There’s no simple answer to this, though a quick fix of escapism is a guaranteed, short term antidote. Top Hat is now on stage, in a new adaptation by Matthew White and Howard Jacques. The show’s USP is multi award-winning double threat Kathleen Marshall, a premier league director and choreographer, feted for an acclaimed series of shows on Broadway, and in the West End (her brother is film director Rob Marshall, so it must be in the genes).

I have to admit to being late to this particular party, only discovering Kathleen Marshall’s talents with the Barbican production of ‘Anything Goes‘ a few years back. The latter was a dazzling piece of popular art, quite unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Marshall brings the same eye for glamour and sophistication to Top Hat. If it doesn’t surpass ‘Anything Goes’, it is certainly the equal; impressive enough to convert a musical heretic to the joys of song and dance. 

In New York, wealthy producer Horace Hardwick (James Hume) hires American entertainer Jerry Travers (Phillip Attmore, possessing Zeus like dancing abilities) to headline a new musical show. The action then zips across the Atlantic to London. Jerry stays in Horace’s hotel suite, and his night time dance episodes (described as ‘tapititus’) are irksome enough to wake pretty Dale Tremont (Nicole-Lily Baisden, a pint size package of fizzy energy) in the room below. When she stomps up to Horace’s suite to tell Jerry to keep it down, he falls instantly in love. The next day, Jerry follows Dale around London, croons and charms until she can resist no longer.

This being the 1930’s, she neglects to ask his name – yes, this is the improbable dramatic device on which Top Hat pivots, because Dale now believes Jerry is Horace (who she’s never actually met). Next stop, Venice. Dale knows Horace is married to sassy redhead friend Madge (Emma Williams), who informs Dale that her husband is staying in the same hotel. Misunderstandings quickly pile on top of each other. To say more would spoil the ride.

Attmore and Baisden make a charming lead couple, though are in danger of being upstaged by the sub plot players, Hume and Williams. Hume is a hilarious bundle of bristling neurosis, seemingly afraid of everything – particularly air travel. “I get frightened when I arrive at the airport, and see the word ‘departures.” Act 2’s secret weapon is Williams who crackles with attitude and whip smart put downs. Hume and Williams have such chemistry, it would be great to see these performers return in a spin off.  

I still recall versatile James Clyde from a run of mid 90’s appearances at the Royal Exchange; he deserves a mention for his droll turn as Horace’s jaded valet, Bates. Likewise understudy Zak Edwards, who brings a controlled, toreador energy to the role of flamboyant dress maker, Alberto Beddini.

The mark of a gifted designer is when their work stays in the mind, rather than fading after the curtain. Peter McKintosh’s sumptuous set is a giant art deco clock; at various points, the face spins open to reveal different rooms and suites. Alongside Yvonne Milnes, McKintosh has also created the fabulous costumes. Every member of the company is immaculately attired. Top Hat exists in a rarefied atmosphere of covetous excellence (I’m almost tempted to break into the theatre at night, and steal a souvenir – perhaps Jerry’s duck egg blue suit).

Alongside Cole Porter, Irving Berlin was the prime mover of the great American songbook. His best known tunes might be ‘White Christmas’ and ‘No Business Like Showbusiness’ but those featured in Top Hat are easily the most melodic: ‘Cheek to Cheek’, ‘Putting on the Ritz’, ‘Let’s Face the Music and Dance’ are ear worms that take up permanent residence. The undoubted highpoint of Marshall’s production is ‘Top Hat, White Tie and Tails.’ This is a dance team operating as a hive mind, a series of jaw dropping sequences which include intimate groupings, spiral stage crossing, and dancers tossing and catching canes across parallel lines. How is this sort of thing even possible? A scene like this belongs in a choreographer’s textbook; a blueprint for what the art form can achieve.    

Top Hat is as bracing as a glass of chilled champagne in a cryogenic ice bath. But you will have to hurry: this Chichester Festival production is at the end of its tour (Southampton Mayflower follows this Lowry run).   

Top Hat is at Lowry, Salford from 2 to 4 April 2026.

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To his credit, writer and director Mark Leipacher, of the Faction Ensemble, has taken a more cerebral approach in his adaptation of the first novel in the series, (Highsmith wrote five in total). Leipacher has built a complex and detailed psychology for Ripley (hewing closely to the criteria for antisocial personality disorder), using tricks that include flashbacks, monologues, and multiple versions of the same scene, often taking place purely in Ripley’s head. It’s a successful conceit that creates the sense of a fragile personality grasping for an identity.

