Unlucky in Love? Love Steps By Anastasia Osei-Kuffour May Have The Answers You Have Been Looking For.

At one point or another, I am sure we have all asked ourselves: When will it be my turn? When will I get the chance to experience that great love books and movies talk about as if it were a God-given right? On Thursday I had the great pleasure of peaking behind the curtain of one woman’s story that isn’t all sunshine, roses and easily-maintained relationships.

Love Steps, written and directed by Anastasia Osei-Kuffour, uses poetry, dance, drama and music to delve into what it means to be a black woman looking for love in the modern age. The Omnibus Theatre in Clapham provides a necessary stage for a story that is painfully relatable as we join Anna (Sharon Rose) and the friends and relationships (all played by Reece Richards) she makes on her way to finding the love of her life.

Love Steps chronicles three years in Anna’s life. We meet our main character at the age of 34, stuck in a rut and too stubborn to change her ways. Anna wants a fairytale romance, she wants to meet “The One” and be swept off her feet in the process, married and have kids to appease herself, and what she believes success and happiness to be, and to pacify her nagging parents. She has a detailed list of all the things that this hypothetical man must be and have (tall, handsome, have a job… ), yet when her happily married and settled friends ask her what she is doing to actually go out and secure this future for herself, Anna finds that her efforts are less than sufficient. After fruitlessly swiping on dating apps in an attempt to kickstart her dating life, Anna begins to meet and interact with men who fall short of her list by miles.

Though the premise of this story is one that is felt across the globe, this isn’t just anyone’s life, this is the life and the struggles of Anna, a black woman living in 2024 London. She faces additional feelings of inadequacy and exploitation that underline every one of her relationships both real and hypothetical. While the Anna we first meet is high-spirited and cheerful, there is that very real sense that underneath it all her treatment as a black woman in these romantic spaces has taken its toll on her confidence. Rose embodies Anna masterfully, toeing the line between warmly inviting the audience in to experience just a snippet of her life, whilst delivering devastating poetry that belies a more sinister and sadder truth. Playing off her costar Richards brilliantly, their great chemistry is utilised to the max as Richards embodies every other character in Anna’s life. From her mother and father, well-meaning friends and boyfriend of two years, Richards fills each of his roles as though they were his only character. I found myself somewhat disappointed that we didn’t get to see Richards in the shoes of a character who had more to do and say.

Without giving away exactly how Anna’s relationships fare, it’s important to mention that Anna is not perfect. Osei-Kuffour has done an excellent job of creating a character who experiences highs and lows and everything in between, without falling into the trap of becoming self-involved and unrealistic. Anna doesn’t pity herself, nor does she think herself absolved of blame. At times Anna’s speech to the audience felt like a therapy session, as she learns to adjust to life with a partner after being on her own for so long. It is refreshing to meet a protagonist who doesn’t have all of the answers even at the end of their story. 

The final aspect that makes Love Steps what it is, is the use of movement around the stage. The set design is very minimal, just a projection sheet that depicts the titles of each section of the play, and a lot of empty space for the two actors to fill. I was somewhat trepidatious about how the two would hold the audience’s attention with only their words and no props, but by the end of the 75-minute run-time, I appreciated dance and movement as a prop all on its own.

Choreographer Leroy ‘FX’ Dias Dos Santos does a superb job of combining the lights and movements of characters to convey love, rejection, hate and heartbreak. The actors also do well to move so beautifully around each other whilst saying very complex and emotional spoken poetry.

This play is a must-see for those still looking for their life partner and those who have found love already. It’s witty and engaging, with multiple moments that had the audience laughing and nodding along with Anna and her trials and tribulations in love. 

Love Steps runs until April 20th at the Omnibus Theatre. Find out more here.

Then transfers to TALAWA from 29th May to 1st June

Tyrell Williams’ debut Red Pitch transferred to @sohoplace theatre after two sold-out runs at the Bush Theatre …

The play is a charming and authentic portrayal of friendship, football, and what it means to grow up in social housing in modern-day Britain. With Williams drawing from his own experiences of being a young Black boy growing up on a council estate and seeing the progressive dramatic shift in demographics.

