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This is my reply to the Letter about the Crystal Maze

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Mmmm, maybe a little late...Edinburgh 2013 Review: HeLa, Summerhall (Adura Onashile and Oxide)
Although technically you might  have to classify it as such, to bill âHeLaâ as âhalf lecture, half theatreâ seems an injustice to this poignant, thought-provoking, enlightening venture from Adura Onashile and Oxide. âHeLaâ is an exploration into the depths of cancer cell research from the early 1950s, focusing on cell samples taken from 31 year old Henrietta Lacks in 1951; cells which continue to change and influence scientific research to this day. The performance uncovers the woman behind the cells and serves as a gut-wrenching reminder of hideous days of racial segregation, âwhites only water fountainsâ and ââblackâ waiting roomsâ. The piece raises important ethical issues surrounding medical research and uncovers atrocities that have historically been swept under the carpet. An informative and relevant piece, if a law was passed to make this essential viewing, I'd have strong words with anyone who made a fuss.
5/5
ED2013 Theatre Review: 35mm â A Musical Exhibition (As Told By Productions and Greenwich Theatre)
If you have a vehement hatred of the hit TV show âGleeâ, then avoid this like the plague. â35mmâ takes the adage âa picture is worth a thousand wordsâ, and asks how many a song is worth. Itâs composed entirely of songs, with projected photographs inspiring each one, but Iâm not sure it achieves its potential. The images arenât âstunningâ as promised and thereâs a bias towards the clichĂŠd love story (a song about a guardian angel accompanied by a solitary tear had me reaching for a bucket). That said, this audience was the most enraptured Iâve seen at the Fringe and I was the only one in the front row not standing to applaud. Not for me, but I was hideously outnumbered.
Bedlam Theatre, until 24 Aug (not 12), 6.00pm. tw rating 2/5 | [Holly Sharp]
- See more at: http://www.threeweeks.co.uk/article/ed2013-theatre-review-35mm-a-musical-exhibition-as-told-by-productions-and-greenwich-theatre/#sthash.zbVLZdDe.dpuf
Edinburgh 2013 Childrenâs Show Review: A Boy Who Cried Wolf (Gem & Ren / PBHâs Free Fringe)
âA Boy Who Cried Wolfâ is a step-by-step guide of how not to do a kidâs show. Performers âGem & Renâ harangue their audience with an hour of patronising cooing and condescending pep talks about being a âgreat teamâ. The essentially strong concept of taking audience suggestion to improvise new stories is doomed by their fundamental misunderstanding of how to talk to children or adults. A sequence improvising songs with âzanyâ lyrics is thrashed to death after 1,000 repeats of the same song. Audience rapport is marginally livelier than a wake; the performers largely suggest their own improvisations, and excruciating high-fives are dished out to adults who pipe up to put them out their misery. I considered walking out and throwing myself down the stairs. Painful.
The Dram House Upstairs, until 24 Aug (not 7, 14, 21), 11.45am. tw rating 1/5 | [Holly Sharp]
- See more at: http://www.threeweeks.co.uk/article/ed2013-childrens-show-review-a-boy-who-cried-wolf-gem-ren-pbhs-free-fringe/#sthash.M539dyPk.dpuf
Edinburgh 2013 Theatre Review: Holes by Tom Basden (The Invisible Dot Ltd)
Maybe itâs just me who read âsecret locationâ and â3 hours 45 minutesâ expecting a magical mystery tour. âHolesâ, whilst an incredibly well-written play containing some of the finest comic performances in Edinburgh, is just that, a play; and itâs in a room, not a spooky cave. In this piece following four plane crash survivors, Basdenâs command of words is sublime. Excruciatingly recognisable personalities are shaped with precision. However, the ending does feel rushed. The seating in the secret location too is not great, but, provided you can see the stage, the performance is the kind of stuff youâd like to bottle up and slather yourself with when youâre having a terrible day. The disappointingly unnecessary jaunt out of town kills it, if youâre hankering for adventure pop up Arthurâs Seat instead.
