A motel room. Two old friends. A cassette recorder. And a conversation about the past that gradually becomes something altogether more uncomfortable.

Stephen Belber’s Tape is a deceptively simple three-hander, and Cellar Door Theatre brings its claustrophobic world to the intimate Lion & Unicorn Theatre as part of this year’s Camden Fringe. At just 52 minutes, it’s a compact production built around fast-paced dialogue, shifting recollections and a question that becomes increasingly difficult to avoid: when two people remember the same encounter very differently, where does the truth lie?

First performed in 1999, Tape centres on Vince and Jon, old high-school friends reunited ten years later. What initially appears to be an awkward catch-up gradually becomes an interrogation about an encounter from their past involving Amy, a former girlfriend of Vince’s.

Vince remembers the encounter as rape. Jon remembers it very differently.

Cellar Door Theatre’s production certainly commits to that pressure-cooker atmosphere. Paul Kelvin as Vince and Nick Chinn as Jon establish an immediately combative relationship, their exchanges delivered at a rapid-fire pace as the balance of power between the two continually shifts. Both give committed, energetic performances and handle the considerable amount of dialogue impressively. There is a convincing sense of history between them too, although I did feel that the initial exchanges between them went on for rather too long before the real purpose of their reunion became apparent. More significantly, Vince’s motivation for pursuing Jon so relentlessly never felt entirely clear to me. That’s less a criticism of Kelvin’s performance than of the material itself: the production gives us the intensity, but the text doesn’t always provide enough psychological depth beneath it.

The arrival of the subject of the duel changes the dynamic again, turning what has essentially been a two-handed verbal confrontation into something more complicated. Brittany Rex’s Amy brings a different energy to the room as the person whose experience has until then existed only through the recollections and interpretations of two men. Amy also has considerably less time in which to establish herself than Vince and Jon, arriving relatively late in such a short play, which inevitably leaves the character with less room to develop. Her presence nevertheless destabilises everything we think we have understood.

And this is where Tape should perhaps become most fascinating. Its themes of consent, memory, sexual assault and the different ways in which people can interpret the same event remain every bit as relevant now as when Belber wrote the play. Yet, for me, the writing never quite explores those ideas with the complexity they deserve.

That was ultimately my difficulty with the evening. I admired the commitment of the company considerably more than I admired the play itself. The premise is provocative, but the writing sometimes feels more interested in engineering confrontation and bullying than genuinely interrogating the questions it raises. Most problematically, I never found myself sufficiently invested in these characters, or ultimately caring very much about what had happened between them. Given the seriousness of the subject matter, that emotional distance felt significant. Again, this wasn’t for want of commitment from the performers; for me, the writing simply never gave the characters enough depth to make their predicament truly involving. Given how much our conversations around consent have developed since Tape was first performed, I was left wondering what this particular play adds to that conversation today.

There are, however, some very effective production choices. The cassette recorder at the heart of proceedings is a wonderfully tangible reminder of the era in which the play was written, and there’s something rather pleasing now about seeing a good old cassette being used on stage.

I particularly enjoyed the music choices, which gave the production a strong late-90s alternative-rock texture. Alice in Chains’ ‘Man in the Box’, Mötley Crüe’s ‘Bastard’, Tears for Fears’ The Hurting’ and Butthole Surfers’ wonderfully distinctive ‘Pepper’ all worked extremely well with the atmosphere of the piece. The latter prompted one of those satisfying moments of half-recognition where I spent ages convinced I could hear Beck before discovering what it actually was.

Director Jaimee Doyle, assisted by Donovan Lenten, keeps the action moving briskly and makes good use of the Lion & Unicorn’s intimate performance space. There’s nowhere for these characters to hide, either from each other or from an audience sitting only feet away, and that proximity suits a play entirely dependent upon discomfort and confrontation.

Most importantly, this was clearly a production that connected strongly with its audience. The performance I attended was full and warmly received, culminating in a standing ovation. Theatre is subjective, and while Tape itself didn’t resonate particularly strongly with me, there were clearly plenty in the room for whom it did.

Cellar Door Theatre have approached a difficult piece with conviction, created an appropriately tense and claustrophobic environment and assembled a cast willing to throw themselves fully into some challenging material. While I remain unconvinced by Belber’s play, there was plenty here to suggest a company with interesting instincts and a willingness to tackle uncomfortable subjects.

For me, then, a stronger production than the play it serves, and an interesting contribution to the Camden Fringe.

UTS Rating:

There are few experiences in theatre quite like standing on the stage of the London Palladium.

Having spent years sitting in its auditorium watching everyone from major musical theatre stars to legendary bands, stepping onto the very stage where so many iconic performers have stood felt special before Jesus Christ Superstar had even begun. Add to that the opportunity to see behind the scenes of one of London’s most famous theatres, and it became far more than simply another visit to a musical.

This was my second encounter with Timothy Sheader’s acclaimed Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre production, now transferred to the Palladium. While I was already familiar with the staging, watching it from one of the on-stage platforms offered an entirely different perspective. Thanks largely to luck in the queue, I found myself right at the front for both acts with an uninterrupted view of the action.

That different perspective inevitably comes with compromises. You lose some of the sweeping visual impact of the staging, the carefully composed lighting and the performers’ facial expressions as they sing out towards the auditorium. Yet what you gain is something impossible to recreate from a theatre seat. Rather than observing events from afar, you become part of them, standing like one of the silent bystanders witnessing the final days of Jesus unfold around you.

One of the unexpected joys was turning away from the action and looking out into the Palladium itself. Instead of staring towards the stage, I found myself gazing across the stalls, dress circle and upper circle, imagining the countless performers who have looked out at exactly that view over the decades. Throughout the evening I could also watch the audience’s reactions. Faces shifted between delight, awe and sadness, while one gentleman in the front row remained utterly captivated, visibly moved during the Crucifixion. It was a fascinating reminder of theatre’s unique ability to create a shared emotional experience.

The production itself remains as striking as ever. The industrial scaffolding set is deliberately sparse, allowing Andrew Lloyd Webber’s extraordinary score and Tim Rice’s lyrics to take centre stage, while the towering illuminated cross gradually becomes an unforgettable visual centrepiece.

