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“Troilus and Cressida” at Shakespeare’s Globe

The times are ripe for a new production of Shakespeare’s play set during the Trojan war. With so much conflict in the world, and too many posturing leaders, a lot of the piece seems sadly pertinent. Maybe it’s appropriate that the play also confuses – motives and actions are hard to fathom – and director Owen Horsley, who takes the helm here, doesn’t help us figure much out. You might regard that as frustrating. The production is full of flashy touches clearly intending to provoke thought, but they mostly just puzzle. Thankfully, Horsley gets at least one thing very right. 

This is the director’s Globe debut, but his work fits happily here. Like it or not, shows on this stage demand broad performances. Popular approaches include crude physicality, a lot of music and audience participation – all present here. Maybe that’s why so much of this Troilus and Cressida comes across as jolly. Horsley goes all out for jokes, with every character made fun of, not unjustly. But of course, while there is a love affair going on, there’s also violence. Treating so much of the play as a satire isn’t nonsensical, but it does limit it. Neither the romance nor the drama quite works.

The casting has flaws. Kasper Hilton-Hille and Charlotte O’Leary give passionate performances in the title roles but there’s little chemistry between them and the former is unconvincing as a vengeful warrior. The Greeks and the Trojans are hard to distinguish – which might be deliberate – and those who stand out do not do so for good reasons. Changing the gender of several characters works well, though: Jodie McNee’s Ulysses is strong, while the show’s star is Samantha Spiro as ‘Auntie’ Pandarus, a truly grotesque creation with crazy overtones of a Carry Onfilm that the audience gets behind.

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Lucy McCormick as Helen

Spiro is excellent, but Horsley’s decision to give us a rather sweet version of the character brings complications. When the sinister arises it confuses(right from Cressida’s departure to the Greek camp, which Troilus seems far too OK with). Thankfully, this is offset with brilliant ideas about Thersites, a role Lucy McCormick combines with a powerful cameo as Helen. McCormick’s performance is unhinged and uncomfortable but brilliant. As a despairing cynic, losing her mind over all the sex and death she is among, Thersites knows that there are no heroes here and nobody to admire. All the cynicism in Shakespeare’s play lets rip and Horsley hits the mark.

Until 26 October 2025

www.shakespearesglobe.com

Photos by Helen Murray

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“Salomé” at the Theatre Royal Haymarket

It is a strong idea, although not an original one, to bring music to Oscar Wilde’s 1892 play. Itamar Peres’s powerful singing about Salomé beauty makes the start of this production from Gesher Theatre intriguing. The ethereal voice of Shir Sayag, who plays Jokanaan (John the Baptist), punctuates the show to further effect. Unfortunately, the rest of director Maxim Didenko’s production is misguided and, too frequently, poorly executed.

Wilde’s text is difficult – it was originally written in French, very much of its symbolist moment and, frankly, a bit mad. But we can all agree it is poetry. And ignoring this, as Didenko seems to, is disastrous. The cast members race through the text. To their credit, they are not breathless… but I was. It doesn’t help that several of this international group have strong accents, or that the sound design isn’t the best quality. What you can catch is often unpleasant on the ear.

The only time the action slows is when Jokanaan sings. But the prophet is mostly above the action, in a small space, and removing him like this becomes a problem – it feels as if he is in a different play. This isn’t the worst move from set designer Galya Solodovnikova. While there’s no reason the terrace of Herod’s palace can’t be given a bar and a piano, the space shouldn’t feel so cramped. The idea of a fountain – and not curbing the desire for the cast to get into it – proves messy. Subsequent mopping up proves farcical when it includes ignoring a dead body and blood (that Herod slips in). Of course, it would be awful if any of the cast were injured. But health and safety isn’t sexy and this whole production is so devoid of eroticism – and Wilde’s warnings about its dangers – that there really doesn’t seem much point to it.

