As the house lights go down, a disclaimer is projected onto the screen on stage; the play you are about to see is not the play advertised…the true story we are about to tell is under embargo by the Home Office…the Royal Court Theatre has changed names to protect themselves.

‘That Is Not Who I Am’ begins from the moment you book a ticket – sold as a show by new playwright Dave Davidson exploring one man’s experience of online identity theft, the promotional copy reads “​​Did the real him ever exist in the first place?”. It’s not until you’re sitting in the theatre that you realise, he didn’t. In fact, Dave Davidson didn’t ever exist either. What is actually performed is ‘Rapture’, a new production written by Olivier Award-winning playwright Lucy Kirkwood. 

‘Rapture’ tells the story of Celeste and Noah Quilter (Siena Kelly and Jake Davies); an activist couple who attempt to dismantle the government. The production follows their relationship from its beginnings, a blind date where they are soon discussing chemtrails and 9/11 theories. They’re half-joking, mocking each other for being crazy. As the production progresses we see them marry, switch jobs, and have a baby – all while becoming increasingly politically active; disillusioned and distrusting. 

Naomi Dawson’s set is clever – a cross-section of the couple’s house, spun by stagehands as the actors move from room to room. Here, we see the couple in their intimate moments – the conversations behind closed doors. The writer, Lucy Kirkwood also appears as a character, played by Priyanga Burford. Burford enters the stage, with script in hand, often – recounting her research into the case; this reddit thread said…, one eye-witness saw…, before moving to one side and watching the actors continue with the scene.

‘Rapture’ will make you question everything. Cleverly, this play about conspiracy theories becomes a conspiracy theory in its own right – positioning itself just enough on the rational side to make you unsure if it’s true or not. As you leave, you’ll find yourself googling ‘the quilters’, and ‘activist couple killed by government’. 

However, when you find it’s not true, it’s a little disappointing – maybe it’s because the Royal Court isn’t as radical as you’d believed in those first ten minutes? Or maybe it’s when you realise we’re not really on the edge of a political revolution? That said, the production is affecting. It’s not immediate and gut-wrenching like some of the Royal Court’s previous shows, but it’s persistent and niggling. Your mind will drift back to it in the everyday – as you tap on to the tube, checkout at a self-service, or withdraw cash from an atm.

‘That Is Not Who I Am’ is running at the Royal Court Theatre until 16th July, tickets are available here

Photo credit: Manuel Harlan

Reviewed by Amy Melling – Amy is a Curator and Creative Producer whose practice is centred around community-led arts projects. Her current research is focused on curatorial methods for exhibiting artworks outside. Amy has a keen interest in the arts and recently completed an MA in Curating and Collections at Chelsea College of Arts, UAL.

Despite finding more success as one half of the marginally more polished sounding Xeno & Oaklander, Martial Canterel – the trochaic alter-ego of Brooklyn adoptee Sean McBride – antedates the former by about two years. McBride didn’t even meet Liz Wendelbo, Xeno & Oaklander’s other half, until 2004, while the first Martial Canterel performance was in 2002. As I’m sitting listening to a Spotify queue alternating each artist, they are at once unified and completely different. The synth sounds are quite similar; both projects are danceable. Yet Canterel’s tunes are more restless and more anxious, which is an accomplishment given the anxiety and restlessness of Xeno & Oaklander. (It’s difficult to resist the urge to describe Canterel as ‘icy’ or ‘cold’.) Drum machines and square analogue synth textures play under McBride’s ghostly vocals, which are heavily indebted to Ian Curtis.

Canterel’s performance at the Shacklewell Arms was quite the intrigue: if you’ve been in the business for 20 years and you’re playing a venue this small yet that infamous, you’re either an utter flop or something of a legend. Fortunately, he is the latter. McBride steered quite clear of the broad appeal, stomping 125bpm, and instead charged ahead at a higher tempo. For this reason, the setlist was vaguely less trendy than Xeno & Oaklander’s sound (or does that just make it cooler?).

Instantly, two sets from aeons past appeared in my mind: John Maus in 2016 and Molchat Doma in February 2020, mere weeks before lockdowns struck the United Kingdom. While there are parallels between all these artists, this was felt more in the crowd than in the show. There is a kind of righteous physical movement in response to this high-tempo, high-energy music. It’s a bit too fast to ‘vibe’ to, but not so fast you can’t just instinctively move. The intensity of such a natural reaction is impressive when juxtaposed with such relatively artificial sounds. Indeed, Canterel himself was hunched over a small desk of synths and switches. But he had his own kinds of dance moves. In a metaphorical, rather than literal, sense, they were like someone being restrained fighting desperately against their restriction. In place of actual restraint was his desk, which demanded his constant focus. But in spite of this McBride rocked back and forth with the beat to what degree he could.

