Inspired by the high drama of telenovelas, My Uncle Is Not Pablo Escobar follows four British‑Latinx women as they navigate a story that blends personal stakes with political urgency: Ale (Yanexi Enriquez), a sixth‑form student; her sister Cata (Lorena Andrea), an investigative journalist; Lucia (Cecilia Alfonso‑Eaton), who works undercover as a cleaner at the bank; and Honey (Nathaly Sabino). The show sets out an ambitious range of topics, weaving together personal stories with broader political and social concerns. At times, this breadth means the focus shifts quickly between several narrative threads before settling on what ultimately becomes the central storyline: exposing the multinational bank they clean at for its money‑laundering ties to international drug cartels.

The relationship between Ale and Cata presents the most vulnerable part of the show, and we watch their bond as sisters grow closer throughout. Though their arc unfolds in a fairly predictable way, it is given consistent attention and a clear sense of development. Although the piece presents itself as a story about four women, Ale and Cata sit firmly at its centre, with more focus placed on their journeys than on those of Lucia and Honey. Where Ale and Cata’s growth is shown gradually, Lucia and Honey’s backstories are delivered in a single conversation rather than unfolding over time. The acting embraces the telenovela genre with its dramatics, exaggerations and big, over‑the‑top storytelling, yet the show still finds space for tender, vulnerable moments, particularly when Ale and Cata reconcile and speak about their mother and brother.

There is much to applaud in the staging and production. The set design does an incredible job of supporting the story, shifting fluidly between sites such as Ale’s house, the bank, a nightclub and more. At times, though, the production elements feel a little overextended. Moments such as voiceovers echoing from above, or the cast stepping out of the narrative to interact with the audience in a game‑show format, add energy but can sit slightly at odds with the main storyline. While entertaining, these interruptions occasionally feel like brief detours from the central action.

The show clearly highlights the struggles faced within the Latinx community: moving to London and juggling multiple jobs, working from a young age, navigating unethical treatment at work, and confronting the stereotypes placed on Latinx women. Its cultural grounding is beautifully strong, expressed through music, references and the fluid switching between English and Portuguese, with subtitles provided on screen. These elements bring an authenticity that anchors the piece. While the story remains entertaining and engaging, it is the show’s attention to the wider issues surrounding the work environments that immigrants and people of colour often face that gives it its most resonant moments.

Review by Rim Alkaiat

Featured Image (c) Lucy Le Brocq of Kaleidoshoots 

Presented by The Hale – a London-based arts producing company specialising in experimental, socially-engaged work that is not restricted by form.

Written by Elizabeth Alvarado, Valentina Andrade, TommyRoss-Williams & Lucy Wray| Co-created with Joana Nastari

7 Apr–3May Brixton House, Tues–Sat 7.30pm, Sun 5pm, Sat matinee 2.30pm, schools matinees Thurs 16 & Weds 29 2.30pm|brixtonhouse.co.uk

Running Time:1hr 30 mins (no interval)| Suitable for ages13+| Performed in English with English, Spanish and Portuguese subtitles. 

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People with dwarfism aren’t circus acts, they are not bodies made for entertainment, and Tamm Reynolds AKA Midgitte Bardot wants you to know this. Through their drag persona, Midgitte Bardot, Reynolds tells the shared experiences of their community in the most glamorous and chaotic way. Shooting from Below, a show combining musical theatre, movement, live art and drag, co-written and performed by Tamm Reynolds and directed by Izzy Rabey, makes its sold-out, cathartic return to the Southbank Centre.

The stage is sprawled with dismembered legs, grass and disco balls, an introduction of what to expect. Midgitte arrives on the stage with a powerful presence; every inch of movement prompts a roar of cheering and laughter from the audience. She is magnetic, commanding the stage so casually. The storytelling and performance are theatrical, with incredibly addictive original songs. After the first song, you’re already anticipating the next. Midgitte’s performance is so colourful and detailed; every line is delivered with intention, comedy laced with rage. She questions whether she mistakes ableism for kindness, her anger building as she reflects on the mistreatment of her community, and she closes the show with a distorted rendition of That’s Life.

