Educating Rita

 Curve, Leicester

1^st October 2026

“I had a choice”

In a programme note for this new production of Willy Russell’s 1980 classic Educating Rita, director Cara Nolan explores the timelessness of Russell’s play: ‘Rita’s determination to learn… continues to resonate in a world where opportunity is still shaped by class, gender and circumstance’. Indeed, the changing social and political landscape has in some ways made access to education more difficult. Open University courses like the one Rita enrols on in the play are no longer free. And the perception of education has also vastly changed. As a new academic year starts at universities across the country, students (quite rightly) now have a much stronger understanding of the job market and the value of a degree. There have been benefits of this, including an increase in the number of vocational courses and apprenticeships on offer. But there are downsides too, particularly in the perception of arts and humanities degrees. Would Rita, today, be studying English Literature? Despite this now being a period piece, and Nolan retaining the 1980s setting, Russell’s language, humour and call for the importance of education in opening up opportunities is as fresh and persuasive as ever.

On the margins of Michael Taylor’s set, rubbish litters the stage which is loomed over by a concrete brutalist structure. It’s perhaps a nod to the perceived rigidity of educational institutions and to the working class setting outside the confines of Frank’s office. Inside though, this academic’s office becomes more of a den. Bookshelves tower the room and contain nooks and crannies for alcohol. Bursting into this well lived-in space, with its dark corners and dusty rugs, is Rita (Alexandra Mardell). She literally cannot open the door at first, a metaphor for the inaccessibility of such institutions. Mardell’s Rita is a breath of fresh air. She has a wide-eyed optimism, natural inquisitiveness and joie-de-vivre that Julie Walters also captured in the 1983 film. In a later scene, she oils Frank’s door of her own accord to make it easier to gain entry, another sign of Rita’s self-determination to jump hurdles. Dominic Mafham’s warm, shaggy-haired Frank welcomes Rita with affability and curiosity. The play has an episodic structure and through a series of scenes (over which Katy Morrison’s lighting gently shifts with the seasons), we see the transformational effect of education in this unconventional spin on the Pygmalion story. In the first act, Rita’s hunger for wanting to learn is a constant, but her ability to articulate complex thoughts about complicated pieces of literature grows in confidence. Likewise, Frank’s apathy gives way to glimmers of hope, small reminders of why he loves literature and teaching.

What I love about Russell’s play is its unapologetic admiration in the power of literature as a force for good and its ability to help us understand human nature. Like Alan Bennett’s The History Boys (2004), it reminds me why I wanted to study English 15 years ago at university. Back then, humanities degrees were well-subscribed and lecture theatres full with students. Now they’re often the first courses universities close in cost-cutting efforts. As Hector says in Bennett’s play, the reason he teaches students English and History isn’t so they can produce so-called “gobbets” – ‘handy little quotes that can be trotted out to make a point’ – it’s to make them ‘rounder human beings’. Likewise, in Russell’s play, Rita says to Frank, ‘you think I just ended up with a load of quotes an' empty phrases’. And through her becoming more well-read and learning about the novels of Forster, the plays of Ibsen and the poetry of Blake, education gives Rita choice to be and do as she wants. It also, like The History Boys, ignites debate about the value of popular and high culture. (Sidenote: if you don’t know it, I’d recommend Russell’s poem ‘I Hate Poems’ which I recall learning off by heart as a teenager).

Of course, in the play, Rita’s transformation and Frank’s inertia has repercussions. After Rita returns from summer school, physically transformed with a new hairstyle and even wanting to change her name, Frank’s wondered what he’s achieved. In learning how to answer essay questions, has she lost some authenticity and the raw talent that Frank initially saw in her? Mardell impressively portrays this transformation, growing in maturity as the play progresses, giving a superbly confident performance. The first novel Frank recommends to Rita is E.M. Forster’s Howards End. That too is partly about women seeking fulfilment from art and culture – ‘the inner life has paid’ the Schlegel sisters reflect late in the novel. The novel’s famous maxim is ‘Only connect’. It’s about being curious, compassionate and having empathy: ‘Live in fragments no longer. Only connect’. It’s what Rita (and Frank) achieve in the play. And thanks to Nolan getting the most from both actors, it’s what Mardell and Mafham achieve, ensuring they’re totally at ease with one another.

Educating Rita plays at Curve, Leicester until 17^th October. For more information, please visit https://www.curveonline.co.uk/whats-on/shows/educating-rita/

Dominic Mafham (Frank) and Alexandra Mardell (Rita) in Educating Rita. Credit: Jonathan Pryke

Sylvia

Curve, Leicester

29^th September 2026

 

“Knocked down 7 times, get back up 8”

 

The statue of Alice Hawkins is one of Leicester’s most recognisable landmarks – suffragette and member of the Independent Labour Party, Hawkins was a key figure in the establishment of the Women’s Social and Political Union in the city, alongside Sylvia Pankhurst. Leicester is a fitting locale then for the premier of Kate Prince’s touring production of Sylvia: A Musical Revolution, an epic musical charting the life of the lesser-known Pankhurst. Prince, along with collaborators Priya Parmar (book), Josh Cohen and DJ Walde (music), has created one of the most exciting new British musicals in a long time, that unofficially acts as a wonderful companion piece to Lin Manuel-Miranda’s American political masterpiece, Hamilton, in the way it knowingly subverts historical narratives and musical genres.

Love and loyalty are synonymous with allegiance to the suffrage movement in the Pankhurst family. As political shifts shape early 20^th Century society, revolution is in the air and daughters Christabel, Sylvia and Adela play steadfast foot soldiers to the iron-willed matriarch, Emmeline. In placing the focus on the family at the centre of the Suffragettes, Prince and co shine a light on the buried conflicts, rivalries and diverse complexities at the heart of this renowned period of history. Over the course of the musical, middle-child Sylvia evolves from being an impressionable young girl, intent on her mother’s approval and infatuated with family-friend and leader of the ILP, Kier Hardie, to an opinionated woman with her own political agenda. Moving away from her mother’s upper-class radicalism, Sylvia aligns herself with socialism, pacificism and pledges to fight not only for the rights of wealthy women, but for the working classes often looked down on by her kin.

