'London Road' at the National

There's nowt so melodic as folk

'London Road' at the Cottesloe is that terribly rare thing - a truly original piece of entertainment. It chronicles the events that took place in Ipswich during 2006 when five women were murdered but does so by presenting the verbatim discourse of the surrounding community. The genius lies in realising that the vocal tics, pauses, and repetitive nature of normal speech can be transformed into song in the process creating something unique and surprisingly moving.

The skill of the cast - all playing multiple real people - to shape themselves and their voices without slipping into simple impersonation or caricature is astonishing. Kate Fleetwood seems to have a different physical form, stature and gait when she is playing Julie as to when she appears as any other person. Her performance is a standout in a company that doesn't have one weak link, portraying a women caught up in events not of her making but quietly determined to do something about it.

Those individuals taking advantage of the situation or behaving less than charitably are not whitewashed from the record. Even the most sympathetic characters are allowed moments where we might feel a little uncomfortable with their point of view. But presenting humanity in all it's light and shade is what this does so well.

Direction, lighting and design are all imaginative and add to the richness of the play - the hanging basket finale is strangely powerful - but really the evening belongs to the dialogue and the music. Adam Cork and Alecky Blythe have collaborated on something miraculous bringing clarity and focus to real speech in a way that celebrates it's idiosyncrasies and highlights it's inherent harmony.

An odd, passionate and compelling evening of theatre.

Bill Count: 5

'Rocket to the Moon' at the National

Stirling performances, dodgy accents, a stunning set and gorgeous millinery.

Clifford Odets wrote 'Rocket to the Moon' in 1938 and it has a heightened, almost cliched style of dialogue. The characters seem to comprise of a check list of stereotypes but this limitation is knowing as if the writer, the characters and the audience are all in on the joke. And the jokes are good. While the play loses pace on some occasions, mostly when the women aren't on stage, it does produce solid laughs throughout. It's the drama that sometimes falters especially when it comes to the periphery of men who share the floor of the office building.

Acting honours go to Jessica Raine who manages to make the astonishingly simple Cleo - so simple, in fact, you can't believe it isn't an act - likeable rather than slappable. Joseph Millson as Ben has a great collection of dumb, empty smiles and Nicholas Woodeson is relishing the brutal honesty of Mr. Prince. Poor Keeley Hawes seems to draw the short straw with the hard Mrs. Stark. She only has a couple of occasions where she can make the role sympathetic but does get the best hats. Even if some of the accents wobble a bit all the performances are first rate.

The Lyttleton impresses once again with the quality of the stagecraft on display. Nobody could fault the care and detail in Anthony Ward's set and Mark Henderson's lighting. The overpowering heat of a June 1930's New York office is stunningly realised. The characters nervous tic like trips to the water cooler completely justified in such an oppressive setting.

With it's oven-like backdrop, sexual tension and heightened language there is something of the Tennessee Williams about the play although this one only reaches a simmer rather than a rolling boil.

Bill Count: 4

'Haunting Julia' at the Riverside Studios

A solid final scream doesn't make this slight play haunt the memory.

To call Alan Ayckbourn prolific is to undersell what is an astonishing breadth of work. With over seventy plays competing for attention it's small wonder that one or two of them are less than memorable and, unfortunately, 'Haunting Julia' definitely fails to scare like a good ghost story should.

Set some years after a young and very gifted musician has taken her own life, the play sets about exploring the various ways something can be haunted. Individuals are haunted by their grief, guilt or gifts. The building where the tragedy took place is both seemingly haunted by the spirit itself and also by the fact that it's been turned into a museum. Even the words of Julia haunt the play by being repeated on a loop over the exhibit.

All of this could be quite chilling but the setting never seems quite cold enough, the characters don't appear sufficiently panicked until too late and the sequence of long explanations of each relationship with the titular Julia saps a lot of the tension from the occasional scares.