It isn’t silly to inject insanity into Salomé – what’s going on is crazy. And, as we all know the story, tension needs to come from somewhere. But the cast is too prone to equate instability with over-acting (and odd attempts at humour). The result becomes tiresome and, strangely, bland. A notable exception is Neta Roth, who tries hard in the title role. She delivers her lines better, while interpreting Salomé as a spoilt child works well enough. But there’s too much against Roth, not least making her wear one of the ugliest dresses I’ve ever seen. Her dance starts with some kind of dragon or fish mask – I’m sorry I don’t understand this – and ends up with her topless. Such a gratuitous gesture is indicative of how much has gone wrong here.

Until 11 October 2025

www.trh.co.uk

Photos by Sasha Gusov

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“Lee” at the Park Theatre

Cian Griffin joins a long list of playwrights tackling painters’ lives. Such fictions, mixing history, biography and theories about art, can be fruitful but not easy, as injecting drama often proves problematic. At the risk of damning with faint praise, this play about Lee Krasner holds its own in a crowded field. Red by John Logan and Stanley by Pam Gems spring to mind, while more recent efforts include Rebecca Lenkiewicz’s The Painter and this year’s Who is Claude Cahun? by DR Hill.

Griffin has picked a great artist to explore – abstract expressionist Krasner had a fascinating life and career. And he’s done his homework, aided by a Barbican exhibition six years ago that allowed a London audience to see many of the paintings discussed. There are times when Griffin seems burdened by this knowledge, briefing the audience in a clunky manner, but it is interesting stuff.

A little against the odds, this is an affectionate portrait. Krasner is shown as irascible, but her touchiness is made a virtue of by Helen Goldwyn, who injects humour. The writing shows Krasner’s intelligence and imperiousness, but Goldwyn aids nuance and skilfully suggests a vulnerable undertow. I’m not quite sure Krasner’s resignation about sexism and celebrity in the art  is realistic (she appears sage-like a little too often), but Goldwyn makes it work. 

Griffin adds a neat device in the form of Hank, a local boy who seeks advice about art. Director Jason Moore keeps the action swift, which covers up a few problems here. Yes, Hank is young but is he a bit too dim? He’s certainly very naïve –and a plot twist is predictable. Still, this is a great role for Will Bagnall – who deals well with his character’s grief for his dead father – and an important attempt to open up the play.

You probably still need to have an interest in the artist to bother with Lee. But that’s OK and connects to bigger praise. Krasner had a famous husband. And my favourite part of the piece is how little he appears! No offence to Tom Andrews, who plays the part of Jackson Pollock very well, but it is great to see him in just a few flashbacks, where he appears as a ghost. These are strong scenes made all the more effective by being by underplayed. Pollock did haunt Krasner, certainly her reputation, and you couldn’t ignore him in a play about her. But helping her to step out of her husband’s shadow, even just a little, is a big achievement.

Until 18 October 2025

www.parktheatre.co.uk

Photo by Giacomo Giannelli

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“Bacchae” at the National Theatre

After taking up the toughest role in theatre this spring, Indhu Rubasingham’s first show as artistic director of the National Theatre is a production under pressure. There’s a lot of thought behind it – choosing a Greek tragedy is a smart nod to the National’s past and perfect for the Olivier Theatre. Presenting a version – a “new play” – is important, too. There’s much to praise but it’s a shame that, although there are triumphant moments, Bacchae is not a triumph.

From the start, the show looks great, with fantastic puppetry representing a wounded horse. The set and costume design from Robert Jones aid Rubasingham’s clear direction and make the most of the venue. Oliver Fenwick’s lighting is ambitious and, more than once, breathtaking. The fight scenes are great. The music and sound design (DJ Walde and Ben and Max Ringham, respectively) distinctive and atmospheric. Rubasingham is clearly loving her new playground and uses it expertly – who doesn’t love a revolve?

Bacchae is also well acted. There are strong performances from James McArdle and Sharon Small as the doomed Theban royals, showing the script’s savagery and humour. The star of the show is Clare Perkins, who plays Vida, Dionysos’ adopted mother, with ferocious energy and violence while also showing the affection the character has for the man she raised. Perkins is ably supporting by the titular troop who, despite their number, work hard to bring out distinct characters. As the half-God himself, Ukweli Roach brings a lot of bling but runs into problems from the script.

