G's Theatre Blog

© 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

  © Marc Brenner Who didn't feel, at least once, the urge to bring balance back to their life? That's the primary goal of Lisa Jones, the protagonist of The Wonderful World of Dissocia . When the solution to her problems (literally) comes knocking at her door, Lisa is so desperate to leave the state she's been in - one that has distanced her from the people she loves most and made her life feel slow and detached - that she agrees to embark on a journey to the land of Dissocia.  The absurd, whimsical realm is a pastiched version of Lewis Carrol's Wonderland and C.S. Lewis's Narnia; amid an army of colourful, savage characters, I found the highlight to be a pair of "Insecurity Guards" played by Tomi Ogbaro and Michael Grady-Hall with great chemistry and comedic timing. Leah Harvey also gives an equilibrated performance as Lisa, keeping herself - and the audience - both excited and grounded.  Despite relentless turns of phrase, and fable-like moments of grote

  © Helen Murray In the 2 hours and 50 minutes of  I, Joan , there is a lot of talk about power. In this adaptation, the story of Joan of Arc - unlikely hero of the 100 Years' War, fuelled by god and doubted because of her gender and social status - is an especially fitting starting point for a metaphor for the fight for intersectional justice.  I, Joan  eloquently elaborates not only on Joan's fight against the British armies, but also the one they must wage against the obtuse patriarchy, too blinded by their desire for power to realise that Joan carries one that outshines them all. That power is unique, because it comes from within. While the reason why man-child Charles or his stuffy advisors should have any agency on an entire nation (bloodlines and titles simply cannot be enough), Joan has confidence in themselves, their people, and their mission - and that makes all the difference. I, Joan  is an impressive piece of theatre that puts queer characters and narratives front