Reviews

“A true secret recipe.” ★★★★ ½  If you fancy something different for dinner, I wholeheartedly recommend heading to The Glitch for Some Masterchef Sh*t. In this dark and delectable comedy from Liam High, two men meet for what appears to be nothing more than your typical date. Buttoned-up surgeon, Adam (Harry Freeman), and socially awkward waiter, Luke (George Miller), blunder their way through a series of clumsy questions to try to get to know one another over coffee. The dialogue is agile, believable, and naturally funny, delivered with a breezy ease by Freeman and Miller. Their conversation mixes the fantastically mundane, like jobs, home life, and TV's most memorable moments, with a seasoning of the philosophical, like gender, sexuality, and the politics of identity, all without pretension or self-satisfaction. Blending this together could easily result in a split sauce, but here we've got a fine Roux. Minor spoilers ahead if you want to keep the surprise of where this is going, but over the course of this brilliantly juxtaposed and endearingly bumbling first meeting, it’s gradually revealed through hints and suggestion that something unspeakably deviant has brought them together. Not all is as it seems with this so far relatable date. In fact, it’s not a date at all, but instead: inspired by real-life cases like the "Rotenburg Cannibal", Adam is seeking a man to have round for dinner. Literally. While his fiancée is away, he wants to explore a non-sexual and deep-seated desire to cook and eat a penis. And Luke has agreed. If the premise sounds mad, the true genius of this show is in its ability to convince you otherwise, to weave in such tenderness and relatability that the characters retain their likability and ordinariness. High doesn’t try too hard with his characters here. They stay true to the real world, with their complex desires and motivations explored delicately, and hilariously, through their evolving relationship and the very different situations that led them to this plan. Despite the subject, there is nothing flashy (and I mean that as a compliment) or OTT here, just genuine substance. It’s a one-act two-hander played out over three richly compact scenes (and whether that reflection of form with the traditional three-course meal is intentional or not is pleasing nonetheless). This is a real writers’ play: the words here are doing the work. Though that’s not to understate the direction of James Cave, who has considered all the sightlines and keeps the talky action dynamic. The transitions between the scenes is a touch wide and clunky, and accompanied by incongruous club music – though I must admit, while I'm not sure what that soundtrack is supposed to symbolise among such domestic scenes, it kind of adds to the deliciously seedy undertow, especially with its dark blue lighting reminiscent of a speakeasy sex club. Overall, think strawberry and basil or chilli and chocolate. Not everyone can make these things work. In fringe theatre, using shock subjects not to shock for the sake of it, but to handle with care and universality, is rare. High shows restraint and balance. Not too hot, not too cold, just right. So for all the fun taboo, the meat of this play isn’t really a cooked penis – it’s human connection. And while it has all the basic ingredients of a clean and simple two-hander, what we’re actually served is something entirely different. A true secret recipe. Bon appetit. Some Masterchef Sh*t by Liam High Directed by James Cave https://www.instagram.com/somemasterchefshit/

' more than poetry in motion - this is novel in motion' ★★★★★ Joyful and exuberant, this troupe lives up to their name again. There certainly are many moving parts to this production of the lesser known Austen novel, Northanger Abbey. From last year’s Vanity Fair extravaganza , Anna Blackburn is back and she keeps her paces as naive 17-year-old Catherine Morland. Her energy is irrepressible and her expressions priceless. Catherine’s passion for Gothic novels, in particular those of Ann Radcliffe, gets her in trouble with her love interest’s family. Dominic Bryant makes a charming young reverend, Henry Tilney, who catches Catherine’s eye (also playing her brother, James, in other scenes). The cast multi-roles, clomps coconuts, and pulls out props at a frenetic pace. Sebastian Kainth performs the odious John Thorpe brilliantly, giving our heroine a pompous villain to recoil from. The endlessly talented Joanna Nevins, often sporting immense curls, is Catherine's two-faced best friend Isabella, Henry's sister Eleanor, and whatever else needs to be done, even making various instrumental sound effects. The music (Tamara Douglas-Morris), indeed, pushes the story forward gorgeously with Anais Tran N’goc’s violin entrancing all. Martin South gives a ferocious General Tilney, while dutifully yelling out chapter headings. Andy