Review – Screaming Blue Murder, Underground at the Royal and Derngate, Northampton, 25th October 2025

Posted on October 26, 2025 by therealchrisparkle

It’s so great to see Screaming Blue Murder back in rude health in the Underground where it belongs. Sold out too – always rewarding when the start is slightly delayed by staff having to bring in extra chairs. Our genial host Dan Evans was on tippety-top form as he negotiated the slings and arrows of twins Laura and Henry’s joint 40^th birthday party outing, with a considerable number of the audience vocally in support of the uninhibited pair. If that wasn’t enough, another lady on the front row said she had a dream about Dan the night before and – let’s just say – he had proved himself to be all man. Well. If that isn’t sexual harassment in the workplace, I don’t know what is. Dan spent most of the show avoiding her gaze or quietly smug about his sexual expertise.

Our first act, new to Northampton but not to us, was Abigoliah Schamaun, someone we’ve seen many times at the Edinburgh Fringe and who always brings a gutsy kick up any proceedings. Ohio’s loss is London’s gain, as Abigoliah gave us her impressions on how an American survives in the UK, including our (apparent) obsession with butter in a sandwich – I mean, it’s what butter was made for, honestly – how sexy an English accent is, and how to deal with fellow Americans on a long train journey. Her comedy is intelligent, relatable, and delightfully teasing. A fantastic start to the evening.

Next up was Toussaint Douglass, who had a great Edinburgh Fringe this year with his Accessible Pigeon Material; successful no doubt because he tried it out at Northampton’s Comedy Crate earlier this summer. No pigeon on Saturday night, just his incredibly funny and recognisable content about being in a relationship for eight years, having an 87-year-old flatmate (his Grandma) and the reasons for his personal ambition to die alone. He has a marvellously disarming style; very engaging and confiding, almost physically cosying up to the audience to get across his comic gems. His beautifully delivered final jokes, about how his bedroom activity can be likened to a football manager, provided the best laughs of the night.

Our headliner was Tony Law, someone who you either “get” or you don’t, and in the past I’ve found that I usually don’t get his surreal and otherworldly humour. But on this occasion, he knocked it out of the park. Brilliant use of props for completely throwaway purposes, and a hilarious use of accents, including a damn fine stab at the bizarre Northampton accent which is like a cross between Cockney and Brummie. His rapport with the audience was exceptional, and we were laughing about his act all the way home.

That was the last Screaming Blue for 2025 but there are already four gigs in 2026 on sale. Can’t wait!

Review – Safe Space, Minerva Theatre, Chichester, 23rd October 2025

Posted on October 25, 2025 by therealchrisparkle

When I was a kid, Statues meant a game where you had to freeze whenever the music stopped or someone looked at you. Ah, the halcyon days of innocence! Today, statues are just as likely to be a symbol of oppression or a monument to the unforgivable. Who can forget the statue of Saddam Hussein being toppled in 2003, or the division caused by chucking the statue of Edward Colston into Bristol harbour; or the efforts of the police to protect the statue of Winston Churchill during recent protests, and the debate over the future of the statue of Cecil Rhodes at Oriel College Oxford?

In 2017, Colhoun College, part of Yale University, changed its name to Grace Hopper College, in honour of the computer scientist, mathematician and Rear Admiral who had earned two doctorates from Yale. But there had been calls for the college to change its name since the 1960s, John C. Colhoun having been an outspoken supporter of slavery. Safe Space is Jamie Bogyo’s first play, and he based it on the real-life events that happened at Yale University in 2016/7, where he studied playwrighting. When you enter the auditorium at the Minerva Theatre you are immediately confronted by an imposing statue of Colhoun, suitably bespattered by bird droppings, and you just know he’s going to be a problematic presence.

However, there’s more to life at Yale than being concerned about its alumni’s provocative pasts. I had no idea that, along with all the other Ivy League universities, there is a long tradition of student a cappella singing; today there is even a National (and International) Championship of Collegiate A Cappella. Bogyo inserts a cappella moments into his plot to reflect the wider aspects of college life. There is also a subplot of rivalry between students to take control of influential student groups, with jealousy, false friendships and distrust rife. And there’s also that awkward uncertainty about accidentally saying the wrong thing or using the wrong word when it comes to matters of race or equality; come on, even the most proudly woke of us has been there.

