Category: Reviews

By Mwambu Haimbe

“Haply, for I am black and have not those softer parts of conversation that chamberers have…”

Throughout my GCSEs (all the way in 2022, can you believe it) I extensively read over this passage of Othello’s monologue in Act 3 Scene 3, after Iago has sown the seeds of jealousy that would eventually lead to Othello’s decline and ultimately his demise. 

By no means the most quoted line of the play, this line is important to me because it speaks to something that is glossed over quite a bit in everyday readings of Othello: his own struggle with internalised racism. It is this understated struggle that made me grow fond of Othello even beyond my study, and it has been my life’s dream to see a performance of it that brings this and many other hidden themes of Othello’s subtext to the fore. 

Having that in mind, it is safe to say that the new juggernaut in Durham Student Theatre, Roots Theatre Company, has satisfied that life’s dream beyond my wildest comprehension. Directors Bea Pescott-Khan and Aaliyah Angir, assisted by Zara Khan, have done what many directors much more senior to them have seemingly failed to do, which is balance the obvious racial commentary of Othello with its stark commentaries about the various ways in which race and social class intermesh. 

This framing is particularly significant today, in a world where race and class have been exploited by bad-faith actors in politics and media to divide the world into tribal camps pitted to destroy one another. Pescott-Khan, Angir and Khan have taken an age old classic and, through precise staging, reserved yet conscious set design and intuitive blocking, transformed it into a masterpiece of social commentary that William Shakespeare himself would certainly watch enviously. 

A great example of this intuitive direction certainly has to be the clear directorial decision to have Ollie Painter’s Iago speak in two different accents to mark his devilish asides and his false persona of nicety he puts on to his superiors. Through Iago’s mischief, we see the absurdity of the noble classes and how easily their love of appearances brings about their undoing. 

This is most evident in Iago’s manipulation of Micheal Cassio. Iago understands that Cassio’s reputation matters to him most. By sullying his reputation, Cassio becomes a tool for Iago’s use, incapable of realising that the man he asks for help in restoring his standing with Othello is the same man actively seeking to destroy him. 

There are many other directorial choices like this that demonstrate a clear vision and understanding of Othello’s themes as well as an understanding of where Othello fits in our modern eye. However, none of the directors’ keen vision could have been possible without the exemplary work of a cast and crew deserving of mountainous amounts of praise, therefore I must give credit to the performances before I hark on too greatly about the directing. 

For me, the glue of this production is surely Dan Katsande as Othello. He is mighty and  magnanimous when he first comes on stage as the brave ‘Moor’ General greatly renowned in Venice, until he is sympathetic and vulnerable as the lowly cuckold, self-pitying as he bears his soul out due to what he believes is a mortal wound from his lover. Katsande becomes unhinged and manic, fully embracing the beastly cuckold and the horrid Moor that he believes he has become, before doing the unthinkable to the woman he had risked his office and reputation for just a few short acts before. 

It is a terrifyingly good performance – one where he commands his body to act before a line is spoken and, when the line is spoken, the audience are captivated all the more by his grand delivery, reminding them that Othello is a man of great power and poise. Katsande’s shrieks of pain and manic ramblings make us sympathise with Othello almost by force, we are shocked by his horrible treatment of Desdemona (played by Liv Fancourt), yet our hearts break watching this once great general become something more akin to an animal than a man – which Katsande delivers perfectly in the latter half of the play by lowering his shoulders and prowling around Desdemona when he speaks. Although at times he runs the risk of over-acting, particularly in scenes where he is howling in pain at Desdemona’s apparent betrayal, he grounds the performance, commanding the stage with his presence, physicality and booming voice.

A performance like Katsande’s is difficult to match, but Ollie Painter’s devilishly charismatic portrayal of Iago is certainly up to the task. Painter does something seemingly impossible in this show: he almost makes Iago likeable. Speaking directly to the audience in a crisp Cockney accent, Painter moves naturally in his dialogue, making them laugh through sheer charisma. He mocks and jeers at the posh, unexposed Roderigo, played by Sam Garratt, completely unaware that Iago is scamming him. The joke is every other posh, ignorant character onstage, the comic is the whip-smart, perceptive Iago and the audience to this stand-up is us. It is brilliant. 

There is a real venom and contempt in Painter’s line delivery. We really do believe that he detests Othello. It is an organic performance that comes from a place of clear understanding of the character. Iago’s struggle is one of class: Iago represents the disenfranchised working classes who feel betrayed, who feel as though despite their hard work they have either been pushed aside by unqualified aristocratic nobles (Michael Cassio) or racial minorities given access to empowerment schemes (Othello). Through his accent, Painter characterises this clearly to the audience. Iago is not like the others, therefore Iago is evil. 

The performances on display in this production facilitated the subtext that the directors intended for it. In what I refuse to accept was a debut performance, Amaya Uppal as Emilia delivered a masterclass on how to enhance the performance of others, and deliver one’s own performance just as spectacularly. Uppal was quietly disobedient to Iago, yet disobedient enough to irritate him, sowing seeds for her eventual end. She gives Fancourt’s Desdemona space to be overcome by woe and anguish, and she stands toe to toe with Katsande to create pulpable tension. Yet, where she is left to shine in her own moments, she is passionate, forceful, and fearless, delivering an exceptional debut worthy of praise. 

It speaks to the quality of a production’s cast if in a review it takes this long for the name “Cillian Knowles” to appear. Exceptional as always and effortlessly comedic, Knowles somehow turns Cassio into a Shakespearian character that feels like he was written by Wilde. In Knowles’s Cassio we see the absurdity of nobility come to the fore through his absurdly sweet prim and proper boy scout routine with Desdemona. So absurd and sweet is this boy scout façade that Iago can’t help but to use it to bring about the downfall of Othello and Desdemona’s lives. When he is not sickeningly charming, Knowles is delivering an extremely funny drunken, slurring Cassio that does not feel drawn out. Knowles is endearing, even when he is spewing misogyny directed at Bianca, and loveable and far too good at being Michael Cassio. 

Stepping away from the acting for just one second (I have plenty more to say), every detail of this production weaves together in a dance full of chemistry. Leyla Aysan and Molly Winchurst are no slouches in the lighting department, as they bathed the stage in fantastic midnight blue that holds a dark brooding atmosphere over this tragedy, only deviating from this colour scheme in the few moments of levity in the show or when using spotlights to showcase key moments in the show’s sequence. Aysan and Winchurst also teamed up nicely with movement director Robyn Bradbury, as all the moments of physicality, such as the hypnotic party sequence, were complimented deliciously by superb lighting. The fight scenes were also well choreographed – at times a little too well choreographed as you could see the fiction behind them – but so long as the performers remained safe, I was willing to suspend my disbelief. 

Special mention must be given to the sound of this production. Music cues between scene changes is standard in student theatre, but rarely does it ever match the story being told on stage and the theatre company itself. Emilia Edwards and Shaan Thomas made use of the songs they selected between scenes, as if you paid close enough attention to the lyrics, they reflected the action and the intensity as the story progressed. However, I do wish the ingenuity of sound could have been used to aid some of the performers, who at times struggled with their voice projection and lost some details to the ceiling of the Assembly Rooms. 