We meet Bilal (Kedar Williams-Stirling), Joey (Emeka Sesay) and Omz (Francis Lovehall), three boys on the cusp of their GCSEs. What brings them together, aside from living on the same estate, is their love for football. Each time we encounter them, they are on ‘Red Pitch‘ – the football pitch available for those living on the estate. All of them want to make it into QPR (Queen’s Park Rangers) to propel them into a football career and (supposedly) guarantee them fortune and fame.

Alongside the coming-of-age narrative, we have the depiction of gentrification and the long-standing effects of Thatcherism on state housing. The boys share starkly different views on whether this renewal is positive, or driving away their community.

Red Pitch also explores the difficulties young carers face and the issues that arise from the parentification of children. Omz (Lovehall), has to look after both his disabled granddad and his younger brother, a responsibility anyone would find difficult, let alone at sixteen. And this is the play’s exact charm. The age of these boys and the language of youth permeates throughout. During an interview, Lovehall expressed that when listening to children, one is “challenged to understand their perspective.”

Rather than being excessively verbose, Williams uses the vernacular of youth to lay out complex issues for what they are and highlight the human impact. Gentrification is not something limited to infographics and studies, it is something occurring in the lived realities of people in this country, at this very moment. And yes, while the affront of a Morely’s being turned into a Costa might seem relatively insignificant, it is changes like these that begin the exclusion of people from the communities they shaped.

Not only was I impressed by the acting and chemistry between the three actors, but certain elements of stagecraft were also impressive to behold. Daniel Bailey’s direction in the round allowed for a dynamic moment that kept me enraptured during the 90-minute runtime. Despite the ball at points being perilously close to audience members, all three actors showed their impressive skill and navigation, supported no doubt by football coach Aaron Samuel.

The lighting (Ali Hunter) was a great joy, and was key in allowing us to enter the fantasy of these boys, where at points we became football fans – their fans – rather than theatregoers. In addition, the fight (Kevin McCurdy) and movement choreography (Gabrielle Nimo) bolstered already excellent scenes and acts, from slo-mo transitions to the awkward viciousness of teenage scraps.

Surprisingly wholesome, laugh-out-loud funny, and entirely authentic, Red Pitch is one of the most charming plays I’ve seen in a long time, and I would encourage you to get your boots on and head down to @sohoplace to this strictly limited run before they blow the final whistle.

Red Pitch runs at @sohoplace theatre until the 4th May 2024.

Jessica Hagan’s play Brenda’s Got a Baby is a delightfully wacky, look behind the curtain of womanhood, motherhood and relationships.

On her 29th birthday Ama (Anita-Joy Uwajeh), gets the rude awakening that her career and eight-year-long relationship isn’t enough to keep her demons at bay. Her boyfriend Dami (Jordan Duvigneau) breaks up with her after falling for another woman. Whilst her newly married younger sister Jade (Jahmila Heath) and Mother (Michelle Asante) pressure her about marriage and motherhood.

Brenda’s Got a Baby begins with Ama staunchly unbothered by the call of motherhood. At 29, those around her are falling head-first into pregnancy and marriage as their “biological clocks” begin to tick. Brenda, a character we never see, is revealed to be a girl from Ama’s class who got pregnant at 16. When Ama bumps into her on the street years later holding her 5th baby we begin to see how Ama differs from the women around her. While Brenda slights Ama for not having the purpose she finds in her children, Ama mentions “the rules“ that were gospel when they were younger – go to school, graduate, don’t get pregnant, go to university, get a job and so on. Ama has done all of this. She has a well-paying job in London, has just bought her first flat and expects her boyfriend to propose very soon, prompting the start of her story as a wife and mother. To Ama, despite being behind her 24-year-old sister, she has done everything right.

When Dami breaks up with her, Ama’s carefully laid plans begin to unravel. Catastrophically. By the end of the first act, Ama has decided that she will have a baby by her 30th birthday in a year’s time. As soon as she lays down this gauntlet for herself, a countdown clock begins ticking down from 365 days above her head, a brilliant physical manifestation of Ama’s stress and a highlight with the audience.