Themes of family fidelity, personal belief and social duty provide a domestic counterpoint to the large scale political drama acted out on a national scale in Parmar’s crystalline book. What’s more, the creative team elevate the narrative by portraying these heroines as complex, and at times problematic, characters. The dramatic pinnacle of the show sees Sylvia and Emmeline come to blows as a lifetime of previously unspoken grievances, personal and political, are finally confronted in an explosive duet. It’s a thrillingly intimate moment in a musical that’s full of spectacular set pieces.

The hardships suffered by the Suffragettes are not shied away from – state violence, force feeding, smear campaigns – and the use of Cohen and Walde’s hip hop music conveys a subversive and defiant streak that perfectly fits our protagonist in all its incongruity. Similarly, Prince’s punchy choreography juxtaposes a viciousness with a joyful rebelliousness as seen in ‘I Believe in a Golden Age’.  Ben Stone’s design, and Natasha Chivers and Hector Murray’s lighting, ties everything together. The stark black and white palette slowly gives way to red hues, creating some striking images and providing thematic sustenance to the topics of conservatism vs socialism, and love vs duty.

While Sylvia muses on dour and brutal subjects, there is a surprising amount of humour in Price and Parmar’s book. The depiction of Winston Churchill as a pathetic mummy’s boy is a particular highlight, and the scenes between Churchill, his wife and his battleaxe of a mother are a treat. There is also a delicious self-awareness in some of the musical numbers which eradicates any possibility of the piece becoming po-faced.

The ensemble cast are uniformly excellent, creating memorable characters from the most minor of figures; everyone has their moment in the spotlight. Beverley Knight demonstrates just why she won an Olivier Award for her portrayal of Emmeline Pankhurst, as she transforms from playing the cold authoritarian to bringing the house down with the most passionate of vocal performances. Naomi Katiyo more than matches Knight in prowess – her Sylvia is empathetic and intelligent, with just the right amount of insolence. Katiyo has a warm presence which makes rooting for her effortless.

I would recommend Sylvia to anyone looking for a fresh and fearless British musical. It provides a valuable history lesson, but more importantly, it is a stonkingly entertaining show that earns its place alongside modern classics such as Hamilton and Six. The three-hour run time flew by and I could have watched it again immediately.

 

Sylvia plays at Curve, Leicester until 3^rd October. For full tour details visit: Sylvia: A Musical Revolution

Beverley Knight MBE (Emmeline Pankhurst) and Naomi Katiyo(Sylvia Pankhurst) in 2026 production of Sylvia. Photo by Tristram Kenton.

 

Till the Stars Come Down

 Nottingham Playhouse

19^th September 2026, matinee

“I'm not ready for tomorrow. I'm not ready”

The Olivier Award for Best New Play in 2024 was a tight race. Whilst the winner, James Graham’s Dear England, cut through to the wider public in a way that not many plays do, I felt it was too long and sprawling to win. Jez Butterworth’s The Hills of California was a split-time family drama which explored the legacies of abuse and the way we tell stories to shape our lives. Jack Thorne’s theatrical biopic The Motive and The Cue was excellent and probably a more worthy winner than Dear England. And then there was Beth Steel’s Till the Stars Come Down. Another play about sisters (like Butterworth’s), Steel’s hilarious and well-observed comedy of a family wedding in her native Mansfield is a masterpiece. Now receiving its regional premiere at Nottingham Playhouse no less, director Caroline Steinbeis brings the play home in a suitably rowdy production which isn’t afraid to get cheek-by-jowl with the audience.

It’s Sylvia’s wedding day and the family have gathered to celebrate her nuptials to Marek. A wedding is perfect breeding ground for drama: sibling rivalries, long-buried tensions that surface, temptations to give into, a drunk aunt. They provide a crucible for elements that, when combined, spit and crackle. And yet they’re seldom done well. A comedy focusing on working class characters at a wedding has the potential to veer into a cheap farce like Fur Coat, No Knickers. But the compassion Steel has for all of her characters and their well-mined, satisfyingly realised backstories ensures that their class is not the butt of the joke. The love and tensions which underline the relationships between Steel’s characters, particularly the main trio of sisters, is compelling. The first scene portrays the bride getting ready, and it’s the eldest sister Hazel (Emma Pallant) who whips them all into shape. Her husband (Graeme Hawley) is out of work and she’s juggling two kids in addition to taking on the maternal role to her two sisters. She’s just about in control but also looks as if she’s got the world on her shoulders. Whereas Hazel’s a home bird, Maggie (Leah Brotherhead) is flightier. She’s been through several husbands, not visited home in six months and has an underlying dissatisfaction which can lead her astray (the reason she’s not visited soon becomes apparent). Complementing them both is Sylvia, and in AK Golding’s portrayal, we see her kind-heartedness and wide-eyed naivety. There’s enough for a play there in these characters alone, but Steel, who has a fine ear for the Nottingham vernacular, peoples her play with a richly-drawn family.