The writing is masterfully crafted, switching between apologising for her actions and telling the backstory in an avant-garde way, expressed through stage design, costuming and performance. Every element has been well thought out. Every line delivery, commenting on the ableism towards people with dwarfism, is met with a perfectly fitting punchline that still allows every statement to stand as a critique against society’s mistreatment. Though a humorous and entertaining show, Reynolds still allows space for reflection.

The shifting between time and place is done clearly through lighting and wig changes. The wig changes were a favourite amongst the audience. Lighting designer Marty Langthorne does an incredible job, beautifully illuminating Midgitte and the stunning stage designed by Maisie Frater. The set design complements Midgette’s costuming, following a similar colour palette of greens and neutral tones.

Shooting from Below blends important discussions on power dynamics and ableism in a masterfully crafted show delivered through a stunning and sharply humorous drag performance. Midgitte’s future appearance on stage is definitely anticipated and one to look out for.

Review by Rim Alkaiat

Feature Image by Holly Revell

Written and performed by Tamm Reynolds
Co-written and music performed by Nicol Parkinson

Shooting From Below is an Unlimited UK Partner Award 2025 commission with the Southbank Centre / funding from Arts Council England.

Visit Performance & Dance – Spring/Summer 2026 | Southbank Centre for more like this at Southbank Centre

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Eggs Aren’t That Easy To Make sets out a whirlpool of discussions about queer relationships, with pregnancy and the role of parenthood in lesbian relationships at its centre. It is a comedy laced with the complicated realities of queer life. Between every laugh, there is a pause of realisation that this is, in fact, reality and that the issues turned into jokes are difficult situations queer couples genuinely face. Writer Maria Telnikoff strikes a strong balance between comedy and the sombre moments that call for reflection.

The show opens with a montage of Claire and Daniel’s friendship, beginning with the drunken moment that sets the story in motion. At a university party, Claire asks Dan if he will be her sperm donor in the future, and he drunkenly, but eagerly agrees. Ten years later, he has held on to that promise, and the story unfolds from there. Telnikoff introduces several points of discussion that shape the dynamic between Dan, the best friend; Claire; and her girlfriend, Lou. Their relationship becomes a complicated triangle as Dan grows too involved. His persistent presence creates a wedge between Claire and Lou, and his involvement also raises questions about parenting roles. Claire expresses her struggle to feel connected to the pregnancy, as Lou is carrying the child, and she is unsure how she can be of service throughout the process. Though there are now various ways for queer couples to conceive, the show highlights how the practice remains deeply heteronormative.

The small stage is used to its full capacity, often showing two moments at once and using spotlights to draw attention to specific characters. The cast delivers convincing performances. Sophia Rosen-Fouladi, who plays Naomi (Dans girlfriend) and also Laura, the antenatal teacher, shifts between characters seamlessly through small physical changes such as simple costume adjustments, but mostly through characterisation. Her appearances as Laura become a running joke throughout the performance. Some characterisations, however, are less clearly directed. Tom Kingman, who plays Dan, is meant to be the naïve, supportive friend and the comic relief, constantly cracking up the audience. Yet his naïveté often reads as an ignorant man-child who is quite self-involved, spending much of the show whining. Even in serious moments, he is the only character who never fully strips down to vulnerability, remaining more of a comedy stock character.

Some themes feel brushed over and could have been explored further, such as Naomi not wanting children. When this is revealed, it causes a major rift between Claire, Lou, and the pregnancy. Yet it is only ever briefly addressed, despite its potential to spark a deeper discussion about women, motherhood, and even Dan’s motivations for being so involved. As it stands, it feels slightly tossed in to add more fuel to the complications. Another element that could have used more clarity is the expression of time. There are excellent and funny moments, such as the opening montage, or later when fake snow and leaves are tossed about, Christmas hats appear, and the new year is rung in. But in other scenes, the shift in time is unclear, making it difficult to understand how long certain decisions take or what stage the characters are at when key moments unfold.

