Cindy Marcolina - Page 10

Entertainment is rotten business. Never mind all the allegations against big (normally male) names that regularly appear on our screens, superstardom is a road paved with dubious morals and forced subduedness. From Demi Lovato to Miley Cyrus, from One Direction to Boyzone, regardless of your gender, the industry will chew you up and spit you out.

A nation in need, an unsuitable king, banishments, murders, attempted coups. Richard II has it all and so does Jonathan Bailey. He might be dancing through Hollywood and hanging out with the biggest celebs, but he proves that he’s still one of us with this triumphant return to the stage.

Amy Leach directs Tatty Hennessy’s adaptation of Orwell’s shockingly relevant novella, exploring greed and corruption in a sophisticated production that integrates British Sign Language. It’s essential viewing in the current political climate.

The Prozorov sisters are desperate for entertainment. Plagued by their dreary provincial life, they yearn for the lights and excitement of Moscow, but have to make do with the visiting soldiers. When their only brother marries, their sister-in-law isn’t exactly what they dreamed of. Her lacking sense of fashion and initial insecurity builds up to a sharp bossiness upon becoming Mrs Prozorov, leaving Olga, Masha, and Irina at the mercy of the new lady of the house. If you had to choose one work that represented what Chekhov brings to the table, it would be this.

The road to the perfect commemorative photograph is anything but smooth with their two unruly personalities. Written by historian playwright John Ransom-Phillips and directed by Bronagh Lagan, Mrs President lives suspended between the lenses of history and fiction.

It’s a meticulously organised ten-track album. The songs are famous, but not so excessively that the line-up comes off as a redundant rehashing of standards or a vanity project. The piece has a consistent cohesion to it - sonically but also narratively, with the numbers living inside a bubble of melancholy that cracks your heart open and then lodges into the fracture to heal it.

Let's get it out of the way: if you have no interest in the material, if you're averse to fantasy fun, or if you're not willing to buy into a style that's far removed from western realism, this is not for you. Directed by Kaori Miura, this is Sailor Moon J-pop version: OTT, kawaii, delectably silly, wrapped up with a ginormous pink bow. It’s the chance to see something different and a prime example of Japanese entertainment, delivered by a 13-strong all-female cast.

Sophocles is the blueprint for an interactive exploration of the public opinion of extremism in Alexander Raptotasios Antigone [on strike]. The piece is highly charged with political intent, bringing to light the experiences of many women who became so-called ‘ISIS Brides’.

An anonymous package arrives in Colin’s post, sending him into a spiral. Whether it’s a revenge plan gone wrong or a silly prank, what Colin receives in an unassuming cake box disturbs him out of his mind. His sister Lisa and his best friend Brian (also Lisa’s boyfriend) try to help. Our imagination could have a field day as Colin unravels, but we're immediately told it's human excrement.

As the release of his third studio recording, 'Things that Come and Go' approaches, we sat down with Hadley Fraser to discuss music, his influences, what he listens to, and what music means to him.

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.