Back to the quality of performance in this show: I would be a hack reviewer if I did not mention the one and only Liv Fancourt. If I had a pound for every time Fancourt has stunned me to silence with her performances I can safely say I would be a very rich man indeed. In my personal opinion, I have always had a dislike of Desdemona as a character, primarily because Shakespeare uses her as a plot device – the innocent white girl corrupted and murdered by the uncontrollable black beast. In other iterations of Othello Desdemona is this faultless character used to highlight the faults of Othello, but not here. Fancourt gives Desdemona life. She is quirky and quick witted when she speaks with Iago after arriving in Cyprus, sarcastic with a doting Michael Cassio and even slightly resilient, when she refuses to let Iago see her in tears after Othello has just thrown her to the floor and called her a whore. There is strength in Fancourt’s Desdemona, a strength that is created by the love Othello has for her. When she feels Othello’s love wain, her own strength wains, which makes her death that more impactful. Fancourt makes Desdemona’s death matter more because she is not just a plot device. She is a person who Othello betrays by not trusting her loyalty yet she dies still loving him – an aspect of her performance furthered by the incredible chemistry between herself and Katsande. It is a performance that someone like Fancourt can make you think is easy to deliver yet so many before her have not been able to crack it. 

As I wind down this review, the more perceptive amongst you would have noticed I have not mentioned Sam Garratt (Roderigo), Becca Morran (Bianca and others), Ross Killian (Brabantio and others), Nia Keogh-Peters (First Senator and others), Nerfertari Williams (Gratiano and others) and Jasper Hinds (Lodovico and others) and I have reasons for that. These performers were absolutely incredible when given time. For example, Garratt embodied Roderigo with such perfection and accuracy I was overjoyed whenever he came on stage, and Killian’s Brabantio was vile in all the best ways, showing a real understanding of the character’s purpose to the story. All the members of the ensemble pieced this story together perfectly, however, I feel that they were all hard done by both the nature of this play and the director’s visions. The overwhelming feeling I had when watching Othello was that Roots had an obvious and large chip on their shoulders. For their first production as a newly established theatre company, tackling such a well-known and heavy play is a very risky bit of business, and that means your cast has no choice but to deliver. The cast did, in fact, deliver but it felt like the director’s had concentrated a vast amount of energy into the main cast, leaving the supporting and ensemble cast very little creative direction to work with. This hurt in particular Keogh-Peters and Williams who I believe are talents that any production would fight tooth and nail to have in their cast. If you do not believe me go and read the reviews of the DDF show Poetry Club. They are immense and I wanted, in fact this production needed, to have the two of them on stage a lot more with a lot more in terms of lines and time to work with. If I can level any criticism against this production it is that: not fully using all the amazing talent at their disposal and never fully removing their hand from the handbrake. 

Overall, Roots delivered a version of Othello that I wish I could see over and over again. The directing choices were for the most part informed, precise, and deeply aware of Othello’s greater narrative. The story Roots delivered blended elements of class and race issues in a way that was brave and long overdue, especially in a place like Durham. My only hope for Roots is that they lean into these themes more heavily and fully utilise all the talent at their disposal. However, all things withstanding, this juggernaut of a theatre company is destined for many great things to come and I cannot wait to see what else they deliver. Adieu!

Featured Image: Roots Theatre Company

By Freyja Hollington

The Durham Opera Ensemble attain brilliance and professionalism in their masterful production of Will Todd’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. The technical promise of the performance is anticipated in the thrill of the exposed orchestral accompaniment, which gradually breathes music into the theatre. The strength of the band is matched by the performers themselves, as the whole assembly weaves an intricate tapestry of symbiotic sound, with voice and string and brass raising goosebumps and thrilling audiences. 

The transformative work of the production team is foundational to the success of the performance. There is an intricacy of thought and detail which brings Wonderland to life, as towering flowers, playing-card-mushrooms and suspended butterflies spill over the stage and into the audience. In a particularly enchanting detail, book-pages cascade from the ceiling to mimic our heroine’s tumble down the rabbit hole. Such a self-conscious reverence for storytelling works as a constant thread throughout. The backdrop is transformed into a large storybook, whose pages are turned by the discrete ministration of the Stage Management team – Leon Ansorg, Aoife Bowles, Lily Beetles, Izzy Richards and Isabelle Owen – effecting a series of act breaks like the turning of a chapter. A very warm congratulations is due to Co-Set-Designers Libby Simpson and Eva Ryan for such visionary detail, and to the talented Set Production Team who realised their dream: Sarah Richardson, Veritas Dubik and Becky Hale. Included in their applause must also be the artful management of lighting, delivered excellently by Lighting Designer Zac Jackson and Lighting Operator Val Devereux, without whose technical contribution the brilliance of the set would have lost lustre. 

Such sensory delights are intensified by the accompaniment of the band, whose talented ministrations make the production breathe. The score is itself a delicate medley of classical and jazz, with the conventional operatic sections achieving haunting levels of tension that are brilliantly offset by the funkiness of blues. Such moments of musical summit are especially delivered through the success of the Cello, played by Tom Shaxson, and the Drum Kit, mastered by Isaac Short, and their gravity is balanced in the perfect airiness of Keys, played by Patrick Owen, and the Tuned and Auxiliary Percussion, delivered by Dan Hume. The Violins, provided by Cameron Davies and Katherine Iveson Vandy, and the Viola, played by Charlie Lineker, give body to the score, assisted by the strength of the wind instruments of Flute, by Emma Phipps, Alto Sax, by Annie Sullivan Qosja, Trumpet, by Leo Vernaglione, and Trombone, by Thomas Pennington-Arnold. In the playfulness of the Accordion, played by Sam Caskie, the intensity of the ensemble becomes grounded in childhood wonder, innate to the nostalgia of Wonderland. The band are themselves a united body, working in oneness to enthral and ensnare, and this is a credit to the success of Conductor Zac Smith. 

When the cast of performers joins the enchantments of the stage, the magic is complete. Every voice compels attention and emotion, and the power of projection is astounding. The opening scene is a particular showcase for the extraordinary talent of Maia Harris Lindop, starring in the dual role of Mum and Mad Hatter, and her co-star Ash Marshall as Dad and Queen of Hearts. In the ironically dysfunctional domestics of the real world, Olivia McClintock and Eleanor Barnes provide skilled hilarity in the comedic relief of the Two Brats, and as their dreamed mirrors Tweedledum and Tweedledee. In his role as the White Rabbit, Sammy Jarvis is sensational, bringing the world of Wonderland to life with a voice that is almost transportive. Nonsensical and psychedelic, the delivery of the Cheshire Cat by Francessca Fitton elevates this dream-realm, with Fitton’s mastery of physicality and facial expression matched in power by her strength of voice. 

Amongst the chaos, the chorus provide lucidity of narrative, as the figures of Daphne, Scarlett, Velma, Norbert and Fredrick give interludes of exposition and cogence that guides audiences through absurdity; excellently sung by Isabelle Bruce, Mathilda Ketterer, Izzy Cochrane, Ben Glover and Joe Wilson. Likewise, the exceptional talent of Kiera Barrett delivers brilliantly the guiding roles of Bottle and Duchess, with Barrett’s voice promising the potential of aria, and yet seamlessly blended with the community of the wider cast. The Caterpillar, performed by Fred Walmsley, intensifies the elements of jazz included in the production, in a clever adaptation of the traditionally intoxicated bug reflected in Walmsley’s play with voice. The tea-party retinue offer similar moments of hilarity, as the Dormouse played by Hannah Mayes and the March Hare performed by Matthew Dodd become comical victims of the Mad Hatter. In his secondary character as the White Knight, Dodd offers striking moments of physical hilarity whilst maintaining skilful control of voice.  In the starring role, Eleanor Brown shines. Brown lavishes audiences with exquisite song, expressive and controlled. Alice is especially alive in the heights of the musical score, where Brown’s clear and bell-like soprano most excels. Though undeniably accompanied by the brilliance of the wider cast, the sustained excellence of the lead is to be commended, and in every scene Brown attracts the focus of the performance. Delivering Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland with exceptional success, the Durham Opera Ensemble outdo themselves, performing with a calibre and talent far beyond the expectations of an amateur company – they have achieved magic on stage.

