It’s an unusual Peter Pan in other ways too. GDS has clearly got gender blind casting cracked (possibly partly because it has fewer male members than it would like but never mind). John and Michael are played by juvenile girls – Charlotte Galea and Xanthe Gwatkin – both of whom are delightful actors with lots of stage presence. Most of the lost boys are, in fact, girls with Rachael Heard doing lovely work as a feisty Tootles. The pirates have an suitably motley, ragged, piratical edge because they’re a diverse bunch in terms of age and size as well as gender with Emma Constantine strong as a cuddly, Cornish Smee getting close to Marianna Allen who, as Nanny Nora presents a sort-of Dame.

Stephen Duckham’s script/book, a version which was new to me, is well thought out too – a lot of quite close reference to the original JM Barrie with some rather ingengious liberties such as taking Nanny Nora to Neverland and developing her into the mother figure rather than Wendy. Personally I could have done without her alcoholism and mildly risqué lines but Allen does it well enough and the rest of the audience seemed to like it. Another departure from most other productions is a simple low-tech, but very effective, way of conveying the flying when you’re trying to keep the budget down and not set yourself up with a whole folder full of health and safety issues.

The real show stealer, though, is Emilio Nieta as Captain Hook. He is head and shoulders above everyone else in every sense. He follows the tradition of being costumed like Charles II and speaks the most gloriously dishy/sexy heightened RP with a resonant echo on it. When he sings – not perhaps his greatest strength – you can still feel the power of that voice. He uses every inch of his long body to express disdain, determination and malice except when he hears the crocodile and crumples, ludicrously, into a frightened six year old. He commands the stage whenever he’s on it and is one of the best Hooks I’ve ever seen – and there have been dozens over the years.

I also quite liked Joe Warrilow as a slightly older and less boyish Peter than some but he is pretty watchable especially when he’s mimicking Hook’s voice and laughing with the others. Rhea Baker delights as Wendy – lots of poise and a good singing voice – and Carly Harwood makes a good fist of Tiger Lily with angular dancing (choreography by Bethany Kimber) and attractive singing.

Meanwhile Peter Bailey’s five-piece band are supporting all this from their usual corner below stage right. There’s a lovely moment when Nieta is singing a silly song on stage and the band members all wave coloured panto wands in rhythm at the same time as playing.

It’s an enjoyable couple of hours of family theatre. Panto, like a dog, is not just for Christmas. QED.

⭐⭐⭐

I was deeply moved by Cathy Jansen-Ridings’s Pickled Limes. In a beautifully written monologue which examines a long term relationship, Marion (Julie Wood) is angry with the absent Patrick. His empty chair turns out to be more telling than we’re led to think at first and her constant slurping of red wine tells its own story. Wood gets all the right irritation, anger, sadness, regret and guilt – most of which I can identify with personally – in a very finely nuanced performance. She is also, in places, very funny.

Pickled Limes is one of the four varied monologues which make up Group One of Chickenshed’s 2020 Monologue programme which it entitled Monolog 3 because this is the third year. There is another parallel show featuring four different monologues.

We also hear Peter Hastings’s On the Out in which Olivier LeClair presents a volatile, troubled, vulnerable man just released from prison and waiting for his lift. The Condundrum by Alex Murtinheira gives us an eminent historian (Finn Walters) – geeky and gawky – agitatedly trying to solve a major linguistic mystery

Maria Wheeler is very good indeed in Dropping Pennies by Sophie White. There has been an incident of domestic violence and she’s talking to the police. But is she the victim or the perpetrator? Wheeler has a very naturalistic trick of hesitating before her character tries, quite articulately, to explain her point of view, tapping her long black false nails on the table for emphasis. It’s convincing acting.

As Lou Stein, Chickenshed’s artistic director, notes in the Monolog 3 programme, the monologue “has now matured into a fully-fledged dramatic genre” presented in theatres everywhere. It is no longer something actors do only when the phone doesn’t ring or just something for drama school showcases. It is therefore pleasing to see monologues being commissioned, performed and celebrated in this way.

