Theatre criticism: the noble art of one person telling the world what they think—and expecting the world to care. Sometimes they gush. Sometimes they sneer. Either way, it's one opinion, delivered with authority, but no guarantee of insight. Yes, it might make you feel something—a flutter of pride, a punch to the gut. Maybe it sways a ticket or two. Maybe it gathers dust. But the show? It goes on. Audiences laugh, cry, applaud, or shuffle out for a smoke before Act II. Life carries on. So read the review if you must. Quote it, frame it, ignore it, burn it. Just don’t mistake it for gospel. It’s not. It’s just one person. And let’s be honest—I have been wrong before, as have many.
Theatre Criticism or Community Applause?
When every local production receives glowing praise, one begins to wonder: what exactly is the point of theatre criticism anymore?
After witnessing a year’s worth of local theatre and reading the accompanying reviews, I can only describe much of the commentary as glib, superficial, and—frankly—untrue. Without naming names (though it’s tempting), there is a clear air of uncritical promotion at work. And while promotion has its place, where does that leave the audience? How are they to distinguish between excellence and mediocrity when everything is hailed as a “must-see”?
More troubling still—how are creatives to grow when even inadequate performances are met with praise? This isn’t kindness. It’s condescension. And it’s wrong.
Charging £15 or more per ticket should mean certain standards are expected: visible production value, competent acting, clear direction. When critics applaud every show, regardless of its merit, their reviews become not only valueless—but actively misleading. They flatten the field. They blur the line between craft and hobby.
One particularly baffling review recently applauded an actor for being "word-perfect" in their first lead role—as if reciting lines in the right order were some exceptional feat. That’s not high praise. That’s the bare minimum. It’s akin to commending a mechanic for picking the right spanner before changing a tyre.
And when theatres are accepting the public's money—often tax-free—there is a duty to uphold some degree of artistic integrity. I expect a few fluffed lines and gentle prompting in a village hall over jam and scones. But not in Warwickshire’s established theatres, where the marketing is slick and the media coverage professional. The productions should rise to meet those standards. Too often, they don’t.
And yet, the reviews keep clapping.
If local critics are receiving free tickets, public attention, and the privilege of shaping reputations, then they must accept the responsibility that comes with it. That includes honesty—even when it stings. Otherwise, we may as well award medals for participation and paper the walls with hollow praise.
Let’s be clear: dishonest flattery serves no one. It misleads audiences. It stunts artists. It turns theatre into a community bake sale with spotlights. The truth may be uncomfortable—but it is essential.
After four decades in and around the theatre, I’ve seen a slow shift from critical insight to GCSE-level ramblings—full of adjectives, light on substance. And let’s be frank: if I were examining some of these reviews for GCSE assessment, a few simply wouldn’t pass. It’s as basic as that.
So when a critic applauds an actor for being word-perfect, perhaps it’s time they reviewed a Primary School nativity. The bar has not just been lowered—it’s fallen off the stage completely and is now gathering dust backstage with last year’s plastic ivy.
On this site, and in this voice, you will never find such simpering nonsense. What you will find is honest opinion—rooted in empirical knowledge, experience, and theatre-worn wisdom. And if that irks? Good. It should. Audiences deserve better. So do creatives.
Criticism is not cruelty. But nor is false praise a kindness. It is, at best, a disservice—and at worst, a quiet betrayal of the very art it claims to support.
If non-professional theatre wishes to be taken seriously alongside trained professionals, it must also welcome the same scrutiny. Yes, a review is one person’s opinion. But if a show is not worthy of the ticket price—if it is, in truth, amateur performance dressed in borrowed prestige—then that show belongs in the village hall, with the scones, the tea, and a polite “well done” tacked to the community noticeboard.
Not in the arts pages. Not on a pedestal. And not under the illusion of greatness.
Raise the curtain, yes—but raise the standard too.
Mark Pitt
Next Up:
Dealer's Choice, Donmar Warehouse
Dealer’s Choice by Patrick Marber:
Dealer’s Choice is a darkly comic play set in a London restaurant where the staff—led by the controlling owner Stephen—unwind with a weekly poker game in the basement after closing. As the night unfolds, tensions rise, secrets surface, and the stakes become more than just money. Stephen's strained relationship with his compulsive gambler son Carl, the arrival of a mysterious and dangerous outsider named Ash, and each man’s personal desperation collide over the poker table. The game becomes a metaphor for risk, control, and masculinity, revealing the characters’ vulnerabilities and their need to bluff their way through life as much as the cards.
Dealer’s Choice is a darkly comic play set in a London restaurant where the staff—led by the controlling owner Stephen—unwind with a weekly poker game in the basement after closing. As the night unfolds, tensions rise, secrets surface, and the stakes become more than just money. Stephen's strained relationship with his compulsive gambler son Carl, the arrival of a mysterious and dangerous outsider named Ash, and each man’s personal desperation collide over the poker table. The game becomes a metaphor for risk, control, and masculinity, revealing the characters’ vulnerabilities and their need to bluff their way through life as much as the cards.
A Note on the Talisman Theatre’s Frankenstein
It would be inappropriate for me to review the Talisman Theatre’s latest production of Frankenstein.
While the performance — or at least the portion I saw — was marked by clear commitment and effort, it did not, in my view, reach the standard required for meaningful or fair critical discussion.
Following my previous review of this theatre, which prompted an unusually personal response, it has become evident that my writing was taken more to heart than intended. In light of that, and out of respect for those who generously give their time to amateur theatre, I have chosen not to critique this production.
This is not said with malice or disdain, but rather with a desire to avoid unnecessary hurt. Sometimes silence, when rooted in care, is the most respectful option.
Mark Pitt
While the performance — or at least the portion I saw — was marked by clear commitment and effort, it did not, in my view, reach the standard required for meaningful or fair critical discussion.
Following my previous review of this theatre, which prompted an unusually personal response, it has become evident that my writing was taken more to heart than intended. In light of that, and out of respect for those who generously give their time to amateur theatre, I have chosen not to critique this production.
This is not said with malice or disdain, but rather with a desire to avoid unnecessary hurt. Sometimes silence, when rooted in care, is the most respectful option.
Mark Pitt
John Godber returns to the Loft Theatre
Following the Loft Theatre’s hugely successful 2025 season, the curtain rises again with John Godber’s riotous comedy Up 'n' Under, directed by Lorna Middleton. This fast-paced, feel-good play tells the story of a down-and-out amateur rugby league team from Hull who, against all odds--and under the guidance of an unorthodox new coach--take on a high-stakes challenge that tests their grit, humour, and heart. Packed with physical comedy, northern charm, and underdog determination, Up 'n' Under promises an uplifting night of theatre that kicks off the Summer season with energy and laughs.
We interview Actor Connor Michael and Director Lorna Middleton HERE >>>>
We interview Actor Connor Michael and Director Lorna Middleton HERE >>>>
“Four Actors, 100 Characters, Infinite Laughs: The 39 Steps Steals the Show”
The 39 Steps at the Priory Theatre
Directed by John Evans
Runs about two hours, including interval.
You’d be forgiven for walking into the Priory Theatre expecting John Buchan’s stiff-upper-lip Boys’ Own romp of a tale — all tweed, trains, and Teutonic threats. And you wouldn’t be entirely wrong. What you’d be less prepared for is the metatheatrical catnip of Patrick Barlow’s adaptation — a four-actor fever dream performed at the speed of an MI5 cover-up and with more costume changes than a Kardashian’s Instagram.
This is not so much The 39 Steps as it is The 39 Thousand Rehearsal Hours, and every minute shows. The plot — which is to say, the string by which the play dangles like a circus act — follows Richard Hannay, a man with cheekbones you could hang a war medal off, wrongly accused of murder and thrust into a cross-country caper involving spies, seduction, and some very dramatic lighting.
Ben Wellicome plays Hannay with the sort of clipped precision and immaculate hair that suggests he was carved out of mahogany by a valet. He is a stooge and a straight man, a matinee idol played with knowing irony, as if he’s perpetually aware of being halfway between Noël Coward and a GQ spread. His deadpan is immaculate — the more ridiculous the scenario, the more seriously he takes it, like a Tory MP in a sex scandal.
Then there’s Nicky Main, multitasking her way through three roles — spy, Scotswoman, and reluctant hostage — with a wry detachment and absolute command of the stage. She wears Pamela’s perpetual exasperation like a Chanel suit. Her comedic touch is featherlight — she never winks, never mugs, and the result is all the funnier for it.
But the real miracle — the twin engine room of this rickety, roaring theatrical train — is the pair billed simply as the Clowns: Becky Young and Rob Jones. Between them, they play the cast of Braveheart, the Police Force, British Rail, and quite possibly the catering team. Jones, with a brogue so thick it should come with subtitles, is a physical comedy savant. Young, unfairly underused elsewhere in the Loft's "Glorious," here detonates every gag like a comic demolition expert. Their timing is split-second, their energy Herculean, and their commitment as total as a cult member’s.
John Evans directs with the gleeful sadism of a man who’s realised you can get away with anything so long as you do it fast enough and with accents. His direction is tight, clever, and packed with sight gags, slapstick, and theatrical sleight-of-hand. I think he might have binge-watched the Airplane movies.
Steve Boden’s set is a marvel of economy and illusion — a train becomes a moor becomes a hotel becomes a theatre — and if that sentence makes no sense, then good: neither does the plot. But it doesn’t need to. This isn’t realism, it’s theatre with its trousers round its ankles, and what blissful, breathless fun it is.
A word of warning: bring your lungs. You’ll need them to laugh, and more than once I nearly needed mine back.
Bottom line: Swaggering like a matinée idol gatecrashing a Monty Python sketch, The 39 Steps hurtles through espionage, accents, and absurdity with breathless brilliance.
Mark Pitt
Nominations:
Outstanding Cast: The 39 Steps Company
Outstanding Direction of a Play: John Evans
Outstanding Design: Steve Boden
Outstanding Sound Design: Dwayne Dawson and Robert Warner
Directed by John Evans
Runs about two hours, including interval.
You’d be forgiven for walking into the Priory Theatre expecting John Buchan’s stiff-upper-lip Boys’ Own romp of a tale — all tweed, trains, and Teutonic threats. And you wouldn’t be entirely wrong. What you’d be less prepared for is the metatheatrical catnip of Patrick Barlow’s adaptation — a four-actor fever dream performed at the speed of an MI5 cover-up and with more costume changes than a Kardashian’s Instagram.
This is not so much The 39 Steps as it is The 39 Thousand Rehearsal Hours, and every minute shows. The plot — which is to say, the string by which the play dangles like a circus act — follows Richard Hannay, a man with cheekbones you could hang a war medal off, wrongly accused of murder and thrust into a cross-country caper involving spies, seduction, and some very dramatic lighting.
Ben Wellicome plays Hannay with the sort of clipped precision and immaculate hair that suggests he was carved out of mahogany by a valet. He is a stooge and a straight man, a matinee idol played with knowing irony, as if he’s perpetually aware of being halfway between Noël Coward and a GQ spread. His deadpan is immaculate — the more ridiculous the scenario, the more seriously he takes it, like a Tory MP in a sex scandal.
Then there’s Nicky Main, multitasking her way through three roles — spy, Scotswoman, and reluctant hostage — with a wry detachment and absolute command of the stage. She wears Pamela’s perpetual exasperation like a Chanel suit. Her comedic touch is featherlight — she never winks, never mugs, and the result is all the funnier for it.
But the real miracle — the twin engine room of this rickety, roaring theatrical train — is the pair billed simply as the Clowns: Becky Young and Rob Jones. Between them, they play the cast of Braveheart, the Police Force, British Rail, and quite possibly the catering team. Jones, with a brogue so thick it should come with subtitles, is a physical comedy savant. Young, unfairly underused elsewhere in the Loft's "Glorious," here detonates every gag like a comic demolition expert. Their timing is split-second, their energy Herculean, and their commitment as total as a cult member’s.
John Evans directs with the gleeful sadism of a man who’s realised you can get away with anything so long as you do it fast enough and with accents. His direction is tight, clever, and packed with sight gags, slapstick, and theatrical sleight-of-hand. I think he might have binge-watched the Airplane movies.
Steve Boden’s set is a marvel of economy and illusion — a train becomes a moor becomes a hotel becomes a theatre — and if that sentence makes no sense, then good: neither does the plot. But it doesn’t need to. This isn’t realism, it’s theatre with its trousers round its ankles, and what blissful, breathless fun it is.
A word of warning: bring your lungs. You’ll need them to laugh, and more than once I nearly needed mine back.
Bottom line: Swaggering like a matinée idol gatecrashing a Monty Python sketch, The 39 Steps hurtles through espionage, accents, and absurdity with breathless brilliance.
Mark Pitt
Nominations:
Outstanding Cast: The 39 Steps Company
Outstanding Direction of a Play: John Evans
Outstanding Design: Steve Boden
Outstanding Sound Design: Dwayne Dawson and Robert Warner
"Brighton Beach Memoirs"
Neil Simon Shines in Rugby
Photo courtesy of Rugby Theatre
Brighton Beach Memoirs
Rugby Theatre, Directed by Darren Pratt
Runs about 2.5 hours including interval.
Set in Brooklyn, New York, in 1937--under the shadow of the Great Depression--Brighton Beach Memoirs centers on Eugene Morris Jerome (Daniel Faulkner), a witty, baseball-obsessed 15-year-old Jewish teenager. Eugene is both narrator and protagonist, frequently breaking the fourth wall to confide in the audience, sharing his frustrations, fantasies, and aspirations of becoming a writer.
Through Eugene’s eyes, Neil Simon paints a warm, humorous, and at times heartbreaking portrait of a working-class Jewish family navigating adolescence, family tensions, and economic hardship. The spectre of Europe’s worsening situation looms in the background--subtle at first, but culminating in the news of relatives fleeing what would soon become the Holocaust.
Closer to home, the family's survival rests on the quiet strength of Eugene's father, Jack (Kenny Robinson), a proud and stoic man whose own education was cut short in his teens. A product of Depression-era Brooklyn, Jack works two jobs--by day and by night--to support not only his immediate family, but also his widowed sister-in-law Blanche and her two daughters. He rarely complains, though the strain is palpable--especially when his elder son Stanley (Archie Parker) confesses to losing his entire week's wages to gambling.
While Jack anchors the household with moral clarity and quiet resolve, the heart of the play lies in the richly woven ensemble of characters that bring Brooklyn’s Jewish community to life. There’s the overbearing yet loving matriarch Kate (the superb Michele Goode), Eugene’s mother; Blanche, his vulnerable, widowed aunt; and her two daughters--the ambitious dancer Nora (Mairead O’Kelly), and the delicate, observant Laurie (Dorrit Davies). Together, they form a boisterous, tightly-knit family that bickers, laughs, dreams, and endures.
Semi-autobiographical, Simon’s script is fast-paced and steeped in the cadence and color of 1930s Brooklyn--complete with the distinctive Jewish humor, vocal inflections, and storytelling rhythms that define the era. It demands total ensemble cohesion, and rests heavily on Daniel Faulkner as Eugene, whose direct address to the audience must delicately balance comic timing with emotional depth. His performance forms the thread that ties together this heartfelt portrait of a family--and a culture--grappling with change, both at home and in the world beyond.