The rest of the play is set over the next 365 days cataloguing all of Ama’s desperate attempts to get pregnant and finally be seen as important in her community. Much of what happens in Act 2 is best left as a surprise, but as we watch Ama’s mental health deteriorate I couldn’t help but sympathise with the boisterous and confident woman who has been completely lost to societal pressures and a phantom “ticking clock”.

More broadly, Brenda’s Got a Baby is incredibly funny. Throughout the first act, we are endeared to Ama as she
keeps a brave face while things go wrong around her. A welcome levity also comes in the form of ‘Skippy‘ (Edward Kagutuzi), Jade’s husband. He is loving and patient with his wife and her family, whilst being hilariously sincere and earnest. Michelle Asante as Jade and Ama’s mother is another highlight. Jade is that strict and, as Ama puts it “overbearing” black mother that we all know, with disarming quips that put the boisterous sisters back in their place. However, she also delivers a heart-wrenching monologue that brings together beautifully what it means to be a mother and to watch your children grow up.

Brenda’s Got a Baby does, however, have a few over-arching issues with tone. The one-liners, jokes and comedic situations sometimes undermine the serious issues that the play is trying to discuss. For instance, a short discussion on the shortcomings of IVF for black women is given not nearly enough time given the main character’s year-long struggle with it. There are facts and statistics about IVF shared in conversation that are meant to shock and appall, yet seem largely out of place coming from a character who is so unserious most of the time. Brenda’s Got a Baby could have benefitted from a closer analysis of the processes of IVF and its mental and financial impacts, depicted as more of a long-standing issue that follows Ama throughout the second act, just as it so brilliantly does with the issues of motherhood and marriage.

Overall, Brenda’s Got A Baby is a passionate and rewarding insight into what it is to be a woman in the 21st century. Highlighting the confusing and conflicting lessons about motherhood women are taught growing up. Despite Ama becoming unreachable by the end of the play, the story teaches so much about supporting your fellow woman despite her often being framed as the enemy. Playwright Jessica Hagan does an excellent job of creating ordinary women, people you would see day to day, and putting them in extraordinary positions, creating an entertaining, and thought-provoking piece of art.

Brenda’s Got a Baby runs at the New Diorama Theatre until 2nd December | Find out more and buy tickets here.

I visited Theatre Peckham this week to watch the incredible play I Love Acting, But F*ck This Industry.

I Love Acting But F*ck This Industry follows three young black actors looking to make a name for themselves in the bleak post-COVID entertainment industry. The audience are brought along on the perpetual ups and downs that each of them must face on their individual journeys towards greatness. 

As we take to our seats, we are greeted by the laughter and affectionate taunting of friends Manny, Ade and Zion, already sitting on the stage. Their camaraderie bridges the gap between acting and real friendship, an early indication of great things to come from this provocative and endlessly relevant title. When the chatter of the audience lulls and the music is silenced, Manny, Ade and Zion give us a peek behind the curtain of the entertainment industry, with periods of triumph and success marred by long stretches of little to no work disappointment and setbacks. Their story is set in the years following the total standstill of the pandemic that set so many fledgling careers back. While casting calls are being made again and the population turns to the entertainment industry for escape, the reality for these boys remains ZOOM auditions, self-tapes and little-to-no feedback from directors and agents. We learn early on that the main theme of this play is ambition, and how each of them utilise it to get ahead in life.

For Ade (Mohammed Mansaray), ambition means proving the naysayers wrong and providing for his mother in her old age and illness that the NHS is stretched too thin to treat seriously. He is the only “classically” trained actor of the trio, having just graduated he’s trying to prove to prove to his friends that the money and three years was worth it. Ade is focused, something that leaves him somewhat outcast amongst his peers as his single-minded drive makes him uptight and defensive of his creative choices. Ade recites a quote by Pablo Picasso often and lives by it, “The picture lives only through the person who is looking at it”. Ade is determined to stay true to who he is, but struggles with all that he must sacrifice to get even a modicum of respect in his chosen industry. His strong opinions on striking, the use of A.I in the entertainment industry and the lasting impacts of the pandemic, make for an interesting and likeable character.

