Tyrell Williams’ debut Red Pitch transferred to @sohoplace theatre after two sold-out runs at the Bush Theatre …

The play is a charming and authentic portrayal of friendship, football, and what it means to grow up in social housing in modern-day Britain. With Williams drawing from his own experiences of being a young Black boy growing up on a council estate and seeing the progressive dramatic shift in demographics.

We meet Bilal (Kedar Williams-Stirling), Joey (Emeka Sesay) and Omz (Francis Lovehall), three boys on the cusp of their GCSEs. What brings them together, aside from living on the same estate, is their love for football. Each time we encounter them, they are on ‘Red Pitch‘ – the football pitch available for those living on the estate. All of them want to make it into QPR (Queen’s Park Rangers) to propel them into a football career and (supposedly) guarantee them fortune and fame.

Alongside the coming-of-age narrative, we have the depiction of gentrification and the long-standing effects of Thatcherism on state housing. The boys share starkly different views on whether this renewal is positive, or driving away their community.

Red Pitch also explores the difficulties young carers face and the issues that arise from the parentification of children. Omz (Lovehall), has to look after both his disabled granddad and his younger brother, a responsibility anyone would find difficult, let alone at sixteen. And this is the play’s exact charm. The age of these boys and the language of youth permeates throughout. During an interview, Lovehall expressed that when listening to children, one is “challenged to understand their perspective.”

Rather than being excessively verbose, Williams uses the vernacular of youth to lay out complex issues for what they are and highlight the human impact. Gentrification is not something limited to infographics and studies, it is something occurring in the lived realities of people in this country, at this very moment. And yes, while the affront of a Morely’s being turned into a Costa might seem relatively insignificant, it is changes like these that begin the exclusion of people from the communities they shaped.

Not only was I impressed by the acting and chemistry between the three actors, but certain elements of stagecraft were also impressive to behold. Daniel Bailey’s direction in the round allowed for a dynamic moment that kept me enraptured during the 90-minute runtime. Despite the ball at points being perilously close to audience members, all three actors showed their impressive skill and navigation, supported no doubt by football coach Aaron Samuel.

The lighting (Ali Hunter) was a great joy, and was key in allowing us to enter the fantasy of these boys, where at points we became football fans – their fans – rather than theatregoers. In addition, the fight (Kevin McCurdy) and movement choreography (Gabrielle Nimo) bolstered already excellent scenes and acts, from slo-mo transitions to the awkward viciousness of teenage scraps.

Surprisingly wholesome, laugh-out-loud funny, and entirely authentic, Red Pitch is one of the most charming plays I’ve seen in a long time, and I would encourage you to get your boots on and head down to @sohoplace to this strictly limited run before they blow the final whistle.

Red Pitch runs at @sohoplace theatre until the 4th May 2024.

Particularly in recent times, it is hard to understate the relevance of The Crucible …

From the 17th century, to the 50s’ McCarthyism (which Arthur Miller was writing under), to today’s claims of ‘cancel culture’, it seems that throughout history, humans as a collective have had an affinity for misguided mob justice. I say misguided, as, from what we can see with the actions of the play, people are too willing to accept lies as the truth to further their own agendas. Perhaps pessimistic, there can be great change made when we come together, after all. But, when watching this literal witch hunt play out, optimism is much more difficult to keep in your grasp.

Lyndsey Turner’s transferral from the National Theatre to the West End’s Gielgud Theatre has brought with it a few changes to the cast, one significant change was the casting of Milly Alcock and Brian Gleeson as Abigail Warren and John Proctor. Their dynamic far more uncomfortable, more difficult and perhaps more poignant by the end when you remember that our martyred ’hero’ is the same man who lured a teenage girl to his bed, then kicked her to the curb when the shame grew too great. Perhaps you would call for his blood too. Alcock’s portrayal of Abigail, the sole girl clad in green, part of the floral menace in pinafore dresses (Catherine Fay), is remarkable, though I often wished to see more venom than petulance in her character.