Martial Canterel is anything but a flop. We lucky few who were there had a ball. And no one half-assed it, which is more than what can be said for many a show. I’m curious to see how this will translate when, or if, the synth-smith moves to larger venues. It’s certainly within his remit, but I can’t say with certainty if it’s the aim.

Photo Credit: Lena Shkoda

Cian Kinsella is a Classics teacher and part-time pub quizmaster living in London who is primarily interested in music but is also interested in theatre, literature, and visual arts. He is particularly intrigued by the relationship between art, criticism, and the capital forces always at play. Furthermore, he believes that subjectivity – which is ultimately at the heart of all artistic and cultural criticism – should not be concealed, but probed and perhaps even celebrated. Who decides what we like? How do they construct widely held beliefs about what is good? These are two of the questions Cian looks to address.

Four Corners Gallery, in the heart of Bethnal Green, is a hidden gem amidst East London’s cultural scene. The gallery exhibits radical photography and film, produced for and by the local community. June 9^th saw the opening night of Four Corners’ latest exhibition, which focuses on the daily experiences and political resistance of the Bengali community in and around Brick Lane during the 1970s. Paul Trevor’s photography is viscerally moving, eliciting the sheer volume and strength of the British-Bengali community that took to the streets in order to protest white British racism. Trevor’s work constitutes a valuable archive of political defiance, highlighting the agency of one of London’s most underprivileged and under-resourced communities despite everyday derogation.

The exhibition is but one part of a wider project, a partnership between Four Corners and the Swadhinata Trust, that has been documenting Bengali activism in the East End over the last 18 months. The oral histories, short films and podcasts produced by this collaborative effort will be permanently lodged at the Bishopsgate Institute. Even in attending the exhibition’s opening night, it was clear to me that the shockwaves cultivated by this project will far exceed the intimate space of the Four Corners gallery. I was overwhelmed by the feeling that in viewing Trevor’s work, I was actually being offered a glimpse into a suppressed and undercelebrated history. From the perspective of a second-generation South Asian immigrant like myself, the personal stories hinted at in Trevor’s photographs are intensely humbling and indeed inextricable from family histories like mine. Racism and discrimination were and are deeply entrenched in the lives of South Asian immigrants who came to Britain in the twentieth-century; and yet here, in these photos, there is a dynamism throbbing across the multitudes that have gathered. Of course, there is grief and anger in the slogans raised above the crowd; but there is also an incredible, palpitating pride.

South Asian immigrants are often depicted as a model minority group: we work hard, play by the rules, and assimilate without fuss. This is not the story told by this exhibition. After 24-year-old Altab Ali was murdered by three white youths near Brick Lane, thousands of Bengalis marched behind his hearse from Whitechapel to Hyde Park to Downing Street. Banners profess the intentions of the Bengali Youth Movement Against Racism to ensure that Ali’s murderers be held accountable. The campaign did not falter throughout the summer of ’78, despite the violent efforts of the National Front to curb the movement. By 1980, the National Front was actually forced to move its headquarters from nearby Hoxton.  That year, 16 separate Bengali youth movements formed a coalition called the Federation of Bangladeshi Youth Organisations. By 1982, the first few Bengalis were elected to local council.

My experience of the exhibition is inextricable from the scenes I witnessed on the opening night. Many of the men and women in Trevor’s photographs came for the evening party in the gallery; some had not seen each other for the forty years that have passed since the Battle of Brick Lane. Locals were identifying themselves in the huge black-and-white photographs, getting teenage grandchildren to take pictures of them standing proud next to images of their younger selves. In conversations with some of the Bengali people who partook in the demonstrations of ’78, many professed that they had no idea, back then, that their movement would go down in the annals of history. They had simply, one man told me, had enough.

Brick Lane: The Turning Point is on at Four Corners until 10 September. It is free and no booking is required. https://www.fourcornersfilm.co.uk/whats-on/brick-lane-1978-the-turning-point-1

Image by Paul Trevor. Outside Bethnal Green police station, London, 17 July 1978.
Sit down protest, demanding the release of two arrested demonstrators.

