Cindy Marcolina - Page 12

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?

Tim Edge’s sophomore project is described as a nail-biting show that uncovers the dark truths of vicious competition and ferocious career moves. The production over-promises and under-delivers. It’s not only plagued by a debilitating case of women-written-by-a-man, it’s also predictable and formulaic.

Sir Julian Twombley is in hot water when it’s discovered that his family has been living way beyond his House of Commons’ wages. This isn’t the latest front page of a Daily Mail-made political attack, it’s the premise of one of Arthur Wing Pinero’s later comedies. Though Victorian farce isn’t exactly all the rage at the moment, The Cabinet Minister is so unfortunately relevant and timely you’d never think it was written in 1890.

“I love you like Mary Shelley loved her monster.” Being in the right place at the right time can change your life. So, when young producer Marcia Jeffries stumbles upon a drunken Larry Rhodes while she’s recording a radio segment somewhere in the southern States, it seems like it’s fate. A gifted singer songwriter with a charming bluntness to him, Rhodes is immediately offered a slot on her show and his rise to stardom begins. Based on the 1957 film that launched Andy Griffith’s career, A Face in the Crowd is now only a creaky musical with an attractive cast. Written by Elvis Costello and Sara Ruhl, it’s Kwame Kwei-Armah’s swansong as Artistic Director of the Young Vic.

A country road. A tree. Evening. Two figures commiserate with each other’s woes. “Nothing to be done”. We have to wait 35 years to receive a really revolutionary new take on Waiting for Godot: Samuel Beckett’s estate still has too much power over any revival of the 20th century classic. James Macdonald’s starry cast is, obviously, the draw here: Ben Whishaw returns to the West End as Vladimir, the restless soul of the pair, while Lucian Msamati is the forgetful Estragon. It’s an excellent opportunity to see a handful of our most exquisite performers at work.

The Seventies were a time for cheesy pineapple, bellbottom jeans, Elton John, and ABBA. Written in 1977, Mike Leigh’s darkly comic picture of the English middle class turns out to be an evergreen classic. Revived some ten miles from the story’s real-life setting, this is Nadia Fall’s last show as Artistic Director of the venue and features known ‘EastEnder’ Tamzin Outhwaite as Beverly Moss.

Leigh’s husband was arrested for inappropriate sexual conduct with a minor. A teacher once loved by students and parents alike, he’s now out of prison and facing the casualties of his violent fall from grace. Playwright Carey Crim explores the effects of these serious allegations on the ones who surround the accused, viewing the aftermath of the crime mostly from Tom’s family. As Leigh tries her best to protect their son and stand by her spouse, her faith in him falters. Is he really capable of what he’s been charged with? Far from an easy watch, this is a thought-provoking and provocative piece of theatre.

Having to move back with your parents after a failed marriage is raising all types of questions that Larki can’t or doesn’t want to answer. Aunties and fake friends are all up in her business while her life is crumbling around her. Saher Shah’s playwriting debut is a bittersweet look into individual reinvention and the disappointment that comes with certain social conventions.

The Irish writer Brendan Behan described critics as “eunuchs in a harem; they know how it’s done, they’ve seen it done every day, but they’re unable to do it themselves”. Quite a damning characterisation. Anand Tucker introduces an ageing critic, Jimmy Erskine, whose name and ruthlessness are the stuff of legends. When a struggling actress becomes entangled in his web, Erskine drags both of them down a dangerous path. Loosely based on Anthony Quinn’s novel Curtain Call but featuring a different premise, The Critic is a solid, witty black comedy before seamlessly shifting into a chic crime drama.

Magical realism is hard to come by in the theatre. Playwright Tife Kusoro dips into urban legends and creepypasta to deliver a fascinating coming-of-age piece. With stunning direction by Monique Touko, G is a brilliant supernatural cautionary tale - a description that’s, admittedly, not entirely accurate nor comprehensive of everything the play is. Kusoro infuses her work with surrealism and harsh socio-political critique, pure banter and sheer terror. It’s young and fresh and ingenuously subversive. It’s a comic thriller, but also an unsettling allegory and a story about the power of friendship and loyalty. Kusoro is definitely onto something.

The production embraces Jewish representation and celebrates their religious rituals with refreshing openness. From Tevye’s personal relationship with God to the customs of his culture, there’s pride in Fein’s take. He imbues it with tradition, lifting the narrative to a universal story of love and sacrifice; the outdated strands of ideas end up cementing an emotive snapshot of a past that’s ruthlessly and constantly repeating somewhere. Charming, heart-rending, and utterly gorgeous, this is the revival of Fiddler.