Through a random social connection, shipping magnate Herbert Greenleaf approaches Tom Ripley in a bar, with a proposition. Dickie, the tycoon’s son, is shirking his responsibilities by living like a playboy on the Amalfi Coast. Convinced that Dickie and Tom were once friends, Herbert offers to pay Tom’s passage to Italy, if Tom can persuade Greenleaf Junior to return home. One of Tom’s talents is compulsive lying: yes, he’s a friend of Dickie’s, and yes he will accept. Once in Italy, Tom inveigles himself into the life of Dickie, and fiancée Marge. For a while, this triangle functions perfectly well. But Tom’s neediness and repressed homosexuality begin to exasperate Dickie. Can Tom take a hint that this new friendship is over as soon as it’s begun? Probably not – he craves Dickie’s lifestyle a little too much, happily resorting to extreme measures to impersonate him.

For the most part, The Talented Mr.Ripley is an exhilarating affair. The bedrock is Holly Pigott’s multifaceted set, which allows the cast to pop up and disappear often at unexpected moments. It’s particularly effective during the swimming scenes which pivot around an offshore raft (location for the first murder). Neon tubes – care of lighting designer Zeynep Kepekli – line the stage walls, and come into their own during a steamy love making scene between Dickie and Marge, complete with quiet to heavy breathing. The co dependent triangle is reinforced through Tom’s physical involvement (another fantasy of course). Movement directors never get enough credit but Sarita Piotrowski’s contribution accounts for 40 per cent of this production’s success. There’s fluidity to the movement, the cast constantly in motion.

In Anthony Minghella’s film version, Jude Law disappeared halfway through. Here, Dickie is forever present, mirror to a man who has stolen his identity (the pair wear identical clothes in Act 2). In the role of Greenleaf Junior, Bruce Herbelin-Earle is rather fabulous, oozing self assurance as a character who knows the world is always going to be his oyster. Maisie Smith will be familiar to many due to her role as Tiffany Butcher in EastEnders. As Marge, she’s perfectly fine but Leipacher has marginalized the character somewhat, making her mostly a reactive presence. It’s a misstep that she accepts Dickie’s cruel abandonment without more of a fight. In the dual role of Herbert and Inspector Roverini, veteran character Christopher Bianchi is terrific, a much needed connection with the real world of action and consequences.

Tom Ripley is one of those characters most actors would kill to play, and Ed McVey grabs it with both hands. McVey is now fairly established due to his performance in The Crown (as Prince William) but he performs an astonishing hire wire act here, in a dazzling and nuanced performance. This is possibly the most neurotic interpretation of the character there’s been, with Ripley’s inferiority and paranoia to the fore. ‘I hate the feeling of people looking down on me.’ At times, he’s almost pathetic (he can’t even swim). It’s because Ripley is a social outsider that we root for him – even when he’s forging signatures and murdering people.   

On opening night, the running time was two hours and twenty minutes. There’s plenty of extraneous stuff which could be removed without impacting the narrative. We don’t need an Act 1 scene before the Italy trip, where Tom chats to his New York flat mate: Likewise endless details about Tom’s European detours (Paris! Corfu!).

Highsmith mostly wrote thrillers. Leipacher the director hits most of his targets but stumbles in generating suspense. A few more shocks would have elevated this production to the five star category (the absence of any atmosphere music is a missed opportunity).   

Some of these issues can be ironed out as this production continues to tour. The Talented Mr. Ripley shows there’s still much to explore in the world of this great literary psychopath.

The Talented Mr Ripley is at Lowry, Salford from 17-22 November 2025.

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There are hundreds of examples of this ‘lightning in a bottle’ magic but let’s focus on one – Young Frankenstein, arguably the apex of Mel Brooks’ rollercoaster career. Not everyone possesses comic timing in the way that Gene Wilder, Madelaine Khan, Cloris Leachman, Peter Boyle, Marty Feldman, Teri Garr, and Kenneth Mars did (plus the unexpected bonus of Gene Hackman as blind beggar Harold, easily the greatest cameo of all time).

