by Amy Toledano
Curious Directive have created a marvelous immersive experience with Gastronomic. This gorgeous piece of theatre brings us a story from the sky as we experience a first-class menu with a British theme covering curries on Brick Lane through to ice cream on Brighton Pier.
By Michaela Clement-Hayes
There’s a growing trend for immersive experiences. In a world of AI and 3D printing, we don’t just want to see and hear our entertainment – we want to touch and taste it as well. Much like the thrills children crave at a fun fair, our expectation is that we will get a huge burst of adrenaline as we fully experience something unique.
by an anonymous guest critic
Gingerline have been making waves in the theatre-foodie experience crossover industry for a few years now. It starts off well: the set is incredible, the food interesting and absolutely delicious, the animation and use of projection astonishing, and the interactive nature of the experience is fun without being overly embarrassing for participants. The execution of this show succeeds brilliantly on so many levels.
by Laura Kressly
Rema and her mum are at home in East London during Ramadan, preparing to break the day’s fast, when their living room window shatters. Another day, another hate crime – but this event is the catalyst for a holiday full of new friends, new understanding, new creative expression and new betrayals.
by Laura Kressly
Alice and her husband moved house from a bustling city to sleepy Berkhamsted just 6 weeks ago. She can’t wait to make new friends and get stuck into all that village life offers, even though her new home is hardly trendy like Margate, and none of her friends are willing to visit. The only thing undermining her positivity is that faithful companion Anxiety has relocated with her and threatens to ruin everything.
by guest critic Gregory Forrest
Hear Me Raw was perhaps the poshest theatrical experience I have ever had (and that really is saying something). It was a glowing auditorium of bad hair, good genes, and plastic prosecco, followed by a swarm of supportive mums murmuring ‘Oh, isn’t she brave’.
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.
A lesson: always read press releases in full. Why? Because you might turn up to a show and discover it’s performed in Russian (when you don’t speak Russian). At least in this instance knowing the source material for Hamlet Fool, a one-woman street performance style retelling Shakespeare’s classic, provides a base knowledge.
One of the durational works on Saturday afternoon is the six-hour Silent Dinner, where a group of D/deaf and hearing performers prepare a large meal without communicating in their native languages. There isn’t the rush of a professional kitchen, and sunlight streaming through the windows and lighting the rich colours of fresh ingredients is stunning in it’s peaceful simplicity. Watching them is a meditative exercise as they move around the rows of tables, silently and slowly preparing food that they will then eat together. It would be easy to sit with them all day as they take pleasure from the communal experience of cooking and eating.
By guest critic Archie Whyld
On arriving at the front door of Latvian House I am by a very smart, besuited Italian butler who refuses to let me in and won’t really give me a clear reason as to why. Had the performance begun? He suggests I get a drink at the bar in the basement but won’t allow me to take the most obvious and direct route to said bar; instead I use the tradesman’s outdoor, wrought iron steps entrance. The bar seems to be in Riga, Latvia, what with all its eastern Europe chic. I stand at the bar waiting to order. No one comes. Meanwhile Latvian drinkers enjoy interesting looking beers, chat in hushed tones and completely ignore me. I stand, thirsty, with multi-coloured disco ball lights streaking across my face. Is this all part of the performance? Or am I in a dream?
The Play's The Thing UK 