Gleeson’s palpable desperation becomes more frightening towards the end, as he seeks to “slide together in our pit” and declare himself a lecher along with the leader of all the pretenders. Other standout renewed performances included Fisayo Akinade as Reverend Hale, whose final pleas to Proctor struck a chord within me once again, and Karl Johnson as Giles Corey, a wonderfully pathetic comedic respite in an awfully oppressive play.

Es Devlin’s set design is as spectacular as ever. While the rain framing the stage is palpably impressive, there are also elements of subtle brilliance. The stage becomes cavernous with characters appearing from and disappearing into the black abbeys. The girls also are softly lit up (Tim Lutkin), ghostly aspirations singing their eerie choral song (Caroline Shaw) as the sirens of death. I was particularly impressed with the ensemble scenes, particularly at court, where two dozen actors could be on stage at once, yet were meticulously framed in a manner that still allowed for fluidity of movement.

In my last review, I remarked on Turner’s inclusion of an epilogue, particularly the statement of Abigail becoming a prostitute as though it was some type of revenge or divine justice. There was no such addition in this version, and the play works much better without it. With no commentary on the fates of the characters, or even of Salem and other similar trials, the play ends with Proctor being marched to death. It is this bleakness that provides the emotional impact, this reminder of the impossible challenge, the Catch-22 paradox where you are condemned as soon as you are accused. There is no justice with this ending, only bloody vengeance.

Frustratingly, the show still has no answer for the there-but-not-there ‘race-blind’ casting it utilised. The company is relatively diverse, and yet, there are still direct references to slavery, with the enslaved Tituba (Nadine Higgin) played with a heavy West Indian accent. It is part of a larger discussion to be had when adapting texts with explicit racist references for current times (particularly when these are based on real-life historical events), and it is not an issue that a single play can solve alone.

In Salem, it is the men who rule, and the little girls who serve, until they are granted a slight bit of power and run mad with it. Turner’s adaptation of The Crucible probes new fears into the mouldable nature of justice, and how fragile our hard-fought rights are. Worrying times are on the horizon, Miller knew it then, and Turner reminds us of it now.

The Crucible runs until the 2nd September @ the National Theatre.

Rebecca Frecknall returns to the Almeida stage with another scorcher.

Following her smash hit A Streetcar Named Desire, she injects new energy into her adaptation of William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Leaning heavily into the ‘two-hour traffic’ of the stage, the play runs for this exact length with no interval. The prologue, rather than being spoken, becomes a projected text on a wall that all the characters lean on and drop to form the set, each playing their own part in sending the lovers to their deaths.

Certain scenes, such as Romeo slaying Paris in the Capulet tomb, are cut, and the play continues on its forward momentum, hurtling the two lovers to their deaths at a breakneck speed that captures the whirlwind feeling of teenage romance. The pace of the play is kept up not only by the run-time but also by the dance numbers, set aptly to Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet. While surprising at first, I was particularly enamoured with the way the dance choreography by Johnathan Holby, merged with the fighting; capturing the combination of beauty and cruelty within this tragic romance.

Movement and bodies also play a major part in the work’s construction. The stage space is largely empty, with Chloe Lamford’s set design reminiscent of a cavern with actors entering and exiting into the shadows, or, as they often do, remaining on stage, half-lit and semi-present. This was particularly effective in the final act of the play, with the two lovers, side by side, together on stage but physically separated in their world, each desperately seeking a way to change their fate. However, the most effective use of this was by far in the final scene, with the whole company sat framing the stage and tightly observing the action, individually complicit in the mutual suicide of the pair. This comes after they spent the previous scene lighting an innumerable number of candles for the Capulet tomb as Friar Lawrence hurries in vain to find the pair in their death the hundred glowing lights, bestowing an eerie beauty.

Perhaps one of the most enjoyable parts of the play is the chemistry between the two leads. With both of them costumed by Debbie Duru in the New Romantic style of flounces, ruffles, and free-flowing silks, they are as fashionable as they are doomed. Toheeb Jimoh as Romeo, is lovestruck yet earnest, shedding all his affection for Rosalind when he spies Juliet. He is charming, tender, and joyful with every moment he spends with her, practically throwing his shoes into the audience with his boyish enthusiasm to climb into her bed. Isis Hainsworth brings a refreshing spunk to Juliet, combining an innocent wonder with a biting edge. Hell hath no fury like a teenage girl, it seems. No more a simpering rose, this Juliet is forceful and decisive, but still absolutely terrified.

