’s eponymous play. Directed by Stella Powell-Jones, the project is an exquisite addition to the landscape, perfect for those mourning the cancellation of Netflix’s Kaos.

Daisy Hall’s debut is already a decorated piece of writing, having been a finalist for the Women’s Prize for Playwriting last year and a huge success at the latest edition of the Edinburgh Fringe. It’s a play of tender humanity. The very generous setting and chatty script offers an almost Beckettian development of its concepts, which are hilariously convoluted but wrapped in sensible vernacular. Starting from an inventive idea, Hall explores a gripping concoction of metaphysical theory and bleak banter, holding up a mirror to reality with a series of derivative allegories. The caustic sarcasm that’s idiosyncratic to a zillennial inflection results in a pair of comic performances that are exquisitely intense in their subtlety.

The world is a dark place. Every day, we seem to edge closer to the start of another global conflict. Nowhere is safe. War and destruction have become steady protagonists on our television screens, to the point where we’re growing increasingly desensitised to violence.

Would you undergo a procedure that would easily and painlessly grant you to live eternally? Writer Emma Hemingford theorises a future where the extension of life has become as normal as getting Botox. But, unlike plastic surgery, the practice raises ethical and social issues. The benefits span protracted career opportunities and more time to spend with your loved ones, but at what cost?