Their widowed dad (Howard Ward), a retired miner, is imbued with a sadness that he’s giving away his last daughter; seeing her in his wife’s wedding dress, he nearly faints – a reminder that a marriage is more than just a wedding. His 40-year rift with his brother Pete (Joe Alessi) over their different views in the miners strikes comes to the fore in the final acts. The personal and political impact of the miners strikes in Nottingham have been thrillingly dramatised in Steel’s own Wonderland (2014) and Graham’s BBC series Sherwood. Here the strikes are a part of the family’s history, deeply-rooted in these characters and shaping the way the brothers are defined to the rest of their family. And by drawing on real local history, it’s another example of Steel adding texture to her characters. Steel’s skill is her dialogue: we recognise this family and the way they speak. Amazingly, for me, they speak in a way I instantly recognise but seldom hear on stage. This is no more apparent than in Sadie Shimmin’s tour-de-force performance as Aunty Carol. With no airs and graces, Carol gate crashes top table, clears the floor with her rendition of ‘It’s Raining Men’, and becomes more sharp-tongued as the drink flows. But, as much as the dialogue is prosaic, there are moments of poetry as Steel reflects on the insignificance of the characters’ problems against the weight of history and the massiveness of the universe. Alessi’s speech where he recounts all of Nottinghamshire’s mining towns whilst rubbing the rim of a wine glass is particularly moving – and perhaps all the more so performed in Nottingham. And what’s especially nuanced is her ability not to draw easy conclusions. For instance, Sylvia’s groom Marek (Ivan Ivashkin) is Polish and there are tensions about the apparent influx of Polish immigrants in the local area. But at the same, we’re reminded that immigrants have long been a part of the town’s history.

Whereas the original National Theatre production was played in the round, Steinbeis presents the play end-on. Initially, this seems worrying as the first scene, played in front of a curtain, can seem flat. But throughout the play, the playing space (set by Oli Townsend) opens up and the cast warmly includes the stalls as part of the playing space. It’s a decision which pays off. It may seem frenzied but, like with any wedding especially where the characters are so brash, we take the rough with the smooth. There are a multitude of plot twists as the evening progresses and blood is spilt before the evening is out. The three sisters will never be quite the same again, and Steel cleverly hints that these multigenerational tensions will impact the next one too. The whole cast relish their parts. And thanks to Steel and her Chekhovian skill, there’s a lot to relish.

Till the Stars Come Down plays at Nottingham Playhouse until 26^th September. For more information, please visit https://nottinghamplayhouse.co.uk/events/till-the-stars-come-down/

Leah Brotherhead, Emma Pallant and Sadie Shimmin in Till the Stars Come Down. Credit: Sam Taylor

Barnum

 Curve, Leicester

Tuesday 1^st September, 2026

 

‘There’s a sure-as-shooting sucker born a minute’

 

Before Hugh Jackman introduced a new generation to the 19^th century showman P.T. Barnum in the Disney movie The Greatest Showman, the 1980 musical Barnum brought the big top to Broadway. Juggling song, dance, and circus antics, Jonathan O’Boyle’s revival (originally staged at the Watermill Theatre) is a menagerie of spectacles, uplifting Mark Bramble’s slight book and the nice-but-uninspiring music from the otherwise reliable Cy Coleman.

Taking the form of a 19^th Century roadshow, a Ringmaster announces the re-enactment of pivotal scenes from Phineas Taylor Barnum’s life, as he navigates humbles beginnings, marital disputes, showbiz endeavours, and even politics. Key to Barnum’s success is the art of monetising his trademark ‘humbugs’ (read: ‘lies’). For example, he gets his start running a sideshow featuring Joice Heth, the ‘World’s Oldest Woman’, (160 years old, believe it or not…), and when the customers don’t bite, he quickly changes tack, instead selling Heth as George Washington’s nursemaid, which the public eagerly lap up. His ‘exaggerations’ continue in his hiring of ‘General’ Tom Thumb, while he sells tales of ‘four-headed frogs’ and ‘mermaids’ to gullible punters. Stumbling blocks arise in the form of building fires, extra-marital affairs and grief, yet these potentially dramatic events are skimmed over by Bramble, seeming superficial (a bit like Barnum himself). While one could argue this fits the revue style of the musical, I felt that it resulted in a lack of narrative jeopardy.

While Coleman’s music does not reach the heights of his classic score for Sweet Charity, it is infused with the spirited telltale sounds of the circus – bells, kazoos, penny whistles. This brings a great energy to proceedings, which is matched by Michael Stewart’s playful lyrics. This is most evident in the tongue-twisting patter number ‘Museum Song’ which rattles along at an impressive breakneck speed. ‘Join the Circus’ and ‘Black and White’ are also highlights in a serviceable score, injecting a dose of jazz and pizzaz.

While the book and music – entertaining enough – are not the strongest, Barnum’s selling point is most-definitely its spectacle and stagecraft. A team of acrobats adorn the stage, hand-walking and silk-swinging us through scene transitions. The Watermill staple actor-musician element is fitting for the piece, and, as always, I was awestruck by the multi-threat cast. Penny Ashmore compliments her stunning operatic voice, as Swedish superstar Jenny Lind, with some gorgeous harp-playing and balletic poise. Monique Young is sympathetic as Taylor’s long-suffering wife, Charity. Young plays her as an earthy alternative to Barnum’s flighty fancies while maintaining a mischievousness to rival that of her husband. Matt Rawle is all charm as the man himself – witty, impish and always quick with a dazzling smile – he effortlessly portrays Barnum’s inexhaustible zest for life. And he pulled off the famous high-wire walk with aplomb!

Pasek and Paul’s The Greatest Showman has those sought-after ear-worms that have infiltrated popular culture over the last decade, not to mention the gloss afforded by the Disney name, yet Barnum offers an alternative, fittingly rougher depiction of a particular era in American history. The musical feels like an authentic evening at the circus, full of sporadic wonder and the electric tension that arises from seeing stunts accomplished in real-time. The tour is well-worth seeing for the visuals alone, not to mention a highly talented cast putting their all into a highly technical production. As my companion said as we left the theatre – ‘it must be a nightmare to Stage Manage’, so a big shout out to the backstage team too!

Barnum is playing at Curve, Leicester until 5^th September as part of a UK tour. For further information, please visit https://www.kenwright.com/productions/barnum-2026-uk-tour/

 

Matt Rawle as P.T Barnum in Barnum. Credit: Pamela Raith

The Silence of the Lambs

Curve, Leicester

5^th August, 2026

“Tell me, Clarice. Did the lambs stop screaming?”

