Author: Graham Wyles

MMM HMMM at the Ustinov Studio, Bath

Like a newly anointed politician smartened up for public consumption the show has had a makeover since its first iteration at the Wardrobe Theatre, prior to an outing at Edinburgh. Some glitzy shoes and smart designer bag-dresses have allowed the show entrance into polite society. The concept does the rest: what starts as a kind of musical/theatrical joke soon becomes hypnotic. Like any worthy art it creates its own world the exploration of which gives us new insight into our own.

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THE LAST TANGO at the Bristol Hippodrome

Outside Primark two friends meet.

Kelly: ‘Ere, Joyce, what you doin’ tonight?

Joyce: ‘Allo Kelly, love. I dunno, why?

Kelly: I saw that Last Tango last night at the Hippodrome.

Joyce: What’s that then?

Kelly: It’s them dancers off the telly. Them Strictly dancers.

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TRANSPORTS at the Ustinov Studio, Bath

Amidst all the national hand-wringing over the fate of those forlorn, native North Africans and Middle-Easterners fleeing the unspeakable horrors perpetrated by bloody tyrants and religious fanatics, it is far too easy to overlook the individual tragedies and lifelong psychological scarring accompanying such events, that in truth, only a comfortable armchair can ignore.

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SKIN DEEP at the Wardrobe Theatre, Bristol.

Another full house at the Wardrobe sees Exeter based, Substance and Shadow Theatre, bring a follow up to their previous punk era offering, ‘Duplicity’. On this outing they turn their gaze on the 80’s skinheads. The premise of the show (no writer is credited so presumably devised) is the unremarkable one that you can’t judge a book by its cover. The ‘books’ in this case are a group of Devon based skinheads . . . Judged on previous form there is more to come from this production . . .

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PLAGUE OF IDIOTS at the Wardrobe, Bristol

I am constantly (pleasantly) reminded of theatre’s ability to connect with audiences on the flimsiest of pretexts and by the same token, the willingness of audiences to be entertained on the slenderest of devices . . . Using no more than a collection of simple conceits of the sort that occupy the labours of actors at drama school and the kind of silliness that infests umpteen fringe shows the length and breadth of the land the troupe have whisked up a concoction that flirts with incomprehension at every turn

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