Review: 'In the Republic of Happiness', Royal Court, 10th December 2012

Crimp’s latest offering opens with a promise of traditional festive fare. The dysfunctional family, porn guzzling Grandpa, two daughters, one pregnant, one volatile, deaf father and harrassed mother; have all united to bicker incessantly over their Christmas Dinner. This is until all is swiftly overturned by the arrival of the toe-curlingly unsettling ‘Uncle Bob’ (Paul Ready). Events turn progressively sinister as conversation nauseatingly begins to hint that this new visitor may be both Uncle and Father to the new addition to the family. 

For Crimp’s next bombshell, Miriam Beuther’s (incredible) set blasts open to make way for what appears to be the set of Jeremy Kyle. ‘The Five Essential Freedoms of the Individual’ is on a screened backdrop as all the cast members take a seat and proceed to talk over each other…for about 45mins, with musical interludes sung by the cast members

Needless to say, Crimp has no intention of breaking out Christmas Pudding and The Snowman in the Royal Court this year. However, chaotic, music-infused ‘Happiness’ somewhat loses momentum after the first 15 minutes of ‘Jeremy K’ time. Whilst one can see the merit in throwing an audience into an uncomfortable endurance test, I found myself disenchanted and bored with characters that had held such promise in the first half hour. Admittedly, given Crimp’s unabashed comment on the relentless, hollow pursuit of ‘individuality’, removing the characters’ quirks is probably the point.

Whilst I think I ‘got it’, the most telling comment I can make is that my only thought at the curtain call was deciding whether I needed a wee or not. Considering Crimp’s incredible preceding work, I was disappointed not to feel a mite challenged or unsettled as I left. 2/5

Review: 'Three Sisters', Young Vic, 15th October 2012

Traditionalists seeking enchantment are well advised to steer clear of Benedict Andrew’s ‘Three Sisters’, a gutsy, slap in the face revival of Chekhov’s tale of impassioned, frustrated aspiration amid rural Russia.

Those wary should note that the adaptation, though radical, is sourced from a literal translation, seamlessly fusing familiar lines such as Irina’s lament that her heart is “like a piano that’s been locked away and the key is lost” alongside the less recognisable, “heard the one about why God gave women orgasms?” The three siblings, (excluding Mariah Gale’s marvellous yet unwaveringly staid Olga), are fascinatingly precocious and deplorable, yet little satisfaction can be gained from their inevitable downfall. Rather, the unrestrained decadence of the Nirvana and Bowie bellowing characters of the first act are fantastically juxtaposed in the second as the stage is deconstructed around them, the arena that housed such debauched revelry gradually erased until no more remains.

Understandably, a play stuffed so boldly is unlikely to universally please.  The tubby, slovenly ‘Vicky Pollardesque’ Andrey, for example, though unarguably striking, seems, at times, a bit much. However, for a production that provides a simultaneously chilling, compelling and thought provoking three hours, these minor disagreements can easily be forgotten. 4/5

Review: Eastern Angles, I Heart Peterborough, Pleasance Courtyard, 24th August

As a born and raised Peterborian, Joel Horwood’s choice of title sold this to me from the off. I snapped up a ticket keeping one set of fingers crossed for dramatic genius and another partly hoping for a fabulous car crash, a) because I was at the fringe and b) what can one expect of a city that for a fair year or two was devoid of a functioning theatre?

The answer? An intense two-handed tale of strained paternal relationships, frustrated sexuality and floundering hopes and aspirations as two individuals sink into the monotony of the ‘nation’s beating heart of train travel’. 

The dusty 70s decor, and moth-eaten suited/gaudy sequinned protagonists contribute to a ‘Titanicky’ feeling that the last lifeboat pulled out of these two lives long before you entered the theatre. Horwood’s stars are Michael/Lulu (Milo Twomey), a transvestite so accustomed to physical conflict that she chuckles through smeared makeup as she regales further bloodshed; and Hew (Jay Taylor), Lulu’s formally estranged and clearly emotionally damaged son who earnestly battles through adolescence and ever-thwarted dreams of a musical career.

Horwood shapes his characters and his landscape with accurate bleakness and sensitivity. Indeed, Hew’s account of stumbling around outside the Met Lounge dazed and confused in the early hours of the morning harked back to occasions when my own teenage self sat in the same spot and sobbed my heart out on the pavement over one heartbreak or another. 