Featured Image – Durham Opera Ensemble

By Nicole Ruf

They want the culture, not the immigrant. 

They will stream the music, push it up the charts, but never protect the bodies that make it. They want rhythm without remittance, spectacle without the subject, pieces of our culture in their country, but not us. 

Lest we forget: America is not a country, America is a continent. Maybe two, depending on who draws the map. 

Benito says it plainly: together, we are America. His claim is not new, either; José Martí wrote Nuestra America over a century ago, Silvio Rodríguez then played it on his guitar, Residente now repeats it in stadiums. The argument always: the continent does not stand under a single flag. 

El Gran Tazón (The Super Bowl) has long served as liturgy to U.S nationalism: corporate excess baptised in red, white, and blue. Historically, a space both white and anglophone. To step onto that stage in Spanish, to dembow, under floodlights usually reserved for ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’, is no accident nor mere aesthetic choice; it is intervention, and it is political. 

It is a claim to stolen land, exploited land, land worked, plowed, and nurtured by migrant hands. It unfolds at a moment when immigration is once again framed as invasion. Eduardo Galeano knew to warn us that the North depended upon the extraction of the South; silver, sugar, oil, labour. Our veins remain open. Now the mining is cultural: reguetón everywhere, streams and ticket sales and halftime show; the rhythm circulates freely, the people do not. The irony should not be lost on us: one Latin body is welcomed onto the most-watched stage in the country, others detained and deported. 

Bad Bunny’s show unfolds in constant motion, shifting from song to song, and scene to scene, transitions far from arbitrary. His setlist is deliberate architecture, each song laid carefully in constructing a history: 

LA MuDANZA (the move) 

The show opens with movement; salsa and colour. Why translate ourselves when we express everything perfectly in our own tongue? From the first strum it is clear this performance is not asking to be understood, it is demanding to be witnessed. 

We are engulfed by sugarcane and suddenly we are somewhere humid, somewhere worked. It feels García Marquezian; Macondo in a NFL area, a place both marginal and mythical. Latin America has always occupied that paradox: peripheral in geopolitics, indispensable to global imagination. They want all the magic, and none of the realism. 

The stage feels like a stifling tropical summer, and the sweat on worker’s brows. Heat is aesthetic, but it is also historical.

 Tití Me Preguntó (Tití asked me) 

Benito appears, dressed in Zara; not couture, not luxury. An accessible brand, found in the fluorescent aisles of shopping centres across continents, and a Spanish-owned one at that. His value does not depend on elite approval. 

It is Latin America’s economy on full display. Behind this moment sit the tienditas: street food vendors, liquor shops, nail salons; that “informal labour”, migrant labour, that sits at the backbone of the U.S economy. 

Yo Perreo Sola (I dance alone) 

The casita is decorated with Latin icons; Karol G, Pedro Pascal, Jesica Alba, Cardi B, all your favourites in one place, all of them Latin. Look how far we can come, all that we can build. To see ourselves centre stage, is to shift the frame, and the power. 

Perreo, it turns out, can also be political; to move the body and occupy space. Latina women flood the stage; frizzy hair and thick thighs, real, sexy. Not diluted or softened, not assimilated into something palatable. They are bodies I recognise. To see them like this, desired and desirable, self-possessed, does something tender, it feels like being seen. 

“Las mujeres en el mundo entero, perreando sin miedo” (women across the world, dancing without fear). In a country where women’s bodies are legislated, to dance like this is to reclaim sovereignty.

Safaera (chaos; or the moment during a party where things tip over into it) 

This is this generation’s Gasolina, it saw us through adolescent parties and coming-of-age. We all know the lyrics, I know because I mouth them as I watch, and the stadium shouts them back. It had to make the setlist, and we are glad it did, even those of us who think ourselves feminists (sure, the lyrics are questionable). But that, too, is part of it. Culture is not curated for moral purity, it is contradictory, chaotic if you will, but it unifies us with its chaos. 

VOY A LLeVARTE PA PR (I’m going to take you to PR) 

If anything, Benito has been taking us to Puerto Rico since the show began. I watch from my kitchen before a morning lecture, ten thousand kilometers from home, and yet, suddenly, I am there. He falls into a living room: a family gathered around a television. It feels familiar, recursive. We watch them watch him, and in doing so, watch ourselves. 

His jersey reads Ocasio, Benito knows where he comes from. Tego Calderon, Don Omar, Daddy Yankee; the patriarchs. He names his lineage. “Están escuchando música de Puerto Rico, de los barrios y los caseríos” 

(you’re listening to music from Puerto Rico, from the hoods and the villages) 

EoO (literally: on occasion, or a cue given before a beat drops) 

And then the dembow; the body understands even before the mind. If there is one thing Latinos know how to do, it is move (there is a joke there I will leave for you to find). 

MONACO 

“Buenas tardes CalifoLnia, mi nombre es Benito Antonio Martinez Ocasio” 

(Good afternoon, California. My name is Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio) 

The intentional use of a full name, the stereotype spoken out loud, and then a reminder: “Y si hoy estoy aquí en el Super Bowl 60 es porque nunca dejé de creer en mí. Tú también deberías de creer en ti, vales más de lo que piensas, créeme” 

(And if I’m here at the 60th Super Bowl today, it’s because I never stopped believing in myself. You should believe in yourself too, you’re worth more than you think. Trust me.) 

He breaks the fourth wall, for an instant the performance recedes, and the man remains. 

The American Dream has been sold as: work hard, rise alone, transcend your origin story, and you may succeed, you may belong. 

Die With A Smile 

What follows is a display of belonging as Latinos conceptualise it. A (real) wedding ceremony on the halftime stage, the knot tied between a Latina and an American. They kiss, and like a kiss on the Berlin Wall, their marriage is a symbol of the collapse of borders. Intimacy where rhetoric insists on separation. A kiss for peace. 

Lady Gaga is no coincidence either; a globally famous English-speaking singer with a globally famous English-language song enters a Latin space. Anyone is welcome at a Latin wedding. You dance alongside the family. The tías (aunts) dance cumbia, the tíos (uncles) are already drunk, the children asleep in makeshift beds between chairs. Benito also dances with her. 

BAILE INoLVIDABLE (unforgettable dance) 

To us, these dances are almost forgettable, precisely because they are so ordinary. We dance at weddings, and in kitchens, and on streets, and everywhere. But ordinariness becomes radical when movement is policed, to dance without fear is no small demand, and yet Benito urges us: “Baila sin miedo, ama sin miedo” (dance without fear, love without fear). 

NUEVAYoL 

The stage obeys, they dance. It is theatrical, a musical number refracted through diasporic memory: perhaps West Side Story, perhaps In The Heights. The American Dream feels staged within reach. 

A tribute unfolds: Willy Colon, Frida Kahlo, those trumpets! Toñita, named in the song, now standing there, in front of him, hands him a shot, and “PR se siente cerquita” (PR feels so close). 

 Benito hands over his Grammy; it belongs to us all, to those who listen, to the children watching at home who look up to him, to his inner child too, perhaps, and to all those children who are now living in fear. 

