Mollie Gallagher carries Clarice Starling strongly. Clarice must negotiate the tortuous gap between learning the ropes at the FBI and extracting information from convicted serial killer Hannibal Lecter played vivaciously by John Partridge. Lecter acts as an oracle for the darkest corners of the human mind. At the same time, more is revealed about Buffalo Bill’s victims (alias for the character we discover is called Jame Gumb) played by Sam Jackson. As we get closer to seeing the disgusting nature of his crimes, with the moth – transformation made flesh – becoming the final key that leads Clarice into a deadly confrontation with Gumb, she also rescues the final damsel in distress – Catherine Martin who is played carefully on the knife edge of despair and dark humour by Lottie Amor.

For me, the story is very much about size: physical size, appetite, ambition and stature with the added minimising of women’s stature and the obvious danger and insidious nature of that. Gallagher’s Clarice looks vulnerable to those who underestimate her but is intellectually formidable and highly physically trained to defend herself. There are some interesting moments of that tension throughout.

Oddly though, there wasn’t all that much made of Hannibal actually being a cannibal which…hello?! I said I wouldn’t talk about the original but come one, Harris didn’t make that rhyme for nothing.

The production itself is high spec. Taylor’s set makes clever use of different levels while Hannibal’s glass cell can glide into different positions, allowing scenes and characters to overlap without the stage becoming cluttered. It gives the production a cinematic slickness while still feeling theatrical.

I was far more engaged with the second act, when the battle of wills heightens between Clarice, Hannibal and the FBI, parallelled by Jame Gumb and Catherine. Lottie Amor gives Catherine real survival instinct, she is biding her time, managing Gumb during the worst possible moment of her life and trying to persuade him to see her as a person rather than a pelt.

Clarice is doing a similar thing in a different arena – pandering, accommodating and continually proving herself to the men around her, to get where she needs to go. And balancing this by teasing vital information from Lecter. Ironically, Hannibal sometimes seems the easiest of them for her to manage.

The first half was too angry for me, but one quieter moment I felt worked well was when Clarice was dealing with the body of Kimberly Jane Emberg, the murdered young woman with the glittery nail polish who was the seamstress and instrumental to the plot. She listens, looks at and actually sees the young policemen who brought the body in and how he needed to stay with her.

The Silence of the Lambs at The Lowry is slick, grisly and visually impressive. For me it finds real bite after the interval, when the psychological games finally take control.

The Silence of the Lambs is at Lowry, Salford from 7-10 October 2026.

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Cady Heron (Emily Lane) is the daughter of a zoologist and has lived an unsheltered life on a research station in Kenya. Cady’s nurturing years were spent observing that survival cannot afford sentimentality. Since she was in baby Birkenstocks, she had an unflinching eye on the ferocity of the food chain. That childhood prepared her perfectly for the concrete savannah of North Shore High School. Drop her into a matchbox town in Illinois and give her two hours (including interval) and she will identify the apex predator, track her movements and eventually, take her down.

That big cat is Regina George, played by Vivian Panka with the untouchable sheen of Beyonce and the growl of a panther in her fabulous voice. Regina is an icon. We build icons and then we circle them. Recently, when I did some outreach at a high school we talked about gossip – everyone in every year knew everything about the popular kids. The surveillance was constant.

The hierarchy of life is all made clear to us by the ultimate soothsayers of all musical theatre, and all of life – the gays. Janis (Georgie Buckland) and Damian (Max Gill) sit on the outskirts knowing they are the absolute coolest. They tell us with crystal clear cutting comments written sharply in lyrics by Nell Benjamin, the taxonomy of mathletes, jocks and plastics. I felt like they were my friends. Isn’t it funny that we all feel we are in the outsider tribe? Just me? Doubtful.

The musical got COVID in 2020 on Broadway which possibly slowed momentum but since touring and being made into a film of the musical it has equalled the original version. You can see in the musical that the film scenes have had time to bed in. And the songs distil the themes of social Darwinism, inequality and icons.

The production design really lifts the themes of the story; the initial image of the Serengeti is hilariously grandiose and has a wry reference to The Lion King. It’s a deceptively a simple set when it comes to Northshore High – tables and chairs on casters reconfigure and make scene changes seamless. I love the ‘Meet the Plastics’ choreography by Casey Nicholaw, creating a revolve of all the types of kids in the cafeteria.

