To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee is a work of literature that needs no introduction. Upon its release in 1960, it became an instant hit, also winning the Pulitzer Prize a year after release. Based upon an event that Lee witnessed in her own home town in 1936, it has dark themes which has earned its ‘gothic’ genre, but deals with them with humour and warmth which has sealed its place in the hearts of readers worldwide.

Mix this with undeniable writing chops of screenwriter and playwright, Aaron Sorkin, known for his work on The West Wing, A Few Good Men and the recent revival of the musical, Camelot, he his recognised for his fast-paced dialogue and extended monologues; seemingly a perfect match for the lengthy legal monologues of To Kill a Mockingbird.

Sorkin’s approach to the text is refreshing and exciting; not just breaking, but ripping down the fourth wall with siblings Scout and Jem, along with their summertime friend, Dill, delivering (and sometimes arguing over) the key plot points directly to the audience. The court drama is broken up with events from the children’s summer and their escapades around the town; their perceptions, views of the world and development from children to adults is so well explored here and ensures that the production flows exceptionally well.

The set is beautifully done. One central backdrop transforms into the courtroom, the porch and internal of the Finch’s home, the houses and streets of the town. I particularly enjoyed the Finch’s house, complete with rocking chairs and bench. We could see the ‘inside’ of the house through the transparent walls of the front walls, which adds depth and pre-empts future character entrances and forthcoming scenes. The movement of the set is expertly woven into the storytelling and works really well. Lighting and sound is subtle but it’s the simplicity and absence of sound that adds so much to the story. The moments of silence are just as, or perhaps more poignant than when sound is present and it’s great to see that the sound designer is unafraid of silences.

I would be hard stretched to think of a better cast show that I’d seen, especially recently. The cast is exceptional, without exception. The children of the piece capture the essence of childhood on the cusp of adulthood with absolute ease. Anna Munden’s physicality as Scout Finch is wonderful. The awkwardness of a girl on the precipice of womanhood is so well executed that you forget that a grown woman is portraying her. Jem Finch, portrayed by Gabriel Scott is wonderful. Once again, you forget that this is an adult actor playing a child. Gabriel’s understanding of Jem’s innocence developing into a growing sense of the injustice of the world is perfectly captured here. Dylan Malyn makes his professional stage debut as Dill Harris. His performance is beautifully nuanced; fourth wall breaking humour tinged with the sadness and loss of the character which is never pastiche. Dill’s sheer joy for life in spite of all his hardships are captured to perfection by Dylan.

The whole ‘adult’ cast is perfectly cast. Aaron Shosanya builds with ease to the inevitable conclusion of the courtroom drama; his poise and delivery of lines perfectly capture the innocent man who knows he is a lamb to the slaughter. The Ewells are difficult parts to portray as they are so unlikeable but they are played brilliantly by Evie Hargreaves as Mayella and Oscar Pearce as Bob. They genuinely made my skin crawl and were instantly believable. Andrea Davy is a wonderful Calpurnia, with a much developed character from the book; Simon Hepworth broke my heart in his portrayal of the tragic ‘drunk,’ Link Deas. Although I cannot mention them all, every actor here is cast to perfection and is a joy to watch.

Richard Coyle delivers the role of Atticus Finch with a poise born of years’ experience. The internal struggle and dilemmas of Atticus, his role in bringing up his children, his insistence that they try and treat every person with respect and his eventual breakdown upon the final devastating courtroom blow; every nuance and every emotion are performed with an uncanny ability and I watched every moment with bated breath. His final courtroom speech was a particular favourite moment, but every moment is stunning.

I have seen so many productions this year but this play moved me beyond words. I implore you, go and see this production, if you have read the novel or not. It is a rare thing for a production to come together so beautifully and especially for an adaptation to deliver so truthfully to the original but to also to stand alone on its own merits. From the first curtain rise to the final, ‘all rise,’ this is a tour that should not be missed. You can find out more about the production and book tickets here

The Guardian only gave this production two stars.  I don’t approve of marking work – what do stars say? – but if I did I’d give it more.  It made for an interesting evening and I think most of the audience – the studio space at Theatr Clwyd was at least three-quarters full – enjoyed it.  At least, they all came back after the interval.

The thing is this is a first play.  You wouldn’t expect it to be problem-free and we have to have new work and theatres have to take a punt on new writers.  Theatr Clwyd is supportive of local work and I think everyone involved with the production can consider the effort they put in was worthwhile.  I didn’t squirm in my seat as I sometimes do watching new work.

The main limitation is the focus on a single individual who is not sufficiently complex to sustain a full-length play.  John Jones, thief, troublemaker, raconteur and escape artist is a kind of Falstaff figure, good to swell a scene or two, but not enough on his own to engage our entire attention for two hours plus.  He’s also a bit of an anachronism and the red of the title only refers to his hair, not to his politics.  The play needs a couple of other sizeable characters to stand alongside him and another storyline to throw his carryings on into relief.  Jones may be original and comic but the others he associates with or defies are stereotypes.  Because the story is pushed back to 1913, they do gain a bit more colour but all of them, from the landlady with a heart of gold, to the wicked estate owner, the hapless policeman and the honest son have appeared in a television series at some point (a bit like the cast themselves).

Still, Simon Holland Roberts almost carries the show with the energy and physicality he brings to Red Rogue Jones.  He is here, there and everywhere, disappearing and then reappearing when you least expect it, filling the auditorium with his booming declarations, his self-justifications and his jokes.  I thought he might fit in something by Sean O’Casey. 