Well, this young man is a discovery. Utterly likeable, utterly believable, and beautifully sanguine, it's an immense performance. Carrying the show with just the right amount of nonchalant verve and energy, Faulkner seamlessly connects the action while dipping in and out of it, raising the tempo of each scene with a maturity far beyond his years.
Similarly, there's excellent work from Archie Parker as older brother Stanley. He's assured, confident--cocky even--as he wittily and then wistfully fills the role of a young man whose youth is precariously balanced between being influenced and being influential.
Kenny Robinson’s Jack affords us a quiet, stoic stalwart. His performance is beautifully pitched: a tapestry of understatement, definitive timing, and consummate layering. He's wonderfully subtle, grounded--peaking his energy only when the arc of a scene demands, then retracting, listening, observing.
Our ladies are equally emblematic of both period, locale, and style. Michele Goode is superlatively good as Kate Jerome. Our mother for the evening is typically Brooklyn--brave, full of heart, and sometimes outspoken. But she’s warm. Really warm. She puts on a brave face, beats austerity with quiet humour, and serves ice cream when the moment demands it.
Meanwhile, Tracey Seymour’s Blanche is gentle, vulnerable, and quietly complex as she navigates--somewhat helplessly--life when it comes to her daughters. Nora, the elder, is ambitious and headstrong, yearning for independence--and often frustrated by her mother’s lack of assertiveness. Laurie, the younger daughter, is sheltered and coddled due to a heart condition, which Blanche often uses as a shield against confrontation or change.
Mairead O'Kelly as elder daughter Nora is immense. She has the look, the feel, and the command to embody the role with effortless professional skill. Indeed, every time the actress is on stage, the temperature rises. Nora is elegant, ambitious, and desperate for independence. Her dream is to become a Broadway dancer, and she sees an opportunity to audition for a show that could catapult her into a new life--far from the cramped house in Brighton Beach and the emotional weight of her family.
Meanwhile, young Dorrit Davies defies her 14 years in an utterly charming, sensitive, and beautifully layered portrait of Laurie--a quiet, observant girl often reading, reclining, or being gently fussed over. Her supposed heart condition keeps her at the periphery, but Davies ensures we’re always watching her watch us. It’s masterful.
Director Darren Pratt’s obvious research into this piece has contributed to one of the highlights of the local season. His production is not only clear and precise, it draws us in. It is a warm, skillful fusion of understanding, tone, and affinity with this superb cast. His pacing is spot on, the units flow beautifully, and his attention to detail is incisive. He tells the story and allows it to breathe--laughter is evoked, not asked for; empathy emanates from truth, not performance. He doesn’t so much direct his actors as guide them through a work of art.
With sumptuous and period-perfect set designs by John Dulcamara and Mike Derville, giving us a two-story Brooklyn townhome onstage, and Jenny Pulley’s beautifully 1930s costumes, this--for me--is up there with the best of the year’s work.
Rugby Theatre has set a very high bar, reminding me of the repertory work of the 1980s–1990s Belgrade Theatre, in which Brighton Beach Memoirs was once one of the late Bob Hamlin’s productions.
This one, though, is an utter triumph.
It’s indelible. Don’t miss it.
Bottom Line: A Poignant, Pitch-Perfect Triumph *****
Mark Pitt
Nominations:
Outstanding Performance by an Actor in a Play: Kenny Robinson, Daniel Faulkner
Outstanding Performance by an Actor in a Supporting Role: Archie Parker
Outstanding Performance by an Actress in a Play: Michele Goode
Outstanding Performance by an Actress in a Supporting Role: Tracey Seymour, Mairead O'Kelly
Outstanding Direction of a Play: Darren Pratt
Outstanding Production: Rugby Theatre
Outstanding Set Design: John Dulcamara and Mike Derville
Outstanding Costume Design: Jenny Pulley
"Two Pints" and I'd had Enough.
Review: Two Pints by Roddy Doyle
Belgrade Theatre Studio B2
If you strip away the clever set, Roddy Doyle’s Two Pints is a radio play--at best, a "talking heads" TV comedy. It’s not theatre. It just isn’t.
It’s a deceptively simple evening that captures the rhythms of everyday Irish conversation in a pub. Anthony Brophy and Seán Kearns play the characters “One” and “Two.” The fact that Doyle doesn’t give them names--demarcating them only by numbers--suggests that the dialogue is an exchange between everymen: wholly parochial, quite anecdotal, but ultimately irrelevant.
The entire piece is a sequence of short dialogues between two middle-aged Dublin men, each “having a pint” and musing on current events, politics, death, the Catholic Church, family--whatever floats to the top of their Guinness-fuelled minds. You know the sort of talk: the kind you overhear at the next table in Wetherspoons, perhaps made more engaging by Irish brogue, slang, and an unrelenting barrage of F and C words.
With the only real plot point being the death of "Two's" father, the show feels far better suited to radio, where its meandering chat might at least gain the intimacy of audio. A full-scale production--this one featuring a meticulously recreated pub set with working taps and ornate panelling--feels apocryphal. It’s theatre by way of apology: an attempt to justify its presence on stage rather than serve the story. Form over function.
Theatricality demands transformation--of character, space, or audience perspective. Two Pints offers none. There’s no change in location, no tonal variation, no narrative momentum. Doyle’s script is almost aggressively undramatic: casual, static, and meandering. It mirrors real-life pub chatter, yes--but that’s also its limitation. Where plays like Waiting for Godot or My Night with Reg find profundity in the mundane, Two Pints merely observes it. Even its emotional core--the death of a father--is mentioned, briefly dwelled on, then brushed aside. The audience is never invited to feel. They’re just eavesdropping.
Directorially, Sara Joyce has little to do beyond pointing and pacing the dialogue. The two actors, both natural and unmistakably Irish, could almost phone it in, such is the evening’s static, linear, and benign nature.
By the third pint in Act I, there was noticeable foot-shuffling, and one audience member had nodded off. Seven people didn’t return after the interval--perhaps feeling a bit short-changed after what they’d already paid at the bar.
Doyle’s ear for natural conversation and love of colloquialism is, as always, admirable. But that doesn’t mean it belongs on stage. Two Pints isn’t really a play--it’s a podcast in costume.
Mark Pitt
Belgrade Theatre Studio B2
If you strip away the clever set, Roddy Doyle’s Two Pints is a radio play--at best, a "talking heads" TV comedy. It’s not theatre. It just isn’t.
It’s a deceptively simple evening that captures the rhythms of everyday Irish conversation in a pub. Anthony Brophy and Seán Kearns play the characters “One” and “Two.” The fact that Doyle doesn’t give them names--demarcating them only by numbers--suggests that the dialogue is an exchange between everymen: wholly parochial, quite anecdotal, but ultimately irrelevant.
The entire piece is a sequence of short dialogues between two middle-aged Dublin men, each “having a pint” and musing on current events, politics, death, the Catholic Church, family--whatever floats to the top of their Guinness-fuelled minds. You know the sort of talk: the kind you overhear at the next table in Wetherspoons, perhaps made more engaging by Irish brogue, slang, and an unrelenting barrage of F and C words.
With the only real plot point being the death of "Two's" father, the show feels far better suited to radio, where its meandering chat might at least gain the intimacy of audio. A full-scale production--this one featuring a meticulously recreated pub set with working taps and ornate panelling--feels apocryphal. It’s theatre by way of apology: an attempt to justify its presence on stage rather than serve the story. Form over function.
Theatricality demands transformation--of character, space, or audience perspective. Two Pints offers none. There’s no change in location, no tonal variation, no narrative momentum. Doyle’s script is almost aggressively undramatic: casual, static, and meandering. It mirrors real-life pub chatter, yes--but that’s also its limitation. Where plays like Waiting for Godot or My Night with Reg find profundity in the mundane, Two Pints merely observes it. Even its emotional core--the death of a father--is mentioned, briefly dwelled on, then brushed aside. The audience is never invited to feel. They’re just eavesdropping.
Directorially, Sara Joyce has little to do beyond pointing and pacing the dialogue. The two actors, both natural and unmistakably Irish, could almost phone it in, such is the evening’s static, linear, and benign nature.
By the third pint in Act I, there was noticeable foot-shuffling, and one audience member had nodded off. Seven people didn’t return after the interval--perhaps feeling a bit short-changed after what they’d already paid at the bar.
Doyle’s ear for natural conversation and love of colloquialism is, as always, admirable. But that doesn’t mean it belongs on stage. Two Pints isn’t really a play--it’s a podcast in costume.
Mark Pitt
"An Inspector Calls"
Review of the 2025 National Tour, HERE
A decent copy, although not Daldry.
A decent copy, although not Daldry.
Coming Soon: The 39 Steps at The Priory Theatre, Kenilworth.
John Evans directs the West End hit comedy for the
Kenilworth Company. Opens May 16th.
The 39 Steps lands at The Priory in a whirlwind of trench coats, dodgy disguises, and suspicious accents — and that's just the first five minutes. When Richard Hannay, an ordinary chap with nothing but a fine moustache and too much time on his hands, finds himself accused of murder, he’s thrown into a madcap chase from London to the Highlands (with a brief emotional detour via Leamington). Along the way, he encounters spies, policemen, femmes fatales, and a whole train’s worth of eccentric characters — most of them played by just four actors in increasingly improbable hats. It’s Hitchcock meets Carry On, with a touch of Dad’s Army, and all performed at a pace that might make your tea go cold. Expect laughs, chaos, and a suspicious amount of pipe smoking.
John Evans' production of this West End hit includes the following creatives: Nicky Main (A.D of the Priory) and Ben Wellicome (Loft's Sublime Sondheim). They are joined by Becky Young (Loft's Glorious) and Rob Jones. The show is set to open on 16th May. Early booking is advised as the show is already very busy.
Broken Curtains – When Theatre Fails Its Youngest Stars
Broken Curtains – When Theatre Fails Its Youngest Stars
By Mark Pitt, with additional reporting
The stage door swings both ways. It lets wide-eyed children enter a world of magic, and sometimes ushers them out carrying secrets they don't yet understand. Two stories - mine as a 15-year-old actor in 1985 Birmingham, and the RSC's Daniel Evans' as a drama student at Ysgol Gyfun Rhydfelen - reveal how British theatre's brightest lights have long cast the darkest shadows.
Act One: Birmingham, 1985
The Hippodrome smelled of dust and dreams when I played a minor role in Macbeth. For a working-class boy from the Midlands, rubbing shoulders with professionals like Colin McCormack felt like winning the lottery. Until the day Vince Gardner, the actor playing the Cream-Faced Loon, asked me to lie on a towel in our shared dressing room.
His hands, slick with oil, moved up my thighs until I said stop. At 15, I lacked the vocabulary to understand what had happened. Was this normal backstage behavior? A rite of passage? I buried the memory beneath layers of professional pride - I'd been chosen, hadn't I?
Act Two: South Wales, 1980s
Meanwhile, in Pontypridd, a young Daniel Evans was falling under the spell of John Owen, Rhydfelen's charismatic drama teacher. The 2004 Clywch report would later expose Owen as a serial abuser who groomed students through a toxic mix of favoritism and fear. Pupils described being pressured into sexually explicit performances, private rehearsals, and overnight stays at Owen's home.
Evans, now artistic director of the RSC, has never spoken publicly about his time under Owen's tutelage. His silence echoes through British theatre's corridors - a silence I recognize from my own experience. When your artistic awakening coincides with professional violation, gratitude and shame become inextricably entwined.
The Unwritten Script
Our stories differ in scale but share disturbing parallels:
Curtain Call
Today's theatre has stronger safeguards, but ghosts remain. My single encounter with Gardner pales beside Owen's systematic abuse, yet both reveal how easily artistic passion can be exploited. As Evans programs Shakespeare for new generations, and I write these words decades later, we're both still negotiating with our pasts.
The show, as they say, must go on. But it's time the industry acknowledged the price some of us paid for our places in the spotlight.
Act Three: Atlanta, 2000s: Theatre in the Square, Marietta
In a Southern U.S. theatre’s green room—a space meant for quiet preparation—I became prey. The actor who assaulted me was a colleague, someone I trusted enough to share a stage with in Pygmalion. His outburst was violent, sexual, and met with nervous laughter from others. No one intervened. No one reported it. Like my experience at 15, I buried it, this time under the guise of professionalism: The show must go on.
But the fear didn’t fade. Years later, when I heard about his HIV diagnosis, the what-ifs clawed their way to the surface. What if he hadn’t been stopped? What if, in another moment, I hadn’t been able to escape? The virus itself wasn’t the horror—it was the realization of how close I’d come to being another kind of victim, in an industry that still whispers about abuse rather than confronting it.
The Reckoning
My story is not unique. Daniel Evans, now artistic director of the RSC, passed through the toxic regime of John Owen at Ysgol Gyfun Rhydfelen, where abuse was systemic. He has never spoken publicly about it, and I understand why: the theatre world rewards survival, not scrutiny.
But survival isn’t enough. From school plays to the West End, the same dynamics persist:
Theatre cannot thrive if it continues to sacrifice its young—and not-so-young—to the cult of “the show above all.” We need:
Mark Pitt is a writer and former child actor. Daniel Evans did not authorise this article. Mr. Evans' friend, Lisa Victoria, a TV actress, was also the author's girlfriend.
Support resources:
By Mark Pitt, with additional reporting
The stage door swings both ways. It lets wide-eyed children enter a world of magic, and sometimes ushers them out carrying secrets they don't yet understand. Two stories - mine as a 15-year-old actor in 1985 Birmingham, and the RSC's Daniel Evans' as a drama student at Ysgol Gyfun Rhydfelen - reveal how British theatre's brightest lights have long cast the darkest shadows.
Act One: Birmingham, 1985
The Hippodrome smelled of dust and dreams when I played a minor role in Macbeth. For a working-class boy from the Midlands, rubbing shoulders with professionals like Colin McCormack felt like winning the lottery. Until the day Vince Gardner, the actor playing the Cream-Faced Loon, asked me to lie on a towel in our shared dressing room.
His hands, slick with oil, moved up my thighs until I said stop. At 15, I lacked the vocabulary to understand what had happened. Was this normal backstage behavior? A rite of passage? I buried the memory beneath layers of professional pride - I'd been chosen, hadn't I?
Act Two: South Wales, 1980s
Meanwhile, in Pontypridd, a young Daniel Evans was falling under the spell of John Owen, Rhydfelen's charismatic drama teacher. The 2004 Clywch report would later expose Owen as a serial abuser who groomed students through a toxic mix of favoritism and fear. Pupils described being pressured into sexually explicit performances, private rehearsals, and overnight stays at Owen's home.
Evans, now artistic director of the RSC, has never spoken publicly about his time under Owen's tutelage. His silence echoes through British theatre's corridors - a silence I recognize from my own experience. When your artistic awakening coincides with professional violation, gratitude and shame become inextricably entwined.