Manny (Alvin Ikenwe), views ambition as something that eventually boils down to luck, or as he puts it, “Timing”. He is dedicated to his craft, putting in hard work and effort when necessary, driven by a need to move out of his crowded home and finally have a space all to himself. Yet he finds himself floundering and unmotivated after years of trying with no success. He is the only one of the three to mention a girlfriend and wanting a life outside of acting which takes some of his focus away at critical junctures in his career. Manny is funny, laid-back and truly believes that his time is coming; he only needs to wait. However as his friends book roles, he is left as the hype man receiving little support back. I wont spoil too much of Manny’s story and where it takes him, but as he struggles with his identity, he begins to lose sight of what drew him to acting in the first place.

Finally, Zion (Malachi Pullar-Latchman), approaches ambition timidly; unsure of what is next for him. While all of the friends mention dropping out of the industry to focus on more lucrative careers, Zion is the only one who seems to really think about giving up. He discusses going back to selling drugs as it’s something he knows he is good at, despite all the time, effort and money he has put into acting. While the others seem determined to make it work, Zion appears to be looking for an easy answer to all of his problems. His is the character who most drives home the meaning of this play. One of the closing lines spoken by Ade, asks: “Are you, you?” Zion is the perfect example of how the industry chews people up and spits them out.

I Love Acting, But F*ck This Industry took writers Faisal Dacosta and Raphael Famotibe a year and half from conception to production, and I could tell from just a short cast and crew Q+A that this story was not born just from a frustration or anger with the entertainment industry, but a place of love and respect also. One of the first questions asked to them was about the eye-catching name of the show. While provocative, the duo commented on the relatability of the sentiment, not just within the acting community and industry, but across all workplaces and career paths. This is a story for everyone (Raphel notes, commenting on the diversity within the audience) and one that everyone should go to see.

Overall, this is a story about ambition in the face of hardships. Actors Mohammad, Alvin and Malachi were asked what change they wanted to see in their industry and the consensus was that actors and creatives alike deserve more respect. To be treated as more than just a number on a call sheet or ZOOM audition 25 out of 50. The writers and actors strikes are proof enough that stories like this one need to be told and what an excellent story it was.

From the writers and actors, to director Rayxia Ojo, Movement Director Yemurai Zvaraya, Sound Designer Rochelle Frommars, Set Designer Aliyah-Marie Yanguba, and Costume and Hair by NastaciaRoosevelt, I Love Acting, But F*ck This Industry is a brilliant saga that breathes life into the post-pandemic struggles that we all have felt. It is funny, heart-breaking at times, and above all else, truthful.

I Love Acting, But F*ck The Industry ran @ Theatre Peckham’s Young Gifted and Black Season 10th-18th October

Particularly in recent times, it is hard to understate the relevance of The Crucible …

From the 17th century, to the 50s’ McCarthyism (which Arthur Miller was writing under), to today’s claims of ‘cancel culture’, it seems that throughout history, humans as a collective have had an affinity for misguided mob justice. I say misguided, as, from what we can see with the actions of the play, people are too willing to accept lies as the truth to further their own agendas. Perhaps pessimistic, there can be great change made when we come together, after all. But, when watching this literal witch hunt play out, optimism is much more difficult to keep in your grasp.

Lyndsey Turner’s transferral from the National Theatre to the West End’s Gielgud Theatre has brought with it a few changes to the cast, one significant change was the casting of Milly Alcock and Brian Gleeson as Abigail Warren and John Proctor. Their dynamic far more uncomfortable, more difficult and perhaps more poignant by the end when you remember that our martyred ’hero’ is the same man who lured a teenage girl to his bed, then kicked her to the curb when the shame grew too great. Perhaps you would call for his blood too. Alcock’s portrayal of Abigail, the sole girl clad in green, part of the floral menace in pinafore dresses (Catherine Fay), is remarkable, though I often wished to see more venom than petulance in her character.

Gleeson’s palpable desperation becomes more frightening towards the end, as he seeks to “slide together in our pit” and declare himself a lecher along with the leader of all the pretenders. Other standout renewed performances included Fisayo Akinade as Reverend Hale, whose final pleas to Proctor struck a chord within me once again, and Karl Johnson as Giles Corey, a wonderfully pathetic comedic respite in an awfully oppressive play.

