Review – The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui, Royal Shakespeare Company at the Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, 21st April 2026

Posted on April 22, 2026 by therealchrisparkle

©Marc Brenner

Bertolt Brecht’s scathing satire on the rise of Hitler, The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui was originally written in 1941, with an expected first production to take place in the United States. However, it was considered too politically sensitive for a producer to risk, and the play didn’t receive its premiere until 1958, two years after Brecht’s death, when it was produced in Stuttgart. The play remained relatively unknown in the UK until Leonard Rossiter played the role in 1967.

©Marc Brenner

Brecht’s Ui is seen as a small-time Chicago gangster, engineering a takeover of the city’s greengrocery trade by conning and terrorising the members of the Cauliflower Trust. Ui’s ambitions know no bounds, and before long he’s manipulating all of Chicago, and eventually has his target on the neighbouring city of Cicero – and probably beyond. In Stephen Sharkey’s new translation, not only is the resemblance of Ui to Hitler unmistakable, both in Mark Gatiss’ extraordinary physical characterisation and in his modus operandi, but an account of Hitler’s rise to power is told, factually and emotionlessly, by cast members as each scene concludes. Each of Brecht’s original fifteen scenes represents a true event in the rise of Nazi Germany between 1929 and 1938; and, much as Orwell did with Animal Farm, Brecht’s characters can easily be identified with their German Nazi originals. Ui is Hitler, Giri is Goering, Givola is Goebbels, Dogsborough Hindenburg, and so on.

©Marc Brenner

As there are now relatively few people who can remember the Second World War, let alone Germany in the 1930s, it’s worthwhile doing a history lesson to appreciate just how clever a satire Brecht’s play is. And in these perilous times, where far right populism is gaining a foothold all over the world – including here in the UK – Brecht’s salutary tale, or, in his words, parable play, feels more appropriate than ever. The last words of the text warn the audience: the bitch that bore him is in heat again. Nothing if not perspicacious, Brecht.

©Marc Brenner

Stephen Sharkey’s smart new translation keeps all the original characterisations and storylines, wisely avoiding a desire to update them, and maintains Brecht’s delicious balance between poetry and prose. The production also achieves the near-impossible task of preserving all Brecht’s trademark distancing effects, whilst still making the play flow naturally; aided in this by Georgia Lowe’s excellent and effective set. Having an LED banner on stage, proudly describing the show as part of the RSC’s current season from the start, instantly sets the tone of artificial theatricality and is the perfect backdrop for Mawaan Rizwan’s delightfully subversive opening introduction.

©Marc Brenner

Robbie Butler’s lighting design also enhances the theatricality, perhaps at its most audacious during the extended crowd massacre scene which then transforms magically into a floral display at Givola’s flower shop. Georgia Lowe’s costumes also help to define the characters, from the sharp-suited members of the Cauliflower Trust, Dockdaisy’s outrageous flamenco dress, Giri’s clown outfit, and of course Ui, who transforms slowly from a down-at-heel wretch in worn out clothes, to a functioning but tasteless suit and eventually to full Nazi uniform and regalia. Richie Hart’s four-piece band deliver Placebo’s music with style and expression, emphasising both the unease and the horror of what unfolds on stage.

©Marc Brenner

The cast are tremendous throughout. With only three of the actors taking on just one role, there is much doubling-up which emphasises the wide scope of the play whilst still keeping the storytelling crisp and clear. Kadiff Kirwan proves his incredible versatility, having been a suave and nifty Sky Masterson in Sheffield’s Guys and Dolls a few years ago, with a powerful and aggressive performance as Ui’s friend (does he really have friends?) Roma. L J Parkinson gives a great performance as the devious Givola, providing a subtly ruthless and unsettling presence on stage.

©Marc Brenner

The wonderful Janie Dee particularly excels in her portrayal of Betty Dullfeet, being the perfect “first lady” of Cicero who thinks she can hold her own against Ui but is duped and ends up with his emblem on her armband. You want to shout out Where’s Your Self-Respect! at her as she accepts her fate, and by implication the annexation of Austria. Mawaan Rizwan is hugely entertaining throughout as both the Barker and the slippery Giri, eerily collecting the hats of all the people he’s murdered, making the audience laugh at those things that we really shouldn’t find funny.

©Marc Brenner

The always reliable Christopher Godwin impresses as Dogsborough, caught up in his own corruption and regretting his actions when it’s too late – and provides a hilarious cameo as the pompous actor, teaching Ui how to sit, walk and present himself. Rebekah Hinds is also hilarious as the extravagant, back-chatting Dockdaisy, Amanda Wilkin gives a very convincing performance as Clark, Joe Alessi is the assertive Butcher and suspicious Dullfeet, and Mahesh Parmar gives us a delightfully childish Dogsborough’s son. But the entire cast and ensemble all turn in performances of great commitment and flair.

©Marc Brenner

It is, however, Mark Gatiss who dominates proceedings with his remarkable performance as Arturo Ui; a sinister, slimy, heartless, calculating portrayal of pure evil that rises from the mire and rules by fear and a warped charisma. Never played for comic effect, as it easily could be, perhaps his most gut-wrenching moment is when seducing Betty into believing him he licks her face – you could feel the audience shudder as one. It’s never an impersonation of Hitler, but Gatiss somehow merges himself with Hitler and Ui into one horribly believable and convincing villain. It’s a performance no one will forget in a hurry.

©Marc Brenner

85 years since it was written, Brecht’s extraordinary play continues to demonstrate the ease with which a society can fall under the spell of the evillest of minds. Ui walks among us. We can see him emerging; indeed, we may even already know his identity. It isn’t too late to resist, although one day it may be, which is the message of the production. Indeed, the production begs us, empowers us and orders us to resist – and it’s vital that we do. A superlative production, and one that is a privilege to have witnessed, it continues at Stratford’s Swan Theatre until 30^th May.

