The tale of a kangaroo who breaks from the mob and chases her dream of dancing, was originally a book written by Jackie French. The leap from the pages to the stage appears effortless and none of the book’s charm is lost.
HG Wells' The Time Machine provided the clearest insistence on the insecurity of progress and the possibility of human degeneration and extinction, written towards the end of an era, shot through with pessimism and impenitent socialism.
Mary Anne Butler's text sounds like the enunciated version of a tonal poem. There are no emotional explosions, the tone throughout is cool and casual. Flat. Prattling on in poetic prose that is heavy with exposition from elliptical beginning to end, engendering recitation rather than a performance.
Welcome to The Flick, a Worcester, Massachusetts movie theatre, home to one of the last motion picture projectors in the state. The Flick is a dinosaur in the digital age, owned by an unseen proprietor and operated by a sassy projectionist and two general hands who clean and run the box office and the candy concession.
This is black humour indeed, but delivered with an unusually light and zany, almost manic style that is hilarious in moments of high comedy and sharp satire.
A kitchen sinker for the 21st Century, The Children cements playwright Lucy Kirkwood's place in contemporary theatre's pantheon of stylists with form.
Ever changing with the calender, music lovers can be assured of two things over the Easter long weekend: predictably unpredictable weather, and Blues.