Being so close to the performers also gave me a renewed appreciation for the ensemble. Having recently performed in the ensemble of Kinky Boots myself, I know they are the beating heart and engine room of any musical, and nowhere was that more apparent than here. Rarely leaving the stage, they sing, dance, act and drive the story forward with astonishing stamina. Standing just a few feet away, I could hear individual voices within the harmonies, see the precision of every movement and even hear performers catching their breath between phrases. It offered a fascinating glimpse into just how physically and vocally demanding musical theatre really is. The diverse company performed with remarkable commitment throughout, each individual contributing to a cohesive whole.

Sam Ryder proves an inspired choice as Jesus. His vocal ability is nothing short of extraordinary, delivering Andrew Lloyd Webber’s demanding score with remarkable ease, warmth and emotional conviction. His interpretation of Gethsemane, one of my favourite songs in musical theatre and one I have performed myself, was outstanding. While echoes of Ted Neeley’s iconic portrayal can be heard, Ryder brings his own humanity and vulnerability to the role, making it entirely his own.

David Thaxton, a performer I have admired ever since seeing him as Enjolras in Les Misérables, delivers a commanding and intimidating Pilate. His chilling delivery during the sequence leading to the thirty-nine lashes is genuinely unsettling, while seeing the character up close only heightened his imposing presence.

Opposite him, Tyrone Huntley brings immense energy and complexity to Judas. Possessing one of the finest voices in the company, his performance balances anger, doubt and desperation, creating a Judas whose inner conflict remains compelling throughout.

Richard Armitage may seem an unexpected choice for Herod, but he throws himself wholeheartedly into the role’s gloriously camp absurdity. Herod’s Song has never been my favourite number in the score, yet Armitage embraces every glittering, theatrical moment with infectious enthusiasm.

Desmonda Cathabel is a wonderful Mary Magdalene. Her rendition of I Don’t Know How to Love Him was one of the evening’s vocal highlights, delivered with warmth, clarity and effortless control. It is a song I know and love well, and I particularly appreciated the beautifully traditional orchestral arrangement, which remains faithful to the classic recordings that first made the number famous.

Some of my favourite moments, however, were the ones almost nobody else in the theatre could see. At one point, Cathabel found herself standing just feet away from our platform, playfully acknowledging us as she gestured towards Jesus, creating a fleeting but memorable connection. Later, during a scene in which members of the company lay hidden behind the cross, invisible to the audience, I noticed her quietly holding the hand of one of the younger ensemble members. It was a simple act of kindness that perfectly captured the warmth and camaraderie within this company.

The entire on-stage experience was impeccably organised. From arrival to departure, the staff were warm, friendly and reassuring, ensuring everything ran smoothly, including the temporary locking away of mobile phones. Although I had experienced being on a West End stage before, this felt every bit as special.

The evening concluded with one final surprise. After taking their bows and applauding the orchestra, the company turned towards those of us standing on the stage and applauded us in return. It was a small gesture, but one that perfectly summed up the generosity of spirit that had characterised the entire experience.

Standing on the stage of the London Palladium doesn’t offer the definitive way to experience Jesus Christ Superstar, nor should it. Instead, it provides a unique and deeply immersive perspective on one of musical theatre’s greatest works. I left with an even greater appreciation for the extraordinary talent required to bring this iconic rock opera to life and, perhaps most importantly, already planning a return visit from the auditorium to admire it all over again from a completely different angle.

UTS Rating:

#jesuschristsuperstar #london palladium #samryder #andrewlloydwebber

There are some shows that defy description. Attempting to explain Otto & Astrid to someone who hasn’t seen them would probably result in a few raised eyebrows. A fictional German electro-punk sibling duo, childhood trauma involving a lion, original songs and increasingly absurd storytelling sounds like complete chaos on paper. On stage, however, it becomes one of the funniest and most joyously original evenings I’ve spent in a theatre.

Fresh from acclaimed runs in New York, Los Angeles and San Francisco, Otto & Astrid: The Stages Tour arrived at Soho Theatre last night for its final two London stops before heading to the Edinburgh Fringe. It proved the perfect setting for a show that feels equally at home in an intimate cabaret space and on a much larger stage.

Like Spinal Tap before them, Otto & Astrid never wink at the audience. Every bizarre anecdote, every sibling argument and every outlandish revelation is delivered with complete sincerity. Otto’s recurring references to the childhood trauma of his parents being eaten by a lion are so earnestly recounted that you somehow find yourself laughing while simultaneously feeling sorry for him. Lesser performers might chase the laughs. Clare Bartholomew and Daniel Tobias trust their characters completely, and that’s exactly why the comedy lands.

The comparisons with Spinal Tap extend beyond the deadpan delivery. The music itself is genuinely excellent. These aren’t throwaway comedy songs. They’re witty, inventive, surprisingly catchy and performed by two exceptionally accomplished musicians. Switching effortlessly between guitar, synths, percussion and keytar, the pair demonstrate that beneath the absurd personas lies serious musical talent. There are affectionate nods to synth-pop acts such as Pet Shop Boys, Depeche Mode and Tom Tom Club, alongside flashes of punk attitude, but the duo never feel like an imitation. Instead, they lovingly send up those influences while creating something entirely their own.

Numbers including Kitten, Second Best Friend and Tasty Snack prove that the songwriting is every bit as clever as the comedy. During Kitten, Otto dons a cute pair of cat ears, one of many gloriously daft visual touches that perfectly complements the duo’s offbeat humour. Long after the final bow, it’s the songs, as much as the jokes, that linger in the memory.

While both performers are outstanding, Daniel Tobias’s Otto completely stole my heart. Beneath the swaggering rock-star persona lies an unexpectedly vulnerable character. It’s not that his “unauthorised” songs reveal a softer musical side. If anything, they’re some of his boldest moments, complete with synth-heavy arrangements and Depeche Mode-style lighting that Otto enthusiastically requests himself. Rather, it’s the act of sneaking them into the set behind Astrid’s back that reveals his vulnerability. Like an excited child trying to get away with something before being caught, Otto’s eagerness and quiet determination make him impossible not to root for and this audience was absolutely on board.

Otto’s antics, however, only work because Clare Bartholomew’s Astrid is such a magnificent foil. Commanding the stage with delicious authority, she combines theatrical flair, impeccable comic timing and an almost maternal determination to keep Otto firmly in line. Their dysfunctional sibling relationship feels utterly authentic, every interruption, glare and squabble suggesting decades of shared history. Their chemistry is exceptional, and together they create characters who feel astonishingly real within their wonderfully warped universe.