Page-to-stage adaptations of thrillers have an enduring appeal to audiences and theatres. From Agatha Christie to more modern successes like The Girl on the Train and this Autumn’s touring production of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, thrillers bring in new audiences and provide an opportunity to see these stories’ heroes and villains in the flesh. ‘In the flesh’ couldn’t be more appropriate a phrase for the stage premiere of Thomas Harris’ 1988 novel about an FBI trainee who uses prison visits with infamous murderer Dr Hannibal Lecter (John Partridge) to catch a serial killer. It’s a hugely ambitious undertaking and on which Nikolai Foster’s confident production fully embraces.

Playwright Gina Gionfriddo is a smart choice to adapt Harris’ novel. As a seasoned writer on Law & Order and FBI: Most Wanted, she has the knowledge and interest in the inner workings of those who commit horrible crimes. And her plays like Rapture, Blister, Burn (2012) and Becky Shaw (2008) – which was recently nominated for Best Play Revival at the Tony Awards – explore brutality in male-female power dynamics. She rightly places Clarice centre stage. Foster places our focus on her from the offset, introducing her outsmarting the male cadets with her psychological insights, stubbornness to keep digging for answers, and deftness with a gun. Setting the play in the 80s adds an extra element to the gender politics, and it’s not just the prisoners who provide barriers to her. Whilst the plot shows many of the play’s women as victims, Clarice is far from this, and she navigates social challenges, personal demons, and literal battles with serial killers heroically.

It’s no surprise then that Agent Jack Crawford (Oliver Farnworth) chooses her to meet Lecter to gain insight into the mind of Buffalo Bill. Michael Taylor’s tricksy set shows the oppressiveness of prison life and his rendering of Lecter’s high-security cell is inspired by the production design of the movie. But bullet-proof glass, stone walls and heavy locks aren’t enough to contain Lecter’s wits and it’s the scenes between Lecter and Clarice where the Gionfriddo’s dialogue crackles. There’s added theatricality when we first meet Lecter, his cell slowly brought onstage with Partridge facing out to the audience, hands on the glass, accompanied by Grant Olding’s prophetic music. Partridge is clever casting: he has a dominating presence, a chiselled handsomeness, and conveys Lecter’s charm and gentility naturally. Its these attributes, the glint in his eye a mere suggestion of what he’s capable of, which make him so watchable. And whilst there’s an easy inclination to compare him to Anthony Hopkins’ performance, Gionfriddo’s decision to cut some of the more quotable lines from the movie avoids his performance veering into pastiche. Lecter doesn’t easily give Clarice what she wants and Giondriddo doesn’t give in to the same temptations for the audience. Partridge is easily matched by Mollie Gallagher’s unflinching portrayal as Clarice. Her unblinking intensity is compelling; she at times seems to be performing on a forward slant as if to demonstrate Clarice’s fearless head-on nature. For her professional stage debut, she gives a remarkable performance. They’re well-supported by a cast which includes a lot of talent local to Leicester, but it’s Partridge and Gallagher’s relationship which raises the standard, and their scenes together are the most effective in the play as they give superbly convincing central performances.

Foster’s production balances the stillness of these two-hander scenes in Hannibal Lecter’s cell with the more action-packed scenes that follow Buffalo Bill (Sam Jackson). These have a cinematic momentum, aided by George Reeve’s projections to locate the action across various US states, and Olding’s music and Carolyn Downing’s sound design which underscores most of the evening. There’s a considerable amount of gore, an impressive fight scene, and cinematic realism which has transferred to the stage seamlessly.

Gionfriddo’s work has been compared with Wendy Wasserstein’s. In Wasserstein’s play The Heidi Chronicles, another play about the struggles of women in a patriarchal world, Heidi’s advised that ‘men don't dance with desperate women’. It’s Clarice strength which makes her Lecter’s match. Audiences won’t be disappointed by the play’s showier moments, but for me the prison scenes are the best, when we see Clarice and Lecter duel so effectively. The premiere of The Silence of the Lambs on stage might struggle to fully eschew the film’s legacy, but it does satiate on a number of fronts and is a welcome addition to the stage thriller oeuvre.

The Silence of the Lambs plays at Curve, Leicester until 15^th August followed by a UK tour. For further information please visit The Silence of the Lambs - Curve Theatre, Leicester

John Partridge as Dr Hannibal Lecter and Mollie Gallagher as Clarice in The Silence of the Lambs. Credit: Marc Brenner

Waitress

Curve, Leicester

20^th July, 2026

“Big ol’ slice of live your life pie”

Celebrating its tenth anniversary, Sarah Bareilles and Jessie Nelson’s musical is hitting the road again on a UK tour. Based on Adrienne Shelly’s 2007 film, Waitress, which opened at Curve last night, offers a sweet slice of Americana, well-balanced with fleshed-out, morally-compromised characters and topped with a number of standout songs.

The story follows Jenna (Carrie Hope Fletcher), a waitress in a small, southern US town whose skill of inventing delicious pies provides an escape to her unhealthy marriage. Pregnant and scared of how her life might change, she finds herself having an affair with her doctor and dreaming of making something new for herself. The result is that Waitress swings from frivolous comedy to more serious fare quickly thanks to Nelson’s pacy book. Four years after I first saw it, it struck me that these tonal shifts are balanced by Bareilles’ songs skilfully setting the tone of each moment.