The Unwritten Script
Our stories differ in scale but share disturbing parallels:
- The power imbalance between mentor and protégé
- The culture that equated discomfort with dedication
- The institutional failures that enabled abuse
- The decades-long silence of those affected
- Theatre historian Dr. Emily Jones notes: "Until the 2000s, British theatre operated on a 'see no evil' policy. Children were expected to be tough enough for the professional world, but given no tools to navigate its dangers
Curtain Call
Today's theatre has stronger safeguards, but ghosts remain. My single encounter with Gardner pales beside Owen's systematic abuse, yet both reveal how easily artistic passion can be exploited. As Evans programs Shakespeare for new generations, and I write these words decades later, we're both still negotiating with our pasts.
The show, as they say, must go on. But it's time the industry acknowledged the price some of us paid for our places in the spotlight.
Act Three: Atlanta, 2000s: Theatre in the Square, Marietta
In a Southern U.S. theatre’s green room—a space meant for quiet preparation—I became prey. The actor who assaulted me was a colleague, someone I trusted enough to share a stage with in Pygmalion. His outburst was violent, sexual, and met with nervous laughter from others. No one intervened. No one reported it. Like my experience at 15, I buried it, this time under the guise of professionalism: The show must go on.
But the fear didn’t fade. Years later, when I heard about his HIV diagnosis, the what-ifs clawed their way to the surface. What if he hadn’t been stopped? What if, in another moment, I hadn’t been able to escape? The virus itself wasn’t the horror—it was the realization of how close I’d come to being another kind of victim, in an industry that still whispers about abuse rather than confronting it.
The Reckoning
My story is not unique. Daniel Evans, now artistic director of the RSC, passed through the toxic regime of John Owen at Ysgol Gyfun Rhydfelen, where abuse was systemic. He has never spoken publicly about it, and I understand why: the theatre world rewards survival, not scrutiny.
But survival isn’t enough. From school plays to the West End, the same dynamics persist:
- Power Disguised as Passion – Whether it’s a teacher like Owen or a castmate like my attacker, aggression is often romanticized as “artistic intensity.”
- Silence as Complicity – In Atlanta, colleagues laughed off an assault. In Wales, school officials ignored allegations for decades.
- The Delayed Aftermath – Trauma doesn’t adhere to a rehearsal schedule. It surfaces years later, in the quiet moments between roles.
Theatre cannot thrive if it continues to sacrifice its young—and not-so-young—to the cult of “the show above all.” We need:
- Mandatory Safeguarding Training – For every production, at every level, with clear reporting protocols.
- Zero Tolerance for “Jokes” – Sexualized aggression must no longer be dismissed as backstage banter.
- Support for Survivors – Anonymous reporting, counseling, and industry-wide accountability.
Mark Pitt is a writer and former child actor. Daniel Evans did not authorise this article. Mr. Evans' friend, Lisa Victoria, a TV actress, was also the author's girlfriend.
Support resources:
- NSPCC: 0808 800 5000
- Theatre Helpline: 0800 915 4617
- Survivors UK (for male survivors): 020 3598 3898
“Things I Know to Be True: Families Lie, Children Cry, and Julie Godfrey Could Still Kill You”
Blake Hutchings and Ruth Herd (c) Loft Theatre
Things I Know to Be True by Andrew Bovell
Loft Theatre, Leamington Spa, Opens May 7th.
Preview: Where Frantic Assembly Meets Family Therapy
Next week, the Loft Theatre unveils Things I Know to Be True, which—despite the title—is not a confessional from a Tory MP, but a moving Australian family drama about roses, repression, and that very British pastime: emotional constipation.
Directing is Lynda Lewis, making her Loft debut. Lewis previously directed at both Kenilworth Theatres and the Bear Pit in Stratford.
Now she’s bringing Bovell’s play to Leamington. The story follows four adult siblings, each coming to terms with identity, independence, and the gentle tyranny of mum and dad. Add in Frantic Assembly's physical theatre style and you’ve got a show that promises emotional trauma with lifts.
On the Loft Theatre website, Lewis notes:
“It tells the story of a family and a marriage through the eyes of four adult siblings struggling to define themselves beyond their parents’ love and expectations. Parents Bob and Fran may well imagine that with their four children grown and ready to fly the nest, it might be time to relax and enjoy their adored roses. But the changing seasons bring home shattering truths. Featuring Frantic Assembly’s celebrated style of physicality, it is both poetic and brutally frank.”
The cast is strong, and in local theatre terms, borderline star-studded.
The superb Ruth Herd returns as Pip, the eldest daughter and the only one bold enough to leave, which in this family is the equivalent of armed revolution. Alice Arthur, last seen in Mosquitoes trying to untangle string theory with tears, now plays Rosie, the youngest—eternally sweet and dangerously likely to cry on cue.
Julian Rosa, sinister and compelling in The Talisman's Never the Sinner, plays Mark, a role requiring nuance, inner conflict, and the ability to stare mournfully into the middle distance. Rosa does that better than most people breathe.
Then there’s Rod Wilkinson as Bob Price—Rod, whose Bottom was a joy in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, now trades braying for brooding as the long-suffering dad. By his side is Julie Godfrey as Fran. You may remember her as Lady Macbeth—if not, your nightmares surely will. This time, she’s playing a mother, but don’t let the knitting fool you—she can still kill you with her eyes.
Rounding out the Price clan is newcomer Blake Hutchings as Ben, who has the unenviable task of walking into this cast like it’s his first family barbecue—everyone knows the inside jokes, and he’s just trying not to drop the salad.
So: roses will bloom, secrets will be exposed, and at least one person will do something interpretive with their arms. And if not, there’s always the bar.
Thing I Know to be True opens at the Loft on the 7th May.
Loft Theatre, Leamington Spa, Opens May 7th.
Preview: Where Frantic Assembly Meets Family Therapy
Next week, the Loft Theatre unveils Things I Know to Be True, which—despite the title—is not a confessional from a Tory MP, but a moving Australian family drama about roses, repression, and that very British pastime: emotional constipation.
Directing is Lynda Lewis, making her Loft debut. Lewis previously directed at both Kenilworth Theatres and the Bear Pit in Stratford.
Now she’s bringing Bovell’s play to Leamington. The story follows four adult siblings, each coming to terms with identity, independence, and the gentle tyranny of mum and dad. Add in Frantic Assembly's physical theatre style and you’ve got a show that promises emotional trauma with lifts.
On the Loft Theatre website, Lewis notes:
“It tells the story of a family and a marriage through the eyes of four adult siblings struggling to define themselves beyond their parents’ love and expectations. Parents Bob and Fran may well imagine that with their four children grown and ready to fly the nest, it might be time to relax and enjoy their adored roses. But the changing seasons bring home shattering truths. Featuring Frantic Assembly’s celebrated style of physicality, it is both poetic and brutally frank.”
The cast is strong, and in local theatre terms, borderline star-studded.
The superb Ruth Herd returns as Pip, the eldest daughter and the only one bold enough to leave, which in this family is the equivalent of armed revolution. Alice Arthur, last seen in Mosquitoes trying to untangle string theory with tears, now plays Rosie, the youngest—eternally sweet and dangerously likely to cry on cue.
Julian Rosa, sinister and compelling in The Talisman's Never the Sinner, plays Mark, a role requiring nuance, inner conflict, and the ability to stare mournfully into the middle distance. Rosa does that better than most people breathe.
Then there’s Rod Wilkinson as Bob Price—Rod, whose Bottom was a joy in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, now trades braying for brooding as the long-suffering dad. By his side is Julie Godfrey as Fran. You may remember her as Lady Macbeth—if not, your nightmares surely will. This time, she’s playing a mother, but don’t let the knitting fool you—she can still kill you with her eyes.
Rounding out the Price clan is newcomer Blake Hutchings as Ben, who has the unenviable task of walking into this cast like it’s his first family barbecue—everyone knows the inside jokes, and he’s just trying not to drop the salad.
So: roses will bloom, secrets will be exposed, and at least one person will do something interpretive with their arms. And if not, there’s always the bar.
Thing I Know to be True opens at the Loft on the 7th May.
The Evenings We Took it on the Chin
I remember Peter McGarry’s reviews in the Coventry Evening Telegraph — sharp, honest, well-written, even if too short.
John Slim’s pieces in the Birmingham Evening Post — back when critics actually bothered to come out of Brum for Warwickshire theatre.
Those were good days.
You took your lumps and got on with it.
It was part of the game.
We sat in the Talisman Theatre bar on Friday nights — Ted Whitehead rolling his eyes the moment you mentioned some actor or production, Chris Ward wide-eyed and bracing for impact. Phil Reynolds, the grammar police, ready to pounce on any slip-up, sending you into silent shame for the rest of the night, replaying the crime against the accusative dative.
And Bryan Ferriman — pipe clenched in teeth, book in hand, just glancing over his glasses. That look said it all: No words needed.
Back then, life was grounded. Tougher. Less precious.
We didn’t need safe spaces or emotional support peacocks.
Now?
Feather-light sensitivities everywhere. And no — I don’t want any part of it.
Gen X — my generation — is to blame.
We coddled kids.
Told them it wasn’t about winning, just "taking part."
We pinned medals onto chests that hadn’t earned a damn thing.
I want no part of that either.
The honesty I grew up with — from teachers, parents, and theatre folk — bred resilience.
Did some comments sting? Of course.
Did some hit harder than they should? Maybe.
Result? Tougher skin. Sharper mind. Prepared for the real world.
Not everything needs to be sweetened, sugar-coated, or dumbed down.
Not everything deserves a round of applause.
If we keep pandering to this new cult of faux sensitivity, we don't just soften life — we rot it.
So if speaking plainly offends someone — good.
If refusing to hand out gold stars for mediocrity makes me unpopular — even better.
And for God’s sake — watch your grammar while you’re at it.
Phil Reynolds is still out there somewhere, notebook in hand, ready to slap your wrist over a wayward accusative dative.
I just got back from a college reunion.
A friend of mine, fresh off five years in the London and touring productions of Wicked, told a story that sums it all up.
“The American producers came over to see the show,” he said. “Afterwards, they called a meeting — and fired half the cast on the spot.”
No hand-holding.
No careful ‘feedback loops’ or ‘personal growth opportunities.’
Just: You’re not cutting it. Out you go.
They weren’t in the mood for kid gloves that night — and thank God for it.
Because that’s the real world.
You hit the mark, or you don’t.
And if you don’t, you move over and let someone else have a go.
That used to be how we built resilience.
Now, too many think they're entitled to a standing ovation just for showing up. Not in my book. If audiences pay to see a show, at least frame it so that they get some value for money.
Mark Pitt
John Slim’s pieces in the Birmingham Evening Post — back when critics actually bothered to come out of Brum for Warwickshire theatre.
Those were good days.
You took your lumps and got on with it.
It was part of the game.
We sat in the Talisman Theatre bar on Friday nights — Ted Whitehead rolling his eyes the moment you mentioned some actor or production, Chris Ward wide-eyed and bracing for impact. Phil Reynolds, the grammar police, ready to pounce on any slip-up, sending you into silent shame for the rest of the night, replaying the crime against the accusative dative.
And Bryan Ferriman — pipe clenched in teeth, book in hand, just glancing over his glasses. That look said it all: No words needed.
Back then, life was grounded. Tougher. Less precious.
We didn’t need safe spaces or emotional support peacocks.
Now?
Feather-light sensitivities everywhere. And no — I don’t want any part of it.
Gen X — my generation — is to blame.
We coddled kids.
Told them it wasn’t about winning, just "taking part."
We pinned medals onto chests that hadn’t earned a damn thing.
I want no part of that either.
The honesty I grew up with — from teachers, parents, and theatre folk — bred resilience.
Did some comments sting? Of course.
Did some hit harder than they should? Maybe.
Result? Tougher skin. Sharper mind. Prepared for the real world.
Not everything needs to be sweetened, sugar-coated, or dumbed down.
Not everything deserves a round of applause.
If we keep pandering to this new cult of faux sensitivity, we don't just soften life — we rot it.
So if speaking plainly offends someone — good.
If refusing to hand out gold stars for mediocrity makes me unpopular — even better.
And for God’s sake — watch your grammar while you’re at it.
Phil Reynolds is still out there somewhere, notebook in hand, ready to slap your wrist over a wayward accusative dative.
I just got back from a college reunion.
A friend of mine, fresh off five years in the London and touring productions of Wicked, told a story that sums it all up.
“The American producers came over to see the show,” he said. “Afterwards, they called a meeting — and fired half the cast on the spot.”
No hand-holding.
No careful ‘feedback loops’ or ‘personal growth opportunities.’
Just: You’re not cutting it. Out you go.
They weren’t in the mood for kid gloves that night — and thank God for it.
Because that’s the real world.
You hit the mark, or you don’t.
And if you don’t, you move over and let someone else have a go.
That used to be how we built resilience.
Now, too many think they're entitled to a standing ovation just for showing up. Not in my book. If audiences pay to see a show, at least frame it so that they get some value for money.
Mark Pitt
The Choppa.com Theatre Awards - Needed or Worthless? Mark Randall's Wager.
Subject: A Note from Choppa.com – On the Theatre Awards & the Question of Interest
Dear friends, artists, and theatre lovers,
You may have heard a local actor, Mr. Mark Randall **, has placed a bet on whether this year’s Choppa.com Theatre Awards will be cancelled due to “a lack of interest.” While he is perfectly entitled to ask the question, I’d like to offer a sincere response.
If the awards are not needed, then so be it.
My aim has never been commercial gain—this is not a business model. I created the Choppa.com Awards purely from love for theatre and a desire to elevate the best and most important work happening here in Warwickshire.
But I understand the underlying question: Who am I to do this? Who am I to judge? That is entirely fair. And if the non-professional theatre community feels there is no value in recognising a year of extraordinary local performance, the event will indeed be cancelled. The reason, quite honestly, will be “a lack of interest.” I will have lost nothing but a few hundred pounds—small change compared to the joy the awards might bring.
For clarity, the event is hosted at the Priory Theatre thanks to the enthusiasm of Nicki Main, and neither the Priory Theatre nor Choppa.com stand to make a profit.
As for Mr. Randall’s “bet,” I trust it was made in jest and not with any genuine hope that the event fails. Schadenfreude is not a healthy impulse in a community built on collaboration and shared celebration. If the idea of these awards feels threatening to some, I’d argue that says more about mindset than motivation.
What would be a shame is this: that the exceptional productions I’ve seen this year—productions that blur the line between amateur and professional—might pass uncelebrated. Many of these shows were nominated by me, yes, but even more were endorsed by public votes and heartfelt emails from audience members.
And in case you're wondering if this is all just local back-patting—IP addresses from those who’ve commented range from London, to Luton, to as far as Glasgow. These are not friends or colleagues. These are strangers, moved enough to speak up.
So, if the local creative scene believes we don’t need to mark these moments—then we won’t. But if you do believe in celebrating what we’ve achieved together, then I invite you to stand behind this idea. Not for me—but for each other.
