Plays on in London

TOWIE meets Blasted by way of the Iliad in this breezily provocative fourth play from rising star playwright Ava Pickett. Bloodsport is both fresh but also pleasingly of a piece with Pickett’s other work, insofar as like her previous plays – even breakthrough Tudor smash 1536 – it’s set in Essex. In fact it’s not even her first play set in a slightly vulgar Essex living room (although the decor here is a lot whiter than in her very funny adaptation of Jane Austen’s Emma). Bloodsport takes place in the aftermath of a Trojan War of sorts, although there’s no Greece or Troy but rather some kind of civil unrest that’s gripped the UK. Smartly, Pickett never defines precisely what this is or exactly what has happened: it may have been a gang war, it may have been closer to the recent nationalist protests (it’s clear the Trojan equivalents were deemed to be ‘foreign’ on some level), it may have been a full-scale civil war. When Gerard Monaco’s terrifyingly toxic Agamemnon-proxy Mario comes back into the home he shares with his wife Cee (Laura Aikman), he talks about ‘New England’, as if the country has been remade wholesale. He’s joined by his malleable younger brother Marcus (Jay Taylor, in the Menelaus role) and a traumatised, blood-spattered Helen (Michelle Dockery), shivering in her nightwear, who everyone seems to be trying to ignore.  After an awkward homecoming defined by Mario’s triumphal belligerence, all signs - including the intro from Ethan Moorhouse’s poetic...

Tracey Scott Wilson’s US newspaper drama The Story is definitely more red top than broadsheet in tone. But there’s always a place for some thrills in the theatre. Making its UK debut almost a quarter century after its 2003 US one, its roots stretch even further back in time: it’s inspired by the story of Janet Cooke, a promising young Black reporter for the Washington Post who was forced to return her Pulitzer Prize after her 1980 story about child heroin addicts on the streets of DC turned out to be largely fabricated.  Wilson has her mind on more ambitious stuff than that, however, as she takes us into the ‘Vanguard’ section of a Post-alike newspaper in an unspecified American city. Manned by a somewhat eccentric team of three reporters, all Black, Vanguard is nominally an ‘around town’ style gossip section that has been repurposed as a African American community news by Pat (Lorraine Toussaint), the steely Civil Rights veteran who rules over the section with an iron fist.  She is supported by Neil (Ashley Thomas), her chief underling and longterm mentee, who knows his place. And she enjoys a somewhat frosty relationship with newbie Yvonne (Letitia Wright), an impressive young reporter who has a less easy relationship with the Black community than her co-workers. Bullied by her Black peers as a child, stints in boarding school and Harvard have left her feeling like an outsider, and she is engaged in a clandestine relationship with the paper’s white head of news, nepo...

If it looks like a Chekhov play and it pines wistfully in the pre-revolution Russian countryside like a Chekhov play… that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a Chekhov play. Sure, Lyndsey Turner’s deft revival of Ivan Turgenev’s A Month in the Country uses a not un-Chekhovian 1992 translation from Brian Friel; okay the bulrushes on Leslie Travers’ set could have been recycled from last year’s Barbican Seagull; yes it’s a story about a sprawling cast of dysfunctional aristocrats and their hangers-on falling apart on a country estate. But even in spite of all that, a little time with the play reveals it to in fact be very much its own thing. At the heart of this particular country estate is Sophie Okonedo’s jaded aristo Natalya Petrova. Legally, even wealthy women lacked real power in 19th century Russia. And yet even if Natalya doesn’t have any particularly grand ambitions, her flinty force of will, elegant looks and scorched-earth approach to anyone who annoys her means the teeming denizens of the house bend to her whim and hang on her mood. She is a much more forceful presence than her technology-obsessed husband Arkady (Thomas Arnold), who spends his days cheerily prattling around with his unreliable new winnowing machine, oblivious to the fact his pal Michel (Alistair Petrie) is in love with his wife, and that she has designs on their daughter’s tutor Aleksey (Patrick Gibson) Although there is a moment where Daniel Rigby’s sublimely annoying doctor Ignaty drops his loser...

As the world around us has burned or flooded this summer, the environmental themes of Lucy Kirkwood’s pointedly allegorical drama The Children have only grown more relevant in the decade since it debuted – as Lyric Hammersmith artistic director Rachel O’Riordan’s anniversary revival production makes clear. Ex-nuclear physicists and long-married couple Hazel (Meera Syal) and Robin (Declan Conlon) are living on a remote part of the British coast, trying to eke out a life in the radioactive aftermath of a disaster at a nuclear facility they originally helped set up. When ex-colleague Rose (Kerry Fox) suddenly reappears, the fallout from their past has ramifications for the future. The actors conjure an effectively brittle and on-edge atmosphere as the nuclear plant looms – literally and symbolically – over them in the form of the enormous reactor tunnel of Gary McCann’s set. It acts as the backdrop and frame for Hazel and Robin’s darkly post-apocalyptic The Good Life-style organic lifestyle. Ever-present and impossible to ignore, the aesthetic neatly evokes the situation’s blunt urgency. Syal’s Hazel, dressed in muted, earthy tones, is prickly and defensive, wielding a tight smile, yoga and healthy living as her defence against Rose’s incursion. Fox is nervy, frustration fuelling her too-loud laughter and as out of place in the couple’s tautly beige domesticity as her blue jacket. As Robin, Conlon rolls in with a forced jollity that deflates like a punctured balloon....