Secret location, until 25 Aug (not 19-22), 3.00pm and 6.30pm.
tw rating 3/5 | [Holly Sharp]
- See more at: http://www.threeweeks.co.uk/article/ed2013-theatre-review-holes-by-tom-basden-the-invisible-dot-ltd/#sthash.FZEcL1gr.dpuf

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ED2013 Physical Review: In Two Minds (Dancing Souls and Theatre SOMA)
A joint venture between Hong Kongâs Shan Chan and the UKâs Suzi Cunningham, âIn Two Mindsâ is billed as demonstrating the healing power of movement, though itâs actually more about the experience of mental illness. The results are patchy: the choreography is sharp and skilful with some interesting highlights (mental illness is likened to a noisy kid in the cinema), but overall it doesnât go beyond ticking the usual boxes. A gratingly clichĂŠd refrain of horror movie-style nursery rhymes just made my toes curl. An innovative but all too brief middle-section shuns the established tone, and is simple, powerful and moving. Itâs a shame that the rest of the performance doesnât quite follow suit.
C, until 10 Aug, 5.05pm.
tw rating 3/5 | [Holly Sharp]
- See more at:Â http://www.threeweeks.co.uk/article/ed2013-physical-theatre-review-in-two-minds-dancing-souls-and-theatre-soma/#sthash.ypjEtvKX.dpuf
ED2013 Physical Review: Confused in Syracuse (OPS Theatre)
If you think of Ancient Greece, youâre probably not picturing a centaur whose backside has emancipated itself. Add a raunchy love triangle and youâve got âConfused in Syracuseâ, a bawdy slapstick farce from St Petersburg based company OPS theatre. Energy is there in buckets; unfortunately, substance is not. Fake boobs and fart jokes abound, though both ends of the centaur do a cracking job of tottering around for an hour on wonky stilts. The production seems unable to decide if itâs a sketch show or a play, and a combination of no dialogue with only sporadic choreography neither clarifies the plot nor warms you to the characters. Not bad for an occasional giggle, but expect to be left feeling very confused (in Syracuse).
C, until 26 Aug (not 13), 3.30pm. tw rating 2/5 | [Holly Sharp]
- See more at:Â http://www.threeweeks.co.uk/article/ed2013-physical-theatre-review-confused-in-syracuse-ops-theatre/#sthash.bPy67XKT.dpuf
ED2013 Physical Review: Echolalia (Jen McArthur & Kallo Collective)
If hoover attacks, shortbread and invasion of personal space donât ruffle your feathers, this might be your kind of thing. Jen McArthur plays a lonely woman with Aspergerâs syndrome in a 1940s wasteland, accompanied by sparse possessions, rituals, rehearsals for job interviews and social engagements that never happen. âEcholaliaâ was conceived after McArthur was âtickled by the social âweirdnessâ of autistic childrenâ, a discovery that itâs difficult to feel entirely comfortable with. Although magnificently performed, you have the niggling sense that this isnât the most balanced, responsible account of Aspergerâs syndrome. There are one or two moments which address more serious implications, but these are quickly overshadowed by impeccably executed buffoonery. A whimsical, fantastic spectacle, dogged by dubious moral implications.
C aquila, until 26 Aug (not 12), 3.40pm. tw rating 3/5 | [Holly Sharp]
- See more at:Â http://www.threeweeks.co.uk/article/ed2013-physical-theatre-review-echolalia-jen-mcarthur-kallo-collective/#sthash.AMuhIJ0Z.dpuf
ED2013 Theatre Review: I (Honestly) Love You (Lockwood Productions)
âBoy meets girl in a coffee shopâ just got a big massive kick up the backside. Lockwood Productions take the tired format and inject a kooky twist whereby neither boy nor girl can tell even the tiniest fib. Cue a hilarious, fast-tracked romp through excruciating first dates, first sex with very honest feedback and parents hearing exactly what they donât want to hear. After an unstoppable first half, the gags slow up and youâre left hankering for more panto-style silliness, though this will probably step up with bigger, rowdier audiences. A playful but astute comment on who we are and what we say (and yes, your bum does look big in that).
