Reviews

‘highly engaging, funny and heartfelt’ ★★★★ We start on the character of Beth (Shane Convery), a trans woman aspiring to a career in journalism, who enjoys a situationship with Rory (Matt Vickery) a university lecturer who has his own issues with a laddish brother Gaz (Oliver Redpath). To help her through all this, Beth has her baby-obsessed friend Tara (Gennifer Becouarn) whose own boyfriend Ian (Matt Roberts) simply isn’t up to snuff, as well as her acerbic former colleague Samantha (Sophia Vi) who shares Beth’s ambitions but not her ethics. The action kicks off with Tara making quite the unusual proposition to Beth for solving her and Ian’s frustration that soon has events spiraling out of control. What follows is a highly engaging, funny and heartfelt tales that tackles issues ranging from the highly current, such as transphobia and the manosphere, to the classic, such as what sustains fragile relationships and what exactly constitutes a family. Throughout all this Cerys Duffy’s writing and Andy McLeod’s direction prove an exceptional partnership, with the many threads of Duffy’s writing balanced perfectly alongside McLeod’s sharp and active direction. It’s rare for scene transitions to be a highlight of a show, but thumping and effective light and sound from Katy Matthews takes us effortlessly through an array of locations and time jumps all while the actors themselves remain entirely in character. Masterful stuff, particularly in the first half of the show where Duffy brilliantly makes the audience a stand-in for a silent Beth. The main problems come toward the end, however when the wide breadth of topics proves to be a bit too much to bring to a satisfying close. Everything feels rushed through as the show races toward a highly sentimental conclusion that has to reduce many of its characters more interesting and complex sides to simple caricatures so it can arrive where it wants to. Things wrap up, and it’s nice when we get there, but it all feels more forced than anything and falls short of the show’s high ambitions. Regardless the first half of the show is some of the most entertaining and intelligent theatre you’ll see all year and the ensemble of actors are wonderful throughout; Redpath in particular gives a wonderfully warm and funny performance that takes what might otherwise be quite a simple character and adds so many nuances and idiosyncrasies that one can barely take their eye off him, though he faces stiff competition from a stellar cast – see these actors now so you can say you saw them first. You’ve Gone Quiet, written by Cerys Duffy and presented by Open Handed Theatre, at the Jack Studio Theatre. Creatives : Written by Cerys Duffy (she/her) Directed by Andy McLeod (he/him) Technical Director: Katy Matthews (she/her) Intimacy Director: Natalie Grover (she/her) Cast Tara: Gennifer Becouarn (she/her) Rory: Matt Vickery (he/him) Gaz: Oliver Redpath (he/him) Samantha: Sophia Vi (she/her) Ian: Matt Roberts (he/him) Beth: Shane Convery (they/them) Instagram: @openhandedtheatre

'a window into the uniquely sensitive and devastating conversations and decisions that arise at the end of someone’s life' ★★★ ½ Despite its title, Do Not Attempt This Conversation shines a light on conversations that are both critical and unavoidable. Mo Maka’s debut play, informed by her own experience as an NHS doctor, is a window into the uniquely sensitive and devastating conversations and decisions that arise at the end of someone’s life. The play’s greatest success is its ability to represent these conversations with nuance, authenticity, and genuine empathy for all involved. Do Not Attempt This Conversation follows Dr. Nneka, played by Maka herself, an over-worked and under-supported resident doctor who must explain and defend a DNAR decision to a patient’s distraught granddaughter, desperate to save her grandfather's life by any means necessary. Both characters’ motivations are clear and sympathetic; over the course of the play’s tight 60 minutes, they each offer a wide range of relatable perspectives and insights, often contradictory. Thanks to Maka’s ability to pay equal respect to both characters, her dialogue breaks through surface level engagement with the decisions surrounding end of life care, and dives deeper into the influence of limited resources and the risk of personal bias in such decisions, while maintaining room for grief. Relatives attempting to over-rule doctors with medical advice from ChatGPT is infuriating and comical. At the same time, it’s a devastating reflection of the desperate human desire to control death. Maka’s script is also honest in its portrayal of the painful reality and improbability of extreme, potentially life-saving treatments, which do not resemble the deus