Canadine is wonderful as the generous Mrs. Allen of Fullerton and taking up various other roles. The ensemble works together incredibly well and works hard, sometimes creating visual moments of tableau vivant. Simona Hughes directs this cast wonderfully on a set comprising two multi-coloured tent structures behind a tiered-box stage (Max Batty), around which the ensemble create carriages, makeshift dining tables, and use as stairs to the top of the spooky eponymous Abbey. Dark robes and black fans evoked the Gothic, while the women’s costumes resembled Austen Regency period, as a shorthand to which era we were observing. The writing trio of Hughes, Nevin, and South know how to take a classic and compress it to capture its essence, while the cast brings the spirit and energy. In this piece they incorporated a group of modern-day students discussing the novel and the period of Austen’s works, especially the expectations of women of Regency England. This addition allows social commentary, as they note the contrast of the fear of spooky halls with the real concerns of Austen’s time of social class and women’s limited roles. There are, of course, moments that can’t be fully written in. As Catherine grabs an audience member’s electric fan, in awe, from a picnic blanket, regaling at the ‘modernities’ being shown on her utterly dull tour of Northanger Abbey, she creates her own laughs. Despite the satire, Gothic themes, and class analysis, there is such a joy in this troupe’s production, even during a heatwave at an outdoor venue! This show is more than poetry in motion - this is novel in motion. And this troupe truly can move us. NORTHANGER ABBEY presented by Moving Parts Summer 2026 Dates & Venues – Moving Parts Theatre Written and co-created by Simona Hughes, Joanna Nevin, Martin South Performed by Anna Blackburn, Dominic Bryant, Andy Canadine, Sebastian Kainth, Joanna Nevin, Martin South, Anais Tran N’goc (also violinist) Directed by Simona Hughes Composer / Music Director: Tamara Douglas-Morris Movement Director: Nevana Stojkov Costume Design: Anna Pearshouse Designer: Max Batty Produced by Simona Hughes, Joanna Nevin, Martin South

‘Alnwick plays the crowd with delight and gusto’ ★★★ ½ As it’s the World Cup it is quite apt that this is literally ‘a show of two halves’ - both of them full of attacking flair but perhaps not a fully satisfying and coherent 90 minutes. The Signalman is one of Charles Dickens’ most beloved ghostly short stories and has been performed widely on stage and as a radio play. Master illusionist and mentalist David Alnwick has had a long time fascination with ghosts and ghostly goings on - and with Dickens. It’s a little known fact that Charles Dickens himself once toured as a necromancer and, in the fittingly gorgeous surroundings of Wilton’s Music Hall, it seems apt that an evening of Victorian magic and storytelling can and will come together. Alnwick - unknown to me before this show - is a fascinating character. With clear nods to the great Derren Brown, he is a confident and assured performer who plays his audience as, by turns, learned confidantes and complete idiots. Dressed himself as something of a Dickensian street performer, his suitcase of tricks confound and delight for the first hour as playing cards levitate, random facts and connections are derived with that air of ‘this isn’t quite going right’ when, in fact, of course it’s part of the show. Alnwick plays the crowd with delight and gusto - all really good stuff. The final third of the evening sees our showman double down on this love of ghost stories and, with the aid of some clever lighting and mildly bombastic but engaging delivery, the tale of The Signalman and the spooky apparition who has been haunting him unfolds. The story builds slowly but precisely and Alnwick holds his crowd throughout bringing Dicken’s vivid language to life. Alnwich sets up the connection between Dickens, magic, the Victorian era and the story really nicely and yet the evening always feels like the aforementioned ‘show of two halves’. This is fine but for a smart guy performing an oft presented show, maybe Alnwick could weave these halves together to form a more clearly defined whole. His storytelling is consummate albeit that one is never really ‘scared’ and the ending feels a little underwhelming, But, this a talented performer giving the audience a good value night out - maybe not Premier League but certainly a top tier Championship offering. THE SIGNALMAN An evening of Victorian illusions and ghost stories with occult illusionist David Alnwick at Wilton Music Hall, 29 June - 1 July, 3 September BOX OFFICE The Signalman - Wilton's Music Hall