So that’s at least three plots, each of which could sustain a full-length play. Unfortunately, Bogyo has concatenated them all together, with the result that none of them is examined in sufficient detail to create a cohesive and satisfying narrative. Questions, ideas, arguments evolve, but then go nowhere. For example, what damage was done to the statue, and who did it (we never find out, despite an extended scene where the students are waiting to be grilled by the principals). Act One ends on a very lightweight non sequitur that sends us into the interval deflated. One character has an unexpected panic attack, following which we spend a minute or two calming him down – but it is an event that has no bearing on anything that either precedes or follows it. Another truly chaotic and overly busy scene culminates with a fist being smashed through an artwork, but it goes nowhere.

The final scene uses a cappella in a highly unlikely attempt at a reconciliation and we’ve no idea whether the reconciliation is successful. The only issue that receives some kind of resolution is that a decision is made to rename the college – but it’s presented in a very underwhelming way, by disparate characters doomscrolling on their phones. Of course, leaving some issues unresolved is fine – real life is like that – but leaving virtually everything up in the air is annoying. Why did the couple who have sex act so unpleasantly to each other the next day? Why did one of the characters turn from being a supportive friend to a ruthless enemy on the flick of a coin? There’s too much going on and not enough sense being made.

Nevertheless, there’s much to enjoy in the performances and production as a whole. Khadija Raza’s set cleverly adapts to different student bedrooms – basic and luxurious, as well as the intimidating corridor outside the principal’s office and the quadrangle around the statue. The costumes are decently studenty and delightfully formal for the a cappella. Talking of which, the singing is beautiful; both Jamie Bogyo (Connor) and Ernest Kingsley Jr (Isaiah) have exquisitely delicate voices and their harmonies in that final scene – for all its dramatic faults and suspension of belief – are stunning.

All the performances are first rate; Ivan Oyik’s earnestly enthusiastic Omar is a very believable portrayal of a scholarship boy surprised at how well he has done. Bola Akeju almost has to act two characterisations – the friendly supportive Stacy of the opening scenes and the ruthlessly dismissive Stacy once she has achieved power. Céline Buckens is excellent as Connor’s unimpressed girlfriend Annabelle, amusingly checking her phone whilst he’s giving it his everything under the duvet. Jamie Bogyo’s Connor convinces as the kind of guy who simply assumes everything he says is right and that every decent person would always agree with him, and Ernest Kingsley Jr is superb in the most interesting role of Isaiah, the quiet, unassuming student who keeps his beliefs to himself until he is forced to assert his individuality.

It’s a real shame that, despite these excellent elements, the play itself lets the rest of the production down. It’s full of promise, but the end result just doesn’t hang together. So many questions, so few attempts at providing answers. It’s rather like a mass of jangling muscles that need some strong massaging in order to smooth them out and make them do the work they’re meant to. And it’s uncomfortable to be so critical of a writer’s first staged work because there’s obviously a very important and riveting play lurking just beneath the surface – but unfortunately, this isn’t it.

Two Disappointing for More!

Review/Preview – Christian Dart: Gumshoe! Soho Theatre Dean Street London, 7 – 8 November 2025

Posted on October 22, 2025 by therealchrisparkle

Christian Dart brings his smash hit Edinburgh show Gumshoe to the Soho Theatre in Dean Street London for two nights in November. It’s a clever mash-up of a Philip Marlowe/Raymond Chandler 1940s New York private detective hero (for want of a better word) with contemporary improv, as a member of the audience provides Christian with the bare facts of what will be his final case to solve. As a result, no two shows are ever the same, which means you never have to confine yourself to just one performance.

His improv skills are second-to-none – he is a member of the comedy group The Bad Clowns – and he manages to create a proper story that genuinely holds water from just fragments of ideas. No spoilers, but expect a lot of gun shooting and twirling, sassy dames, dead colleagues, a real live jewel theft, and even a bit of song and dance. I can only assume Mr Dart has a very high dry-cleaning bill.

The show makes excellent use of a complex and technically demanding sequence of sound cues which constantly keep the audience (as well as Christian) on their toes. It’s very high on energy, and if you sit in the front row you may well get involved in some of the plot – but it’s always funny and never humiliating or stressful!

Unpredictable, frenetic (but in a good way) and exhilarating, this is the kind of show you have to throw yourself wholeheartedly into – the more you put in, the more you get out. You’ll even find out whodunit in the end – although this is definitely a case of the journey being more important than the conclusion! Madcap, racy and pacy, and incredibly good-humoured, this is an hour of enormous fun and impressive imagination. Highly recommended!

Production photos by Johanna Dart Design & Photography

Four He’s a Jolly Good Fellow!