ex machina cures in popular culture. Maka slips seamlessly into the role of Dr. Nneka, no doubt a result of her intimate knowledge of the script and the life of a doctor. Maka performs alongside Amaju Jade Samuel whose dry humor and commitment are nearly scene-stealing. Their performances carry the piece. Both actresses remain on stage for nearly the entire hour, locked into a single conversation that nonetheless provides a satisfying emotional arc and character development. The successful worldbuilding is particularly notable considering the lack of set or props, onstage. Maka and Samuel deliver their two-handed performance with nothing more than two chairs and a clipboard. Although these performances remain impressively engaging, the play would benefit from more dynamic blocking, action, and movement. The performance is weakest when it is its most static. The script itself is feeblest when grappling with the concept of forgiveness or considering the human capacity for change. In a piece that is otherwise thematically clear and concise, these provocations feel somewhat removed and underdeveloped. Despite minor flaws, Do Not Attempt This Conversation is a strong play from a first-time playwright. Its subject matter is universal, yet under-represented on-stage. Do Not Attempt This Conversation reminds us that even doctors cannot perform miracles - as much as we may want and need to believe they can - while also reminding us to empathise with the singular vulnerability and irrationality of grief. Audience members with and without personal history with DNAR conversations will undoubtedly connect with the raw emotion and the visceral fear of loss expressed by both characters. Do Not Attempt This Conversation is on at The Lion & Unicorn pub through the 6th of June, following runs at Edinburgh Fringe and Bread & Roses Theatre. Tickets are £15 available at https://www.thelionandunicorntheatre.com/whats-on . CONTENT ADVISORY: Strong language; themes of a sexual nature; serious illness; end-of-life decision-making (DNAR); grief; death WRITTEN BY: Mo Maka DIRECTED BY: Mo Maka OTHER CREATIVES: Amaju Jade Samuel RUNNING TIME: 60 Mins (No Interval) SOCIAL MEDIA: @mo_maka_01 .

‘reveals the complicated relationship between self and performer’ ★★★ California dreaming inevitably always all goes wrong. Film and stage actor Tino Orsini, turned playwright, teaches us a painful lesson on the price of following your dreams. Fed up with trying to insert himself forcefully in performance history, Orsini in ‘Ghosts of West Hollywood’, interrogates a personal journey from Southern Italy, the UK and US, through addiction, extras in film roles, or the HIV epidemic that exploded for the queer community throughout the late 19 th century. Orsini has worked up one hell of a script. A recipe brewed through lived experience, heartache and the varied roles which he has performed. His acting career began at school with roles in Arthur Miller’s ‘A View from a Bridge’, then on to The Stella Adler Conservatoire in California and the Drama Studio in London. Making his film debut in the critically acclaimed ‘The Make of … And God Spoke’, the writing of his solo show combines cinematic film techniques with a careful, soft dialogue, which at its best immediately unites audience and performer. Orsini plays himself without the stereotypical, performative airs of an actor playing themselves and just tries to be honest. He trails back to this same question again and again. What does it mean to be yourself, have a personality or one stable identity, in a world that relies upon illusion? He, rather characteristically, never gives us a straight answer, revealing the complicated relationship between self and performer. A story he tells through personal anecdote, avoiding an academic or symbolic interpretation which no one needs any more of. The set is simple: carboard boxes stage right; headshots scattered around as temple like packages of bohemian life; a projection of Californian bedroom lingers on the wall behind him; a fake plant, impossibly green and endlessly symbolic of the life he was chasing in the US. It’s just the kind of simplicity one wants in a pub theatre. The piece does, however, need its director. A proverbial statement for those wishing to run a solo show in London. On occasion, Orsini descends into a monotony in speech and movement that could easily be tweaked by a trained, observational eye. He could at times move, in similar patterns across the stage which considering the international, time bending nature of this work, displays too openly, the mechanics of the work. It was all too easy to spot the places he would perch to move the narrative forwards. The Etcetera Theatre lightbox was put to good use. One scene saw Orsini dancing in a nightclub with rather believable lighting and the reviewer appreciated a man of his age getting his groove on. A projector in the background also highlighted movements between place and time with great success, marking abstract movements back through family history and movements forward through his life story. Overall, Orsini’s script his all the right verbal notes with an eloquence that worked through accents, language and emotional intentions. Though, the play needed that final eye and discerning judgement, heightening the pieces that worked and doing away with what is left. BOX OFFICE https://www.etceteratheatrecamden.com/events/ghosts-of-west-hollywood-agzk5-dhsec 

