Tag Archives: Ellen Cheshire

SINGLE WHITE FEMALE

★★★

UK Tour

SINGLE WHITE FEMALE

Theatre Royal Brighton

★★★

“lively and watchable, with enough intrigue to carry it through”

Remember the 80s and 90s thrillers that spawned the ‘…from hell’ craze, where flatmates, temps, stepparents, nannies or neighbours could turn deadly? I do, and I confess to a soft spot for the overwrought psychological thriller. Single White Female (1992), with Bridget Fonda and Jennifer Jason Leigh going head to head as warring flatmates, is one I remember fondly. Rebecca Reid’s stage adaptation brings the story into a 21st-century UK shaped by two decades of social media, where entire lives, or curated versions of them, are easily tracked.

At its heart, the play is a domestic thriller about obsession, loneliness and the fragile dynamics of family. A seemingly ordinary living arrangement between Allie and Hedy spirals into a battle of trust, boundaries and control, creating a constant low-level unease that rarely rises into full-blown suspense.

Lisa Faulkner plays Allie, a recently divorced mother juggling parenthood with the pressures of launching a tech start-up. Kym Marsh stars as Hedy, the lodger brought in to help cover mortgage payments on the high-rise London apartment shared with Allie’s stroppy teenage daughter Bella, played convincingly by Amy Snudden. Hedy is outwardly charming and attentive, gradually revealing a more unsettling side, particularly where Bella is concerned. The relationship between Hedy and Allie forms the heart of the play, a push and pull of trust and dependence, yet the dynamic never quite acquires the lived-in tension needed to sharpen the thriller’s edge.

Much is made in the publicity of social media’s role in enabling obsession, though this remains more discussed than dramatised. What lands more convincingly is its impact on fifteen-year-old Bella, for whom bullying no longer ends at the school gate. Her storyline becomes one of the production’s stronger strands, positioning her as both participant and pawn in the power struggle between her parents and Hedy.

The focus on the central female relationship creates a tense triangle between Allie, Hedy and Bella, leaving the two male roles peripheral. Jonny McGarrity’s Sam, a recovering alcoholic ex now expecting another child, and Andro’s Graham, Allie’s gay best friend and business partner, feel lightly sketched, more as foils than fully realised characters. The script attempts to deepen Sam’s character through brief flashbacks, with Allie and Sam stepping outside the apartment to replay fragments of their marriage. These snapshots complicate the image of the relationship Allie presents, though they feel more illustrative than revelatory. As in the original film, the production ultimately belongs to the two women.

Director Gordon Greenberg keeps the pacing brisk, balancing moments of menace with domestic detail, though much of the play’s atmosphere comes from the interplay of set and sound. Morgan Large’s single open-plan apartment appears modern but subtly unstable: a window that will not fully close lets traffic drift in, electricity flickers unpredictably, and a picture frequently slip from its fixings. The lift clanks and grinds, while the brittle buzz of the entry system punctuates the action, emphasising the fragility of both the building and its occupants. Max Pappenheim’s sound design and score heighten the emotional stakes, using music like a film score to underscore fear, tension and escalating psychological pressure. Together, set and sound transform the flat into an almost sentient presence, echoing the strain between Allie, Hedy and Bella and amplifying Hedy’s escalating plan.

The second act leans into excess, prompting laughter that feels part nervous release, part response to moments of over-the-top melodrama. It is not subtle and often veers into OTT territory, recalling the lurid thrillers of the 80s and 90s. Shocks arrive, but the suspense rarely sustains, and the themes of obsession and belonging never fully land. Still, the production remains lively and watchable, with enough intrigue to carry it through even when later plot turns stray into the ridiculous.