The show touches on foundational discussion points around the complications that arise in queer relationships and pregnancy, choosing to portray these through a light‑hearted approach in keeping with a rom‑com sensibility rather than delving more deeply into them. The result is a warm, engaging production that delivers plenty of laughter and an enjoyable night out.

Review by Rim Alkaiat

Featured Image: Esther Carr (L) and Rachel Andrews in Eggs Aren’t That Easy To Make (c) Fabiano Waters

Tickets : https://riversidestudios.co.uk/whats-on/mE-eggs-arent-that-easy-to-make/

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The cinematic opening tableau and the technically astute musical finalé wonderfully bookend Miles., a biopic about the architect of the bestselling jazz album of all time, 1959’s Kind of Blue. However, between these two theatrically assured moments, the play settles into a rigidly chronological account of Miles Davis’ life; what should be an incisive exploration of the jazz revolution instead suffers from a cataloguing of names, dates and locations, delivered in such a whirlwind that the audience experiences an accelerated historical account.

Arriving at Southwark Playhouse after a successful run at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, the play opens with Benjamin Akintuyosi as Davis in his debut role, sprawled atop an unwieldy grand piano that dominates the space. The instrument serves as a clever device, housing many of the props whilst remaining the most imposing centrepiece. His crisp black suit seems to emulsify into the piano’s polished obsidian surface, rendering the distinction between his amorphous corporeality and the instrument impossible to discern. From the outset, music is presented as inseparable from him; it defines him, sustains him and is the very thing that gradually rots him.

The majority of the play takes place in the present, in a recording studio at Columbia Records, where Jay Phelps, playing himself as a jazz trumpeter, obsessively plays Kind of Blue on a tape recorder in an attempt to break through his writer’s block and record his upcoming album.

In a quasi‑imaginative realm conjured by Phelps’ creative crisis, Davis is transported to 2026 to inspire Phelps by guiding him through the trials and tribulations of making Kind of Blue. Yet Phelps feels like an obsolete vehicle for exposition; his unsubtle, leading questions trigger mechanical, over‑scripted flashbacks recounting Davis’ musical education and relationships with fellow musicians like John Coltrane, Cannonball Adderley and Paul Chambers, before the action snaps back to Phelps’ uninspiring artistic paralysis. The storytelling structure becomes predictable: one step into the past, one step back into the present, which renders Phelps a difficult figure to invest in — a shame, as the precision of director Oliver Kaderbhai is usually tighter.

That being said, Phelps makes up for it with his mesmerising talent on the trumpet. His mournful renderings of Kind of Blue are so crisp and controlled that the audience feels transported to the smoky, sticky nightclubs of 1950s New York; in a single searing note he captures the entire spectrum of loss and joy. Hearing such a seminal album performed live throughout the play is what saves it. Whatever the structural flaws, the immediacy of the music is undeniably thrilling.

By failing to interrogate Davis’ more problematic traits — his abuse of women and heroin addiction — the play slips into a familiar rags‑to‑riches narrative. A disturbing scene in which he shoots up in front of his baby aestheticises addiction rather than showing its destructiveness, and humorous portrayals of his encounters with women gloss over the systemic abuse of his wives and partners. The result risks glamourising his troubling legacy.

Standout moments include the projection of Juliette Gréco onto Davis’ white vest (special mention to Alex Lewer’s impressive lighting design), as well as Akintuyosi’s supple tap dancing to Phelps’ buttery trumpet lines. Suave, sharply dressed with a glinting gold bracelet, 1950s haircut and iconic gravelly voice, it is hard not to be enamoured by Akintuyosi’s portrayal of Miles Davis.

Although the 90 minutes are erratically paced and in need of tighter storytelling, the production does end on a musical high. Phelps closes the show by finding his inspiration, performing a live breakbeat‑jungle set and layering jazzy trumpet riffs over the top, successfully bringing jazz into the present and finishing on a lively, celebratory note.