The diner scenes led by Jenna, Becky and Dawn highlight the chemistry between the three waitresses. Fletcher makes for a likeable Jenna, capturing her strength well. Sandra Marvin and Evelyn Hoskins return to the roles they’ve previously played on tour and in the West End, providing comedic relief as Jenna’s best friends. There is much to enjoy about their scenes including the awkwardness of Ogie (Mark Anderson), a clog-dancing, history-loving poet who clicks with Hoskins’ equally kookie Dawn. Furthermore, the scenes in the gynaecologist’s office between Jenna and the awkward New England Dr Pomatter (Dan Partridge) climax to a funny montage involving a number of different pies and positions! Les Dennis also gives a turn, albeit rather one-note, as the diner’s owner, going from irascible customer to a paternal figure who ultimately gives Jenna the keys to her new life. On the other hand, outside the safe confines of the diner, there is a clear sense of Jenna being trapped in an abusive marriage to Earl. In fact, suggestions of alcohol problems, unemployment, and a host of unhappy marriages sprinkled across the town show that life is not always sweet as apple pie.

The result in these shifts is that several lines don’t land as well as you might expect and some plot strands don’t get properly resolved. But this refusal for pat endings is admirable. There’s often a danger with this scale of Broadway musical for the shifts in tone to be overproduced, the emotional points carefully and mechanically timed to pull at heart strings. However, in Waitress, as in life, the contradictions of comedy and drama sit alongside each other like blueberry and bacon in a deep-dish pie. As Jenna says, she is “imperfect but she tries/ She is good but she lies” and she’s “all of this mixed up/ And baked in a beautiful pie”. The result is that Waitress, ten years on, still has its pie and eats it.

Bareilles’ country/pop-ish score is hugely enjoyable and the ‘Sugar Butter Flour’ motif nicely signifies the flights of fancy where Jenna imagines what her life could be. And the eleventh-hour number ‘She Used To Be Mine’ is a bona fide belter of a ballad. It contains a moment where the scruffy living room set rolls off and the stage opens up to leave Jenna singing out to the auditorium with the open sky behind her. The blue sky and open road backdrop of Scott Pask’s set conveys a sense of American optimism. It’s surely one of the most iconic moments of musical theatre in the last decade, and Fletcher had the theatre (many of them ardent fans) in the palm of her hand.

Diane Paulus’ direction (restaged here by Abbey O’Brien) keeps the show slickly moving forward and embraces the messy fun of baking. Go grab yourself a slice of red, white and blueberry pie.

Waitress plays at Curve, Leicester until 25^th July as part of a UK tour. For further dates, please visit Waitress the Musical UK Tour | Official Site

Carrie Hope Fletcher as Jenna in Waitress. Credit: Matt Crockett

Abigail's Party

 Monday 13^th July 2026

Curve, Leicester

 

‘It’s not a question of ignorance […]

 it’s a question of taste!’

 

The quote above encapsulates the thematic tussles and sharp tones at play in Mike Leigh’s seminal 1977 play, Abigail’s Party. In an era of both upward mobility (the rise in homeowners, and increasing multiculturalism thanks to the Windrush generation and migration of Asian Ugandans) and stark deprivation (this was the decade that witnessed the three-day working week and the Winter of Discontent) Leigh’s play focused a lens on the outward social and cultural mores that mask hidden darknesses in British suburbia. Yet, nearly 50 years on the play continues to entertain audiences in its familiarity, humour and bite. Nadia Fall’s latest revival (touring the UK before a short stint in the West End) delivers on laughs while homing in on the current of dissatisfaction at the heart of Leigh’s characters.

Glamourous Beverley and her aspirational estate agent husband, Laurence, host a drinks evening for new neighbours, Angela and Tony. They are soon joined by divorced mum of two, Sue, while her teenage daughter hosts her own raucous party at home. As the evening unfolds, facades slip in hysterical and poignant fashion. Peter McKintosh’s design feels authentically 70’s - a sea of warm colours, furnished in teak veneer and beige leather – which is occasionally brought into stark relief via Howard Harrison’s strobe lighting.

The small ensemble cast all gel well and share impeccably tight comic timing. Kevin Bishop’s posturing Laurence is all show with little substance, as he shows off his unread gold-embossed copies of Shakespeare. Bishop’s wandering accent is a nice touch that hints at Laurence’s insecurities. In contrast, Omar Malik is quietly intimidating beneath Tony’s monosyllabic, pretty-but-dumb appearance. Yet, it is the women who unashamedly steal the show. Lauren Patel is wildly funny as the outwardly naïve and tactless Angela. Initially a dim-witted puppet echoing the thoughts of the older and apparently more sophisticated Beverly, Patel excels in offering glimpses into the loneliness of her marriage to Tony – when Beverley gleefully jibes ‘is he often violent?’, her meek response, ‘no, just a bit nasty’ is quietly heartbreaking. Furthermore, during the dramatic denouement, the tables are turned and Angela becomes the pivotal player, and Patel again exposes the hidden depths of the character. Tamzin Outhwaite gives her all, holding court as the horrific Beverley, visibly fracturing before our eyes as she tries to control her curated image of cultured tastelessness and force her idea of ‘fun’ on those around her. Her oft repeated catch phrases ‘great!’, ‘have a little [coffee/cigarette/dance]’ and ‘know what I mean?’ add to the level of hysterical tension as she progressively speaks through gritted teeth and rictus grin.

 

 

 

Fall’s direction plays up the laughs and cringe-inducing faux-pas but ramps up to a climax of awkward realisation – we’re still giggling when it dawns on us that the action on stage is not funny anymore. Our final perspective is upended and we’re humbled, driven to sympathise with the overbearing yet vulnerable Beverley. Leigh’s play works because the characters are instantly recognisable as stalwarts of the British middle-classes, they are brash at times but emerge as fully rounded people. It may seem trite to compare two such well known classics, but I was at times reminded of Albee’s Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf in the play’s exploration of marriage (not to mention the level of alcohol consumed!), albeit Leigh imbues the bitterness of stale relationships with a very British wit and ‘kitchen sink’ authenticity. I have never seen the famed BBC adaptation of Abigail’s Party, but I can see now why it’s such an enduring and beloved piece of homegrown drama. Fall and co. present a highly polished revival featuring some knock out performances that highlight the resonance of Leigh’s themes in today’s society.