Sophia Sheera is a writer interested in migration, cultural citizenship, displacement and queerness with a focus on Central Asia and Northern India. Sophia is inspired by talking to the people whose stories are sidetracked by sensationalist headlines, and as such aspires to share those counter-narratives through political journalism.

Manchester, 1981. We are in the still room of a small failing hotel, a place of little ambition where the only form of escapism comes from watching the Diana and Charles wedding on TV. And yet, the 17-year-old waitress Janice (Kate James) wants something more. She knows that she is destined to bigger things, and is waiting for her O levels results to know if she can ever achieve her dreams. Funny, energetic and touching, “The Still Room” at Park Theatre depicts the tragicomedy of young women imprisoned by the norms of their social class and gender.

The whole narrative centres around the interactions of the waiting staff of the hotel in between shifts, or while they are running around carrying plates, shouting orders and cleaning cutlery. Despite it being a “still room”, the energy is very much alive, and every scene incorporates at least some form of action. The loud and opinionated Janice is the most chaotic element of the kitchen, and the rest of the staff often teases her about her eccentricity. Even her best friend Karen (Larner Wallace Taylor), who in opposition is calm and a little dull, struggles to understand why her friend would want to leave town. The biggest concern of the two friends, however, seems to be about sex and how to lose their virginity. Sex is the only form of emancipation the girls can really dream of and is a central point of the play that keeps coming up, which is quite realistic for a play about conversations between curious teenagers.

Everything changes when the beautiful and elegant Diane (Zoe Brough) starts working in the kitchen to pay for her holiday in Greece. Janice can’t help but compare herself to a girl who is her polar opposite and start holding a grudge as the general attention pivots toward this new waitress. The dynamic between the two girls is well explored, and despite being a little stereotypical, the duality and opposition between the characters were established very interestingly. The most striking image of the whole play was the scene where Diane accidentally burns her ankle and lies on the floor surrounded by the staff, while Janice is having sex for the first time in the kitchen. The simultaneous panting and screams of the two girls blurred the line between pain and pleasure and cleverly played with contrasts, although the scene was slightly too crude and shocking.

The performances were all extremely convincing and energetic, and Kate James carried the whole play from start to end with undying energy and an extremely touching final monologue. Zoe Brough worked amazingly as the protagonist’s opposite, and embodied Dian’s grace and elegance to perfection. Larner Wallace Taylor as Karen had a slouched and snarky attitude that was very suited for comedic relief. The rest of the cast included Chris Simmons as Kevin the manager, a clownish character with a baggy suit that was a little too enthusiastic about the girls; Jane Slavin as Bernice, an overworked middle-aged waitress; and Jack Colgrave Hirst as Dean, a cocky waiter with an arrogant and flirty attitude.

Writer Sally Rogers wrote the play after her own experience in service as a teenager, where not only was sex extremely present and was all that existed but young girls were constrained to what was expected of them on many levels. “The still room” tells the story of a girl who tries to set herself free from these expectations, but is already tragically caught in the net with no possibility to escape. Get your tickets for the play at www.parktheatre.co.uk

Photo credit: Multitude media

Reviewed by Céline Galletti – Celine is a volunteer writer for Abundant Art. Originally from France and Italy, she follows her passion for writing and art by studying Comparative Literature at UCL, London. As an international student living in London, she is determined to fully experience and understand the city’s vibrant arts scene, and be a part of its creative storm.

This Jubilee, Sadlers Wells offered us a peek into Hungarian culture through a beautiful evening of historical dance and music in ‘Liszt Mosaics’. A transcendence of time and tradition, the show was a spectacle that mixed folklore with more modern elements and showed that Hungarian dance culture is far from being stuck in the past. A mosaic of 400 different traditional dances, mixed with modern creativity and compelling live music, crafted an experience that played with history and modernity and offered innovation through tradition.

The first half of the show served as an introduction to the core history and folklore of Hungarian dance, and how it influenced classical music. The scenes followed a certain dramaturgy and narrative and followed the tradition of telling stories through dance, resulting in a rather theatrical experience. The live music was amazingly performed by the Royal Philharmonic Concert Orchestra conducted by Oleg Caetani and added a touch of immersivity and grandeur to the whole experience. The music was a central part of the performance and felt like a guiding force that gave movement to the dancers. However, the cheers and smiles of the dancers were also one of the most captivating aspects of the show and transmitted a rather contagious good mood.