Review by Florence Marling 

Featured Image: Jay Phelps, Credit: Colin J Smith

Miles., is showing at the Southwark Playhouse until March 7th 2026. Miles. – Southwark Playhouse Borough

Written, Directed and Produced by Oliver Kaderbhai

Additional Production by: Delerium, Lauren Reed Productions & New Wolf Productions

Lighting Design by Alex Lewer

Video Design by Colin J Smith

Set Design by Ellie Wintour

Sound Design by Will Tonia

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There is something quietly gripping about a British crime film that knows exactly what it is doing. Made in 1962 on a tight budget, Vernon Sewell’s Strongroom finds its power in restraint, letting tension build through time, space, and the smallest shifts in human behaviour.

Three young criminals rob a modest city bank late on a Friday before a holiday weekend, assuming the delay will give them a clean escape. A seemingly small deviation, the bank manager staying late with his secretary, forces a fatal compromise. Locked inside the vault, the captives are left with dwindling oxygen, while the robbers convince themselves they can still put things right. From this point on, the audience is trapped between three narrative strands: the rising panic inside the vault, the criminals’ increasingly frantic attempts to solve a problem they created, and the police closing in with methodical calm. What begins as a robbery soon becomes a moral trap, tightening with each decision made.

This sense of claustrophobia is a recurring strength in Sewell’s career. After early success with ‘A’ pictures in the 1940s, including The Ghosts of Berkeley Square (1947), he became a mainstay of British ‘B’ cinema, directing nearly thirty films across thrillers, horror and exploitation. Within those tight parameters, he developed a particular flair for grim, enclosed narratives. Strongroom sits comfortably alongside The Man in the Back Seat (1961), another of his most effective thrillers, proving how sharply he could work within limits.

The notable performances deepen the film’s moral tension. Derren Nesbitt, as the gang’s self-appointed leader, gives a restless, inwardly fraying performance. His confidence erodes scene by scene, replaced by something closer to panic disguised as resolve. Keith Faulkner plays his counterpart with weary fatalism, a man already rehearsing retreat. Their exchanges feel stripped of bravado, often with the camera fixed on their faces, dominated instead by fear and rationalisation.

Despite running just eighty minutes, the film still finds room for humour, though only to heighten its control over time and space. This is perhaps most clearly expressed in the arrival of the police sergeant, played by John Dearthe, whose unhurried authority briefly shifts the film’s tempo. In charge of the case yet entirely nonchalant with procedure, he offers not reassurance but distance. In a quietly pointed exchange with the coroner over the legal status of a set of keys, it is not just dialoguing [their stunted exchange which lands, but his looks: a subtle side-eye, a measured glance beneath the nose, or sometimes no look at all, as he floats through the room with all the time in the world. Sewell cuts sharply from this dry, almost comic detachment to the interior of the strongroom, where time has become brutally tangible. The first thing we hear is Rose (Ann Lynn) rasping for air, draped along the floor, while Mr Spencer (Colin Gordon) pounds tirelessly on the floor, hoping to break through a gas pipe and buy them precious minutes.

What makes Strongroom so refreshing is its refusal to dress consequence up as heroism. Rather than offering redemptive bravado or last-minute moral gestures, the film sticks to the logic of its own situation. Each decision lands with weight, and the ending feels earned through realism rather than spectacle.

Review by Olivia Kiakides

STRONGROOM opens in selected cinemas in the UK & Ireland on 30 January 2026 and will be released on BFI Blu-ray on 23 February and on BFI Player on 23 March
Directed by Vernon Sewell/1962 / UK / 80 mins / PG  

Colin Gordon, John Chappell, Ann Lynn, Derren Nesbitt, Keith Faulkner, W. Morgan Sheppard

This 1962 film, rarely seen on the big screen since then, has recently been hailed by Quentin Tarantino, Martin Scorsese and Edgar Wright. Now remastered by the BFI, including in a brand new 35mm print

BFI Distribution

Find a screening Strongroom | BFI

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Akram Khan’s reimagining of Giselle for English National Ballet breathes new life into an already well-loved story and stands as a testament to his choreographic craft. Since its premiere in 2016, Khan’s Giselle has travelled across international stages and returned to the London Coliseum this January to celebrate its 10th anniversary.