Warm regards,
Mark Pitt
Founder, Choppa.com
Dear friends, artists, and theatre lovers,
You may have heard a local actor, Mr. Mark Randall **, has placed a bet on whether this year’s Choppa.com Theatre Awards will be cancelled due to “a lack of interest.” While he is perfectly entitled to ask the question, I’d like to offer a sincere response.
If the awards are not needed, then so be it.
My aim has never been commercial gain—this is not a business model. I created the Choppa.com Awards purely from love for theatre and a desire to elevate the best and most important work happening here in Warwickshire.
But I understand the underlying question: Who am I to do this? Who am I to judge? That is entirely fair. And if the non-professional theatre community feels there is no value in recognising a year of extraordinary local performance, the event will indeed be cancelled. The reason, quite honestly, will be “a lack of interest.” I will have lost nothing but a few hundred pounds—small change compared to the joy the awards might bring.
For clarity, the event is hosted at the Priory Theatre thanks to the enthusiasm of Nicki Main, and neither the Priory Theatre nor Choppa.com stand to make a profit.
As for Mr. Randall’s “bet,” I trust it was made in jest and not with any genuine hope that the event fails. Schadenfreude is not a healthy impulse in a community built on collaboration and shared celebration. If the idea of these awards feels threatening to some, I’d argue that says more about mindset than motivation.
What would be a shame is this: that the exceptional productions I’ve seen this year—productions that blur the line between amateur and professional—might pass uncelebrated. Many of these shows were nominated by me, yes, but even more were endorsed by public votes and heartfelt emails from audience members.
And in case you're wondering if this is all just local back-patting—IP addresses from those who’ve commented range from London, to Luton, to as far as Glasgow. These are not friends or colleagues. These are strangers, moved enough to speak up.
So, if the local creative scene believes we don’t need to mark these moments—then we won’t. But if you do believe in celebrating what we’ve achieved together, then I invite you to stand behind this idea. Not for me—but for each other.
Warm regards,
Mark Pitt
Founder, Choppa.com
** It is further claimed that Mr. Randall is the author of a book on local theatre. We have reached out to Mr. Randall to ascertain a link to purchase this work. We will keep readers informed.
Les Miserables: The Pyramid Scheme
The Operatic Farce of Am-Dram Greed
When Les Mis becomes More Money, Less Morals
The ridiculous charging of performers who are appearing in The Midlands Operatic production of Les Misérables continues to irk. Whereas I am sure the director and band are being paid, their fees are being subsidised by dreamers—those whose yearning to appear on a big stage is being exploited. Perhaps a complaint should be made to the Revenue? This company is profiteering and therefore cannot be categorised as a non-profit—can it? I also imagine and allege that those long-standing members of the society, whose roles were afforded by nepotism or association, are not paying to take part. So, if this is the case, not only is the company discriminating, but it seems to verge on the corrupt.
Tickets go up to £70 for the production's run at the Alexandra Theatre, Birmingham. £70 for an amateur production? Seriously? I could see the London production, with professionals, for that. Let us remember that this production is amateur, performed by non-professionals, in a rented theatre—the like of which has seen professional productions aplenty, while charging the same or less.
Moreover, by charging participants, one might assume the artistic team to be seasoned professionals—mentors imparting wisdom, perhaps even offering training. But no. Not here. Just a glorified club, cloaked in the borrowed robes of professional theatre, passing round the collection plate while calling it opportunity. There is no curriculum, no pedagogy, no structured development—only the faint whiff of exploitation masked by the thrill of treading the boards. It is pay-to-play, pure and simple, and yet it parades itself as a cultural beacon. If the spirit of amateur theatre was to foster access, joy, and inclusion, this model buries that spirit beneath a mountain of ticket stubs and direct debits.
If the Midlands Operatic Society think that this is, in any way, showing any element of the spirit of amateur theatre, it is deluded. They are destroying it. Does the Director charge for his services as AD of the Talisman Theatre in Kenilworth? I would hope not, but then who knows. Never in my lifetime did I think I would see amateurs paying to be part of a society—a community theatre, a club. Anathema.
Mark Pitt
Lipstick, Pigs and Performance.
Why local theatre deserves a critic, not a clapping seal.
Let’s get one thing out of the way: not all theatre is good. In fact, much of it isn’t. And while we’re at it, most local critics wouldn’t know dramaturgy from a ham sandwich. There, I’ve said it. The genteel delusion that every community production is a triumph of spirit and greasepaint over gravity and taste is not only ridiculous — it’s patronising. It’s also corrosive. And it’s got to stop.
Criticism is meant to be the hard edge of culture, the necessary flint that sharpens the blade. But somewhere along the village-green path from Chekhov to pantomime, we lost our nerve. Now we peddle puffery. Reviewers — often so close to the cast they’re practically on the Christmas card list — spew praise with the grim obligation of a best man’s speech: flattering, forgettable, and fundamentally dishonest.
I’ve seen productions described as “powerful” when the only thing powerful was the audience’s restraint from walking out. I’ve read glowing paragraphs about actors who couldn’t find a beat if you gave them a metronome and a map. And I’ve seen the most deserving performances go unmentioned, likely because the actor in question didn’t pull pints with the reviewer last Saturday.
There’s a creeping sentimentality that’s taken hold — the idea that to critique is to be cruel, that truth is somehow toxic to creativity. Rubbish. Kindness without honesty is cowardice. And local theatre, like any other art form, deserves better than cowardice dressed up as community spirit.
Let’s also not confuse “amateur” with “exempt.” Shakespeare was amateur. So was Mozart, before someone paid him. Amateur should mean bold, raw, reaching — not “bless them, they tried.” If someone charges money and calls it theatre, then it’s fair game. And if you’re reviewing it, you owe your audience more than a press release with adjectives.
I’m not suggesting we become butchers with red pens. But nor should we continue as timid florists, handing out bouquets to productions that wilt under scrutiny. We need less flattery and more spine. Less “bravo!” and more “try again.” Because deep down, even the most inexperienced audience member knows: when something’s good, it doesn’t need a thesaurus to prove it.
I’ve had reviews so scathing they could remove varnish — and I’ve deserved them. They were a gift. They said, “You can do better.” That’s the point of criticism. Not to applaud effort, but to uphold standards.
So let’s tell the truth. No more lipstick. No more pigs. Just theatre, as it is — in all its glory, and all its ghastliness.
Mark Pitt
Criticism is meant to be the hard edge of culture, the necessary flint that sharpens the blade. But somewhere along the village-green path from Chekhov to pantomime, we lost our nerve. Now we peddle puffery. Reviewers — often so close to the cast they’re practically on the Christmas card list — spew praise with the grim obligation of a best man’s speech: flattering, forgettable, and fundamentally dishonest.
I’ve seen productions described as “powerful” when the only thing powerful was the audience’s restraint from walking out. I’ve read glowing paragraphs about actors who couldn’t find a beat if you gave them a metronome and a map. And I’ve seen the most deserving performances go unmentioned, likely because the actor in question didn’t pull pints with the reviewer last Saturday.
There’s a creeping sentimentality that’s taken hold — the idea that to critique is to be cruel, that truth is somehow toxic to creativity. Rubbish. Kindness without honesty is cowardice. And local theatre, like any other art form, deserves better than cowardice dressed up as community spirit.
Let’s also not confuse “amateur” with “exempt.” Shakespeare was amateur. So was Mozart, before someone paid him. Amateur should mean bold, raw, reaching — not “bless them, they tried.” If someone charges money and calls it theatre, then it’s fair game. And if you’re reviewing it, you owe your audience more than a press release with adjectives.
I’m not suggesting we become butchers with red pens. But nor should we continue as timid florists, handing out bouquets to productions that wilt under scrutiny. We need less flattery and more spine. Less “bravo!” and more “try again.” Because deep down, even the most inexperienced audience member knows: when something’s good, it doesn’t need a thesaurus to prove it.
I’ve had reviews so scathing they could remove varnish — and I’ve deserved them. They were a gift. They said, “You can do better.” That’s the point of criticism. Not to applaud effort, but to uphold standards.
So let’s tell the truth. No more lipstick. No more pigs. Just theatre, as it is — in all its glory, and all its ghastliness.
Mark Pitt
Review: "Enchanted April"
at The Talisman Theatre
Review: Enchanted April at the Talisman Theatre
A Masterclass in Misdirection
How does one begin? When a middling play is so catastrophically misdirected that it becomes nearly unreviewable, the question isn’t what to write—but whether to write at all.
The current production of Enchanted April at the Talisman Theatre isn’t merely misjudged. It is, to be kind, a masterclass in how to render a cast of capable actors foolish, unmoored, and perilously close to needing group therapy. This is a production so tonally adrift, it makes community pantomime look like Chekhov at the National.
To be clear: Enchanted April is no undiscovered Ibsen. It is not, and never will be, adapted by Julian Fellowes. Its charm lies in nuance—in emotional shading and character-driven transformation. Four women—each burdened by post-war melancholy, societal repression, and dreary husbands who radiate the charisma of wet cardboard—escape to an Italian castle for the month of April. Sunlight, introspection, and improbable bonding ensue.
At its core, it's escapism. But escapism, like prosecco, only sparkles when handled with restraint. Here, subtlety is throttled like Shakespeare at a karaoke bar.
Take Paige Phelps—an actress who shows potential, yet is here subjected to what can only be described as directorial manslaughter. Perhaps 50% of her performance edges toward the idea of “speaking and listening” to her scene partner. The remainder is played out front, in a pantomimic haze that obliterates what little fourth wall this albatross of a production possessed.
Eleanor Lake’s portrayal of Rose Arnott is no better. Hers is not a performance so much as a facial workout; she doesn’t play the part—she gurns it. Meanwhile, only a glimpse of Chris Carpenter is seen at the end of Act 1. I am not sure why an actress of such experience would end up working in this production, save for trying to give it a jump start. Alas, it's still like trying to raise the Titanic.
As for the gentlemen: casting an actor with Ben Ionoff’s talents only to squander them in such a fashion should be an arrestable offence. Phil Spencer’s Frederick Arnott is another study in squandered potential. Maurice Smith’s contribution? I cannot say. Nor, frankly, do I wish to.
The director is not capable. His grasp of even the most fundamental concepts is non-existent. Scene changes are laborious. The cast performs in emotional isolation, devoid of communion or structure. Units and objectives are ignored. The design, such as it is, would barely pass muster in a high school GCSE showcase.
Where local critics have lauded this production, I ask: On what grounds? If this is considered good, what then is “not good”?
It is not enough to applaud the fact that the actors learned their lines. Not after the excellent Present Laughter, the sublime Constellations, or the triumphant Spring Awakening.
To those reviewers offering blind praise: get real—or your work will become what this production already is--trite, sentimental, and utterly unworthy.
Mark Pitt
Bottom line: It’s the theatrical equivalent of dropping a trifle down the stairs and serving it anyway, garnished with misplaced sincerity and a flourish of plaudits in the bar.
Further to my review:
Were I sitting in a church hall, clutching a lukewarm cup of tea and watching friends “put on a play,” I’d clap along politely. I’d smile at the missed cues and fumbled lines, and I'd applaud the spirit of “having a go.” That’s what community is for.
But this isn’t that. This is ticketed theatre, and I paid to watch experienced actors—many of whom I have seen deliver genuinely impressive work—be misdirected into mediocrity.
There is, undeniably, talent on that stage. Rooted, flickering, occasionally visible through the fog. In the hands of an astute director—one who understands rhythm, narrative progression, and the sacred art of shutting up and letting the text breathe—that talent could bloom. But not here. Not under this guidance.
One cannot call something good when it simply isn’t. To do so is not kindness—it’s condescension in a cardigan. If criticism is to mean anything, it must be grounded in truth, not affiliation. The moment we review based on association—on who we know or how often we drink with them—we lose the point of criticism entirely.
I wouldn’t review an am-dram rehearsal in a church hall. I wouldn’t review my neighbour’s poetry night or my aunt’s Facebook recipes. I reviewed this because it asked to be reviewed—because the people involved have a reputation, a precedent. And by that yardstick, this falls short. Painfully so.
And that’s not said in cruelty. That’s said with sorrow—for the talent misused, the time wasted, and the audience misled. To call this production good would be to lie.
And theatre—at its best—is allergic to lies.
A Masterclass in Misdirection
How does one begin? When a middling play is so catastrophically misdirected that it becomes nearly unreviewable, the question isn’t what to write—but whether to write at all.
The current production of Enchanted April at the Talisman Theatre isn’t merely misjudged. It is, to be kind, a masterclass in how to render a cast of capable actors foolish, unmoored, and perilously close to needing group therapy. This is a production so tonally adrift, it makes community pantomime look like Chekhov at the National.
To be clear: Enchanted April is no undiscovered Ibsen. It is not, and never will be, adapted by Julian Fellowes. Its charm lies in nuance—in emotional shading and character-driven transformation. Four women—each burdened by post-war melancholy, societal repression, and dreary husbands who radiate the charisma of wet cardboard—escape to an Italian castle for the month of April. Sunlight, introspection, and improbable bonding ensue.
At its core, it's escapism. But escapism, like prosecco, only sparkles when handled with restraint. Here, subtlety is throttled like Shakespeare at a karaoke bar.
Take Paige Phelps—an actress who shows potential, yet is here subjected to what can only be described as directorial manslaughter. Perhaps 50% of her performance edges toward the idea of “speaking and listening” to her scene partner. The remainder is played out front, in a pantomimic haze that obliterates what little fourth wall this albatross of a production possessed.
Eleanor Lake’s portrayal of Rose Arnott is no better. Hers is not a performance so much as a facial workout; she doesn’t play the part—she gurns it. Meanwhile, only a glimpse of Chris Carpenter is seen at the end of Act 1. I am not sure why an actress of such experience would end up working in this production, save for trying to give it a jump start. Alas, it's still like trying to raise the Titanic.
As for the gentlemen: casting an actor with Ben Ionoff’s talents only to squander them in such a fashion should be an arrestable offence. Phil Spencer’s Frederick Arnott is another study in squandered potential. Maurice Smith’s contribution? I cannot say. Nor, frankly, do I wish to.
The director is not capable. His grasp of even the most fundamental concepts is non-existent. Scene changes are laborious. The cast performs in emotional isolation, devoid of communion or structure. Units and objectives are ignored. The design, such as it is, would barely pass muster in a high school GCSE showcase.
Where local critics have lauded this production, I ask: On what grounds? If this is considered good, what then is “not good”?
It is not enough to applaud the fact that the actors learned their lines. Not after the excellent Present Laughter, the sublime Constellations, or the triumphant Spring Awakening.
To those reviewers offering blind praise: get real—or your work will become what this production already is--trite, sentimental, and utterly unworthy.
Mark Pitt
Bottom line: It’s the theatrical equivalent of dropping a trifle down the stairs and serving it anyway, garnished with misplaced sincerity and a flourish of plaudits in the bar.
