Poor Daniel Kaluuya

In this edition: Jamie Lloyd creates a balcony scene more famous than Romeo and Juliet; Liberation excels at The Royal Exchange and two messy female-led TV dramas.

First of all - an apology for the lack of newsletters recently. I have been moving house in 30 degrees heat and haven’t been getting my usual culture fix - so a truncated version this week - normal service to resume soon!

Jamie Lloyd causing a stir

It’s the theatrical talking point of the summer: in Jamie Lloyd’s daring new production of Evita, the show’s most famous song, ‘Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina’, is performed by Rachel Zegler on an actual balcony of the London Palladium. This single directorial choice serves a dual purpose with remarkable success. On one hand, it’s a brilliant marketing move. Every evening, crowds gather on Argyll Street, creating a unique piece of street theatre and generating a palpable buzz around the production. Some have criticised Lloyd for falling into a formulaic repetitiveness that he now will struggle to escape from. But to see it only as a gimmick is to miss the sharp creative intelligence at play. The decision astutely mirrors Eva Perón’s own genius for political theatre. She was a figure who understood the power of the public stage, constantly performing for a crowd to secure her influence. By placing Zegler outside among the people, Lloyd cleverly exposes the mechanics of charisma and the performative nature of power - and brings an altogether more democratic notion of theatre to London’s streets.

Ocean Wrong

I really enjoyed this review by Tom Crewe of Ocean Vuong’s latest novel - it’s literary writing at its very best (unless you are a huge Vuong fan):

To Book

Titus Andronicus at The Hampstead

After a smash-hit run at the Royal Shakespeare Company's Swan Theatre, Titus Andronicus transfers to Hampstead Theatre for a strictly limited London run from 5 September to 11 October. Starring Simon Russell Beale - arguably the GOAT Shakespearean actor alive. I definitely will be going.

To Watch

Too Much

The much-hyped new Lena Dunham comedy follows Jess (Megan Stalter, Hacks), an open-hearted American woman who moves to London to escape a broken heart. There, she falls for a messy indie musician called Felix, whom she meets when he’s playing a gig in a pub. Dunham co-created the series with her husband Luis Felber, and it is loosely based on their real-life romance and marriage. And it is stacked with a stupidly strong cast, who drop in seemingly for fun: Richard E Grant, Stephen Fry, Rita Wilson, Rhea Perlman, Naomi Watts, Andrew Scott. Out on Thursday

Such Brave Girls Season Two

The return of this twisted tale of two troubled sisters and their mum is yet more scary, lairy and perfectly portioned comedy. It is feral.

Reflections

Liberation at The Royal Exchange, Manchester

At last, the stage performs an act of historical restitution. Ntombizodwa Nyoni’s Liberation wrests Manchester’s 1945 Pan-African Congress from dusty obscurity, exposing the furious human drama behind the politics. Though its first act sets the scene with at times lengthy exposition, the play ignites when its titans clash. Eamonn Walker’s Padmore is flinty authority, while Pamela Nomvete’s Garvey is a veritable powerhouse. Monique Touko’s brilliant direction thrusts us into the chamber, making us witnesses to history being forged. This is not a polite historical document but a vital reckoning; a messy, necessary and shockingly immediate act of theatrical justice.

Echo at The Royal Court

I can’t be the only one to think that the theatrical experiment of guest starring a different famous actor in a play they know nothing about is dull and failing. Nassim Soleimanpour, a playwright in exile, proffers another of these cerebral parlour games in Echo now showing at The Royal Court. He beams in by video, a disembodied oracle, while a distinguished actor - tonight, a sadly underused Daniel Kaluuya - serves as his automaton, reading a script unseen from a laptop screen. The central conceit is that of a Persian rug, its value enhanced by the tread of many feet; a metaphor for a shared experience that feels more asserted than earned. But this is theatre as vicarious autobiography, a clever sleight-of-hand mistaking absence for profundity. While fragile personal anecdotes land with some grace, the evening too often collapses into cosmic banalities, smothering us in stock-projections of the galaxy. The writer’s predicament is real, but the theatrical result feels like a fragile, high-concept exercise whose intellectual reach exceeds its dramatic grasp. I just felt sorry for Kaluuya who is far too good an actor to be awkwardly shuffling around on the stage here with very little point in his presence. Dominic West, James Corden, Milly Alcock, Nish Kumar and Juliet Stevenson should pull out while they can.

Next Edition - What to Book at The Fringe