Brooks had already enjoyed huge success with his 2001 stage version of The Producers, surprising everyone with his ability to write an entire score of smart new songs (his composition chops only intermittently demonstrated in his films). It was inevitable that Brooks – still going strong at age 99 – would want another bite of this particular cherry. Young Frankenstein is an obvious fit; a parody but also a tale familiar to everyone. First staged in 2007, Young Frankenstein the Musical has been somewhat overshadowed by The Producers (and initially received some sniffy reviews). But on the basis of this fizzy revival from director and choreographer Nick Winston – a regional premiere – it seems like the monster is ready for a new incarnation.

Grandson of the infamous Victor Frankenstein, Frederick Frankenstein (pronounced ‘Fronk-en-steen’) inherits his family’s estate in Transylvania. With the help of hunchback sidekick Igor (pronounced ‘Eye-Gore’), and vivacious, touchy-feely lab assistant Inga, Frederick finds himself inexplicably drawn to the mad scientist shoes of his ancestors. ‘It’s alive!’ shouts a triumphant Frederick, as he brings to life a six foot corpse, implanted with the brain of a genius. Or so he had hoped. Did Igor steal the correct one? Possibly not, because this second brain belonged to someone called ‘Abby Normal.’ With all the strange noises going on at the castle, it’s no surprise that the locals – led by one armed Inspector Kemp (Simeon Truby), a survivor of Grand daddy Victor’s previous undead creation – are getting ready to break out the torches and pitchforks.

Naturally, the first person to praise in this production is casting director Jim Arnold, who has assembled a fantastic array of talent, all of whom have brought their A game. I’m only familiar with Ore Oduba from his TV presenting work, and had no idea he was a triple threat, with a parallel career in musical theatre. He’s an impressive singer and dancer, aided by laser focused timing. His arch performance as Frederick teems with detail, as if he’s channeling decades of black and white B movie acting, and pouring it out onto the stage. Party girl Elizabeth Benning calls herself Frederick’s fiancé; as played by Rhiannon Chesterman, this waspish vamp is clearly a woman who enjoys mind games, evidenced by the show stopping number ‘Please Don’t Touch Me’ (‘’When we’re absolutely wed/You can do it till we’re dead.’)

Relative newcomer Curtis Patrick is hilarious as Igor, a bundle of gurning tics and slapstick goofing. Julie Yammanee has an impressive list of musical theatre credits for someone so young, and is thoroughly charming as winsome coquette Inga. Some might remember Jessica Martin from her stint as the sole female impressionist on TV show Copy Cats; as oddball housekeeper Frau Blucher, she’s expertly deadpan (there’s a recurring, off stage horse ninny whenever Blucher’s name is mentioned).

What of the monster? On paper, it appears a thankless character because there’s little dialogue, mostly a succession of grunts, growls and screams. It requires a good sport to be the butt of the joke, which reaches some sort of apotheosis in the famous ‘Putting on the Ritz’ number. Peter Gallagher is excellent in the role, a sliver of pathos quietly keening at the edge of his tremulous voice. After a final, brain reversal operation with Frederick, the monster gets to deliver the heartfelt number, Deep Love, a duet with Elizabeth, which is so sincere it feels like it’s from another show entirely.

Director/choreographer Nick Winston has an innate understanding of the material. The choreography is simple but exuberant, with moves sharper than a mad chieftain’s scimitar. In terms of tone, a good frame of reference would be Little Shop of Horrors. If you enjoyed that zany affair, you’ll love this. Young Frankenstein the Musical is a considerable triumph; it’s rare to see something so slick in such an intimate venue.
Mel Brooks is probably unable to attend but clearly would enjoy every second. They’ve done him proud.

Mel Brooks’ Young Frankenstein the Musical is at Hope Mill Theatre from 10 October to 30 November 2025.

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Arriving in the tail wind of those shows was Ideal, a Salford sitcom about the adventures of Moz, a hapless, well meaning weed dealer. Written by Graham Duff, it was designed as a vehicle for one Johnny Vegas (alter ego of former pottery student, Michael Pennington).

The role of Moz fit Vegas like a glove. Forced to follow a script, there was no opportunity for self indulgent tangents (and it’s hard to imagine anyone else in this role). Twenty years after series 1, here comes the anniversary show. The programme notes argue otherwise, but this is perhaps one for the fans. Or at least people who’ve seen a couple of episodes; the opening night audience greeted the arrival of each returning cast member with a loud whoop of delight.