Further to my review:
Were I sitting in a church hall, clutching a lukewarm cup of tea and watching friends “put on a play,” I’d clap along politely. I’d smile at the missed cues and fumbled lines, and I'd applaud the spirit of “having a go.” That’s what community is for.
But this isn’t that. This is ticketed theatre, and I paid to watch experienced actors—many of whom I have seen deliver genuinely impressive work—be misdirected into mediocrity.
There is, undeniably, talent on that stage. Rooted, flickering, occasionally visible through the fog. In the hands of an astute director—one who understands rhythm, narrative progression, and the sacred art of shutting up and letting the text breathe—that talent could bloom. But not here. Not under this guidance.
One cannot call something good when it simply isn’t. To do so is not kindness—it’s condescension in a cardigan. If criticism is to mean anything, it must be grounded in truth, not affiliation. The moment we review based on association—on who we know or how often we drink with them—we lose the point of criticism entirely.
I wouldn’t review an am-dram rehearsal in a church hall. I wouldn’t review my neighbour’s poetry night or my aunt’s Facebook recipes. I reviewed this because it asked to be reviewed—because the people involved have a reputation, a precedent. And by that yardstick, this falls short. Painfully so.
And that’s not said in cruelty. That’s said with sorrow—for the talent misused, the time wasted, and the audience misled. To call this production good would be to lie.
And theatre—at its best—is allergic to lies.
Next: "Enchanted April" at the Talisman
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 Paige Phelps
The Talisman Theatre in Kenilworth invites audiences to bask in the transformative glow of Enchanted April, a captivating adaptation of Elizabeth von Arnim’s beloved novel, running this April.
Set in the sun-drenched hills of 1920s Italy, the play follows four women—Lotty Wilton, Rose Arnott, Caroline Bramble, and Mrs Graves—who escape the dreary constraints of post-Great War England for a month-long retreat at a picturesque villa. What begins as a simple getaway blossoms into a journey of emotional renewal, as the idyllic setting and newfound friendships mend their weary souls. Directed with the Talisman’s signature attention to period detail, the production features a talented ensemble: Paige Phelps as the optimistic Lotty, Eleanor Lake as the reserved Rose, Gillian Halford as the aloof Caroline, and Chris Carpenter as the stern Mrs Graves, joined by Ben Ionoff, Phil Spencer, James McCabe, and Teresa Robertson as the villa’s spirited housekeeper, Costanza. With set designs evoking wisteria-draped terraces and a narrative that balances humor and heart, this promises to be a poignant exploration of connection and rediscovery, perfect for springtime reflection. Tickets are available through the Talisman Theatre’s box office. HERE. |
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Early Voting Open🎭
Choppa.com Theatre Awards 2025 🎭 VOTING NOW OPEN! Cast your vote for your favourite theatre creatives of the year! Voting closes September 30th 2025. 🗳️ Early voting link: Click here to vote 📌 Please note:
Final nominees (top five per category) will be announced after voting closes. 🎟️ Each nominee will receive one complimentary ticket to the event. |
"It's a Wonderful Life, at The Priory Theatre"
Outstanding Work: Award Nominations
October '24 - April '25
Spring Awakening at The Loft Theatre, Leamington Spa, has been nominated in eight categories for the Choppa.com Theatre Awards, currently scheduled for November 9th at the Priory Theatre, Kenilworth.
These awards—the first of their kind in Warwickshire—aim to celebrate the outstanding work of local theatre companies, including The Loft Theatre, Priory Theatre, Talisman Theatre, and Criterion Theatre.
In an evening of relaxed celebration (with a glass or two, naturally), nominees will receive one complimentary ticket. The Priory Theatre will release additional tickets well in advance.
At the heart of this event is a simple goal: to recognise the cultural powerhouse on our doorstep. The idea was born out of a desire to raise the profile of local theatres, encourage greater synergy between companies, and honour the vision of the countless creatives who enrich our artistic landscape.
These theatres not only contribute to the local economy, they bring the soul and spark of live performance to audiences across the region.
It’s time we applaud, support, and celebrate their work.
These awards—the first of their kind in Warwickshire—aim to celebrate the outstanding work of local theatre companies, including The Loft Theatre, Priory Theatre, Talisman Theatre, and Criterion Theatre.
In an evening of relaxed celebration (with a glass or two, naturally), nominees will receive one complimentary ticket. The Priory Theatre will release additional tickets well in advance.
At the heart of this event is a simple goal: to recognise the cultural powerhouse on our doorstep. The idea was born out of a desire to raise the profile of local theatres, encourage greater synergy between companies, and honour the vision of the countless creatives who enrich our artistic landscape.
These theatres not only contribute to the local economy, they bring the soul and spark of live performance to audiences across the region.
It’s time we applaud, support, and celebrate their work.
Credits: Ben Ionoff, Julian Rosa, Phil Reynolds, Leonie Slater, Ted McGowan, Dave Crossfield, Sue Moore, Louise Woodward, David Highland, Christine Evans, Loft, Priory, Criterion and Talisman Theatres.
Nominations for productions and creatives are now open! If you’d like to nominate an actor, director, or creative in a specific category, please fill out our contact form and submit your nomination. Final voting in all categories will close at the end of October 2025.
When submitting your nomination, please include the name of the production you attended and the theatre where it was staged. We cannot see every production, even though we try to! Your help is therefore appreciated.
When submitting your nomination, please include the name of the production you attended and the theatre where it was staged. We cannot see every production, even though we try to! Your help is therefore appreciated.
Outstanding Performance by an Actor in a Play
Phil Reynolds for Present Laughter at the Talisman Theatre
Ted McGowan for Constellations at the Loft Theatre
Dave Crossfield for Uncle Vanya at the Loft Theatre
Charlie Maline for The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time at the Criterion Theatre
Julian Rosa for Never the Sinner at the Talisman Theatre
Ben Ionoff for Never the Sinner at the Talisman Theatre
David Highland for The Southbury Child at the Criterion Theatre
Outstanding Performance by an Actress in a Play
Leonie Slater* for Uncle Vanya at the Loft Theatre
Leonie Slater* for Constellations at the Loft Theatre
Ruth Herd for Mosquitoes at the Loft Theatre
Sue Moore for Mosquitoes at the Loft Theatre
Julie-Ann Randell for Medea at the Loft Theatre
Christine Evans for The Southbury Child at the Criterion Theatre
Lillian McGrath for The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time at the Criterion Theatre
*Votes for performers who are nominated more than once will only be registered for one of their performances.
Outstanding Performance by an Actor in a Supporting Role in a Play
Connor Michael for The Southbury Child at the Criterion Theatre
Connor Michael for Present Laughter at the Talisman Theatre
Ted McGowan for Mosquitoes at the Loft Theatre
Graham Buckingham-Underhill for Present Laughter at the Talisman Theatre
Outstanding Performance by an Actress in a Supporting Role in a Play
Aoife O’Gorman for Present Laughter at the Talisman Theatre
Ann Bevan for The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time at the Criterion Theatre
Caroline Spencer for The Southbury Child at the Criterion Theatre
Outstanding Performance by an Actor in a Musical or Pantomime
Jon Andrews for The Addams Family at the Priory Theatre
Owen Prosser-Stock for Cinderella at the Priory Theatre
Dexter Robinson for The Addams Family at the Priory Theatre
Nathan Dowling for Spring Awakening at the Loft Theatre
Outstanding Performance by an Actress in a Musical or Pantomime
Tilly Megan for The Addams Family at The Priory Theatre
Louise Woodward for Sleeping Beauty at The Priory Theatre
Annabel Pilcher for Spring Awakening at the Loft Theatre
Outstanding Performance by a Supporting Actress in a Musical or Pantomime
Elaine Freeborn for Spring Awakening at The Loft Theatre
Outstanding Performance by a Supporting Actor in a Musical or Pantomime
Michael Barker for Spring Awakening at The Loft Theatre
Luca Cantena for Spring Awakening at The Loft Theatre
Outstanding Direction of a Play
Sue Moore for Constellations at the Loft Theatre
David Fletcher for Uncle Vanya at the Loft Theatre
Craig Shelton for Medea at the Loft Theatre
Vanessa Comer for Present Laughter at the Talisman Theatre
Sam Harris for Never the Sinner at the Talisman Theatre
Outstanding Direction of a Musical or Pantomime
Nikki Main for The Addams Family at the Priory Theatre
Chris Gilbey-Smith for Spring Awakening at the Loft Theatre
Outstanding Choreography of a Musical or Pantomime
Becca Shaw for Spring Awakening at the Loft Theatre
Outstanding Lighting Design
Malcolm Hunt for Uncle Vanya at the Loft Theatre
Joel Hassall for Medea at the Loft Theatre
Outstanding Sound Design
Giles Allen-Bowden for Medea at the Loft Theatre
Outstanding Set Design
Amy Carroll for Uncle Vanya at the Loft Theatre
Amy Carroll for Media at the Loft Theatre
John Ellam for Present Laughter at the Talisman Theatre
Outstanding Costume Design
Present Laughter at The Talisman Theatre*
Uncle Vanya at the Loft Theatre*
Sandy Weaver for The Addams Family at the Priory Theatre
*(Names of designers TBA)
Outstanding Production
Constellations at The Loft Theatre
Never the Sinner at The Talisman Theatre
Uncle Vanya at The Loft Theatre
Medea at The Loft Theatre
Spring Awakening at The Loft Theatre
Present Laughter at The Talisman Theatre
___________
Small-Town Morality Under the Microscope: The Southbury Child, at The Criterion Theatre.
Bill Butler and Christine Evans at the Criterion. Credit: Criterion Theatre.
Review: The Southbury Child at the Criterion
Perfect theatre, aside from musicals, is when the elemental parts—the set, the lighting, the sound—are a given. The process. The magic lies in the play itself—the story, the issues, and the characters who drive the arc fuse to become one, making for a night of definitive story-telling. The Criterion's new production nearly achieves it.
Stephen Beresford’s The Southbury Child, first performed in 2022, is a darkly comedic drama exploring morality, tradition, and community tensions in a small English town. At its heart is David Highland, a rebellious, self-righteous vicar who refuses to allow Disney-themed decorations at a child’s funeral, sparking outrage and exposing the church’s rigid unadaptability. More than a local controversy, the play is a subversion—satire exposing the church’s absolute irrelevance in modern times. Whether you're a believer or not, if you seek controversy, nonsense, and hypocrisy—all tax-free—the church is the place to be.
The funeral balloons are merely a metaphor. Tradition dictates, and those who challenge it can go to hell. The play isn’t perfect—it runs about ten minutes too long in each act—but the Criterion’s new production nearly is. Opening night is always unique; the cast is attuned to the occasion, and an audience shifts the dynamic from rehearsal to performance. The Earlsdon company elevates the piece, making it difficult to single out individual standouts in such a cohesive ensemble. Simply put, it was excellently produced. Perhaps the play would benefit from more alacrifying pacing, but this is a literary criticism and not one that rests with the company. The play would benefit from cutting in each act where exposition has been sometimes laboriously written.
That said, if Central Casting were in the house, they’d sign Bull Butler as “Clergy” on the spot. As David Highland, he is splendidly understated—grimacingly self-righteous, teetering on the edge of saccharine. His controlled portrayal of the English reverential set—strawberry-jam, Mr. Kipling charm masking an insatiable addiction to alcohol—could not be bettered. Christine Evans lends strong support as his long-suffering wife Mary, the anchor in their marriage—rooted in place rather than passion. She supports, she suggests, all while knowing her husband is a failure. Connor Michael, once again excellent, bridges tradition and modernity as Lee Southbury, an outsider who questions whether David’s stance is about morality or simply ego.
But really, it’s all village stuff. The play captures the parochialism of Middle England religion while questioning its relevance. Once the institution of early government, the church now struggles against diminishing attendance, reflecting our broader shift from spiritualism to materialism.
Mark Pitt
Nominations:
Outstanding Performance by an Actor in a Play: Bill Butler
Outstanding Performance by an Actress in a Play: Christine Evans
Perfect theatre, aside from musicals, is when the elemental parts—the set, the lighting, the sound—are a given. The process. The magic lies in the play itself—the story, the issues, and the characters who drive the arc fuse to become one, making for a night of definitive story-telling. The Criterion's new production nearly achieves it.
Stephen Beresford’s The Southbury Child, first performed in 2022, is a darkly comedic drama exploring morality, tradition, and community tensions in a small English town. At its heart is David Highland, a rebellious, self-righteous vicar who refuses to allow Disney-themed decorations at a child’s funeral, sparking outrage and exposing the church’s rigid unadaptability. More than a local controversy, the play is a subversion—satire exposing the church’s absolute irrelevance in modern times. Whether you're a believer or not, if you seek controversy, nonsense, and hypocrisy—all tax-free—the church is the place to be.
The funeral balloons are merely a metaphor. Tradition dictates, and those who challenge it can go to hell. The play isn’t perfect—it runs about ten minutes too long in each act—but the Criterion’s new production nearly is. Opening night is always unique; the cast is attuned to the occasion, and an audience shifts the dynamic from rehearsal to performance. The Earlsdon company elevates the piece, making it difficult to single out individual standouts in such a cohesive ensemble. Simply put, it was excellently produced. Perhaps the play would benefit from more alacrifying pacing, but this is a literary criticism and not one that rests with the company. The play would benefit from cutting in each act where exposition has been sometimes laboriously written.
That said, if Central Casting were in the house, they’d sign Bull Butler as “Clergy” on the spot. As David Highland, he is splendidly understated—grimacingly self-righteous, teetering on the edge of saccharine. His controlled portrayal of the English reverential set—strawberry-jam, Mr. Kipling charm masking an insatiable addiction to alcohol—could not be bettered. Christine Evans lends strong support as his long-suffering wife Mary, the anchor in their marriage—rooted in place rather than passion. She supports, she suggests, all while knowing her husband is a failure. Connor Michael, once again excellent, bridges tradition and modernity as Lee Southbury, an outsider who questions whether David’s stance is about morality or simply ego.
But really, it’s all village stuff. The play captures the parochialism of Middle England religion while questioning its relevance. Once the institution of early government, the church now struggles against diminishing attendance, reflecting our broader shift from spiritualism to materialism.
Mark Pitt
Nominations:
Outstanding Performance by an Actor in a Play: Bill Butler
Outstanding Performance by an Actress in a Play: Christine Evans
Loft's Spring Season Awakens in April
The Company of "Spring Awakening" Credit: Loft Theatre
Perhaps the most anticipated show of the Spring 2025 season is The Loft’s Spring Awakening.
Directed by Chris Gilbey-Smith, the multiple award-winning musical made stars of its original cast, most notably Glee alumni Lea Michele and Jonathan Groff. Spring Awakening is a rock musical based on Frank Wedekind’s controversial 1891 play, with music by Duncan Sheik and a book and lyrics by Steven Sater. Set in 19th-century Germany, it follows a group of repressed teenagers struggling to navigate sexuality, identity, and societal expectations in a world that refuses to educate or support them.