“it is great to have live music exploding on the Etcetera stage.” ★★★ Woody Guthrie was a titan of America folk music in the 1930s and 1940s. Although he is now (unfortunately) mainly remembered as the primary influence on the young Bob Dylan, who modelled his original look and sound on him, Guthrie’s life story is much more important than being a bit part player in Dylan’s life. Australian theatre company Nuworks tackle Woody’s story with great energy and little sentiment. Guthrie’s racism in his early career, the domestic violence and alcoholism, are all unflinching portrayed. But they do not sanitise his radical politics either – his communism and later civil rights work are all captured. As the title echoes, Guthrie had a sign on his guitar saying “This Machine Kills Fascists” and during World War Two, after an initial anti-war stance, he produced some memorable anti-Nazi anthems. The music is key, and the ensemble cast throw themselves into the story, from his early life in Oklahoma through dustbowl America to the New York music and left-wing scene. They also throw themselves into the barnstorming music with gusto, with some songs reimagined. Guthrie had a tragic life, losing a sister and daughter in house fires, and seeing his mother suffer and ultimately die from Huntington’s disease, which he developed himself and meant he was largely incapacitated in his later years. At times the play struggles to tell the story clearly and you can get lost in the complexities of dustbowl America, the American left during the war years, and the post-war HUAC retribution. The large number of characters, Guthrie’s wives, Pete Seeger and other musicians, don’t have too much chance to develop, but of course the focus is on Guthrie. Although one actor plays Woody, the cast take turns in singing lead on the songs and it is great to have live music exploding on the Etcetera stage. The talented company are alternating performing this play with one about a quite different musical era – the UK punk 1970s scene – also at the same venue and touring. Tickets and tour information: https://www.instagram.com/nuworkstheatre/

‘vibrant and playful’ ★★★ “Woman Business” is ambitious. The one-person play sets out to explore four distinct stages of Diya’s life within its tight seventy-minute runtime: her time as a precocious twelve-year-old dreaming of nabbing her friend’s hand-me-down saris; her experiences as a wife and mother after moving to London; her attempts to grieve under the watchful (and often judgemental) eyes of her family and friends in later life; and finally, her time as an older woman who can no longer separate the real from the mythical, or the present from the past. In many ways, the play is reminiscent of Eline Arbo’s “The Years,” particularly in its exploration of the multitudes that exist within one person across a lifetime. There is a lot to enjoy about the play. Under Frances Bodiam’s direction, the production is vibrant and playful. The stage is bedecked with colourful fabrics. Shelton Wong’s lighting design complements this with multicoloured light sequences that are reminiscent of a disco. Similarly, Nick Wells’s sound design is lively and vivid, bringing to life soundscapes that range from the bustling streets of Mumbai to the stifled silence of a hospital ward. Above all, actor-writer Shilpa Varma’s energetic performance gives the play a much-needed dynamism. I especially enjoyed Varma’s portrayal of twelve-year-old Diya: she plays her with a gusto and innocence that made me instantly take to the character. The play also spotlights a number of themes that feel important – most centrally, the experiences of a South Asian woman navigating womanhood, migration, and family expectations. Personally, I found it fascinating to gain insight into cultural traditions and Hindu practices and beliefs that were unfamiliar to me. However, I found the focus of the play somewhat dispersed. There is a great deal introduced across the four timeframes that could have provided the fuel for a compelling piece of drama: a woman’s changing attitudes towards marriage; how someone who marries young navigates the feeling that her ambitions have been stifled; the expectations placed on widows around what constitutes “appropriate” behaviour; and mother-child relationships. However, while the play very effectively plants all of these threads, few feel developed. Similarly, it felt as though none of Diya’s relationships had the space to deepen. Soon after a potentially fascinating relationship is introduced – be that between Diya and her mother, husband, or children – the play jumps forwards in time, leaving much of that dynamic behind. As an audience member, I wanted something to hold onto and follow across the four stages of Diya’s life, but instead the different sections often felt disjointed. I was left unsure why these particular moments were the ones we were made privy to, and what the overarching dramatic thread connecting them was. Nonetheless, it is a pleasure to spend seventy minutes with Diya, particularly because of the warmth and energy Varma brings to the role.  Woman Business Jack Studio Theatre 23 – 27 June 2026 Box Office https://brockleyjack.co.uk/jackstudio-entry/woman-business/#toggle-id-3 written and performed by Shilpa Varma directed by Frances Bodiam presented by Footfalls Theatre Company Photo credit is Anna Mclaren