Five Alive, Let Theatre Thrive!

Review – BBC Radio 3’s Friday Night is Music Night, Royal and Derngate, Northampton, 17th April 2026

Posted on April 18, 2026 by therealchrisparkle

Here’s something a little different! The BBC Radio 3 stalwart of a show, Friday Night is Music Night, came to Northampton’s Royal and Derngate, not, as I originally suspected, as a live broadcast, but to record the programme to go out on May 15^th 2026. No strangers to the regular appearances by the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra at the Royal and Derngate, I wondered to what extent this would be similar.

At first, the only difference was the appearance of additional microphones scattered around the stage, including some very tall ones – I guess up in the air they register fewer background noises. And it was the BBC Concert Orchestra, under the leadership of Charles Mutter, who played the tunes under the conducting baton of Richard Balcombe, who had conducted the RPO at the Valentine’s Gala at the R&D in 2025.

The show was introduced and hosted by another Radio 3 stalwart, Katie Derham, who comes across as warm, welcoming and genuinely loving her job. With just a few minor explanations as to how the evening would progress, the whole broadcasting element to the show had remarkably few nuts and bolts getting in the way of a straightforward live concert.

I don’t know why we were surprised at this, but we were: the orchestra members, the conductor, Katie Derham, and our two singers, Patrick Smyth and Katie Birtill, were all smartly decked out in traditional evening wear, just as you would expect for a regular classical concert. Indeed, Ms Birtill even brought a change of dress for the second half!

The programme was a celebration of the work of Richard Rodgers, primarily his music composed in partnership with Lorenz Hart and Oscar Hammerstein; so, we were treated to some beautiful renditions of songs, overtures and instrumental passages from Oklahoma!, South Pacific, The Sound of Music, Carousel and more. Less well-known was his impressive music for the TV documentary Victory at Sea, and the concert concluded with his Slaughter on 10^th Avenue from On Your Toes which I hadn’t heard in decades.

Stand out performances (for me at least) came in the form of the glorious Carousel Waltz, the Dream Ballet from Oklahoma! and Katie Birtill’s stunning performance of My Favourite Things. But the whole concert was a joy, and everyone in the audience had a marvellous time by the sound of it. I shall look forward to hearing it again on May 15^th!

Review – Frankie Goes to Bollywood, Royal and Derngate, Northampton, 16th April 2026

Posted on April 17, 2026 by therealchrisparkle

©Richard Lakos

Confession time: I’ve never seen a Bollywood movie and know very little about the genre apart from a few basic facts that everyone knows. Frankie Goes to Bollywood provides an insight into this cultural phenomenon, and as such, is undoubtedly a fascinating experience. I do know that Bollywood movies are sold as a vision of dreams, a melting pot of glamour, and that nearly all are variations on the same theme – a love story of improbable, nay fantastic, proportions. Bollywood takes elaborate musical and visual themes to entrance its audience for several hours; and above all it creates legends, and its stars are like royalty.

©Richard Lakos

Who wouldn’t want to be part of it? Frankie, and her best friend (and cousin/sister) Goldy, dream of making the big time somehow, rather than just selling popcorn at the local cinema in Huddersfield. Goldy wants to be in a Bollywood movie, but it’s Frankie who is – almost by accident – propelled into the limelight after a chance encounter with a movie director, a glitteringly successful audition, and an offer to be a big star in Mumbai. In many respects, a typical rags to riches storyline, that’s probably featured in many a Bollywood movie.

©Richard Lakos

But Frankie is a realist, and although she dreams big, she’s just an ordinary young woman, with no pretence, no arrogance, and a heart of gold. Can she keep it real under the pressures of Bollywood life, or will she succumb to the flashy lifestyle and hardnosed ruthlessness of the film industry? You can probably guess the answer to that. But – spoiler alert – like all good Indian fairytales, everything comes good in the end.

©Richard Lakos

What Frankie Goes to Bollywood does very successfully is reveal the sham behind the façade of the Bollywood industry. The sexy male star, with whom the audience either wants to be in love or simply to be, is in real life an aging Baldilocks with a Mummy complex. Bollywood is a conveyor belt that pushes out endless dreams but is super ruthless with every element – including its stars – in the process. Whoever has the finance is the king and calls the shots; no other input is of any consequence. It’s a grim place where you can arrange for your rival actor to be on the receiving end of a fatal car accident. You lose your identity as you sell your soul, and it’s all in the name of light entertainment.

©Richard Lakos

The show also highlights the essential misogyny of the whole Bollywood industry. The women, on and off screen, are there to look good and to make the men look even better. What they think doesn’t matter, and any additional contributions they make are ignored. As a natural consequence, Frankie and the other women are frustrated and feel abused by the whole circus. The show culminates not so much with a natural conclusion to its storyline but more of a mission statement for the future.

©Richard Lakos

Clearly, there’s no depth or meaning to your average Bollywood movie, and it’s this essential shallowness that is the problem with Frankie Goes to Bollywood. The system produces a never-ending sequence of shallow stories with shallow characters, and FGTB comes across as equally shallow. There’s a fine line between exposing its subject matter and resembling its subject matter, and the show doesn’t always get that balance right. They’re clearly a hugely talented cast but somehow it radiates an amateur vibe; revealing all Bollywood’s unsubtleties, not in a tongue-in-cheek or knowing way, but itself in an unsubtle way. The staging is frequently clumsy; for example, how many times do they have to (unnecessarily) move those spotlights around?! Often leaving uncomfortable gaps between scenes, it needs to be smarter and slicker. Occasional looks of uncertainty on the faces of some of the dancers suggest they’re a little unsure about where to stand or move, but that could also be because the stage of the Royal theatre is way too small to accommodate everything that this show is trying to achieve. I’m sure it would look more accomplished on a larger stage.