But despite the traditional costumes and choreographies, the show clearly wanted to innovate and launch itself into modernity. In the second half of the performance, centuries of music got mixed together through instrumental and song to celebrate one of Hungary’s most famous composers, Franz Liszt. The choreographies were split into three pillars that explored three different aspects, different “mosaics” of the artist: Liszt the Hungarian, Liszt the priest and Liszt the virtuoso. This structured fragmentation allowed for a truly educational experience for anyone in the English audience who is not familiar with the composer or with Hungarian folklore.

Overall, the evening was a truly immersive experience, a mosaic of history, the present, music, tradition, and innovation. This premiere in the London scene will hopefully be followed by many more in the UK. Check out this event and more at Sadler Wells at: www.sadlerswells.com

Photo credit: Hungarian State Folk Ensemble

Reviewed by Céline Galletti – Celine is a volunteer writer for Abundant Art. Originally from France and Italy, she follows her passion for writing and art by studying Comparative Literature at UCL, London. As an international student living in London, she is determined to fully experience and understand the city’s vibrant arts scene, and be a part of its creative storm.

“The Concrete Jungle Book” is a vibrant and surprising new take on Kipling’s classic, a somehow grim retelling of the childhood tale through rap, hip-hop and physical performances. Writer and Director Dominic Garfield plays with the original story to offer a completely new experience that projects us into the harsh reality of street life, a significantly different type of jungle. At a time when youth homelessness is peaking in the UK, this musical finds a way to hit all the right spots by being realistic and raising questions whilst still keeping a colourful and high-energy vibe. HighRise Theatre has worked on this musical with Centrepoint, UK’s first youth homelessness charity, integrating no less than 32 young people in the project.

In this “grown-up” version of the tale, we follow Mo (Lauryn Louise), a 16-year-old who escapes her youth centre and has to explore the harsh realities of city life. Her adventure is mainly determined by the people she will encounter on her path: a snake veteran, monkey gangs, an imposing orangutan… The “bear of the streets” Baloo (Lesley Rietta Cobbina), one of the rare positive figures she encounters, teaches her the survival code of the city and decides to protect her. Meanwhile, her carer Bagheera (Joseph RA Lindsay) runs after her in the hopes of bringing her back home. All the performances are delivered with an animalistic physicality that mimics the behaviours of the various animals, giving an energetic and chaotic aspect to the whole musical. In addition to their impressively physical acting, the actors all delivered in terms of singing, rapping and acting, balancing emotional scenes and lighter moments with brio.

The set design (Ethan Cheek) of the graffiti-covered stage was particularly spot-on, and the use of creative additions such as neon lights and incense created a visually remarkable experience. The musical aspect of the show was also memorable, as the story navigated in a universe of rhymes, rap, reggae, hip-hop, grime and dance. The opening performance was enough to set the tone for the rest of the show and catch the audience’s interest from the first few minutes.

The musical offers a coming-of-age story with authenticity and passion and doesn’t lose itself in metaphors when representing the harsh reality of street life. It manages to build a realistic and compelling universe that vibrates with energy and young talents.

Reviewed by Céline Galletti – Celine is a volunteer writer for Abundant Art. Originally from France and Italy, she follows her passion for writing and art by studying Comparative Literature at UCL, London. As an international student living in London, she is determined to fully experience and understand the city’s vibrant arts scene, and be a part of its creative storm.

According to Google Translate, ‘Machine de Cirque’ – the title of both the performance and the Canadian circus company – means ‘Circus Machine’ in French. Consciously or otherwise, it probes the extent to which a circus is mechanised. Circus performance is traditionally centred on carnivalistic material: the outlandish, the ‘exotic’ (as problematic as this terminology is), and the incredulous. Take, for examples of the exotic and the outlandish, a ‘freakshow’ or a clown, who make the audience laugh unintentionally (for the latter this is a façade, but for the former it tragically is not). For the incredulous, trapeze artists, fire breathers, axe throwers, etc. Ultimately, all this carnivalism is based on human, or at least biological, spectacles. Yet at the same time it is so mechanical, and exact almost to the point of clockwork: performers must catch each other and dodge knives with meticulous precision. Each member is its own tiny moving part.

