The ENO’s revival of The Handmaid’s Tale, depicting the story of one ‘handmaiden’ Offred in this totalitarian, theonomic, and neo-Puritanical regime, is taken from Margaret Atwood’s dystopian novel, veers away from too much direct graphic brutality but is a scary view of what might be, and is unremittingly beautiful in its stark no nonsense harshness.
This is superb LGBTQ+ poetry, poems from a queer voice of the highest quality, a book to return to, to open at random, to let into your mind to cavort. McCullough is also (and I’ve said this before) a bloody good read.
Fame holds a special place in the hearts of many people. This show, although technically good and blessed with an obvious talented cast, failed to engage on any emotional level, only scored once or twice and was much, much less than the sum of its parts.
Experience the decadence and elegance of 1870s Paris in David McVicar’s spectacular production of Gounod’s best-loved opera.
A stylish and relevant production but the imbalance of the acting rather takes the shine off what could have been a stunning production. Nonetheless it’s a fine piece of theatre, done well, perfectly timed but perhaps tastier with a half kilo less of rant, and a cup full more of conviction.
The end, swift, inevitable and so terribly comes as it must and leaves everyone awkward, struggling with the death of Mimi, filled with regret and angst but my mind turned to Musetta, the only one who really cares for Mimi, who looks out for her, this is the real triumph of this production. To bring a focus not only to Mini and Musetta, but also the men’s inability to deal with them as equals. It’s pure understated glory is a wonderfully released production of Puccini.
A beautiful, thrilling, emotionally convincing evening in the presence of a splendid cast, and tremendous music, the ENO at its best.
Ada Harris spends her days dusting, darning, polishing and scrubbing. But her first glimpse of a ravishing Christian Dior dress sets her off on a journey that will change her life forever…
The show is a superb revival, no attempt to ram anything serious into its eel pie and diamond tiara flimflam; it joyfully declares its shallowness and takes it one step further into utterly enchanting daftness.
Superb cross section of performers, the tent is fun, the atmosphere electric and we left having been entertained, a little bit of this, some of that and plenty of the other host Cal Harris who certainly knows how to keep a Brighton audience hyped up and the participants all have their own engaging traits. It all felt a little unsafe, unhinged and bonkers and that’s just what a decent montage show should feel like.
THIS play is an exploration of privilege, delusion, secrets, lies and as always with this kind of clockwork play where the narrative clicks past with the reassurance of a mantel clock, butler, tick, errant daughter, tock, mysterious stranger tick, judge for lunch, tock, gardens as metaphor tick, Freudian gibberish, tock, class and privilege, you get the idea. Written by high society eccentric and Rottingdean resident Enid Bagnold the play reflects her attitudes and much as her attitude towards drama. The play and calibre of actor are marred by an unpleasant and borderline racialist line which should be excised, it was interesting where the audience chose not to laugh last night.