Es Devlin’s set design is as spectacular as ever. While the rain framing the stage is palpably impressive, there are also elements of subtle brilliance. The stage becomes cavernous with characters appearing from and disappearing into the black abbeys. The girls also are softly lit up (Tim Lutkin), ghostly aspirations singing their eerie choral song (Caroline Shaw) as the sirens of death. I was particularly impressed with the ensemble scenes, particularly at court, where two dozen actors could be on stage at once, yet were meticulously framed in a manner that still allowed for fluidity of movement.

In my last review, I remarked on Turner’s inclusion of an epilogue, particularly the statement of Abigail becoming a prostitute as though it was some type of revenge or divine justice. There was no such addition in this version, and the play works much better without it. With no commentary on the fates of the characters, or even of Salem and other similar trials, the play ends with Proctor being marched to death. It is this bleakness that provides the emotional impact, this reminder of the impossible challenge, the Catch-22 paradox where you are condemned as soon as you are accused. There is no justice with this ending, only bloody vengeance.

Frustratingly, the show still has no answer for the there-but-not-there ‘race-blind’ casting it utilised. The company is relatively diverse, and yet, there are still direct references to slavery, with the enslaved Tituba (Nadine Higgin) played with a heavy West Indian accent. It is part of a larger discussion to be had when adapting texts with explicit racist references for current times (particularly when these are based on real-life historical events), and it is not an issue that a single play can solve alone.

In Salem, it is the men who rule, and the little girls who serve, until they are granted a slight bit of power and run mad with it. Turner’s adaptation of The Crucible probes new fears into the mouldable nature of justice, and how fragile our hard-fought rights are. Worrying times are on the horizon, Miller knew it then, and Turner reminds us of it now.

The Crucible runs until the 2nd September @ the National Theatre.

Rebecca Frecknall returns to the Almeida stage with another scorcher.

Following her smash hit A Streetcar Named Desire, she injects new energy into her adaptation of William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Leaning heavily into the ‘two-hour traffic’ of the stage, the play runs for this exact length with no interval. The prologue, rather than being spoken, becomes a projected text on a wall that all the characters lean on and drop to form the set, each playing their own part in sending the lovers to their deaths.

Certain scenes, such as Romeo slaying Paris in the Capulet tomb, are cut, and the play continues on its forward momentum, hurtling the two lovers to their deaths at a breakneck speed that captures the whirlwind feeling of teenage romance. The pace of the play is kept up not only by the run-time but also by the dance numbers, set aptly to Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet. While surprising at first, I was particularly enamoured with the way the dance choreography by Johnathan Holby, merged with the fighting; capturing the combination of beauty and cruelty within this tragic romance.

Movement and bodies also play a major part in the work’s construction. The stage space is largely empty, with Chloe Lamford’s set design reminiscent of a cavern with actors entering and exiting into the shadows, or, as they often do, remaining on stage, half-lit and semi-present. This was particularly effective in the final act of the play, with the two lovers, side by side, together on stage but physically separated in their world, each desperately seeking a way to change their fate. However, the most effective use of this was by far in the final scene, with the whole company sat framing the stage and tightly observing the action, individually complicit in the mutual suicide of the pair. This comes after they spent the previous scene lighting an innumerable number of candles for the Capulet tomb as Friar Lawrence hurries in vain to find the pair in their death the hundred glowing lights, bestowing an eerie beauty.

Perhaps one of the most enjoyable parts of the play is the chemistry between the two leads. With both of them costumed by Debbie Duru in the New Romantic style of flounces, ruffles, and free-flowing silks, they are as fashionable as they are doomed. Toheeb Jimoh as Romeo, is lovestruck yet earnest, shedding all his affection for Rosalind when he spies Juliet. He is charming, tender, and joyful with every moment he spends with her, practically throwing his shoes into the audience with his boyish enthusiasm to climb into her bed. Isis Hainsworth brings a refreshing spunk to Juliet, combining an innocent wonder with a biting edge. Hell hath no fury like a teenage girl, it seems. No more a simpering rose, this Juliet is forceful and decisive, but still absolutely terrified.

Frecknall updates the iconic balcony scene between the two, with Juliet initially lit with an orange glow (beautifully, I may say, by Lee Curran) but brought down to the gardens once she sees Romeo providing an intimate closeness. While the two are a charming pair, at times their dialogue (and therefore, the tenderness of the romance) were rushed. Regardless, Jimoh and Hainsworth work well together, forming a besotted and desperate young couple. You see their youth, you believe in their love, and you understand their folly.