As a first play for Nima Taleghani – and the first time a debut play has been performed at the Olivier – the text impresses but is full of snags. The very different kind of Greek chorus is a strong concept, but the execution is clumsy. Other ideas engage… but don’t quite make sense. Take the play’s exploration of freedom: Dionysian liberty comes at a price, which the Greeks knew, and the play can’t ignore, but Taleghani can’t quite bring himself to warn us about it. His Dionysos is too much of a hero, which dilutes a sense of danger. And there’s the status of the god and his followers – described as immigrants, refugees and terrorists. All very topical, but Dionysos isn’t powerless, or poor… and he comes from Thebes.

As for the Taleghani’s language, that’s a success, although using colloquialism and even rap isn’t particularly new. The play is funny – a nice surprise – yet, oddly, the humour doesn’t work when characters try to make jokes. There’s too much profanity in the sense that it becomes repetitive (“bro” and “fam” are also overused). As Dionysos is the god of theatre, reflections on storytelling are suitably smart, culminating in a finale from Vida that it’s hard not to hear as a statement for the beginning of Rubasingham’s tenure. It’s a strong moment, full of passion and commitment. But how provoking it can be is a problem. It shows one reason why Rubasingham’s job is so hard. Challenging the status quo from the most prestigious stage in the country falls flat. When you’re on it – you are the establishment. 

Until 1 November 2025

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Marc Brenner

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“Clarkston” at the Trafalgar Theatre

Samuel D Hunter’s play makes a virtue of being understated in an effort to be profound. It manages to provoke and move – just about – and certainly feels more substantial than its sketchy structure and short running time might suggest. With strong performances, and an intelligent authorial voice, the production safely secures four stars.

The plot is minimal. Jake goes travelling after being diagnosed with a degenerative illness and meets wannabe writer Chris while working in warehouse. The men are very different but start an intense friendship that is intriguing and emotional. Yes, it’s contrived, with touches of sentimentality and miserabilism. But it works hard and there’s a lot to like.

Although Jake and Chris attempt a romantic relationship, that’s not to be. Their differences – one is East Coast, one native to Washington, one rich, one poor, and Jake far more comfortable with his sexuality – are all underplayed. While Jake has the idea of following his ancestor’s pioneering trail to the ocean, opening up ideas about history and politics, Clarkston isn’t a state-of-the-nation play either. Appropriately, that relation of Jake’s is a distant one. Hunter suggests a lot but doesn’t want to be pinned down.

This tentative approach must make it hard for performers, but the cast does the sensitive, detailed characters proud. Joe Locke and Ruaridh Mollica, playing Jake and Chris respectively, build a bond it is easy to believe. How much we like these guys is left nicely open. There are more than a few selfish and silly comments, but Locke and Mollica make you care and bring out the depth of their roles. They are both great at getting the most out of the play’s subtle humour (their “non-sex” scene is brilliant). Sophie Melville joins as Chris’ mother, a recovering addict, in powerful encounters. Her role serves as an interesting foil to the youngsters. We can recognise the generational divide (I won’t list the clichés) but Hunter wants us to look harder and his cast allows it.

The problems all three face are real. It turns out there’s a lot to unpack in such a simple premise and you could argue that none of it is explored in enough depth, in particular Jake’s suicidal ideation, which is skimmed over uncomfortably quickly. But director Jack Serio takes his lead from the text and moves us away from misery into something approaching quiet celebration. As a coming-of-age story, it’s more mature and muted than usual, so easier for all ages to appreciate. I suspect Clarkston is a piece that will linger in the memory. It may be predictable that Jake and Chris get to the ocean. But note, there’s no epiphany here… it’s just the sea and the support of a friend.

Until 22 November 2025

www.clarkstonplay.co.uk

Photo by Marc Brenner

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“Entertaining Mr Sloane” at the Young Vic

Revivals of Joe Orton’s plays arrive with concerns. The playwright’s reputation for outrageousness brings baggage. It’s to the credit of director Nadia Fall that this 1963 play is still shocking. It’s a shame that it isn’t as funny as it might be.