And although the other people in the play really just come and go – we never find out what made the estate owner’s beautiful daughter fall in love with Jones’ poor son or why the landlord stayed with his unfaithful wife – the cast do their bit, with outbursts of anger, lively arguments and prolonged kisses, right from the start when everyone sings in the pub.

The story of John Johns, the arc of the play, is a series of escapades followed by periods of incarceration.  The details of these are often exaggerated but that’s acceptable.  The one thing we do see him do is haul a gigantic cauldron into the pub and although he hasn’t been to Ireland to get it, it symbolises his ambition and his energy. 

The cauldron also links to the First World War in a poetic way, since it is rumoured to have the power to bring dead men back to life.  It’s certainly large enough to fill with corpses and its metallic presence makes you think of armoured vehicles.

The trouble is the play is not set up to prefigure the conflict that will probably carry off the young men we see.  It’s not about that.  It’s about several different things – the indomitable Welsh spirit (perhaps), the value of storytelling and fibbing and the strength of relationships (love triumphs over everything) – but the various themes get out of hand, as does Jones himself.  In the end, there is only one way to bring it all to a close but the ending is not really in keeping with the overall tone.

I enjoyed the subplot of the oversized badger (a kind of animal representation of Jones) even if it didn’t advance the main story much.  The beating of the sack the badger is meant to be in looked like the struggle the playwright was having to bring all the material he had collected so assiduously – folk stories, local legends and the like – under control.

In Wales, this production will do well.  It would be interesting to see if it survived a tour elsewhere in the UK, where an audience would not be partisan.  For all its limitations, it’s of a professional standard and it makes you look forward to the next play Chris Ashworth-Bennion writes – and that Theatr Clwyd puts on.

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UNMISSABLE!

Stepping into the Watermill Theatre for Charley’s Aunt feels like entering a world where Victorian farce collides with 21st century sensibility. This new adaptation of Brandon Thomas’s 1892 comedy, directed by Sophie Drake, transforms the classic tale of disguise and mistaken identity into a vibrant, contemporary experience. The production radiates with humour, warmth, and an unexpected emotional depth that makes it refreshingly present, blending animated performances, modern music, and bold visual storytelling,
Rob Madge and Sophie Drake approach Charley’s Aunt with a goal: to breathe new life into an 1892 comedy and make it resonate with today’s audience. Through comical timing and musical interludes, they invite us to see cross-dressing not as a source of ridicule but as an act of self-expression and celebration. It is a fitting production for the Watermill Theatre, a company known for re-visioning classical works through inventive staging and an intimate, high-energy style that keeps its audiences fully engaged.

This new adaptation stands out by incorporating Rob Madge’s queer, theatrical perspective into the original structure, turning the play into both homage and commentary. In doing so, it aligns with a broader tradition of reinterpretations that use classical comedy to explore modern understandings of gender and performance.

Music underscores much of the action, sometimes ironically, sometimes atmospherically. Lauryn Redding’s composing and Russel Ditchfield’s sound design thread contemporary music through scene changes and moments of quick-witted inspiration, using sound as both rhythm and punchline. Alex Berry’s set and costume do an excellent job of tone-setting, the 19th century costumes are detailed and historically rooted. Kitty’s pale blue and yellow ruffled dress, Amy’s pink and green floral gown with a yellow bow, and Charley’s exaggerated scarlet bow tie all evoke the Victorian era’s charm.

The set is minimal and flexible; the use of the thrust stage and close audience proximity make the action immersive and engaging. Even the audience seated up on the balcony feel included in the chaos, creating an all-encompassing theatrical experience.

Babbs, the charismatic character at the heart of the adaptation, steals the show. Max Gill’s performance is nothing short of remarkable: flamboyant, physically expressive, and deeply human. Their portrayal celebrates queer identity with confidence and tenderness. It is both an enjoyable turn and a meaningful commentary on individuality. Babbs’s flamboyance is never empty spectacle, it is written and performed to suggest learning and acceptance.

The production delivers precisely what it sets cut to achieve: a sharp, high-spirited comedy with impeccable timing and visual flair. The physical performances are tightly choreographed, and the technical team uses music and lighting to accentuate moments of wit and surprise. What makes it truly impressive though, is its tonal balance. The humour lands effortlessly while quieter, more sincere moments are allowed to breathe. The modernisation never feels imposed; it grows naturally from the productions belief that performance itself can be an act of self-discovery. Critics have praised its approach as “bursting with energy” and “a fun, fresh, colourful glowup;” and it is easy to see why.

Those looking for a strictly period-perfect reimagining may find the contemporary style and musical composition to be a deviation from tradition. Yet, these choices feel intentional. The creative team clearly prioritise inclusivity, visibility, and emotional immediacy over strict historical accuracy.

Ultimately, this “Charley’s Aunt” is a success in both spirit and skill. Jonathan Case, Richard Earl, Elijah Ferreria, Max Gill, Mae Munuo, Yasemin Özdemir, Maggie Service and Benjamin Westerby make up a captivating ensemble, delivering performances that are dynamic and electric, while the atmosphere throughout the theatre is charged with exhilarating energy. The Watermill Theatre once again proves its strength as a producing theatre: crafting work that is entertaining, meaningful, and proudly alive for modern audiences.

The Watermill’s Charley Aunt is a candy-coloured farce with a queer heart: loud, lovely, and utterly alive.