It’s all so funny. So mean. So joyous. I don’t like us laughing at Regina getting her comeuppance by being in a wheelchair though. It feels dated. A story so invested in outsiders and what they teach could take that small step further. Throughout the show there is mindful representation, yet disability sits outside the frame. When you are already dissecting who gets power, who is exiled, it matters.

Cady, surviving with superficial scars finds along the way, as Javere in Les Mis did – if you look to the stars, we are mere flickers. Even those of us who think we are kind of a massive deal. Loyalties are tested, weaknesses surface, evolution happens. Encore.

Mean Girls is at The Opera House, Manchester from 23 February to 7 March 2026.

Banner image: MEAN GIRLS THE MUSICAL. Kiara Dario (Gretchen Wieners), Vivian Panka (Regina George) and Sophie Pourret (Karen Smith). Photo by Paul Coltas

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Jerry Travers (Phillip Attmore), a Broadway sensation, helps an old boy out by coming to London to be in Horace Hardwick’s (James Hume) show. Horace’s wife, Madge (Sally Ann Triplett), though legendary and adored, is bleeding him dry and he needs Jerry’s all-round talent to put bums on seats. Jerry will do anything for a pal but it’s all on the hush hush so no one sees him before the big event and also for us, so mistaken identity and mild peril can ensue. So madcap and kefuffling is the topsy-turvy of the piece that a real-life counterpart would be scathed for life.

Listen, it’s not the greatest of plots but if you love Art Deco glitz, Hollywood-infused dancing and singing, and a brilliant cast to do it – do you care? Really? This isn’t a plot-driven drama, it’s a fun night out with amazing all-rounders giving it large and lavish. It takes you back to the black-and-white films, with effortless sweeping of the stage in feathers and diamonds, male characters who are much lighter on their feet than they are allowed in everyday life. The men are wry, brow-beaten and confused by women. The women are exasperated, wise and tricksy. It’s fun, frolicky and all entirely on the surface. It’s a happy-hour cocktail at the start of the festive season.

It’s a beautiful revolving Quality Street tin of Berlin bangers. The set – a big Art Deco glass and wrought-iron fan – supplies an outside image of a skyline that depicts where we are but also serves, many times, as restaurant, stage set or bedroom.

Attmore enthralls us as Jerry, and Amara Okereke as his feisty love interest matches him, bringing a peppy confidence and strong presence. But for me the older characters have a true dramatic depth I really enjoyed: Triplett as Madge reminded my friend of Kathleen Turner; comedy timing with a varied register always makes a great impact. Hume as Horace grounds us in real dramatic acting – not playing to the gods but finding the real truth in the moment, which is a rare skill to pull off in a fru-fru story.

There is a lot of over-explaining to be done in the dialogue, so that the plot will work. But if you really think about it, we tend to be very selective in what we will accept when it comes to musicals. In Top Hat, as with most musicals, you have people bursting into song every two minutes and passersby join in – all in the same colour palette with synchronised movements. We are more than happy to go with this convention, so why not accept the ludicrous nature of a story also?

So finely presented and so needed is the nostalgia and trimmings in this show, we are more than happy to suspend our disbelief entirely to escape into a wonderful time. And it really provides that. Because the beauty of the show is the dancing, the songs, the cheeky humour based around how women and men were at the time. Even the hidden sexuality that comes through with innuendo is treated exactly how it should be- fixed in a moment in time. It’s two hours well spent.

Top Hat is at the Opera House, Manchester from 25 to 29 November 2025.

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Created by Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Schönberg, with lyrics by Boublil and Richard Maltby Jr., Miss Saigon reimagines Puccini’s Madama Butterfly – shifting the action to Vietnam during the final days of the war and the fall of Saigon in 1975. Over the decades it has attracted both acclaim and controversy, but this production steers closer to emotional and political clarity than most. It gives the story a contemporary resonance without sacrificing its operatic scale.

I felt privileged to see what I believe to be one of the best casts in any show I have ever seen. Seann Miley Moore’s Engineer is nothing short of a revelation. I cannot say enough about this performance. Moore brings swagger, danger, needle-sharp timing and a charisma that shimmers between comedy and horror. It’s the kind of performance you feel lucky to witness, and now I can say ‘I saw them play the Engineer in Manchester, I was there to see who I believed, would turn out to be a legend’.