Machine de Cirque lives up to the name, and the show is simultaneously an exploration of mechanics in circus and of the synapse between the organic and the mechanical. The six-man troupe perform on a stage full of typical circus props: a bike, a climbing frame, wires, hoops et al. Sundered from their typical residence, however, and in a proscenium setting, rather than in the round, these props take on the character of objets trouvés.  The backdrop otherwise is stripped back and, for lack of a better term, dystopian – dark, metallic, and decrepit. The music, played by one of the troupe on a drum kit, a synth, and a few other instruments, is super trip hop: the designated genre for post-apocalyptic soundtrack.

The most impressive aspect of the show is the promethean quality of the performers: they were all adept in mime, acrobatics, clowning, and bodily humour. And despite the intense circusness of it all, it was attractive to buy into this spartan world of play. The scenarios were largely funny too – as one man took photographs of himself, new men emerged who had enlarged Polaroids of his face for heads. In another, a man took an audience member on a mimed date, and when she went to lie on his bed (mimed by another performer) after a night on the town, it turned out it was actually his motorbike – how presumptuous of her. In another favourite, the entire company stripped and performed using towels which repeatedly threatened to expose their modesty.

On the Sadler’s Wells website, it states that ‘six guys find themselves living in a post-apocalyptic world. They are alone and embark on a quest to find other survivors with the help of a strange machine. Will they succeed?’ It wasn’t until after I had seen it that I realised there was even supposed to be a plot. Indeed, the ghost of Samuel Beckett, with his aberrant ruin-dwellers, haunts Machine de Cirque, so I assumed that plot would give way to performance. Furthermore, aside from the truly excelling physical feats, such as the seesaw backflips, the segments which leaned on the wow factor did not measure up to the ingenuity of the skits. The characters were vague enough that I knew nothing about them, yet developed enough that I somehow appreciated each for his personality and his quirks.

Machine de Cirque is an enjoyable and truly impressive 90 minutes, for both adults and children. But the company should think about whether committing to a narrative is really worth it – if the scenarios were clearly linked by narrative, the story could have been really convincing. But at this quarter-baked stage, the suggestion that there is a story is slightly laughable. Luckily, most of the performance itself was extremely laughable.

Two paintings face the public together, posing as a sort of enigmatic “find the 7 differences” game. Because after all, we are looking at two very similar images: a woman, adorned with a flowery dress, contemplates us from the comfort of her red couch. Her finger is mellowly pointed at her temple and despite the incredibly rich background, her presence is what dominates the whole painting, as her face appears a second time in the reflection of a mirror. The two women are communicating something very similar, and yet the differences between them could not be more obvious. Auguste Dominique Ingres’s “Madame Moitessier” is the 1856 portrait of a rich banker’s wife that celebrates textures, colours and opulence. Picasso’s 1932 “Woman with a book” is a sensual and intimate representation of his young lover, Marie Thérèse Walter, in the artist’s distinctive experimental post-cubist style. The new exposition “Picasso Ingres: Face to Face” at the National Gallery has borrowed the Picasso painting from the Norton Simon Museum in California to show these two paintings together for the first time. A parallel is drawn between the two works, which challenges the viewer: Are these paintings similar? Or are they complete opposites? Where does originality stand in imitation?

Ingres’s “Madame Moitessier” was a commissioned portrait of Inès Moitessier, that the artist accepted to take only once he met Madame and was struck by her gracious appearance. A beauty that he celebrates with all the voluptuousness imaginable: ivory skin, flushed cheeks,  a soft hand limply laying on her lap, a fleshy chest with an impossibly thin waist. The richness and sensuality of the woman are reflected through the abundance of silks and golds in the decor, although the most striking aspect of the painting is undoubtedly her flowery dress. Colourful patterns, crinolines, precious stones and laces are painted in such detail and abundance that it is difficult to decide where to direct our attention. The intricacy of the dress alone might explain why Ingres took no less than twelve years to finish his masterpiece.

Picasso was reportedly a big admirer of Ingres’s work, and was especially intrigued by “Madame Moitessier”. He decided to paint his very own madame, Marie Thérèse Walter, in a more modern, sensual take: the lace of the dress is transparent, the breasts are exposed, the fan in her hand has been swapped by a book, and her position is more slouched, the room is more minimalistic. The classical art style has been swapped for a derivative Cubism, whilst the bright contrast between the colours is characteristic of Matisse’s influence. And yet the hand on the temple is still there, same as the piercing dark eyes and the mirror in the background.