Whilst ‘I Heart Peterborough’ is far from the documentary, (much as every set of twins in Liverpool isn’t the victim of a fraternal shooting with a singing Nolan sister for a mother) what Horwood does in I Heart Peterborough is represent a long artistically-neglected region, a move which, ideally, will spark a deluge of writing from these under-represented regions nationwide. Here’s hoping… 

For those less emotionally and/or politically invested in the plight of nondescript midland towns however, Hew’s poignantly gut wrenching rendition of Kate Bush’s ‘Running Up that Hill’ will continue to haunt you long after you stroll out the Soho Theatre, where Horwood’s gem will be from the 9th of October. 5/5

Review: Milk Presents, A Real Man's Guide to Sainthood, 19th August, Underbelly Cowgate

Busting into Edinburgh complete with bicycles, ketchup, ping pong balls, music and manliness, ‘Milk Presents’ gift this years fringe with ‘A Real Man’s guide to Sainthood’, a self-proclaimed ‘disembowelling’ of the legend of Saint George. The piece niftily hijacks the national legend in order to comment on the prevalence of suicide amongst young men in the UK. Hand-drawn projections, multi-roling bicycles and a doe-eyed ‘George’ combine with a motherload of energy to provide entertaining, endearing and poignant food for thought. This is an hour that you’d definitely like to have in your life. 4/5

Review: ‘Bitch Boxer’, Snuff Box Theatre, 4th August 2012, Underbelly, Edinburgh

As someone who sped away from London a week ago, donning sunglasses and flipping Vs in the direction of Stratford, a show whose blurb opens with ‘London, 2012. The Olympics’ wasn’t likely to ignite great anticipation. However, ten seconds into this one woman show, written as a response to the overturned ruling which had previously barred women’s participation in Olympic boxing, my cynicism was officially KO’d. 

Forming part of Underbelly’s Old Vic New Voices Edinburgh season, Charlotte Josephine’s writing is in turn hilarious, heartwarming and moving, a simple style which unearths the tender vulnerability of a protagonist who struggles with grief, loss and exhaustion whilst allthewhile anxious to preserve a tough, steely exterior. Having taken up boxing to inform her early creative process, Josephine herself takes on the role of the protagonist, putting herself through her paces and performing admirably lengthy and strenuous boxing routines which yield their fair part of sweat. Indeed, most compelling is Josephine’s genuine exhaustion, (any performer whose takes a bow shrouded by a halo of steam deserves a pat on the back) a committed performance which powerfully reflects an individual’s painful, unrelenting commitment to an end goal. Nothing to fault. Dead good. Go see. 5/5.

Review: Antigone, National Theatre, 18th June 2012

The most compelling element of Antigone is the ethical conundrum it presents, does one sympathise with the noble king fulfilling his duty? Or to the loving sister protecting the honour of her brother who dies as an enemy of the state? That said, Polly Findlay’s mid 20th century setting of a country ripped apart by civil war seems a perfect sphere in which to capture the steadfast mutual destruction brother against brother, uncle against niece, each battling earnestly for what they see to be a just cause.

This in mind, the most frustrating element of Findlay’s production is the fact that Christopher Eccleston’s Creon is portrayed as a tyrant from the off, and, far from being the respected leader, is an individual who garners little fear or respect from his subjects who, in fact, generally slag him off at every available opportunity. 


Also grating were the frequent misogynist quips which, though faithful to the original context and an admittedly fascinating topic to explore, were played gratuitously for laughs, what could have been an effectively jarring depiction of unapologetically chauvinist society was instead reduced to “oh…women!” with only a sly wink at the audience missing in order to seal the deal. Here though, I’ll admit that it becomes difficult to assess whether criticism should be levelled at the belly laughs that erupted from the audience or at the performances that triggered these reactions…bit of a head f***, (forgive the eloquence). 

Overall thoughts. Acting; great. Set; Amazing (60s military bunker, suitably grim). Antigone? Not quite. Though dealing with a text that’s older than Jesus allows you to contort and interpret as you will, I’m not sure if I agree with the decision to glaze over the omnipotence of higher power and the concept of fate when approaching Greek tragedy. To summarise pretty crudely, the Gods are gonna get ya. Whether its possible for any modern production to encapsulate this, I don’t know, but it’ll be interesting to find out. 3/5.

Review: Little Bulb, 'Operation Greenfield', Battersea Arts Centre, 12th June 2012

The best sentence I can think of to summarise Little Bulb’s ‘Operation Greenfield’ is, ‘like an Okay Go video after fifty red bulls’ (1. Yes, that wasn’t a sentence. 2. If you’re not familiar, have a look at these…http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dTAAsCNK7RA ,http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qybUFnY7Y8w ) 

Witty, energetic and bursting with primary colours, adolescent angst and forest fruit squash, ‘Operation Greenfield’ depicts the squirmingly awkward tale of a teenage Christian rock band and their ardent quest to win the annual Stokeley talent contest. The production is satisfyingly stuffed with an eclectic mix of slick choreography and live music provided by a cast that reveal an increasingly incredible scope of musical talent as the show progresses.

The only thing that left me frustrated was a tendency towards over imposing backing tracks, it would been great if they binned these and embraced more of those painful, socially bewildering silences. 90 minutes of intermittently hilarious and heartwarming cringeworthiness, packaged in a (literally) all singing all dancing production. If you want to buy tickets to Little Bulb’s next production, no queue jumping, or I’ll kick off. 5/5