©Richard Lakos

That said, there is much to be appreciated in the vision and creativity of this production. Josh Sood’s musicians give us a gloriously authentic Indian music experience, Andy Kumar’s choreography – with Anna Maria Barber as assistant choreographer and dance captain – is bang on the nose and his costumes are as sumptuous as you would wish, and Philip Gladwell’s lighting is often set to brash mode, although there were a few moments on Press Night when gremlins got in the works.

©Richard Lakos

The acting is of a very high standard. Sarah Pearson gives a great central performance as Frankie; she’s a tremendous singer with a winning stage persona. I wasn’t totally convinced of how Frankie loses her kindness and charity as her fame grows, but I think that’s more a failure of the script than the performance. I particularly enjoyed Katie Stasi’s Goldy, a warm-hearted and spirited young woman, not afraid to fail and always remaining faithful to her friend – and also with a great singing voice. Luke Suri, as flamboyant choreographer Shona, steals all his scenes with his camp charisma and wittily written bitchiness. Ankur Sabharwal amusingly portrays the spoilt vanity of the star Raju, and Meher Pavri captures the resentment of star-and-girlfriend-on-the-decline Malika, and the pure love and support given by Frankie’s mother.

©Richard Lakos

Akshay Datta’s surprisingly gentle characterisation of the principled film director Prem makes a slightly curious comparison with the rest of the Bollywood rat race, giving all his dreams up to become a guru. There’s excellent support from Neelam Rajni as Frankie’s assistant Mandy, and a very hard-working ensemble including an entertaining portrayal of Timmy Anand by Kiran Kaanan, all himbo, glittery chest and not much up top.

One of those shows where it doesn’t quite add up to the sum of all its parts, which must be due to the writing and direction. However, there’s no doubt that it’s a lively, colourful and musical spectacle that tackles an uncomfortable problem at the heart of Indian culture. After Northampton, the tour continues to Leeds, Peterborough, Derby, Windsor, Hornchurch, Oxford, Birmingham and finishing at the Bristol Old Vic at the end of June.

Three-sy Does It!

Review – Kiss of the Spider Woman, Studio Theatre, Leicester Curve, 13th April 2026

Posted on April 14, 2026 by therealchrisparkle

It’s been over 30 years since Kander and Ebb’s Kiss of the Spider Woman opened on Broadway and in London to rave reviews and great success – harvesting no fewer than seven Tony Awards including Best Musical, Best Book of a Musical and Best Original Score. Coinciding with the release of the new film version of the musical this week in the UK, Paul Foster’s extraordinary revival of the show at the Leicester Curve unearths a true hidden gem of musical theatre.

Adapted from Manuel Puig’s 1976 novel, which he himself adapted into a play in 1985, it tells the story of two prisoners in the same cell in a dingy, violent prison in Argentina. Molina, a window dresser, is in prison for sexual offences; his cellmate Valentin is a Marxist revolutionary whom the authorities torture to discover the identities of the rest of his cohort. Molina keeps his spirit up by engaging in a series of fantasy re-enactments about Aurora, the screen goddess of his youth, who appeared in so many glamorous movies; reliving them in his mind provides an escape from his desperate situation. At first, Valentin is very suspicious of Molina and cannot stand his company; but over time the two men form an unlikely bond, with Valentin also becoming entranced with the magnificent Aurora. The prison warden constantly puts pressure on Molina to get incriminating names from Valentin – but Molina is a loyal friend. Will he betray his cellmate?

You know those people who say musical theatre is just light-hearted, frothy entertainment, incapable of saying anything serious or meaningful? They’d learn a lesson or two here. Through the story of a developing relationship, the show poses questions of trust and integrity, self-respect and honesty, idealism and realism, and resilience and resistance. It asks to what extent fantasy can replace reality, and how much are you prepared to sacrifice for love. Spoiler alert: you won’t get any easy answers.

Few shows tell you you’re in the presence of something special within the first five minutes – but this production of Kiss of the Spider Woman is one of those rarities. Every element of the production is outstanding. Howard Hudson’s lighting design provides so many thrilling and simply beautiful effects. Gabriella Slade’s costumes are superb – especially those worn by Aurora and the Spider Woman. Andrzej Goulding’s video design delights and excites – those intricate spider web manifestations and the horror of the full black spider are just magnificent.

Matt Peploe’s eerie sound design constantly reminds you of the tortures taking place in this hellhole of a prison – and every single word of every single song is enunciated beautifully by the cast through the perfectly moderated amplification, so that we don’t miss a moment of those telling lyrics or that exceptional book. And, of course, Dan Glover’s amazing out-of-sight band deliver that tremendous score with more expression and guts than is decent for just six musicians.

Eleven members of the cast make you believe there’s at least twice that number of people on stage. The ensemble actors are the hardest working and most versatile group of performers you could imagine, playing prisoners, guards, movie dancers; you name it, they’ll do it. Joanna Goodwin’s expertly judged choreography is lively and dynamic and perfectly pitched for the relatively small acting space; and the dancing is outstanding.

All the acting is of the highest quality. Damian Buhagiar’s guard is an intensely brutal and violent presence – the stage combat by the way is exceptional. Tori Scott is perfectly cast as Molina’s mother and delivers her songs with powerful emotion, Jay Rincon is chillingly sadistic as the vengeful warden, and there’s excellent support from Gabriela Garcia as Valentin’s lover Marta and Davide Fienauri as Molina’s straight crush Gabriel.

The partnership of Fabian Soto Pacheco as Molina and George Blagden as Valentin just works brilliantly. The warmth that grows between them is totally believable, expressed with true intensity but also great subtlety. Their harmonies work perfectly, they both have remarkable stage presence, and they tell their characters’ stories with conviction; you feel their increased understanding of themselves and each other as the performance progresses.