Audience interaction is woven naturally throughout, drawing everyone further into Otto and Astrid’s peculiar world without ever feeling forced. The packed Soho ‘downstairs’ quickly surrendered to the madness, happily embracing every bizarre story and increasingly ridiculous revelation.

It’s easy to dismiss comedy music acts as novelty performances, but Otto & Astrid are something much richer. Their meticulous character work, razor-sharp writing and genuinely impressive musicianship combine to create an evening that’s as accomplished as it is hilarious.

Somewhere between the deadpan humour, brilliantly crafted songs, tales of lions and Otto completely stealing my heart, Otto & Astrid gave me one of the most joyously uplifting evenings I’ve had in a long time and I smiled all the way to the tube.

Next stop: Edinburgh! Otto & Astrid: The Stages Tour runs at Assembly Roxy during the Edinburgh Festival Fringe from 5 to 30 August 2026. If you’re heading to the Fringe this summer, I’d strongly recommend adding them to your list.

UTS Rating: 🎭🎭🎭🎭

Blending Appalachian folklore, supernatural fantasy and an unlikely love story, Dark of the Moon is an ambitious musical that doesn’t always know quite what it wants to be. At times it embraces the spirit of a tongue-in-cheek rock opera, while at others it reaches for the emotional sincerity of a heartfelt folk romance. Although that tonal balancing act isn’t always successful, there is plenty to admire in this imaginative revival.

Inspired by the folk ballad Barbara Allen, the story follows the forbidden relationship between the Witch Boy John and Barbara Allen, exploring love, prejudice and the price of belonging. Echoes of The Crucible and even Twilight drift through the production, creating an atmospheric world where superstition and suspicion are never far from the surface.

Musically, the show is at its strongest. The score contains several memorable songs, with the folk and bluegrass numbers proving particularly effective. One of the production’s cleverest ideas is assigning contrasting musical styles to different communities, allowing the score itself to become part of the storytelling and there are some really clever, subtle touches within that concept. The beautiful closing duet between Barbara and John provides a genuinely moving finale and ensures the production finishes on an emotional high.

Libby Todd’s rustic set design evokes the American South with warmth and authenticity, creating an immersive backdrop for the action. My only technical criticism was that the excellent band occasionally overpowered the performers, making some lyrics difficult to catch.

Lauren Jones delivers a compelling performance as Barbara Allen, combining warmth, vulnerability and a beautifully expressive singing voice. Josie Benson is outstanding as the Conjur Woman, throwing herself wholeheartedly into what could easily have become a rather absurd character. Her total commitment and commanding vocals make the role utterly convincing. Martin Callaghan makes a memorable impression as the Preacher, bringing authority, authenticity and a sizeable dose of the ick to the character.

With a couple of principal cast members absent, covers Samuel Murray (John) and Will Foggin (Marvin Hudgens) both stepped confidently into their roles and acquitted themselves admirably. Murray, in particular, clearly had plenty of support in the audience, which added a rather lovely atmosphere to the evening. The wider company provides strong support throughout.

While Dark of the Moon occasionally struggles to reconcile its contrasting styles, its imaginative score, engaging performances and atmospheric staging make it an enjoyable evening of musical theatre. It may not fully resolve the tension between its playful supernatural elements and its sincere central romance, but there’s enough heart, originality and musical quality here to make the journey worthwhile.

Dark of the Moon plays at the Charing Cross Theatre, London, until 8th August 2026.

UTS Rating:

#darkofthemoon #charingcrosstheatre #newmusical #newwriting #barbaraallen

Some artists have solo careers that feel like a natural continuation of the bands that made them famous, and others emerge to reveal something entirely unexpected. For me, Harry Styles has always belonged firmly in the latter camp.

I was never particularly a One Direction fan. I followed their extraordinary rise through The X Factor and was well aware of the phenomenon they became, but their music largely passed me by. Then Harry released Sign of the Times. It stopped me in my tracks. Ambitious, mature and worlds away from the music I’d associated with the boy band, it revealed an artist with far more dimensions than I’d anticipated. I’ve been fascinated by him ever since.

Fast forward to 2026 and that former boy-band member was playing an extraordinary run of sold-out shows at Wembley Stadium, very much a young man with the world at his feet. Together, Together, his first major tour since Love On Tour, takes an unusual residency-style approach, visiting just seven cities around the world rather than following the traditional touring model, in support of his latest album Kiss All The Time. Disco, Occasionally. The London leg grew into a staggering 12 nights at Wembley Stadium, with Shania Twain as special guest, an achievement that underlines quite how enormous Harry Styles has become as a solo artist. Yet perhaps one of Harry’s greatest charms is that he doesn’t particularly behave like one.

There’s something refreshingly normal about him. He remains funny, humble and remarkably down to earth, retaining an almost boy-next-door quality despite performing in front of a sea of people. He doesn’t swagger around Wembley demanding that you acknowledge his superstardom. If anything, his stage persona can occasionally feel almost too understated for a production of this magnitude. But his warmth, humour and sheer likeability compensate for any lack of conventional showmanship.

And he certainly doesn’t lack energy. Harry seemed to spend half the evening running up and down the vast runways extending into the crowd, an impressively athletic feat in itself. His interaction with individual audience members provided some genuinely funny moments and revealed that dry northern sense of humour, while his band and dancers added movement and colour around him. One particularly joyful sequence saw the whole company marching together down the runway during Aperture, perfectly capturing the communal spirit of the show.

Then, of course, there’s the style. Harry has long been one of pop’s most interesting dressers, unafraid to play with fashion while somehow making everything look effortless. Even something as simple as the tank top he wore for part of this show looked fabulous. And yes, it has to be said, he is an extraordinarily handsome man. Yet that visual appeal is only a fraction of what makes him interesting. Beneath the clothes, charisma and megawatt smile is an accomplished musician and songwriter who has successfully built an identity entirely separate from the band that launched him.

The setlist reflected that evolution beautifully. An opening section moved between newer material and huge solo hits, with Golden, Adore You, Watermelon Sugar and Music for a Sushi Restaurant sitting alongside songs including Are You Listening Yet?, Taste Back and Coming Up Roses, before the gorgeous Fine Line shifted the mood.