Rather than recycle material from the original 53 episodes, Duff has come up with an entirely new story. The main plot involves Moz treading carefully around his young, sexy but insanely jealous girlfriend Liza (Lucy Farrett); difficult given Moz has enjoyed past relationships with all of his female friends. There’s also Moz’s bestie, Colin (Ben Crompton), fresh out of prison but unsure if this freedom lark is all its cracked up to be.

The sub plot focuses on Moz’s ‘associates’, Psycho Paul, and the bizarre Cartoon Head (who hides his face behind a mouse like mask), both of whom are embarking on a new business venture as body disposal specialists. Soon, there are two corpses to deal with, one of them in Moz’s bedroom. It’s like Poirot on Skunk, including a séance scene where the characters commune with the deceased to try and identify the murderer.

Speaking openly about the series, Vegas said he experienced major self doubt when the rest of the actors arrived, feeling he was out of their league (an understandable but invalid fear). Every character is a nuanced creation, with not a single weak link in the cast.  Ryan Pope is superb as Psycho Paul, projecting an air of comic menace through posture and a shell suit. Joanna Neary’s daffy, middle aged Goth gets the biggest laugh of the evening when she accidentally takes three ecstasy tablets. But it’s Emma Fryer as femme fatale Tania, who threatens to steal the show. There are so many layers to Tania, it’s difficult to know where to begin. She’s romantic and treacherous, but doesn’t see anything wrong with her casual cruelty; Fryer’s impeccable, sing song accent is something that should probably inspire a thousand drag tributes. Give this woman a spin off, pronto.

Writer Graham Duff not only plays waspish neighbour Brian, (naturally he gets a lot of the best lines) he has also chosen to direct. Which isn’t a disaster but an experienced pair of hands would have added more polish. The functional living room set boxes off most of the Lowry stage, limiting movement. The scene changes are lumbering, and the lighting changes sloppy. The microphone pops which burst randomly over the PA are irritating. But these minor errors can be easily ironed out during the upcoming tour. Duff introduces a couple of hallucinations into Act 2, which are visually memorable.

Is this a play, or a sitcom on stage? It doesn’t really matter because Ideal is a huge amount of fun – whether you’re stoned or straight.  

Ideal: Starring Johnny Vegas is at Lowry, Salford from 9 – 13 September 2025.

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It’s perhaps less well known that Alan Bleasdale’s greatest dramatic achievement was spun off from The Blackstuff, a one off drama, screened during Christmas 1980. Whilst the latter was larky in tone, the subsequent five episode series (first screened in October 1982) was angry and pessimistic, shot through with gallows humour. Less a regular drama, more like a hand grenade lobbed into the living room. 

For years, Alan Bleasdale resisted requests from the Liverpool Royal Court to adapt the series for the stage, believing it would be technically impossible, and also beyond his abilities. The deadlock was broken when director Kate Wasserberg wrote Bleasdale a passionate, personal letter, and suggested writer James Graham (probably best known for the TV series Sherwood) would be a safe pair of hands.

For those unfamiliar with the original, it’s the story of five men – Chrissie, Loggo, Yosser, George and Dixie – whose lives are blighted by unemployment. ‘Unemployment is a growth industry’, quips DHSS snoop, Ms Sutcliffe (a droll Sian Polhill-Thomas). Not only are they battling economic strife, but wounded pride; working class men are taught at a young age that their value is entwined with the role of hunter/gatherer. 

Anyone who signed on in the 80’s might get a trauma flashback from this production; Amy Jane Cook’s complex set features a grim Orwellian ‘holding pen’ where the main  characters stand, and declare they haven’t been employed during the past fortnight. Not completely true of course because survival in Thatcher’s Britain invariably meant doing work on the sly. Here it’s a gig on a building site for a foreman not too fussed about health and safety regulations, leading to a tragedy which hangs over the survivors for the duration of the drama. 

How to compress 300 minutes of television into a two hour stage play? James Graham chooses the best bits from the original, and most of it gels together surprisingly well (Kate Wasserberg makes the dozens of scene changes as fluid as possible). Some dopy comedy bits – Yosser chasing a milk man and a lollipop lady, shouting ‘Gizza job’ – feel like a feeble Benny Hill spoof. Likewise, a slapstick through-the-letterbox conversation with a government inspector might have worked in Rentaghost, but looks oddly out of place here.  