‘Powerful, poignant and stunning’ ★★★★ ½ Of course it’s sentimental with a strong futility-of-war and sympathy-for-animals message. It’s based on a Michael Morpurgo story and that’s what he does. And, actually War Horse (1982) isn’t, by a long chalk, his best novel. But, in Nick Stafford’ s adaptation it makes stunning theatre. And, since Joey first galloped onto the Olivier Stage in 2007, War Horse has become the most successful and most widely seen production in National Theatre’s history. It has been on other London stages and toured all round the world. Nearly 9 million people have seen it. Now, nearly twenty years after its debut, it is back where it all began – in the Olivier’s lofty, but somehow intimate space, and making fine use of every inch of the huge stage under Tom Morris’ s direction. It’s a show which has developed a lot since I saw it in its first run and again later at New London Theatre. A run down on the plot in case it has somehow passed you by for two decades: We’re in rural Devon in about 1913 where a colt is sold to a farmer who allows his son Albert ( Tom Sturgess - delightful) to train it. A tight fraternal bond develops between boy and horse but they are separated when war is declared and the farmer sells Joey to the army. Later, underage Albert signs up because he wants to search for Joey and, eventually, there’s a heart-in-mouth reunion and not a dry eye in the house – literally, looking at the people round me on press night. At the heart of all this, of course, is Handspring ’s remarkable, evocative, life-size puppetry. Joey, controlled by three people, moves, sounds and behaves like a horse. The audience makes the leap and the huge, jointed creation just is – a horse. There’s something near-magical about it which is one of the reasons this show is so popular. Moreover, developing these extraordinary puppets for the original production was so innovative that it put Handspring firmly on the map and has influenced puppetry and the way it is used in theatre ever since. The opening night was dedicated to Adrian Sutton , composer of the War Horse score who died last year. His music – some recorded but with on stage military band and a narrator-singer ( Sally Swanson ) – is perfectly in keeping with period and mood, directed for this new production by Dom Coyote . There are a lot of George Butterworth hints in the rural scenes for example and Sutton makes fine use of folk or folk-style songs and of upbeat poignant First World War songs such as “Goodbye Dolly I must Leave you.” Some of the fortissimo filmic music for devasting battle scenes seems a bit like a corny trick, however. Swanson, meanwhile, sings with lyrical sweetness and a sort of resigned innocence as she punctuates the action, often accompanying herself on accordion. The huge ensemble includes puppeteers, villagers, soldiers and dozens of small roles, every one of them a rounded character. The projected back drop above the warn-torn wall gives automated drawings of people, landscapes and onslaught. And full marks to Christopher Shutt for his sound design and Rob Casey for the lighting. Between them they make the war scenes so realistic and inclusive that it’s terrifying. It is often forgotten that War Horse was meant to be a novel for young readers. And the original production ran over Christmas as that year’s NT family show. Yes, you could still take your 8 year old, as a few people did on press night, and s/he would certainly enjoy it. Actually, though, it’s a show whose universality by-passes all that. It works for everyone. And it may have been around for twenty years but Tom Morris makes it feel fresh – however many times you may have seen it before. BOX OFFICE  Photography credit: Brinkhof-Moegenberg