Frecknall updates the iconic balcony scene between the two, with Juliet initially lit with an orange glow (beautifully, I may say, by Lee Curran) but brought down to the gardens once she sees Romeo providing an intimate closeness. While the two are a charming pair, at times their dialogue (and therefore, the tenderness of the romance) were rushed. Regardless, Jimoh and Hainsworth work well together, forming a besotted and desperate young couple. You see their youth, you believe in their love, and you understand their folly.

The company as a whole provided a very strong performance. Tybalt (Jyuddah James) is a particularly menacing presence, commanding the stage with a degree of evil that never becomes overly forced. I would have preferred to see a final battle, akin to his knife fight with Mercutio (Jack Riddiford), but Romeo makes swift work of his murder with the trigger of a gun. Returning to Riddiford’s Mercutio, his emotionally charged death provided an opportunity to showcase his range. His Mercutio is every bit the “saucy merchant” that Nurse (handled wonderfully by Jo McInnes) describes him as. While I cannot deny the comedy, and the eyebrows raising homoeroticism, I couldn’t help but cringe at some of the overtly sexual hand gestures. I do get the feeling, though, that this was entirely purposeful, with the rampant lewd innuendos placed to evoke the surprise that would have been felt for viewers over four hundred years ago.

It is not easy to adapt a tale so rooted in our cultural canon and make it feel fresh, exciting, and current. Frecknall’s version of Romeo and Juliet does what many cannot, while still keeping close to the historical text. We can only hope she returns to the Bard once again.

Romeo and Juliet runs from 6th June – Saturday 29th July @ Almeida Theatre

STARS: An Afrofuturist Space Odyssey, by Mojisola Adebayo, is a spellbinding journey exploring space, identity, and female sexuality.

I have been to the ICA multiple times, but I have never attended a play there, and this was a fantastic first time. As I entered, the stage layout was similar to the traditional end-on staging, but with some key differences. One was the DJ booth left of stage, which provides the soundscape by Debo Adebayo which permeates throughout the entire production. Sofas and cushions were embedded into the ground of the front rows, signalling an alternative theatre experience, prioritising comfort and familiarity over custom. The set itself was a picture of domesticity – a table, chair, fridge; but with an illuminated sideways doorframe and an oval spaceship shaped stage designed by Miriam Nabarro. Clear, that all was not as mundane as it appeared.

STARS: An Afrofuturist Space Odyssey follows ‘Mrs‘, played powerfully by Debra Michaels, who starts her journey with what appears to be a routine GP appointment where she reveals that she is searching for what she has never experienced before – an orgasm. Rather than using this as a source of bawdy humour, the 90 minute runtime (directed by Gail Babb and S. Ama Wray) weaves through the life of Mrs, travelling back and forth in time to uncover what has led to this point. Newly widowed, we discover that Mrs was in a loveless marriage, forced into cohabiting with the man who sexually assaulted her as a teenager, as life did not provide her with any other option. STARS also divulges into her religious trauma, portraying an attempted exorcism from an Evangelical sect Mrs was once part of, conducted after she confided in a fellow member about her same-sex attraction.

While it is (primarily) a one-woman show, Adebayo and Michaels work in tandem to bring multiple characters to life, each divulging into a part of the female experience. The Mrs’ primary companion is ‘Maryam‘, a young Muslim girl who goes by ‘Mary‘ in her Catholic school, as “it is easier to be a Mary than a Maryam”. While their friendship is a source of light, easing the loneliness Mrs faces in her old age, a rift arises when it is revealed that Maryam has been forced into undergoing female genital mutilation (FGM). Here, we see further suppression of female sexuality, where the expression of such is surgically removed in the name of “tradition”. It is heartbreaking to see the justification Maryam gives for the operation, comparing herself to the “smooth” plastic doll gifted to her by her family as a prize for enduring the procedure.