You can get tickets to see the show at the Soho Theatre here.

Review – Kae Kurd, What’s O’Kurd, Underground at the Royal and Derngate, Northampton, 17th October 2025

Posted on October 18, 2025 by therealchrisparkle

It’s always exciting to go to a comedy gig and not have a clue about the comedians you’re going to see. Kae Kurd is a new name to me, so I thought I would give him a try and it turns out a large number of the comedy goers of Northampton felt the same! It was great to be part of a truly diverse audience too; all ages, all ethnicities coming together for an evening of fun. More of this please.

But first – Kae Kurd’s support act, the friendly face of Muhsin Yesilada, again new to me, but a perfect choice to start the evening with a swing. Engaging, building a confident rapport with the crowd, he delivered his material in a relaxed and surefooted style, giving every comic observation the time and space it needed to land. He has some excellent sequences concerning dealing with his horrible nephew, and that delicious pleasure you can take when an irritating child doesn’t get everything their own way. When he gently teased some latecomers, who protested their lateness because outside they’d just met Kae Kurd, his instant response was “Me too!” A very enjoyable opening act.

After the interval we welcomed Kae Kurd, another engaging stage presence with a very effective delivery style. He presents his act in quite a static way and comes across as perhaps surprisingly low energy; but his tone is unpredictable, and his material is precise, hard-hitting and frequently goes where angels fear to tread. In a deft way of getting to know the audience – and us getting to know each other – he asks for a cheer if you’re in your 20s, then your 30s, your 40s and 50s. This allows him to chat to random people in those age brackets, voicing his opinions and observations about what people are like as they get older. I had to stay silent, as I presume he has no idea there were 60+ year olds there!

He unashamedly hates (strong word, but bear with me) people in their 20s, for all their modern hang-ups and idiosyncrasies. Being somewhere in his 30s himself, that makes him fit nicely into a niche comedic role of grumpy young man. His observations are telling and funny and remarkably true. Other comedy gems of the night included an account of his time in Zambia avoiding crocodiles and hippos, an exploration of whether Donald Trump would get on with choices of pronouns and how it’s easier to be right wing than left wing. I also loved his imagining how he’d get on talking about mental health issues to his father who fought against Saddam Hussein.

He is very quick witted on stage, with a great ability to remember facts about the audience members which he uses to excellent callback effect. It’s intelligent, thought-provoking comedy that’s always relatable, and I’ll definitely follow his career with interest!

Review – Entertaining Mr Sloane, Young Vic, London, 15th October 2025

Posted on October 16, 2025 by therealchrisparkle

1964. The year of A Hard Day’s Night and Little Red Rooster, Mary Quant and Bobby Charlton. Harold Wilson became the first Labour Prime Minister since Clement Attlee. And 31-year-old Joe Orton (although he claimed he was 25 in the original programme) had his first stage play, Entertaining Mr Sloane, performed at the Arts Theatre in London. The Guardian called it “a milk-curdling essay in lower-middle-class nihilism” but owing to the support, both financial and moral, of none other than Sir Terence Rattigan, it transferred to Wyndhams’ and had a brief but artistically successful run, winning the London Critics’ Variety award for the best play of 1964.

This is a welcome and inspired choice for Nadia Fall’s first production in charge of the Young Vic. In case you don’t know: Kath lives with her father, Kemp, (the Dadda) and has a spare room which she is going to let out to Mr Sloane. He is 20, a loner; physically appealing in a dangerous way, and it only takes her twenty or so minutes to find a reason for her to remove his trousers. Her brother, Ed, appears influential and wealthy; he doesn’t trust any potential lodgers and intends to send him packing, until he too finds Sloane physically appealing and tries to find a way to get closer to him. Sloane seems inexperienced but knows precisely what both brother and sister are after and works to play the situation to his advantage. The Dadda, however, recognises Sloane as the murderer of his ex-employer. If things weren’t already dark enough, they quickly get darker.

Few creative artists make such a huge mark that they deserve their own adjective, but Ortonesque survives as the only concise way of capturing his particular brand of innovative, dangerous, surreal, sexually charged, axis-changing and rivetingly funny drama. Entertaining Mr Sloane is a classic subversion of a traditional drawing-room comedy; three acts, one location, pretentions to moderate wealth and social influence, it’s no wonder that his work is a natural crossover product of the likes of Coward and Rattigan with Pinter and Osborne.