This production offers a fresh new version of the story where Giselle is a migrant factory worker (an Outcast) and Albrecht, a wealthy landlord who disguises himself as an Outcast to win her love. When a jealous Hilarion exposes his true identity, Giselle is left dead, driven mad by her grief. This story parallels the original in that it circles the same themes of love, betrayal and redemption, but it delves much deeper through its exploration of some of the darker truths of our modern world. It invites the audience to question the treatment of the workers by the Landlords, and to consider how it applies to our society today, proving to be a powerful statement.

There is a clear division between the Outcasts and the Landlords, strongly articulated through both costuming and choreography. The landlords loom in the smoky shadows of the stage in ornate gowns with almost comically exaggerated curves. The Outcasts are pared down to simple grey outfits. This sharp visual contrast between the two groups evokes a dystopian feeling, somewhat reminiscent of The Hunger Games. It compels the audience to draw parallels between the production and the reality of the treatment of ‘Outcasts’ in the world today. Just the costuming and set design command attention on their own, drawing the audience in for the full emotional intensity that the music and choreography bring.

The Landlords remain stoic throughout the show, restricted by their stuffy costumes and displaying little emotion. In contrast, the Outcasts dance with a livelier, jumpier motif, which emphasises the class division between the two groups. Much of the Outcast’s choreography in Act 1 carries a familiar, folky quality which comes through in their light, bouncy movements. This invites the audience closer and forges a bond with the dancers, making the experience deeply immersive as the characters move through the rest of the story.

Giselle is rich in powerful, evocative moments, captivating the audience from the moment the dancers emerge from behind the curtain until the final bow. One such scene is the duet between Giselle (danced by Emily Suzuki) and Albrecht (danced by James Streeter), beautifully choreographed. Bathed in soft orange light, the dancers are alone on the once-bustling stage. The duet is incredibly moving – it appears as if the two characters are completely entangled as they wind and unwind in twirls and lifts. It evokes the feeling of remembering a fond memory, and it is easy to feel the romance flowing between them. A new motif is established during this dance, where Suzuki and Streeter gently caress each other’s faces, a seemingly simple gesture that elevates the duet into a tender and deeply moving moment. The scene is raw and romantic, and skilfully executed by both dancers.

Act two takes place after Giselle has been driven mad by grief. However, in keeping with the production’s theme, the audience is transported to an abandoned factory where the Wilis reside. No longer the ghosts of betrayed brides, the Wilis are instead the spirits of the women workers who entered the factory walls and never left, now seeking revenge for the wrongs done to them. In the original ballet, the entrance of the Wilis is hauntingly beautiful, creating an ethereal scene. This production takes a darker perspective on this moment, perhaps more so than in Act one. The dancers wear ragged costumes and have their hair loose, falling over their faces. The stage is lit by an eerie blue glow that mimics the moonlight that would filter in through the broken windows of an abandoned factory. The choreography emphasises movements that send the dancers’ hair flying and obscuring their faces in a way that feels unsettling. In the light, the women’s hair takes on a silvery, vaporous quality that renders the dancers truly ghostly. Myrtha, Queen of the Wilis is danced by Emma Hawes, who delivers an exceptional performance in act two. She appears tall and commanding in her point shoes, and though nothing visually distinguishes her from the other dancers, her energy leaves no doubt as to who rules this ghostly realm. Hawes’ stage presence during this scene makes her character’s authority feel truly powerful and makes for a strong continuation from the captivating first act of the production.

Akram Khan’s Giselle is densely packed with incredible scenes. Choreographically, it is a well-crafted creative masterpiece, blending traditional kathak, ballet, and the identifiable movement language Khan has developed – a style that sits within contemporary dance while offering its own distinct voice in 21st-century choreography. Vincenzo Lamagna’s score perfectly complements this re-imagination, cleverly incorporating the sounds of factory machines as well as a recurring motif drawn from Adolphe Adam’s score. Altogether, Giselle makes for an incredibly moving, powerful evening of dance – an experience it would be a great loss to miss, and one that rewards being revisited time and again.