‘polished and sincere, but curiously inert’ ★★★  After the striking physicality of Jungle last year, Korea National Contemporary Dance Company returns to The Place with a more restrained double bill, Young-doo Jung’s Voyage and Ryu Suzuki’s Hakkō. Jung’s recent Olivier Award nomination for Lear at the Barbican gives Voyage considerable promise. Voyage takes inspiration from NASA’s Voyager probes and the Golden Record, imagining movement towards the unknown. It is an exciting meeting point between the cosmic and the human, but the piece often feels more like a prolonged state of meditation. There are moments of stillness and inward concentration that suggest ritual, contemplation and suspension. The dancers move with control and focus, but the choreography rarely develops enough tension, surprise or physical urgency to make the journey feel necessary. The costumes, with their loose, pale, draped shapes, seem to gesture towards Korean traditional aesthetics, but the reference feels more aestheticised than dramaturgically integrated. Rather than opening a deeper cultural or emotional layer, the visual world remains somewhat decorative. The soundscape, with its resonant, meditative textures and fragments of musical reference, creates atmosphere, but it also risks flattening the work into a single sustained mood. Ryu Suzuki’s Hakkō, inspired by the repetitive actions of the Japanese toy kendama, promises transformation through iteration. Its connection to club culture and electronic music gives the second half a different texture, but the work suffers from a similar problem. Repetition becomes an idea more than an experience. The dancers enter states of concentration, but the piece leaves surprisingly little afterimage. Overall, the evening is polished and sincere, but curiously inert. Rather than feeling transported, I often felt held at a distance, waiting for the works to reveal why these movements, images and durations mattered. What felt missing was not skill, but transformation: the point at which repetition becomes revelation, stillness becomes tension, and atmosphere becomes meaning. Voyage / Hakkō by Korea National Contemporary Dance Company at The Place A Festival of Korean Dance 2026 BOX OFFICE https://theplace.org.uk/whats-on/

‘... a rocket ride through awkward family conversations, stepdads and mothers who are forced to choose between careers or their children’ ★★★ A scientist slams a tub of ice cream on her mother’s kitchen table in an angry tantrum. A description of how and why glaciers are melting due to surface meltwater follows but is lost on its audience. Prepare to be reminded, empathetically might I add, that a climate crisis is upon us during this work. Award winning playwright, Martha Loader, fills Albatross with such quirky arguments fuelled by climate anxiety and produces a rocket ride through awkward family conversations, stepdads and mothers who are forced to choose between careers or their children. Albatross is Loader’s fifth play and has reached its destination at the Omnibus Theatre in Clapham. Her work has seen national and international stages, won a Judges Award at the Burntwood Prize for playwrights, and she has recently picked up the George Devine Prize in 2025. It’s quite a collection; I’m sure you would agree. But her new play, though brimming with excitement, scientific theory and niche spiritual superstitions, just misses the bullseye. Based symbolically and rather loosely upon Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner , the play centers on the relationship between Eve and Alice. The former a stay-at-home grandmother and the latter her absentee daughter who constantly are at battle. Eve (Agnes Lillis), forced to look after her grandchild meets Martin (Patrick Morris), a divorcee, who had a large family stunt of his own, and she falls for his promises of taking her to Antarctica on a cruise. When Alice (Caroline Rippin) returns from the same place on a geographical experiment to save the ice bergs and, in her eyes, prevent global warming all by herself — whilst leaving her kid behind — well expectedly, chaos ensues. At first, it's difficult to see why Coleridge, the formidable but largely forgotten romantic poet, appears pasted as a prelude to the script. My best guess is it’s something to do with the insinuations of climate activism which many find his most famous poem but correct me if I’m wrong. For it’s the actors who keep the play on four wheels through bringing a studied but fluid and at best spontaneous spirit to each of their respective characters. Patrick Morris, though for the most part playing a sidelined stepdad just nodding away through the arguments like a placid dog, appears as a considerable thespian in his quiet ability to play a character who really hasn’t much to say. Instead, he prefers to present himself through a taxidermic albatross, his slightly strange choice of gifts for his 64-year-old sweetheart, Eve. The two women are frankly a formidable tour de force, dealing with some of the quirks of the script and sometimes repetitive dialogue with great skill. Menagerie Theatre