Clifford Odets’ 1937 tragedy about a gifted young Italian-American violinist named Joe whose life becomes derailed by a move into prizefighting has rarely been revived in this country but now gets a splashy Almeida revival that screams ‘West End transfer’. Major Brit star Josh O’Connor – most recently seen in Spielberg’s Dislosure Day – will return to the stage for the first time since he became famous to play Joe. And Sam Yates’ production has a supporting cast to die for consisting of Jason Barnett, Richard Fleeshman, David Ganly, Patrick Martins, Daniel Mays, Oliver Ryan, Hayley Squires, Stanley Townsend, Zubin Varla and Nicholas Woodeson. 

The first major West End revival of Edward Albee’s classic play in a decade has a cast to die for, as Billy Crudup and Gillian Anderson play the iconically awful George and Martha, an acidic middle aged couple who invite George’s young colleague Nick and his wife Honey over for a bizarre evening of weird and problematic game playing. And @sohoplace is a wonderfully intimate venue to watch the horrors unfold. The catch is that the show is heavily sold out, though at time of writing there were a decent number of more expensive tickets available across the run. The great Marianne Elliott will direct a cast that’s rounded out by Josh Dylan as Nick, and Phoebe Horn as Honey.

Titus Halder's new play is a dramatisation – and examination of the legacy – of the worst industrial disaster in human history. In Bhopal, India on December 3 1984, a gas leak at a Union Carbide pesticide factory cause devastation on an unimaginable scale, poisoning 50,000 people, killing 22,000, and inflicting generational damage as chidren born to those affected were stricken with birth defects. For the first show proper under the Bush Theatre’s new artistic regime, Matthew Xia directs an English Touring Theatre co-production that stars Linnea Berthelsen who played Kali in Stranger Things.

Playwright James Graham made his breakthrough with This House, a drama about the hung Labour parliament of the 1970s and at this stage in his career we’ve more or less acceped that he can write about anything and make it interesting. Certainly a drama about influential economist John Maynard Keynes – he’s the guy who came up with the idea of spending your way out of a recession – doesn’t immediately sound gripping. But quite aside from the fact that his economic theories are ripe for Graham’s irrevent but factually compelling stardust, he was also a fasicinating figure, not a dry economist but a bisexual member of the boho Bloomsbury Set, who was married to the great Russian ballerina Lydia Lopokova. Graham’s new play The Standard of Living joins Keynes as the Great Depression starts to bite and he attempts to fabricate a response. Rory Kinnear will play the protagonist, with Royal Ballet principal Natalia Osipova as Lopokova and Thomas Flynn as his lover Duncan Grant, in a production directed by the great Nicholas Hytner.

This review is from 2022. My Neighbour Totoro is now running at the Gillian Lynne Theatre in the West End with a mostly new cast. Studio Ghibli’s 1988 cartoon masterpiece My Neighbour Totoro is a stunningly beautiful, devastatingly charming film, in which not a huge amount happens per se.  It follows two young sisters who move to the countryside with their dad and basically get up to a lot of extremely normal things… while also fleetingly encountering a succession of astounding otherworldly creatures, most notably Totoro, a gigantic furry woodland spirit, and the Cat Bus, a cat that is also a bus (or a bus that is also a cat, whatever). Its most iconic scene involves young heroines Mei and Satsuki waiting at a bus stop, and Totoro shuffling up behind them, chuckling at their umbrella (a new concept to him) and then hopping on his unearthly public transport. So if you’re going to adapt it for the stage you’re going to have to absolutely nail the puppets you use to portray Totoro and co.  The RSC absolutely understood the brief here, although you’ll have to take my word for it, as for this first ever stage adaption – by Tom Morton-Smith, overseen by legendary Ghibli composer Joe Hisaishi – the company hasn’t allowed a single publicity photo of a single puppet (bar some chickens) to be released.  Nonetheless, the puppets – designed by Basil Twist, assembled by Jim Henson's Creature Workshop – are fucking spectacular. They have to be fucking spectacular because that’s the...

‘But how did Marilyn Monroe really die?’ is not necessarily a question you’re expecting to have answered down the theatre in 2026, especially not via the medium of a play starring late ‘00s pop star Pixie Lott.  But here we are. Sharleen Cooper Cohen’s drama – conspiracy thriller, even – opens with Lott’s extremely breathy, extremely blonde Marilyn hovering near the bed where her body was found. She tells us we don’t really know the real her, and to prove it she drops an F-bomb (Marilyn Monroe did swears???) and takes us on a whirlwind tour of her life.  Not a very illuminating one. In part because Lott’s limitations as an actor leave her stranded doing what amounts to a Monroe impression and in part because Cohen clearly thinks subtext is for cowards there’s simply no depth of character here. A ‘real’ Marilyn is constantly alluded to, but her whole life still seems like a performance. Everyone talks in exposition. Lott’s Marilyn never does anything casual or insignificant. The stilted dialogue is simply a cavalcade of modestly interesting facts about her career, marriages and death. And then there’s the conspiracy. Although the fact of Monroe’s death is dropped at the start, Cohen essentially precedes in a purely linear fashion, only revealing how she believes her subject died at the end. Rather than present it in a literary way, Cohen simply trundles through and says ‘this is how it happened’… and then has Marilyn confirm it herself. Lott’s Marilyn never does anything...