The Loft’s production went through several casting changes before settling on its final lineup. At one point, Leonie Frazier was listed as playing the role of “Adult Woman,” with Sue Moore also considered before the part ultimately went to the excellent Elaine Freeborn. Similarly, local favorite Michael Barker replaced Mark Pitt, who was initially cast as Adult Male while still living in the USA. Both Moore and Pitt were eventually replaced. Pitt later remarked, “I told Sue that I hoped I wouldn’t mess it all up—after which the director fired me, leaving me destitute and forced to work as a male model.”
One challenge with staging Spring Awakening is casting actors who convincingly embody the youthful themes of the show. While the current company’s ages average from their mid-20s to early 30s, the emotional core of the story remains universal. Amateur theatre groups often face difficulties in securing younger actors due to university, drama school, and work commitments, making a ten-week rehearsal period unfeasible for many.
Chris Gilbey-Smith had expressed interest in an interview ahead of opening night, and we were thrilled at the opportunity. Unfortunately, due to his production schedule and a family illness, he had to withdraw. Nonetheless, Spring Awakening promises to be a powerful and compelling production, and audiences eagerly await its debut.
Spring Awakening opens at the Loft Theatre on April 2nd. Running through the 12th, the show can be booked at LoftTheatreCompany.com.
Directed by Chris Gilbey-Smith, the multiple award-winning musical made stars of its original cast, most notably Glee alumni Lea Michele and Jonathan Groff. Spring Awakening is a rock musical based on Frank Wedekind’s controversial 1891 play, with music by Duncan Sheik and a book and lyrics by Steven Sater. Set in 19th-century Germany, it follows a group of repressed teenagers struggling to navigate sexuality, identity, and societal expectations in a world that refuses to educate or support them.
The Loft’s production went through several casting changes before settling on its final lineup. At one point, Leonie Frazier was listed as playing the role of “Adult Woman,” with Sue Moore also considered before the part ultimately went to the excellent Elaine Freeborn. Similarly, local favorite Michael Barker replaced Mark Pitt, who was initially cast as Adult Male while still living in the USA. Both Moore and Pitt were eventually replaced. Pitt later remarked, “I told Sue that I hoped I wouldn’t mess it all up—after which the director fired me, leaving me destitute and forced to work as a male model.”
One challenge with staging Spring Awakening is casting actors who convincingly embody the youthful themes of the show. While the current company’s ages average from their mid-20s to early 30s, the emotional core of the story remains universal. Amateur theatre groups often face difficulties in securing younger actors due to university, drama school, and work commitments, making a ten-week rehearsal period unfeasible for many.
Chris Gilbey-Smith had expressed interest in an interview ahead of opening night, and we were thrilled at the opportunity. Unfortunately, due to his production schedule and a family illness, he had to withdraw. Nonetheless, Spring Awakening promises to be a powerful and compelling production, and audiences eagerly await its debut.
Spring Awakening opens at the Loft Theatre on April 2nd. Running through the 12th, the show can be booked at LoftTheatreCompany.com.
"A Symphony of Sisterhood: Anne-Marie Casey’s Little Women Stuns with Poetic Brilliance" Belgrade Theatre/Touring
Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women has long occupied a complex position within the literary canon. While often classified as a sentimental domestic novel, it simultaneously subverts 19th-century gender expectations, offering a proto-feminist exploration of female autonomy, ambition, and the constraints of societal norms. Anne-Marie Casey’s stage adaptation presents a compelling reinterpretation of Alcott’s novel, transforming the text into a work that is at once ethereal, poetic, and deeply resonant.
Under the deft direction of Loveday Inghram, this production of Little Women not only reaffirms the novel’s enduring relevance but also offers a meditation on performance, gender, and the mutable nature of literary adaptation. Through minimalist staging, nuanced character portrayals, and an acute awareness of historical and contemporary sociopolitical undercurrents, the play emerges as a sophisticated engagement with Alcott’s work—one that interrogates the tension between tradition and modernity, individuality and duty, art and commerce.
At the heart of Casey’s adaptation is Jo March (portrayed with effervescent brilliance by Grace Moloney), whose journey from rebellious adolescence to self-actualized adulthood encapsulates the novel’s central thematic concerns. Jo, often read as Alcott’s alter ego, remains a fascinating study in female ambition. This production highlights the ideological tension embedded in Jo’s character: while she resists the conventional pathways of marriage and domesticity, she ultimately confronts the limitations imposed upon women’s creative aspirations.
Moloney’s performance foregrounds Jo’s existential struggle, portraying her as not merely independent but actively defiant in her refusal to conform. The staging further accentuates this tension; Jo frequently occupies the periphery of the stage, visually reinforcing her status as an outsider to the domestic sphere inhabited by her sisters. This careful spatial arrangement underscores what was famously termed “the anxiety of authorship”—Jo’s simultaneous longing for and resistance to literary success within a patriarchal framework.
In contrast, Meg (Jade Kennedy) embodies the novel’s negotiation with traditional womanhood. While often dismissed as the most conventional of the sisters, Meg’s arc is rendered with remarkable subtlety in this production. Rather than reducing her desire for domestic stability to mere compliance with social norms, Kennedy’s performance suggests that Meg’s choices are both deliberate and empowering, challenging reductive interpretations of her character as passive.
Beth (Catherine Chalk) is portrayed with a quiet, almost spectral fragility, her presence on stage often accentuated through lighting choices that cast her in a soft glow—foreshadowing her tragic fate. Chalk’s performance imbues Beth with a quiet strength, resisting the temptation to depict her solely as a sacrificial figure. Instead, Beth’s arc becomes an exploration of mortality, familial devotion, and the transient nature of life itself.
Amy March (Imogen Elliot) is perhaps the most radically reinterpreted character in this adaptation. Frequently dismissed as vain and superficial in literary criticism, Amy is here rendered as a complex figure whose desire for status is both a form of self-preservation and a critique of the limited avenues available to women. Elliot’s performance imbues Amy with an undercurrent of vulnerability, emphasizing the performative nature of her social aspirations. Her eventual marriage to Laurie (Cillian Lenaghan) is framed not as a betrayal of Jo but as a pragmatic alignment of mutual ambition and stability.
While Little Women is fundamentally a narrative centered on female experience, Casey’s adaptation also interrogates the construction of masculinity within the text. Laurie, played with remarkable depth by Lenaghan, emerges as a character who is at once deeply embedded within the world of the March sisters yet forever apart from it. His longing for inclusion within the family unit—particularly in relation to Jo—becomes an exploration of male vulnerability and emotional displacement.
Lenaghan’s Laurie undergoes a significant transformation over the course of the play. Initially embodying youthful impetuosity, he later descends into a period of European excess following Jo’s rejection, mirroring the trajectory of 19th-century Romantic heroes. This descent, however, is not merely a personal failure but an indictment of Laurie’s own idealized notions of love and belonging. His eventual marriage to Amy, rather than serving as a consolation prize, signifies his maturation into a more grounded, pragmatic figure—one whose understanding of love has been tempered by experience.
Equally compelling is the portrayal of Professor Bhaer (Jack Ashton), who serves as both foil and counterpart to Laurie. If Laurie represents youthful passion, Bhaer embodies intellectual rigor and restraint. Ashton’s performance resists the trope of the “older, wiser mentor,” instead presenting Bhaer as a man quietly wrestling with his own uncertainties. His critique of Jo’s writing—framing it as overly populist—becomes a meta-commentary on the tension between literary integrity and commercial success. The production subtly highlights this debate through its staging; in their pivotal scene together, Jo and Bhaer are physically separated by the mise-en-scène, reinforcing the ideological divide that must be bridged before their eventual union.
Ruari Murchison’s set design employs a Chekhovian minimalism that serves to heighten the play’s thematic concerns. Towering Eastern White Pines enclose the stage, at once evoking the wilderness of Concord and the constraints of the domestic sphere. This arboreal imagery is particularly significant in relation to Jo, whose desire for unfettered freedom is continuously juxtaposed against the physical and metaphorical enclosures that surround her.
Mike Robertson’s lighting design further enhances this interplay between light and shadow, innocence and experience. Warm, golden hues characterize the first act, reinforcing the sisters’ youthful exuberance, while cooler, more subdued tones dominate the latter half, marking their transition into adulthood. These visual cues subtly underscore the play's central preoccupation with the passage of time and the inevitability of change.
Perhaps the most striking aspect of this adaptation is its ability to render Little Women not as a relic of the past but as a text deeply relevant to contemporary discourse. Inghram’s direction allows for a reading of the play that implicitly engages with present-day feminist concerns, drawing attention to the ways in which gendered expectations continue to shape women’s professional and personal trajectories. Furthermore, in its evocation of the American Civil War, the production invites an implicit comparison between the nation’s historical fractures and the ideological divisions of the present moment—most notably, the hubristic narcissism of the current White House incumbent.
Casey’s Little Women, under Inghram’s masterful direction, emerges as a deeply layered, richly textured work that honors the spirit of Alcott’s novel while offering a fresh, incisive perspective. Through its nuanced character portrayals, evocative staging, and sharp thematic focus, the production reaffirms Little Women not merely as a sentimental classic but as a profound meditation on womanhood, ambition, and the evolving nature of identity.
Far from being a simple adaptation, this production functions as a dialogue between past and present, text and performance, tradition and reinvention. It is a triumph of theatrical storytelling—symphonic in its structure, breathtaking in its execution, and utterly indispensable in its insight.
A masterpiece? Unquestionably. A production you will not see better? Without a doubt.
Excellent? It’s symphonic. And I retract not a syllable.
— Mark Pitt
Choppa.com
Under the deft direction of Loveday Inghram, this production of Little Women not only reaffirms the novel’s enduring relevance but also offers a meditation on performance, gender, and the mutable nature of literary adaptation. Through minimalist staging, nuanced character portrayals, and an acute awareness of historical and contemporary sociopolitical undercurrents, the play emerges as a sophisticated engagement with Alcott’s work—one that interrogates the tension between tradition and modernity, individuality and duty, art and commerce.
At the heart of Casey’s adaptation is Jo March (portrayed with effervescent brilliance by Grace Moloney), whose journey from rebellious adolescence to self-actualized adulthood encapsulates the novel’s central thematic concerns. Jo, often read as Alcott’s alter ego, remains a fascinating study in female ambition. This production highlights the ideological tension embedded in Jo’s character: while she resists the conventional pathways of marriage and domesticity, she ultimately confronts the limitations imposed upon women’s creative aspirations.
Moloney’s performance foregrounds Jo’s existential struggle, portraying her as not merely independent but actively defiant in her refusal to conform. The staging further accentuates this tension; Jo frequently occupies the periphery of the stage, visually reinforcing her status as an outsider to the domestic sphere inhabited by her sisters. This careful spatial arrangement underscores what was famously termed “the anxiety of authorship”—Jo’s simultaneous longing for and resistance to literary success within a patriarchal framework.
In contrast, Meg (Jade Kennedy) embodies the novel’s negotiation with traditional womanhood. While often dismissed as the most conventional of the sisters, Meg’s arc is rendered with remarkable subtlety in this production. Rather than reducing her desire for domestic stability to mere compliance with social norms, Kennedy’s performance suggests that Meg’s choices are both deliberate and empowering, challenging reductive interpretations of her character as passive.
Beth (Catherine Chalk) is portrayed with a quiet, almost spectral fragility, her presence on stage often accentuated through lighting choices that cast her in a soft glow—foreshadowing her tragic fate. Chalk’s performance imbues Beth with a quiet strength, resisting the temptation to depict her solely as a sacrificial figure. Instead, Beth’s arc becomes an exploration of mortality, familial devotion, and the transient nature of life itself.
Amy March (Imogen Elliot) is perhaps the most radically reinterpreted character in this adaptation. Frequently dismissed as vain and superficial in literary criticism, Amy is here rendered as a complex figure whose desire for status is both a form of self-preservation and a critique of the limited avenues available to women. Elliot’s performance imbues Amy with an undercurrent of vulnerability, emphasizing the performative nature of her social aspirations. Her eventual marriage to Laurie (Cillian Lenaghan) is framed not as a betrayal of Jo but as a pragmatic alignment of mutual ambition and stability.
While Little Women is fundamentally a narrative centered on female experience, Casey’s adaptation also interrogates the construction of masculinity within the text. Laurie, played with remarkable depth by Lenaghan, emerges as a character who is at once deeply embedded within the world of the March sisters yet forever apart from it. His longing for inclusion within the family unit—particularly in relation to Jo—becomes an exploration of male vulnerability and emotional displacement.
Lenaghan’s Laurie undergoes a significant transformation over the course of the play. Initially embodying youthful impetuosity, he later descends into a period of European excess following Jo’s rejection, mirroring the trajectory of 19th-century Romantic heroes. This descent, however, is not merely a personal failure but an indictment of Laurie’s own idealized notions of love and belonging. His eventual marriage to Amy, rather than serving as a consolation prize, signifies his maturation into a more grounded, pragmatic figure—one whose understanding of love has been tempered by experience.
Equally compelling is the portrayal of Professor Bhaer (Jack Ashton), who serves as both foil and counterpart to Laurie. If Laurie represents youthful passion, Bhaer embodies intellectual rigor and restraint. Ashton’s performance resists the trope of the “older, wiser mentor,” instead presenting Bhaer as a man quietly wrestling with his own uncertainties. His critique of Jo’s writing—framing it as overly populist—becomes a meta-commentary on the tension between literary integrity and commercial success. The production subtly highlights this debate through its staging; in their pivotal scene together, Jo and Bhaer are physically separated by the mise-en-scène, reinforcing the ideological divide that must be bridged before their eventual union.
Ruari Murchison’s set design employs a Chekhovian minimalism that serves to heighten the play’s thematic concerns. Towering Eastern White Pines enclose the stage, at once evoking the wilderness of Concord and the constraints of the domestic sphere. This arboreal imagery is particularly significant in relation to Jo, whose desire for unfettered freedom is continuously juxtaposed against the physical and metaphorical enclosures that surround her.
Mike Robertson’s lighting design further enhances this interplay between light and shadow, innocence and experience. Warm, golden hues characterize the first act, reinforcing the sisters’ youthful exuberance, while cooler, more subdued tones dominate the latter half, marking their transition into adulthood. These visual cues subtly underscore the play's central preoccupation with the passage of time and the inevitability of change.
Perhaps the most striking aspect of this adaptation is its ability to render Little Women not as a relic of the past but as a text deeply relevant to contemporary discourse. Inghram’s direction allows for a reading of the play that implicitly engages with present-day feminist concerns, drawing attention to the ways in which gendered expectations continue to shape women’s professional and personal trajectories. Furthermore, in its evocation of the American Civil War, the production invites an implicit comparison between the nation’s historical fractures and the ideological divisions of the present moment—most notably, the hubristic narcissism of the current White House incumbent.
Casey’s Little Women, under Inghram’s masterful direction, emerges as a deeply layered, richly textured work that honors the spirit of Alcott’s novel while offering a fresh, incisive perspective. Through its nuanced character portrayals, evocative staging, and sharp thematic focus, the production reaffirms Little Women not merely as a sentimental classic but as a profound meditation on womanhood, ambition, and the evolving nature of identity.
