by Meredith Jones Russell
Billed as part theatre, part game, part improv comedy, Lamplighters is certainly attempting to cast its net as wide as possible when it comes to appeal. Based on host and star Neil Connolly’s attempt to relive his favourite childhood game, it asks willing audience members to join in a madcap game of John le Carré-style spies.
by Meredith Jones Russell
Lou and Jaz have met on Tinder and are going on a date. A simple premise, but in its use of different narratives, Greyscale highlights the complexities of relationships, sexual power and personal communication.
by Christina Bulford
When was the last time you apologised? Accidentally brushing someone awkwardly on the tube? Getting held up at work perhaps, and leaving a friend waiting?
But have you ever had to apologise for something big? To make an apology your future depends on?
by Meredith Jones Russell
In a galaxy far, far away, a short walk from the main Vaults site, the USA, USSR and European Union have assembled their finest scientists to bring an international space expedition safely back to earth.
by Christina Bulford
‘Tacenda’ is an archaic term meaning ‘the opposite of agenda’. Red Belly Black return to the Vaults with their third production, but a less clear idea of where they are going.
by Laura Kressly
CW: suicide and self-harm
Mossy is only 22 but he’s tired of life. He can’t shake the feeling that there’s nothing more than this, so the best option is to call it a day and kill himself. His only concern is that his mum won’t be able to afford his funeral, so he convinces his reluctant mates to launch a fundraising campaign before he goes. Touching on toxic masculinity, male friendship, euthanasia and voyeuristic media consumption, this new script has some clumsy writing but the themes that propel the action forward to a surprising end smartly support the story of friendship.
By Meredith Jones Russell
It was Andrew Green, in the Garden, with a Plant. No need for spoiler alerts, though. This was just the ending on the night I saw Murder She Didn’t Write, an improvised whodunnit comedy.
by Lara Alier
Walking upstairs to the performance space, I was wondering why are there only 12 of us and why hadn’t I investigated a bit more what am I about to watch. Or, as it turns out, what I am about to do. Around one, big table, there are twelve tablets and name tags saying Juror 5, 6, and so on. I am going to be part of the jury that would decide if a Doctor was guilty or not guilty of sexual assault.
by Louis Train
Birthright comes out the gate distracted: a sex joke, some meta humour, accents. It stays distracted, too, so at least it’s consistent. By the end of the play, one gets the sense of half a dozen stories and motifs started and abondaned; it interrupts itself.
by Joanna Trainor
Please, you’ve got to stop eating the floor mushrooms!
It’s 1989 in Oregon. Political scientist and author Francis Fukuyama has declared it the “End of History” as the Berlin Wall is pulled down and the Cold War is finished. And in the Malheur National Forest in Oregon, mushrooms are popping up all over the place.
The Play's The Thing UK 