 

Abigail’s Party plays at Curve, Leicester until 18^th July. For more information, please visit https://www.curveonline.co.uk/whats-on/shows/abigails-party-2/ 

It plays the Harold Pinter Theatre from 12th August - 19th September.

Tamzin Outhwaite in Abigail's Party. Credit: Ellie Kurttz

Public the Musical

 Curve, Leicester

4^th June, 2026

“Now I’m the missing pieces”

In recent years, Curve has become a powerhouse of producing musicals – notably revivals, but also new work. Freya Catrin Smith and Jack Williams’ RIDE in 2023 was a neat chamber musical with a playfully expansive narrative. Last year, Scott Evan Davis’ and Kait Kerrigan’s Indigo was a formally innovative, refreshingly colourful musical about a fractured family. And this year, two new British musicals are enjoying overlapping runs in Leicester. Rob Madge and Pippa Cleary’s Bank of Dave: The Musical has just finished in the main house, and now, following an earlier version at the Edinburgh Fringe in 2023, Public the Musical is playing in the Studio. Written by Hannah Sands, Kyla Stroud, Natalie Stroud and Olivia Zacharia (and created by Stroud & Notes), Public the Musical is a promising, funny four-hander about (and probably most appealing to) Gen-Zs discovering their purpose and identities in life.

Trapped in a public bathroom with no phone signal or hope of getting out, four strangers confront each other and themselves. We have Zo (Grace Towning), a champagne-socialist on her way to a protest whilst being bankrolled by the bank of Mum and Dad; there’s Laura (Cole Dennis), who’s too-polite exterior is covering a bed of 11^th hour nerves about their wedding; Finley (Ivano Turco), whose anxiety makes him anti-social and seems to have made him stuck in a dead-end job; and Andrew (Matt Corner), an insensitive city banker with humble beginnings. Four very different people stuck in a confined setting makes for a perfect dramatic conceit, a crucible in which the writers can develop contrasting characters and bounce them off each other, work together and, ultimately, bond. The concept easily grabs an audience and, considering its simplicity, the characters are easy to spend 90 minutes with as an audience. A part of me didn’t believe they would ever walk into such a grotty public toilet in the first place but musicals are all about suspending your disbelief, right?

Being in a pressured environment (impressively realised by Amy Jane Cook), they’re initially prone to antagonism. Andrew’s ignorance over Laura’s pronouns (they’re non-binary) annoys Zo (more so than Laura) who has him marked as a chauvinist who only cares about his precious bike locked up outside. He has her outward displays of progressivism (she’s dressed as a bee) pegged as being shallow. He also judge’s Finley’s job at a pizza place and perhaps mistakes his anxiety for apathy. And Laura is so passive they haven’t mentioned they’re due to get married tomorrow. The title’s double meaning cleverly refers to the idea of a public persona we’re comfortable presenting. In a public setting, we’re all the more aware of this persona, giving us the opportunity to generate, curate or hide our ‘true’ selves. And for the most part Public articulates these interests successfully. It’s interested in the assumptions we make based on first impressions. For instance, Zo’s defensive over-protection of Laura leads her to berate Andrew but her efforts occasionally crack showing her own prejudices and naiveties underneath. These exchanges are telling windows into the musical’s interest into the complex world of navigating identity in the contemporary world. The book is often funny, and captures the phrases, rhythms and anxieties of young people today as refreshingly as Everybody’s Talking About Jamie.

What’s frustrating, then, is that, given the musical’s resistance for easy answers, Public is occasionally let down by characterisation which is too broadly drawn. Despite giving fine performances, we never really know much about Finley because he has a tendency to (literally and otherwise) lock himself away. The musical form gives an opportunity to dig deeper, and his song ‘Nervous Disposition’ is one of the stand outs of the show. It gives Turco an opportunity present Finley’s inner self and how he’s working through some issues, but that isn’t really advanced much further after that early song. Likewise, with Andrew, we get that he’s not as shallow as we first glimpse but his true depths remain murky. This is exacerbated by the start of his solo number ‘Missing Pieces’ starting in such a high register it (perhaps purposefully) doesn’t seem to fit his character. This is perhaps a tell-tale sign the writers are still developing their crafts. Similarly, a running joke about syphilis struck me as oddly unfaithful to some of the characters’ personalities.

The songs are solidly performed by a cast of four who have all racked up an impressive amount of experience in their careers so far. This experience shows and they make the songs sound as if they’re an established part of the canon.  The best songs advance character and Turco’s ‘Nervous Disposition’ and Towning’s ‘Harder to Chew’ are standouts for this reason. Others such as ‘Graffiti’ in which characters riff off the scrawling on the bathroom tiles (lucky Tom!) provide frothier moments. For me, Public is still at a stage of pop song cycle rather than providing narrative momentum. However, this new musical is a welcome addition to keep the form moving forward and showcasing future talents.

Public the Musical runs at Curve, Leicester until 13^th June.

(L-R) Matt Corner (Andrew), Grace Towning (Zo), Cole Dennis (Laura) and Ivano Turco (Finley) in Public the Musical. Credit: Mark Senior

Sunny Afternoon

 

Curve, Leicester

21^st April 2026

“Complicated sells”

Some may have found it odd that Ray Davies won an Olivier Award in 2015 for Outstanding Achievement in Music for songs he’d mostly written 50 years earlier. But those songs are so catchy, so ingrained in people’s memories that they’ve achieved longevity. Whether it’s the hard rock sound of the opening chords in hits like ‘You Really Got Me’ or the specifically English and elegiac lyrics of songs like ‘Waterloo Sunset’, Ray Davies is undeniably worthy of that Outstanding Achievement in Music honour. So much so that the musical treatment was perhaps inevitable, and Davies’ and Joe Penhall’s 2014 musical Sunny Afternoon went on to win the Olivier for Best New Musical. That original production, first staged at Hampstead Theatre, has been remounted for a new tour, currently playing at Leicester’s Curve Theatre.