First published by Sardines: http://www.sardinesmagazine.co.uk/reviews/review.php?REVIEW-Chickenshed-monolog%203&reviewsID=3868

⭐⭐⭐⭐

We’re in New York in a grubby, untidy upstairs flat. Keri Levin (Victoria Yeates) and Herbert Doakes (Andrew Dennis) are “two peas in the same damaged pod”. Life has not treated either of them kindly. Both are broken by personal tragedy, we realise as their back stories gradually unfold, but I’ll spare you the spoilers.

In other ways they are diametrically different. Keri is lost to trauma. She’s alcoholic, drug addicted, crazed, deluded, sluttish, agoraphobic and showing traits of nymphomania but her wits are sharp and she has a good line in cutting and/or deliberately inappropriate remarks. Then her agency dog walker arrives in the shape of businesslike but brittle Herbert. And the first thing to say about this very funny, achingly poignant, ultimately hopeful, ninety-minute piece is that these two actors work outstandingly well together: listening, snapping back, arguing, condoling, bouncing off each other and making expert use of pauses and silence. And they do all this using pretty convincing New York accents.

Yeates has a way of gazing soulfully which speaks volumes about her mental health as she develops her character so that she’s riveting as well as horrifying. Dennis’s character is a complete contrast and, my goodness, how he captures his character’s mood swings as we shift through time in three acts separated by just a minute or two for costume change and breath drawing. Doakes goes from being briskly professional, sensible and reasonable to embittered succumbing to passion and anguish (and drink) but also always comic to a greater or lesser extent because the situation itself is so incongruous.

The Dog Walker is an entertaining and thoughtful new play, intelligently presented under Harry Burton’s direction. And Isabella Van Braeckel’s messy set for Keri’s flat, centered round her unmade bed, sets the scene nicely. Definitely one for the try-and-see list.

⭐⭐⭐

It’s an intriguing and challenging piece, the real star of which is the earth harp, played by its inventor, William Close. Vibrating, pitched wires are suspended right across the auditorium from their glitzy Wurlitzer like base stage at stage right. Close, who looks like a powerful Viking, stands legs akimbo wearing gloves which he has dusted with some kind of resin for cohesion. He then strokes, or plucks the wires to create ethereal, minor key melodic music. It’s very spectacular, highly atmospheric and well deserving of its longish solo spot at the start – a quasi overture to the play.

This is an adaptation – by Paul Schoolman who also directs, narrates and plays minor roles – of Ingmar Bergman’s 1966 film. And we’re never allowed to forget that. Scenery – mostly a seascape in various moods – is projected, moving, onto the back wall which also displays photographs including a series of horrifying, familiar ones at the end. The earth harp meanwhile provides sound effects and filmic background music throughout. Sometimes Schoolman, as narrator, breaks in and comments on the making of the film.

In a play which explores who we are, who we think we are and how we consequently relate to each other, Elizabet (Nobuhle Mngcwengi) is a famous actress. Apparently happily married and mother of a six year old, she is in hospital suffering from paralysis and mutism. Because doctors can find nothing wrong with her, physically or mentally, she is sent to the seaside in the care of a nurse, Alma (Alice Krige) to recover. The relationship between the two women and their troubled back stories (no spoilers) drives the rest of the narrative.

Mngcwengi is silent for most of the ninety minutes but communicates powerfully with her face and head. She listens and responds to Alice effectively in what must be a pretty difficult role to carry off. Krige as Alice, on the other hand, has a massive speaking part. She is impassioned, angry, maudlin, unhappy, caring, conscientious and troubled – and convincing.

This is a play which requires a lot of concentration, asks more questions than it answers and isn’t going to be everyone’s cup of tea – the man next to me was very fidgety and kept sighing. Nonetheless, it’s a fascinating idea and the quality of performance is high.