LO QUE LE PASÓ A HAWAii (what happened to Hawaii) 

“Quieren al barrio mío y que tus hijos se vayan” (they want my neighbourhood, and for your children to leave). That Ricky Martin sings this matters, a voice our mothers grew up with, a Puerto Rican idol shaped by American industry and polished for export. He opened a door in the 90s, when ‘Latin explosion’ meant temporary fascination. Benito does not ask for fascination. He now walks all the way through that door and closes it; we no longer need subtitling.

El Apagón (the blackout) 

Electric poles and risky jobs; infrastructure turned symbol. What keeps the States united: building, repairing, cleaning, maintaining. The blackout is no metaphor. Puerto Rico knows this too well; a colony left waiting for power to be restored, political and electrical. 

Immigration in the United States is not a crisis of numbers, but a crisis of ethics. Migrants sustain the nation’s infrastructure while being systematically denied its protections. 

Benito holds his flag, and his country, high. He climbs upwards, and at the top, a lyric cuts through everything: “Ahora todos quieren ser latinos, pero les falta sazón, batería y reguetón” (Now everyone wants to be Latino, but they lack seasoning, battery/drums, and reguetón) 

And then, a targeted warning: “Cuidao con mi corillo, que somo’ un montón” (careful with my crew, there’s a whole lot of us). 

CAFé CON RON (coffee and rum) 

The first few notes and something stirs, my soles itch. I want the dim light of a club, voices hoarse, someone’s arm heavy over my shoulder. I want the bitter coffee my father brews in the mornings, and the rum and coke poured generously before we step out into the night. Ours has always been a culture of effort and enjoyment in the same breath. 

Flags rise from every corner of the stage, and something tightens in my chest; pride, anger, homesickness, then pride again. Everything converges now; the flags, the songs, the story, the way we do, inevitably, even scattered across continents. 

“God bless America.” He says, and names it properly: 

Chile, Argentina, Uruguay, Paraguay, Bolivia, Perú, Ecuador, Brasil, Colombia, Venezuela, Guyana, Panamá, Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Honduras, El Salvador, Guatemala, México, Cuba, República Dominicana, Jamaica, Haití, Las Antillas, United States, Canada, and Puerto Rico 

He does not abbreviate, so neither will I. 

DtMF (I should have taken more photos) 

He ends with the song everyone knows, even los gringos, and feelings just as familiar. Not a naive plea for unity, but rather something of a challenge: togetherness requires seeing and being seeing. 

They jump, shout, laugh, sing, because despite detention centres, policy debates, headlines, we are excessive with life, and joy, and above all, we are most certainly, loud. 

Power is rarely threatened by silence. It is not coincidental that the performance drew criticism from certain political figures, whose careers are built on policing borders, territorial and epistemic. But sound refuses containment. 

Sound travels, and apparently it crosses borders. Latin America has always been an act of sonic resistance. 

The only thing stronger than hate is love.

Featured Image: Kathryn Riley / Getty

By David Bayne-Jardine

The milestone musical Grease is a tough one to take on, but this raucous classic seemed light work in the hands of DULOG, Durham’s renowned student musical theatre company. With Michael Nevin and Sarah Johnston in the directors’ chairs, this highly anticipated production lived up to expectations, paying homage to the original film in all its riotous and camp glory. Some very minor hiccups did not detract from this rip-roaring testimony to both the talent of Durham’s student population and the exceptionally high standard of DULOG’s productions. 

Kitted out in leather jackets and slicked-back hairdos, the directors’ vision for this play was clear from the get-go: to present 1980s adolescence in all its absurdity and glamour, both mocking and paying tribute to the iconic hierarchy of popularity that governed high-school life. Jocks, nerds and belles-of-the-ball leant into their stereotypes with a campness that was hysterical and almost never overdone. 

Nowhere was this more the case than in Max Hildred’s portrayal of Danny, who was suave to the point of hilarity. Hildred’s character glided across the stage with that Travolta-esque fluency, as if every movement were a step in some ongoing dance. His knowing winks to the crowd and obsessive hair grooming perfectly captured the ridiculousness of the musical’s protagonist without compromising his undeniable sense of charm. 

All of Grease’s lead roles were brilliant, and backed by an equally impressive ensemble, whose mastery of complex choreography and harmonies left little to be desired. Every chorus member merged seamlessly into the ensemble yet maintained enough individuality to be memorable in their own right. In general, it must be said that the musical side of this production was immensely impressive – there were no points at which the cast lost control of the harmony, and the orchestra was synced with the action on stage to a professional level. From the opening number, the ensemble had the audience sat bolt-upright in their seats with their high-energy, high-calibre choreography. It was abundantly clear that every member of the cast was loving their time on stage. 

In the words of the directors, the goal of DULOG’s Grease was also to capture the intensity of teenage life – both ‘the highs and the heartbreaks’. The latter was certainly achieved through some heart-wrenching solo numbers. Mathilda Ketterer as Sandy gave a powerful rendition of ‘Hopelessly Devoted To You’ (a notoriously tricky number), and Talia Tobias’ ‘There Are Worst Things I Could Do’ was nothing short of knock-out.

Indeed, there are many contenders for the star of this show. Despite playing a relatively minor character, Celine Delahaye brought abundant life, hilarity and colour to the stage in every one of Miss Lynch’s scenes. Equally, a word must be said for Lucy Rogers, who played the ever loveable and brilliantly dorky Jan. Whilst some cast members risked over-acting at points, Rogers hit the nail on the head, gathering the most audience laughs by a mile but never over-egging the pudding. Rogers was a delight to watch on stage from start to finish. 

However, the real star of DULOG’s Grease would have to be Jobe Hart, who played Danny’s sidekick Kenickie. His solo number ‘Greased Lightning’ was the highlight of the production, perfecting the raucous and infectious energy that makes the track one of the musical’s most iconic numbers. It is not easy to make the overly macho, hip-thrusting choreography of Grease look natural or convincing, yet Hart pulled it off with fluency and ease. When he wasn’t showing off some brilliant dance moves, he was commanding the stage with a confidence and zeal that brought Kenickie to life. Hart’s character was at once intimidating and loveable – a nuanced portrayal that shows a young actor truly in his element. It is only fair to note that there were a few persistent issues with sound in the play. Misadjusted microphone volumes meant that certain characters were more audible than others, which led to some dialogue being obscured or lost. The highly anticipated kiss between Sandy and Danny was also slightly undermined by their mics making contact and picking up each other’s breathing. Nevertheless, none of this detracted significantly from the production. From start to finish Grease was an absolute riot; a testimony to the hard-work and talent of the whole team that put together such a challenging production. Wonderfully camp, entirely absurd and often rather touching, DULOG’s Grease had groove and it certainly had meaning.