Far from being a simple adaptation, this production functions as a dialogue between past and present, text and performance, tradition and reinvention. It is a triumph of theatrical storytelling—symphonic in its structure, breathtaking in its execution, and utterly indispensable in its insight.
A masterpiece? Unquestionably. A production you will not see better? Without a doubt.
Excellent? It’s symphonic. And I retract not a syllable.
— Mark Pitt
Choppa.com
The RSC’s Edward II Burns Itself Into the Memory
Daniel Raggett's debut production mirrors the Hands/Nunn years.
Daniel Evans in Edward II at Stratford (c) RSC/Helen Murray
The RSC is back to its brutal, brilliant best. Daniel Raggett’s Edward II at the Swan Theatre doesn’t just linger—it sears itself into the memory like a branding iron.
The story is familiar—at least, it should be: The King is gay. Long suffer the King. Medieval England was hardly the place for a monarch to indulge forbidden love, and yet, Edward II’s fatal flaw isn’t his desire—it’s his devotion. His blind allegiance to his lover, Gaveston, leads him into a spiral of political destruction, a downfall that feels chillingly relevant.
Personal indulgence, favoritism, and political miscalculation—sound familiar? Edward’s obsession with Gaveston echoes the self-destructive loyalty of modern leaders. Trump, Musk, Kushner, Giuliani—men who elevated sycophants over competence, leading to inevitable chaos. Even Queen Isabella (played with simmering brilliance by Ruta Gedmintas) could be mistaken for the scorned wife of a populist leader, her betrayal laced with personal and political vengeance. A medieval scandal? No. A gay Boris Johnson saga, staged with savage clarity.
And then there’s Daniel Evans.
I first heard his name from my college girlfriend—one of his A-level classmates at Rhydfelen High School—who never stopped raving about him. “Easily the best actor I’ve ever seen,” she insisted. My reaction? “Yeah, whatever, Lisa.”
Well, Lisa was right.
Evans delivers one of those performances that transcends theatre, bleeding into legend. His skill rivals Patrick Stewart’s, his presence recalls Anthony Hopkins, and his sheer inventiveness evokes Michael Sheen. He doesn’t just speak Marlowe’s text—he possesses it. His Edward begins as a smitten idealist, all giddy infatuation, his chemistry with Eloka Evo’s Gaveston utterly infectious. But when the walls close in, he unravels—his love turns to desperation, his rule to ruin. He rages, pleads, decays—until, at last, he is stripped of everything, left to rot in a literal bog.
Around him, the wolves close in. Enzo Cilenti’s Mortimer is the embodiment of cold calculation, his smirking indifference more chilling than outright villainy. The nobles despise Edward’s favoritism, his neglect of duty, and when they finally execute Gaveston in an act of sheer brutality, the war is set. Edward fights back, but he lacks the political cunning to outmaneuver them. His exile is a death sentence deferred. His return, a doomed rebellion. His fate? As harrowing as theatre allows.
Raggett’s direction is ruthless—incisive, laced with mischief, and utterly unsparing. He lulls the audience into moments of reprieve before snapping them awake with the jolt of sleep deprivation. His is a mind of creative abundance, but also precision—every beat honed, every silence weaponized.
The production is a technical triumph. Leslie Travers’ brutalist set—**all iron and infinity—**becomes a crucible of betrayal. A single, stark dining table looms like an altar, its purpose shifting from feast to battlefield. Tim Lutkin’s lighting sways between opulence and terror, while TingYing Dong’s underscore pulses like a heartbeat, a whisper of dread beneath the surface. This is no manipulative film score; it is a ghost in the machine, conjuring unease without demanding it.
This is the RSC as it should be—uncompromising, exhilarating, unforgettable. A production that doesn’t just depict history but warns of its repetition. The final image lingers long after the lights go down. A king, broken. A kingdom, lost. And an audience, haunted.
*****
Mark Pitt for Choppa.com
The story is familiar—at least, it should be: The King is gay. Long suffer the King. Medieval England was hardly the place for a monarch to indulge forbidden love, and yet, Edward II’s fatal flaw isn’t his desire—it’s his devotion. His blind allegiance to his lover, Gaveston, leads him into a spiral of political destruction, a downfall that feels chillingly relevant.
Personal indulgence, favoritism, and political miscalculation—sound familiar? Edward’s obsession with Gaveston echoes the self-destructive loyalty of modern leaders. Trump, Musk, Kushner, Giuliani—men who elevated sycophants over competence, leading to inevitable chaos. Even Queen Isabella (played with simmering brilliance by Ruta Gedmintas) could be mistaken for the scorned wife of a populist leader, her betrayal laced with personal and political vengeance. A medieval scandal? No. A gay Boris Johnson saga, staged with savage clarity.
And then there’s Daniel Evans.
I first heard his name from my college girlfriend—one of his A-level classmates at Rhydfelen High School—who never stopped raving about him. “Easily the best actor I’ve ever seen,” she insisted. My reaction? “Yeah, whatever, Lisa.”
Well, Lisa was right.
Evans delivers one of those performances that transcends theatre, bleeding into legend. His skill rivals Patrick Stewart’s, his presence recalls Anthony Hopkins, and his sheer inventiveness evokes Michael Sheen. He doesn’t just speak Marlowe’s text—he possesses it. His Edward begins as a smitten idealist, all giddy infatuation, his chemistry with Eloka Evo’s Gaveston utterly infectious. But when the walls close in, he unravels—his love turns to desperation, his rule to ruin. He rages, pleads, decays—until, at last, he is stripped of everything, left to rot in a literal bog.
Around him, the wolves close in. Enzo Cilenti’s Mortimer is the embodiment of cold calculation, his smirking indifference more chilling than outright villainy. The nobles despise Edward’s favoritism, his neglect of duty, and when they finally execute Gaveston in an act of sheer brutality, the war is set. Edward fights back, but he lacks the political cunning to outmaneuver them. His exile is a death sentence deferred. His return, a doomed rebellion. His fate? As harrowing as theatre allows.
Raggett’s direction is ruthless—incisive, laced with mischief, and utterly unsparing. He lulls the audience into moments of reprieve before snapping them awake with the jolt of sleep deprivation. His is a mind of creative abundance, but also precision—every beat honed, every silence weaponized.
The production is a technical triumph. Leslie Travers’ brutalist set—**all iron and infinity—**becomes a crucible of betrayal. A single, stark dining table looms like an altar, its purpose shifting from feast to battlefield. Tim Lutkin’s lighting sways between opulence and terror, while TingYing Dong’s underscore pulses like a heartbeat, a whisper of dread beneath the surface. This is no manipulative film score; it is a ghost in the machine, conjuring unease without demanding it.
This is the RSC as it should be—uncompromising, exhilarating, unforgettable. A production that doesn’t just depict history but warns of its repetition. The final image lingers long after the lights go down. A king, broken. A kingdom, lost. And an audience, haunted.
*****
Mark Pitt for Choppa.com
This is Their Youth...
Warwickshire's Young Actors Dominate the Past Season.
The past few months have ignited Warwickshire’s stages with a surge of young actors, their talent poised to shape local casting for years to come. Casting youthful performers isn’t easy—many head off to university, drama school, or even abroad, like Nona Davies, who dazzled in the Loft’s 2023 The Rise and Fall of Little Voice before moving to Italy to teach.
Yet Warwickshire’s top universities keep the talent flowing in, ensuring a deep and dynamic pool. What pulls young people to the stage? Once, it was the electric social scene. Friday nights at the Loft or Talisman buzzed like opening night—laughter and chatter spilling over as young actors mingled with veterans. Tuesdays packed the Priory bar with theatre buffs dissecting auditions, productions, and juicy gossip. I still hear Keith Higgins recounting packed houses at Coventry Theatre, Ted Whitehead spinning comedic gold, Al MacLeod Urie’s Scottish lilt painting vivid scenes, and Ernie Guthrie’s wild, hilarious tales leaving us in stitches. Those nights were a masterclass in camaraderie and craft, where you’d walk in for a pint and leave with a dozen stories. It wasn’t just about the shows—it was about the people, the laughter, the sense that you were part of something bigger.
Does today’s onstage work hold up to that past? Honestly, it outshines it. My own early efforts pale next to the skill I see now. Take Leonie Slater and Ted McGowan in the Loft’s Constellations—a tricky play weaving love and quantum theory. Their opening-night precision floored me (and I’ve seen some 400 shows). Slater’s daring vocal twists—mistiming lines on purpose, then hitting unexpected beats—oozed confidence, a flair she flashed again in Vanya. McGowan’s quiet listening anchored their chemistry, making 100 minutes feel like 10.
At the Talisman, Ben Ionoff’s chilling restraint in Never the Sinner paired flawlessly with Julian Rosa’s subtle depth. Then there’s Connor Bailey, whose effortless vibe in Present Laughter stole every scene—he’s so laid-back, you’d think he’d rather “email it in” with a beer in-hand and while watching the footie. I can’t wait for his gig in Up ‘n’ Under at the Loft this summer, even if he half-jokingly livestreams it. The talent keeps coming. Sophie Jasmin-Bird and James McCabe brought tender ease to Lovesong at the Loft, nailing the young Billy and Maggie. Over at the Priory, 16-year-old Tilly Megan’s cool nonchalance in The Addams Family nailed that American-teen “whateverism,” while Dexter Robinson’s Broadway polish lifted the show beyond its script.
Meanwhile, at the Criterion in Coventry, Swindon native Charlie Maline turned The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time into a resounding triumph, thanks to his exceptional performance. Stepping into the role at short notice after Daniel Peckett was forced to withdraw, Maline not only saved the production but elevated it to new heights. Though this was only his second time performing the role, his remarkable talent and commitment shone through, making the show the hit it became. Maline’s portrayal was a testament to his skill and professionalism, proving once again the power of a standout performance to transform a production.
Casting young actors comes with hurdles. It’s a balancing act—directors must weigh their energy and fresh perspective against their need for reliability and craft. Some are still finding their feet, others are ready to soar. The transient nature of young talent—many leave for bigger stages or non-theatre careers—means directors must constantly scout and nurture. Yet this churn keeps the scene on its toes, forcing innovation and risk-taking on new voices. Looking ahead, Warwickshire’s theatre scene seems brighter than ever.
With the RSC in Stratford as a towering influence and local universities pumping out graduates hungry for stage time, the area is a breeding ground for the next generation of British theatre. While the West End glitters, Warwickshire’s stages offer something rarer: intimacy, community, and the thrill of discovery. With festivals like the Leamington Fringe bringing experimental works and fresh talent to the fore, the future looks as vibrant as the past was storied. The social hum may have dimmed, but these young actors are blazing a new era for Warwickshire theatre—bold, skilled, and utterly captivating.
March 2025.
Yet Warwickshire’s top universities keep the talent flowing in, ensuring a deep and dynamic pool. What pulls young people to the stage? Once, it was the electric social scene. Friday nights at the Loft or Talisman buzzed like opening night—laughter and chatter spilling over as young actors mingled with veterans. Tuesdays packed the Priory bar with theatre buffs dissecting auditions, productions, and juicy gossip. I still hear Keith Higgins recounting packed houses at Coventry Theatre, Ted Whitehead spinning comedic gold, Al MacLeod Urie’s Scottish lilt painting vivid scenes, and Ernie Guthrie’s wild, hilarious tales leaving us in stitches. Those nights were a masterclass in camaraderie and craft, where you’d walk in for a pint and leave with a dozen stories. It wasn’t just about the shows—it was about the people, the laughter, the sense that you were part of something bigger.
Does today’s onstage work hold up to that past? Honestly, it outshines it. My own early efforts pale next to the skill I see now. Take Leonie Slater and Ted McGowan in the Loft’s Constellations—a tricky play weaving love and quantum theory. Their opening-night precision floored me (and I’ve seen some 400 shows). Slater’s daring vocal twists—mistiming lines on purpose, then hitting unexpected beats—oozed confidence, a flair she flashed again in Vanya. McGowan’s quiet listening anchored their chemistry, making 100 minutes feel like 10.
At the Talisman, Ben Ionoff’s chilling restraint in Never the Sinner paired flawlessly with Julian Rosa’s subtle depth. Then there’s Connor Bailey, whose effortless vibe in Present Laughter stole every scene—he’s so laid-back, you’d think he’d rather “email it in” with a beer in-hand and while watching the footie. I can’t wait for his gig in Up ‘n’ Under at the Loft this summer, even if he half-jokingly livestreams it. The talent keeps coming. Sophie Jasmin-Bird and James McCabe brought tender ease to Lovesong at the Loft, nailing the young Billy and Maggie. Over at the Priory, 16-year-old Tilly Megan’s cool nonchalance in The Addams Family nailed that American-teen “whateverism,” while Dexter Robinson’s Broadway polish lifted the show beyond its script.
Meanwhile, at the Criterion in Coventry, Swindon native Charlie Maline turned The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time into a resounding triumph, thanks to his exceptional performance. Stepping into the role at short notice after Daniel Peckett was forced to withdraw, Maline not only saved the production but elevated it to new heights. Though this was only his second time performing the role, his remarkable talent and commitment shone through, making the show the hit it became. Maline’s portrayal was a testament to his skill and professionalism, proving once again the power of a standout performance to transform a production.
Casting young actors comes with hurdles. It’s a balancing act—directors must weigh their energy and fresh perspective against their need for reliability and craft. Some are still finding their feet, others are ready to soar. The transient nature of young talent—many leave for bigger stages or non-theatre careers—means directors must constantly scout and nurture. Yet this churn keeps the scene on its toes, forcing innovation and risk-taking on new voices. Looking ahead, Warwickshire’s theatre scene seems brighter than ever.
With the RSC in Stratford as a towering influence and local universities pumping out graduates hungry for stage time, the area is a breeding ground for the next generation of British theatre. While the West End glitters, Warwickshire’s stages offer something rarer: intimacy, community, and the thrill of discovery. With festivals like the Leamington Fringe bringing experimental works and fresh talent to the fore, the future looks as vibrant as the past was storied. The social hum may have dimmed, but these young actors are blazing a new era for Warwickshire theatre—bold, skilled, and utterly captivating.
March 2025.
Coming up: Chris Gilbey-Smith on "Spring Awakening" at the Loft.
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We’re thrilled to announce our next interview! Later this month, we’ll be sitting down with director Chris Gilbey-Smith (left) as his highly anticipated production of Spring Awakening moves from the Loft’s rehearsal room to the main stage. With the show shortly entering its technical process, the creative team is seeing their vision come to life—lighting, sound, orchestra, and costumes all coming together to shape the final production.