When the text was sent to the Lord Chamberlain’s office for a licence, the only thing the censor picked up on was the overt sexual activity between Kath and Sloane; all the other undercurrents in the play simply went unnoticed. Seeing Entertaining Mr Sloane today, over sixty years since it first appeared, gives you a strangely nostalgic feel for the Swinging Sixties. You can almost taste how shocking some reactionaries would have found it, and how deliciously it would have appealed to the progressives.

What makes this play stand out though is Orton’s superlative writing skills. The words his characters speak are subtle and nuanced, and their meanings are indirect; his ear for conversational patterns is outstanding. He has that enviable ability to present an awkward, uncomfortable, potentially tragic situation and then instantly send it up so that you burst out laughing and then hate yourself for your insensitivity. No subject is ever out of bounds for Orton. Domestic violence, mistreatment of the elderly, rape and assaults; Kemp grumbles about the number of foreigners coming into the country, committing sexual assaults – some prejudices don’t change.

Peter McKintosh’s set is a work of art in itself. When you enter the auditorium a jumble of domestic items and furniture dangle suspended from the ceiling – chairs, a pram, an ironing board, an airer, and so on; and around the base, a clutter of junk and debris surround the circular stage. Orton points out that Kath and Kemp’s house is next door to rubbish tip, which gave the inspiration for the set. It’s a nice idea, but it’s really only a mention in passing, so it’s neither vital to the plot, nor does it get in the way. The decision to stage the play in the round – because, as confirmed in a programme note, it is a voyeuristic play – works well. There is no hiding place in Entertaining Mr Sloane and there is no hiding place on the set either.

Richard Howell’s lighting design allows for some ingenious effects; off-stage characters are highlighted as if frozen in time, slow-motion sequences are lit artificially to create an other worldliness, and there is a stunningly impactful, strobe-filled start to Act Two which sees Sloane transformed from subdued semi-formal clothing to leather joy boy (the uniform Ed has chosen for him), an effect that fully deserves its own round of applause from the audience. Nadia Fall has made a few other fascinating directorial choices, including an impressive tug-of-love/semi-BDSM final tableau as Kath and Ed rope up the powerless Sloane with telephone wires graphically to convey how successfully the arch manipulator Sloane has been out-manipulated by the brother and sister. I am always a sucker for effective stage combat and the scene where Sloane batters Kemp is fantastically convincing.

Tamzin Outhwaite gives a wonderfully entertaining performance as Kath, a repressed sex kitten in a pinny who moves into Sloane’s space as a surrogate Mummy, unhesitatingly taking the lead whilst protesting her respectability. Her performance is perhaps more geared towards the comedy of the situation than the darkness, with lovely moments with her false teeth, and terrific comic timing of Orton’s killer lines. Daniel Cerqueira’s Ed is a chain-smoking, snide wannabe-bully who allows himself to be distracted and influenced by Sloane, almost but never quite taking control of situations. His vocal delivery reminded me strongly of the comedian Micky Flanagan, which was slightly unsettling; but it’s a convincing portrayal of someone fighting to stay one step ahead.

Christopher Fairbank is excellent as Kemp, a delightfully grubby old man, who’s seen it all and isn’t fooled by anyone, but knows he has to behave if he wants to keep a roof over his head. And, in an outstanding stage debut, Jordan Stephens is superb as Sloane, stringing the siblings along with just the right level of innocence until he flashes into intense anger and violence.

The production does come across as a little ponderous at first, with Act One feeling a little static, with the characters slow to develop. Once the second Act kicks in, the pace builds, and the nastiness intensifies to reach its exciting and unusual conclusion. An excellent opportunity to see Orton’s first stage work – and to reflect on how he could potentially have carved out an immensely successful career had he lived.

Four They’re Jolly Good Fellows!

Review – Cyrano de Bergerac, Royal Shakespeare Company at the Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, 7th October 2025

Posted on October 8, 2025 by therealchrisparkle

If there’s one thing that everyone knows about Cyrano de Bergerac, it’s that he was blessed with an enormous conk. There’s no other way of putting it; coquettishly disguised in the promotional image for the production on the programme and posters. It blights Cyrano’s life, despite his bravura and positivity, and always holds him back from telling his true feelings for fear of rejection and ridicule.

For a play that presents as a frothy comedy, Edmond Rostand’s Cyrano de Bergerac, in this new adaptation by Simon Evans and Debris Stevenson, is packed with serious issues. Its essential message – one as old as time – is to be yourself; arguably none of the chief protagonists achieve this, and (spoiler alert) it doesn’t end happily for any of them. The play also stresses the significance of language; much as one may philosophise today that “the destination is not as important as the journey”, in CdB, the meaning of what you say is not as important as the way you say it. Roxane and Christian believe that they are in love with each other, but they need Cyrano to express it for them in his miraculously eloquent way. If it was left to Christian, all Roxane would hear is I Love You and it’s just not enough embellishment. Honestly, you can’t satisfy some people.