C aquila, until 13 Aug, 5.05pm. tw rating 4/5 | [Holly Sharp]
- See more at:Â http://www.threeweeks.co.uk/article/ed2013-theatre-review-i-honestly-love-you-lockwood-productions/#sthash.ttRGnbHi.dpuf
Review: The Night Alive, Donmar Warehouse, 20th July 2013
Woman stumbles in with a bloody nose aided by Tommy, an unkempt middle-aged man. Wherever this is going, no-oneâs expecting it to be a laughing matter, that is until Tommy starts manically clearing his bathroom of dirty crockery, looking stumped at a request for deodorant and awkwardly offering the girl (Amy) a place to stay. There are hints that a violent ex-partner may be the source of this girlâs injury, but before youâve had time to dwell on it too much, in strolls Tommyâs best friend and âbusiness partnerâ Doc (short for Brian), an affable, half-witted soul whom Tommy berates at every available opportunity. A few tales of their dodgy deals later and youâve nearly forgotten the sinister intro and are unwittingly nestling in for Macphersonâs relocated take on âOnly Fools and Horsesâ (Less Del Boy, more Dublin).
Just as youâre expecting Tommy to enter a pub and hilariously fall through the bar in his quest to woo the unsuspecting Amy, this ambling tale of a young woman and a couple of dodgy old bachelors smashes to an abrupt and brutal stop which elicited a palpable gasp and saw several flee the auditorium. Any âSkinsâ fans out there? Remember how Freddie died? Oh this is worse, much worse.
Connor Macpherson has trapped you in, thereâs no trace of a Robin reliant, and the sh** has hit the fan. After sandwiching the above with an almost equally violent sequel, Macpherson now opts for by far the most depressing tactic of omitting any tears, breakdowns and wailing. Never one mention or substantial explanation is given for the violent episodes that have unfolded, and each character resumes where they were previously, stupid jokes and all.
The only niggle of Macphersonâs new play is the strangely contrived âseveral months laterâ scene welded onto the end, which feels entirely out a kilter with a play which otherwise tells you next to nothing about its characters. As final scenes go itâs maybe not the worst, but it certainly isnât necessary.
The Night Alive drags you into a depressing, miserable hole, and youâll be laughing all the way down until you look up and realise that these bleak lives are less funny than a root canal. Oh, and if youâre squeamish, expect to have your eyes closed and your fingers rammed in your ears for a few minutes. 4/5

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Review: Twelfth Night, Propeller, Hampstead Theatre, 16th July 2013
Fabianâs been kicked out, Sir Tobyâs pretty fit and Malvolio doesnât have anything to worry about downstairs. Already, this Twelfth Night sounds like itâs worth a look (who likes Fabian anyway?) Â Large appendages and pretty cast-members aside, Propellerâs all-male production dodges that fatal âbawdy rompâ bullet and dives into a dusty, Miss Havishamy set in a production that sheds much of the typical, tired gloss. Vince Leighâs Toby is less jolly uncle, more self-destructive loner, Feste embodies Fabian, and the frustratingly underwritten Orsino is fleshed out as a tormented figure grappling with a disorientating onslaught of same-sex attraction.
Impressions of this 2007 revival will inevitably be coloured by last yearâs lauded all male production at The Globe. Gary Shelfordâs icy, tight-lipped Olivia contends with Rylanceâs impeccably neurotic, infatuated wreck, whilst Joseph Chanceâs manly Viola is the polar opposite to the enigmatically effeminate Johnny Flynn. Indeed, smaller than Malvolioâs it may be, but thereâs never a doubt that Chanceâs Cesario ainât no eunuch. The Viola/Cesario transition is cemented with a removal of a flowery hair-piece that feels like a lazy short-cut, though this is likely because Propellerâs Viola has been approached more as a narrative necessity than a key point of focus.