There has been some criticism of shaving down the production meaning less impact. I would disagree. For instance – the use of animation and projected design by George Reeve is a strong asset to this production. The exodus from Saigon to Bangkok – the boat on the ocean, the wash of light, the echo of past horrors meeting the refugee crises of today – lands with astonishing force. The visuals melt into the story in a way that deepens the emotional ocean rather than floating an idea of it. For me, compromising on aspects that were spectacle in earlier productions, allows for a big cast, and that is what I appreciate. That’s work for more people in a difficult industry. I believe, the cuts are in the right place. And nothing is budget about this production.

Jack Kane’s Chris is played with precision, and this staging allows something I’ve wanted to see the last time but it didn’t quite reach. Kane gives us a Chris who carries the horror of war and the guilt of his choices. His relationship with Kim feels, here, like something he used to decorate his trauma – a connection he couldn’t maintain and a responsibility he didn’t fully own. There’s a sense he could have done more. It exposes the self-serving and his terrible experiences taking effect on his choices, in a way that feels closer to the truth of what a soldier experiences.

Opposite him, Julianne Pundan’s Kim is extraordinary. She is utterly believable from her first moment to her last: steadfast, tender, fierce, doomed. Pundan’s voice and emotional truths are the heart of the entire show. You cannot look away from her. She embodies brave love and the devastation, the demolition of a true heart in a terrible war.

And then there’s Moore’s Engineer again – because he truly holds the centre. What makes the character fascinating is his honesty: he is openly self-serving, openly sleazy, openly opportunistic. Chris hides behind the myth of being morally torn. Ellen hides behind middle-class Western righteousness. The Engineer hides nothing. So when Moore tears into “The American Dream,” the audience erupts. The number becomes a glittering, rotten masterpiece – a beautiful bitch of a sequence where satire, violence, patriotism and fantasy merge into something unforgettable. He lifts the embroidered silken veil of Vietnam and shows the blood beneath it; the dreams of America become stripes and sequins stuck to a desperate fool. It’s mesmerising, horrifying, exhilarating.

The tragedy of Miss Saigon endures because no one escapes unscathed. The score remains one of the strongest ever written for musical theatre. The book – when handled with clarity instead of varnish – exposes the truth that men can go blindly into war, devastate lives, misunderstand everything, and then move on. This production edges closer to that truth than most. It is harrowing. It is spectacular. And it is, without question, worth seeing. I feel I can speak for future audiences of this production when I say – this is theatre at its best.

Miss Saigon is at The Palace Theatre, Manchester from 4-15 November 2025.

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Creating a childlike sleeping fantasy of elation and melancholy, played out by fools.

Lots of people, me included, say they hate or fear clowns. But that’s only when those clowns are hiding behind make-up, giving us a face that lulls us into trusting them, and underneath it lies a dark secret – the way life can be, in all its terror and disaster.

But with Slava Polunin’s clowns, it’s different. The make-up doesn’t hide anything. It opens up something ancient and tender. These clowns hold up a mirror, and it can be cruel. But most likely it’s innocent, most likely it’s trying to be brave and happy. They invite us to be silly, reactive and play along, just as much as we play together.

Slava Polunin, the creator of the show in 1993, is one of the world’s most celebrated clowns. Since then, the show has travelled to more than 80 countries, winning countless awards and delighting thousands.

As a spectacle, it can’t be beaten. The set consists of objects from a children’s bedroom turned into magical stories – a ball, a lamp, cobwebs, a duvet and its stuffing, a bed. There are also other elements that may exist in other rooms of a house – a broom, a rope, a dustbin, a swinging ceiling light and a coat stand.

And with these tools at hand, stories are told in vast landscapes and terrains, some of which the audience help to make in a way that doesn’t feel participatory, but the most natural thing to do. Foreboding figures exist with playful ones. There are a troupe of green-jacketed lollopers in worn-out deerstalker hats and unfeasibly long earflaps jutting out horizontally. And one fluffy yellow fellow with red furry shoes and an adorable vibe-this is Assissai.

To understand how you buy into the wonderment so quickly, you have to go and see the show. It is something about how you totally cannot get a handle on a strong narrative thread. You watch instances, you enjoy physical comedy and feel sorrow and joy all at the same time, all together, alone.

The green men shuffle in, ridiculous and weary, while Assissai wobbles through it all with a gentle purpose. There’s no tidy storyline to follow, no neat arc. Just fragments and moments. We watch, we feel, and before we know it, we’ve joined in.

You watch physical comedy. You feel sorrow. You feel cheered. You laugh at the same time as anticipating bittersweet tears. The ensemble shifts height and shape, becoming giants and children all in one breath. They’re tricksters and philosophers, ridiculous and profound.