Fall tries hard to revel in the extreme and experimental aspects of the text, but the effort is limited because a lot of the humour is neglected. The dialogue isn’t odd just because of its time of writing – the mannered expression and convulsions reflect hypocrisy and twisted desires. Designer Peter McKintosh mirrors this with bric-a-brac, all painted black, suspended above the action like a Cornelia Parker installation. Meanwhile, lighting from Richard Howell includes bold colours and strobes to anachronistically split up scenes. It’s all a risk, as arty touches might alienate some from the play. And Entertaining Mr Sloane – with murder, misogyny and abuse at its core – is fairly hard to get your head around anyway.

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Tamzin Outhwaite

It isn’t an easy play for the cast either. Orton’s characters are forcefully flat. Motives are transparent, not just for comedy, but to show the audience that everyone here is delusional. But the performances are good. The least successfully written is a father figure, Kemp, capably played by Christopher Fairbank, who manages to inject a good deal of fear into the piece. But the role is too clearly a foil for the other power plays going on. Here, Daniel Cerqueira’s deadpan delivery as Ed gets a little monotonous, though the character is suitably chilling and repressed. Tamsin Outhwaite is a revelation as the sexually frustrated Kath, a woman you might feel sorry for, who Outhwaite makes truly grotesque thereby coming closest to Orton’s humour. As the object of both their affection, the titular lead, Jordan Stephens, has no problem with the charisma his character is said to possess. But Sloane is poorly served by Fall – he is never allowed to be quite threatening or funny enough. There’s a lack of subtlety to moments where the character thinks he has the upper hand because, here, Sloane is never in charge.

There’s a lot of lying. Deceit is often clear, even brazen, as characters are lying to themselves as much as each other. Is this the play’s attraction in 2025? Orton’s world as post-truth! And note, these lies excuse murder and assaults driven by lust and power. We’re a long way from a sex comedy and Fall’s move towards the serious sacrifices a lot. By the end, Sloane is literally tied up by Ed and Kath, as he is to be ‘shared’, so it isn’t subtle. Perhaps the focus is youth and how power held by an older generation is used to exploit? It adds to a creepy feel and gives this already robust play a shot in the arm.

Until 8 November 2025

www.youngvic.org

Photo by Ellie Kurttz

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“The Code” at the Southwark Playhouse

Hollywood glamour often has an allure for the stage. And themes of censorship are unfortunately topical. So, a play set in 1950, as the Hays morality code is in full swing for films, ticks boxes. Playwright Michael McKeever pits a gay producer and his protégé against former star, Billy Haines. All three men make the personalities behind the arguments engaging. The play has its problems but is, overall, a good effort, worth seeing.

Like a hit from earlier this year, Retrograde, Tinseltown allows us to examine ethics with a bit of history added. The dilemma here is whether to follow the code of the title, the unspoken rule to tolerate homosexuality as long as it is never mentioned aloud. Producer Henry Willson, depicted with subtle creepiness by Nick Blakeley, plays the game; indeed he uses it to manipulate the impressionable Chad, who wants to become a star. Solomon Davy makes this younger role and the uncomfortable dynamic work well: guessing what Chad will do is a neat puzzle.

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Solomon Davy and Nick Blakeley

The moral compass they are both up against is a big part to fill. Haines, who in real life was blacklisted but went on to have a career as an interior designer, is understandably self-righteous. Thankfully, John Partridge, who takes the part, convinces us about his character’s charisma and deals well with some of the weaker humour in the script. Haines is said to inspire both “pity” and “awe”, at least according to Willson. This isn’t accurate – remember who the description comes from – but Partridge manages to show why we could feel sorry, why we might admire, and when neither is the case. It’s a sound device to model the arguments in the piece around. 