Chris will be sharing insights on the show, the casting, the creative process, and the production itself. We’re especially excited to get to know him beyond his work on stage. Audiences may remember his performance in the excellent Mosquitoes, and before that, the equally superb Art—back when this site was just an idea! We can’t wait for this conversation with such a creative all-rounder. Stay tuned for our interview later this month, and don’t miss Spring Awakening, opening at the Loft Theatre in April. |
Award-Winning Theatre Profesional Tommy Robinson Interview
EPISODE 2 NOW AVAILABLE >>> HERE
Love, Loss, and the Multiverse:
Nick Payne's "Constellations" Shines at
the Loft Theatre, Leamington Spa
Opening Night Review: HERE
"More of a Drizzle than a Storm"
"Ladies Unleashed" is the third installment in Amanda Whittington's celebrated "Ladies Trilogy," following "Ladies' Day" and "Ladies Down Under."
By the grace of God, it will be her last.
Stuart Lawson's production for the Priory Theatre is SOLD OUT.
The theatre is now accepting requests for box-office returns. The show sold out before opening night, as is normal for the Kenilworth company.
Runs through 1st March.
READ THE REVIEW
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Shakespeare Meets Street Culture: The Electrifying Romeo and Juliet That Redefines Modern Theatre: READ >> |
The Tightrope Walk:
Navigating Intimacy in Theatre
Left: Nathan Dowling and Annabel
Pilcher work with Intimacy coordinator Dan Welsh during rehearsals for Spring Awakening at the Loft Theatre.
Intimacy. It's a word that can evoke a range of emotions in a theatrical context, from excitement and vulnerability to awkwardness and even fear. It's a crucial ingredient in storytelling, reflecting the complex tapestry of human relationships. Yet, staging intimacy presents a unique set of challenges, demanding careful consideration from actors, directors, and intimacy professionals alike.
One of the primary hurdles lies in the inherent artificiality of the stage. Actors are tasked with portraying deeply personal and often emotionally charged moments in front of an audience, sometimes with complete strangers. This requires a delicate balance of vulnerability and control, demanding a level of trust and communication that can be difficult to establish, especially within the tight timeframe of a rehearsal process. How do you create the illusion of genuine connection while simultaneously managing the technical aspects of performance?
The very definition of intimacy is subjective and culturally influenced. What one person considers a simple hug, another might perceive as an invasion of personal space. This subjectivity can create ambiguity and potential discomfort, particularly when dealing with scenes involving physical touch, simulated sex, or emotionally vulnerable moments. Clear communication and a shared understanding of boundaries are paramount, but achieving this can be complex, especially when power dynamics within the production are at play.
Historically, intimacy in theatre has often been handled haphazardly, with actors left to navigate potentially uncomfortable situations on their own. This lack of structured guidance can lead to emotional distress, boundary violations, and even lasting trauma. Thankfully, the rise of intimacy direction and coordination is changing this landscape. These trained professionals bring a crucial skillset to the table, providing a framework for safely and ethically staging intimate moments. They facilitate open communication, choreograph physical intimacy with precision and sensitivity, and ensure that everyone involved feels safe and respected.
However, the integration of intimacy professionals is not without its challenges. Their role is still relatively new, and some within the industry may be resistant to change or misunderstand the purpose of their work. There can also be budgetary constraints, limiting access to these vital services, particularly in smaller productions or educational settings.
Beyond the practical considerations, there's also the artistic challenge of integrating intimacy seamlessly into the narrative. Intimate moments should never feel gratuitous or exploitative; they must serve the story and characters in a meaningful way. This requires a collaborative approach, with actors, directors, and intimacy professionals working together to ensure that the intimacy is authentic, emotionally resonant, and contributes to the overall artistic vision.
Ultimately, navigating intimacy in theatre is a continuous learning process. It requires a commitment to open communication, mutual respect, and a willingness to embrace new approaches. By prioritizing the well-being of performers and fostering a collaborative environment, we can create theatre that is not only emotionally powerful but also ethically responsible. The tightrope walk of intimacy in theatre may be challenging, but the rewards – both artistically and humanly – are immeasurable. We commend the Loft's Artistic team for taking such a sensitive and caring approach.
SPRING AWAKENING INFO AND TICKETS HERE >>>>
NEW: Present Laughter at the Talisman Review >>>>
Award-winning Actor, Director and Teacher Tommy Robinson on Professional Acting, Drama School and London.
Award-winning Actor, Director and Teacher Tommy Robinson talks to Choppa.com's Mark Pitt. Ep.1.
Award-winning actor and director Tommy Robinson, recipient of multiple honors including The TES Teacher of the Year, began his career as a child performer with the BBC. After completing Drama School and university studies in Wales, he worked on various arts projects across the UK. Now based in London, he serves as Head of Faculty at The Chiswick School, leading a team that produces over 20 shows annually. In the first episode of this three-part series, Tommy discusses his early success, his training, and the world of London theatre. WATCH HERE
OLIVIER AWARD-WINNER NATHAN DOWLING APPEARS IN LOFT'S "SPRING AWAKENING"
It would be wise to book early for the Loft Theatre’s upcoming production of Spring Awakening. Why? Because, for the first time (as far as we know), the company has secured the talents of a Laurence Olivier Award-winning performer.
Possibly the casting coup of the decade, Nathan Dowling, who won "Best Supporting Actor in a Musical" for his role in the West End’s Jerry Springer: The Musical, will take on the lead role of Melchior—the role originally played by Jonathan Groff in the Broadway production.
The production is now in rehearsals in Leamington and will take to the Loft’s main stage in April. We also hope to bring you an exclusive interview with director Chris Gilbey-Smith sometime during the weeks leading up to the show. Opens in April at the Loft Theatre, Leamington Spa.
Pictured: Nathan Dowling. Article published February 9th 2025
Possibly the casting coup of the decade, Nathan Dowling, who won "Best Supporting Actor in a Musical" for his role in the West End’s Jerry Springer: The Musical, will take on the lead role of Melchior—the role originally played by Jonathan Groff in the Broadway production.
The production is now in rehearsals in Leamington and will take to the Loft’s main stage in April. We also hope to bring you an exclusive interview with director Chris Gilbey-Smith sometime during the weeks leading up to the show. Opens in April at the Loft Theatre, Leamington Spa.
Pictured: Nathan Dowling. Article published February 9th 2025
Come from Away, The Musical
A coup de théâtre in Kenilworth!
The Priory Theatre has announced what promises to be one of the highlights of the 2026 season. The Kenilworth company will produce "Come from Away" the musical. (Watch segment here)
Winner of Olivier and Tony Awards, Come From Away is the breathtaking musical that has captivated audiences worldwide. Set in the small town of Gander, Newfoundland, this remarkable true story unfolds in the aftermath of 9/11, when 7,000 stranded passengers found unexpected refuge, kindness, and lasting friendships.
With a soaring, folk-infused score and a fast-paced, heartfelt script, Come From Away is a celebration of humanity, resilience, and the extraordinary power of community.
“A moving, irresistible triumph!” – The Times (London)
“A feel-good factor that simply soars!” – Daily Telegraph
“A celebration of hope and generosity.” – The New York Times
“You leave the theatre full of hope!” – Time Out Article published February 9th 2025
Article published February 8th 2025
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NEXT UP...
The Talisman Theatre's production of Noel Coward's "Present Laughter" opens next week.
Vanessa Comer directs a cast led by Phil Reynolds. A sparkling comedy by Noël Coward that follows the charming yet self-absorbed actor Garry Essendine as he navigates the chaos of fame, flattery, and romantic entanglements. As he prepares for a theatrical tour, his London flat becomes a whirlwind of admirers, ex-lovers, and eccentric visitors, all vying for his attention. With Coward’s signature wit and sharp dialogue, this delightful play explores vanity, turning forty, and the absurdity of show business, delivering both laughter and insight into the theatrical world. CAST: Phil Reynolds, Alexandra Newman, Kathy Buckingham-Underhill, Connor Bailey, Aoife O’Gorman,Rosie Gowers,Adam Turner, Simon Truscott, Graham Buckingham-Underhill, Ruth Linnett, Ruth Jones. BOOK HERE. |
Pay to Play?
The Ethical Dilemma of Amateur Theatre?
Performers asked to Pay up to £500 to Appear in Amateur Musical.
"Do you hear the people PAY, paying the price to play again?"
Reports have surfaced that a regional amateur theatre company has allegedly charged prospective actors an audition fee for an upcoming production. The recent release of non-professional rights for Les Misérables has sparked a wave of productions across the country. Closer to home, a Midlands company is set to stage the show at Birmingham’s Alexandra Theatre this summer. But charging people to audition?
Amateur theatre is built on passion, goodwill, and voluntary commitment. Asking hopeful performers to pay for the chance to audition is not only ethically questionable but arguably indefensible. It is unacceptable to demand payment from actors who will then contribute their time and talent for free. Meanwhile, ticket sales for the production are expected to be substantial. According to ATG Tickets, top-price seats are listed at £77, with most tickets selling at around £50 (including fees).
But the controversy doesn’t end there. Reports suggest that participants were required to pay “participation fees” ranging from £250 to £500, depending on their affiliation with BMOS and its partner groups. Not only is this a PR disaster for the production, but it undermines the very ethos of amateur theatre. The company isn’t just profiting from ticket sales; they are also generating thousands of pounds from the very people performing in the show.
Amateur or For-Profit?
So, is the Birmingham and Midlands Operatic Society a charity—or a business? Naturally, the company will argue that staging a production of this scale involves significant costs, including venue hire, professional fees for the director and orchestra, and other expenses. However, our AI model, which estimates revenue by calculating average ticket price against total performances, suggests the production could gross approximately £350,000 over its run.
While it’s unlikely that an amateur company will sell out the 1,300-seat Alexandra Theatre for every performance, a strong turnout is expected. But with top ticket prices exceeding £70 (plus fees), the question remains: are audiences willing to pay West End prices for a non-professional production?
A Case of Ego Over Ethics?
Why is this production being staged in such a large and costly venue? Why are performers being charged hundreds of pounds just for the experience of taking part? This practice exploits both the art form and the performers’ aspirations. Many amateur actors dream of emulating professional productions, but this is not a professional show. Most of the cast will return to their day jobs the morning after a performance. Many will spend their own money on travel, rehearsals, and other commitments—on top of the participation fee.
Of course, some will willingly pay for their moment in the spotlight. But for an amateur theatre company to profit from its own performers, rather than simply covering costs, undermines the fundamental spirit of non-professional theatre.
Personally, I won’t be attending this production.
UPDATE: Several comments have been received. Auditionees have complained that two members of the audition panel were then cast in leading roles themselves. So, not such as "Open Audition" after all. Were certain roles precast? As one performer put it, this is a "P-s Take."
We contacted BMOS for comment.
Sources: BMOS Website. ATG tickets, The Alexandra Theatre
Article published February 5th 2025
Amateur theatre is built on passion, goodwill, and voluntary commitment. Asking hopeful performers to pay for the chance to audition is not only ethically questionable but arguably indefensible. It is unacceptable to demand payment from actors who will then contribute their time and talent for free. Meanwhile, ticket sales for the production are expected to be substantial. According to ATG Tickets, top-price seats are listed at £77, with most tickets selling at around £50 (including fees).
But the controversy doesn’t end there. Reports suggest that participants were required to pay “participation fees” ranging from £250 to £500, depending on their affiliation with BMOS and its partner groups. Not only is this a PR disaster for the production, but it undermines the very ethos of amateur theatre. The company isn’t just profiting from ticket sales; they are also generating thousands of pounds from the very people performing in the show.
Amateur or For-Profit?
So, is the Birmingham and Midlands Operatic Society a charity—or a business? Naturally, the company will argue that staging a production of this scale involves significant costs, including venue hire, professional fees for the director and orchestra, and other expenses. However, our AI model, which estimates revenue by calculating average ticket price against total performances, suggests the production could gross approximately £350,000 over its run.
While it’s unlikely that an amateur company will sell out the 1,300-seat Alexandra Theatre for every performance, a strong turnout is expected. But with top ticket prices exceeding £70 (plus fees), the question remains: are audiences willing to pay West End prices for a non-professional production?
A Case of Ego Over Ethics?
Why is this production being staged in such a large and costly venue? Why are performers being charged hundreds of pounds just for the experience of taking part? This practice exploits both the art form and the performers’ aspirations. Many amateur actors dream of emulating professional productions, but this is not a professional show. Most of the cast will return to their day jobs the morning after a performance. Many will spend their own money on travel, rehearsals, and other commitments—on top of the participation fee.
Of course, some will willingly pay for their moment in the spotlight. But for an amateur theatre company to profit from its own performers, rather than simply covering costs, undermines the fundamental spirit of non-professional theatre.
Personally, I won’t be attending this production.
UPDATE: Several comments have been received. Auditionees have complained that two members of the audition panel were then cast in leading roles themselves. So, not such as "Open Audition" after all. Were certain roles precast? As one performer put it, this is a "P-s Take."
We contacted BMOS for comment.
Sources: BMOS Website. ATG tickets, The Alexandra Theatre
Article published February 5th 2025
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time
Reviewed on Opening Night: READ HERE Priory Announces 39 Steps Cast
John Evans' production of this West End hit has been fully cast. Leading the ensemble are Nicky Main and Ben Wellicome (Loft's Sublime Sondheim), joined by Becky Young (Loft's Glorious) and Rob Jones. The show is set to open on 16th May. Early booking is advised.
Loft's "Up n Under" Cast AnnouncedThe Loft Theatre has announced its cast for the early Summer production of John Godber's "Up n Under." The show, which is being directed by Lorna Middleton (Lovesong), will feature Loft regulars Mark Roberts (Vanya, Medea) and Connor Bailey (The Talisman's Present Laughter.) Rosie Pankhurst (Vanya, Media, Spring Awakening) continues her busy season as Hazel Scott. WATCH this space as we interview actor Connor Bailey in the Spring.
Next up...
The Criterion Theatre Coventry has recast the leading role of Christopher in its forthcoming production of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time. Actor Daniel Peckett has been withdrawn from the show due to personal reasons. Charlie Maline will now play Christopher, in the product that opens February 1st.
STATUS - The production is now booking |
To Pre-Cast, or Not?
It's a question for every director, and everyone has an opinion on it. Do theatres pre-cast shows or not? Dive in, read and send in your opinion - anonymously or not. Read the article here. Also in February...
Phil Reynolds stars as Noel Coward's matinee idol Garry Essendine in the Talisman Theatre's new production. The show is directed by Vanessa Comer and opens on February 10th. Book here. CAST: Phil Reynolds, Alexandra Newman, Kathy Buckingham-Underhill, Connor Bailey, Aoife O’Gorman,Rosie Gowers,Adam Turner, Simon Truscott, Graham Buckingham-Underhill, Ruth Linnett, Ruth Jones |
Actor Dave Crossfield
Full Interview Here |
ABOUT THE PODCAST: Mark Pitt discusses his criteria for a successful theatrical production. He prioritizes a seamless, immersive experience that fully engages the audience in the story, regardless of the production's scale or the actors' training. Pitt emphasizes the importance of the narrative and emotional impact over technical perfection or acting style, arguing that a good production transcends the artificiality of the stage, leaving a lasting impression on the viewer. He uses examples of both excellent and poor productions to illustrate his points, ultimately advocating for a focus on the story's effectiveness and emotional resonance. Ultimately, his goal is to promote appreciation for local theatrical talent.
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