SINGLE WHITE FEMALE

Theatre Royal Brighton then UK Tour continues

Reviewed on 13th January 2026

by Ellen Cheshire

Photography by Chris Bishop


 

 

 

 

SINGLE WHITE FEMALE

SINGLE WHITE FEMALE

SINGLE WHITE FEMALE

SUNNY AFTERNOON

★★★½

UK Tour

SUNNY AFTERNOON

Theatre Royal Brighton

★★★½

“an engaging, if qualified, portrait of a band that never found harmony easily, onstage or off”

Sunny Afternoon tells the story of The Kinks largely on Ray Davies’s terms. With an original story by Davies, whose back catalogue provides the music and lyrics, and a book by Joe Penhall, the musical places Ray firmly at its centre. Other members of the original line-up are present, sometimes vividly so, but this is unmistakably Ray’s version of events, and that perspective shapes both the strengths and limitations of the show.

As with many subject-shaped biographical musicals, darker truths are smoothed over. Ray’s struggles with alcohol are mostly absent, while the band’s volatility is reduced to clashes between Dave and Pete. Ray appears the sensible, buttoned-up genius, Dave the reckless foil, simplifying a far messier reality and veering into myth-making.

Danny Horn plays Ray Davies as an introspective, guarded figure, a musical obsessive whose inwardness is most fully explored through his relationship with Rasa, played with warmth by Lisa Wright. By contrast, the rest of the band are drawn more broadly. Oliver Hoare’s Dave Davies is louche, volatile and impulsive, embodying the excesses of a sex, drugs and rock and roll lifestyle. Harry Curley brings a steady presence to Pete Quaife, though the character remains lightly sketched. Zakarie Stokes’ Mick Avory barely registers in the first act, and his extended drum solo at the start of Act Two feels more like compensation than character development.

Edward Hall’s direction is strongest when focusing on the band’s formation and search for a distinctive sound within the emerging 1960s music scene. The opening contrast between a tuxedoed, doo-be-dooing crooner and the raw energy of The Ravens (their early incarnation) is knowingly artificial but theatrically effective, clearly signalling the shift from the 1950s into the Swinging Sixties.

The narrative moves from the breakthrough of You Really Got Me through mounting domestic pressures for Ray and Rasa to the ill-fated US tour that led to a four-year ban. Back in Britain, Ray confronts depression and legal battles, while also mounting a determined creative resurgence.

The music is integrated in two ways: some songs operate in a musical theatre mode, articulating emotion or narrative shifts, including Dedicated Follower of Fashion as the band get their makeover and Rasa’s aching I Go to Sleep as she struggles alone with a newborn while Ray tours. Elsewhere, songs emerge through writing, rehearsing and recording, with the slow assembly of Waterloo Sunset carrying real anticipation.

There is an emphasis on the tension between creativity and commerce. The system itself becomes the antagonist, embodied by Grenville Collins and Robert Wace, played with affable ineptitude by Tam Williams and Joseph Richardson, and Larry Page (Alasdair Craig), forever doing his best as the grasping intermediary. Eddie Kassner, given a harder edge by Ben Caplan, emerges as the closest thing to a villain, emphasising how the band’s artistic ambition was constantly challenged by financial exploitation. The Moneygoround lands especially well here, naming names and exposing the machinery behind the scenes.

Miriam Buether’s striking three-sided wooden set, stacked with speakers, adapts fluidly to studios, homes and stages, with stars and stripes unfurled during the US tour. Costumes chart the band’s evolution from matching suits to greater individuality. The cast play their own instruments, supported by a small onstage band, lending credibility to the performance scenes.

The second act does run long. The drum solo and a cluster of melancholic moments between Ray and Rasa extend emotional beats that have already landed. As a jukebox musical, Sunny Afternoon occasionally struggles to reconcile musical theatre convention with the sharper edge of The Kinks’ songwriting.

Still, there is real pleasure here. Ray Davies wrote some extraordinary songs, witty, observant and socially alert, even if the show only partially explores that sharpness. Uneven and occasionally self-mythologising, Sunny Afternoon remains an engaging, if qualified, portrait of a band that never found harmony easily, onstage or off.



SUNNY AFTERNOON

Theatre Royal Brighton then UK Tour continues

Reviewed on 17th December 2025

by Ellen Cheshire

Photography by Manuel Harlan

 

 

 

 

SUNNY AFTERNOON

SUNNY AFTERNOON

SUNNY AFTERNOON