Direction, by Christopher Renshaw, is admirably restrained. The Code is a static affair, set in one room, but the claustrophobia is embraced and proves an asset. Yet the script is flawed. Too much talk of “authenticity” drags us out of the period. And a preachy tone from all the characters doesn’t sit well with their high living and streaks of selfishness. A lot of exposition is clunky and for far too much of the time, characters are telling one another what they already know. Chad, as a device to explain why so much ground is covered, becomes increasingly clumsy.

There is a final treat that tips the balance in favour of The Code. The presence of Tallulah Bankhead aids the piece enormously. This is a very strong, and enjoyable, performance from Tracie Bennett. Bankhead is the life and soul of the party, with some great home truths. Arguably, she helps the audience too much. I’m not sure three scenes of direct address are needed, no matter how well Bennett executes them. But Bankhead, and Bennett’s, presence lifts the show, injecting much needed energy and confirming how well-acted the piece is.

Until 11 October 2025

www.southwarkplayhouse.co.uk

Photos by Danny Kaan and Steve-Gregson

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“The Producers” at the Garrick Theatre

This first major London revival of Mel Brooks’ hit musical is a blast. The story of theatre financiers who stage a flop to make money contains its own critique. The show is both clever and crass. And – like the reviewers of the musical-within-the-musical – I loved it.

The Producers is, genuinely, laugh a minute. Of course, with most of the jokes based on accents, stereotypes and sexual innuendo not all of them land. But if many of the punchlines are so old you can see – or should that be smell? – them coming, that doesn’t stop them from being funny. 

With its Broadway premiere back in 2001, based on a film from the late Sixties, there might be some caution about how the show has aged (especially gags about the casting couch). Not to forget that in-jokes about musical theatre require some knowledge. But the strategy of offending everyone – as an excuse – is tried and tested. 

The sheer quantity of gags is the key. The audience doesn’t get a break or stand a chance. You will laugh – that’s an order.

At full speed from the start, the show is a demanding one for its cast, some of whom did appear a little breathless on the press night. But all the performances are strong and the leads – Andy Nyman and Marc Antolin, as Bialystock and Bloom respectively – are superb. Their physical comedy is top-notch and I lost count of how many silly accents they use. Joanna Woodward stands up to them in fine style as the “Svedish” secretary/star Ulla, while Harry Morrison’s all-out performance as Hitler’s former valet turned playwright is tremendous. Everyone gets the most out of Brooks’ serviceable music and lyrics for the show, always emphasising the comedy.

It is easy to see that the production started in a smaller venue (the excellent Menier Chocolate Factory). While Scott Pask’s set is impressive, in the Garrick it feels a little shrunk and a few laughs might be lost to those in the Gods. But you can enjoy how settled the cast are. Having a long run before the transfer means their teamwork is superb and gives the sense that they’re also enjoying the show.

Springtime for Hitler, the production Bialystock and Bloom hope will bomb, is always going to be the highlight. Lorin Latarro’s choreography comes into its own here and the segment is a hoot. But director Patrick Marber also pays attention to the underlying theme of friendship between the colleagues that simmers in the background and gets some surprisingly moving moments as a result. Nyman and Antolin’s strengths show again. 

Nobody doubts for a moment how silly this whole thing is. But Marber and Brooks know a touch of sentiment in a musical goes down well and they provide it. The show gives us everything. No wonder it’s a hit.

Until 21 February 2025

www.theproducersmusical.com

Photo by Manuel Harlan

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“The Pitchfork Disney” at the King’s Head Theatre

Let’s celebrate that Lidless Theatre, which had great success with Philip Ridley’s Leaves of Glass last year, provides the chance to see this 1991 work from the incomparable playwright. The early piece is far from his best work. But Ridley’s writing is so exciting that this story of an encounter between troubled siblings and an odd duo who give the play its title is wild, unforgettable, theatre.

The start is strong. Performed expertly by Ned Costello and Elizabeth Connick, Presley and Haley are twin siblings who are heavily medicated and living as hermits, their lives shaped by routine and fantasy. They repeat and invent stories that defy logic and, like their characters, are full of ambiguity and emotion.