Slava’s Snowshow has survived for more than thirty years because it’s not really a show about clowns at all. It’s about us. About the tiny foolishness of being human. About the way happiness and grief love each other. It’s about softness, and storms.

At the end, you leave when the moment is right. Until then, the microcosm of the human race is giving a standing ovation by jumping up and down in the circle and stalls; hitting gigantic and colourful balls.

Slava’s Snow Show is at the Opera House Manchester from 22-26 October 2025.

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The story centres around four shift pals at seaside supermarket Better Best Buys. They rib each other, lift each other’s spirits and hope for the absolute best. Caz (fabulous captain of the Here and Now ship, Rebecca Lock), is going through the process of adoption with her sparky partner Gareth (Chris Grahamson). Gorgeous straight talking Vel (Jacqui Dubois) knows the light has gone out on her relationship with Lesley (John Stacey) and she needs to dump him (John Stacey absolutely living the dance routines in act two gave me joy). Young creative Neeta (Rosie Singha) makes avant garde food-based portraits of celebrities and finds every excuse not to tell affable fitty Ben (Ben Darcy) that she adores him. Then there’s young carefree gay Robbie (Blake Patrick Anderson), he’s free and easy although the girls believe he’s looking for more than that really. When we meet the gang, Caz is gearing everyone up ready for better days ahead, that may just be kickstarted by her upcoming 50th.

There’s a lot to get the gist of in the first 10 mins and thanks to the expertise of Shaun Kitchener, who is a multi-story master, we easily hold all these narrative threads.  I especially enjoyed the light touch of the love story of Robbie and drag queen Jem (River Medway giving Eartha Kitt via a tray of chips realness) not heavy with conflict, just naturally played out in a really sweet way. These threads are tied up with golden, well place Steps songs arranged by Matt Spencer-Smith, until we are fully stocked up on resolutions by the time we are on our feet for the finale.

Tom Rogers clever set frames the production with the whole proscenium arch holding concert lighting cleverly integrated as stocked up shelves. On stage, tills and shelves are wheeled around to indicate different places around the supermarket. The bright lights of BBB are complemented by a glimpse of real hope beyond the doors – the open ocean. This harmonises with the themes of putting yourself out there and embracing the chills and thrills of life in the hope of one day riding high on life. The cast rock tabards designed by Gabriella Slade all the way through the show from hot pink on the tills, to yellow with gold bananas on if they are doing the fruit and veg.

It’s not hard to see why people are calling Here and Now the new Mamma Mia. I liked it a bit more than Mamma Mia actually, because I can’t afford to go to Santorini, but I can defo go to a supermarket by the sea. And the stories were a mix of camp melodrama weighted underneath by the heartbreak of maternal Caz who knows she was, is, and always will be – a mum.

The show is something special and not least because with Robbie and Caz, it celebrates a beautiful connection between an important theatre demographic. With Robbie, gay men who may have loved Steps since they were their secret sanctuary, can see a story where the hatred of the world doesn’t go to do its shopping. With Caz, we have an archetype of the women who carry and tend to the world. They also, in my experience (cos I am one), like musicals that let them feel like girls again. I don’t think of this in a cynical way, I think of this as giving an audience a story that elevates them.  Here and Now puts a call out over the Tannoy – ‘could all the Robbies please go to aisles 5, 6, 7, 8 where the Cazs are waiting for them. Thank you.’

Here and Now is a really good time. And no one loved the evening more than Steps themselves. Right before the show started and the audience were settled, in they came to take their seats. Decked out in silver and white, waving, smiling and engaging with an audience that were enthralled to see them. They were best placed for everyone in the stalls to see them enjoying their songs and the show. I felt good for them. And for me. Everything turned out the best it could be.

My advice is – go and see it before it’s riding the seventh wave in the West End.

Here & Now the Steps Musical is at the Opera House, Manchester from 2 to 13 September 2025 before continuing on tour. Read our interview with the cast.

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Two hapless gentrifiers have a new baby and are doing up their bargain home. Annoying know-it-all Sam (Kevin Clifton) has been off star gazing somewhere and exhausted new mum Jenny (Stacey Dooley) is shaken by the eerie goings on in the baby’s bedroom each night at 2.22.  For what I think may be a bit of harmless sexual tension – Sam and Jenny invite over Sam’s old and clearly untrustworthy uni mate Lauren (Shvorne Marks) and her new boyfriend Ben (Grant Kilburn) the builder for a dinner party. They all decide, to hang around and stay up until 2.22 so Jenny can prove there is a ghost in the house. Lots of chatter, drinking, and friction happens and a seance ensues as we creep up to 2.22.