Featured Image – Ken Saruhashi as Hilarion in Akram Khan’s Giselle © Photography by ASH

Review by Aishani Chatterjee

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English National Ballet’s upcoming performances What’s on – English National Ballet

“You’ll leave having had a good time or crying tonight,” Prashanti Singh introduces her show, in this Ted-talk-meets-therapy-session night of comedy, where she lays bare her personal struggles of being a thirty-something unmarried woman. Interweaving cultural references, she traces how her upbringing in India has led her to where she is today. Singh’s infectious sarcastic charm emerges as a defining trademark for her comedic style.

Singh is at her best with her self-deprecating humour, being honest with herself about how “pathetic” she is for seeking male attention, pretending to be younger, or how basic her problems are, as described by her therapist. Her reflections on gender politics in India are delivered tastefully through her energetic and self-mocking demeanour; she states, “I don’t speak for all women, but I speak for many.” She has come to identify herself as a ‘crazy’ unmarried woman, as her mother taught her to believe. She also excels at including everyone in the joke, ensuring that cultural references are accessible even to those who may not immediately understand them.

At times Singh can get lost within her delivery, as she drags out the tease before arriving at the punchline. With a lot of topics woven into the set, the material occasionally feels dense and crowded. For instance, her closing reflections on her love for personality-altering podcasts, though sincere, lacked memorable impact.

Singh’s introduction to her show proves to be a perfect way to describe the night as a whole; by the end, audiences are likely to leave having both laughed and cried. She touches upon raw and difficult topics – such as accepting the fear of dying alone and realizing that our problems are not as overwhelming as we imagine – all in a fun, accessible and enjoyable way. The result is a night of comedy that is as thought‑provoking as it is entertaining.

Featured Image: Credit – Ray Roberts

Tickets: ​​https://sohotheatre.com/events/prashasti-singh-divine-feminine-3/

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Almas Art Foundation presents Sudan Retold, an exhibition that navigates the lived and living experiences of Sudan, all the way to the present, exploring the relationship between culture and personal identity. Sudan Retold curated by Khalid Albaih, Larissa-Diana Fuhrmann and Rahiem Shadad, features photography, painting, multimedia installations, as well as personal archives and poetry, including works from participating artists  such as Waleed Mohammad and Yasmeen Abdullah Ahmed Saeed, as well as 13 others.

A small one-room exhibition is packed with rich stories that build up a vivid landscape and understanding of Sudan’s identity. The curation emphasises on not being an exhibition that tells just Sudan’s history; it’s a portrait of Sudan then and now and shows how the past is still fluid in the present. Waleed Mohammad’s Echoes of the Studio: Faces from the Archive explores this idea by using archival family photographs and studio portraits as holders of memory, identity and intergenerational continuity. These three acrylic paintings feature the portraits and figures in monochrome, set against colourful backdrops, contrasting and joining the past with the present. The facial features are blurred, offering only faint glimpses. Here memory emerges indicating the forgotten features and hopes of preservation.

Yasmeen Abdullah Ahmed Saaed’s striking three-piece acrylic paintings are a visual translation of Muhammed Al-Fayturi’s poem Melody of a Wandering Dervish. The use of light in these paintings is the focal point: warm hues that draw the eyes are set around a cold and isolating backdrop of colours. One of the three, titled The Stranger’s Mirror is dark blue, with an unidentifiable blue figure peering into a mirror on the wall. Despite its depth, the dark blue feels bleak and desperate, the figure reflects back nothing but a vague blue shape. There is a sense of search and a need to discover or reclaim one’s own identity in this piece. Saaed discusses her thoughts and inspirations behind these paintings saying that she translated the emotions and questions evoked from Al-Fayturi’s poem – isolation and belonging being the main ones. These three 50x50cm canvases are arranged in a straight vertical line, unfolding a story through their stacked sequencing.

The curation is orderly and simple, yet it conveys a deep and resonant message. There is a gradual and smooth transition from history to culture and the present with the two themes seamlessly blending to reiterate the overarching narrative of the exhibition. In some cases, however, the presentation could benefit from some refinement. For example, Bokhari Hamid’s The Head of Augustus, a small digital piece, was positioned alone on a dimly lit wall making it easy to overlook amidst the more prominently displayed works.