Dominic Hecht is a suitably disbelieving rationalist as Andy as shocked by the existence of the museum as the ghost that inhabits it. And Christopher Timothy is a bluff and plain-speaking Joe but probably over plays some of the panic just a little. Richard O'Callaghan seemed a little weak as Ken, a little too fay.

However all this good work can't cover the fact that the ending, while well done, just doesn't seem worth the build up - more a mild draft than a proper gust from the depths of hell. It might have been worth sticking with a one act structure since the interval reduced some of the impact that a straight run through would have achieved.

All in all, not a complete misfire but definitely not enough to keep you awake at night.

Bill Count: 2

'They Came to a City' at the Southwark Playhouse

Who would have though that optimism could seem so dated?

Written in 1943, J.B. Priestley's play skirts a very fine line between a play and a polemic about the kind of society that could be created from the upheaval that large areas of the world were experiencing.

The play expresses a passionate hope that things can be made better if we don't commit ourselves to simply rebuilding what was there before. The kind of hope that led to massive societal changes in Britain even in the face of terrible austerity. And it's the kind of hope which now seems elementary and childish because that society didn't come about. That, in effect, we failed.

Straightforwardly written and clearly structured, the play in places comes across as a trifle simplistic but then a passing comment from one of the characters will jolt you with Priestley's prescience. When you're laughing at a joke at the expense of business and banking which sounds as though it could have been written for a panel show last week you have to give the author credit.

All the performances were carefully judged to give just the right amount of cliched forties character actor that the dialogue demands and then let the superb writing do the hard work. Particular congratulations to James Robinson and Charlotte Donachie who produced credible protagonists out of the roles which run the greatest risk of sounding naive.

Also worthy of note was the beautiful lighting in the Playhouse's cavernous Vault, making the always out of sight city seem welcoming in that tunnel is quite a task.

Very much of it's time but timely, 'They Came To a City' was surprising, amusing and - through no fault of it's own - slightly depressing.

Bill Count: 1

'The Umbrellas of Cherbourg' at the Gielgud Theatre

Kneehigh, the theatre company responsible for this adaptation of the 60s French film by Jacques Demy, had enormous success a couple of years back with 'Brief Encounter'. That was an altogether wilder reworking of seminal British cinema with the explosive moments of theatrical daring clearly counterpointing the safe, staid atmosphere of the original film.

In many ways 'Cherbourg' is less successful because it doesn't have the room to play with audience expectations and the material quite as much. Which isn't to say it's a failure by any means just not quite a success.

The sung play covers Guy and Geneviève's love affair as they have to deal with the interference of Geneviève's mother and the inconvenience of the Algerian war. At the conclusion of the six years, our hero and heroine aren't quite where you expect them to be but the story still manages to be romantic and humane.

All the performers do a wonderful job of keeping the recitative bouncing along which, while odd at the start of the evening, seems strangely natural and emotional at the end. Joanna Riding has a studied sixties elegance about her even when being wheeled around which is not something everybody could manage.

Less successful is the choreography of the actors around the stage. The constantly mobile state of the cast and set seemed to draw away from the quieter, more personal moments of the show. And it wasn't quite smooth and effortless enough to not draw you out of the action.

It is probably instructive that the most successful parts of the production are the additions. Presenting the town as a scale model at the start, transitions written on just about any prop you can think of, a balloon tango sequence and the joyous silliness of the shop door bell.

Maîtresse as performed by the cabaret artist Meow Meow, is a scintillating presence guiding us through the melodrama with sympathy but also a hint of darkness. And the final lovers reunion which leads into an astonishing coup de thèâtre or, rather, a sequence of them reminds us what this company is capable of when in complete control of their art.

Bill Count: 0

'Clybourne Park' at Wyndham's Theatre

At the weekend 'Clybourne Park' won Best New Play at the Olivier's, it has also received almost universal praise from the critics and been given a West End transfer from the Royal Court, could it possibly live up to these expectations?

Unequivocally yes. It's a brilliant new play performed superbly by a hugely talented cast.