certainly knows how to produce a play and the set design, even if a little purposely wonky, alongside the lighting/projection magic, plays a considerable part in the work’s success. A couple of issues present themselves with the ending that feels jilted and bizarre. I’m all for an abstract projection of the ice caps playing on the back curtain, even if it feels like it should be narrated by Greta Thunberg but, its symbolism felt too complex and was only truly grasped a while after the play had finished. Overall, it’s a worthwhile piece that plays upon the heart strings whilst providing a brain freeze with scientific facts at the same time. We must look forward to seeing Loader at the Almeida, the Mercury Theatre and BBC Voices programs I hear. Photography: Ashley Day Menagerie Theatre Company presents: Albatross Written by Martha Loader | Directed by Patrick Morris NATIONAL TOUR 28 April – 23 May LONDON Omnibus Theatre, 26 – 30 May BOX OFFICE https://www.omnibus-clapham.org/whatson/albatross

 “Together, they chipped away everything that doesn’t look like David” ★★★★★ In dealing with love, the weight of legacy, and the public vs private notion of the self, Patronage avoids the big topics. A sparkling debut from writer Camellia Elerman about the life and times of Michelangelo and those closest to him, we should begin with the bare facts. This play is utterly superb. Brilliantly paced and lovingly told, what emerges is a piece so natural and at home with itself that it feels like the work of a writer with many years in the game. As we progress, a thought arrives that quickly becomes unshakable. Elerman will go far. We will hear from her again. There is a deep love for history, form and process here, with art, Florentine politics and Vatican intrigue described without ever descending into head-patting condescension. That said, this is no observation piece, and Patronage is unafraid to pose sadly relevant questions about success in the arts and proximity to wealth or the fallout effects of the tortured genius. That pesky “oh we’ll be seeing them again” feeling extends to the cast. Each offers a remarkable performance, coming together with a wonderful complementarity under Cecilia Walker ’s exquisite direction that has us fully immersed in this behind the curtain glimpse at brilliance. As Michelangelo, Sebastian Porter excels. Explorations of his inner self are nuanced and deeply moving and, working with Elerman’s rich text, Porter brings a reality to an individual so mythologised that his own surname couldn’t keep up with him. Sitting back as a beautifully grounded Pater Familias, Porter never chases cheap showiness but focusses on bringing to us a much more remarkably real man, someone charred by his own ceaseless ambition. Someone who feels he never really lived at all. His efforts are wonderfully complemented by those of Fred Di Rosa as the great man’s great-nephew Mikey, endlessly brooding on the personal consequences, real and perceived, of proximity to genius. Despite the risk of mewling self-pity, Di Rosa’s marvellous turn as someone born already eclipsed creates a tormented, deeply human character, capable of growth and redemption. Mikey’s entire being is defined by his famous relation and yet the two share scarcely a word until a late confrontation where the desolate loneliness of an aged prodigy meets the jealous self-loathing of a never-quite-will. Somehow, in this exchange, a kind of spiritual understanding is reached from which both seem to take solace, if only for a moment. Di Rosa also provides some brilliant multi-roling as Hollywood-slick Cardinals and a vengeful Pontiff, but it is in the subtle and wounded portrayal of Mikey that he really shines. And then Tina Greenwood , who emerges as Michaelangelo’s PR lead and manager Cassandra, with a full LinkedIn vocabulary and a healthy disregard for the unfortunately necessary creative process. She brings a brilliant Huel-swigging ‘grow the brand’ energy to proceedings as she attempts to protect and steward the artist’s ambition in a vigorously hostile environment, at significant cost. In an extraordinary performance, Greenwood’s ability and Elerman’s writing see her transform, what, in bygone times could have been a two-dimensional scold into a brilliantly complex character, who fully humanises the toll of legacy preservation. She is equally impressive in her comic delivery as she is when, briefly remonstrating with her woe-is-me son Mikey, she highlights a legacy of brilliant women erased from the histories of great men. In a flying the nest family denouement, she is simply astonishing and must be singled out. If you’re sick of the superlatives by now, tough because it’s time to discuss Filippo Brozzo . Playing Leo, nephew and co-manager of