There is a strong emphasis on culture throughout the exhibition, inviting audiences to experience the art of Sudan, not only by featuring works of Sudanese artists, but also by incorporating poetry and archival material. With a publication of the same name, this exhibition invites you to reflect on how history plays a role in shaping identity and culture across generations.

Review by Rim Alkaiat

Featured Image: Sudanese women in thobes by Faiz AbuBakr

https://www.almasartfoundation.org/ Almas Art Foundation, Arch 28, Old Union Yard Arches, 229 Union Street, London SE1 0LR
Monday to Saturday, 11am – 6pm. Closed on Sundays

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Soho Theatre Speaks: The New Language of Stand-Up- Julio Torres, Rohan Joshi, and the Art of Laughing Differently – August 2025 – Abundant Art

English National Ballet’s autumn season opened at Sadler’s Wells with four impeccably executed classics from the last hundred years, each technically razor sharp and visually dazzling. Yet for all its shine, the evening felt more like polishing heirloom silver than laying it out for feast: a careful preservation of the discipline’s established past rather than the spirit of rupture suggested by its title R:EVOLUTION.

Opening the programme, George Balanchine’s 1947 ‘Theme and Variations’ condensed the noble hierarchies and formal academic language of classical ballet into a dexterous half an hour package. His neoclassical choreography harked back to the splendour of the 19th century, recalling a style once favoured by imperial Russia’s gilded elite. The ensemble is effortless in their movements, creating symmetrical patterns that rotate to capture their resplendent traditional tutus, whilst guided by the reliable baton of musical director Maria Seletskaja. Alice Mariani is the crown jewel in the lead role, her limbs rippling with muscle as she glides across the stage like wax which hardens into unwavering pirouettes, développés and arabesques.

Also premiering in 1947, Martha Graham’s ‘Errand into the Maze’ stood in stark contrast to the enchantment of Balachine’s performance. Severe and angular, this piece adapts the Greek myth of Ardiadne and the Minotaur into a surrealist duet, redefining dance in the 20th century through rawness and unflinching human vulnerability. An exercise in binaries, physically marked by white string on the floor, the piece incisively interrogates the female and male experience, expressing fear and desire, purity and transgression, lust and love through movement. Its choreography is conceived in stark black and white, evoking a yin-and-yang duality reminiscent of a Kurosawa-esque cinematic sensibility. Particularly fantastic is Minotaur character Rentaro Nakaaki whose movements are atrophied by a pole slid between his shoulders to make his gestures carnal to combat Emily Suzuki’s weightless and petite frame.

Following a brief interval, the curtains raised to William Forsythe’s Herman Schmerman, a quintet choregraphed 45 years on from Balanchine. Forsythe gleefully dismantles the rigid ballet vocabulary that Balanchine so stridently codified, transforming centuries of strict tradition into a playful and subversive performance. The choreography toys with voyeurism, presenting a layered hierarchy of spectatorship. One dancer sweeps across the stage while the other four observe with a playful casualness that feels unscripted. Yet beneath this seeming spontaneity lies a meticulously curated precision where every move is hyper curated. The audience, watching the dancers who are themselves watching, is drawn into this complex interplay of looking and being looked at resulting in a compelling tension between freedom and control, spontaneity and design. Recalling the Bauhaus movement with their asymmetrical formation and blood orange leotards, the quintet deliver a bold, jaw dropping performance – one of the programme’s strongest.

The final performance was David Dawson’s 2023 Four Last Songs which unfolded to Strauss’s haunting score, with Madeleine Pierard’s soaring vibrato commanding the stage. The dancers move with impeccable line and sculptural precision, yet the work lacks the intensity of the pieces that precede it. Pale, near-invisible costumes strip the movement of drama, and the performers seem subdued in the shadow of Pierard’s voice. While musically enthralling, the choreography struggles to hold the audience, leaving the piece feeling elegant but emotionally distant.

The season enthralled in technique and spectacle, yet only Forsythe’s playful subversions hint at the radical reinvention R:EVOLUTION suggests, leaving heritage and tradition firmly in the spotlight.