Let’s start with the set design by Anna Fleischle. I would have been put off buying this place by the terrifyingly high ceilings. We get a glimpse of the stairs which logistically must be two-foot steep to get up to the bedrooms. I spent quite a bit of time at first, trying to work out whether they have knocked out a ceiling but no, the old wallpaper that is still visible goes from bottom to top. I can’t remember why Frank (the previous owner’s dead husband) died but pneumonia would make sense. You couldn’t heat that place with the small gas fire they had and now these idiots have knocked through. For no practical or obvious aesthetic purpose whatsoever either, the old couple or the new couple have put a large digital clock above the door leading to the stairs. It’s a bit like something you’d see in a hospital waiting room. This works really well for the suspense of time passing up to the 2.22 – when we expect the ghost – but would make no practical sense to either homeowners. Jenny believes that the ghost is very upset by the renovations and at one point thinks they have summoned the spirits by putting in the patio doors. With all this considered, it’s got some really promising elements to be a dark comedy that sends itself up, but the script doesn’t let that happen.

Regarding the story – there’s a lot of exposition to create to suspense and intrigue. This feels rushed as a device and after all this time could have been finessed. The script benefits from Danny Robins interesting facts here and there, but that is placed within conversations leading nowhere except some hit and miss jokes. It’s a drawn-out, short form story by the feel of it. It could have leaned heavier on the gentrification; it could have leaned towards the dark comedy elements and send up the characters or even on the displacement of the foxes who are constantly screaming.

Certain scary things happen, great ghost story tropes that are clever, like a surprise thing with a teddy bear. But the actual jump scares have no relevance to the story. What we are actually scared of is the convention, nothing to do with what unfolds but just a production trick to make us jump unexpectedly. And that takes us entirely away from being involved in the story.

We are asked to be quiet and not tell anyone what happens and in respect for those who will enjoy it, I won’t. The play will be popular and forgiven because it always has a great cast. And that is what makes the play so successful. It is worth going particularly for Stacey Dooley and Grant Kilburn’s performances.

2:22 A Ghost Story is at The Opera House, Manchester from 7 to 16 August 2025 before continuing on tour.

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William (Andrew Coshan) hailing from Cheapside and working as a humble knight’s servant, he dreams of becoming valiant and heroic. When his Knight dies, and Will hits the skids it’s the ideal opportunity for him to step into his boss’s armour and gather an entourage to become a knight in shining armour and split run his way to the stars. Buddying onward with him are two of his pals – curmudgeon Roland (Emile Ruddock) affable and ravenous dafty What (Eva Scott) and rock-hard armorer Kate (Emily Benjamin).

Will becomes Sir Ulrich Von Lichtenstine and as quick as a choreographed montage he goes from one tournament to the other until he pays his debts, his mate’s debts and wins over kickass Princess Jocelyn (Meesha Turner). Jocelyn is also busy keeping the sneering and entitled Count Adhemar (Oliver Tompsett) at bay – she wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot lance. Adhemar goes peacocking round the stage singing ‘I am the one and only’. He turns Chesney Hawke’s self-belief hit into a narcissistic dirge establishing himself as the arch enemy of Will whose whole life depends on winning a jousting match against him. Also, add to that Chaucer (Max Bennet) tagging along with the merry gang of all-rounders. Why not? Bennet breaks the fourth wall and rouses the audience with wit and bravado, tying the whole thing together with adorable cheekiness.

At heart, the show is a celebration of difference, and the story has been updated to reflect the colours of the rainbow we desperately need in our new narratives. It is a jukebox musical that has pantomime elements both of which always win over an audience en-masse. These elements are embellished with an incredible set by Tom Rogers and lighting design by Howard Hudson. Add into the mix superb actors and this all makes for a production that feels more like Moulin Rouge than Mother Goose.

There are some very moving moments between big and little William that I did fill up during. There are also some spectacular tricksy elements to the show – the horses are particularly delightful.

Even before the finale the audience were up in a standing ovation, cheering on what I am sure will be a beloved musical.

The whole show makes for a great evening, and I would go again. I hope it does go to the West End because it has proved that this is what audiences want – unadulterated glee, prancing, preening, farting and fighting. Otherwise, what’s our ticket price being spent on?

