Do you own a donor card? Even in our secular society the question of donating one’s organs after death, of carving up the body, causes some people moral angst.
Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus is a festival staple the world over because it throws up so many mirrors on contemporary times and mores, a fact inventively exemplified in director Rikki Tarascas’ surreal take on today’s financial temptations.
Touched Like A Virgin is like a collection of singing postcards - the script jumps between 1984 and 2010, and each vignette in the life of monologist Lesley is paired with a Madonna track.
An air of futility permeates John McGrath’s play.
There’s something familiar about Children’s Children - the setting, the story, even the characters, although they are well performed.
That infinitely adaptable space the Linbury is reconfigured anew to present this new work, incorporating singing, speech, instrumental accompaniment, video and lighting design.
When Posh originally opened at the Royal Court during the General Election of 2010, it felt like a metaphorical prediction of how a Tory government might run riot and lay waste a whole country.
There is a fantastic moment in Nick Bagnall’s thoughtful production where Colin Tierney, as Robert, stands at the front of the stage, casting an immense, forbidding shadow over proceedings.
Steven Berkoff’s latest play explores what happens to a group of actors after the director shouts ‘cut’.
Something of a legendary figure in the history of Victorian music hall, Dan Leno’s later years were plagued by alcoholism and a mental instability that saw him briefly admitted to an asylum.
As part of World Stages London, the Young Vic hosts Peter Brook and Marie-Helene Estienne’s reworking of a company classic, previously seen at the Young Vic in 2003 as Le Costume.
Reviving three early pieces by Matthew Bourne is a fitting way to mark his 25 years in the theatre.
Surprisingly, ten years have passed since David Nixon’s superb celebration of the Gershwin brothers was last staged by Northern Ballet.
Perhaps it is because we expect a comedy with ‘farce’ in the title to be hysterically funny at all times that Stephan Escreet’s production of Alan Ayckbourn’s 1975 comedy plodded rather than sparkled.
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