The company as a whole provided a very strong performance. Tybalt (Jyuddah James) is a particularly menacing presence, commanding the stage with a degree of evil that never becomes overly forced. I would have preferred to see a final battle, akin to his knife fight with Mercutio (Jack Riddiford), but Romeo makes swift work of his murder with the trigger of a gun. Returning to Riddiford’s Mercutio, his emotionally charged death provided an opportunity to showcase his range. His Mercutio is every bit the “saucy merchant” that Nurse (handled wonderfully by Jo McInnes) describes him as. While I cannot deny the comedy, and the eyebrows raising homoeroticism, I couldn’t help but cringe at some of the overtly sexual hand gestures. I do get the feeling, though, that this was entirely purposeful, with the rampant lewd innuendos placed to evoke the surprise that would have been felt for viewers over four hundred years ago.

It is not easy to adapt a tale so rooted in our cultural canon and make it feel fresh, exciting, and current. Frecknall’s version of Romeo and Juliet does what many cannot, while still keeping close to the historical text. We can only hope she returns to the Bard once again.

Romeo and Juliet runs from 6th June – Saturday 29th July @ Almeida Theatre

STARS: An Afrofuturist Space Odyssey, by Mojisola Adebayo, is a spellbinding journey exploring space, identity, and female sexuality.

I have been to the ICA multiple times, but I have never attended a play there, and this was a fantastic first time. As I entered, the stage layout was similar to the traditional end-on staging, but with some key differences. One was the DJ booth left of stage, which provides the soundscape by Debo Adebayo which permeates throughout the entire production. Sofas and cushions were embedded into the ground of the front rows, signalling an alternative theatre experience, prioritising comfort and familiarity over custom. The set itself was a picture of domesticity – a table, chair, fridge; but with an illuminated sideways doorframe and an oval spaceship shaped stage designed by Miriam Nabarro. Clear, that all was not as mundane as it appeared.

STARS: An Afrofuturist Space Odyssey follows ‘Mrs‘, played powerfully by Debra Michaels, who starts her journey with what appears to be a routine GP appointment where she reveals that she is searching for what she has never experienced before – an orgasm. Rather than using this as a source of bawdy humour, the 90 minute runtime (directed by Gail Babb and S. Ama Wray) weaves through the life of Mrs, travelling back and forth in time to uncover what has led to this point. Newly widowed, we discover that Mrs was in a loveless marriage, forced into cohabiting with the man who sexually assaulted her as a teenager, as life did not provide her with any other option. STARS also divulges into her religious trauma, portraying an attempted exorcism from an Evangelical sect Mrs was once part of, conducted after she confided in a fellow member about her same-sex attraction.

While it is (primarily) a one-woman show, Adebayo and Michaels work in tandem to bring multiple characters to life, each divulging into a part of the female experience. The Mrs’ primary companion is ‘Maryam‘, a young Muslim girl who goes by ‘Mary‘ in her Catholic school, as “it is easier to be a Mary than a Maryam”. While their friendship is a source of light, easing the loneliness Mrs faces in her old age, a rift arises when it is revealed that Maryam has been forced into undergoing female genital mutilation (FGM). Here, we see further suppression of female sexuality, where the expression of such is surgically removed in the name of “tradition”. It is heartbreaking to see the justification Maryam gives for the operation, comparing herself to the “smooth” plastic doll gifted to her by her family as a prize for enduring the procedure.

Another friendship that Mrs has is with ‘Maxi‘, who provides another perspective on sexual expression. Maxi is intersex, or as she would say, “too right I’m into sex!”. Her parents, rather than altering her body, embraced their daughter for who she was, railing against the pressure of doctors who sought to place her into a normative gender binary. As Mrs says, the Latin word for shame and the female genitals are one and the same, “pudenda”. With Maxi we are provided the freedom and joy that can lie in turning this upside down.