As if all that wasn’t enough, the production is blessed with Anna-Jane Casey in the dual role of Aurora and the Spider Woman, an extraordinary performer who can turn her voice and high kicks to anything; here radiating star quality as the glorious Aurora with her big show numbers and then inhabiting the alarming and creepy presence of the Spider Woman, gliding sinisterly across the stage in a seduction of entrapment. You can’t help but beam with delight every time she comes on stage.

During the first couple of minutes of the interval, all Mrs Chrisparkle and I could say to each other was “wow”, followed by the occasional “just wow”. Convention limits me to five stars, but there’s an argument for more. If I was free, I’d go and see it again tomorrow in a heartbeat. Kiss of the Spider Woman plays at the Leicester Curve until April 25^th and then tours to the Bristol Old Vic 29^th April to 16^th May and the Southampton Mayflower from 2^nd to 6^th June.

Five Alive, Let Theatre Thrive!

Review – Screaming Blue Murder, Underground at the Derngate, Northampton, 10th April 2026

Posted on April 11, 2026 by therealchrisparkle

Great to see another sold out house at this month’s Screaming Blue Murder in Northampton, another sign that our local comedy scene is in the rudest of health. Our host was, as usual, the effervescent Dan Evans, spinning his bon mots left right and centre as he got to know the people in the front rows, which included the staff from the Pytchley pub in West Haddon who were much better behaved than they were two years ago (!) and a never ending range of engineers – consultant, building, mechanical, sustainability… you name it, there was an engineer for it somewhere in the front rows.

Our opening act was Justin Panks, fifty years old (allegedly) but distinctly a lad at heart. Hailing from Norwich, although his accent suggested otherwise, he has a confident, assertive presence on stage. His routines included how different things are today in comparison with the 1980s – particularly for the fellas, the intricacies of managing step-kids, and the pros and cons of shaving one’s balls. Occasionally taking us where angels fear to tread, some of his material might have alienated certain sectors of the audience, but he certainly provided a lot of laughs, and that’s what it’s all about.

Next up was Louise Leigh, a lively lady packed with impish spirit, who regaled us with stories of how she’s coping with moving into middle age, if not disgracefully then at least creatively. She’s acquired the colourful hair, she’s in love with her campervan, she’s started going to festivals and she’s devoted to her dog. She also has a husband and teenage kids, so there’s a lot of life-juggling going on. It’s all recognisable and relatable material, delivered with expert timing and a winning way.

Our headliner, and the only act we’d seen before, was Jon Long, a very funny chap whose seemingly mild and gentle character belies a wicked grasp of devilish humour. His opening routine about attending church as a youngster has a brilliantly unexpected punchline and he has the audience in the palm of his hands from then on. He has great material about having a wife who’s much tougher than he is and intersperses his set with a few comic numbers on the guitar, that always pack a punch. A most unassuming comedy star, but a star nonetheless.

Will there be another sold out show at the next Screaming Blue Murder on 30^th May? You should come along and find out!

Review – Comedy Crate at the Charles Bradlaugh, Northampton, 9th April 2026

Posted on April 10, 2026 by therealchrisparkle

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It is eleven months since we last attended a mixed bill night at the Charles Bradlaugh – where does the time go?! Fortunately, we chose a stonker of a good night to make our return – and we were joined by a packed house of happy return customers for a truly rip-roaring night of comedy.

Our host was Kelly Convey, whom we haven’t seen since the golden days of Covid, on one of those surprisingly successful Zoom gigs and in the garden of the Black Prince pub. She’s a warm, friendly and ebullient presence who instantly gets the crowd on her side – bless her for thinking that Northampton is classier than Chatham – with engaging stories about attending childbirths and how life has changed since she rapidly became a mother of three. She generated a positive and supportive vibe to the evening’s proceedings which really helped the show go with a bang!

First up, and someone we’ve seen many times before, was the irrepressible Jack Gleadow, an impish presence with a quirky voice and hilarious comedic creativity. For much of the act he responded to musical cues from easily recognised pop tunes; something we’ve seen him do before, but it’s always brilliant – I love how he uses Popcorn to accompany dating app usage, and his observations on how men and women respond differently to swiping are brilliantly revealing. Terrific at engaging with the crowd, he brought two chaps up from the audience, the willingly good sport Paul and the bemused Jamie, for a jolly bum-slapping routine – all I can say is, you had to be there. Wonderfully self-deprecating and quick thinking, he’s always a joy to watch.

Next came Darius Davies, whom we saw headlining a Screaming Blue Murder show a couple of years ago, but with a very different selection of material. Using his Iranian heritage as an appropriately timely introduction to his set, he took us through two cringingly and riotously funny stories. First, when he posed as a woman on a dating app to find out what it’s like for a woman to deal with the kind of comments men dish out; and then a delicious account of revenge served cold after Ryanair were unhelpful and expensive over charging him for a boarding card. Beautifully delivered, with a sting in its tail, he is a master of intelligent comedy presented with a serious message lurking just beneath the surface; and the audience loved him.

Our headliner was, in many respects, the complete opposite, the totally wacky Spencer Jones, whose act is made up of short, seemingly unconnected vignettes, sometimes surreal, sometimes ecstatically funny, always totally ludicrous. There was clearly an element of work-in-progress with many of his ideas being tried out, but we were willing guinea pigs for his daftness. What separates Mr J from many other surreal or absurd performers, is that he makes it clear that he knows what he’s doing is absurd and recognises that we find it absurd too, but he’ll nevertheless continue doing it. Our favourite short sketch was the totally pointless but completely recognisable “man with three beers”; I also enjoyed his “may I taste your soup” routine, especially as I unfortunately made a bit of a song-and-dance over describing the ingredients in my vegetable soup to him. Not all of his ideas worked completely, but those which did, were hysterical.

The next Comedy Crate at the Bradlaugh night is May 14^th – we can’t make it but hopefully you can. And it definitely won’t be another eleven months till we make a reappearance!

