G's Theatre Blog

  © Close Enough To Touch I took a break from reviewing in 2023. The pressure of making fringe theatre, navigating a world in which funds and resources are low and expectations are high, got to me. I felt forced, as a creative, to be a show's everything - dramaturg, director, and producer in a professional capacity; but also, on a personal level, champion, nourishment, ontological reason, and more. When a sector is systemically undermined by the absence of economic and cultural investment, every opportunity is a "now or never"; every chance to be bold and creative for the sake of living an experience and learning from it, crashes with having to continuously justify the long-term value of your work's existence.  I feel bittersweet, this morning, as I think about this in light of the fresh news of VAULT Festival's closure. In the last 12 years, VAULT has been the London destination for innovative shows that might not find a direction or platform otherwise; personal

  © Zhaolin Zhou and Tingying The wholesome feeling I have while walking home after  Walking Cats  at Camden People's Theatre is almost impossible to put down in words. As I walk home, I keep thinking about how, as a migrant, the show's themes of nostalgia and fitting in feel relevant and relatable; at the same time, it's a unique masterclass in storytelling that highlights the uniqueness of each individual experience, in all their singular beauty and vulnerability.  Walking Cats  is an intimate and endlessly ingenious exploration of two parts within the protagonist's soul, and the effort to make them coexist. On one side, we have Kilburn Cat, a grey and white cat who lives in North London, shops for groceries at the Sainsbury's down the road, and tries to get acquainted with its new home away from home; Dongfeng Cat, on the other hand, comes from a village in China, is colorful, and very in touch with its roots, strengthening that connection with food and memories

  © Craig Fuller When I wrote my MA dissertation, I was interested in exploring how theatre and social abjection are interconnected. My first chapter ended up being about the performativity of asylum and Zodwa Nyoni's play Nine Lives , in which the protagonist Ishmael is forced to escape his home in Zimbabwe because his homosexuality is endangering his life. I found myself rethinking a lot about what I learned from that process the other night when watching The P Word at Bush Theatre. The show recounts the story of two gay Pakistani men; Bilal (Waleed Akhtar) leads a busy but lonely life between his job in fashion, the gym, and Grindr hook-ups. Zafar (Esh Alladi) is an asylum seeker who fled from his village after his father murdered his partner; he now finds himself in the hostile Hounslow, waiting for his claim to be processed. In order not to be sent back to his death, Zafar has to, somehow, prove his homosexuality. The bureaucratic performance he is expected to provide is dehum

© Steve Gregson Solitude, isolation, and the desire to be seen; these are some of the key themes of The Moors , Jen Silverman's eerie play. The savageness of the landscape, coupled with a different perception of time and space, and a sense of impending tragedy, is an intriguing starting point for a story, especially if staged around Halloween. The overall branding around  The Moors is very conscious of this as well, and milks the cow as much as possible, advertising the show in a way that, in the attempt of making it more commercial and palatable, ends up not doing it justice.  If the suggested vibe of the marketing and production material can point to fairly cheap jumpscares and paper-thin characters, Sophia Pardon's gorgeous set design immediately rebalances expectations, immersing the audience in a worn-out yet enchanting space, with threadbare wallpaper, atmospheric chandeliers, and rubble underneath our feet.  Silverman's play clearly has many influences; one of the m

© Bas De Brouwer The Jezebel stereotype, discussed in Black feminist scholarship and most notably in Deborah Gray White's book  Ar'n't I a Woman? , is one of the many pigeonholes that intersect racism and sexism.  In her dance performance Jezebel , Cherish Menzo takes the key feature of this stereotype, namely the association of Black women with promiscuity and unquenchable sexual thirst, to critique the hypersexualization of Black women's bodies in hip-hop videos from the 90s and 00s.  The rigour and self-reliance in Menzo's every moment make for a captivating experience. Her fake white nails, along with close-ups of her mouth painted in a glittered purple lipstick, create striking images that are equally fascinating and haunting. The costumes (Daniel Smedeman), especially a white coat that at moments seems to swallow Menzo whole, draw our attention to her body without objectifying it.  The visual experience is enhanced by the excellent sound design (Michael Nunes)

  © Corinne Din Din Lights go up on 16 bright-coloured foam boxes. Stage center, Lila Robirosa - whose simple yet effective costume reminds of both a pawn and a bell - limpidly intones: "The first term of the first year of university gave to me...". The rest, you'll want to figure out on your own. Suffice to say, Lila's reinterpretation of the famous tune The Twelve Days of Christmas  retraces her nine terms of university and the hilarious and almost grotesque things that happened to her in those three years.  The show is a collection of comedic anecdotes candidly discussing queerness and womanhood. Since the order in which they're performed is decided by the roll of a dice, they're cleverly conceived to work both on their own and within the wider narrative - like stackable storage units. Lila's friendly and light-hearted style allows her to build rapport with the audience quickly; and we remain loyal to her all night, as she - more or less diligently, but