It would be further new discoveries in music that would present Ensemble Près de votre oreille and their concert of William Lawes. He would write for Charles I and his involvement in the English Civil War would see his fate sealed. Yet, why do we not know of him better?
With dimmed lighting and a solemn air, this hour was quite evocative. Lawes pushed boundaries in an era which he found himself in. Baroque would be the time, yet everything is sharp, the ensemble brim with a youthful punch. With singers Marion Tassou, Anaïs Bertrand and Olivier Gourdy, their series of Choice Psalms held such intimate secrets, a journey back to the past and one of great impact. Extracts from Lawes Harp Consorts were other thrills, it’s the simplicity, really. The ease with everything was held together tight but was just so soft and alluring.
Director Robin Pharo, who was playing viola da gamba throughout, spoke halfway through declaring it was the ensembles first time in the UK performing. This broke the spell for me a little, I think the whole hour could have easily sailed on peacefully. Perhaps Robin could have spoken before the first piece? What followed was still sweet and profound in many ways, as more Harp Consorts and Choice Psalms wafted around us. We must strongly encourage Ensemble Près de votre oreille to come back and do more stellar work such as this.
There is no doubt about it, 2:22 A Ghost Story is a global phenomenon. Since its debut in the West End in 2021, the production has had seven seasons in London, a record-breaking UK and Ireland tour and has inspired over thirty productions across the globe. It’s safe to say that the play penned by Danny Robins has enjoyed huge success and is still as popular as ever.
Judging by the gasps at the climatic twist in the tale, there are still people who are brand new to experiencing the plot of 2:22 for the first time. Even for someone like me, who has seen it before, the play still carries huge weight and the twist in the story still hits hard. The action sees a couple hosting their friends at their new home, with renovations still in full flow. What the play does so well is bring together four people who are clearly from such different places in their lives, careers, social backgrounds and more, and throws them together in an evening which tears their nerves to threads. The premise is simple; having just recently moved in with their newborn daughter, Jenny has started hearing noises through the baby monitor, whilst her husband, Sam has been travelling. The key point is that these footsteps always happen at the same time, 2:22am.
What follows is the pursuit of the truth and what is really going on in the baby’s room. The dynamic of the two couples is well played and scripted here, with each character’s beliefs and backgrounds bouncing off or colliding with another character. Sam is a scientist and therefore, complete disbeliever of his wife, chasing away her theories with flawless logic. Lauren seems more inclined to believe Jenny but is still sceptical, whereas her partner Ben is a firm believer. The clash of personalities here is excellent and very believable. These people come from all walks of life, and this is clearly executed throughout the script.
Sound and scenery add to the tensions of the piece. The stage remains fairly unchanged throughout, but the passage of time is marked by sound, blackouts and the stage proscenium being lit in stark red lights. This is highly effective, along with the dramatic sound effects, in ramping up the tension exponentially and the crowd often descended into nervous, anxious giggles in each of these passages of time. The effects on stage are also very good; not overdone, but when they are delivered, they’re very believable. It’s the lack of ghostly happenings rather than them being overwhelming and constant which makes the tale palatable and draws the audience in even more.
A small cast, but one that delivers in spades. Grant Kilburn is excellent as Ben, delivering much needed comedic relief which helps ease both the ghostly and social tensions. He is partnered with Natalie Casey’s Lauren, an eccentric, zealous peer of Sam. Casey owns the stage with gusto and swerves between comedy and drama with ease. Shvorne Marks is hugely capable in the role of Jenny. Her fear is palpable, and we are instantly on side with her and want to believe her story. She is the perfect counterbalance to Sam, portrayed by James Bye. Their relationship is very well delivered by the pair; their love is evident, but the marriage is scarred by their differences and inability to agree on this divisive topic.
I was very impressed with the play’s rewatch factor, as I have seen this before and obviously knew the twist in the story. It still had massive impact for me though; I had huge enjoyment spotting the clues cleverly interlaced throughout the script! If you’re up for a night of jumping out of your theatre seat, this is definitely the one for you! But it’s not just played for scares; it’s a well-constructed play full of great comedy, social commentary, fractured relationships and, of course, the devastating climatic ending which will leave you open mouthed. If you do manage to grab a ticket, just remember, ‘Shh! Please don’t tell!’