Michaelangelo, and husband of Cassandra. Brozzo offers another stellar performance as the moral centre of the piece, desperately trying to keep the band together. He shines with Greenwood, showcasing the demands of work on a fraying home life. When it comes to Mikey, their collective effort to generally put a brave face on a bad parent’s evening might crumble, but by the play’s conclusion, we know his loyalty to those he loves. When he confronts Michaelangelo for his increasing detachment from humanity, we truly feel it. Ultimately, what makes this show so good is that ordinary family dynamics and musings on the nature of art and creativity are interwoven so perfectly, feel so unforced. The characters work effortlessly together and avoid the opportunity for pastiche at every turn. The scanty staging of a few bits of homely furniture only increases focus on the exquisite performances and helps to further situate this extraordinary life in the everyday. There is very, very little to complain about. With an eighty-minute run time, the interval feels like it’s injected more for the comfort of Patronage ’ s patrons in a not exactly Baltic loft during a May heatwave. Whatever the reason, at this length, it certainly isn’t needed and unnecessarily risks a dip in energy when it arrives roughly an hour in. Luckily, the flawless acting and tight direction ensure an instant return to form and an unforced, rewarding conclusion. In Patronage , a uniquely talented writer, cast and crew have joined forces to create something genuinely outstanding. To pilfer from the great man himself, together, somehow, they chipped away everything that doesn’t look like David. This is how it’s done. Box Office https://www.thedraytonarmstheatre.co.uk/patronage CAST Sebastian Porter - Mike Fred Di Rosa - Mikey Lewis Trela-Gray - Leo Martina Greenwood - Cass

‘Borrowed plots and fabulous fiddling’ ★★ ½ The real star of this show is Maria Jaszewska. She plays violin in the unseen, eight-piece live band led by MD, Matthew Herbert and she’s utterly brilliant. Because the setting is a fictional Appalachian small town – vaguely a few decades back – there’s a lot of very lively folksy music and her zingy, virtuoso playing is a real joy. Also very strong are Glenn Adamson and Lauren Jones as the leading couple. Dark of the Moon is the Romeo and Juliet story yet again – two people from different communities fall in love so they’re both doomed. But Adamson and Jones are pretty convincing and both sing well, especially together, The narrative however has as many (plot) holes as a colander and the whole thing is wearily derivative. In the town are ordinary people growing crops, going to church and dancing at hoe-downs. In the nearby mountains is a coven of witches who are malevolently interested in the townsfolk. There are more Shakespeare echoes when “invisible” characters jinx “real” ones (A Midsummer Night’s Dream) and the three young witches lurking in the corners and flinging curses about are straight out of Macbeth. Then once John (Glenn Adamson) decides he really does want to be mortal – and there’s a “sua padre” moment (The Marriage of Figaro) when he realises that he’s already half a mortal – we’re straight into Iolanthe territory with a whiff of The Little Mermaid and I’m left beginning to giggle at the corny lack of originality. And that feeling of obviousness is compounded by the use of two different musical styles – hard rock (and some very raucous singing from Josie Benson as Conjur Woman) for the witches contrasted with homely, acoustic folk for the mortals. And as for the story itself what are we supposed to think these witches actually are? For immortals they’re oddly obsessed with sex. Should there be a literal “witch hunt”? Burning at the stake is mentioned more than once, only half-jokingly, and the time setting is very vague. The potion which drops from the flies for John to drink is absurd. If the witches have influence only in this place then why doesn’t Barbara (Lauren Jones) simply go somewhere else as she keeps mentioning? And for a woman whose hopes and dreams seem to fly independently of her insular community at the start she’s pretty keen to marry and settle down with a baby exactly as her ancestors have always done. Another problem is Conjur Man (Gary Turner) who, unaccountably, seems to become a completely different character in Act 2. The set (Libby Todd) is grey, angular and suitably sinister with some rather neat flaps which open to reveal a stage right shop and a stage left family home. And the sound and lighting effects are quite fun but on the whole this is not a show I shall be rushing back to. WITZEND PRODUCTIONS AND CHARING CROSS THEATRE PRODUCTIONS PRESENT WORLD PREMIERE MUSICAL DARK OF THE MOON AT CHARING CROSS THEATRE 18 May – 8 August 2026 Book by Jonathan Prince Music and Lyrics by Lindy Robbins, Dave Bassett & Steve Robson Based on THE play by Howard D Richardson and William Berney BOX OFFICE https://www.charingcrosstheatre.co.uk/ Photography: Tom Bowles 