In some ways, STARS is a love letter to science fiction. Mrs is an avid fan of Star Trek, and is signing up to travel to space on the ‘Spexit’ programme – a tounge in cheek satirisation of the political policy in the UK that brought us Brexit and the Windrush programme. Perhaps one of the most unique elements of the show comes from the description of the Noomo and the projected animations by Candice Purwin that depict them. The Noomo are hermaphrodite creatures with scales and flesh, first discovered by Intergalactic Africans to reside in the Sirius star system. The Noomo are not conjured by Adebayo, they come from the mythology of the Dogon religion in Mali. The myth of the Noomo, androgynous and celestial, frames the story, taking us out of the singular room and into the stars. While I was a fan of the projected animation, I found at times the projected play text to be distracting (though it was often played for a clever gag).

While I sometimes got lost in the non-linear narrative, I was eventually guided back in the right track. STARS ended how it began, except this time: Norma Monaghan is on a one way pleasure trip to a place, quite literally, out of this world.

STARS: An Afrofuturist Space Odyssey ran at the Institute of Contemporary Arts until May 4th.

NO I.D., written and performed by Tatenda Shamiso and directed by Sean Ting-Hsuan Wang, is an honest yet hopeful depiction of the struggles of living as a Black transgender immigrant in modern Britain.

Within the hour-long runtime, Shamiso guides us through the transition from Thandie. Through old photographs, shakily recorded videos, and accounts from friends, we understand who Thandie was – ‘a gem’, who ‘always lit up the room wherever she went’. A musical theatre nerd, struggling with the gender she was assigned at birth, but, hoping she would eventually grow into being a girl.

A few years, a move across the world, and a second puberty later, we watch the blossoming of Tatenda, a transgender man attempting to find his place in a country that seems so eager to shut him out.

The intimacy of the piece is built through an hour-long monologue (or perhaps, dialogue) as soon as you enter. We are in a bedroom, Tatenda’s room, as he attempts to telephone the NO I.D. phone line, to establish his new identity. Sadly, such a phone service does not exist, and in its replacement is the frustratingly hostile and invasive structure one has to navigate through when seeking gender-affirming care and revising legal documentation.

Within a structure that seeks to strip him of his humanity, Shamiso provides us with an insight into the reality of his lived experience, at one point removing his clothes to show us ‘a trans body’. There’s a certain level of openness and candor that Shamiso evokes, a vision into the highs and lows, from the anger-inducing to the euphoric.

Battling through an endless tornado of paperwork, Shamiso attempts to navigate psychiatric reports, deed polls, and a ‘billion‘ forms that eventually clutter the stage (designed by Claudia Casino). One particularly poignant scene comes during a meeting with the GP, whose assessment of whether Shamiso satisfies the diagnostic criteria for gender dysphoria pairs with a magnified scan of his body. Under black lights and a torch (lighting by Zoe Beeny), we witness the restrictive prescription on who can be deemed worthy of medical intervention. Not the person who ‘loved Barbies’ and ‘hated Lego’, but someone who must ‘perform transness’ suitably enough to be granted care and support.

Some of the most tender moments of the play come when Tatenda shares a musical performance with Thandie, a duet combining the past and present, with the lower tones of Shamiso’s harmony complementing his own, his old, voice. Through the lyrics, of living in a body that weighs them down, we understand the levels of Shamiso’s dysphoria. With his new self, his real self, Tatenda promises to remember Thandie and looks forward to what is next. I, for one, would love to see more.

No I.D. ran at the Royal Court’s Jerwood Theatre from Tuesday 18th April – Saturday 06 May. Find out more here.

Splintered is an ode to the queer women of the Caribbean that often go unnoticed and unseen …

At best their existence is ignored and at worst harshly condemned with instances of them being shunned and forced into hiding. Through a variety of hilarious skits, cabaret acts, and verbatim, Trinidadian writer-director Emily Aboud has built her case for the Caribbean queer experience and presents it before audiences on Soho Theatre’s main stage.

The show is staged and performed by a trio of women who, in a cabaret style switch out into different acts that each place a queer experience at the centre. Often breaking the third wall, Splintered addresses and welcomes audience participation for fluidity and progression between acts where it stylistically borrows from the popular references of MacBeth, Chicago’s ‘Cell Block Tango‘, Carnival anthems ‘Hot, Hot, Hot‘ and Sean Paul’s ‘Get Busy‘ to raise the show’s entertainment factor.