The chance arrival of Cosmo Disney and his sidekick Pitchfork (who is tricky to discuss without spoilers) upsets the scenario less than might be expected – they are an even stranger pair. Pitchfork, played by William Robinson, is a compelling (and dangerous) figure who invokes repulsion rather than magic or charisma. There’s a wonderful variety of abjection, but it is all down to earth.

This is a valid interpretation. Horror is the key and, of course, there is banality in evil. But arguably, director Max Harrison embraces the play’s controversial reputation too forcefully. Discomfort and shock are only part of the play. The stories recounted should – sometimes – offer succour. Disney’s bleak view of human nature might , if not oppose, contrast with the siblings.

A similar position is taken with the tricky comedy in the play. With Ridley, laughs are always barbed – it’s deliberate that not everyone in the audience joins in – but here they are also broad. Too much deadpan delivery is a mistake, and it blunts the script.

Both reservations are subjective. Harrison has his ideas for the play and, if questionable, that vision is consistent, considered and thorough. The performances are committed and the delivery technically accomplished. But I think there’s something missing – a conflict between stories that structure and those that shock. Disney and Pitchfork are showmen and of the moment. The twin’s tales are private and endure. And at least one thing Ridley is asking is which kind of story is more frightening.

Until 4 October 2025

www.kingsheadtheatre.com

Photos by Charles Flint

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“Born With Teeth” at Wyndham’s Theatre

From Shakespeare in Love to Anthony Burgess’ excellent novel, A Dead Man in Deptford, William Shakespeare and Christopher Marlowe make good source material. Playwright Liz Duffy Adams recognises the potential and puts them head to head in a fast, clever piece. If you like your history explored and exploded, this one is for you.

Quite rightly, Duffy Adams isn’t afraid to take liberties with facts (indeed, she points out that both Shakespeare and Marlowe did the same thing). She uses our lack of true knowledge about their lives wisely… they may indeed have worked together on the Henry VI plays, been gay, Catholic or, well, make your own case. And our prejudices about the men are exploited to great effect, with ideas about the brilliant but dangerous spy and occultist Marlowe contrasted with the Bard, who is mysterious or… just a bit boring? The contrast is funny and layers the show with éclat.

Such reputations are overplayed at times – fine for Marlowe but a little tiresome when it comes to Shakespeare. But Duffy Adams goes all in. The dialogue is bracing, with effective deadpan delivery, and a lot of it is rude! There’s a neat balance of period feel and references to the men’s work that, while plentiful, are not overwrought. Director Daniel Evans and designer Joanna Scotcher follow the text’s lead in being a little, shall we say, big. There are bold videos and loud music to introduce scenes. 

Performances are appropriately energetic (especially considering this is two men talking in a room) and downright sexy. The pace is embraced by both performers – Edward Bluemel and Ncuti Gatwa – who will, for many, be the production’s highlight.

Gatwa brings his usual charm to Marlowe, is fantastic with the show’s comedy and provides a passable air of danger. He is excellent when it comes to ego and Marlowe’s is presented as huge. There’s no doubting the stage presence – and how he works his extravagant quill is a sight to behold. As Shakespeare, Bluemel has the tougher task of suggesting depth and intrigue at first and then growing his role. He gets more time with us to try to make sure this works. Shakespeare introduces the scenes and keeps the theme of trust, in art and life, vivid. 

A balance of sympathy, rivalry and attraction between the two men drives the show. But the action is small. For all the talk of espionage, a spy story this is not. The vague idea of having powerful friends and then having to betray people (for why?) doesn’t get going.

Because, as you’d expect, there’s more going on than speculation about two historical figures. Born With Teeth tries to show us two ways to live, two views of the world. There’s plenty of discussion about the men’s philosophies. But it’s heavy-handed and lacks clarity. Marlowe is Machiavellian and strangely resigned to his fate – much more is needed here. Shakespeare ends up an Enlightenment figure, precociously aware of literary theory. It’s interesting, if rushed. And if it’s not altogether convincing, it’s always entertaining.

Until 1 November 2025

www.rsc.org.uk

Photos Johan Persson