Later, an orchestral string medley of Night Changes, Falling and History offered an elegant acknowledgement of both his One Direction past and solo career without allowing nostalgia to dominate the evening. Keep Driving and newer tracks including Ready, Steady, Go!, Dance No More and Pop demonstrated the breadth of the set, while Treat People With Kindness provided another characteristically upbeat celebration of the philosophy Harry has made very much his own.

I have to admit that his latest album isn’t my favourite of his work. The more dance-driven tracks translated particularly well to a stadium setting, but for me the evening’s greatest musical moments came from elsewhere in his catalogue. Perhaps that’s simply the perspective of an older fan surrounded by a new generation who knew every word.

And I really was surrounded by them. I was standing in the stage right Disco section, one of the enormous areas towards the front, where the demographic consisted predominantly of excitable young women. At various points I found myself mentally explaining that my children were in the toilet. I don’t have children, but it felt important that everybody knew this.

Still, I’ve always preferred being as close to the action as possible, and the atmosphere was fantastic. For all the excitement, the crowd around me was friendly and remarkably polite, creating an environment that felt celebratory rather than frantic.

Watermelon Sugar was an obvious highlight, a perfect summer stadium song that seemed designed for tens of thousands of people to sing together. Matilda provided one of the quieter emotional moments towards the end, but it was Sign of the Times that remained the pinnacle for me.

There was something wonderfully circular about standing in Wembley Stadium listening to Harry sing the very song that had first made me take him seriously as a solo artist. As the stadium illuminated with thousands of phone lights, his image towering over the crowd on the screens, it was genuinely spectacular. I’ve loved the song since I first heard it and, all these years later, hearing it on that scale was worth the price of admission alone.

As It Was is another favourite and provided the huge celebratory finale the evening demanded. Unfortunately, stadium concerts also require the occasional brutal logistical decision. Wembley is impressively organised, but anyone who has attempted to get onto the Tube alongside tens of thousands of other people after a concert will understand why I began making my escape partway through the song. There is something mildly infuriating about artists quite reasonably saving their biggest hits until last while those of us reliant on public transport calculate precisely how much of them we dare hear.

I caught enough, though, including the fabulous fireworks illuminating Wembley. There remains something uniquely magical about a vast outdoor concert finishing beneath a night sky exploding with colour. However many big shows you attend, it’s difficult to become blasé about that sight.

Harry wasn’t the only superstar on the bill. Having Shania Twain as a special guest was extraordinary in itself, but there was something particularly lovely about the pairing given Harry’s affection for an artist he grew up listening to. Seeing someone of her stature sharing these Wembley dates with him felt less like conventional support billing and more like one generation celebrating another.

Shania looked sensational, with fabulous hair, a fantastic figure and an outfit, right down to the boots, worthy of the occasion. The vocal difficulties she has experienced in recent years were sometimes evident and she is understandably no longer the singer she once was, but the catalogue speaks for itself. The crowd adored her, the hits prompted enormous singalongs, and it was a genuine pleasure to see such an iconic artist perform them.

Yet one of my favourite memories of the entire evening didn’t happen particularly close to Harry at all.

During a trip away from my spot at the front, I wandered further back and came across groups of young women dancing together. Some were holding hands, others had formed little circles. They weren’t worrying about whether they could see Harry properly or calculating how to get another ten feet closer to the stage. They were simply dancing with their friends, completely immersed in the music and the moment.

I’ve been (and sometimes still am!) the obsessive fan who absolutely has to be at the front myself, so I understand that particular form of madness. But there was something wonderfully pure about watching these girls simply enjoying being there. For them, the concert wasn’t just about the tiny figure running around on the stage in the distance. It was about each other, the music and a shared experience they will probably remember for years.

Perhaps that was the real meaning of Together, Together.

Harry Styles may now possess the kind of career most artists can only dream about, capable of filling Wembley Stadium night after night, but his appeal remains surprisingly human. He’s a talented songwriter and musician, a charismatic and stylish performer, and a global superstar who still somehow gives the impression that he’s having as much fun being there as everybody watching him.

For me, the newer material didn’t always reach the extraordinary heights of his strongest songs. But when a stadium full of lights accompanied Sign of the Times, or thousands danced to Watermelon Sugar, or groups of friends spun around each other beneath the Wembley sky, that hardly mattered.

It was huge, colourful and spectacular, but ultimately its greatest pleasure was something much simpler: the joy of being there, together.

You can find more photos on my Instagram account @underthestars_bygirloutside. Please give me a follow whilst you are there 🙂

UTS Rating:

#harrystyles #togethertogether #shaniatwain #wembleystadium

There are concerts, there are arena spectaculars, and then there are productions that leave you wondering how on earth they managed to pull it off. Take That’s The Circus tour sat firmly in the latter category.

Although I’d always enjoyed their music, I was never one of the legions of fans during their 1990s heyday. In fact, it was only over the past few years that I’d truly come to appreciate them as one of Britain’s finest live acts. This was my third time seeing the band, but the first opportunity to experience The Circus tour, having missed it first time around. By the end of the evening, however, I realised the music had become just one part of an experience unlike any concert I’d attended before.

The evening began with a wonderfully deceptive piece of staging. Rather than launching straight into the enormous main set, Gary Barlow, Howard Donald and Mark Owen appeared beneath a giant balloon on a smaller B-stage, opening with Greatest Day, Could It Be Magic, Pray, A Million Love Songs and Back for Good. Every eye in the stadium was drawn away from the main stage, allowing the real surprise to remain hidden.

Then came The Garden.

As a magnificent elephant carrying the band slowly made its way down the runway, the swishing tail ingeniously provided by the body of one of the show’s many acrobats, the vast circus world in front of it suddenly burst into life. It was genuinely breathtaking. What moments earlier had appeared to be a conventional concert stage transformed into an extraordinary carnival of colour, towering scenery, aerial rigs, acrobats, dancers and circus performers. It was one of those rare theatrical reveals that made an entire stadium collectively gasp. It was, without question, my highlight of the evening.

That sense of wonder continued throughout the show.

Inspired by The Circus album, the production embraced the magic of the big top without ever feeling gimmicky. During Said It All, a lone tightrope walker suspended high above the audience perfectly captured both the beauty and jeopardy of circus life, while the band’s transformation into clowns during What Is Love provided another wonderfully imaginative visual twist. Aerial artists, trapeze performers and a huge supporting company ensured there was always something extraordinary happening wherever you looked. Yet despite the scale, it never felt cluttered. Every visual flourish had its place, every transition felt seamless and every reveal perfectly judged.