Ghosts of Twelfth Nightâs past should probably, however, be deemed dismissible incidentals of this thoughtful production which weaves an intriguing mesh of sex, silliness and brutal, vindictive agenda. Edward Hall bypasses the bog standard love triangle/gender-bending directorial trajectory to magnify the Malvolio subplot and the unsettling realities of the playâs conclusion. This production probes past the booze and bawd of Malvolioâs persecutors to reveal what are perhaps some of Shakespeareâs most unredeeming characters. 4/5
Review: The Amen Corner, The National Theatre, 17th June 2013
New York, the 1950s. Sister Margaret Alexander. A popular, vibrantly energetic pastor delivers a rousing sermon to her congregation. Later that day, her estranged jazz musician husband very publicly rocks up on her doorstep. Tongues start to wag amongst the clergy....
From this precis, one might almost jump into their seat expecting a comic farce, yet James Baldwinâs 1954 play is a powerful and largely autobiographically inspired response to the timeless conflict of the religious and the secular set within a close-knit African-American church community in 1950s Harlem. Rufus Norris throws the play to life, trimming the stage with musicians who provide a thought-provoking soundscape as evangelical hymns are chased by the trumpets and underground tones of jazz. The fusion provides a subtle, yet thought-provoking demonstration of an idyllic vision, a âharmoniousâ co-existence between contrasting lifestyles.
Evocative and symbolic as it is, the constant musical presence in Norrisâ first act engulfs more than it enriches. Considering that the events take place over the course of a day or two, the first half doesnât half take its time. It is only when the music is whittled down that the story becomes truly engrossing, and my how gut-wrenchingly poignant it becomes. Ian Macneillâs two tiered staging cements the divide between the church and out-casted pastor Margaret (Marianne Jean-Baptiste), and Baldwinâs bleak ending is a clear appeal for compromise, an articulation of his own belief in the hypocrisies of religion. As Jean-Baptiste hurls herself to her knees proclaiming to the deaf ears of her congregation that ââto love the Lord is to love all his children, all of them, everyone!ââ, more than a passing resemblance can be observed in Baldwinâs own declaration that âIf the concept of God has any validity or any use, it can only be to make us larger, freer, and more lovingâ.
Norrisâ The Amen Corner is a vibrant, theatrical evocation of the destructive effects of blind adherence to religion which is as relevant today as it was at the time of writing. Baldwinâs script articulates a story of pain and oppression which yearns to be heard, itâs a shame that this production drowns it so frequently with an impressive, but laboured musical motif. 3/5
Review: Peter & Alice, Noel Coward Theatre, 22nd May 2013
Inspired by the 1932 encounter between 80 year old Alice Liddell Hargreaves and 35 year old Peter Llewellyn-Davies, the real life âAlice in Wonderlandâ and âPeter Panâ, John Logan sets out to write a play. Fresh off the back of the successful Skyfall, Michael Grandage directing, Judi Dench and Ben Whishaw limbered up and ready to go. It would seem a safe bet putting fifty quid on the chances that the product would be anything less than mind-blowing.
Unfortunately, thatâs the last youâd see of that fifty quid. Loganâs top notch ingredients fall depressingly short of their potential.
Somewhere amid the promising process outlined above, Logan devastatingly appears to have adopted the motto âwhy say one word when you can say 25?â Â Peter & Alice is burdened with a weight of dialogue that threatens to stifle at every turn. One doesnât hesitate to forgive the occasional stumble of the usually flawless Dench and Whishaw but questions why on earth the leaden high dialogue had to be there in the first place.
There is an inevitable tragedy surrounding this story of an effervescent elderly woman who embraces her fictional counterpart and is reflecting on her life, and the haggard, prematurely aged man who, ever plagued by his, cuts his life short by throwing himself under a train at Sloane Square station. It is the dynamite subject matter that makes Peter & Alice so vexing as it veers into a banal sludge of confused memories, shoehorned parallels between two only partially similar lives, and strange, unflattering appearances from Lewis Carroll and J.M. Barrie. There is a grating, inescapable sense that this play has been rushed to the stage a few drafts off completion.