Featured Image: DULOG

By Jacob Cordery

That was the most beautifully delicate film I have ever seen. I do not really know how to put into words how I feel about that film. The beginning was slow and I was afraid to eat my popcorn. It was so quiet, and I am quite loud. God bless the casting agent – Buckley and Mescal gave two of the best performances I have ever seen grace a screen. The rawness, the pain – I am sure I have never felt such pain. The cinematography alone was wonderful, the coupling of silent and perfectly still wide shots with shaky and personal and painful close-ups brought us into an England that doesn’t exist anymore. We saw the colours of Spring, we saw the black of death, and the red that exists in between those two things. The carefully crafted narrative, and the lack of focus on the work of Shakespeare, was phenomenal. We see him as absent, frustrating, and at times aggressive. We are with Agnes wholly until the play and then, like her, we are united once again – we see Shakespeare’s grief on stage. And we get to stare into the eyes of a mother losing her child once again. And suddenly everything I knew about Hamlet is unwritten, everything I thought I understood of the play, nay, the world, is undone. I once wrote in an essay that Hamlet is “a passive canvas on which the world around paints”. I think I still agree – but for a different reason. Hamlet is our grief, Hamnet is theirs. In the film the child chooses to give his life for his sister’s. The viewer is put in the position of death – we gaze at the boy, who gazes back at us – perhaps mirroring the idea that Hamlet is aware that he is merely playing a part in a play. Hamnet never got to live, but his parents refuse to believe he is gone, or in heaven. William wonders where he is: Anne sees only nothing. Death is presented as inevitable – Shakespeare’s mother lost three girls, and Anne has a vision of dying surrounded by two of her children. We know death must come, as we do in Hamlet, we just hope it will not. Regardless, death is projected onto Hamnet and Hamlet alike. We see the illness shake Hamnet, paralleled in Claudius’ writhing as he drinks his poison. We see Agnes’ pain, her shocking pain, watching her child die once more on stage. It is almost too much to bear. Shakespeare, who, as he states at the beginning of the film, struggles to put feelings into words, redeems himself for being the absentee father – or perhaps, he at least finds a way to show his wife his own grief, his own pain. I will be shocked and outraged if Jessie Buckley does not win an Oscar – she truly suspended my disbelief. Like in Hamlet, we hope that little sweet child who sacrifices himself will not die. We pray to a God we don’t believe in; we bury our head in popcorn; we cover our eyes with tears. But the boy dies and in his final moments, he is cradled: Hamnet by his mother, Hamlet by the audience, and we, in the cinema, are left alive, but alone. We almost feel envy, for one who is truly loved. I was waiting for Horatio’s famous last couple of lines, but we did not need to be told ‘Goodnight, my sweet prince’ for we saw the farewell. Some things are better felt than said.

Featured Image: Focus Features

By Ollie Cochran

Even if you have never heard of the Durham Revue, you most likely have heard from them. Modern-day British comedy has an odd habit of churning out, ad nauseam, future stars from a single sketch comedy troupe in the North East. Ed Gamble, Nish Kumar, and Stevie Martin – all ex-Taskmaster contestants, yes, but also esteemed alumni of the Revue. Add in Jeremy Vine and Ambika Mod for a smattering of extra sweetness, and you have yourself a tasty dessert made entirely of successful comedians, whipped up by Durham’s premier sketch troupe. 

Founded in 1974, the Revue have put together a troupe of writer/performers for the last 52 years that form a tight-knit group, developing and finetuning sketch material throughout the year before a month-long run at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. A place in the troupe is hard to come by: they operate an annual three-round audition process, assessing not only candidates’ skill at performing comedy, but also writing it. And with only seven or eight troupe members every year – and only five or six of them as performers – it is an illustrious gig within the student theatre scene. 

It was with all this in mind that I headed to the Collingwood Arts Centre on Sunday the 18th January to catch the Revue’s first show of the year: A Day at the Durham ReZoo. Co-president duo Samuel Bentley and Jude Battersby open the show to sinister music, recounting the aftermath of their Fringe run last year: critical acclaim (the troupe’s Derek Award on full display), but a bank balance that suggests otherwise. The solution? The troupe are now working as part-time zookeepers to get some extra cash. Makes sense.

Cue the introductions. Bentley and Battersby return alongside Alice Barr and Nat Pryke, joined on stage by newcomers Ollie Painter, Miranda Pharaoh and Bea Pescott-Khan, with Isaac Slater joining Pryke as a writer. In typical Revue style, they introduce themselves one-by-one, displaying a touch of their individual comedic styles, before Battersby rousingly instructs us to give them a big round of applause after every sketch, whether they “deserve it or not”. Before the sketches even begin, I am struck by the troupe’s rapport; for their first show, they seem immensely comfortable together, and the humorous asides and awkward interjections are a testament to their tight-knit quality. 

And the sketches are no different. Battersby and Bentley have electrifying chemistry, the former’s energetic facial expressions and command of physical comedy complementing the latter’s supremely dry wit and fantastic control of comic timing. This was on full display in one of the night’s standout sketches – a humorous take on ‘Noah’s Ark’ which provides several laugh-out-loud moments from the duo’s antithetical dynamic before the gag even lands. Together they also parody the randomness of the term “knee-slapper” in a sketch full of dad jokes that pits homoeroticism against maternal resurrection.  

Likewise, in a sketch that satirises drama teachers taking a school production all too seriously, Bentley pairs well with Painter. The production in question: Beckett’s classic Waiting for Godot – here, performed by their Year 3 class. It is a sketch that drives forward with its joke from the beginning, each comment funnier than the next. Painter, throughout the evening, is fantastic with his naturalistic approach, his delivery uncompromisingly measured to extract full comedic punch. 

Alice Barr has some excellent intensity throughout and great diction – her lively characters in ‘Parakeet’ and ‘Gender Reveal Party’ are among the highlights of sketches where the gags don’t always land. Her best moment of the night is in the ‘Ides of March’ sketch where Caesar and his (ex)comrades are transposed into the modern world on a ‘girlies’ night; Barr’s commitment and characterisation are sustained brilliantly. Pharaoh is equally good here as Brutus, delivering one of the central one-liners, “You know you’re my ride… or die”, fabulously. 

Indeed, Pharaoh establishes herself as a talented performer – balancing sombre, dry delivery with self-aware wit. She is part of some of the evening’s more experimental sketches, exhibiting a masterful command of awkward humour in a meta sketch where she gets stage fright and messes up her line as she sits in a hot tub and in a particularly peculiar anti-joke vignette involving a glass of milkshake (or is it Gaviscon?). 

Bea Pescott-Khan has some similarly memorable moments: as prisoner 24602 in a Les Miserablés parody that delighted the theatre-loving audience, she is fabulously quippy and utterly deadpan, ensuring that the momentum of the joke resounds throughout; whilst in one of the evening’s simplest, but best sketches involving a forgetful goldfish instructor, her wit is razor-sharp – a notable gag despite its brevity. 

Some other highlights include Battersby dropping a rhyming Lin-Manuel Miranda – (malfunctioning) fake goatee and all – into the Chernobyl disaster and letting the cultural mismatch deal the comedic punches, and a succinct homophonic gag involving not ‘Mock the Week’ but ‘Mock the Weak’. 

Still, it doesn’t all work. Painter’s deliberate, faux-sincere delivery of a sermon whilst chomping down on corn doesn’t quite land (though his corpsing does provide some entertainment – it is as if he feels as silly as he looks), nor does a sketch involving a doctor’s checkup where the patient has soiled himself, a premise that outstays its welcome long before the punchline does. At times, diction falters, even in the contained venue; the impact of sketches involving wordplay or quick delivery, therefore, is diminished. 

On the whole, many of the sketches are just too long – though, I concede, it is best to trial their material in this context before some of the upcoming shows. But look, as a first show, this is an immense achievement for the new troupe. (A special mention, of course, must go to Pryke and Slater for their writing achievements, despite not being featured on stage.) The Revue are clearly veering off in new directions this year, developing sketches in the realm of the absurd or abstract – eager to diverge some of their material from their orthodox gags. 

“Last year, at Edinburgh, we maybe got a bit of criticism for playing some of our comedy a little bit safe,” remarks Bentley, chatting to me after the show. “I think we wanted to include stuff here that started working towards a creativity that appealed to that kind of comedy-going crowd that you see in Edinburgh.” I agree with him. But for student sketch comedy, especially, the question of creative risk is nowadays inseparable from the financial realities of getting work seen.