Musically, the show was every bit as rewarding as the visuals. The setlist effortlessly balanced songs from The Circus with the hits everyone came to hear. Shine provided an irresistible burst of energy, The Circus became a natural centrepiece, while Up All Night, What Is Love and Said It All served as reminders of just how underrated that album really is. Alongside them came the songs that have become part of Britain’s musical landscape: Never Forget, Patience, Relight My Fire, Hold Up a Light and the inevitable, emotional finale of Rule the World.

Listening to the show unfold was also a timely reminder of what an extraordinary songwriter Gary Barlow is. We rightly celebrate the chart-topping singles, but hearing this catalogue performed live highlighted the remarkable consistency of his writing. Many of the so-called album tracks possessed the same melodic brilliance, emotional honesty and craftsmanship as the biggest hits. Few British songwriters have created a body of work capable of filling stadiums for more than three decades, and this concert quietly celebrated that achievement without ever needing to shout about it.

That quality of songwriting was precisely what allowed the production to soar. The astonishing staging never felt like it was compensating for weaker material. Instead, every visual flourish amplified songs that were already exceptionally well written, making the circus concept feel completely organic rather than imposed.

Relight My Fire deserves special mention. Just when you thought the production couldn’t become any more extravagant, the stage erupted with a towering inflatable figure, flames and dazzling visual effects that somehow still left room for the band themselves to remain the focal point. It was joyous, gloriously over-the-top entertainment at its absolute best, and another reminder that this production never stopped finding new ways to surprise its audience.

What impressed me most, however, was that none of it overshadowed the band themselves.

Despite the enormous production surrounding them, Gary, Howard and Mark remained remarkably grounded performers. Their warmth, humour and easy chemistry made the stadium somehow feel intimate, and their vocals have rarely sounded stronger. They have long since outgrown the “boy band” label, performing instead with the confidence and assurance of seasoned entertainers who know exactly how to command an audience without ever appearing anything other than genuinely down to earth.

Behind them stood an exceptional live band alongside their army of dancers, singers, circus performers and acrobats, each contributing to a production whose precision never faltered. It would have been easy for such an ambitious concept to descend into chaos, yet every movement felt meticulously choreographed while retaining a sense of spontaneity and joy.

Perhaps that’s what impressed me most. Every song became its own miniature theatrical production, yet the evening never lost its heart. Beneath the astonishing visuals were three performers who clearly still love making music together, and that genuine affection for both each other and their audience radiated across the arena.

I came hoping finally to experience The Circus songs live.

I left convinced that I hadn’t simply been to a concert. I’d witnessed one of the greatest live productions I’ve ever seen.

UTS Rating:

#takethat #thecircus #garybarlow #howarddonald #markowen

Oscar Wilde’s An Ideal Husband has always been a play obsessed with image: public morality, private compromise and the performance of respectability. Director Nicholai La Barrie’s bold new production at the Lyric Hammersmith attempts to drag those themes firmly into the present day through an all-Black cast, contemporary music, stylised movement and a visually striking modern aesthetic. The result is certainly ambitious, often entertaining and undeniably original, even if it does not always fully cohere dramatically.

From the moment audiences enter the auditorium, the production announces its intentions loudly and confidently. Contemporary R&B and neo-soul pulse through the theatre before the curtain rises, cocktails are themed around power and scandal, and the production’s visual world immediately rejects any notion of dusty heritage theatre. Instead, this is Wilde reframed through glamour, politics, celebrity culture and modern public performance.

Visually, the production is often stunning. The costumes are magnificent throughout, blending sharp tailoring with contemporary luxury and high-fashion flair. Jamael Westman’s Lord Goring in particular looks effortlessly stylish every time he steps on stage, perfectly embodying the character’s languid charm and social ease. The set design remains relatively minimal, but the lighting, choreography and physical theatre elements constantly reshape the stage around it, giving the evening a fluid, kinetic energy. At several points, movement is used extremely effectively, whether through stylised transitions, heightened ensemble work or moments where characters physically orbit one another like figures trapped within a glamorous political machine. There are also some genuinely inspired uses of music throughout, from modern Black music and dance influences to the inclusion of tracks such as Miss Dynamite, all helping to create a vibrant contemporary atmosphere that feels worlds away from traditional Wilde productions.

And yet Wilde remains stubborn material. However modern the framing, An Ideal Husband still lives or dies on precision: timing, chemistry, wit and absolute confidence with language. Too often here, the acting lacks the sharpness needed to make Wilde’s dialogue truly sparkle.

Aurora Perrineau’s Mrs Cheveley occasionally hints at the steel and sophistication the role demands, and visually she certainly fits the production’s sleek aesthetic. However, the performance never quite acquires the commanding gravitas or seductive menace needed to make the character truly formidable, leaving some of the play’s central stakes feeling less dangerous than they should. Elsewhere, several performances veer too heavily into caricature, with comedy frequently overplayed rather than allowed to emerge naturally from Wilde’s razor-sharp dialogue.

It is Jamael Westman, best known to many audiences for previously starring as Hamilton in the West End production of Hamilton, who most successfully understands the rhythms of Wilde. His Lord Goring is charismatic, relaxed and genuinely funny without ever appearing to chase laughs too aggressively. Westman instinctively trusts the text, allowing Wilde’s wit to land naturally rather than forcing it. His scenes with Mabel Chiltern, played with warmth and charm by Tiwa Lade, are easily the production’s strongest. Together they generate the chemistry, playfulness and emotional ease that much of the evening elsewhere struggles to sustain.

Chike Okonkwo also brings welcome grounding and sincerity to Sir Robert Chiltern, helping anchor some of the production’s more emotionally serious moments amidst the surrounding theatrical excess.

Interestingly, the second half proves considerably stronger than the first. Once the production finally relaxes into its own absurdity and embraces the heightened theatricality more confidently, it becomes significantly more entertaining. Certain visual moments linger impressively in the memory, particularly the wedding sequence and bursts of red confetti that transform the stage into something resembling a glamorous political fever dream. There are flashes throughout of the daring, contemporary Wilde revival this production could perhaps have become more consistently.