Bruce Norris' script dazzles with it's impish ability to raise questions about acceptable behaviour and language and the changing state of morality without ever feeling preachy or forced. His characters speak and react like real people. The dialogue, especially in the second act, bounces from -ism to -ism delighting in making the audience shout with laughter while cringing at the taboos being broken. Sexism, racism, xenophobia and homophobia all get a little dig, a little moment caging the characters in a maze of things you must never do or say. For middle class liberals it's a perfect storm and hysterically funny.

Enormous skill is displayed by all members of the cast. Sarah Goldberg excels as Lindsey and Lorna Brown must look forward to delivering the killer white women gag every single night. Perfectly timed it had the audience in uproar. Stephen Campbell Moore has a brilliant way of communicating that he knows he's digging a hole but just can't stop, you squirm at each utterance. Lucian Msamati has a panicked dignity in the first act.

Set and costume design by Robert Innes Hopkins has a suitably fifties sit-com style in the first act and an astonishing transformation in the second. Lighting and sound are subtle, letting the words carry the weight.

If there is a weakness, it's the final coda to the play where Kenneth makes an appearance. This one extra tie from the incidents of the first act seemed a trifle unnecessary given the parentage of the rest of the characters and the presence of the box and note onstage. However this is a tiny misstep in an otherwise almost perfect evening of intelligent entertainment.

Bill Count: 2

'Season's Greetings' at the National

'Season's Greetings' is an Alan Ayckbourn play set, unsurprisingly, at Christmas. I thought it would be a bit odd watching it in March but, even though a large family Christmas is the sit in this sit-com, it doesn't feel at all festive. Almost anti-Christmas in it's depiction of people forced together in an annual struggle to endure each others company.

It's sometime in the early 1980s, Belinda and Neville are hosting the large gathering for family and friends and Rachel's sister has invited a new friend, up and coming author Clive, to join them. Bernard wants to do his annual puppet show for the children. His wife, Phyllis, has a drink problem. Pattie is pregnant again but stuck with a loveless, useless husband in Eddie. And Harvey, with his enthusiasm for the more violent of life's pursuits, takes up houseroom.

As the characters bounce off each other, concerned very little by their drink fuelled actions, the comedy becomes bigger and sillier but never looses its perceptive quality. This is classic British farce in many ways but with a rigorous intellect behind it. The second act had a more fevered quality, the laughs coming thickly as things spun splendidly out of control.

Catherine Tate plays the brash and dominating Belinda broadly and goes for the big laughs while Nicola Walker, as her put upon sister, shuffled through the proceedings with an air of someone apologetic to even ask the air to move around her. Tate and Walker played to their strengths and I don't think anyone would accuse the performances of being subtle but when you have this much skill with a punchline it really doesn't matter. Both character's interactions with Clive being particularly funny.

It's always fun to watch drunk acting and Jenna Russell was no exception. I found the husbands less interesting but Mark Gatiss must get a massive round of applause for his collapse in Act Two. Just the right amount of frenzy and pathos as his puppet show hysterically fell apart.

And the set! I'm used to seeing amazing stage craft in the Lyttleton theatre but this beautiful three floored house sliced down the middle was something special. Not just in the extraordinary believability of the fixtures and fittings but the gorgeous touches around the edges - loft lagging in the roof and drainage pipes underneath. It's not often you get property envy from a theatrical set but this one managed it.

This was a superior slice of British comedy performed by a cast at the top of their game. An absolute treat.

Bill Count: 4

'Twisted Tales' at the Lyric Hammersmith

A few weeks ago I went to see the Lyrics 'Ghost Stories' in it's new home on St. Martin's Lane and was very pleased to find I enjoyed it as much the second time even though I knew the end. In fact, sitting in a very (possible over) reactive audience, I tried not to feel slightly superior in an 'I know something you don't know' way - didn't manage it but that probably tells you a lot about me.

One of the consequences of seeing the play twice was the pleasure you get from watching out for the little touches that tied the whole evening together. The satisfaction that the final conceit gives you is one of the plays strength, the individual stories would probably feel quite lightweight and inconsequential otherwise.