Penhall’s book charts the humble North London roots of the Davies’ brothers, The Kinks’ early success and their uneasy rise to fame, and personal and professional fallings out along the way. It’s a classic rags-to-riches narrative that’s nothing new in musical theatre. For those who have seen Beautiful:The Carole King Musical, MJ the Musical, TINA – the Tina TurnerMusical, The Cher Show, Jersey Boys and plenty of others will be familiar with the arc. But what sets The Kinks’ story apart is that the band are charged by a fiery fraternal relationship and distinctly English and quirky sensibility. Edward Hall’s sunny production opens with the old guard: a version of the band in their infancy playing backing music to upper middle-class parties with a Toff frontman. ‘Fuck this’ one of them cries and they break through to the front of the stage with that raw rock sound. It’s a theatrical ‘setting the scene’ which establishes the change in the culture in the 60s: the end of deference, a burgeoning new generation coming into its own as the country was still thawing from the war. We hear how the band came up with that hard rock opening riff by slashing a speaker to make a shattering, audience-rattling sound which defines a band and an era: cutting edge, edgy and hopeful. Early tensions with managers, record companies and producers come from their sound, image and even their name being shaped in a way which isn’t natural for them. Comparisons to The Beatles, The Who and The Rolling Stones partly caused these with a view from the managers to try and emulate their success. But ultimately doing their own thing, capturing a sense of home, specifically London, is what works for The Kinks: ‘I’ve been stuck in England, writing songs about England’. Penhall shapes this journey coherently and it’s clearly an area he’s interested in. In his 2018 play Mood Music, a singer-songwriter and her interfering producer showed how artistic and professional differences can arise when so-called experts intervene. In Sunny Afternoon, those external problems come from suspect financial agreements, union membership and a disastrous early tour in the US which also contributed to setting them apart from the other ‘British Invasion’ bands. Songs are interwoven throughout, either played by the band as if on Top of the Pops or at a live gig, or (more effective in my opinion) incorporated more introspectively and personally in the book scenes.

It may not be breaking new ground in musical theatre, but what really makes Sunny Afternoon stand out is its execution. Dave Davies swinging from a chandelier, bloody fights, a Vespa, champagne sprayed into the audience and an accomplished actor-muso cast give the show the energy at which The Kinks strived. This creates some wonderful set pieces against the backdrop of Miriam Buether’s wall of speakers. And the musicianship of the band and cast is off the charts. Danny Horn as Ray Davies captures his more thoughtful energy, Oliver Hoare shows Dave Davies’ edgier, doing-his-own-thing vibe. Zakarie Stokes as Mick Avory has a brilliant second act drum solo which reminded me of Miles Teller in Whiplash. And Harry Curley as the somewhat reluctant bassist Pete Quaife has a hilarious anxious energy. It’s good to see some of the original cast in supporting roles returning too, such as Tam Williams and Ben Caplan. The cast love the show just as much as some devoted Kinks fans in the audience. And for those who don’t know much about The Kinks, like me, you’ll be fans by the time ‘Lola’ plays out at the curtain call.

Sunny Afternoon plays at Curve, Leicester until 25^th April as part of a UK tour. For more information, please visit https://uk.thekinksmusical.com/

Danny Horn as Ray Davies and Oliver Hoare as Dave Davies in Sunny Afternoon. Credit: Manuel Harlan

Kiss of the Spider Woman

 

7^th April 2026

Curve, Leicester

 

‘Good times are coming our way […]

Viva la revolucion!’

 

It is perhaps no surprise that few have tried to mount new productions of Kander and Ebb’s Kiss of the Spider Woman. A musical adaptation of Manuel Puig’s 1976 postmodern labyrinthine novel covering themes of sexuality, gender, politics and state torture – all cut through the lens of Hollywood fantasy – is a tough sell. Yet, done right, it is a richly rewarding venture, juxtaposing glamour and grime, frivolity and fascism, all bound by an unlikely love story that is both intimate and expansive. Paul Foster’s production (the first major revival since premiering in the early 90’s) is a modest affair, small in scale, but offering a new angle on the narrative that uses the intimacy of Curve’s studio space to emphasise the claustrophobic setting of the Argentinian prison cell.

Political prisoner Valentin (George Blagden) is thrown in a cell with the whimsical Molina (Fabian Soto Pacheco), who is in the middle of serving a sentence for ‘corrupting a minor’. In pairing these disparate characters, the warden hopes that Molina will convince Valentin to give up his secrets and reveal the plans of his revolutionary comrades. Initially antagonistic, the duo slowly bond through shared suffering (beatings, poisonings, sleep deprivation), small acts of kindness, and Molina’s retelling of the films of his glamourous movie-star heroine, Aurora (Anna-Jane Casey).

While by no means Kander and Ebb’s most memorable score, there is a pleasant mix of latin-infused up-tempo numbers (‘Where You Are’, ‘Let’s Make Love’), tender ballads (‘Dear One’, ‘You Could Never Shame Me’), and rousing crescendos (‘Day After That’). Terrence McNally’s book does a commendable job of condensing Puig’s novel, and while some things suffer slightly in translation – for example the ambiguous, dream-like ending created by Puig is some of the most achingly beautiful prose; not to mention the intertextuality offered by Puig’s extensive use of footnotes on everything from Freud, to Marxism, and gender identity – McNally and co’s creation of a central figure (Aurora/The Spider Woman) to encompass all of Molina’s hopes, fears, desires and memories is ingenious. This personification makes up for the loss of the majority of the movie narratives from the source material. Instead, we have dazzling song and dance numbers from Aurora which offer glittering commentary on real-life scenarios. A particular highlight features Molina and Valentin playing supporting roles in Aurora’s film Flame of St. Petersburg, which slickly foreshadows the show’s denouement.

