Tag Archives: Elena Pena

THE FIREWORK MAKER’S DAUGHTER

★★★★

Polka Theatre

THE FIREWORK MAKER’S DAUGHTER

Polka Theatre

★★★★

“The final pyrotechnic display prompts a roar of delight from children and cheers from adults”

In this spirited Polka Theatre production adapted from Philip Pullman’s cherished novel, audiences are ushered into a world of spark and spectacle from the very first moment. The stage opens delicately—a miniature puppet sheltered beneath a toy umbrella, accompanied by the strikingly authentic sound of fireworks crackling to life. It’s an intimate and sensory invitation into Lila’s blazing quest.

We follow the determined Lila on her journey to become a Master Firework-Maker like her father. Along the way, she conjures a “golden sneeze,” faces down demons, and navigates a landscape where sound and light are seamlessly intertwined. Tika Mu’tamir brings a compelling presence to Lila, anchoring the narrative with conviction. She is joined by Lalchand (Chand Martinez) and Chulak (Jules Chan) and the talking white elephant Hamlet—a puppet so exquisitely crafted by Maia Kirkman-Richards that it feels almost magical in its realism.

Yet, not every element ignites with the same intensity. The adaptation remains rigorously faithful to Pullman’s text—at times to its detriment. Scenes unfold in linear succession, mirroring the book’s structure so closely that the dramatic pacing occasionally falters. Expository dialogue, particularly in the first act, feels protracted, dampening the story’s momentum and testing the engagement of younger audience members.

Visually, however, the production is consistently arresting. Anisha Fields’ set and costume designs are richly textured and evocatively detailed, especially within the mysterious jungle scenes. One standout sequence—the Elephant Parade—is rendered through shadow play and circular lamps, enhanced by Ruth Chan’s wonderfully ironic and inventive score. It’s a moment that showcases the creative team’s ability to translate Pullman’s imagination into potent stage imagery.

Jonathan Chan’s lighting design deserves praise; the fireworks are rendered with such brilliance and theatrical flair that they genuinely feel like high-stage magic. The final pyrotechnic display prompts a roar of delight from children and cheers from adults—an emotional, visually breathtaking climax that resonates long after the lights come down.

The five-strong cast performs with admirable versatility, transitioning nimbly between roles. Among the ensemble, Ajjaz Awad brings a commanding presence to the talking elephant Hamlet, while Rose-Marie Christian delivers a scene-stealing performance as the eccentric Auntie Rambashi. Still, certain characters—notably Hamlet the elephant—feel underused. The puppet’s vocal delivery is rushed, leaving too little space for its stunning visual presence to breathe and enchant.

Directed by Lee Lyford, the show reveals that the three essential gifts for any firework-maker are talent, courage, and luck. At its heart, however, it is Lila’s friendships and the love that surrounds her which truly ignite her journey. While the production captures this message with warmth and technical polish, it would benefit from a bolder editorial hand—trimming dialogue-heavy sections in favour of more physical storytelling and visual invention.

Ultimately, this production proves that the most dazzling fireworks are not just those that light up the stage, but those that ignite the imagination—a testament to the technical magic of theatre and the enduring spark of its heartwarming message.

 



THE FIREWORK MAKER’S DAUGHTER

Polka Theatre

Reviewed on 23rd November 2025

by Portia Yuran Li

Photography by Jake Bush


 

Previously reviewed at this venue:

DWEEB-A-MANIA | ★★★★★ | October 2025
THE BOY WITH WINGS | ★★★ | June 2025

 

 

THE FIREWORK

THE FIREWORK

THE FIREWORK

RHINOCEROS

★★★★

Almeida Theatre

RHINOCEROS

Almeida Theatre

★★★★

“an appeal to the senses, an experience as peculiar and nonsensical as a fit of the giggles”

Director Omar Elerian’s electrifying interpretation of the absurdist classic Rhinoceros is as much about theatre as it is about marauding pachyderms.

In his vision of French Romanian writer Eugene Ionesco’s 1959 fable, Elerian meticulously parodies the conventions of theatre and presents them back to the audience with a knowing wink.

In this case, theatre becomes a series of artificial and disconnected moments that meld alchemically into a kaleidoscopic whole.

People don’t so much talk to each other as engage in the mechanics of dialogue, delivering nonsensical retorts and ever spiralling repetitions. No-one listens. Communication is impossible. Extended riffs on, say, the number of horns on the eponymous rhinoceros rise into a dizzying tumult of words, sometimes pin sharp, then losing focus, only to return to a semblance of meaning measured by weight alone.

The audience is puzzled, bored, irritated, mesmerised, intrigued, amused – often within the same minute.

In an overlong and sometimes grating production, the story features a provincial French village – perhaps something out of a Wes Anderson movie – with a cast of deadpan pedants and eccentrics. A rhinoceros charges through the village square causing chaos. Then another, which tramples a cat. Soon it emerges that the villagers themselves are becoming the beasts.

Political writer Ionescu was, perhaps, thinking of the spread of fascism in pre-war France, making points about conformity and appeasement to the monstrous.

Elerian, wisely, veers away from heavy-handed politics and leans into the comedy. In his own translation, he updates the gags to include references to Covid, Wallace and Gromit and Severance. He gathers about him a troupe of actors superbly adept at the challenge of farce.

John Biddle, Hayley Carmichael, Paul Hunter, Joshua McGuire, Anoushka Lucas, Sophie Steer, and Alan Williams – in suitable white coats against a box-of-tricks white stage – are put through their paces in a series of scenarios, like an improv troupe picking suggestions out of a top hat.

Elerian creates a grandiose, meta-flecked circus – complete with clowns, kazoos and funny wigs. His message appears to be that laughter creates community when meaning fails.

In the most effective sequence McGuire, as Jean, battles with the agonies of transformation, a rousing set piece that exemplifies the thrilling choreography that is a highlight of the production.

Like Jean, the villagers succumb one by one to the plague until the hero of the piece, flustered slob and everyman Berenger (Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù), is left on his own, making a stand against the onslaught.

At this point, anti-theatre becomes theatre again. Rhinoceros finally relies on the tropes of storytelling to make a connection – but too late. Without the groundwork, this burst of coherent humanity feels unearned.

Never mind. Rhinoceros is an appeal to the senses, an experience as peculiar and nonsensical as a fit of the giggles.



RHINOCEROS

Almeida Theatre

Reviewed on 1st April 2025

by Giles Broadbent

Photography by Marc Brenner

 

 

 


 

Previously reviewed at this venue:

OTHERLAND | ★★★★ | February 2025
WOMEN, BEWARE THE DEVIL | ★★★★ | February 2023

 

 

RHINOCEROS

RHINOCEROS

RHINOCEROS