The climate of student sketch comedy at the moment is a tense one – with the cost of living meaning that month-long stints at Edinburgh are becoming harder and harder to fund. Just last year, the Revue had to fundraise £7000 to afford their Fringe run, a number that was achievable partly thanks to generous alumni donations. For groups without such a rich history, the financial shortfall is impossible to overcome. 

This is precisely why it is so important to go and support these groups. Sketch comedy remains a unique space where student voices can be rough, ambitious, and occasionally wrong, but also unique and utterly original. Go and support it; you won’t regret it. 

The Durham Revue are performing ComedyFest at the Gala Theatre on Saturday 7  February 2026, alongside The Oxford Revue and Leeds Tealights. Tickets are available here.  

Featured Image: The Durham Revue

By Freyja Hollington

‘Well, I cannot watch a drama in an agitated manner.’

When Oscar Wilde took up the charge of presenting the social, he did so through the lens of satiric enjoyment. The unnecessary niceties and rules of manners that Wilde saw as both hypocrisy and absurdity poured forth into his characters and have created a drama that continues to hold resonance. Whatever distance we so wishfully place between ourselves and contemporary nineteenth century audiences, it is undeniable that the tangled web of silent social scriptures that Wilde exposed remains steadfast and unshakeable today. English hypocrisy need only be observed in the unspoken rigidity of orderly queueing everywhere except the pub, where the chaotic push toward the bartender seems to acknowledge how easily we forget ourselves in the pursuit of pleasure.

This essence of Oscar Wilde, his smirking dialogue and satirized stage, are so perfectly encapsulated by Sam Bentley’s direction of The Importance of Being Earnest with the Durham University Classical Theatre Company. The usual anxieties that accompany any theatregoer upon taking the stairs to their small – and not always too comfortable – seat melt away, as the world of Wilde unravels before them. The sword of dread which hovers at the inhale of a performance is swiftly lost, replaced by the thrill of anticipation that this will be brilliant. From the very moment the curtain lifts, the company achieves precision in the balance between the comic and the biting.

Opening the performance as perhaps the clearest mouthpiece for Wilde himself, the hedonistic bachelor and gad-about Algernon Moncrieff is central to the establishment of tone. In the hands of the talented Cillian Knowles, Algernon, and indeed the play itself, comes to life. Knowles’ first steps onto the stage are masterful, as his physicality conveys that which we have yet to learn but begin already to know. Amplified by the brilliance of costuming, Knowles as Algernon epitomises the freedom of carelessness in a system built upon self-criticism and self-regulation. Undone, almost naked, and embellished with the wisps of a lavish silk gown, Knowles saunters through the set toward audiences. In a striking moment of dramatic vision, the production utilises a transition into diegetic sound, as the playful music accenting Knowles’ appearance becomes the jovial and light-hearted melody of his own playing. The piano, as a recognisable symbol of higher social class and elevation, under the blithe and undisciplined hands of Algernon, becomes the image of social subversion that is definitive of the wider play. 

As his counterpart, the polarised figure of Jack (Earnest) Worthing enters the stage from the opposite wing and is, from the first, the antithesis of Algernon. Introduced in perfection of style, speech and posture, Jack, played by the sensational Edward Clark, illuminates the extent of Algernon’s individualism, whilst also conveying the sheer impossibilities of upholding social expectation. Dressed likewise in perfect costume, Clark enters in a sensible tweed three-piece suit, standing stately and self-possessed, in the shadow of his friend’s previous exposure. Where Knowles’ physicality is instrumental to his characterisation, Clark’s performance of Jack is centred in his control of voice. Always elegantly and clearly spoken, Clark’s Jack presents the nearest facsimile to respectability that Wilde, and indeed any individual, could achieve. 

It is not an uncommon critique of Wilde that his construction of character falls slightly in his presentation of women, and while The Importance of Being Earnest perhaps weakens itself by the balance of genders in the play, the central women of this production are unmissable. As the intended ‘Jack’ of the women set, Miranda Pharoah’s Gwendolen Fairfax emerges as a personification of contradiction itself. Emulating the sincere self-importance and charming arrogance of Gwendolen, Pharoah’s performance is perfection. Upstanding, self-possessed, and decisive, Pharoah’s Gwendolen returns something of autonomy to the women of Wilde, as the production teases out their greater conflicts of desire and duty, past and present. Pharoah is joined on stage by the entertaining and evocative performance of Roxy Rayward as Cecily Cardew. Rayward is expression itself, alert and receptive in every moment of stage presence, speaking or silent. The brilliance of the wider company to play off one another is epitomised in Rayward, who never parts from Cecily for a single moment throughout. 

In the character of Lady Bracknell, Molly Bell transforms, speaking as the old voice of England and the origins of etiquette and decorum. Likewise enhanced by the genuine thought and construction of costume within the production, Bell presents the tenuous and flitting grasp that social expectation holds upon itself – never quite solidified, but always conscious of its indispensability. Bell, as Lady Bracknell, becomes intriguingly paralleled in the supporting character of Miss Prism, richly characterised by Olivia Fancourt. Where Lady Bracknell esteems the system through her own superiority therein, Miss Prism’s unflinching dedication to the same notions of order and behaviour interrogate the (dis)advantages of obedience. In her implicit and tactfully conveyed love for the Reverend Canon Chasuble, vividly realised by Noah Lazarides, Fancourt’s Miss Prism questions the benefits for those that adhere to the system; further explored in Henry Skinner’s persuasive performance as the servant figures of Lane and Merriman. 

What the Durham University Classical Theatre Company has achieved in their production of The Importance of Being Earnest is nothing short of remarkable. There is a fine attention to detail and finesse of set, costume and sound, which only intensifies the brilliance of the cast. The dedication of the company to this creation is evident in every element, and the love and loyalty of DUCT to their performance is palpable. As one of the strongest student performances held in Durham, The Importance of Being Earnest  will be remembered and treasured fondly and often by audiences for years. 

Image Credit – Durham University Classical Theatre

By Matty Timmis

The Mocking Stars has arrived, seemingly out of the blue, and as I write this I am wondering if I am even capable of lauding this new album the way I did its predecessor The Girl, the Cat and the Tree. 

For the uninitiated, LAUSSE THE CAT is the character inhabited by an anonymous rapper,  spinning tales of a semi-fantasy life from Hyde Park, Leeds. The maestro of rippling velvet and head-fucking instrumentals he raps, sings, and orates in both English and French, conjuring strange yarns of louche living; both its pleasures and its consequences. Much like The Girl, the Cat and the Tree, The Mocking Stars is a concept album in the strongest possible terms, one that blurs boundaries of language, instrumentation and genre into something almost reminiscent of a theatre production. This second production drops us into a more adult world, ornamented with far richer, indulgent details and plaintive, mature anxieties. LAUSSE has descended into madness again, this time concerned less with the hedonism and toll of being a student than the reluctant transition from student to functioning member of society. Across 12 tracks our narrator pops up, much as he did in his prior work, to marshal us through the dusk like a ring master in a midnight musical circus. This circus is not concerned with hedonism anymore, but the freakshow of anxiety that makes up post-grad aimlessness. 

