Author: Graham Wyles

Review: OLEANNA at The Ustinov, Bath

★★★★★ David Mamet’s 1992 play seems doomed to be perennially relevant. In Lucy Bailey’s clear and pulsating production at the Ustinov it’s clear to see why. Whatever Mr Mamet’s intention at the time of writing the play raises profound questions which do not rely on the, did he/didn’t he? puzzle of the real life drama.

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Review: BETRAYAL at Theatre Royal Bath

★★★★☆ The play could easily be titled Deceit and the multiple betrayals, which pop out like nested Russian dolls ultimately leave little in the way of scar tissue beyond a kind of irritated bafflement that certain things went on or, more irritatingly, were known about by the ‘injured parties’ who kept schtum. It shows a society which has thrown away the moral compass, at least as far as sexual manners is concerned, in light of a new moral landscape where ‘betrayal’ seems to be the norm

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WHEN THE KISSING HAD TO STOP

The thoughts of GRAHAM WYLES on the future of the theatre, post lockdown.

Whilst writing this in lockdown mode (standard fare for writers) and idly speculating when the curtains might rise again, I wondered what differences, if any, we might see on that happy day. I’m not particularly thinking of the practicalities, complicated though they are likely to be, but rather the content or tenor of new writing . . .

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Review: FAUSTUS: THAT DAMNED WOMAN at Bristol Old Vic

★★★☆☆ The original Faust myth, based on the historical person of Johann Faust, concerns a man who prefers earthly to religious knowledge and enters into a pact with the devil for unlimited knowledge and a fair dollop of earthly pleasure. Small surprise then that he has continued to be the inspiration of numerous artistic works.

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Review: ONCE at Bath Theatre Royal

★★★★☆ For those unfamiliar with the precursor to this stage version of a film by the same name, the plot is a simple one: how to mend a broken heart. The heart in question is that of singer/songwriter, Guy (Daniel Healy), whose girlfriend has upped and gone to the Big Apple and left him bereft of his muse and all but willing to make matchsticks out of his guitar which he discards like an unloved wet sock.

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