Another friendship that Mrs has is with ‘Maxi‘, who provides another perspective on sexual expression. Maxi is intersex, or as she would say, “too right I’m into sex!”. Her parents, rather than altering her body, embraced their daughter for who she was, railing against the pressure of doctors who sought to place her into a normative gender binary. As Mrs says, the Latin word for shame and the female genitals are one and the same, “pudenda”. With Maxi we are provided the freedom and joy that can lie in turning this upside down.

In some ways, STARS is a love letter to science fiction. Mrs is an avid fan of Star Trek, and is signing up to travel to space on the ‘Spexit’ programme – a tounge in cheek satirisation of the political policy in the UK that brought us Brexit and the Windrush programme. Perhaps one of the most unique elements of the show comes from the description of the Noomo and the projected animations by Candice Purwin that depict them. The Noomo are hermaphrodite creatures with scales and flesh, first discovered by Intergalactic Africans to reside in the Sirius star system. The Noomo are not conjured by Adebayo, they come from the mythology of the Dogon religion in Mali. The myth of the Noomo, androgynous and celestial, frames the story, taking us out of the singular room and into the stars. While I was a fan of the projected animation, I found at times the projected play text to be distracting (though it was often played for a clever gag).

While I sometimes got lost in the non-linear narrative, I was eventually guided back in the right track. STARS ended how it began, except this time: Norma Monaghan is on a one way pleasure trip to a place, quite literally, out of this world.

STARS: An Afrofuturist Space Odyssey ran at the Institute of Contemporary Arts until May 4th.

NO I.D., written and performed by Tatenda Shamiso and directed by Sean Ting-Hsuan Wang, is an honest yet hopeful depiction of the struggles of living as a Black transgender immigrant in modern Britain.

Within the hour-long runtime, Shamiso guides us through the transition from Thandie. Through old photographs, shakily recorded videos, and accounts from friends, we understand who Thandie was – ‘a gem’, who ‘always lit up the room wherever she went’. A musical theatre nerd, struggling with the gender she was assigned at birth, but, hoping she would eventually grow into being a girl.

A few years, a move across the world, and a second puberty later, we watch the blossoming of Tatenda, a transgender man attempting to find his place in a country that seems so eager to shut him out.

The intimacy of the piece is built through an hour-long monologue (or perhaps, dialogue) as soon as you enter. We are in a bedroom, Tatenda’s room, as he attempts to telephone the NO I.D. phone line, to establish his new identity. Sadly, such a phone service does not exist, and in its replacement is the frustratingly hostile and invasive structure one has to navigate through when seeking gender-affirming care and revising legal documentation.

Within a structure that seeks to strip him of his humanity, Shamiso provides us with an insight into the reality of his lived experience, at one point removing his clothes to show us ‘a trans body’. There’s a certain level of openness and candor that Shamiso evokes, a vision into the highs and lows, from the anger-inducing to the euphoric.

Battling through an endless tornado of paperwork, Shamiso attempts to navigate psychiatric reports, deed polls, and a ‘billion‘ forms that eventually clutter the stage (designed by Claudia Casino). One particularly poignant scene comes during a meeting with the GP, whose assessment of whether Shamiso satisfies the diagnostic criteria for gender dysphoria pairs with a magnified scan of his body. Under black lights and a torch (lighting by Zoe Beeny), we witness the restrictive prescription on who can be deemed worthy of medical intervention. Not the person who ‘loved Barbies’ and ‘hated Lego’, but someone who must ‘perform transness’ suitably enough to be granted care and support.

Some of the most tender moments of the play come when Tatenda shares a musical performance with Thandie, a duet combining the past and present, with the lower tones of Shamiso’s harmony complementing his own, his old, voice. Through the lyrics, of living in a body that weighs them down, we understand the levels of Shamiso’s dysphoria. With his new self, his real self, Tatenda promises to remember Thandie and looks forward to what is next. I, for one, would love to see more.