Mark Womack is fantastic as Dixie, hitting exactly the right note of melancholy as a man who has no ideas left. ‘I wish I’d done better for you’, he says to his son in a scene which feels almost painfully archetypal. George Caple is a fine, heart on sleeve Chrissie (everyone says he’s too nice), whilst Jurell Carter is similarly impressive as Loggo, a character who has grown too cynical too soon but clings to a slender thread of hope (which informs his decision to leave Liverpool for pastures new). 

Yosser’s Story was the episode that hit hardest; the final image of Bernard Hill’s mentally deteriorating hard man being yanked out of a shopping centre fountain by a copper, something which seered itself into the pop culture psyche. A hard act to follow, and it’s fair to say Jay Johnson is slightly intimidated by the opportunity he’s been given. Most of the time he is great but some eager to please sentimentality creeps in during his vulnerable moments – an unnecessary distraction. All the requisite emotion is discharged in the penultimate scene, a slow motion battle with a bunch of coppers, well choreographed by Rachael Nanyonjo (the movement sections add a welcome colour to the palette of this production). 

It’s rare to see a stage play with a cast this big (I almost did a double take when 14 people appeared for the encore). Minor faults aside, Boys from the Blackstuff is a bold piece of theatre, and one which probably requires a second viewing to absorb all the details. Who knew a 40-year-old TV drama could still be so frighteningly relevant.  

Boys From the Blackstuff is at Lowry, Salford from 22 to 26 April 2025.

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But who am I to swim against the tide? The Austen boom was sparked by the BBC’s 1995 adaptation which featured the iconic image of Mr Darcy (Colin Firth) striding manfully across a lake and stripping off his shirt, in modern beefcake style. There have been at least 16 major film and TV adaptations of Austen, including another 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice with Keira Knightley.

Austen’s most successful work, Prejudice is a novel of manners: a satire on social expectations in Regency England, featuring the Bennet family, and in particular the five unmarried daughters. Given the period, naturally, all are looking for husbands. The crux of the story revolves around Elizabeth, the spirited and intelligent second daughter, and her slow burn courtship with the cold and aloof – at least initially – Mr Darcy.

The million dollar question: does the world really need another version of this story? In 2017, Manchester born actor/writer/director Isobel McArthur hit upon an idea so obvious, it’s a surprise that nobody had done it before: an irreverent take on this literary warhorse, with a five strong female cast playing all of the characters. F bombs and modern pop included. McArthur’s script is respectful of the source material but also playful and inventive. Hard to believe we’re watching a story written in 1813. ‘Being a f***ing smartarse is not ladylike’ is one memorable line amongst many. The overall vibe is like a Punk version of Cliff’s Notes.

McArthur’s bigger talent is direction, and she keeps the action moving with machine tool precision (kudos also to choreographer Emily Jane Boyle). Lightning quick costume changes are a plus. The well chosen jukebox – Elvis Costello, Pulp, Steely Dan, and Bonnie Tyler – is another; likewise the trays of Ferrero Roche that regularly pop up at social gatherings.

As mentioned, there are five women on stage though the programme lists eight. Presumably there’s a rotation system in operation. A minor quibble, the company don’t specify who is acting on each night, so it’s probably best to just mention everyone: Emma Rose Creaner, Eleanor Kane, Rhianna McGreevy, Naomi Preston Low, Christine Steel, Susie Barrett, Isobel Donkin, and Georgia May Firth. All bring their A game, performing with wit and mischievous energy.

First produced at the Tron in Glasgow, Pride and Prejudice (Sort Of) has received a rapturous reception, one most producers can only dream about. Sort Of has now turned into a crossover hit, starting small and scaling up to significantly large venues for this second UK tour. The last time this happened was Everyone’s Talking About Jamie. Standing ovations are almost boring in this day and age, and generally unwarranted. Pride and Prejudice (Sort Of) is the real deal.

Almost enough to convert a non believer.

Pride and Prejudice (Sort of…) is at Lowry, Salford from 18-22 March 2025 before continuing on tour.

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The story follows 34-year-old London commuter Rachel who, during her daily trip into the capital, has become fixated on the inhabitants of a house where the train routinely stops due to a faulty signal. She’s obsessed because this loving couple, seem so blissfully happy. Rachel fantasises about their identities, a game to fill her emptiness. Rachel is lost and lonely; a divorcee keeping up appearances, and commuting to a job she was fired from months ago. She’s also an alcoholic. Then one day, her fantasy woman disappears. Has Megan Hipwell done a runner, or is this something more sinister?    