‘Fifty dancers become crowd, community, machine and organism all at once.’ ★★★★ ½ Stephanie Lake’s Colossus is a work of scale, pressure and collective energy. Performed by the students of London Contemporary Dance School, the piece brings fifty dancers onto the stage and asks them to move, listen and respond as one shifting body. The opening is immediately striking. The dancers stand together in a dense formation. Small gestures begin to pass through the group: a hand lifts, a head turns, a body folds, another responds. The effect is simple but powerful. The stage becomes a field of signals, each movement setting off another somewhere else. Lake’s choreography is at its strongest when the cast of fifty appears as one enormous body. Energy passes from dancer to dancer, sometimes through a small gesture, sometimes through a sudden shift of weight or direction. The group does not simply move at the same time; it seems to breathe and react as a single organism. This sense of shared impulse gives the work much of its visual power. The dancers move in waves, circles and tight clusters, forming patterns that change before they can settle. At times, they appear almost mechanical, driven by rhythm and repetition. At others, the movement feels more human, uncertain and exposed. With so many bodies on stage, precision becomes more than a technical demand. It becomes a question of trust. Each dancer has to stay alert to the space, the timing and the people around them. They must keep moving while allowing others to pass, fall, turn or interrupt. This gives the piece much of its tension. It always feels close to disorder, but rarely loses control. There are moments when individual dancers briefly come into focus. A solo phrase, a sudden break from the group, or a sharper physical accent allows one performer to appear more clearly. These moments are often short. The dancer is soon absorbed back into the mass. That return is important. Colossus is not interested in individual display for long. It keeps asking what happens when a single body is held inside a larger collective force. The most effective sections are those where rhythm gathers across the full cast. Feet strike the floor, bodies pulse, and repeated gestures become almost overwhelming. A small action, multiplied by fifty dancers, becomes something much larger: a crowd, a machine, a ritual, or a body too big to control. The quieter passages are just as important. When the movement reduces into stillness or minimal gesture, the stage remains active. The dancers continue to watch and listen. These moments reveal the discipline behind the spectacle. The power of Colossus is not only in its speed or scale, but in the attention required to hold such a large structure together. As a graduation performance, the work is a demanding choice. It gives the students little chance to hide. Everyone is visible, and everyone is responsible for the rhythm of the whole. The cast meet that challenge with commitment and alertness. There is youthful energy, but also a serious understanding of ensemble work. Colossus does not need a clear narrative to make its point. It shows how bodies can gather, separate, obey, resist and return. It makes social pressure visible through movement. The dancers become crowd, community, machine and organism all at once. By the end, the stage feels both exhausted and charged. The group has built something larger than itself and then had to survive inside it. This is a bold UK debut for Lake’s work, and a strong final statement from the LCDS students. Colossus is impressive not simply because there are fifty dancers on stage, but because those dancers are made to think, move and respond together. The result is a performance of collective force, full of pressure, risk and restless energy. Box Office

‘if you’re tired of men getting to tell all those hilarious jokes that you aren’t meant to laugh at then Rida is your antidote’ ★★★ Suddenly taken by her father from her UK home, Samia Rida learnt to turn dangerous situations into a joke long before she was flown out to Saudi Arabia as an 8-year old with her two siblings. As a child of a dysfunctional family, filled with domestic abuse, alcoholism and a disabled brother, Rida hasn’t been afraid since a child to laugh at what other comedians wouldn’t touch with a barge pole. Freshly out of last year’s Edinburgh Fringe, her new solo-show reveals all the earmarks of a seasoned writer trained by the BBC Writersroom. But where Rida comes into her own is in her fearless, cackling jokes that poke fun