Review – Teeth ‘n’ Smiles, Duke of York’s Theatre, London, 1st April 2026

Posted on April 5, 2026 by therealchrisparkle

Back in the day, Mrs Chrisparkle and my mother-in-law Lady Prosecco were great aficionados of those fashion gurus Trinny and Susannah. In the fashion world, a good design never really goes away, but on the subject of revivals of old styles, one of their mantras was if you’re old enough to have worn it the first time around, don’t wear it the second. I’m wondering if that also applies to theatre. I am old enough to remember the fuss about Teeth ‘n’ Smiles the first time around, although not quite old enough to have seen it. But my very respectable English teacher at the time thought it was great, probably because it made him fall in love with Helen Mirren. I remember devouring the text as a teenager and being thrilled at how daring and dangerous it all was. So, when it was announced that T ‘n’ S was coming back, I booked for it instantly.

In case you don’t know, Maggie Frisby and her band are a bit down on their uppers; whilst showing loads of promise they never quite made it to the big time. Their manager Saraffian has arranged them a tour which includes playing the 1969 May Ball at Jesus College Cambridge. A perfectly reasonable booking: George Melly came to our college May Ball in 1979 and he was ace. However, the good partygoers at Jesus didn’t have such a great night as we did. Wracked with alcohol and fuelled by drugs, the band are a dishevelled lot whose conversation ranges from what’s the most boring thing you can think of to where can I get a blowjob. Arthur, their songwriter, makes a surprise appearance and we slowly learn that his association with the band clearly extended beyond mere songwriting. Bass guitarist Peyote is only concerned with shooting up; and star singer Maggie has passed out through drink and has to be carried on, washed and dressed before she can perform.

Teeth ‘n’ Smiles takes us, set by set, through the rigours of that night, with animosities between the group members exposed, limp intervention on the part of Anson, the College Ball rep, the ruthless manager only looking after his own interests, the breaking of hearts, the theft of college articles and a run-down whisky sloshing singer doing her best against the odds. No wonder I thought it was daring and dangerous when I was fifteen.

The appeal of revisiting an old play is discovering those timeless truths that applied when it was written and are still valid today. Teeth ‘n’ Smiles deals with unrequited love, the self-destruction inherent in too much talent and ambition, and of course the damage that drink and drugs can do. I am a huge admirer of David Hare’s writing, and some of his early work still reads superbly. Teeth ‘n’ Smiles, however, seems long past its best by date. What was once shocking now feels somewhat infantile; and some of the speeches, particularly as the play progresses, come across as genuinely pretentious. Conversations are stilted and flow unnaturally, and Daniel Raggatt’s direction seems to encourage a static presentation, which sadly lends an air of dullness to the whole proceedings.

A minor example of how dated it feels, but one that I think typifies the problem: David Hare has Arthur constantly humming Cole Porter’s You’re the Top whilst he’s hanging around waiting for stuff to happen. That was probably stretching imagination in 1975 but today it’s just so unlikely. At the time it was said that Helen Mirren’s Maggie evoked memories of the late Janis Joplin; no offence, but do we really care much about her as the 2020s turn towards the 2030s?

In addition, I found two of the supplementary characters very hard to believe. The tongue-tied fish out of water student, Anson, would never have been put in charge of organising the ball unless he radiated confidence and was a proven organiser; and the college porter, Snead, simply would not have accepted the language and the disrespect that the band members dish out to him. Everyone knows that Oxbridge students and their guests owe everything to how they treat the porter; in real life Snead would simply have delivered a withering no to their demands and gone home to bed.

That said, it’s still fascinating to witness an early example of what we think of today as gig theatre. The band performance scenes, which are without question the best part of the production, pepper the play to suggest the three sets that the band perform during the course of the ball. It’s emphatically not a musical but a play with music; Nick and Tony Bicât’s original songs are all still there, with the addition of one more, Maggie’s Song, written by Rebecca Lucy Taylor (aka Self Esteem) who plays Maggie. It’s a nice idea, which lends an additional personal touch to her performance. Some of the songs are strikingly memorable; the brilliant Don’t Let the Bastards Come Near You will haunt your musical memory mind for days. In fact, the production goes all out to make these musical moments as strong as they can be – Matt Daw’s lighting design goes into overdrive.

Rebecca Lucy Taylor has a terrific voice and a powerful stage presence and certainly comes into her own during the musical numbers. Phil Daniels plays Saraffian as a weaselly old scoundrel and does a good job of making some truly intractable speeches understandable. At our performance, the role of Laura was played by understudy Levi Heaton who brought some genuine emotion to the piece. The band members are of course all excellent musicians, with spirited banter from Michael Abubakar as Wilson, Bill Caple as Nash and Noah Wetherby as Inch. Jojo Macari energetically plays the permanently high bass guitarist Peyote, and there’s amusing support from Joseph Evans as Saraffian’s latest project Randolph.

A classic case of everything being right about the production except the play. There were long sequences where the audience was simply dulled into silence, and our overall reaction to the play was muted. I’m glad I saw it, and I’m sure fans of Self Esteem will be thrilled seeing Rebecca Lucy Taylor in action. But it truly wasn’t for me.

Two Disappointing for More!

Review – Small Island, Birmingham Rep, 2nd April 2026

Posted on April 3, 2026 by therealchrisparkle

©Pamela Raith

Helen Edmundson’s adaptation of Andrea Levy’s highly regarded novel opened to great acclaim at London’s National Theatre in 2019; an extended run at the Olivier was planned for 2020 but that darned Covid pandemic had other ideas. However, a new touring production directed by Matthew Xia is underway, co-produced by the Birmingham Rep, Leeds Playhouse and Nottingham Playhouse in association with Actors Touring Company; and it’s no coincidence that these three major cities are hosting this production, as they each owe so much to the contribution made to society by the Windrush generation.