Whilst the Splintered relies heavily on these along with the use of Reggaeton, Soca, and Dancehall rhythms to keep the play upbeat it does well to balance educational content amongst the jokes and shenanigans. In between the songs and music are monologues relaying history lessons of the facts surrounding the formation of Carnival which finds its beginnings embedded in religion and colonialism. In defiance of colonialism by the British Empire came the street revolt which included “revelry, costume and satire“.

Splintered argues that Carnival in itself is queer in its nature and that this ‘queerness‘ is accepted only whilst being exploited for its joyful aspects. The same behaviour deemed acceptable at popular destination Carnivals in Jamaica, Grenada’s Spice Mass, The Bajan Crossover and of course, Trinidad & Tobago, is repulsed during everyday walks of life and queer people of these islands are not able to fully enjoy the freedom that accompanies being ones self due to the strong spirit of homophobia across the Caribbean.

Artfully, Aboud weaves interviews conducted with queer women from Trinidad & Tobago into Splintered which question such sociological and political tensions about queerness in the Caribbean. However, whilst the play attempts this in a light-hearted comedic manner, the show gets stuck grazing the surface of LGBTQ+ themes and doesn’t quite delve deep enough to explore them in depth or find any resolution. I was expecting more on how the spirit of homophobia and exuberance and queer nature of Carnivals can coexist but the show just moved on.

Charlotte Dowding, Nicholle Cherrie, and Yolanda Ovide are charismatic enough in the multiple roles they each play and they deliver several dance styles choreographed by Splintered’s movement director Mariama Devers throughout the piece. As I expected, the cultural styles of dancing were far superior to the contemporary movements that were performed. The latter sometimes felt like an unnecessary addition to a show full of so many ideas. In these moments it began to feel as if they were trying to make up through creativity what the show lacked in depth resulting in it pulling from so many references to make it relatable that it got quite choc-a-bloc.

Overall what Splintered does is deliver a night of entertainment for the queer and offers this community an opportunity to celebrate themselves in all of their rambunctious glory.

Splintered is showing at Soho Theatre until April 29th.

I had the privilege of watching For Black Boys Who Have Considered Suicide When the Hue Gets Heavy last week.

This powerful and thought-provoking play exploring the struggles and challenges faced by six Black Boys and it was truly an emotional experience.

Ryan Calais Cameron has written and directed a masterpiece. What I appreciated the most about For Black Boys … was its raw and unapologetic portrayal of the struggles that Black boys face in our society on their journey to becoming men conveyed through monologues infused with music, dance and movement pieces. The cast’s synergy is exceptional, The physicality displayed by ‘Pitch‘ (Emmanuel Akwafo) and ‘Jet‘ (Nnabiko Ejimofor) left me in tears more than once. Kaine Lawrence plays ‘Midnight‘ and his voice is R&B heaven.

The music plays an integral part adding to the authenticity of this story. Nicola T Chang (Sound designer and Composer) and Jahmiko Marshall (Associate Sound Designer) deserve a huge round of applause.

For Black Boys … touches mental health, masculinity, police brutality, and racism. The production was incredibly well-done, and the performances by the actors were truly outstanding. It highlighted the importance of taking care of our mental health and seeking help when we need it.

I highly recommend this play to everyone. It’s an important production that everyone should watch, regardless of race or gender. It’s a reminder that we need to continue to work towards a society that values and uplifts all individuals.

FOR BLACK BOYS WHO HAVE CONSIDERED SUICIDE WHEN THE HUE GETS TOO HEAVY Photo Credit: Ali Smith

Overall, For Black Boys Who Have Considered Suicide When the Hue Gets Heavy is a must-see play that will leave you feeling inspired, educated, and empowered. I hope that more productions like this will be made, I left thinking about all the conversations that will be had because of Cameron’s production and the world felt little more enlightened.

For Black Boys … definitely deserves a longer run so that all the English, Theatre and Media departments can get future performers to see this outstanding piece.

For Black Boys Who Have Considered Suicide When The Hue Gets Too Heavy runs from 25th March – 7th May 2023 @ The Apollo Theatre. Find out more here.