What ultimately prevents the evening from fully succeeding is not the concept itself, but the uneven execution. The production clearly understands Wilde intellectually, and its desire to widen access to classic theatre while reframing the play through a contemporary lens is admirable. Judging by audience reaction, many viewers were clearly having a wonderful time, particularly those perhaps newer to Wilde’s work. That accessibility and inclusivity can only be a positive thing for modern theatre.

However, the production too often mistakes noise, movement and stylisation for genuine dramatic depth. Wilde’s satire needs precision beneath the spectacle, and here the balance does not always hold.

Still, for all its flaws, this remains a genuinely interesting revival rather than a forgettable one. It may not fully succeed, but its ambition, visual flair and willingness to take risks are difficult to dismiss. In a theatrical landscape often dominated by safe revivals, there is at least something refreshing about a production prepared to fail boldly rather than succeed conventionally.

UTS Rating: 🎭🎭🎭

#AnIdealHusband #LyricHammersmith #OscarWilde #TheatreReview #LondonTheatre

There’s something fitting about returning to reviewing with a musical called Flyby. After a pause, relaunches can feel a little like re-entry: exciting, slightly disorientating and fuelled by equal parts anticipation and nerves. It also felt entirely right that this return happened at one of my favourite London venues, the wonderfully atmospheric Southwark Playhouse.

There’s always a particular electricity to a final matinee too. Audiences arrive knowing this exact version of the show is about to disappear forever, while casts often perform with that unique mixture of freedom, exhaustion and emotional openness that only comes at the end of a run.

Created by Theo Jamieson and Adam Lenson and developed at the National Theatre, Flyby arrives with considerable ambition. Part psychological drama, part fractured love story and part retro-futurist sci-fi fever dream, it follows astronaut and engineer Daniel and filmmaker Emily through a relationship shaped by memory, trauma, longing and emotional distance.

The narrative unfolds in a deliberately fragmented and non-linear way, weaving together memories, interviews, imagined sequences and moments of emotional confrontation. Three narrators orbit around the central story, helping to blur the boundaries between documentary, memory and psychological interiority. At times the show feels almost less interested in literal plot than in recreating the sensation of drifting through somebody else’s emotional landscape.

Before the show even began, Southwark Playhouse’s Large had already been transformed into its world. The auditorium hummed with retro electronic chatter and R2-D2-esque spaceship noises, creating an immediate sense of immersion. The audience itself was not completely packed for this final matinee, but the house still felt warm, lively and genuinely engaged.

Visually, the production is striking. Libby Todd’s set design places a mid-century style living room inside a glowing cube-like structure which feels simultaneously domestic, clinical and cosmic. The musicians positioned in upper windows, above the action and behind the stars, become part of the visual language too, almost like observers overlooking the characters or the emotional machinery of the ship itself. In Southwark’s relatively intimate space, the production manages to feel surprisingly expansive.

And in many ways, Flyby is at its strongest when it fully embraces its sci-fi atmosphere. The imagery of space, isolation and drifting emotional disconnection is often genuinely haunting. The production creates an evocative emotional texture that lingers long after the performance finishes.

At the centre of this is Stuart Thompson’s deeply committed performance as Daniel. Thompson gives the character an openness and emotional fragility that anchors much of the show, particularly during his solo material. There is something painfully exposed about Daniel throughout, a man carrying unresolved trauma, loneliness and a desperate longing for connection. Even when the narrative itself occasionally drifts, Thompson remains compelling to watch.

Poppy Gilbert’s Emily is more difficult to connect with, although this feels more a question of writing than performance. The central relationship is intentionally messy and volatile, but I found myself far more emotionally invested in Daniel’s internal journey than in the romance itself. Interestingly, the show’s metaphorical exploration of space and emotional isolation often proves more engaging than the actual relationship drama at its core.

That imbalance becomes increasingly apparent as the piece progresses. Flyby is rich in symbolism and atmosphere, but not all of its imagery fully lands or remains clearly anchored. The turtle motif, initially introduced through childhood memory, has clearly divided opinion, but I actually found it surprisingly effective. What could easily have tipped into something distracting instead became oddly touching and visually memorable. The turtle seems to carry multiple possible meanings throughout the piece: safety, retreat, emotional self-protection and the idea of carrying ‘home’ with you even while drifting through isolation. There is also something quietly resonant in the image of a creature instinctively navigating vast oceans, mirroring Daniel’s own search for guidance and connection across emotional and literal distance. It struck me as the kind of theatrical device that could become even more powerful on a larger stage with greater visual scale behind it.

The show repeatedly gestures towards ideas of navigation, home and guidance, particularly through its lighthouse imagery, but these themes sometimes feel more poetically suggested than fully embedded within the storytelling. This is perhaps where my feelings about the production became most mixed.

There is no question that Flyby is ambitious, intelligent and visually imaginative. Adam Lenson’s programme note explicitly states that the show is not interested in neatness or tidy emotional resolutions, and that intention is absolutely visible on stage. However, there were points where the fragmented structure and dreamlike ambiguity began to work against the production’s emotional momentum.

At one hour and forty-five minutes without an interval, the show occasionally starts to feel adrift. Certain scenes and emotional beats repeat without significantly deepening the central relationships, and there were moments where my attention began to wander despite the audience around me remaining visibly absorbed. The material arguably needs either tightening or a full two-act structure to better sustain its emotional trajectory.

Even so, there is something admirable about a musical willing to take these kinds of risks. In an era where so much theatre can feel carefully focus-grouped into submission, Flyby reaches unapologetically for something stranger, more poetic and more emotionally elusive.

I left Southwark Playhouse unsure I fully loved the show, but equally unable to stop thinking about it afterwards. Its imagery, performances and atmosphere continued to circle in my head long after the final moments.

Like space itself, Flyby can sometimes feel vast, beautiful, lonely and difficult to fully grasp. But perhaps that lingering ambiguity is partly the point.

UTS Rating: 🎭🎭🎭

#FlybyMusical #SouthwarkPlayhouse #LondonTheatre #newmusicals #offwestend

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At first glance, Please Please Me at the Kiln Theatre might sound like another Beatles nostalgia piece, a trip through Liverpool accents, mop tops and wall-to-wall hits. Instead, playwright Tom Wright delivers something far more intimate and psychologically impressionistic: a study of Brian Epstein, the “Fifth Beatle”, and the hidden loneliness behind one of the greatest cultural revolutions in modern history.