©Pamela Raith

Never having read the book, nor seen the TV adaptation, nor seen the show in 2019, I had no preconceptions as to what was in store, only knowing that it’s 3 hours 20 minutes including an interval. If it’s that long, and it isn’t Shakespeare, it needs to be good to warrant so much material. Fortunately, Small Island most definitely is! Instantly captivating and engrossing, Edmundson takes Levy’s extraordinary characters, from both Jamaica and the UK, and guides us through their individual stories and how they eventually all combine in one ramshackle house in Earl’s Court.

©Pamela Raith

Chekhov’s Three Sisters constantly lament about how life would be so much better if only they could get to Moscow. That feeling of missed opportunity and resentment of others in a more sophisticated setting is often found in drama, and I sensed it very clearly here. The Jamaican people wish for that better life in the mother country, England, where talented and skilled people will be welcomed and rewarded for their hard work with a good wage and a comfortable home. As we see the Windrush set sail for England at the end of the first Act, we know what they don’t know – that life in England will not be a bed of roses, and that the mother country will turn on them decades later. It’s a classic instance of dramatic irony.

©Pamela Raith

Small Island is an immense story, spanning a period of fifteen years. We see the haughty young Hortense, removed from her home to live with a cruel uncle and aunt, but determined to achieve something in life. We meet the spirited Queenie, itching to leave dull Lincolnshire for the bright lights of London. There’s Bernard, the anxious, reserved and emotionally repressed bank clerk who will eventually marry Queenie; and there’s lovable, bumbling Gilbert, desperate to leave Jamaica on the Windrush to gain that guaranteed brighter future in England. Linking them all, whether they know it or not, is Hortense’s charismatic and mischievous cousin Michael, who blossoms from the cruel Jamaican household through boarding school, assertively into the RAF, eventually to emigrate to Canada.

©Pamela Raith

Edmundson’s glorious text, due at least in part to her productive discussions with Andrea Levy before her death, paints a series of totally believable episodic pictures, building up the characters, their influences and their experiences, into fully charged individuals, each with their own virtues and vices; culminating with Hortense and Gilbert living with Queenie and Bernard in London. Packed with emotion, some of the problems that the characters face make you catch your breath; no spoilers, but I’m sure Mrs Chrisparkle had to wipe away the odd moment of eye-moisture.

©Pamela Raith

It’s also fearless in its portrayal of racism, in all its forms, causing a modern audience frequently to gasp in horror at some of the language and attitudes. Racism today – I’m guessing – has evolved into more covert and more institutionalised, perhaps less delivered in person but more savage online, to reflect our Internet age. But Small Island shows it tossed around unapologetically, almost ostentatiously and gleefully, and it’s truly horrifying to witness. There is a trigger warning about some of the language and content and, frankly, it’s worth taking seriously.

©Pamela Raith

Despite the gravity of its subject matter, the play is also incredibly funny, with plenty of genuinely laugh out loud moments, often in the face of appalling racism. The ghastly Bernard, to whom Queenie is regrettably married, is irredeemably racist; towards the end of the play, you think he’s going to repent for his error, when Gilbert boldly confronts him with why his prejudices are all wrong. He starts by replying I’m sorry… and what follows has the audience in hysterics; that’s just one example of the tremendous combination of text, performance and direction.

©Pamela Raith

Simon Kenny’s superb set shrinks the main acting area of the huge Birmingham Rep stage so effectively that you barely notice, with informative use of newsreel projection to separate the scenes, a first Act that moodily drifts in and out of all sorts of different locations, and a second Act firmly rooted in the inescapable stark comfortlessness of Queenie’s house – basic decent accommodation for her and a filthy decrepit garret for Gilbert and Hortense upstairs. Luke Bacchus’ striking musical motifs pepper the high emotional moments, always enhancing the production and never distracting.

©Pamela Raith

The cast are superb throughout. With some cast members playing two or three characters, the clarity of the storytelling is fantastic. Even the minor roles are outstanding. Paul Hawkyard’s portrayal of Bernard’s shellshocked father Arthur is both deeply moving and frequently comical, stealing every scene with his minutely observed gait and facial expressions. Marcia Mantack is a joy as the kindly Miss Jewel, always looking out for young Hortense’s best interests. Rosemary Boyle is hilarious as the sensationalist Mrs Ryder, desperate for some physicality in her life as she volunteers to feel the full blast of a Jamaican hurricane. Zoe Lambert’s beneficent Aunt Dorothy and nasty-minded Miss Todd are both brilliantly observed portrayals of outspoken and forthright women, albeit coming at life from very different angles.

©Pamela Raith

Everal A Walsh gives us a horrifyingly strict Mr Philip and then surprises us with a delightfully mischievous cameo as Gilbert’s neighbour Kenneth. André Squire gives a bright and cheeky performance as Gilbert’s critical brother Elwood, Mara Allen a wickedly funny Celia, and there’s excellent further support from Toby Webster, Phil Yarrow and Jordan Laviniere.

©Pamela Raith

In the main roles, Rhys Stephenson is perfectly cast in his professional stage debut as the charismatic Michael; he has terrific stage presence, always gaining the audience’s confidence and approval, and, boy, does he know how to wear a suit – great work again from Simon Kenny’s costume design. Mark Arends excels in the difficult task of portraying Bernard, who develops from emotional weakling to tyrannical husband with total credibility. One could easily see how he could be played as a pantomime villain, but this is a very intelligent portrayal of a self-centred, emotionally blighted individual, to whom racism comes naturally and for whom arrogant reputation is equally important.

©Pamela Raith

Daniel Ward gives an engagingly robust and heartwarming performance as the honourable, but frequently inept, Gilbert; always ready to lend a hand, to think the best of people, slow to ire, but when push comes to shove, he knows exactly the right thing to do. Bronté Barbé is excellent as always, as the optimistic but realistic Queenie, naturally decent to others but tragically aware of the limits that society imposes. And Anna Crichlow is outstanding as Hortense, a naturally refined person who’s learned everything from the school of hard knocks, and who’s not afraid of doing hard work to get what she wants, but she has high standards that she – and moreover Gilbert – must achieve.