Picasso copies whilst still creating an extremely personal and original masterpiece. As expressed by his own quote that appears on the wall next to the painting: “Lesser artists borrow, great artists steal”.

Overall, it is all a game of duality: two paintings, two women, two reflections on the mirrors, and two entirely different artists. The National Gallery has done incredible work at creating a game of parallelisms and contrasts between these two sides of the same coin. Get your free tickets at https://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/exhibitions/picasso-ingres-face-to-face

Madame Moitessier, 1856, left, by Ingres, and Picasso’s Woman With a Book, 1932. Photograph: © The National Gallery, London; © Succession Picasso/DACS 2021 / photo The Norton Simon Foundation

Reviewed by Céline Galletti – Celine is a volunteer writer for Abundant Art. Originally from France and Italy, she follows her passion for writing and art by studying Comparative Literature at UCL, London. As an international student living in London, she is determined to fully experience and understand the city’s vibrant arts scene, and be a part of its creative storm.

The Father and the Assassin, currently on at the National Theatre, is a historical drama centred around the murder of one of India’s most beloved figures – Mahatma Gandhi. The play is provocatively narrated by Nathuram Godse, Gandhi’s assassin. Shubham Saraf’s Godse addresses his audience like a stand-up comedian, bursting with wit and charm; yet as the show continues, it becomes harder to reconcile the good humour of this anti-hero with his increasingly hateful beliefs.

Anupama Chandrasekhar’s writing is clearly inspired by Salman Rushdie; indeed this show builds on many of Rushdie’s signature moves and adapts them for the stage. The play’s protagonist is a villain, who narrates his own story in retrospect; as a narrator, he is unreliable; the play moves back and forward in time, in concordance only with Godse’s train of thought. Tightly woven into this memoir is an extraordinary political moment that sees the Indian fight for independence, the retreat of the British, and the bloody partition. In keeping with the growing canon of Anglophone Indian literature, the question of national identity is at the heart of this play.

I was astounded at how Indhu Rubasingham, the play’s Director, took many of the literary gestures infused in Chandrasekhar’s screenplay and injected them with theatrical life. Godse’s unreliable recollection of events becomes, in classic post-modernist style, a metaphor for the partiality of truth and memory; this is trademark Rushdie. Chandrasekhar highlights this notion every time she has Godse narrate an event, then re-narrate and narrate it again. Under the vision of Rubasingham, a multi-roleing chorus makes ample use of physical theatre to amplify the discrepancies in each version of events. Against these juxtapositions, the audience is inclined to wonder which depiction of the past most resembles the truth. Likely each has been distorted by will and mis-memory.

In the beautiful programme accompanying the show, Chandrasekhar describes the play, not as a ‘whodunnit’ but as a ‘whydunnit’. Teenage Godse worships the figure of Gandhi, his philosophy of ahimsa (non-violence) and his acceptance of all peoples and faiths. Yet amidst his adolescence, something rankles in Godse, who as an adult becomes afraid and bitter. His faith in Gandhi morphs into resentment over personal dreams unfulfilled, then curdles into loathing. Adult Godse wants a partitioned India and Pakistan – a Hindustan for Hindus and a Pakistan for Muslims – which is the antithesis of Gandhi’s vision. For apparently betraying his loyalty to the Hindus, Godse avenges his people with Gandhi’s murder.

The play beautifully, tragically, illustrates the lost potential for a free, united India; and instead, Godse gleefully depicts the creation of India and Pakistan, the displacement of roughly 20 million people, and the deaths of two million Hindus, Sikhs and Muslims. Narrating these events is, of course, a politically loaded choice that knowingly bears resemblance to contemporary politics, in the particular rise of Hindutva in India, and the type of Islamophobia very much still present in India and, in another form, throughout the Western world. Our audacious Godse is eager to point out comparisons to Brexit, which caused ruffles amongst the predominantly white and middle-aged audience. Neither Godse nor Gandhi will let the British get away with much in this play.

The audience, in fact, maintains quite an ambivalent position throughout the show. Sometimes we are included in the revolutionary spirit of protest, addressed as part of the crowd gathered in defiance of British rule. Other times, the audience becomes the colonising force so vehemently rejected by the Indian people. It makes for a powerful watch: the British audience is allowed to feel the excitement and joy of newly claiming one’s land and heritage as one’s own, yet also forbidden from forgetting its own particular imperial past.

