(5 / 5)

Sometimes I’m a real easy sell. Give me some impressive puppetry, and I’m sold. But what I got from Bill’s 44th, was something else.

Bill’s 44th is a comical play about age. Bill is throwing himself a party and eagerly awaiting his guests. But when no one shows, he goes through a number of different emotions from sadness, to making the best of things, to drunk and high and reflection.

Bill is a puppet. He is orchestrated by two puppeteers, moving his torso, arms and head but legs and hands are from the puppeteers. Their faces are visible behind Bill but you forget almost instantly that they are there. Their movements, and movements from other puppeteers throughout as so smooth and precise that you very much forget actual humans are on stage.

There is sound and music but no talking; all the action and emotion is conveyed easily through Bill and we understand instantly. To get these across, movement and gestures are exaggerated but it didn’t feel false and very much as if we were breaking down the fourth wall.

Bill reminded me very much of a puppet version of Mr Bean; we can tell exactly what he is thinking, feeling and doing just by movements and gesture alone. Facial expressions, you’d think, would be vacant from a puppet with no eyes or general facial movement, but, somehow, he manages them. Call it talent of the puppeteers/creators, call it our imagination, call it both.

Bill’s journey is nothing short of a emotional roller coaster. We are excited, then we are sad; he makes the most of the situation and we laugh again, to suddenly fearing the dark emotions on stage and sadness at Bill’s reflection, to leaving in elation. We see a scene where we are moved through Bill’s life, birthday to birthday through a miniature version of him, where you begin to see his loneliness with age – something we may all experience. For a puppet, I felt extraordinary sadness for him and pure happiness when he in the end accepts himself and becomes his own friend.

Bill goes through a drunken, high moment, with walls becoming puppetry and moving in a sliding motion; balloons become people that destroy his house and make-out in the back; his crudite carrot becomes life-size. It is such an adventure, heightening all your feelings and making you fully belly laugh until you ache.

Bill’s 44th is so stupid – in a brilliant, hilarious way. It is stupid in the clever, comedic way – the way The Mighty Boosh, Mr Bean, Blackadder are all just silly, silly comedy. But it is also dark in places. It is also poignant and emotional. It is an all rounder. My favourite comment from the man next to me was “What the f did I just watch?” through tears and laughter – I missed a chance to tell him, “You, Sir, just watched pure perfection and genius”.

(4 / 5)

Everyone goes through that moment in life, whether triggered by something specific and significant, leaving for University or getting your first job as an adult; flying the nest can be hard but also very exciting.

Almost Adult takes this, based on the real life experiences of the writer, and runs with the idea. Our main and only performer decides its time to become an adult and moves from the rural north to the big smoke of London. Every approach she takes is positive; new job in an immersive bar, box room with a particularly anal housemate and the search for a boyfriend like Timothee Chalamet. Everything is positive, until it is not.

Almost Adult faces the two sides of growing up; the excitement of new things and independence but also the reality of life and how hard it can be. Our character wants to not hold hands with her family and distances herself, until things turn south and she realises that being an adult doesn’t mean not asking for help. At her job, a once golden paved bar floor with dinosaur dressed workers becomes a seedy, patriarchal power trip, where sexual assault is rife from her boss. Her flat mate is maybe over clean and stressed about this but our character doesn’t have the time for the boring parts of adulthood until she accepts her own flaws and laziness.

She’s enjoyable, she dances and has a laugh with us; her impressions of different characters are clear she brings us further into the story by interaction. All the issues culminate and we see a bubbly, positive person unmasked from seeing the reality of modern day life. From a cushy, middle class family, protected from the storm, when her leg is touched by her manager, her colleague is further sexually assaulted and the female CEO won’t help, she soon realises that the feminist movement hasn’t solved the world’s problems and that there are still there, if not more.

The production felt very poignant about the realities of adulthood and life. As someone who moved alone for university and then to live in London 12 years ago, I still remember that feeling of sheer excitement to break free and be my own person but the trepidation and fear of this. I forever tried to ensure my outlook was positive, but the home sickness, some realities (though I maybe wasn’t as naive as this character in some respects) and hardness of adulthood slowly crept up on me.

With many stories from Sarah Everard, to the Me Too movement, women are sexually assaulted almost daily. It isn’t uncommon to think that with how open feminism is in the world, that things should be different. But they aren’t and it’s interesting to see the character’s turmoil with her gut feelings when her boss touches her leg compared to the more explicit assault of her colleague. And she makes excuses, as we all do, thinking that her feelings are not justified. When she is asked if she asked him to stop, this seems like the crux of the situation and the expectation is high in her to have fixed the issue. This production hits home to many on lots of different levels and that’s what makes it such a great piece.

Almost Adult is funny, it is quirky and it is endearing. But this doesn’t take away from the important issues that are never solved for women and how our eagerness as children to become an adult come from its realities which are shrouded.

(2 / 5)

I’m sure with such a title, many would wonder what a stand up horror show would entail. The name itself was intriguing and was happy to entertain the intrigue.

The Stand Up Horror Show is a one man show that I would say was loosely based on horror but more played on the satirical of a “bad” comedian. Humour was created by foiled tricks and obvious puns, which, when you got into the swing of it, was certainly comedic.

The horror aspect was somewhat lacking. Our comedian wore a somewhat scary mask, brought out magic tricks based on the occult and witchery and modernised and created humour with well known Grimm fairy tales. Granted, without the term “horror”, I wouldn’t know what genre could replace this but the label of horror isn’t quite what was brought on stage.