Review by Florence Marling

Sadler’s Wells 1 – 11 October 

Photo Credit :

English National Ballet dancers performing George Balanchine’s Theme and Variations-©-Photography-by-ASH

Swanice Luong performing Herman Schmerman Quintet-© Photography by ASH-2

Emily Suzuki and Rentaro Nakaaki performing Martha Graham’s Errand into the Maze-©-Photography by ASH

Emma Hawes and Aitor Arrieta in David Dawsons Four Last Songs ©-Photography-by ASH-2

For upcoming performances visit:

English National Ballet  Sadler’s Wells Sadler’s  Wells East

Read Florence’s latest review KC and the Sunshine Band Brought Back to Life in Lisa Steven’s Disco Fever Spectacle – Charring Cross Theatre, until 15 November – Abundant Art

In a fairly successful bid to rescue KC and the Sunshine Band from their purgatorial fate as wedding disco floor fillers, tired advertising jingles and golden oldie radio fodder, ‘Get Down Tonight’ showing at the Charring Cross Theatre, offers a brief aperture into the nascent days of disco in the 1970s. Adapted from the Edinburgh Festival show ‘Who Do Ya Love’, this musical sweeps the audience through a nostalgic whirlwind of polyrhythmic horns and party driven lyricism, as the cast of eight become conduits for the disco revolution that coursed through the decade. Harry Wayne Casey (Ross Harman), better known as KC, and his radiant ensemble have deftly sharpened their dancefloor weapons to fine edge, powering through more than twenty of the band’s dizzying and infectious hits that first ignited disco fever in America, now reimagined fifty years later with a theatrical flourish.

Following the life of KC, a kid from Miami with big dreams of becoming an entertainer but tethered to his record store job and overbearing manager, he spends his time with chipper sidekick Dee (Paige Fenlon), whose boundless enthusiasm teeters on the unbearable, and Gina (Annabelle Terry), whose crush on KC is anything but discreet. When their old pal Orly (Adam Taylor) returns from the Vietnam war, the quartet lounge in Dee’s loft, smoking pot, listening to vinyl and tossing out half-baked musing about rejecting conformity. Vowing lifelong friendship, KC embarks on a brief fling with Orly, quits his job, wins a record competition and is suddenly catapulted to fame. The show’s pacing is erratic, leaping a decade ahead and ending with a rushed gloss over the band’s true heyday.

All too aware of its own form, the musical leans on meta-theatrical tricks to prop up a flimsy script. KC and Dee repeatedly break character, with Dee bluntly narrating the plot while a petulant KC swats away any conflict and instead cherry picks only the feel-good moments; a toe-curling narrative cop out that feels fatigued and superficial. Barely paying lip service to the era’s politics, including the Vietnam War, AIDs crisis and racial tensions, the script would benefit from a tougher, more emotionally charged rewrite to bolster character and context, giving the uplifting moments greater weight through contrast. That said, Harry Wayne Casey was directly involved in the script, unashamedly declaring that he did not want to ‘spin the usual story about a musician’s life’ but instead share the ‘dreams I had of who I wanted to be’, so perhaps any expectation of profundity is unrealistic.

None of this seemed to hinder the audience’s enjoyment, who clapped along in alarmingly flammable sequin outfits to match the cast’s own spangly flares. With heart thumping hits like ‘I’m Your Boogie Man’, ‘Boogie Shoes’ and ‘That’s the Way I Like It’, the vocals and choreography, expertly staged by director Lisa Stevens, certainly redeemed the musical’s plot holes and delivered exactly what it promised; the story of KC and the Sunshine Band, neatly packaged up in 80 minutes of feel good funky classics.

Get Down Tonight is now on show at Charring Cross Theatre until 15th November. Tickets Charing Cross Theatre

Featured Image: Get-Down-Tonight – Full Cast, Credit-Danny-Kaan

Review by Florence Marling

Read Florence’s latest Feature: Bastien Keb and Shaun Curtis at the Strongroom Bar, 24th April 2025