★★★★

“beautiful physical moments and thought-provoking themes”

Performed by an ensemble of six women, The Banality of Evil is an ambitious production exploring a lesser-known chapter of Second World War history. Through a series of fast-paced scenes, writer and director Julia Pascal brings together the lives of three German Jewish women: philosopher Hannah Arendt, pioneering artist Charlotte Salomon and teenage Communist Eva Daube, who are arrested in France and interned at Camp Gurs in 1940.

The scenes move quickly between the women’s lives, relationships and political beliefs as they face the uncertainty of imprisonment. With German forces advancing, they must decide whether to stay and hope for liberation or risk escaping into an unknown future. Beyond their individual stories, the play explores exile, belonging and the fragile promise of safety when the very state that offered refuge becomes a source of persecution.

There is something particularly striking about the contradiction at the heart of this story. The women are labelled “undesirable” and reduced to categories by a system that fails to recognise their individuality. The play raises questions about how bureaucracy can normalise exclusion. These themes feel uncomfortably relevant today, when people fleeing persecution continue to face hostility and uncertainty.

The performances are strong throughout. Mai Weisz brings a bold, lively intelligence to Hannah Arendt, while Anja Fahlenkamp also makes a memorable impression. The six women work together to create a range of characters and situations, shifting between moments of tension, conflict and unexpected humour.

The text is ambitious, drawing on history, philosophy and personal relationships, and there is a lot to take in. Although the scenes move at a good pace and the play never feels boring, I sometimes wished they had lasted longer. Some of the conflicts are particularly interesting, and I would have liked more time to sit with them and see the characters’ relationships develop further. Certain moments feel as though they have the potential to go deeper, emotionally and dramatically, before the action moves on.

Where the production really shines is in its theatrical language. The physical theatre and use of props create simple yet captivating images, with some genuinely beautiful moments of movement. The music and cabaret elements are woven into the action, bringing shifts in tone and moments of playfulness to an otherwise dark story. Carmen Neat’s set and Lesley Lightfoot’s costume design help establish the period and contribute to the production’s distinctive visual language.

Moments of German philosophy illuminate Arendt’s complicated relationship with Martin Heidegger, adding another layer to the play’s exploration of intellectual thought, personal choices and political responsibility.

Ultimately, The Banality of Evil gives space to women’s stories that risk being forgotten. It is an ambitious piece of political theatre, combining historical research with music, movement and compelling performances. While I would have welcomed more time to explore some of its richest conflicts in depth, its beautiful physical moments and thought-provoking themes make it a production worth seeing.

THE TURN OF THE SCREW

Arcola Theatre

★★★★

“the thrills that unnerve the most are the psychological ones”

Henry James’ 1898 gothic horror novella could well have borne the title ‘The Ambiguity of Reality’, although as a sales pitch it doesn’t have quite the same ring to it. The metaphorical title that James chose alludes to the tightening of a torture device, but the torment that the main protagonist – the unnamed governess – experiences is psychological rather than physical. The reader is deliberately left to make up their own mind as to whether the ghosts are real or in her mind. Morgan Lloyd Malcolm’s adaptation, for Blackeyed Theatre, focuses on this dichotomy by never telling us exactly what is happening. The fear derives from uncertainty, and the crumbling of logical explanation. Although it does also have its fair share of things that go bump in the night.

The story predates the term ‘gaslighting’, but that is the term that comes most to mind. Morgan Lloyd Malcolm introduces a character, simply called ‘The Man’ (a terrific Jim Fish) to whom the Governess recounts the events that occurred. ‘The Man’ is like a cruel cross-examiner, challenging every assertion, twisting every word; insisting memory is unreliable. Is it any wonder that she loses her grip?

Which is how we first meet the Governess. She is almost begging us to believe. We wonder why Amy Tara’s performance is so heightened without any lead up to the panicked histrionics, but we quickly realise that the epilogue has been placed upfront, and Tara then follows this with a wonderfully complex and nuanced portrayal of her journey. The Governess is employed by the ‘Master’ (Jim Fish again, this time in sinister, lecherous mode) to take charge of his orphaned niece and nephew in a remote country home. Her good intentions are thwarted by a growing suspicion of the two children; Miles (Toby Beynon) and Flora (Kathleen McAuley Irvine). She wants to protect them, but she suspects them of deceiving her, having been corrupted by the ghosts of two former employees of the household, Quint and Jessel, who both met an unexplained and questionable end. It is an inspired choice of director Nicky Allpress to have Beynon and McAuley Irvine play the ghosts as well as the children, lending weight to the notion that Flora and Miles have been possessed by the spirits.

The downside, however, is the lack of belief in the ages of Flora and Miles, despite the language and intonation of the dialogue, particularly when the twelve-year-old Miles wakes, allegedly distraught, from a nightmare, but dressed in morning suit and towering over the Governess. McAuley Irvine is a touch more successful, but really only comes into her own when she turns against her guardian having been possessed by the adult spirit of Jessel. At this point, even the housekeeper, Mrs Grose (Katy Slater), is willing to give the Governess the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she’s not just a madwoman after all. Slater’s unsettling depiction of wavering alliance further throws doubt into the minds of the audience.

But what truly creates the sense of unease and suspense is Hattie North’s sound design, which spills over into the preshow and interval. Coupled with Oliver McNally’s lighting and the occasional bursts of illusion courtesy of Wayne Fox, there is enough to keep us on the edge of our seats. But the thrills that unnerve the most are the psychological ones. The show works best when it becomes a trial between ‘The Man’ and ‘The Governess’. The chemistry between Fish and Tara is palpable, and reason gets as much of a beating as the inexplicable. The uncertainty of the story comes to the fore and the real ghosts reveal themselves to be the ones in our own minds. In her desperation, the Governess declares that we will never know. The ambiguity of reality indeed. We are left to draw our own conclusions. I can’t help you there, so go and see it for yourself. Feel the fear and do it anyway… as they say.

Tag Archives: Alex Brenner

THE BANALITY OF EVIL: HANNAH ARENDT, FRANCE, 1940

★★★★

Arcola Theatre

THE BANALITY OF EVIL: HANNAH ARENDT, FRANCE, 1940

Arcola Theatre

★★★★

“beautiful physical moments and thought-provoking themes”

THE BANALITY OF EVIL: HANNAH ARENDT, FRANCE, 1940

Arcola Theatre

Reviewed on 12th October 2026

by Nasia Ntalla

Photography by Alex Brenner

THE BANALITY OF EVIL REVIEW

THE BANALITY OF EVIL

THE BANALITY OF EVIL

THE BANALITY OF EVIL

THE TURN OF THE SCREW

★★★★

Arcola Theatre

THE TURN OF THE SCREW

Arcola Theatre

★★★★

“the thrills that unnerve the most are the psychological ones”