©Pamela Raith

Impressive storytelling, constantly engaging and engrossing; it was a delight to see how the audience reacted so vociferously at some key moments, which is an indication of just how involved everyone was with the story unfolding on the stage. Three hours twenty minutes? They fly by. An important and beautifully constructed play, given a first-rate production by Matthew Xia and uniformly superb performances. I can’t recommend it strongly enough. The tour continues at the Birmingham Rep until 18^th April and then moves on to the Nottingham Playhouse from 28^th April to 16^th May. Don’t miss it!

Five Alive, Let Theatre Thrive!

Review – The Holy Rosenbergs, Menier Chocolate Factory, London, 29th March 2026

Posted on April 2, 2026 by therealchrisparkle

Ryan Craig’s The Holy Rosenbergs premiered at the National Theatre in 2011, but it feels as though it could have been written yesterday, which perhaps only goes to show that we learn nothing from our mistakes. Set in 2009, the play brings two threads together – a grieving family with a failing business and reputations in the balance; and the politics of the Middle East, sharply focussed on the Israeli Defence Force which is being challenged in Geneva for war crimes. The link between the two comes in the form of Danny Rosenberg, the son who left the rest of the family in Edgware, set up home in Israel, became a member of the IDF, and was questioned under the Geneva Convention over his part in military operations in Gaza.

Flying helicopters over Gaza, Danny is now dead. He has been buried in Israel and his memorial service in Edgware is tomorrow. Danny’s human rights lawyer sister Ruth has been asked to give the eulogy by their father David; but she is assisting Sir Stephen Crossley in writing the report looking into the actions of the IDF. Conflict of interest much? With rumours of a protest at tomorrow’s memorial, specifically targeted against Ruth, should she stay away or attend? As The Holy Rosenbergs takes place over the course of the one day, that’s something we never discover.

With a few nods to Arthur Miller – the unseen Danny casts a similar shadow to the dead Larry in All My Sons and David Rosenberg has more than a whiff of Willy Loman about him – Craig’s writing is intense and compelling and creates a thoroughly believable story with totally recognisable characters. Questions of family loyalty, membership of a wider community, and adherence to one’s faith all play a vital part in this play. David Rosenberg needs someone to continue his family kosher catering business into the future, and with Danny having chosen to move to Israel, and Ruth a gifted lawyer in Geneva, it falls to layabout younger son Jonny to take up the mantle; so that’s never going to happen. The play also examines the contrast between those things which unite us and those things that divide us, especially when they’re so closely connected. For the Rosenbergs, is there a point or an attitude which will unite them all – and is truth more or less important than putting on a solid front?

The Jewish elements of the play are central to its core. Craig presents the Edgware community as having a genuine adherence to the faith, belief in the cause of Israel, and recognising the importance of family, ritual and respect. War, and the actions of war, are at odds with the kindness and generosity at the heart of the Jewish community; and the actions of the Israeli government inevitably create tensions and divisions of loyalty. The Rosenberg family are almost uniquely caught up in the fractious attitudes towards this first Gaza war; and the play does not shy away from the personal tragedy as well as the wider political issues.

One of the joys of seeing a show at the Menier is to discover how the seating configuration and staging has changed since the last time you visited. For The Holy Rosenbergs, Tim Shortall’s immaculately detailed set dominates the space and feels all-encompassing. It’s a living room we all recognise – especially if you were around during the 1980s – with its busy patterned carpeting and elegant, sophisticated G Plan furniture which you can imagine has been polished to the nth degree. Family photos and all the trappings of middle-class Judaism are everywhere – it’s a room that the family will have been so proud of about forty years ago and somehow time has stood still in the interim.

Lindsay Posner’s extraordinary cast deliver totally engrossing performances. Nicholas Woodeson and Tracy-Ann Oberman as David and Lesley Rosenberg are astounding with their perfectly observed, immaculately executed characterisations of the heart of this solid family, effortlessly delivering all the humour inherent in their characters but ruthlessly revealing the inner torture they both face. They’re mesmerising. Dorothea Myer-Bennett is also extraordinarily good as Ruth, treading a fine line between standing up for what she believes in and wanting to grieve as a family member as much as the rest of them.

Dan Fredenburgh is excellent as family friend and respected client Saul, carefully navigating a disastrous dinner party and then later vociferously championing his cause, and Nitai Levi gives us an amusing and credible portrayal of the contrary wastrel Jonny. There’s terrific support from Alex Zur as the young and well-meaning Rabbi Simon, and Adrian Lukis as Ruth’s boss Sir Stephen, awkwardly put on the spot and receiving the full blast of family criticism; his delightful coping mechanism for dealing with the discomfort put me in mind of a younger version of John Le Mesurier.

The play is at its best when fully examining the family dynamic, observing the minute interactions between the family members. Perhaps it gets a little bogged down in the second act where there are some lengthy and slightly didactic speeches – necessary for the plot development but nevertheless weighty for the audience to take in. However, it’s a memorable production which poses many difficult questions and you leave the theatre in awe of some truly first class acting.

Four They’re Jolly Good Fellows!

Review – Henry V, RSC at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, 24th March 2026

Posted on March 25, 2026 by therealchrisparkle

O for a Muse of Fire is the traditional opening for Shakespeare’s Henry V, as the Chorus apologises to the audience for the writer’s and the production’s inevitable inadequacies at representing the vasty fields of France and the casques that did affright the air at Agincourt. But in RSC co-Artistic Director Tamara Harvey’s new production, it starts with a cheeky flashback to Act Four (not even Act Five) of Henry IV Part Two, which has been scissored and stitched together to reveal the seemingly late king lying in state whilst the new king Henry V tries his crown on for size, only for his father to wake from his slumber and shame his son for his impatience.

