Cindy Marcolina - Page 2

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.

In line with the trend of the moment, this is more than a concert and less than a full production. The set has been kept to a minimum, featuring only two heavy-looking wooden tables with chairs and banners with Tudor insignia, but there’s enough costumes and choreography to have a proper glimpse of what it might look like fully staged.

The show is in itself show-stopping. The cast of accomplished triple-threats swaps tense competition for a jubilant celebration of form. In a post-pandemic industry that’s suffered cuts to the arts across all areas, it’s disheartening to see an artist’s quality of life hasn’t exactly progressed much. But, gosh, they make it look so beautiful.

The piece is heavy in topic and method, but Carrie Cracknell’s quiet direction smooths out the nearly three hours of running time. It’s by any means not an easy-breezy show to experience, but it sinks into your soul in a way that only an epic does. The problem is that it’s so, so slow. 

It’s haunted by a script that’s as creaky as the house investigated by the characters, but it’s captivating enough here and there. After a fascinating lecture held by Professor Dubois, Erin sets off to find out why people keep disappearing at Torhill Wood.

Friends with benefits. Casual lovers. Non-romantic sexual partners. They’re all terms that Google feeds you if you’re trying to define a relationship where one will undoubtedly end up catching feelings. Him and Her are attempting to circumnavigate the exact same situation(ship). She likes that he’s slipping up and imagining a future with her; he somewhat ponders an outcome where they become a family. Neither thinks they want - or are ready for - stability. Siofra Dromgoole writes a series of post-coital scenes that explore the definition of recreational sex and romance.

However, penned by Joe Evans (score and lyrics) and Linnie Reedman (book and direction), Dorian is an awkward production that’s supposedly adapting the mores and morals of the time for a social media-obsessed audience. They reimagine the protagonist as a lonely rocker who gains overnight popularity after producer Harry Wotton takes him under his wing. Basil Hallward becomes Baz, a celebrity photographer charmed by the young star, while Sibyl Vane is a besotted opera singer. We wish we could say it works, but the team desecrates the original material - and not in a good way. Sex, drugs, and rock’n’roll have never looked so dull and unappealing.

Alma Mater is the byproduct of fourth-wave feminism, with faint echoes of David Mamet’s Oleanna flipped on its head and delivered with a sleight of hand. Polly Findlay is back at the Almeida to direct Kendall Feaver’s world premiere, which finally officially opens after a troubled start. The withdrawal of Lia Williams, who was initially due to take on Jo, doesn’t seem to hinder this unforgiving production, with Justine Mitchell taking over with an assured stance.

They say you find love when and where you least expect it, but swearing off relationships isn’t just a contemporary manifestation of ennui. It’s 1943 and typical New York actress Sally has decided to focus on her career rather than chase men who don’t give her the time of day. Her colleague and best friend Olive has a different life plan.

Back in 2021, Danny Robins spoke to the void in the shed in his garden asking “Do ghosts exist?”. The world of paranormal podcasts never was the same. People were quick to join in online, sending reports and building a network of experiences, lifting the series to a cult media of sorts. Robins went on to write the astoundingly successful celebrity bait 2:22 A Ghost Story and produce many more seasons of the spooky pod for the BBC before turning them into live shows and serialised television.

The production is frankly unnecessary, too long, and way too slow for what it really is. The characters (publicist Pat Newcomb, actor Peter Lawford and his wife Patricia Kennedy, Marilyn’s psychiatrist and his spouse, her physician, and her housekeeper) go around in circles like Masterson’s revolving stage, beating around the bush until, finally, we find out what the core of the issue is, nearly halfway through the second act. They’re all trying to protect the Kennedys: a scandal would bring down the government at a crucial point in history.