Hawkins best selling thriller incorporated the perspectives of three women. It was Hitchcock lite, a zeitgeist potboiler, one which had good points to make about abusive, controlling men. But the 2016 film exposed the book’s many absurdities, and with hindsight seemed designed simply to give Emily Blunt awards traction (another boozing for Oscars performance, which yielded no significant nominations).

Astonishingly, the writers behind this stage adaptation have managed to aggravate the failings of both book and film. If there’s a theatre award for ‘Most Stilted Dialogue of the Year’, Rachel Wagstaff, and Duncan Abel have got this in the bag. Where do I start? DI Gaskill (Paul McEwan) is one of those overly friendly, maverick cops who only exist in the fictional world. Does he have a line manager? Probably not. ‘When I see stab wounds, I’m reminded I need to buy new oven gloves‘, he bizarrely quips to Rachel, as though she were a member of the force, rather than an unreliable witness in a complex missing person/murder investigation. One moment, chief suspect Scott Hipwell (Samuel Collings) is screeching accusations at Rachel (‘YOU SPY ON US FROM THE TRAIN?!’), before doing a 180 degree turn, and politely offering her a drink. Some scenes are so hammy, it’s like being locked in a branch of Gabbot’s Farm for the evening. Enough to drive one to drink.

Which brings us to Rachel: As written, she comes across like an exasperating version of Nancy Drew, moping about in a parka, hassling witnesses, and drinking alone in her flat (she’s actually been given an eviction notice though, conveniently, this is only mentioned once). The drunken scenes are unconvincing because director Loveday Ingram has asked actress Giovanna Fletcher to play them all sober. No slurring words or staggering about here; Rachel may as well be swigging Irn Bru. Fletcher has drawn the shortest straw of the acting team, and has to deliver huge dollops of exposition at regular intervals, a device which serves to further undermine the character’s credibility.

Technically, the show is very strong thanks to the contributions of designer Adam Wiltshire, the lighting rig of Jack Knowles, and the excellent video projections of Dan Light. I loved the visual motif of a large rotating cube, which Rachel finds herself trapped within, like a hamster on a very modern wheel – a motif of helplessness which could have been successfully repeated throughout. Similarly, the back projected image of Megan Hipwell (Natalie Dunne), seen from the train, creates a sense of distant aspiration, one which Rachel knows she can never possess.   

The opening scenes are hopelessly muddled (again, blame the writers). In fact, those unfamiliar with the film or book might find this show difficult to follow. Thankfully, things pick up in the home stretch when the killer’s identity is revealed; a great twist, it has to be said. If only the rest of the show had been this involving.

Like a day trip to Blackpool with Northern Rail, some train journeys are best forgotten.   

The Girl on the Train is at Lowry, Salford from 11-15 February 2025. Age recommendation 14+

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In 1961, Yorkshire born Nicholson – a teenage bride, living in a working class terrace in Castleford with her first child, and already on her second marriage – won an astronomical sum of money on the football pools, the nation’s bizarre weekly gambling habit where cash hungry punters attempted to correctly predict which Saturday matches would emerge as draws. Nicholson won £152,319; today, it’s the equivalent of over £4 million.

The story was first dramatised by Jack Rosenthal in 1977, and broadcast as a Play for Today on BBC1. The genesis of this musical adaptation – a collaboration between composer Steve Brown, and Lyricist Justin Greene – goes back to the mid 90’s. Initially, the pair wrote it out of love, only approaching theatres after a year of work. Demo tapes were sent out (Steve Coogan, a regular Brown collaborator, lent his talents to one song). Spend Spend Spend finally fell into the hands of Jude Kelly, then head of the West Yorkshire Playhouse. A hit in Leeds, Spend Spend Spend made it to the West End in 1999.

A sobering rags-to-riches-and-back-again saga, it’s a tale freighted with contemporary resonance. Nicholson was probably the first British reality star, her legend sealed when she famously told the press her intentions: ‘I’m going to spend, spend, spend!’ This Royal Exchange production begins with a gaggle of paparazzi popping bulbs in slow motion, followed by a clever special effect: a giant cheque, bursting into flames. Addicted to excess and seduced by materialism, Viv slowly and painfully learns that money doesn’t buy happiness but does bring a ton of problems.

