1984, Playhouse Theatre ****

I'm a wimp. I can't sit through any horror movie and I jump whenever a gunshot is used in the theatre. Therefore, perhaps sitting in the middle of the first row for 1984 wasn't one of my smartest ideas. I am proud to say that I managed to get through it in one piece without closing my eyes. This is a brutal adaptation of Orwell's image of dystopia. Icke and Macmillan capture the text wonderfully and it is rendered by a talented cast. Icke has a fantastic understanding of how to capture horror on stage and, whilst this isn't as layered or exhilarating as his Oresteia, the ability to create an atmosphere of fear and oppression is masterful. The idea of of the oppressive nature of the party is captured by Chloe Lamford superbly. She firstly uses a set that almost lulls the audience into a false sense of security before stripping it back to reveal a bigger and scarier reality. It is at this point that we, as audience members, are directly addressed by their actions which is made obvious by the house lights being turned on. Natasha Chivers' use of lighting allows strange and eerie trickery to occur that even kept the front row confused whilst Tom Gibbons' video design brings the art of film and uses it to a positive effect on the stage as dramatic irony for the ever- watching eye of Big Brother. This piece is made necessary in an age of surveillance and a world where a North Korea loss at the World Cup leads to 're-education'. Whilst the gimmick of the nursery rhyme feels ineffective and clichéd, it is the sole creative misstep in an impressive production.
And yet, I still left slightly frustrated. This production is far from alone and it is a subject that I get very frustrated with. Since Oppenheimer, I haven't commented about it but it has been niggling me for a long time. The lack of diversity here is noticeable. Two white, male directors are in charge of a company of white, British actors. Perhaps the production calls for a company that are identical but I mainly think this is a production from fantastic companies such as Headlong and the Almeida which produce diverse and interesting pieces from many cultures (I am not familiar with the Nottingham Playhouse's work) so it is a shame that there is no visible effort here in a production that could clearly encourage BAME actors. They're not alone with shows having their 'token' black person or having none at all and I hope this hasn't detracted from my view of what is a truly remarkable show. However, whilst I appreciate the quite brilliant production values and acting on the stage, I still feel more needs to be done here and across the West End to reflect the wonderful diversity we have in Britain.

Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, Playhouse Theatre **

Haydn Gwynne and Tamsin Greig in Women on the Verge

At 8.10am, I arrived outside of the Playhouse to find a fellow theatre addict already waiting. Managing to get a day ticket to a show requires dedication and patience to stand 2 hours of queuing in order to get a cheap ticket to a play or musical you would sell your soul to see. By 10am, when the box office opened, close to thirty people had braved the cold to grab a ticket to Almodóvar's classic adapted into a musical. Therefore, it makes it even more disappointing when the show is such a let-down.

Let's start with the positives. 

Performances are mostly great, especially Haydn Gwynne whose voice is delightful and whose acting makes the most of the pitiful role she is given. The set, designed by the man who made the astonishing set from Mendes' Lear at the National, is unconventional and fits the setting the musical is supposed to inhabit.

However, everything to do with the production is profoundly English. Despite the unmemorable Latin music from Yazbek and a weird chorus role given to a taxi driver, it doesn't transport you to Spain. On the contrary, whilst Greig is fantastic as always, despite the quite scarily bad singing, she is not the first choice to portray a Spanish actress and gives the production, along with the other astonishingly English actors, a quintessentially British quality which is slightly displeasing and odd when coupled with a Spanish setting. This musical does not know where it is at and, wherever it is, is not ready for the stage. Plus, a typically poor programme for the West End contains some of the worst articles I have seen which features an interview with Greig, which is just an extension of her biography, and a really misjudged article about the role of women in Almodóvar's films. 

At best, this show is merely incidental and can not be seen as anything more than that.