For those less familiar with Epstein’s story, his importance to The Beatles is difficult to overstate. A young Jewish businessman from Liverpool, Epstein managed the family record store empire, NEMS, within a respectable and tightly controlled family world before discovering the Beatles at the Cavern Club in 1961. At the time, they were a rough-edged local band shaped by the chaos of Hamburg clubs and Liverpool nightlife. Epstein saw something extraordinary in them. He refined their image, introduced the famous suits and synchronised bows, secured crucial recording opportunities and helped transform four working-class Liverpool musicians into polished global icons. In many ways, he helped invent the blueprint for modern pop stardom itself.

Yet while Epstein became enormously successful professionally, his personal life was far more complicated. Homosexuality remained illegal in Britain throughout much of his lifetime, and Wright’s play repeatedly returns to the shame, secrecy and emotional isolation shaping Epstein’s inner world. Here was a man helping usher Britain into a new age of freedom and cultural liberation while remaining trapped behind carefully maintained facades himself. The production repeatedly hints at the tension between the respectable Epstein family environment and the hidden private life Brian was forced to navigate beneath it.

Even before the curtain rose, the production’s intent was quietly signposted through a haunting pre-show soundtrack of wistful crooner ballads including When You Lose The One You Love by David Whitfield and I’ll Always Be in Love with You and Skylark by Michael Holliday. These songs of longing, emotional restraint and unreachable devotion create the atmosphere of a Britain just before the Beatles exploded everything open: a world of coded emotions, polished surfaces and hidden lives. The playlist feels less like nostalgia and more like Brian Epstein’s private emotional soundtrack.

Wright’s programme notes make clear that this is not intended as strict historical recreation. He writes of emotional truth, memory and the unknowability of what may or may not have passed between Epstein and John Lennon during their infamous trip to Torremolinos in 1963, noting that theatre thrives in spaces where certainty breaks down. That tension between ambiguity and interpretation sits at the heart of the production.

The first half charts Epstein’s extraordinary rise with real energy. We see the ambitious young man who transformed the Beatles from rough-edged Liverpool club act into polished global phenomenon, imposing suits, discipline and refinement while simultaneously helping unleash a seismic cultural shift. The Cavern Club atmosphere is vividly evoked, and the production captures that intoxicating sense of Britain standing on the brink of reinvention. This is the story of the hidden architect of modern pop culture, a man shaping not only a band but the very idea of modern celebrity.

Interestingly, the Beatles themselves hover over the production more like ghosts than fully realised characters. Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr barely register directly at all, their absence becoming oddly haunting. Rather than recreating Beatlemania literally, Wright allows the band to exist as a looming cultural presence just outside the room, refracted through Brian’s memories, anxieties and desires. It is an unexpectedly effective choice, transforming the Beatles from flesh-and-blood icons into something almost mythic.

Then comes the unravelling.

The second half becomes increasingly hallucinatory and fragmented as Epstein spirals through drink, drugs, paid encounters and emotional collapse. Wright’s play leans hard into psychological impressionism here, less interested in documenting facts than inhabiting the inner chaos of a man who helped create cultural immortality while quietly disappearing inside it. The play becomes less a Beatles biography than a chamber piece about intimacy, repression and mythmaking.

At the centre is a uniformly excellent performance from Calam Lynch, known to many from the second season of Bridgerton, as Epstein. Lynch charts the character’s trajectory beautifully, moving from driven architect of Beatlemania to emotionally unravelled figure with both glamour and vulnerability intact. There is something of a young Rufus Wainwright in his appearance and energy, particularly during Act Two: intelligent, melancholic, slightly unkempt but elegant and faintly haunted. Lynch ensures Brian never becomes merely tragic martyr or historical footnote. Instead, he emerges as painfully human: ambitious, lonely, ashamed, romantic and increasingly fragile beneath the polish.

Opposite him, Noah Ritter makes a strong professional stage debut as Lennon, particularly impressive in capturing the voice and accent. However, the production’s portrayal of Lennon is perhaps its most contentious element. Here he is frequently harsh, arrogant, emotionally withholding and controlling, with relatively little warmth visible beneath the charisma. The play heavily implies Lennon as the emotional instigator and seductive destabilising force within the relationship.

More strikingly still, the production often gives the impression that Brian becomes less a genuine emotional equal than an experience for Lennon to try on before fame, marriage and fatherhood fully take hold. That imbalance hangs heavily over the play’s central relationship. Brian appears emotionally exposed and deeply invested, while Lennon frequently feels transient, exploratory and already moving toward another life entirely.

That dramatic choice creates compelling theatre but occasionally sits uneasily beside Wright’s own stated fascination with uncertainty and unknowability. Historically, the Lennon/Epstein relationship remains unresolved and contradictory, shaped as much by projection, loneliness and mythmaking as by any known facts. The play is most compelling when it allows that ambiguity to breathe rather than steering too firmly toward emotional certainty.

Still, the emotional force of the production remains undeniable, particularly in the way silence and withdrawal are used. Following the overt intimacy of the Spain scenes, Lennon’s sudden distance and emotional retreat become devastating in themselves. The man capable of managing global hysteria is reduced to anxiety over unanswered calls and vanished affection. The loneliness behind Beatlemania is rendered painfully clear.

Surrounding the central performances is a superb supporting ensemble. William Robinson, Arthur Wilson and Eleanor Worthington-Cox move seamlessly between multiple characters, creating fluidity and pace throughout. Their transformations are quick, convincing and often remarkably economical.

Worthington-Cox is especially affecting as Cilla Black, who opens and closes the play and emerges as one of its most emotionally grounded presences. Amid the speculation, obsession and emotional projection surrounding Lennon, Cilla feels refreshingly tangible and real: a loyal friend, a reminder of Liverpool roots and genuine connection. Her brief moments of singing are genuinely beautiful and quietly steal the evening.

Visually, Tom Piper’s simple but highly effective set works wonderfully within the intimate Kiln space. A huge illuminated NEMS sign looms over sparse staging and ghostly white drapes, suggesting glamour suspended above emotional emptiness. The fluidity of the design allows scenes to move rapidly through time and place without ever feeling cluttered.

Meanwhile, Amit Sharma’s slick, thoughtful direction keeps the production moving briskly across shifting decades, locations and emotional states. Despite the play’s abstract tendencies, Sharma ensures clarity and momentum rarely falter.