The difference in tone is palpably lacking as we swerve from the Wonder/Never Land fantasising to the Peter and Alice who encounter each other in a bookshop. The stagnant tone could be a reflection of two characters who are forever immortalised, though if this be so, it isnât executed in the most compelling manner. It would have been nice to feel just a little more of the larger than life escapism which was obviously being aimed at, more of the lurid grotesqueness of the fictional lands that we can recall imagining in our own childhoods. There is little room for imagination as all details are articulated to a point of excess, and itâs clear that director Grandageâs hands have been tied from the off.
As the curtain falls on the faded gaudiness of the Victorian childrenâs theatre and we are returned to the dusty bookshop where Peter & Alice encounter each other for the first and last time, the truly frustrating tragedy sets in as you realises how good the last 90 minutes could have been. 2/5
Review; Othello, National Theatre, 9th May 2013
Othello. A decent slice of your audience is going to know the play inside out, a few people might be quoting along under their breath, it'll always be a tough gig. Nicholas Hytner, in the wake of announcing his retirement as artistic director of the National Theatre, sees this challenge and smashes through it. Proving beyond all reasonable doubt that his ideas are far from an armchair in a sitting room in Eastbourne, Hytnerâs Othello is transported to the modern day in an accessible and engaging manner with superbly specific attention to human subtlety.Â
Mercifully, Hytner has spared us the evil cackles from Iago (Rory Kinnear) and bypasses even a hint of histrionic screeching and foaming mouth from Adrian Lesterâs Othello. Indeed it is Kinnearâs display of buttoned-up reserve which is most chilling, eerily still and quiet in scenes where he does not soliloquise, to the extent where one catches oneself forgetting he is present. The stage is very much Iagoâs, and Hytner gives us a compelling exhibition of a man hideously embittered following years of being overlooked and ignored.
The story is relocated to a present day army base with a near universally camoflage-clad cast. The decision to use a community recognisably accustomed to external danger, physical battle and uncertainty, exacerbates the irony that a far more sinister threat thrives inside.
Vicki Mortimerâs sparse, clinical set draws out the fiendishly complex emotions played out within. Othello cowers in a grey, grimy barracks toilet stall to overhear Cassio brag about his conquests, whilst Desdemonaâs life is extinguished under strip lighting in an Ikea furnished room with suitcases stacked on a wardrobe and lino-flooring. Stark, blank with nowhere to hide, the set enhances how dark and twisted it contents become.
Despite some bold interpretations, the concept crucially never feels contrived or at risk of compromising the plot. Hytnerâs decision to have Emilia as a fellow squaddy is entirely consistent with her character, reinforcing a fearless, steely demeanour. The decidedly unlikeable Roderigo is planted into the modern day as an over-privileged, skinny-jean wearing, whiney youth, (stock image maybe, but weâve all encountered one). Finally Brabantioâs abrasive views on race are met with visible cringing and discomfort by those around him, reconciling a multi-cultural modern day Britain with the sad reality that despite 500 years of apparent progression, racial discrimination is yet to be entirely a thing of the past.
Chillingly subtle with immense attention to psychological detail, itâs definitely worth bagging yourself a space in the returns queue at the National. You wonât be disappointed. 4/5
Review; 'The Low Road', The Royal Court, 30th April 2013
The Low Road promises 'a fable of free market economicsâ, which, for those of us who habitually skip over the Business section, is a somewhat daunting prospect. However, luck being onside, writer Bruce Norris fulfills this dubious prĂŠcis in a manner universally accessible and (contrary to my initial fears) surprisingly entertaining. And, anyone who feared the Dominic Cooke was going to wave farewell to his residency at the Royal Court may sleep soundly having witnessed this 3 hour, 20-performer bawd-fest which uses mid 18th century Massachusetts as its vehicle for a tongue-in-cheek satire on capitalist regime. Oh, and itâs narrated by Adam SmithâŚof course.
The plot revolves around the story of Jim Trumpett, an illegitimate child abandoned on the doorstep of a small-town brothel, who, following a chance encounter with Smithâs writings, develops a insatiable thirst for money which grows to engulf his marvellously repulsive self in later life (played with admirable repugnance by Johnny Flynn). After finding himself literally shackled to slave and heir to a Lancashire estate John Blanke (Kobna Holdbrook Smith), two lives collide, as do two attitudes, the privileged individual seeking money above all else and the incarcerated man yearning for emancipation.