Which brings me to 'Twisted Tales' - I had high hopes of another macabre evening especially given the source of the original short stories - Roald Dahl not being unknown for his, huh, twisted sense of humour. But the result was much less enjoyable than 'Ghost Stories' for two reasons.

Given a running time of about ninety minutes, five stories seemed too many. Admittedly these short stories aren't much more than set up and punch line but they still seemed rushed. Atmospheric and lovingly realised in that post war style of films like 'Brief Encounter', they weren't given room to breathe.

But I think the biggest disappointment was the framing device of commuters being told tall tales. There was no extra gloss given to the tales by the ending - which was a shame as I was hoping for a conclusion as clever as Jeremy Dyson's previous play.

That isn't to say that the evening was unenjoyable. The clipped vowel delivery and sheer nastiness of some of the tales was entertaining. I was just really hoping for more.

Bill Count: 0

"Accomplice' at the Menier Chocolate Factory (sorta)

I'm not a huge fan of audience participation - the audience sits in the seats, there should be a clearly defined stage and that's where the actors go. This may stem from being molested by a female dancing cat when in my adolescence, it's surprising what sticks with you. Never wanted to be called onstage at a panto either. It was always the parent pushed posh kids called Quentin. Anyway, I digress.

'Accomplice' is nothing but audience participation. You are instructed to meet at a secret location where someone attracts your attention and then tells you the plot. This is useful but unnecessary since what follows is more treasure hunt / Crystal Maze than country house whodunnit. A couple of hours later and you've tramped around Southwark, reached the treasure and even had a couple of beers.

And it's all enormous fun. Played for the comedy by the cast, this is light entertainment which is a bit out of the ordinary. The puzzles are just hard enough to challenge without frustrating. The chase long enough to be meaningful without dragging and the ending satisfying enough to be worth it. It even makes you consider the possibility of setting up something similar. For about five minutes.

'Ghost Stories' at the Duke of York's

As you can imagine, this post contains a spoiler or two.

Arghhhhhh! followed by a giggle. It's a classic reaction to a good scare. The tension, the shock then the relief. And a deft avoidance of the intellect centres of the brain. If the rest of the audience plays along too, well, you can all get taken in together. Much like comedy, horror works better in a group.

The direction, stage craft and script of 'Ghost Stories' are magnificently single minded, they want you to jump; that's about it. Maybe let out a squeak. Possibly scream. But definitely jump. And they use every classic theatrical trick to make it work. Sweeping light across the audience before something jumps out; loud noises highlighting sudden movement; the juxtaposition of the horrific and the mundane. It's not sophisticated but it is successful - judging by the people around me anyway.

And then there's the final twist. It really worked for me. It raised the ropey, predictable (and enjoyably hokey) trio of campfire tales into something much more horrific. It's always what you don't see, those things allowed to play in your mind that has the most impact and this was nasty.

What's most enjoyable about 'Ghost Stories' is however clever, jumpy and nicely played the earlier parts of the play are, it's the dropping of a pen that becomes truly horrific. And that's clever.

'When We Are Married' at the Garrick

With a cast that reads like a who's who of British comedy and a script by J.B. Priestley what could possibly go wrong?

Well, nothing really. It all ticked along quite nicely. Nobody can do downtrodden and then rebellious like Sam Kelly or fix a Basilisk stare like Maureen Lipman. Lynda Baron is big and bustling, Roy Hudd end-of-the-pier drunk and Susie Blake sweet. But pleasant was the only height it reached.

For a comedy to be considered farcical, doesn't the tempo have to rise? Doesn't at least one of the cast have to panic? One mis-timed entrance or slammed door? Much like the characters the script was trying to lampoon, this was all a bit mannered. The performances too careful and the comedy too gentle. Chuckles rather than laughs.

Still, the set was gorgeous and the staging old fashioned and simple. There was an old school robustness which left you in no doubt that everyone knew what they were doing. And you're not going to get that many opportunities to see a cast like this.