“Our Town is a play about life, love, and community. That’s what matters to us in Wales; that’s what matters to me. It’s a play that compels us to celebrate the everyday, to hold the ones we cherish. I can’t think of a better play to welcome audiences around Wales” – Michael Sheen
Thornton Wilder’s three-act play Our Town was written in 1938- yet its themes certainly stand the test of time as is proven in this ground-breaking revival by the Welsh National Theatre, a new company founded by Welsh actor Michael Sheen.
The original play introduces the fictional American town of Grover’s Corners and the everyday lives of its citizens between the years 1901 and 1913. First performed in 1938, it went on to have enormous success on Broadway and received the Pulitzer Prize for Drama. Wilder made great use of metatheatrical devices throughout the original production- setting the play in the actual theatre where it was being performed, writing his main character as ‘Stage Manager’ (a narrator who frequently addresses the audience, breaking the ‘fourth wall’) and presenting a bare stage, with actors miming rather than using multiple props. These theatrical tools are also present throughout this new production and yet the piece has been elevated beautifully through use of physical theatre, the addition of economical objects to represent various items, buildings and so on and lighting design to end all lighting design- from blood orange sunsets to starry skies…it’s simply magical!
It was widely known that the decision had been made to move Grover’s Corners to Wales for this reimagining- the Welsh accents and the period costume creating a real Welsh spirit and aesthetic. However, a lot of Wilder’s original references to American placenames, historical events, and certain other Americanisms (dollars, high school etc.) remain, which makes for a rather confusing edit. There is a certain disconnect between the new setting in Wales and the old text which hasn’t been amended- a creative choice which feels a bit odd and left me wondering why. If you’re going to bring the story to Wales, surely you’d want to fully immerse your audience by making the change a complete one?
Then again, when a piece of theatre is as clever in its accomplishments as this one, perhaps this tale could be set anywhere in the world- for its actual relevance is in its themes. Themes which seem more important today than ever. In a world of chaos, war, terrorism, technological advancement, we are transported to simpler times here; where teenage lovers communicate through opened windows at night, mothers tend to their gardens and are members of the church choir, where meals are eaten together with family at the table rather than on laps in front of the television. And yet these people still loved, lost, had passions and dislikes, hoped and grieved…as we do today. We follow parents attempting to bring up their children, young people falling in love then building a family, an alcoholic hiding his sexuality…a community simply trying to navigate through life. A superbly strong cast play an array of wonderful characters- each providing us with something we can relate to. It’s impossible to single out any one performer for neither would work without the other…a fantastic nod to the overriding theme of community.
The triumph of this production is in its staging. It is seamless, flowing, almost militant in its execution. We hear music and see dance throughout, but the whole piece is comparable to one epic, flawless piece of choreography. Credit to Francesca Goodridge, Director and Jess Williams , Movement Director. Moved by the cast, wooden planks become houses, tables and shelves, chairs transform into lawn mowers, boxes, soda pumps, and ladders of varying heights are used for levels. Even the cast take on a few transformative challenges- including becoming the farmer’s milk cow…physical theatre at its absolute best!
The first, and much longer, of the acts is filled with sentimentality, love, hope and joy, yet we begin act two with a much more sombre mood and a plotline reminiscent of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol- with ghostly figures, time travel and feelings of regret- a message to the audience to celebrate life, hold your loved ones close and enjoy yourselves, as much as you can. So, despite Our Town having been written almost one hundred years ago- the moral of the story will forever be relevant.
What an extremely strong start for this new company and at the helm, a leader who has used his celebrity status to do good- to bring this play to life again, to create theatre in Wales at a time where Welsh arts and culture continues to go through a challenging period, often due to financial restraints, and to offer opportunities for emerging artists and future generations of theatre goers, makers and creators. I very much look forward to following their work, hopefully for a long time to come.
Our Town completes its run at Theatr Clwyd on February 21st.