However, we had lots of fun. The performer was very good at ad libbing, improv and picking up on curve balls from audience members. He allowed us to join in and be a part of the comedy without telling us what was funny and when unplanned changes were created from our interaction, we certainly felt part of something.

The Stand Up Horror Show is getting there. It feels like it has the basis to become something more honed and slick, but could also do with more direction to live up to its name.

(4 / 5)

If i’m entirely honest, I couldn’t spend time on a spin bike for more than 10 minutes, let alone 1 whole hour and while acting as well.

This is what makes Spin so unique. This one hour production, based on eating disorders, the social pressures of bodies, particularly female identifying bodies and the influence we can have on each other, comes from the point of view of one person who has (in her opinion at the start) changed her life around to become a spin class instructor. During this time, 80-90% of the production is this one performer constantly on a spin bike, lacking sweat and not missing a single breath. This is commitment and talent.

This monologue features information on her past, her own eating and fitness journey, the impressions enforced on us from the media, on her and her sister that anything that isn’t thin is wrong and disgusting and we see her almost convincing herself that what she is saying, is what she believes. But we know it isn’t, and so does she. We witness her go through a turmoil of changing opinions, guilt and questioning of realism.

As mentioned previously, she manages to perform this on a spin bike and if not, she is up on stage, with every bit of power and action in her. If she has been drinking coffee, I for sure need to know what brand for that energy level. But of course, this is more than a caffeine hit; this is a well constructed level of fitness and performance talent to allow her to do both simultaneously.

The narrative, written by Kate Sumpter (also our performer) is very raw and honest. It touches on our own insecurities, no matter our body types, how judgemental we are without necessarily knowing that we are and how utterly influenced we are. I found myself questioning, as I always feel I do as a curvy woman, when performances, on stage or screen, talk about weight and eating issues and the performer(s) are a thin, beautiful person that I would love to be. And I caught myself, during the narrative she expresses of everyone judging bodies, doing the exact same, wondering what this person had to complain about. I checked myself and knew that what Sumpter had written, was emanating subconsciously within me. It isn’t a thought I believe, representing my own insecurities and realised very quickly that this production is hugely important in recognising that unconscious bias that we all have.

Spin is a tour de force of performance ability, physically and mentally and is extremely well written for anyone, female identifying or other, who struggles on the whole spectrum of body issues and influences from the media. It puts everything in perspective and makes you question your own subconscious.

(3 / 5)

I am sad that, with this likely the last Vault’s Festival, I haven’t had the chance to visit as much as previous years. But how intriguing, to come across two pieces of Queer Theatre, touching on similar themes.

Acid’s Reign is a drag show come informative theatre, highlighting in a cabaret yet theatre narrative, the impact of various pollutants on the World and how it is slowly being destroyed. When I say that there are similar themes, Queer Planet and Acid’s Reign both touch on nature and the element of same sex or a-sexual animals that is not taught in biology class. It was interesting that these were approached for different reasons, but also really great to see different genres of Theatre taking up the political and educational baton with their shows.

Acid’s Reign uses various Drag Queens and Kings to feature as representations of nature – Acid (Joshua Oakes-Rogers) themselves are the “bad guy” that faces support towards redemption, representing a younger character to highlight generational attitudes towards the environment. They are witty, funny, and time of corpse-ing or loss of lines is hilariously well managed, creating layers of comedy and enjoyment that was unintended. They want to build a series of clubs because the World is beyond repair and this is where Mother Nature, played by Son of Tutu (Everybody’s talking about Jamie, film) begins a Christmas Carol style story of different “ghosts” visiting and trying to change Acid’s mind. Son of Tutu holds the stage, certainly embodying the Mother image but also had incredible comedic effect, even in the background.

Scarlett Harlett (Ru Paul’s Drag Race UK) plays the insatiable A-shell, Queen of the Sea, with her wall-shakingly amazing singing voice and continuous innuendo, her character reminding me of a dirty old Hollywood star meets Patsy from Ab Fab. For me, she stood out the most. Maybe some as a Drag Race fan, but I also felt she really commanded the stage and was always on point, even if not at the centre of the story.

Jamie Fuxx brings some masculine energy as our Drag King, Land, bringing yet another incredible singing voice to the mix and some hilarious tongue n cheek dirtiness to the stage. They slot into the cast impeccably, adding to the cacophony of different voices and characters.

Finally, Air is represented by audio, apt in what it is represented. The characters are enveloped with this, as if air can move and embody different persons and helps to culminate the activity and story. Acid is redeemed, and along the way we have been given nuggets of educational facts, some known, some unknown, tinged with comedic effect but also clearly affecting Acid in their solemn response and over all change of heart. We equally come away entertained, but thought provoked.

Acid’s Reign has a cast of incredible talents, all with their own approach and techniques but all with incredible voices and typical comedy skills from Drag/Cabaret shows. But something was missing for me. Perhaps it was just that the show needed a clear format – is this a traditional Cabaret show, where there’s an element of improvisation and crowd inspiration. Is this a musical and therefore represented by the songs that are changed slightly for the message. Or is this a straight play, with the addition of song, trying to bring a message and sticking to a written script. There’s nothing to say that any of it needs to be put in a certain box and cannot be more than one of these things, but at times it felt like too much was trying to be achieved and so lost the spark and perfection of a fully formed production. This clear path may come as a result of many productions, of working on it over years, and we may just be at the beginning of its development.

Acid’s Reign is a brilliant show – it is funny, it is informative, it is entertaining and a feast for the eyes. However, likely still in its infant stage of production, there is so much potential for the show, with the ability to open an important theme to an ever increasing audience as Queer Theatre and Drag comes more mainstream.