âThe Low Roadâ offers an interesting comment on how equality, sharing and community spirit are at risk of dwindling entirely (illustrated by Trumpett and Blankeâs hilarious yet touching encounter with a religious community who have secured their inevitable extinction through a universal vow of celibacy). A temporary jolt in context after the interval, though a brash break in continuity, is far more thought provoking than detrimental, blasting the protective layers of an historic setting and hurling the subject matter into the present day. An eclectic clash of theatre, âtheatreâ and political thought with a touch of the absurd thrown in, itâs only on for a couple more days. With that in mind, follow this advice, head to Sloane Square and turn right when you get out the tube station, you wonât be able to miss The Royal Court, and you certainly shouldnât miss this. 5/5

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Review; Children of the Sun, National Theatre, 18th April 2013
Most of us have been there, stuck at a dire party surrounded by people who should be interesting, yet are sufficiently self-absorbed that theyâve failed to realise theyâre about as enticing as a flaky scalp. The trivial, at times banal chatter of the first half of âChildren of the Sunâ triggered similar, best forgotten memories, and, in all honesty, the first half isnât the most exciting, yet the reasons for this gain clarity after you leave. And who doesnât like a grower?
Though written in 1905, Gorkyâs plot remains strikingly relevant in an age similarly punctuated by rapid technological advancements and growing social tension, though admittedly, translator Andrew Uptonâs preference for modern vernacular has the tendency to make one cringe, I nearly walked out when Protasov started reminiscing about his time at âuniâ.
There's a strong social message of the potentially destructive effects of self-absorption and ignorance. A scientist conducting non-specific yet financially wasteful experiments, fashionable clothes, food fights and works of art all constitute as worrying reminders of the tendency to value material possessions and base satisfaction over compassion and empathy. The brief glimpses of grubby, sore-ridden members of the impoverished townsfolk who occasionally burst into Protasovâs front room serve as a heady reminder that pretending that problems donât exist is the route to destruction rather than resolution. Â And, think what you will of the Nationalâs latest offering, thereâs no arguing that the endingâs pretty banging. 4/5
Review; 'My Perfect Mind', Told by an Idiot, Young Vic, 19th April 2013
âMy Perfect Mindâ is a touching yet riotous account of the life of Edward Petherbridge, focusing specifically on the events surrounding his 2007 stroke which, occurring 2 days into rehearsals of King Lear in New Zealand, prevented him
from performing the coveted titular role. Â Petherbridge came round to find himself semi-paralysed, yet Learâs lines remained tauntingly preserved.
Pretty harrowing stuff, yet âMy Perfect Mindâ bypasses the violins and heads elsewhere. Loaded with dry, witty asides, the consistently endearing Petherbridge is accompanied by the hyped-up capers of co-star Paul Hunter, who leaps from dodgy accent to dodgy accent with engaging gusto (never in the least bit perturbed by accusations of being âborderline offensiveâ). All elements collide to relate events of Petherbridgeâs life in a manner erratic and non-chronological, echoing the chaotic swirl of the reminiscing mind.
As Hunter meanders, slides and clambers under and across their wonky stage (Petherbridge following suit at a slightly slower pace), the structural unsettlement echoes the similarly disorientating, life-changing nature of the event around which the show centres. Refreshingly, Petherbridge refrains from toppling into a sticky vat of self-indulgence, even whilst recalling the GP who failed to hand him flight socks and a bottle of aspirin on the eve of his fated long-haul flight.
The show is as much about âperformanceâ as it is about life, about ageing, frailty, reflection; a fusion of the character of Lear and what it means to âplayâ LearâŚor not, as the case may be. The humble contentment with which Petherbridge accepts his lot, seamlessly slipping into perfectly memorised soliloquies, reveal that though the casting has slipped away the character is indelibly stamped. As Petherbridge murmers, âI fear I am not in my perfect mindâ, itâs unclear whether weâre listening to him or Lear, or whether it indeed matters.  5/5