Cast:
Michael Sheen — Stage Manager Rithvik Andugula — Howie Newsome Peter Devlin — George Gibbs Aisha-May Hunte — Wally Webb Rebecca Killick — Rebecca Gibbs Alfie Llewellyn — Joe & Si Crowell Rhodri Meilir — Mr Webb Christina Modestou — Mrs Soames Yasemin Özdemir — Emily Webb Sian Reese-Williams — Mrs Gibbs Nia Roberts — Mrs Webb Kingdom Sibanda — Sam Craig Gareth Snook — Professor Willard & Joe Stoddard Matthew Trevannion — Dr Gibbs Rhys Warrington — Simon Stimson Kimberley Noble — Ensemble Gareth Tempest — Ensemble Jâms Thomas — Constable Warren
Creative Team:
Thornton Wilder — Writer Francesca Goodridge — Director Russell T Davies — Creative Associate Hayley Grindle — Designer (Set & Costume) Jess Williams — Movement Director Ryan Joseph Stafford — Lighting Designer Dyfan Jones — Composer, Musical Director & Sound Designer Sam Jones — Casting Director Dena Davies — Assistant Director / Theatr Clwyd Dewi Hughes — Voice & Dialect Coach Haruka Kuroda — Intimacy Director Pádraig Cusack — Executive Producer (Welsh National Theatre) David Sloan — Executive Producer (Rose Theatre)
In a pretty meaty concert, RPOand Vasily Petremko offered up a blockbuster. A rarity from Galina Ustovlskaya, pupil of Shostakovich who had a fraught relationship with him. After the Soviets tightened up on expression in the arts, Ustovlskaya would be one of innumerable creatives told to change their radical ways. In The Dream of Stepan Razin, convention is frontal by literal gun point, in a folk fantasy with the serious Yuriy Yurchuk as baritone solo. This would prove how versatile a composer can be, even after previous experiments.
Benjamin Grosvenor joined for Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 1, I assume most of the audience were here for him. In this telling first offering Beethoven proves the piano’s early promise of a variable instrument, harsh and tender, lush and soaring. Grosvenor plays with grace, a resounding ease on the piano. Joyous movements meld with deeper, softer thoughts, as the piano often mirrors the orchestra. Petrenko, who always leads, is the most focused and sharing conductor you can watch today.
Shostakovich’s 10th Symphony came after Stalin’s death. Balancing the fine line between evoking his tyranny and celebrating his demise, Shostakovich had to be incredibly careful. It’s structure is bizarre, an movement order of slow-fast-slow-fast can feel uneven. The woodwind often shine with gurgling depictions, the composer’s own initials are baked into the score. Terror and mania also are an affront, the second movement a warped highlight. Always within its Russian sound world, this is one of Shostakovich’s best. It is Petrenko who makes it special.
Upon closer inspection, this concert looked intriguing. A puny title would see much love for Poland and the Czech Republic, in a dizzying programme. I know little of Grażyna Bacewicz, a female composer from Poland, her Overture from 1943 came the most turbulent time for the continent in the last century. A pressing snare and various actions are heard in the orchestra, less a sense of jubilance and more of the uncertainty of the time.
Bohuslav Martinů fled to America during the same conflict and continued to write alarming music of acclaim. With soloist Josef Špaček, his Violin Concerto is interesting for a few reasons. The sense of urgency in his work is lesser held here, the slow middle being less effective. Evocations of his native Czech homeland are frequently produced. The violin of Špaček is resounding, his model looks, firm musicianship and audience pleasing tendencies are what make him a star. He shone in the outer fast movements with finesse. An encore of Dvořák’s Humoresques is typical for the themes, if one piece I simply cannot stand. Yet with this fine violinist, I was easily won over by it.
My Polish plus one recalls Witold Lutosławski living over the road in Warsaw. With an extensive career, one of his last commissions saw one from the Los Angeles Philharmonic in 1993. His 4th Symphony is sparse and compelling work has room to inhale, as the strange orchestration leads with jolting dynamics and timbres. Ever an original voice, there might have been an influence of John Cage upon this brief symphonic work. It commanded the hall and Edward Gardner as conductor had a total grip over all. Myself and my plus one agreed it was the most interesting piece of the night.
A wrap up with Janáček’s Taras Bulba, based on the Gogal’s Cossack novella. Ever the Russian culture vulture, the Czech composer is a true one off. This odd piece has highlights for pipe organ and tubular bells, the strings and percussion also remain strong. Perplexing jumping rhythms aside traditional folk songs and absurdly dramatic attacks are Janáček’s forte. I personally don’t think this is his best work, yet it is a gateway to his brilliance. This inspired concert saw a variety of tones, colours and textures and paid off successfully.
Jukebox musicals are always a bit hit and miss for me, in all honesty. Obviously, the songs are the best part; we all know them, we can tap our feet along to songs we already know and love. However, the plot can suffer at the expense of forcing the existing back catalogue to fit a storyline. I must admit, I am exactly the right target audience for this show, having grown up loving Steps and their music. I am happy to report that my worries about jukeboxes were allayed with Here and Now, which found its way into my heart with a great deal of ‘leg shufflin, big grinnin’’ and ‘body spinnin’’ across the Donald Gordon stage.