In a rewarding development from Anthony Burgess’ long-established translation of the play, in this production the sense of verse is much more modern and less intrusive. Rostand’s original 1897 play is written in verse and Burgess’ adaptation is heavy-handed and, frankly, overwhelming. Evans and Stevenson have created a much subtler format, creating a metrical language for each main character, but it’s only Cyrano’s lines that feel like verse, and they help to make the character stand out above the crowd.

They’ve made some sensible cuts to the original – probably they could have made more, as that first scene set in the theatre still has the ability to irritate with its total irrelevance to the rest of the play. The staging of that scene is bizarrely cumbersome. Not only do we all have to stand for the entrance of Comte de Guiche – I could see him pointedly waiting for me to get on my feet – three members of the audience are then required to vacate their seats, clutching coats, trying not to spill drinks or drop programmes, to reposition themselves at the side of the auditorium whilst the Comte’s party move into their prime position; only for the party to move out again and have the audience members return again – a frustratingly annoying sequence that constantly obstructed my view with people standing, heads bobbing, and all that shenanigans.

Overall, however, it’s a very satisfying modern reworking of the text; delightfully playful even in its darkest moments. There’s an ingenious updating of the acrostic fight scene between Cyrano and Valvert, although given the importance of words in the play, the occasional flinging around of the F word comes across as simply inappropriate or a cheap laugh at best. Still, cheap laughs are enjoyable.

Cyrano tells a running account that he meets death every so often, bows graciously to him, and then tells him to go away, which he obligingly does – until the end. Simon Evans has characterised this presence of death into a small boy, dressed as Cyrano and with his same magisterial nose, quietly observing him on the sidelines at pivotal moments. He’s a creepy presence, and the device works well, although I couldn’t quite understand why your death would be symbolised by you as a child.

Grace Smart and Joshie Harriette have worked together to create a sumptuous set with evocative lighting. When you enter the auditorium, you’re struck by the stagey red curtains and beautifully varnished floorboards, all bathed in darkly golden half-light. Later the curtains give way to present a floral courtyard, a battle scene, and eventually a rather overgrown garden of heavenly delights. In another unexpected joy, Cyrano, very amusingly, has his own house band who follow him wherever he goes. Like an ageing television personality keeping up his fading presence, it’s a brilliant idea, beautifully executed and with great incidental compositions by Alex Baranowski.

Most impressive about the entire production are the performances of all members of the cast, not one of whom puts a foot wrong or mis-stresses a syllable. Even the minor characters have their moments of brilliance, like Sunny Chung’s wordplay between rain and pain when Sister Claire is trying to comfort Roxane, or Caolan McCarthy’s Arnauld shouting out I’m a Christian! or Daniel Norford’s Louis’ confession that his shooting aim is useless. Chris Nayak gives a scene-stealing performance as the outrageously hammy actor Monfleury, and Greer Dale-Foulkes is superb as Abigail, constantly surprising everyone by her immediate attraction to handsome men and her extraordinary sexual history. Christian Patterson is excellent as cook/innkeeper Ragueneau, and there’s great support from Philip Cumbus as Le Bret and David Mildon as Carbon.

Scott Handy is a delightfully vain and aloof de Guiche, strutting arrogantly until real life and the levelling of war bring him down to earth. Levi Brown is very convincing as the fresh-faced but hopelessly inexpressive Christian, using his Brummie accent to perfection. Susannah Fielding gives a magnificent performance as Roxane, girlishly excited, full of daring, petulant when Christian cannot find the words she wants to hear and genuinely moving in the final scene.

Adrian Lester is fantastic as Cyrano, always maintaining a presence of nobility and eloquence, nimbly cavorting around in his stage combat scenes (the swordplay is stunning throughout), hugely vulnerable when he cannot open his heart; a truly dynamic and captivating performance of the highest quality. His imitating Christian’s Brummie accent to fool the listening Roxane is one of the funniest things I’ve seen and heard in ages.

It’s not a perfect production; the overlong first scene has some messy staging, and the battle scenes are difficult to follow. But they are very much compensated for by the performances, the emotions and the comedy highlights. The RSC are on to a winner here!

Production photos by Marc Brenner