Recent Reviews

The Internationalist at The Gate, written for The Stage 14.04.2008

Transformed into an airport departure lounge, the Gate’s tiny foyer conjures anticipation of an exotic elsewhere.
Our destination, Anne Washburn’s unspecified Central European country, turns out to be grey and claustrophobic - strangely familiar yet truly foreign.
Not so fresh from a five-hour delay in Istanbul, Lowell (Elliot Cowan) touches down, all hollow sophistication, civilisation and cultural relativism. He soon falls into bed with colleague-to-be Sara (Jennifer Higham), before shattering her relationship fantasies on realising her to be the office clerk. Amid the missed connections and overbearing shelves of his new workplace, Lowell finds himself not so much lost in translation as adrift in it.
Washburn’s writing is best in the safe territory of miscommunication, losing its way with narrative pressures. While the fictional Slavic language becomes tiresome, the broken English and literal pronunciations of Lowell’s colleagues are frequently amusing.
Cowan and Higham give capable performances scattered with nice moments, while Gary Shelford and Madeliene Potter provide crucial energy and comic flair. Tom Scutt’s design and Ben Pacey’s lighting combine beautifully for a silhouetted filmic effect that neatly encapsulates the clash of Hollywood fantasy and dreary reality.
For Sara (and seemingly Washburn), “people are always more appealing when they’re unintelligible.” Sadly, the same is not always true of plays.

New Boy at The Tabard, written for The Stage, 07.05.2008

Giggling and giddy at its own intelligence, daring and wit, New Boy is infuriating.
Narcissistic and misguided in its self-perception, Russell Labey’s production makes a one-dimensional mockery of teenage anxieties about sexuality, sacrificing its integrity for gags.
Mark (Luke Kempner) forms a friendship with the dazzling new student Barry (Gregg Lowe), falling into a state of repression about his underlying lust. As Barry’s whirlwind sexual education incredulously ensnares his married French teacher and Mark’s brother Dan, Mark’s jealousy develops a homophobic edge.
Clumsily playing its hand almost immediately, New Boy is out of touch with the truth of its events and characters. It is all explication and streams of consciousness to the audience. For each of its few genuinely funny moments, we must sit through a seemingly endless flow of cheap puns and gratuitous vulgarities.
The puerility of Labey’s script is matched only by the immaturity of his direction, lacking detail and never missing an opportunity for a lazy gag. His young and inexperienced cast - all with obligatory badly-tied school ties - make the best of a raw deal.
New Boy treats its audience as it does its protagonist Mark: “too thick to notice anything until it’s jammed down your throat.”
Patronising and unsophisticated.