This is the perfect dose of fun for millennials who grew up with the undeniably catchy songs from Steps. They’re all featured here alongside high-octane dance numbers which feature the whole ensemble and I was unable to stop the grin on my face or the tapping of my feet. The hugely talented ensemble really carries the energetic, exciting dance numbers which utilise the world of the Better Best Bargains supermarket of the tale to great effect; pirouetting shopping trolleys, acrobatic feats from checkouts and a great sequence featuring the supermarket back alley and its wheelie bin. With such upbeat, high tempo songs, the members of the ensemble are the lifeblood of Here and Now and they all really shine.
The plot, in a book penned by Shaun Kitchener, really works here and does give every lead cast member time to shine, with some great moments for the secondary characters too. The friendship group of four, made up of Caz, Vel, Neeta and Robbie all have their moments in the spotlight and are well rounded, believable characters because of it. The script is topical and has genuine moments of heart and hilarity. There is a definite balancing act between the inevitable humour and cheese of a Steps musical but with human moments which are presented with sensitivity and heart. The songs are tied in cleverly with the plot and work well within the confines of the story; they do not feel shoe-horned in at any point, which is the downfall of some jukebox musicals I’ve seen!
The cast is another asset to the show. Our four leads, especially, deserve a mention. Rosie Singha is Neeta and is an absolute tonic in her awkwardness and inability to talk to her crush, Ben. This humour is matched by a beautiful voice with some lovely belts. Dean Rickards was our understudy, Robbie. His vocals were fantastic; soaring during those deceptively difficult Steps power ballads. We began the night with Jacqui Dubois as Vel, loveable and hilarious in equal turns. Sadly, she was indisposed at the interval, which meant we ended the show with Rosemary Anabella Nkrumah, who stepped into Vel’s shoes with ease, matching the energy brought by Dubois with her own distinct take on the character and some lovely vocals throughout the act. Special mention to River Medway, whose spectacular rendition of Chain Reaction in a ethereal world of light up washing machines really brought down the house. The whole cast understand the brief, huge energy, great comic chops and incredible vocals.
Leading the show as Caz, Lara Denning is exceptional. She has some of the most difficult, belted numbers of the show and she delivers in absolute spades. She brings moments of silence to the otherwise loud, excitable audience; my particular favourite was her beautiful rendition of One for Sorrow. She is the ‘mother’ of the group and is instantly believable in this role, her relationship with each character in the friendship group is well defined and heartfelt.
Here and Now has been described as the new Mamma Mia, but does it deserve that accolade, comparing it to a show that has really stood the test of time and has also inspired two films? It’s a resounding yes from me! I grew up with Steps and I was always going to love the music, but this production is far from a Tragedy! Here and Now is a delightfully camp, heartfelt show, with plenty to inspire any jukebox musicals waiting in the wings. From the most established Steps fan, to someone who might know one or two to hum along to, this is a fabulous show which will have you ‘Foot kickin’, finger clickin’, leather slapping’ and even ‘hand clappin’ through every single number.
I’ll handle this review with care. In the first review of the year. A London stop off would see a highly stimulating crossover of cultures at the Barbican. The Theatre of Kiribati and the Britten Sinfonia defied borders and cultural barriers to present Sea Beanth the Skin/Song of the Earth.
The damnation of climate change has deeply impacted Kiribati, the island country profoundly. Polynesia has been under threat for years and recent political upheaval can only increase further tentions. This hefty cry is mirrored rather bizarrely with Mahler’s The Song of the Earth. The stage is tranfixed into a Samoan dwelling, through the aid of lighting, two pillars and other auras. We would hear this German language song cycle spread out over the near two hours, as chants and dances are interspersed.
Jarring would be one word to use here. Yet to see the spiritual offerings from countries so far away from our own was touching. Bone chilling moments came with shrieks, proclamations, fluttering gesticulation and lucid foot work. We wouldn’t be seeing these remarkable moments were it not for this collaboration, yet this is broadly two seperate events stitched together. The theme of nature never evaded Mahler (the words are settings of Chinese verse), this final masterpiece is often heavy as a standalone.
The songs feel very idle in this context, as if a Euorpean ignorance of the bigger picture. There is a wink to the late Robert Wilson, harsh lighting, slow lingering bodies and such. Lemi Ponifasio as director has chosen depth and atmosphere as the most telling markers and this is effective. The Britten Sinfonia appear muted behind the screen, at the back of the stage in their own lone isle. Conductor Nuno Coelho is strong with the reduced ensemble for these songs. Tenor Sean Panikkar get the drunk and lively numbers, with vocal delivery often sharp and ringing. Mezzo Fleur Barron has the bulk of the narrative songs, her delivery often perfumed and touching, with a command of stage presence. The final Farewell song is one of Mahler’s best moments. Rich in horn, winds, harp, celesta and tam-tam phases, it remains extremely impactful. Barron got the stage alone for herself for most of its demands, she caught the wistful acceptance of it all wonderfully.