No I.D. ran at the Royal Court’s Jerwood Theatre from Tuesday 18th April – Saturday 06 May. Find out more here.

Ballet Black returns to London with a layered double-bill, Pioneers, on the Barbican Stage.

The first act, Then Or Now, choreographed by William Tuckett, works closely alongside the poetry of Adrianne Rich (1929-2012). The stage is sparse, save for a chair for each dancer, as they sit, stand, or utilise them as props during the performance. The themes of the first act, as befitting the writings of the scholar and activist Rich, ranges from themes of identity, combat, and love. The poetry was punctuated by Daniel Pioro’s performances on the classical violin, in a manner that supplemented the voice over recordings, then later became the primary audial focus.

While the work was affecting, at points, the exact matching of the movement to the poetry felt overstated. As the poetry tailed off and the music took charge, I found that without the anchor of Rich’s work, it was hard to follow a narrative (if there was one to follow). I also questioned whether there was a way to go further in the reimagining of what ballet could be, considering the notion of Ballet Black beyond the casting.

The second half, NINA: By Whatever Means, answered my questions and more in its engaging depiction of Nina Simone’s life. From a young Eunice Waymon (Sienne Adotey) learning the piano in North Carolina, to the musical icon being bombarded by paparazzi, to a fierce political activist who used her voice as a vehicle for change. The set, also by choreographer Mthuthuzeli November, flowed seamlessly into the various stages of Simone’s life. I was particularly enthralled by the costuming (Jessica Cabassa), which incorporated fabrics of fur, velvet, silk, and perfectly captured and elevated the 60s mod style, as well as utilising kente-cloth inspired patterns.

Isabela Coracy is dazzling as Nina Simone, believable in her performance as the gifted and passionate musical artist, attempting to work in a life fraught with tension from all sides. One of those would be her abusive husband Andrew Stroud (Alexander Fadayiro) who duets Coracy in a disturbing depiction of his marital violence. Another would be racial tensions of the civil rights movement in the 1960s, with voiceovers from Martin Luther King Jr, the smashing of glass, and the raising of fists, and Nina Simone standing at the centre of it all.

The movement, incorporating elements of swing, jive and jazz, worked in tandem with the music to move beyond the limitations that one would place on traditional expectations of ballet. Never did I think I could see a ballet performed to the music of Nina Simone, and yet November and composer Mandisi Dyantyis achieve this beautifully, reaching a zenith with the riveting performance to ‘Sinnerman’ (from its original 1965 recording) that well earned a closing standing ovation.

Ballet Black showed at the Barbican Wed 8—Sun 12 Mar 2023. Find out more about Ballet Black here.

Sylvia, the newest musical to propel itself onto the Old Vic stage!

Sylvia revisits the fight for women’s suffrage in the UK from over 100 years ago. Rather than focusing on Emmeline – the dominant figure and leader of the Suffragettes – Sylvia instead unveils the story of Sylvia Pankhurst, a daring revolutionary and activist in her own right. Kate Prince’s use of funk, soul and hip-hop to modernise a historical retelling seemingly gets key inspiration from Lin Manuel Miranda’s Hamilton, and it is as polished and slickly choreographed as one would expect from a show that has been developed since 2018.

The standout aspect of the musical is, befittingly, the music, with references in dialogue to various musicians (Aretha Franklin, Ludacris, and Montell Jordan, to name a few) paying homage to the inspiration behind the original compositions of Josh Cohen and DJ Walde. The work was bolstered by the use of the live band aloft on stage, revealed at some points and half-hidden behind netting in others. The quality of musical performance also extends to the actors, with the mother-daughter duo (Beverley Knight as Emmeline and Sharon Rose as Sylvia) dazzling on the stage, particularly when Rose takes centre stage in the latter half and breaks away from her mother’s shadow. The quality of the performance doesn’t stop with just singing, with the level of rapping (particularly by Kelly Agbowu) also being a delightful addition to the range of the piece.