at the grimmest and most sombre of realities. With some stricter direction or, in fact, the entire removal of most movement across the stage, this could be one hell of a production. When local press discovered that Rida went on a kind of enforced holiday with her Saudi Arabian father it was labelled as a kidnap. In the paper the next day, Rida’s Welsh mother who was left unawares at home could be seen appearing on the phone to her husband “looking like she was ordering a Dominoes pizza”. Herein lies the inspiration for the whole show and Rida is at her best when telling the darkest moments of her life in the lightest of tones. Much of Kidnap’s beginning, filled with wise and hilarious cracks at British sentimentality, feels like a warm-up to the jokes she really wants to tell about her own life. If you’re a fan of Ricky Gervais, and Jimmy Carr for that matter, then Rida is another to add to your list. In fact, if you’re tired of men getting to tell all those hilarious jokes that you aren’t meant to laugh at then Rida is your antidote. If you’re British and don’t like getting your feelings hurt then do just stay at home. There is still some work to do with this production’s execution. Rida’s previous performances in Breeders, Rebel and Tell Me About Yourself — where she won Best International Actors Award — serve as sufficient proof of her ability. Kidnap itself suffers from repeated cycles of movement and appears too restless to make theatre out of what is best left as a very entertaining form of narrative stand-up. It’s great to see the performance supporting a charity dedicated to helping carers of the disabled and speaking out on uncomfortable truths that often get underplayed. With some quick edits, the performance could certainly be one of the best of its kind. Box Office Written by Samia Rida Directed by Gareth Edwards Produced by Meg Shepherd, in association with Drayton Arms Theatre Photography: Lo Augusta

‘Playful, strained, structured and celebratory… across four works, INTERPLAY reveals Phoenix Dance Theatre’s versatility’ ★★★★ ½ Phoenix Dance Theatre’s Interplay brings together four works that approach connection from different angles: intimacy, rhythm, domestic tension and collective release. As a mixed bill, the evening creates a progression of energies moving from the compact intensity of duet work to the expansive pulse of ensemble dancing. The opening work, Marcus Jarrell Willis’s ‘Next of Kin’, is striking in its concision. The choreography feels tightly constructed and continuously connected, with each movement seeming to grow naturally out of the previous one. There is no sense of excess. The relationship between the dancers is established quickly, yet it remains layered: playful, intimate, competitive and slightly unresolved. Its ending comes almost too soon, leaving a feeling of incompletion in the best sense. The work does not over-explain itself; it finishes while its energy is still alive, creating a sense of being left wanting more. Ed Myhill’s ‘Why Are People Clapping?!’ shifts the evening into a more experimental mode. Built around rhythm, repetition and the act of clapping, the piece is playful in concept and precise in execution. Its central idea is immediately clear, yet the choreography keeps testing how far a simple action can be stretched. Clapping becomes sound, structure, humour and social behaviour. The work’s strength lies in the clarity of its experiment: it takes something ordinary and turns it into a choreographic system. At times, the concept feels more dominant than the emotional content, but that is also part of its appeal. It invites the audience to watch rhythm being made visible through the body. The third work, ‘Small Talk’ by Travis Knight and James Pett, is perhaps the most theatrically complete piece of the evening. Even without reading the programme notes, the audience can sense the questions at the heart of the work: how people communicate, how intimacy becomes strained, and how ordinary domestic life can hold unspoken tension. The choreography is particularly effective because it does not depend only on partnering or emotional expression. The carpet, sofa and floor lamp create a lived-in environment, giving the dancers a spatial and psychological frame to move within. These objects are not decorative. They shape the atmosphere of the work, turning the stage into a domestic interior where closeness and distance are constantly renegotiated. What makes Small Talk compelling is the way its choreographic language allows the audience to read the relationship without needing verbal explanation. The dancers’ approaches, withdrawals, pauses and collisions suggest the difficulty of speaking honestly within a shared space. Small gestures accumulate meaning. A shift in weight, a change of direction, or a moment of stillness can reveal frustration, fatigue or