The only criticism I can make of this play is its sometimes farfetched depiction of Godse’s obsessive hatred for Gandhi, and motive for killing him. True to real life, this Godse has quite an unconventional childhood: born to Brahmin parents whose other sons died as babies, Godse is raised as a girl in order that this same fate is avoided. His parents believe him to have some kind of oracular power, or connection to the goddess Lakshmi, a gift that is according to folklore only bestowed upon women. Teenage Godse realizes he is a boy; and it is an encounter with Gandhi, who sees Godse for what he is, that gives Godse the self-belief to begin living as his authentic self. Fast-forward to the day of the assassination, and Godse comes out with some gobbledygook blaming Gandhi for taking away his uniqueness, the femininity that enabled his connection to Lakshmi, leaving him average, normal. He also attacks Gandhi with the accusation of being a bad father, a theme unexplored by the rest of the play and mentioned strangely flippantly. After this slightly bizarre and unbelievable psycho-babble, Godse shoots Gandhi.

Watching Mahatma Gandhi being shot, albeit on a stage, was horrific. And yet I also felt oddly sorry for Godse on the day of his hanging, standing there alone, jeered at by two entire nations and loved by no one. However, the tragedy of both deaths is an effect on which Chandrasekhar chooses not to dwell; for Gandhi and Godse take to the stage once again in a fantastical depiction of the afterlife. Gandhi laughingly claims that Godse, try as he may, cannot be rid of his once-idol. Godse tries to retake control by leaving us with a terrifying call to turn on our neighbours and attack our enemies before they attack us; but by this late stage in the play, it is Gandhi’s ideology to which we firmly subscribe.

Inventive, luminous, erudite and yet inclusive, the Father and the Assassin gets an almost-five-star review from me.

For more info and tickets: https://www.nationaltheatre.org.uk/shows/the-father-and-the-assassin

Photograph: Marc Brenner

Sophia Sheera is a writer interested in migration, cultural citizenship, displacement and queerness with a focus on Central Asia and Northern India. Sophia is inspired by talking to the people whose stories are sidetracked by sensationalist headlines, and as such aspires to share those counter-narratives through political journalism.

One thing is certain, it is impossible to remain impassive in front of Mozart’s “Requiem for a dream”. No matter what show it is accompanying, the score will send a shiver down the spine of anyone in the public. The forever unfinished masterpiece has gone through the hands of many composers, and yet Kyle Abraham’s A.I.M manages to distinguish itself from the bunch. The rising-in-fame choreographer and his company explored the cyclicity of life, death and rebirth in a show of swirling white costumes, futuristic lights and an afrobeat remix of Mozart’s score.

The show opened with a chilling unedited version of Requiem, as the troupe of dancers harmoniously performed choreographies and poses that could have belonged to the most dramatic Renaissance paintings. However, the performance was already far from being conventional: the set design’s futuristic lights and the creative pairing of costumes, that went from classic tutus to draped robes, were already a hint of the creative liberties that the dance was going to take. The dance’s full expressivism exploded when Jlin’s remix started kicking in – a mix of afrobeat, electro and the original classical score. More than a modern take on a classic, the performance entirely detached itself from convention and temporality to rewrite itself as an atemporal, gender-fluid and ethnically-diverse spectacle. Both single and group performances were animated by an energy and a seemingly uninterruptable flow that mimicked different aspects of life – community, death, birth, and love.

The central theme of cyclicity was omnipresent in the narrative of the choreography, starting from the ever-present glowing ring of light on the wall. By “recycling” a classic and mixing it with a modern and culturally different beat, Abraham played with the canonical and mixed past, future and present. The fact that Mozart never finished the score opens the door to any possible interpretation and rewriting. And by playing with the conventional, this show created a universe where nothing is fixed, and human concepts such as time and gender simply evaporate. What was left was a beautiful representation of human life, stripped of all social conventions, and shown for what it is at its very essence: a constant flow of life and death, where the only certainties are community, love and repetition.

Get your tickets for more upcoming shows at Sadler Wells – https://www.sadlerswells.com

Photograph: Peter Honnemann

Reviewed by Céline Galletti – Celine is a volunteer writer for Abundant Art. Originally from France and Italy, she follows her passion for writing and art by studying Comparative Literature at UCL, London. As an international student living in London, she is determined to fully experience and understand the city’s vibrant arts scene, and be a part of its creative storm.

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