Mayerling

“‘Exciting drama which goes all weird at the end - my type!’ was how my dad summarised R.O.I that we saw together at The Hampstead Theatre last week in his post show review. He’s not wrong – exciting it is – and his text came through at 9.33pm, and those of us who made the mistake of seeing The Lehman Trilogy on a weeknight will be quite delighted to hear that it was 90 minutes of entertainment, wit, and weirdness. That is not to say that it was 90 minutes of easy-to-digest drama – it is incredibly ambitious in its subject matter, but then pitching a 4 billion pound start up on a set of flashcards is too. May, a weirdly charming, earnest and slightly bumbling research scientist has found a way to predict life threatening disease by evaluating genetic code, and she arrives at the cosy venture capital office in San Francisco (bottled Fiji water on arrival, nutribullets used live on set) with scientifically fool proof but morally ambiguous ideas about how to cure cancer and Alzheimer’s. There is a great deal of Black-Mirror-esque material – brain chips and robot homes – and it’s certainly a future that seems possible. The dialogue is witty, funny, and at times despairingly uncomfortable – which is what makes it all the more believable. And I always enjoy a play where there is no clear villain and no one is entirely innocent.”

“Warning ! This review of Heart Wall at the Bush Theatre is going to be effusive as the play spotlit the main loves of my life: a leaky pub, trashy pop music & people who aren’t very good at recognising, let alone talking about their feelings. 23 year old Franky has returned from London to her parents home in a town in the north-west of England. She’s not that happy, her parents are not that happy & their local, The Sun Inn’s karaoke evenings are no longer weekly, but daily. For 90 minutes Kit Withington’s writing made me laugh, smile, shed a tear(s) & smile again. Spiky exchanges between Franky & her old friend Charlene particularly tickled me. Charlene now drinks red wine. Not because she likes the taste, but because it gives her black teeth & she reckons she looks at least 26 when she’s got black teeth. Go & see this, with a pal or a parent & then dissect it over pints in a pub afterwards. Talk about the characters fears & feelings. That way you can indirectly talk about yours.”

“Kontakthof – Echoes of ‘78 revisits Bausch’s groundbreaking 1978 work with members of the original cast. Initially imagined as a revival 30 years on, Meryl Tankard brings this vision to the stage nearly half a century later, to critical acclaim. The eight performers enter one by one, settling into chairs that line the walls. A vast space opens before them - the great hall. It recreates the very room in which these dancers performed in 1978: the Kontakthof, a space where, historically, sex workers would first meet their clients. Much of the magic lies in Tankard’s use of archival film. A continuous recording of the original performance is projected onto a thin gauze at the front of the stage, suspending the dancers’ younger selves in midair. What unfolds is quietly astonishing. One by one, the performers step forward to dance alongside their past selves, moving in parallel with bodies nearly fifty years younger. It is mesmerising to watch. They bring a remarkable energy and generosity to the stage. A reminder not only of endurance, but of how our relationships with our bodies evolve over time. There is something deeply moving, too, in their exchanges with those no longer present, whose movements live on in the flickering film. What I return to, again and again, in Bausch’s work is her attention to the everyday. Small habits and private rituals are drawn out and placed under a spotlight. Early on, the dancers stand at the front of the stage as if facing a mirror: smoothing their hair, checking their teeth, offering a quick, practiced smile before stepping away. These gestures repeat and mutate throughout. Later, the group circles the space as if on a leisurely Sunday promenade (all glances over shoulders, clasped hands, idle scratches of the neck). The familiar becomes strange, and then familiar again. And, of course, there is sex - sometimes playful, sometimes tender, and also absurd. There is something undeniably exhilarating about watching these performers embrace a bold, unapologetic sexuality decades on. At one point, Endicott moans theatrically into a microphone (à la When Harry Met Sally, iykyk), turning to the others for encouragement as the audience bubbles with laughter. Elsewhere, hips carve exaggerated “juicy circles” to cheerful oompah music. Bausch never lets us sit too comfortably, but she also reminds us, gently, not to take ourselves too seriously. That ease is deceptive. Just as quickly as she draws laughter, she shifts the room into silence. The world of the brothel carries an undercurrent of power and violation. One image lingers: Libonati stands alone at centre stage, encircled by men. They close in, slowly touching, tugging, manipulating her body, until she is lifted up passive and withdrawn. It is difficult to watch. There are echoes here of Abramović’s Rhythm 0, and a sense of artistic conversations stretching across decades. Kontakthof – Echoes of ‘78 feels, above all, like a reunion: unruly, tender, and very much alive. It’s clear Tankard and her team have landed on something truly special.”