A Knight’s Tale is at Opera House, Manchester from 11 April to 10 May 2025 before it opens in the West End.

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The premise is that parapsychologist Professor Goodman (Dan Tetsell) presents a lecture that provides a fair and balanced examination on three ghost stories recounted to him. He invites the audience to think about what scares us and to examine the authenticity of the accounts he has recorded. This is the framing device that takes us through the show.

So complete is the journey through fear, that I’m still a little bit shaky today. Everything from effectively designed and well-executed set by Jon Bausor, disturbing trickster special effects by Scott Penrose and the spine-tingling sound design by Nick Manning has you in flight or flight mode, ready to crap it at any moment.

The three accounts given to the smug Goodman are told by characters that we so know are gonna get it – salt-of-the earth bigot Tony (David Cardy), oddball creepy teenager (Eddie Loodmer-Elliot) and big rich show off Mike (Clive Mantle). The superb storytellers, combined with the production value, make for a terrifying experience. At points, I practically jumped out of myself. I couldn’t even pretend not to be spooked as I was so insecure in not knowing what may come. Alongside this, I was fervently and pointlessly preoccupied with the two empty seats in front of me awaiting something to bob up quickly and grab me. This turned out to be nothing more than two empty seats in front of me. My paranoia was at level 10 on the trust-nothing-and-no-one scale due to the fact my disbelief was suspended somewhere way beyond my reach.

We are impressed by ingenuity as theatre audiences, but once we work out the conventions, we are then likely to anticipate. But due to great direction by Sean Holmes, meticulous set planning, lighting tricks and alarmingly good sound scapes we could not predict nor assume.

I felt closer to the audience in fear than I ever do in elation and the clever ways that Nyman and Dyson have written the piece plays on horror tropes from film and short story, but really understands what a live show can do to further enhance the fear factor.

It is as if campfire stories are given the three dimensions the story narrative deserves and your senses are on high alert from the very start. It is the first time that I had thought theatre can be more effective to present a horror story than film.

Though the stories contained in the show are pitch perfect in their narratives, I felt that some of the jokes and story devices are a bit out of tune for current audiences and are not aging well. But I can’t tell you what those bits are because overall I want you to go as it’s a great piece and well worth experiencing.

If you don’t enjoy being frightened out of your wits though – don’t go.

Ghost Stories is at Lowry, Salford from 25 February to 1 March 2025.

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This deconstructed and thematically enhanced version of the original ballet is an unflinching look at royalty, toxic repressions and the mental health crisis we currently face also seemed to have a nod.

The Prince is subject to constant shoves and pulls and dismissals, and we know it is only a matter of time before he will break, he longs for a world of freedom and thinks he has found it with his love interest, the delightful Girlfriend played by Bryony Wood. So, when he follows her into her real world, with its seedy dances (that are incredible) and mercenary necessities, that is the moment his last thread of hope in human nature ends.

Thanks to Bourne’s vision and that of set designer Lez Brotherston we are in constant pursuit of finding the Prince in each aesthetically elevated scene, as he is trampled and towed along. When he finds the Swan he is still an outsider but is cautiously led in and delights in the chance.

To watch live the magnificence of the Swans is really something all theatregoers should experience. Fierce, enticing and untamed they flex in unison, in moves that we can only imagine the significance of. And this is one of the most luring things in this production – we don’t know what their world is. We understand their ways, but it is exotic and something that the young repressed Prince longs to covet. When one Swan is curious of the Prince, then we feel something other-worldly is about to begin.

But Prince’s mental waters begin to get muddied and by the time he meets The Stranger at a party at the Palace, he cannot hold purchase on his emotions. He is enraged and tragedy ensues.

The whole ensemble is magnificent and locked together in this tale, giving us linear story, spectacle and magic.

It starts with humour, almost letting us gently dip our toe into the story and ends like a fever dream. You will never know who, if anyone, really cares for The Prince, or if his privilege and reality is so skewed that he cares only for himself. He lies finally on the white sheets of his giant bed, perhaps finally free.

I was reminded of when I was first married, me and my husband got a rib of beef for Sunday dinner, (years since we had beef now) and it was expensive but amazing. We said we always had to find the money for it, even at the sacrifice of other things. That’s how I felt about Swan Lake. I don’t want to see anything that isn’t so delicious ever again.

Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake is at Lowry, Salford from 21-30 November 2024.

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