Curious how this would end (it also was 30 minutes longer than billed), the circle was closed as The Theatre of Kiribati returned with final spiritual honouring’s with more dance, as the stagey sand poured on the floor earlier began to be spread around due to busy feet. Whale song and dreamy sleep would be the finale, as we gently blacked out and wrapped up.
Whilst flawed in principle, this fascinating show sees our small world can come together and perform, play and prove we are all alike.
It’s hard to categorise this show, but it’s essentially a piece of stand up combined with a lot of clowning. The clowning animates an hour-long monologue that circles the issues raised by an obsession, in this case getting married before your twenty-seventh birthday.
There are a number of sketches – narrative moments which take us to a ball, a lunatic asylum and the house of an aged aunt. Jane Austen is invoked along the way, of course, but so is Fleabag, the intention being to show the continuity of the central issue over two hundred years. Love Island is not referenced, probably due to copyright issues. Depth and range are added to the stories by the use of black and white film clips shown on the backdrop which are punctuated by ironic remarks. There are a lot of asides and a lot of audience participation, with one hapless individual being invited on stage to play a prospective suitor. (He told a good joke.)
The monologuer, comedian Rosaline Minnitt, is energetic and friendly. She has an appropriate repertoire of facial expressions, and she flips her tones of voice easily. She can sing and project and imitate accents. She is confident of her material, throwing everything bar the kitchen sink at her subject. There is no let-up, but she wins over her audience completely. I was pleased that in all the verbal torrent there is only one expletive which could have been deleted.
Personally, I was interested and amused rather than blown away. Still, credit where credit is due. Most members of a Saturday night audience at Theatr Clwyd are the ‘wrong’ side of 40 and you might have expected them to be staid and unresponsive but Minnitt got on the right side of them/us straightaway. Everyone sang a bit and we waved little electric lights in the air on cue One of the high points of the evening was an audience member’s rendition of a screech owl’s call.
Not being either overwhelmed or partisan, I was well placed to appreciate how much effort had been put into the show by ensuring the incomprehensible storylines stayed on a crazy track. The technical back up was efficient. Lighting and sound effects happened – apparently – on time and the film clips ran smoothly (things like that have a habit of going wrong on the night).
In the end, the stage was left in a mess, with Clementine’s dolly figures of her parents and 67 sisters mixed up with the scores of love/hate letters that fluttered down at one point, but despite everything she had been doing for an hour, Minnitt still looked fresh and up for her next performance. I’d be curious to see what she and Liebenspiel do get up to next. It would be nice to see her working with or off another performer or two and -tackling a subject a tiny bit more – demanding? Just a suggestion.
It’s a statement that makes sense once you stop asking it to behave. It’s also an excellent way into Meet Fred — a show that invites us to loosen our grip on certainty, definition and systems that insist on being right. Walking into the space to a David Bowie track immediately helps me feel settled. It’s a small act of care that signals this is a room where arrival matters, where bodies and minds are allowed to take their time.
https://youtu.be/J3mPIO-KD_k?si=corN-602V7JqY2-5
Meet Fred is a quietly assured piece of theatre that reflects Hijinx Theatre’s long-standing commitment to reimagining how learning disability is understood, represented, and lived with on stage.
Rather than negotiating with the disability models, the production rejects that school of thought entirely, exposing how institutional frameworks repeatedly fail the very people they claim to support.
At its heart, the show is about identity — how we find out who we are, and how others decide who we should be. Fred reminds us that we can be more than one thing simultaneously.
He is a puppet, (who f*****g loathes the Muppets and don’t get him started about children) He is also sensitive and kind (his attempts to compliment are legendary), foul-mouthed and funny, fearful of change and incandescent with anger at systems that do not work for him. His fury, particularly when directed at the DWP — reimagined as the Department of Work and Puppets — lands with sharp humour while pointing clearly to institutional failure rather than individual deficit.
Structure becomes a form of care. The board outlining each plot point serves as a reminder of what is to come — reassuring, steady, and revealing how much comfort there can be in knowing what happens next. Routine here is not mocked or overcome; it is respected. Access is not added on but fully integrated. The interpreter is woven into the show, moving through the space and responding to the cast in real time.
