Late one night, a couple fights in bed. After falling asleep angry, Tamino fitfully dreams of a nightclub, a beautiful girl and a quest to save her. He is accompanied by a cheerful sidekick and is given a magic flute by the Queen of the Night, a glamorous celebrity who strokes his ego and stokes his curiosity.
by guest critic Liam Rees
Alex Gwyther’s Eyes Closed, Ears Covered is a slippery play that continuously raises questions. We’re immediately presented with Alyson Cummins’ concrete-grey, angular set, suggestive of a brutalist play park in a rundown housing estate. A recording of a distressed phone call to the police about a pair of young boys and a terrible act of violence adds tension. Gwyther’s script immediately has us hooked with the right amount of specific details to suggest what may have occurred whilst not to revealing too much.
An actor stands on stage. They are handed a script they have never read before. A frank look at suicide, choice and learned behaviour unfolds after a menagerie of animal impressions.
An actor stands on stage. They are handed a script they have never read before. An hour of hilarious and revealing Mad Libs ensues.
An actor stands on stage. They are handed a script they have never read before. It’s a recipe that the actor must prepare whilst reflecting on the cultural importance and ritual of food.
An actor stands on stage. On the screen behind them, a script is projected they have never read before. Then there’s a live feed, a language lesson and a tender reflection on the meaning of home.
You’re fast asleep in your bed, in a small English town. Then some mysterious noises outside wake you, and on looking out your window you discover a gang of pirates is trying to steal your family home. What do you do?
Ask to join them, of course!
by guest critic Michaela Clement-Hayes
When she first sprang onto the scene with her bunches, we all lost our minds. She was a cool teenager, singing about stuff that we were going through. Or at least we thought we were, but the truth was that we were younger than she was and didn’t really understand it. But we still loved her. And she had morals. Ish.
Reconciling feminism with the more mundane aspects of modern life is hard. What if all you can afford to buy is Primark but you know the clothes are made in sweatshops by women and girls? What if you don’t want to be one of those people who worries about their weight, but you want to be healthy? What do you say in the eulogy for your mum who held traditional values and ideas about womanhood?
When I was little, around three or four years old, I went through a phase where I watched The Wizard of Oz everyday. I adored everything about that film. I wanted to grow up to be that brave, stubborn girl who loves animals, with a group of devoted friends making sure she was always safe whilst embarking on her next wonderful adventure in a foreign land.
by guest critic Maeve Campbell
Shon Dale-Jones and Hoipolloi’s Me and Robin Hood has admirable intentions in aiming to raise awareness and money for charity ‘Street Child’. Dale-Jones’ one-man show is a personal narrative, part biography and part discussion on class and wealth divisions in Britain. The mythical medieval do-gooder is a central figure in the piece, an inspiration and obsession for the socially conflicted Dale-Jones.
A giant moose terrorises a South African village. A fifteen-year-old girl falls victim to her father’s vices. An introverted policeman makes a new friend. A village is changed forever.
I didn’t have any particular expectations from Joe Sellman-Leava’s new play on male violence. But I am joyfully surprised by an opening montage of rapidly-delivered Shakespeare, ranging from Othello to Taming of the Shrew. Disarmingly vicious in its delivery, this scene snaps into an audition for a play, then a house in Exeter, then the video research material for Joe’s character, and back again.
The Play's The Thing UK 