The visuals were aptly impressive, particularly with the use of video projections (Andrzej Goulding), utilised to position both time, and place, and also as a work of art in their own right. One notable example would be with the introduction of Winston Churchill’s overbearing mother, jumping onto the stage with a thumping jungle beat complete with a rotating kaleidoscopic background. The monochrome colour scheme also subtly included suffragette colours in a manner that felt natural. The video worked in tandem with the lighting (Natasha Chivers), used particularly well during the musical number ‘Hey Sis’, spotlighting each of the issues in Sylvia’s tumultuous life.

I was also very drawn to the use of costuming (Ben Stones), using a very clever base of white shirts and long
black skirts (or trousers) to build upon with suit jackets, long coats, or aprons, easily modified with quick changes off and on-stage. The red splashes of socialism were also an interesting choice, lighting up the stage in the second half, breaking away from the uniformity of Emmeline’s strict control.

While there is much to be commended for the modernising of the play, there were some key flaws that perhaps remain intrinsic to the nature of creating a biopic about a section from a person’s long and turbulent life. The relationship between Sylvia and Labour Leader Keir Hardie (no, not that Keir), was presented in a manner that made me feel, at points, deeply uncomfortable. The opening number to establish their relationship, ‘Did You See Me’ begins with Sylvia declaring her love for him that began when she was 7 and he was … 26. Alex Gaumond does what he can with the role, but ultimately it’s just far too difficult to support it. Their affair trudges through much of the play, and while we are supposed to root for them (or at least, be frustrated that they cannot be together), I will admit that I was relieved by its eventual conclusion.

This relationship also detracts from the romance Sylvia forms with fellow socialist Sylvio Corio (Sweeney), which was barely given time during a muddled second half that loses the tight pacing structure of the first. Other aspects of characterisation lost my favour, particularly the role of Winston Churchill (Jay Perry), who is at times the chief antagonist, and at others, a simpering mummy’s boy. Perhaps the most enjoyable aspect of his character was the introduction of his mother (Jade Hackett), a scene-stealing delight. Churchill’s recalcitrance fell short in comparison to the layered and enticingly complex nature of Emmeline’s anti-socialist, anti-pacifist, and eventually, conservative, stance.

Sylvia is a play about conflict within family, ideology, and one’s own self. It is also a musical that seems to find conflict within itself, daring and thrilling in some parts, and yet working against itself in others. In the areas it succeeds in, it does brilliantly. It is hard to watch without some comparison to the current state of politics, with the ideological divisions and the phrase ‘this is an illegal protest’ sending a chill down my spine at how little (and yet how far) we have come. Ultimately, Kate Prince has taken the funky historical-fiction fervour and moulded it into a work that spotlights a revolutionary who was not concerned with equal rights for some, but for all.

As you walk into the Lyttleton, you are immediately struck with the historical significance of Othello.

It cannot be ignored that within the National Theatre, the largest stage is the Olivier, its namesake having played Othello in blackface almost sixty years ago. On the walls surrounding the Lyttleton theatre stage, images, and newspaper snippets of adaptations over the years are projected, and in the centre are the numbers: 1604-2022. And it is only in 2022 that we have the first version of Othello from a Black director on a major British stage, done so by Clint Dyer, deputy Artistic Director of the National theatre.

The use of projection and video within theatre can often be hit and miss, but it was used deftly in this adaptation Nina Dunn and Gino Ricardo Green, working in tandem with the highly impressive lighting design (Jai Morjaria) to create a visually striking and multi-faceted viewing experience. The lighting, favouring follow-spots, silhouettes, and practical torches, also framed the ensemble of the piece, illuminating them enough to make us aware of their permanent presence, but not enough to distract from the primary action. Members of the company are plucked from this malevolent ensemble, who otherwise watch the action with an unnerving focus.

It is also important to note that this ensemble is entirely white, with Othello (Giles Terera) seemingly being the only Black member of the cast (and thus, never a member of the ensemble). Within the cast list, the group is listed as the ‘system’, perhaps a nod to systemic racism, a pervasive and insidious force physically manifested in the white bodies and eyes leering at the tragedy playing out in front of them.