tenderness. The work is strong because its subject is legible through movement itself. The final piece, ‘Suite Release’, choreographed by Yusha-Marie Sorzano and Marcus Jarrell Willis, brings a different kind of energy to the evening. Its greatest strength is its rhythm. The dancers move with a strong sense of musicality, allowing groove, pulse and ensemble energy to carry the work forward. After the more contained world of Small Talk, this final section opens the stage into something broader and more communal. The rhythm does not simply accompany the movement; it drives it. The dancers appear to ride the music, passing energy across the group and creating a sense of release. As a closing work, ‘Suite Release’ gives the programme a necessary lift. It celebrates the pleasure of moving together and allows individual expression to emerge within a collective structure. The piece is less psychologically focused than ‘Small Talk’, but it succeeds through atmosphere, musical force and shared momentum. Its rhythmic vitality gives the evening a satisfying final charge. Across the four works, Interplay reveals Phoenix Dance Theatre’s versatility. The company moves between compact duet, conceptual experiment, domestic drama and rhythm-driven ensemble work with confidence. Not every piece operates in the same register, but together they create a varied and engaging evening. The strongest moments come when the choreography allows the central idea of each work to be felt directly through the body: the unfinished tension of Next of Kin, the experimental clarity of Why Are People Clapping?!, the spatial intelligence of Small Talk, and the rhythmic drive of Suite Release. Interplay is ultimately a programme about how bodies communicate before, beyond, and sometimes in place of words. It shows connection as playful, strained, structured and celebratory. At its best, it reminds us that dance does not need to explain a relationship in order to make us feel its complexity. Box Office

‘truly original … but the show’s execution leaves much to be desired’ ★★ Karate Man is the perfect show for control freaks, helicopter parents and their gamer children alike. “Change player,” shouts the tech system, and some poor Londoner, having failed a tricky mission, must swing the remote controller to the next audience member. Performed at The Hen & Chickens Theatre Bar, the world’s first playable live-action comedy show arrives in Islington with mixed success. Its concept is truly original and, let me repeat, there is nothing like this kind of performance anywhere else. But the show’s execution leaves much to be desired. Using custom-made software that attempts to run the show like a video game, remote-control signals are sent to a tech desk by an audience member which responds by creating sound cue for the cast. Press X (Kick) and Karate Man, the protagonist, will kick for you on stage. The game mimics some of the most celebrated brawler games, such as Mortal Kombat and The Injustice franchise but in real time in front of you. For those who aren’t familiar with these games, imagine the movement of fencing combined with the kicking, jumping and punching of boxing or karate. The script is simple enough. In a flashback, Karate Man, a mute but energetic husband, fights the ‘bad guys’ around Karatetown until he reaches a head-to-head with supervillain Ross Roundkick. Awakening from this dream, Karate Man gets out of bed with his concerned wife who is frustrated that he only communicates through karate. Whilst Karate Man is an adept martial artist, hence the name, ordinary life and domestic tasks are a bit more of a challenge. It is up to the audience not only to help him out but also to choose his path. Think of a Choose Your Own Adventure book or role-playing Game Board Game. Bruno Dubosarsky, as Karate Man, works through a tough stint. With current temperatures soaring above 30°, it is merely impressive that he manages the whole way through the production. The performances by Alexandra Smith and Maddie Houlbrook-Walk could also be tightened but a lack of a fully formed female character in this work also hinders its success. Where the remote control system works like a dream, the narratives themselves often felt sloppy. Even though these story arcs are highly ambitious, employing recon missions from Assassins Creed and card-game features in which audience members play against an opponent, they need to be more tightly wound together. Much enjoyment is still to be had for family audiences and this reviewer will always commend any work that attempts something that has never been attempted before. Still, the winner of Best Interactive Show at the Adelaide Fringe and recipient of other awards from the Sydney Festival, must look to the performance of its individual cast members for improvement. Box Office https://karatemanshow.com/ Photography: Alex Gabbott