The record’s opener, “Blue Bossa”, immerses us in LAUSSE’s sanguine anguish, establishing beneath a muted bebop trumpet and hazy xylophones the insomnia that will lead him through these dashing, and at times uncouth, visions. We meet the ‘mad hatters round sainos’, who seem to offer some company, and an outline of Lausse’s journey begins to take shape. The track ends with increasingly frantic screams of ‘slay bitch’, as consumer items seemingly drive him to hysteria through both their unattainability and gaudyness. The maddening cries of ‘slay bitch’ further move LAUSSE into the delirium of adult life as he realises the only praise he will receive for his capitalist endeavors is an over-used internet speak of the apathetic generation he finds himself in, the anxiety of their situation unable to produce originality. This little squib leads aptly to early album highlight ‘I.D.W.G.A.J’, standing for I Don’t Wanna Get A Job, Lausse articulates the anxieties of the moment between graduation and fully fledged adulthood. He is concerned with getting a driving license and buying a car, all the things that employment and being grown up precipitate. The tension lies in his inability to afford any of this, and as his musings grow the fantasy expands to a life of dripping, idle wealth that seems all the more seductive for its distance, as Lausse saunters off into something starting to resemble a dream.

“The Midnight Hour” then is a more gentle affair, as LAUSSE drifts away from his forlorn reality to the clave pulse of a lounge-samba backing. Here he switches for the first time into a melodic French refrain, and navigates amiably his twilight sinking. A dour sun then operates like an amusing and harmonious bridge of A capella layering, pleading to be spared from the doldrums of employment.

All this builds to our title track, “The Mocking Stars”,  an expansive and apocalyptic epic that sees biblical floods sweeping through Hyde Park, cannibalism running rife, and our LAUSSE beset by a river of tears. There is an undeniable mania to this 10 minute song, dancing through genres and emotions with phantasmagoric ardor. This is an odyssey, warbled through smoke rings and desire, in much the same sense as “Redstripe Rhapsody” was. This however is a far darker affair, the scope of lyrical ambition and musical prowess far exceeding its predecessor’s journey through a Leeds house party as our protagonist sails away, with a rizla for a flag, into a chimerical world. 

“Space Cadet Cat” floats far from the tax payer funded rhythm of the relentless days, providing a rest-bite from the drama with a chirpy dose of the absurd. Similarly the opening chords of “Tea Party”, played on an echoing piano, almost call to mind a Debussy song. LAUSSE updates the surreal imagery of childhood, taking Alice in Wonderland and dreams of astronauts into our current world of angst. Here he reaches furthest from objective reality on his journey, delving into a debauched collective psyche with a naive escapism. Repurposing the fairy tales and space stories of more innocent childhood have certainly been done before, but here our youthful dreams are subverted with such striking precision and such dense interweaving that it is hard not to reflect upon our journey into our current selves.

“Keep Walking” walks us down from the inebriation of our own becoming with a heady kind of lullaby that sees LAUSSE shake loose the timbre of Hades evensong. He stumbles away from his mad hatters, away from his twisted fantasy and reflects upon how he found himself here. “Keep Walking” seems to pull us away from Leeds to potentially explain his absence for the last seven years, falling in and out of love and bars in London, the south of France and Berlin.

LAUSSE seemingly awakens as “Keep Walking” concludes, and finds himself grappling with the consequences of his actions and the destruction they wrought in “Moonlight Waltz”. Redemption creeps in as we are serenaded with a descending progression of vocals that take stock of the voyage we are finishing. A girl appears that offers the tenderness and romance that sustains our feline friend on the penultimate track, another highlight, “Peonies for Breakfast”. Beckoning to us with a welcome reprieve of brass and chorus it is a cathartic evocation of the charms of being loved that add a delicate and heartfelt charm to an album of high strung concepts and questions.

The album’s conclusory track, “Lotus Blossom”, is a more confusing affair, playing like a stoned Kanye song from his Yeezus era. That is not to say it is not energetic, it fizzes with the beeps of a childlike beat over which layered vocals and cultural references welcome LAUSSE back to a reality that seems more palatable. It is a fitting end to a record that sees LAUSSE grown up, still grappling with the same demons and still spinning them off in his languorous, enigmatic drawl, but now with the creeping onus of responsibility. This is a far broader canvas, and whilst still rooted in Leeds it is no longer the flow of a debauched student, but someone pondering where they are going and where they have been.

The first time I heard The Cat the Tree and the Girl it was quite a formative experience for me, bunking off of college, smoking a spliff in a mirror maze with a strange bloke who used a kettle as a book-bag. Then I was enraptured in my mildly miscreant youth, and I thought I saw it yawn out eternal in front of me in LAUSSE’s strange world. Then I was caught up in the vibrancy of living, of smoking a spliff with the boys and trying to pull at a house party. Now as I approach adulthood and consequences turn from abstracts to concrete, self perception grows some facets and the future begins to warble, The Mocking Stars appears ripe to guide me through my newest chapter of living.

As a footnote it is of the utmost importance that you roll a fathead and stick this record on your headphones looking out at the twilight.

Featured Image: LAUSSE THE CAT on Spotify

By Raphael Henrion

I had the privilege to watch DULOG’s production of Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street twice during their impressive run of six sold out performances. Stephen Sondheim’s musical adaptation is a classic that has been revived professionally, amateurly and somewhere in between since its opening on Broadway in 1979 and in the West End in 1980. It is no surprise that DULOG, Durham’s grandest music theatre company, took on this beloved story and musical. What I experienced in both performances was a striking, polished, and deeply impressive production with passion and energy oozing from every actor, musician and technician. Co-directors Amanda Cross-Court and Lauren Williams, assisted by Rio Patel, should be incredibly proud of creating a show with greatly deserved high praise.

The Performers

Right from his introduction, Sweeney Todd was played by Tom Carroll as a man full of confidence, purpose and power. Carroll’s ability to shift from sinister and vengeful to gracious and charming was very impressive, and was something he did especially well through his wonderfully sung lines. Todd’s partner in crime, Mrs Lovett, was played by Connie Richardson, who I must say was the standout performer both times I watched. Richardson managed to balance the extremely frantic energy in her physical and vocal performance while maintaining such clarity and strength in her singing and line delivery. Indeed, I scribbled in my notebook that Richardson ‘would not need to speak any lines’ given how much the audience gained from her facial expressions and physicality. Despite being a somewhat villainous character, I could not help but feel like I wanted to be on Richardson’s side.

Perhaps a more conventional romantic pairing, the actors for Johanna – played by Mathilda Ketterer – and Anthony – played by Joe Butler-Smith – demonstrated wonderful chemistry and embodied the hope of a more peaceful conclusion to the tale. Their voices were softer and brightly toned, helping set them apart from the other corrupted characters. A key moment of their interaction that stands out to me was that of Butler-Smith’s starstruck demeanour when he first sees Ketterer’s character. Followed by a timed spotlight, Butler-Smith was so eager to get closer that he descended the auditorium stairs quicker than the light could keep up. Intentional or not, I loved this detail.

Michael Nevin as Judge Turpin and Bede Capstick as Beadle Bamford worked very well together as the main antagonistic duo. Nevin’s highlight moment was his fantastic solo where, despite the uncomfortable motivation behind it, the audience could not help but be captivated by such a powerful performance – full of desperation, guilt and determination. As Turpin’s assistant, Beadle Bamford was embodied fantastically by Capstick, whose slimy yet charismatic portrayal made his character frustratingly likeable. 

Midun Odunaiya’s performance as Tobias was full of energy and this physicality was well suited to his character’s young age, making it far more believable. Pirelli, Tobias’s original employer and guardian (before he is ‘dealt with’ by Todd), was played by Will Simpson, who performed the faux Italian accent and flamboyant mannerisms very well and garnered many laughs from the audience. Simpson and Odunaiya appeared to have a lot of fun playing their roles, and the audience received all the benefits. Elena Pesciarelli sang excellently as the Beggar Woman, with great strength and desperation in her voice as she cries for ‘alms’, though I would have liked to see a greater sense of confusion and insanity in her characterisation.