Desdemona (Rosy McEwen) and Iago (Paul Hilton) are also not a part of the ensemble, separated as primary generative forces of the tragedy, along with the eponymous leading man. Their performances were suitably impressive, and I was pleased to watch a version of Othello where Desdemona packs a punch – a direct contrast to the frustrating simpering nature of Emilia (Tanya Franks). This comparison between the two women does not feel accidental, and it is perhaps a commentary of the nature of male violence within the domestic sphere. The play tries to link the tragedy with the real-life occurrences of marital abuse, with projections of quotes implying that this story could be ripped directly from the headlines. In tandem with camera flashes and the projections of newspaper snippets, it is a reminder that these headlines have real people within them, rather than being simply foddered for tabloid gossip.

When he first walks onto the stage, Othello is dressed in a blue full-body costume, similar to an agbada from West African cultures. Desdemona arrives in a similar garb, joining him visually in his Otherness, in striking contrast to the black 50s-era suits that the rest of the cast sport. Once they arrive in Venice, this visual indication is shed in lieu of slick all-black outfits, a stylish but perhaps disappointing choice in favour of the potential within the costume design (Michael Vale). The suits evoke a mid-century Britain, sustained by the brutalist style architecture of the concrete stairs surrounding the stage, feeding into the atmosphere of entrapment of Othello in the literal structure and edifice of the stage space.

The sound design (Pete Malkin and Benjamin Grant), was punchy and impactful, becoming increasingly fragmented and littered with echoes, indicating Othello’s deteriorating mental state.

As the play reaches its tragic end, the mood becomes increasingly tense as we prepare for the deaths that are sure to occur. However, it felt as though the play was unable to sustain itself emotionally right until the end. The death of Roderigo, with the stage fighting (Kev McCurdy), felt too choreographed, and the strangulation of Desdemona becomes a type of corrupted hug. Perhaps Dyer was trying to avoid the sexually and racially charged image of a Black man strangling his white wife to death in their marriage bed. While I understand this, what was presented as a visual substitute lacked the emotional impact.

Adaptations with Shakespeare can be a challenge, as it is often difficult to take a text (particularly one as seminal as Othello) and bring out something new. There is also the issue of tragic irony with an overfamiliarity with the story, a knowledge of the tragedy that is to come that rids us of our surprise as audience members. While it did not pose something entirely revolutionary, Dyer’s adaptation of Othello was stimulating and energetic, and a bold and historically poignant mode of adapting the troubled play.

Othello runs at the National Theatre until Tuesday 10th January

The Kola Nut Does Not Speak English is the newest play in the intimate Bush Studio space, directed by Ewa Dina.

From the moment you are sat, there is an awareness that the boundaries of the usual theatre expectations will be pushed. This performance is a ‘relaxed’ one, where we are encouraged to respond as needed. And respond we do – with the continuous and humorous use of call and response, audience interaction is interspersed throughout the performance. You are not simply a viewer, you become a member of the ensemble. Writer-actor Tania Nwachukwu draws the audience in, traversing centuries and countries in her confident hour-long performance.

Despite it being a one-woman show, Nwachukwu does not conduct this staging alone. Before she enters, Francesca Amewudah-Rivers (also dressed entirely in white), begins a musical showcase, using traditional instruments (primarily the talking drum), her voice, and an impressive employment of the loop pedal to produce a live musical experience. The sound design (Bella Kear) throughout the performance was admirable, and it was a particular highlight to watch the ancestral merge with the modern, continuing the trend of liminality we see with the time and the setting. The music, accentuated by the soft glows from the lighting (Laura Howard) ranging from deep purples to natural greens to glowing yellows, creates a well-rounded visual experience. I was also particularly impressed with the set design, a cross between a modern flat and a natural environment, connecting the interior to the external.

At first, we have the talking drum, then in sweeps the 21st century, complete with overwhelming phone and laptop notifications from Tasha, an early twenty-something member of the Nigerian diaspora living in Watford. She bemoans being unable to communicate with her grandmother fluently in a language they share. Within her monologues on the difficulty of keeping her house plants alive, her exhaustion with work, and her worries about her grandmother, we also receive a folklore tale, taking us back to the time of the Eze people. What connects these two narratives are concerns about community, and how to keep these links alive when residing away from the home of your ancestors.