Responding to subtitles is strange at first — a productive strangeness — reminding us that genuine integration requires adjustment from everyone, to feel at home having 3 languages available simultaneously, not just those most often asked to adapt.
The use of music carry cases is remarkably simple and yet transformative. As they move, the space reshapes itself, demonstrating how environments are continually constructed — and how small shifts can radically change experience.
Each performer is given moments of focus, paying homage to the collective labour and care that animates the piece. I found myself noticing how white the room and the stage were.
It didn’t undo the care or intelligence of the work, but it did linger — a reminder that access and representation are not the same thing, and that some stories are still easier to tell than others. Those moments on stage hold humour, tenderness, and fury — particularly the anger that comes when a support system is removed or withdrawn. This rage is not softened or made palatable; it is held as a justified response to systemic neglect. Silence is one of the production’s most powerful tools. Here, silence feels safe, not abandoning. It slows time, holds the space, and allows us to root for Fred without explanation. Even as a faceless bunraku-style puppet, he feels profoundly human — shaped by attention, care and collective effort.
For those familiar with Housemates, Meet Fred feels like a continuation of Hijinx Theatre’s essential work. It does not ask for a better world — it demonstrates one, and trusts the audience to recognise it.
Meet Fred left me thinking about how often we celebrate access without interrogating who that access is currently working for.
The production models care, patience and integration with clarity and confidence, yet the lingering whiteness of the space suggests that inclusion is never a finished task — even within work that resists dominant systems. This doesn’t diminish the power of the piece. If anything, it sharpens its relevance.
By rejecting institutional logic around disability, Meet Fred opens the door to further questions about race, visibility and whose bodies are most often permitted to take up space — gently, slowly, and without having to explain themselves. Like the show itself, this reflection isn’t a demand. It’s an invitation: to notice, to stay with the discomfort, and to imagine how care might expand if we keep asking who is still missing.
You can find our more about the production and book tickets for the current tour at the link here
Rebecca Reid’s adaptation of the 1992 film of the same name ramps up the tension and psychological thrills as Single White Female takes to the Donald Gordon stage at the WMC. The 34-year-old classic film is brought bang up to date with Reid’s references to social media, Mounjaro, Vinted and Matcha Lattes! It ensures that the story remains timeless and relevant to a modern-day audience.
The set is exceptionally designed; detailed enough to mean we totally believe that we are inside a small city flat shared by mother and daughter, and claustrophobic enough to mean that the tension is ramped up exponentially once the action starts proper. The sound effects of the temperamental building also add to the drama, as both actors and audience react to the sudden moans and groans of the old city block. Light and darkness are used to great effect too, with the stage plunging into darkness for the passage of time with lights streaming around the proscenium arch, showing us both the passage of time and increasing the feeling of unease throughout the audience.
In a small but mighty cast, each actor delivers here, in absolute spades. Lisa Faulkner is completely believable as divorcee Allie; doggedly working to set up her business and make a better life for herself and daughter, Bella. She captures the growing uncertainty around roommate Hedy perfectly, adding complete believability to the final climactic action of the show. Allie’s friend, Graham, is brought perfectly to life by Andro, who ably adds a slice of well needed comedy to the piece. He is a great balance to Faulkner’s Allie.
Jonny McGarrity as Sam and Amy Snudden as Bella complete the cast. Their exchanges as slightly absent father and daughter are delivered very well; their interactions completely believable and realistic. McGarrity walks the line between deadbeat ex and trying father very well, it is very hard to dislike his charming swagger. Snudden captures the physicality of teenage girl with ease, in turns sassy and awkward, clashing with Allie at one moment and craving her mother’s affection in the next.
Kym Marsh portrays Hedy perfectly here, building the unease with expertise. She begins as an incredibly likeable new lodger and the descent into unbalance is cleverly woven into her performance. Her presence is commanding and instantly makes you want to see exactly what the nefarious Hedy is getting up to in this scene!
This could feel like a dated piece with the inspirational material now being over 33 years old, but this is a clever adaptation that is easily accessible whether you’ve seen the source material or not. It’s a great evening of theatre; one that’ll have you gasping and on the edge of your seat throughout.
Creating opportunities for a diverse range of people to experience and respond to sport, arts, culture and live events. / Lleisiau amrywiol o Gymru yn ymateb i'r celfyddydau a digwyddiadau byw
(4 / 5)
(3 / 5)