Finally, I could not close my discussion of the acting performances without giving enormous credit to the nine members of the ensemble. This talented group of actors gave full commitment throughout the show, making a massive difference. A particularly impressive demonstration of the group’s brilliance was in the asylum scene, where each member of the ensemble played a uniquely ‘insane’ resident circling around the room – a scene that no doubt requires the crediting of Movement Directors Amelie Symmons and Jobe Hart. Their great work in choreographing this and many other moments of great synergy and synchroneity was integral.

The band, led by Musical Director Sammy Cormack-Repath, played full of character and emotion. I was impressed by the seeming shifts of motivation in their playing, their performance going beyond simply what they were playing and into how they played. In the first act, for example, the energy in their playing felt like they were on board with Mrs Lovett and Sweeney Todd’s plan, egging them on. After the interval, however, their playing felt more sinister, acting as more of a warning against rather than for Sweeney Todd. 

The Production

Production Manager George Murray and Assistant Production Manager Jonathon Wilson-Downs headed the design of a show that looked and sounded incredible. Deserving an entirely separate article reviewing their work alone, I will do my best to touch on every technical element that made Sweeney Todd so remarkable. 

The set was designed and constructed by Libby Simpson and her team. The two-tiered stage made it very easy to discern between Mrs Lovett’s pie shop downstairs and Sweeney Todd’s barber shop upstairs. Masking the height difference between the two floors were flats with painted grey brickwork. Sections of this brickwork were on hinges which could be opened to reveal different designs beneath, either red brick for symbolic emphasis, or the oven and signage of Mrs Lovett’s shop. I found this to be a very well-thought-out design that was used effectively throughout the show. The beautiful skyline drawing on the flat at the very back of the stage was gorgeously detailed yet subtle in colour, helping immerse us into Victorian London. The set and its various intricacies could not have been revealed without the excellent work of Stage Manager Evie Collins and her team (including Assistant Grace Mathews and Deputy Thea Jupe), who facilitated smooth, well-rehearsed transitions. I found that throughout these transitions, the stage crew moved with purpose, fitting into rather than clashing with the context and intensity of the play.

Co-Lighting Designers Leyla Aysan Montoya and Rory Collins delivered visuals that sincerely elevated the quality of the show. The flickering and dimming of the house lights at the beginning of the show was an effective choice I enjoyed; not even the ‘normal’ lights could provide the audience with familiarity and comfort as the show began. Additionally, the LED baton lights on the elevated platform (the upstairs) were a wonderful, dynamic choice that helped emphasise moments of violence, shifting motivations and more.

The sound for this production was some of the best I’ve experienced in Durham. Designer Carlos Davies, Isabella Broxis and Aniket Garg delivered the highest quality: very well balanced and mixed right from the beginning. All the sound effects that were used were well-timed and contributed meaningfully. Overall, I could hear and understand every line spoken or sung in this play, a feat I previously thought impossible. Indeed, one patron said to me that the amplification was potentially the best they ever heard in this venue.

Finally, I must commend the costume and makeup team, led by designer Harriet Miller, who ensured that every character was uniquely and effectively costumed to fit the bleak, Victorian context. One of my favourite details was that of changing Sweeney Todd’s waistcoat to red for the second act, matching the outfit of the Judge Turpin who he had sworn revenge upon. To reference Obi-Wan Kenobi, he had become what he swore to destroy.

Conclusion

All in all, this was a cast and crew brimming with talent and passion, making it an excellent show I am grateful I had the opportunity to enjoy (twice).

Featured Image: DULOG

By Sam Bentley

I have always loved Oscar Wilde. His wit and satire remains timeless, and his celebration of joy and absurdity feels fitting in a modern age defined by crisis. His refusal to treat seriousness as the only rational tone transcends his era. Wilde endures because his precision and irony has never required updating; his comedy lands because the behaviour he exposes remains constantly recognisable to a contemporary audience. 

There is no text where this rings truer than his most famous: The Importance of Being Earnest, which I have had the good fortune to direct this term with Durham University Classical Theatre (DUCT). Earnest is one of the great comedies in the canon of English literature. To call it just a witty and subversive Victorian comedy, however, would be to mistreat it as an old relic that ought to be admired and unchanged. Though still attached to its Victorian roots, I was committed to making Earnest feel fresh and contemporary. So often it is done with fully period-appropriate set and costume and RP accents lacking in variation – in these productions, too much focus is put on the idea that Wilde is writing about his own time. I wanted a production of Earnest which demonstrates that his satire is not nostalgic, but diagnostic; that he is talking about human behaviour far more than he is talking about Victorian England. Earnest is a play that speaks fluently to our modern contradictions, modern performativity, and contemporary romantic idealism. It is just as current as it was in 1895, and it was my intent to demonstrate this to our audience. 

Sincerity was at the heart of my creative vision. Wilde’s emphasis on absurdity is channelled through the sincerity of his characters in such absurd situations. My neo-Victorian production design allowed for me to emphasise the absurdity through set and costume, using bright colours such as vivid oranges and pinks and marrying them with classic Victorian style. Through this, absurdity is duly emphasised, allowing for the characters to be fully sincere in their performance and comedic style. It is easy with Victorian comedy, particularly with characters like Algernon and Lady Bracknell, to descend into a pantomime-like comedic style which undermines the integrity of the text and makes the comedy feel lazy. The emphasis I placed on sincerity was primarily to make the comedy of the text feel organic and not manufactured. All the comedy in Earnest is in the text and dialogue, so it was critical for me not to undermine that with cheap gags, but to let it grow naturally in the rehearsal process. 

Understanding the character relationships is the key to making Wilde feel fresh to a contemporary audience. The brilliance of Algernon’s wit comes through his comfortability with his counterpart Jack, and their ability to play with the music of Wilde’s text with one another. That relationship was constantly about emphasising to the performers that Algernon sets the tempo and rhythm to allow for Jack to play the melody, giving the audience the impression of genuine repartee rather than rehearsed punchlines. For a contemporary audience, the emphasis on their relationship makes the comedy feel familiar and engaging, arising from dynamics they recognise. The same can be said for Cecily and Gwendolen: their snarky, acerbic relationship and interactions are just as common now as they were in the 19^th century. Therefore, in the rehearsal process, real intent was put on building those characters based on their human feelings, and not on archetypal stereotypes of young Victorian women. Indeed, whether it is making Lady Bracknell as much a suffering socialite as she is a matriarchal demagogue or making the bedrock of Miss Prism and Chasuble’s relationship their sexual repression for one another, every character was carefully crafted to feel authentic rather than a recycled archetype. 

The experience in the rehearsal room has been joyful. I cannot thank the cast enough for the hard work and dedication they have put into this project. Building on my initial visions for them they have transformed their characters to feel delightfully alive. It’s been such a pleasure to watch them discover the comedy within their roles and in the truth of the characters intentions, interactions and reactions. Their willingness to experiment and play with spontaneity has allowed the play to feel rich in comedy and unpredictability. Watching them do this has been a pleasant reminder that comedy will always thrive on authenticity. Working with this cast to do this has undoubtedly been my best university experience. 

Productions are never possible without swathes of support; it would be remiss of me not to thank this play’s Producer and Production Manager: Evie Trueman and Rory Collins. They are simply the best in the business. Furthermore, I would like to thank my Assistant Director, Harriet Miller. She is excellent in all departments, a joy to work with, and her insight and support has been invaluable. It is a joy to bring Earnest to life in a way that is both true to Wilde and alive for its audience. 

The Importance of Being Earnest will play in the Assembly Rooms Theatre from the 27-29^th of November.

Featured Image: DUCT