“The real star of the show of course is Cat Gannon, who is fantastic” ★★★★ ½ Dominus is an example of when the straightforward mechanics of theatre are deployed so well as to elevate it from simple to superior. In this refreshingly revelatory solo show, Mistress D (Cat Gannon) invites us cosily into her life, and her subconscious, for an intimate and off-the-cuff chat about her first six months as a dominatrix. It’s got the verve and pep of a stand-up show, especially with Gannon’s casual, natural style, and easy interaction with the audience, but don’t be fooled, there’s also the tight architecture of a full-length play here. Mistress D talks us through how she got into the job, her favourite clients, and a bit about her religious family and endearingly boring boyfriend. While she’s incredibly funny, it’s clear she’s in denial about something, and this will trickle out until the floodgates open at the end. It’s a simple story of redemption from trauma that should be predictable and very easily lapse into repetition and tedium after 45 minutes, but the thoughtfully crafted and consistent character development marks this piece out from the crowd. The show is not flashy. It doesn’t need to be, it’s engaging from start to finish, for the full 80 minutes runtime, because of a remarkably well-paced structure and a tonal shift from comedy to tragedy that happens so smoothly I found myself wondering when it happened. The use of the projector displaying quick captions of her true thoughts and feelings, and with which she occasionally and tragicomically argues, is a simple but beautifully executed touch. And we’re bathed in magnificently evocative lighting (no credit given unfortunately), and flawless, eerie, entertaining sound design by Balint Blasko. The real star of the show of course is Cat Gannon, who is fantastic. But all the creative team has worked in perfect harmony here. Kimi Thompson’s movement is gut-punch powerful – at times hilarious, at times heartbreaking – showing a real creative versatility. The rape scene through interpretive movement is skin-crawlingly uncomfortable, and the dances, the mimes, bittersweet and uneasily funny. Later, Gannon’s anguish coming out in her binging of cheese sandwiches is brave and grotesque. Overall, this is a really good example of how to craft something deeply emotional, perhaps personal, without ever becoming self-indulgent or overly self-absorbed. This is still a play after all. If I were to be pedantic, I’d say that the show has the potential to make two errors: stigmatising submissives, further stereotyping them as posh wankers, and perpetuating the myth that all sex workers must necessarily have suffered some sort of sexual trauma. I think it does an exemplary job of just about avoiding those tropes, but that might only be because of how incredibly charming Cat Gannon is as a performer. Otherwise, there could be a troubling connection made between intelligent and consensual BDSM and a real darkness of hatred and abuse. In this way, the show maybe, just maybe falls a touch behind the times in an era when much has been done to bring whips and chains out into the light; but, in fairness, that’s only if we were to really over-intellectualise it. At its core, it’s just a great story of one individual’s search for a route through despair. Given the juicy (albeit traumatic) subject material, immensely charismatic performer, and moments of genuine hilarity, I also wonder if the show would have a surprising commercial appeal if it weren’t for the misleading Latin title and its associations with Ancient Rome – or maybe that’s just because I’m a nerd. Either way, as Mistress D herself says, the phenomenon of feeling as though you want to jump off a high building, bridge, cliff is called “l’appel du vide”, the call of the void, and for me that makes much more sense, as dominatrix or not, that’s something to which we can all relate. And while the show would have it that to be dominated you must be an asshole with no trauma of your own: the irony, perhaps genius, of Dominus, is that the act of sitting in silence in a theatre makes submissives of us all. DOMINUS written and performed by Cat Gannon  CREATIVES Savannah Beckford and Avery McNeilly - Directors Shakur Jones - Lighting Designer Vivienne Melody Coupe – Producer Maki Omori – Producer and Dramaturg Bence Blasko – Producer Kimi Thompson – Movement Director Balint Blasko – Sound Design Box Office: https://www.thelionandunicorntheatre.com/whats-on Reviewed by Alix Owen