There’s no doubting it’s a good joke and it reveals how keen Henry V is to get on with it. But you can already tell this production is probably not for purists. Shakespeare structures the play around the Chorus for a good reason, as a conduit between the scenes, and playing with that structure has its perils. It’s Henry V himself who, for the most part, takes on the role of Chorus, whose lines integrate, again for the most part, nicely with what the king wants to say. Not always: it does, for example, sound clumsily arrogant for Henry to deliver the Chorus’ famous reference to a little touch of Harry in the night. The Chorus’ introduction to Act Two explains that the traitors Cambridge Scroop and Grey will be getting their come-uppance; by removing that speech the revelation of their treachery comes as an unexpected surprise which wrongfoots your understanding of what’s happened so far and feels disjointed. However, their punishment by hanging is splendidly done and is a surprisingly mesmerising piece of visual theatre.

That’s at the heart of what’s wrong with this production. Visually it’s very impactful, with an enormous amount of activity on stage, with specially recruited supernumeraries from local colleges and universities to give the impression of the large number of people it takes to wage a war. Their performance of Annie-Lunnette Deakin-Foster’s movement direction and Kate Waters’ fight direction is vividly and immaculately done, from preparing ropes and cloths on the revolving scaffold (a very smart set design by Lucy Osborne) to opposing armies going at it, hammer and tongs.

It’s all very watchable; however, it frequently detracts from the words that are being spoken and takes your attention away from the main matter of the text, sometimes devaluing it so that it interferes with your understanding of the play. The production sacrifices clarity for spectacle; and the one thing that you really want from a Shakespeare production is properly to understand what’s going on. It must be a deliberate directorial decision to make the English and French soldiers indistinguishable from each other, thereby making the point that they’re all human, they all endure suffering and, basically, they’re all the same. But that can be confusing for the audience – and it’s not true to Shakespeare’s own words. The victorious Henry reads out the numbers of French dead – 10,000 – versus the numbers of English dead – 25. If anything emphasises the inequality of the soldiers, it’s that.

Another element of the spectacle is the surreal slow-motion movement of the ensemble as they walk across the stage or lean at perilous angles in order to hear important conversations. It made me wonder, at what point does being stylised become being pretentious? This production doesn’t always manage to stay on the right side of that dividing line. For me, that powerful speech where the king reads the numbers of the dead was ruined by the over-dramatic death swoons of cast members; beautifully executed no doubt, but almost laughable in its pretentiousness.

In fact, for all its visual enaction of the horrors of war, the production remains totally – and perhaps figuratively – bloodless. None of the sword wounds or battle bombardments ever requires the props department to fetch the tomato sauce. And why do they end the first Act leaving the first word of the second Act – Now – hanging in the air as if Henry has accidentally mistimed his cue by twenty minutes? I fear that some of the content of this production is there just because they can rather than because there’s a good reason for it.

Nevertheless, there are some excellent staging choices. The otherwise bland “English lesson” scene where Princess Katherine – Natalie Kimmerling on brilliant form – learns the English words for parts of the body is transformed by having her walking among the fields of the wounded and jiggling their agonised limbs to learn the words for their various body parts. That’s probably the funniest (and maybe sickest) presentation of that scene for many a year.

Ewan Wardrop, Paul Hunter and Emmanuel Olusanya

The performances are largely extremely good, with some of the minor roles excelling; Jamie Ballard is superb throughout, as the self-important Archbishop of Canterbury, mildly foppish and manic but then devastated in grief King of France, and perhaps best of all, as the soldier Williams, whose frank and challenging battlefield conversation with the man who turns out to be King has significant consequences. Paul Hunter brings fantastic bombast and pomposity to the role of Pistol, picking and nicking his way among the dead; Ewan Wardrop and Emmanuel Olunsanya are also excellent as his partners in crime Nym and Bardolph, whose parts are sadly rather cut out of this production.

Catrin Aaron brings a simple practicality to the role of Queen Isabel and provides an early highlight in the play as a wonderful Mistress Quickly. Tanvi Virmani impresses as The Girl, the hanger-on who comes to realise there’s more to life than just revelry. There’s also excellent support from Valentine Hanson as a dignified Henry IV and Erpingham, Sam Parks as Westmoreland, Sarah Slimani as the no-nonsense herald Montjoy, and Diany Samba-Bandza as a flirtatious Lady Scroop. Michael Elcock’s Dauphin strangely lacks the quirkiness to make him stand out as a fop – the whole tennis balls gift scene is surprisingly underplayed – or the gravitas to make him a credible ruler-in-waiting. However, Micah Balfour is outstanding as the noble Exeter, perfect as both soldier and courtier.

Alfred Enoch plays the title role; he looks the part, he speaks with authority and grandeur and can deliver a stirring speech whilst making it sound natural rather than proclaimed, which is an enviable gift. There isn’t much sense of character development, however. Henry V has a lot to learn about life, having been largely a wastrel in his Prince Hal days, too much under the influence of Falstaff. He has to learn to be statesmanlike, to be an inspirational leader, to be ruthless in quashing opponents, to be a battlefield mastermind, to be magnanimous in victory – and also how to woo a lady. But Mr Enoch’s tone and delivery is pretty much straightforward and unwavering throughout, as if he’s trying to be all those things all the time. This one size fits all approach means that it largely succeeds but occasionally you’d like a little more nuance.

A solid and visually impactful production but it’s low on clarity and, unless you’re intimately well acquainted with the text, not always easy to follow. At the start, the Prologue tells us that we the audience have to work hard to use our imaginations to fill out the swelling scene because it’s beyond the actors’ ability; but then this busy production tries to do the very thing that Shakespeare tells us it can’t achieve, and Shakespeare was right all along. Henry V continues his reign at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre until 25^th April.

Three-sy Does It!