The play is also about loss, about the literal and familial, and the cultural, of the loss of language, a shared way of communicating, of idioms and jokes that can only exist within a specific cultural context. While this could have been developed further for emotional gravity, the play remained affecting and conscientious within its hour-long run-time. “A silent tongue is a dead tongue”, Nwachukwu says, but in The Kola Nut Does Not Speak English her voice rings loud and clear in both Igbo and English.

The Kola Nut Does Not Speak English runs at the Bush Theatre, London until 17th December 2022

Depicting a picture of hope amongst the hopeless, Lynette Linton’s Blues for an Alabama Sky is a striking adaptation …

Pearl Cleage’s Blues for an Alabama Sky takes us to the beating heat of Harlem, during a time of both vivacity and despair; of the cultural blooming from the Harlem Renaissance alongside the economic ruin of the Great Depression. This unsteady balance is what Lynette Linton’s adaptation provides, with laugh-out-loud humour in one moment, then a reminder of the futility of ‘negro dreams’ in the next.

Leading the talented main cast is Samira Wiley (The Handmaid’s Tale ) as Angel, an out-of-work Blues singer with questionable taste in men. She resides with her friend, Guy Jacobs (Giles Terera), who provides flamboyance and excellent comedic timing, with a Baldwin-Esque dream to flee to Paris where he can sew for the enigmatic Josephine Baker for the rest of his days. The two spend much of their leisure time illegally drinking with roguish doctor Sam Thomas (Sule Rumi), who, when he isn’t drinking or delivering babies to wearied mothers of Harlem, courts God-fearing neighbour Delilah Patterson (Ronke Adékoluejo).

Angel finds herself falling for Southern gentleman Leland Cunningham (Osy Ikhile), whose charm isn’t as harmless as it appears. Their lives intersect and entangle, forming a labyrinth of connections in the bustling city. The talent of the ensemble must not be understated, they breathe life and beauty into the play through their incredible voices and I felt myself wishing that their goosebump-inducing musical numbers (composed by Benjamin Kwasi Burrell) were not relegated to the opening and closing of acts and to the occasional transition.

The apartment block that our characters reside in is impressively rendered on stage through a comprehensive reproduction of the front rooms on the ground floor – complete with beams, windows, and stairs – as though a dollhouse had been sliced through and propped up on stage. Designed by Frankie Bradshaw, this spectacle of a set also rotates, and while technically impressive, I felt that it might have been better to save this for the significant moments, as incremental turns did not feel entirely necessary. The grandeur of the set might have been overstated for the domestic drama, but it also allowed for the utilisation of the stage in an impressively three-dimensional manner, reminiscent of the 2020 National Theatre production of Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire (designed by Magda Willi).

The costuming was equally striking, particularly with Angel and Guy, with one particular sparkly dress for Angel (befitting to her namesake) stealing the show. In comparison to the realism of the set, some of the costuming choices were difficult for me to accept, lacking specificity to the time with the addition of certain modernisms; such is the difficulty of costuming for period pieces.

The economic turbulence of the American Depression is reflected in the instability of the character’s personal lives, where job and housing security is bestowed on the lucky (and wealthy) few. The play is a depiction of what it is to have hope amongst the hopeless, with Delilah’s dreams of providing birth control to poverty-stricken mothers in Harlem, a small solace in a world that seems determined to crush the potential for meaningful change at every turn. Individual selfishness takes hold, with Paris becoming a Mecca, a place to flee and leave behind the limitations of being poor and Black in 1930s New York.

At times, the play struggles with the construction of the plot, with a quite literal Chekov’s gun being introduced, and inevitably used, a ringing reminder that the good and the joyful can be shattered in the time it takes to pull a trigger.

Blues For An Alabama Sky runs @ the Lyttelton, National Theatre until 5th November. Find out more and book tickets here.