David Woodward makes the most of Curve’s small studio space with a two-tier set of scaffold, cell bars and metal grating, evoking the brutal, grey reality of prison life under fascist regime. This allows Andrzej Goulding’s video projections to shine, transporting us to another world through flickering reels, movie title cards and intense close ups of Aurora’s face. As I mentioned previously, Foster has made the most of this small scale production to highlight the intimacies of the text. As such, the central performances are faultless, and being up close and personal allows the audience to see every nuanced motion. Anna-Jane Casey proves herself again to be a triple-threat juggernaut, belting out note perfect numbers while performing high-energy routines without breaking a sweat. Casey relishes her dual role, hamming it up as the melodramatic Aurora in her many starring roles, while transforming into a genuinely creepy presence as the titular Spider Woman, the personification of death itself. George Blagden’s Valentin is strong and grounded, masculine without being overbearing, and his soaring tenor voice lends itself perfectly to the chill-inducing call-to-arms, ‘Day After That’. Rounding off the central trio, Fabian Soto Pacheco gives a star-making turn as the tragic Molina. Pacheco uses his whole being in bringing Luis to life; every placed hand and every arched eyebrow giving us an insight into the character. He is flamboyant, sympathetic, at times frustrating, and utterly memorable. The main cast are supported by a small yet flawless ensemble, who all get their moment to impress. In short, Foster’s production is well worth a visit for the indefatigable performances alone, which are on a par with some of the best I’ve seen.

Kiss of the Spider Woman is an extraordinary tale in all its variations and while I can see it may not be to everyone’s taste, at heart it is a tale about love and hope in its many forms. Familial love, romantic love, sexual love, patriotic love, radical love, artistic love. The narrative is dark and brutal, yet during the finale, when Molina sings of ‘optimistic endings’ this is only ironic on a superficial level. What the audience has just witnessed is definitely not ‘optimistic’, yet Puig and McNally’s message is one of hope, no matter how small the glimmer – where there is love, where there is passion, there is hope. The very act of changing, as our protagonists do over the course of the show, is in itself an act of hope, in spite of, or maybe because of our hero’s final sacrificial act. This chamber piece production is somewhat of a hidden gem, which thoroughly deserves a wider audience.

 

Kiss of the Spider Woman plays at Curve, Leicester until 25^th April before playing at the Bristol Old Vic from 29^th April – 16^th May, and the Southampton MAST Mayflower Studios from 2^nd – 6^th June.

Fabian Soto Pacheco, Anna-Jane Casey and George Blagden
in Kiss of the Spider Woman
Credit: Marc Brenner

Mamma Mia!

 

Curve, Leicester

Tuesday 24^th March, 2026

 

‘Thank you for the music’

 

There’s no denying that the world is in a strange place at the moment; multiple wars, controversial political leaders, and a cost-of-living crisis like none seen before. Watching international events unfold can make it seem as though there is little to be joyful about at present. So now, more than ever, we need a little escapism. And Mamma Mia! is just the slice of cheesy sunshine to counter the doom and gloom of daily life. The show bursts with energy, laughter and stonking great music; it’s the epitome of feel-good.

Surrounded by the rustic idyll of a small Greek island, young Sophie hatches a plan to reunite her mother with the three men that may or may not be her father in time for her wedding. Friendship, romance, family bonds and second chances are explored and celebrated in delightfully pop-tastic style, while maintaining a very British sense of humour. The ABBA jukebox musical is over 25 years old now, and feels fresh yet timeless thanks to its simple storytelling and unpretentious production. Catherine Johnson’s book and Phyllida Lloyd’s direction let the relationships between characters lead the plot, fostering infectious camaraderie (who wouldn’t want to be friends with Donna and co?) and erring just on the right side of sentimentality. Amid all this, Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus’ songs shine. Every number is a certified banger and the music has been carefully curated to fit the action, whether in heartfelt earnestness (‘Slipping Through My Fingers’), sucker-punching accuracy (‘The Winner Takes It All’) or tongue-in-cheek glee (‘Chiquitita’).

The simplicity of the story and production also lets the cast shine as they jive their way through party-like ensemble numbers such as ‘Voulez-Vous’ and the post-curtain Mega-Mix, while also allowing each individual character their moment in the spotlight. Jenn Griffin makes for a naturalistic and unassuming Donna, who’s down-to-earth nature occasionally gives way to full on power-belting diva mode. Rosie Glossop and Sarah Earnshaw provide fine comedic support as Donna’s loyal friends Rosie and Tanya, and the latter’s cougarish rendition of ‘Does Your Mother Know?’ is a real highlight. The younger cast also impress, in particular Lydia Hunt excels at imbuing Sophie with a strong will and youthful sass.

I’m struggling to think of other shows that are filled with as much unadulterated fun; Lloyd, Johnson, Andersson and Ulvaeus have created a gleefully giddy bop of a musical. The atmosphere was electric, the audience ecstatic and united in their jubilant reaction, and this current tour demonstrates why the show continues to be a sure-fire hit across the world. 25 years on from its premier, Mamma Mia! exemplifies the old adage, ‘if it ain’t broke…’, audiences know exactly what to expect when booking tickets, and for a bit of much-needed comfort viewing that is no bad thing at all. For a dose of bottled-joy and a tonic to everything else going on in the world right now you really can’t get any better.

 

Mamma Mia! plays at Curve until 29^th March 2026.

For full tour details please visit: MAMMA MIA! International Tour | The Global Smash Hit

Sarah Earnshaw, Jenn Griffin and Rosie Glossop in Mamma Mia!
Credit: Brinkhoff/Mögenburg