Ultimately, Please Please Me is less interested in Beatlemania itself than in the cost of creating it. Wright’s play asks what it cost Brian Epstein to help build a cultural revolution while remaining unable to fully inhabit his own identity. It may occasionally overstate its interpretation of Lennon and Epstein’s relationship, but it remains a compelling, stylish and deeply thoughtful piece of theatre that lingers long after the final scene fades into darkness.

UTS Rating:

#pleasepleaseme #thebeatles #kilntheatre #johnlennon #brianepstein #cillablack

I returned to Kander and Ebb’s Kiss of the Spider Woman more than 30 years after first seeing it, this time at Bristol Old Vic, as part of its current revival and regional tour. My first encounter with the show was as a teenager at London’s Shaftesbury Theatre in December 1992. That lavish production starred Chita Rivera, Brent Carver and Anthony Crivello and sadly did not run for long, but left a lasting impression with me. I went into this brand new, reimagined production expecting nostalgia. What I did not expect was to be completely undone.

From the opening, eerie bars, underscored by the cold sounds of the prison, I was hooked. There is something about this score that gets under your skin immediately, and for me it remains one of the most extraordinary musical theatre scores ever written. I love Kander and Ebb and all that they have done, but this feels like something else entirely.

This production, directed by Paul Foster, is scaled back, but never diminished. The set is minimal – iron, shadows, suggestion – yet it creates a world that feels both claustrophobic and cinematic. The Spider Woman sequences, often playing out towards the back of the stage, are enhanced by projected film that gives them the texture of an old movie, adding a layer of glamour and escapism that contrasts beautifully with the stark reality of the prison cell. I loved how Molina and Valentín begin to inhabit those fantasy spaces together, particularly in the second half, when the emotional barriers between them begin to dissolve.

Vocally, the production is outstanding across the board. The singing is consistently strong, with real clarity and emotional weight, and it is a reminder of just how demanding this score is.

At the centre of it all is Molina, brought to life with warmth, humour and real emotional depth by Fabian Soto Pacheco. His performance is both vocally and dramatically assured, and the two elements work seamlessly together. Dressing Them Up is everything I had hoped it would be – playful, expressive and completely captivating. Having listened to Brent Carver sing that song for over three decades and knowing every word, I had high expectations and  am delighted to say that Fabian more than delivered. His rendition was rich with character and feeling, perfectly capturing Molina’s spirit.

Beyond the vocals, what makes Fabian’s Molina so affecting is his humanity. He is warm, funny, vulnerable and instinctively kind, drawing you in from the very start. Molina’s use of fantasy and storytelling as a form of escapism is central to the piece; in a bleak and oppressive environment, he creates beauty, glamour and narrative as a way of surviving. Those imagined worlds are not just distractions, but lifelines, allowing both himself and, eventually, Valentín to step outside the confines of their reality and, crucially, to find moments of light within the darkness. The chemistry between the two men simmers from the outset and deepens into something far more complex and moving as the show progresses.

What struck me most about Molina is how he is treated – dismissed, humiliated, underestimated – not just by the system around him, but initially by Valentín too. As a gay man, as someone who doesn’t fit the mould of what society values, he is seen as lesser, as frivolous, as expendable. And yet he is the moral heart of the piece. He loves deeply, he cares instinctively, he is loyal, and ultimately he is brave. It’s a powerful reminder that decency, kindness and humanity are what define a person, not how the world labels them. In a story filled with oppression and control, Molina becomes the quiet voice of compassion and, in many ways, the source of hope.

Alongside him, George Blagden is excellent as Valentin, embodying the revolutionary at the heart of the piece. His initial rigidity and emotional guard are held firmly in place, shaped by a life defined by resistance and the need to stand against oppression. What is so compelling is how gradually that armour begins to fracture. Nothing is rushed; instead, we see a man who has trained himself to suppress feeling in the name of a greater cause, slowly confronting the cost of that choice. In a world that still grapples with injustice, conflict and the silencing of dissenting voices, Valentín’s struggle feels strikingly current. His journey becomes not just personal, but political, a reminder of the courage it takes to stand up, and the humanity that can be lost along the way, but also what can be rediscovered.

Joanna Goodwin’s choreography is slick, sensual and at times deliberately provocative; yes, there is definite eye candy (the sexy, oiled prisoners did not go unnoticed 😉) – but it never feels gratuitous. Instead, it adds to the heightened, cinematic texture of the piece. Even in a scaled-down production, there’s a sense of glamour threaded throughout, like a flickering old movie playing against the harshness of the prison.

Then there is the musical number Marta. A moment I knew was coming, and yet it still broke me. It’s such a beautiful melody, sung here with real passion and sadness, and it becomes the emotional tipping point of the piece. Up until then, George’s Valentín is controlled, ideological, holding everything in. In that moment, he lets go and the result is devastating.

Anna-Jane Casey is truly mesmerising as the Spider Woman. Her physicality is extraordinary – at times almost fittingly insect-like – and when she appears in black, she is completely transformed, elegant, dangerous, and utterly compelling. She brings a seductive, otherworldly presence that anchors the fantasy sequences and elevates them into something truly striking.

What struck me most, though, is how relevant the piece still feels. The themes of oppression, poverty, and political struggle are not relics of the past; they are very much present in today’s world. And at its heart, this is not only a story about resistance, but about hope, about the ability to find light in the most difficult and horrific circumstances. It is a story about love in all its forms: romantic, sexual, maternal, ideological, and forbidden. Even in its darkest moments, it reminds us that humanity, connection and imagination can offer a way through.

One line lingered with me long after the curtain fell: “Sometimes I hate feelings.” 

And perhaps that is the essence of the show. Valentín tries to suppress them. Molina lives through them. And somewhere between the two, something deeply human emerges.

This production proves that you don’t need scale to create impact. Stripped back but emotionally expansive, it delivers a powerful, moving, and deeply resonant piece of theatre.

The hope is that this tour will evolve; don’t fail to see it if it does.

UTS Rating:

 

#kissofhespiderwoman #bristololdvic #kanderandebb #musicaltheatre

Kiss of the Spider Woman continues its run at Bristol Old Vic until 16th May 2026 and then plays at the Mayflower Southampton 2 – 6 June 2026.

Tickets for Bristol Old Vic are available here: Kiss of the Spider Woman | Bristol Old Vic

Tickets for Southampton Mayflower are available here: Kiss of the Spider Woman | Mayflower Studios

Photographs by Marc Brenner