Cindy Marcolina

Spring brings renewed energy into the year. There isn’t a better moment for the Royal Shakespeare Company’s recently appointed Co-Artistic Directors Daniel Evans and Tamara Harvey to launch their vision for the organisation. Led by a big name that will attract new audiences who are probably younger than your typical RSC crowd, we hope Love’s Labour’s Lost is setting the tone for what’s coming. If this opening is anything to go by, this upcoming era seems to be adopting Shakespeare for a contemporary audience while maintaining the reverence for the language and the pomp of tradition.

Between the contradictions of her age group and the difficulties of navigating a life where everyone is too busy, yet your ex is already moving on, Brooke is crumbling. It’s unfortunately relatable for a large chunk of chronically online public.

Dante or Die are back with another site-specific venture. Burrowed underneath the cold dome of Stone Nest, Kiss Marry Kill feels right at home within the harsh and unholy environment of the venue. Set in a prison against the backdrop of violence, it reframes homophobia and imagines the first same-sex wedding in a British penitentiary.

C.S. Lewis said that friendship is, like philosophy and art, unnecessary. “It has no survival value”, yet, “it is one of those things which give value to survival.” Lady loves Gemma. They’ve been best friends forever, but haven’t seen each other in six months. On Gemma’s birthday, Lady shows up at the party. Nkenna Akunna takes us on a disastrous night out. It feels like the pair should dissect the demise of their friendship, but they never do.

His first publication went viral (once again, in a way) when Mr Jeremy Strong of Succession fame featured it in his GQ interview about his essentials, saying he swears by it. Declan Donnellan succeeds at describing the indescribable, putting the ephemeral art of acting on paper in another gem of a book. The Actor and the Space admits it’s not trying to be a manual of any kind, specifying that, ultimately, every single choice is personal and down to the individual - but the result becomes a light in the dark. Yes, it’s a collection of invaluable suggestions and advice on how to approach a dramatic text to attain the best results, but, curiously, it swiftly turns into an celebration of the human experience.

If Your Lie in April follows the same patterns as Death Note, it won’t be the last time we hear of this iteration. It would be absolutely wonderful to see both of them completely realised as full production at last. The demand is there and the West End should take note.

One-off staged concerts are all the rage these days. A way for producers to attract established stars that will fill a room and the chance to test the waters for potential longer runs are only a few benefits. Realistically, they’re also cheaper, relatively risk-free, and easier to mount than a full-blown production. The latest in this type of venture is Bare, Damon Intrabartolo and Jon Hartmere’s musical with a troubled history.

Written and directed by Alex Howarth based on real conversations with kids in care, it’s a shot to the heart. Profoundly moving in its bittersweet playfulness and candid approach to the matter, the production is scrupulously crafted to come off as child’s play. It exquisitely translates the world as if it was seen through the eyes of children, engaging into a blunt direct address that gives an atypical accessibility to the show.

Horne’s Descent features a compact take on religious philosophy and slender social politics, adding a dash of good-natured occult to the mix. It refuses to spell out its contents for the audience, trusting them to connect the dots and draw their own conclusions in an exercise of mental flexibility.

The Divine Mrs S is a load of… silliness. And not in a positive way. Directed by Anna Mackmin, it’s difficult to say what the play means. Its raison d’être could be anything from a bid to have more parts for older actors to an attempt at showing the beginnings of female liberation. Very little happens. At nearly two hours and a half, the show is excessively long and dull to the degree that it could b

Haemosporidian is a critique of the destructive force of new developments clad in dark tragicomedy. Callum and Henry live in less than perfect conditions, but they’re happy and care deeply for each other. Among the mould stains and thin walls of their estate, they feel at home. When a demolition notice arrives in the shape of an evil toff, they’re forced out of their unlikely idyll

After an outstanding run at the last VAULT Festival, Rebecca Simmonds and Jack Miles’ project has been garnering a steady foundation of favourable reviews. Its journey is simply the latest proof we needed to understand the impact of the loss of a grassroot program such as VAULT. In Clay tells a touching tale of existing within the ruthlessness of the field of fine art.

Girlhood comes to the Garrick. Rosie Day’s moving one-woman play Instructions for a Teenage Armageddon transfers to the West End helmed by Bridgerton’s Charithra Chandran. Filled to the brim with trigger warnings and imbued with the blunt honesty and pure emotion owned by young girls only, the piece fits perfectly within the recent industry shift towards pink feminism. Directed by Georgie Staight, it’s a heartbreaking depiction of teenage depression and a touching journey through grief and loss. Eileen is barely a teenager when her sister dies of complications from an eating disorder. Suddenly turned into the only child of a grieving couple, she convinces herself that it’s her fault Olive died. Her parents are wrapped up tight in their own pain and her friends disappear. Unable to address the elephant in the room, unsurprisingly, she falls in with a bad crowd.

It’s easy to understand why Blue garnered excellent reviews and a Fringe First Award for their run in Edinburgh last year. It’s an intense, alarming, carefully eloquent, and raw achievement. It’s a reactive and reactionary piece of theatre, real and terrible, relevant and urgent. If all that doesn’t entice you to book for this exquisite sociopolitical debate, it’s only 60 minutes long and the perfect prologue to an evening of discussion at a bar.

All in all, this iteration of the production is a springboard. While it’s a missed opportunity at the moment, nothing's carved in stone when it comes to theatre. A firmer grasp on the play’s intent and a further unfurling of its core could make it a thorough analysis of the casual cruelty and everyday hurt in romantic relationships.

Nachtland is a nervous, difficult play whose purpose is decisively blurry. It doesn’t revel as much as it should in the unknotting of its cerebral conundrum and doesn’t bask in the incredible satire it holds. The ideas it presents are topical, yet the piece is distracted. It tries to be quirky and different, but the result is tired and unfocused. It will make audiences think and talk about what they just saw, but not necessarily in a good way.

It’s a piece of existential gig-theatre moulded with a cynical celebration of one of Japan’s most renowned authors and what he stood for. Presented in Japanese with surtitles, the experience is unlike anything that’s being staged at the moment and probably isn’t ideal for the average commercial theatregoer.

A highly intelligent and slightly arrogant cynic as a main character helms the investigative noir set against a bleak view of the business.

The departing artistic director of the Donmar Warehouse is going out in a blaze of glory. A starry cast leads Lucy Kirkwood’s latest play, a period piece that, curiously, ties in perfectly with Rufus Norris’ current venture south of the river, Nye. The further end of the 40s has Shropshire shackled by austerity. An engaged member of the Labour party, socialist GP Iris is lobbying in support of Nye Bevan’s radical fight to deliver free healthcare to Britain. Married to an ex-Navy medic turned full-time GP and mother to a young daughter who couldn’t be more different from her, she muddles her family life with her political activity. Everything changes when she meets Hollywood hotshot George Blythe.

Nothing ever happens in Nina and Noa’s lives. At 17 years old, they’ve never been kissed, or been asked out. They’ve never gone to a party and their parents are still together. It’s a tragedy. Friendless and more interested in books than in boys, they figure out they can write their own novel. Thus, they fantasise about sexy runaway cowboys and forbidden lust in their own version of a standard airport romance during their school breaks. Billie Esplen’s debut play is a young and adorable queer rom-com that explores the anxieties of two closeted teenage girls.