Everyone here is working at the top of their game. Some scenes could be used as lecture blueprints for aspiring theatre directors. Act 1ends with the ear worm title number, presented as an adrenaline rush of glittery pop art design (care of Grace Smart), and needle sharp choreography (from Lucy Hind). Director Josh Seymour adds so many visual flourishes, it would take a second viewing to notice everything. The ‘Garforth’ section is particularly strong. This is the village Viv and husband Keith moved to after their win, though they were hardly welcomed by their toffee nosed neighbours: Seymour turns the number into a smart, Stepford Wives satire, with the chorus dressed in matching pastel casual wear.

Rose Galbraith plays Young Viv with a sort of exuberant naivety, always on the move to stay ahead of doom’s looming shadow. Rachel Leskovac played that part in the original production, and now returns to play Older Viv. Having two Vivs initially feels like a cheap gimmick but this device ultimately serves to heighten the drama as Older Viv is forced to revisit the wreckage of her life, helplessly looking on like a woman being shepherded to the gallows. There isn’t space to mention everyone in the large cast but Alex James-Hatton (as Keith Nicholson), and Alfie Parker, in a variety of supporting roles, are both impressive. Respect also to Joe Alessi for his amusing turn as the one and only Bruce Forsyth (who famously presented Viv with her cheque).

Where did all the money go? Psychiatrists now have a term for Nicholson’s condition – Sudden Wealth Syndrome. Or a simple curse, if you prefer. Parties, clothes, fancy cars, horse racing, foreign holidays, and trust funds for her kids explain some of her relentless splurging. The tax man comes knocking in Act 2, and there’s a protracted court case which ties the estate up for six bewildering years.

Money pales into insignificance however, when tragedy strikes (to say more would spoil the experience). Given she was also a survivor of domestic violence, it’s fair to say Nicholson was an undiagnosed trauma case, desperately looking for something – booze, fags, shopping, husbands – to take the edge off her sadness. ‘The Scar of Love’ is the musical jewel here, a song so gut wrenchingly vulnerable, it takes you by surprise, and knocks you sideways. ‘Scar’ reappears as a musical motif at various points, and during the moving finale. Older Viv gets the killer final line, which completely upends everything we’ve witnessed.

‘Heriath’ is a Celtic word which roughly translates as ‘a profound longing for something irretrievably lost.’ Spend Spend Spend is quietly devastating in that respect, acknowledging a pain many people experience in life but are unable to express; grief for opportunities forever missed. Viv Nicholson knew she would have been so much happier if she’d never filled in that damned coupon.

Composer Steve Brown sadly died earlier this year, and this production is dedicated to his memory.

Spend Spend Spend is an unmissable triumph.

Spend Spend Spend is at The Royal Exchange Theatre, Manchester from 23 November 2024 to 11 January 2025.

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Other actors have of course taken on the character: David Suchet, a meticulous fusspot with undiagnosed OCD, has the distinction of appearing in adaptations of all 33 Poirot novels on television, from the eighties to the noughties. More recently, Kenneth Branagh picked up the mantle, choosing to successfully reimagine the Belgian sleuth as a tortured soul, apart from the rest of humanity, doomed to a life of gnawing loneliness.

Now it’s the turn of Michael Maloney, a distinguished and versatile actor with a prestige CV to prove it. Rather than reinvent the wheel, Maloney takes the high road and accepts his part in what is very much an ensemble piece from director Lucy Bailey. This is the first time this particular adaptation – from American Ken Ludwig – has toured the UK.

‘That makes it really exciting’, says Bailey, ‘and it’s partly what drew me to it. Ken has provided a wonderful framework for the dramatisation. He’s come up with the idea that this is one of the most difficult cases in Poirot’s career, not only because of the complexity of its clues but also because it challenges his fundamental belief in the black and white letter of the law.’

Samuel Ratchett (Simon Cotton) is a bad man; we know this straight off because he wears vulgar clothes and likes to bully people to get his own way. Nobody sheds any tears when he’s stabbed eight times, and found dead in his carriage. ‘There’s a dead man rocking in compartment two!’ cries Poirot (something you might hear at a Nickelback concert, perhaps).

There are too many inconsistencies at the crime scene for this to be a normal case, which is fuel for Poirot’s little grey cells. Train manager Monsieur Bouc –serving the same purpose as Basil Exposition in the Austin Powers films – insists Poirot not involve the police (‘They’re like the 3 Stooges!’), and solve the murder himself.

The revolving carriage set from Mike Britton pivots in different directions, allowing the audience to experience the action from different perspectives. Bailey adds some vital visual flourishes, occasionally having the suspects float across the stage like a spectral chorus. After a leisurely first act, things crank up in part two. All the characters get their moment to shine: Princess Dragomiroff (Debbie Chazen) is a woman tired of the world’s bullshit, the sort of no-nonsense soul you might seek out when in need of an ally. Newcomer Iniki Mariano, as Mary Debenham, is a winning mix of steel and vulnerability; Rishi Rian, as secret lover the Colonel, gets a chance to give clever clogs Poirot a rare dressing down, in one of the production’s best scenes.

Middle class Christie was generally more interested in entertaining than railing against social injustice but she did something almost radical here, asking the urgent question: What happens when the law catastrophically fails the victim? After the infected blood scandal, the sub-postmasters debacle, party gate, and Grenfell Tower; justice cruelly denied is the issue of the day (maybe even the decade).

There can’t be many unfamiliar with the denouement but when finally revealed, it’s still a superbly gripping set piece. A good murder mystery offers simple pleasures, akin to a warm bath and a comforting hot chocolate before bed. On that level, Murder on the Orient Express succeeds superbly.

Murder on the Orient Express is at The Lowry Salford from 6-14 September 2024 before continuing on tour.

Read our interview with Michael Maloney and Bob Barrett.

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We are what we eat. In age of financial strife, child hunger and queues at food banks, not everyone can afford to be fussy. Fast food producers resort to cheap and desperate gimmicks – meat in amusing shapes! free plastic toys! – in order to attract young consumers, and make sure they remain loyal. Consumption is the ultimate goal of every marketing team, even if that means selling your soul to get there.

Which brings us to Sweet Dreams, a co production between Factory International, and the art collective MLF (Marshmallow Lazer Quest). Billed as a ‘new immersive experience’, Sweet Dreams takes audiences on a surreal and satirical journey through food, appetite and desire, seen mostly from the point of a naïve food mascot, Chicky Ricky (smartly voiced by actor and comedian Munya Chawawa). As the audience moves through a series of themed rooms, other characters are introduced including Penny Peckish and the sinister ‘Boss’, who has a Rolodex instead of a face (voiced by Reggie Watts). Chicky Ricky thinks he’s living his best life but the company he works for is in commercial decline. For Ricky, it’s a painful road to fast food Damascus.

Says MLF director Robin McNicholas: ‘Sweet Dreams holds a cartoon mirror on our world. We’re serving up a story where audiences can deepen their connection to the food they eat. We aim to spark further conversations about our place in the food chain, via chirpy cartoon faces that are often the gatekeepers to the things we consume.’

The age range for the show is 12 plus. A responsible move because very young children would be freaked out by some scenes. At times, it feels like this is collaboration between satirist Chris Morris and horror director Ti West, with additional input from kitsch artist Jeff Koons. The factory conveyer belt is the stuff of nightmares, with workers encouraged to have regular ‘despair breaks’ and scream into the abyss via a metal funnel (an idea stolen from Unnovations, another blackly comic Charlie Brooker publication).

On a purely visual level, this show is a knockout, a jaw dropping blend of motion graphics, gaming, illustration, and bespoke objects. The scene of a dozen chewing mouths is something David Lynch would kill to have in his next movie. The vocal presence of gifted comic actress Morgana Robinson (who many will know from the sitcom Stuck), is a plus as are the character illustrations from French artists McBess.

But it’s the satirical script from former chef Simon Wroe which is the secret weapon. Wroe’s sly corporate speak is chilling and hilarious; in fact, I’m tempted to watch Sweet Dreams a second time, just to hear the rich, playful language. It’s a pleasure to see a show where a writer is given carte blanche to let his imagination run wild.

It’s unlikely anyone will emerge from Sweet Dreams eager to eat white meat. Some people may feel nauseous. Others may become vegetarian. What’s that loud whirring sound? It’s Bernard Matthews, spinning in his grave. Bootiful.

Sweet Dreams is at Aviva Studios until 1 September 2024.

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