★★★★

“a shape-shifting reflection on theatre’s sacred, absurd, and slippery essence”

In Showmanism, sinuous Dickie Beau invites his audience into a theatrical séance of sorts, where ghosts of performance past and present converge in a dreamlike meditation on the nature of acting itself.

This is not a conventional solo show, nor a piece easily categorised. Rather, it’s a shape-shifting reflection on theatre’s sacred, absurd, and slippery essence, filtered through Beau’s singular practice of choreographed lip-sync.

From the moment the audience arrives, the show’s creator, Dickie Beau, is watching. Not in a passive stage-waiting way, but with the kind of unblinking attention that suggests something has already begun. The stage is a cabinet of curiosities: a skull, a space helmet, a wheelbarrow of earth, a chest. It’s part playground, part reliquary. Objects are handled with purpose, not symbolism. A mop is a mop until it’s something else.

As the show unfolds, voices pour in – recorded interviews with a constellation of theatre figures – Sir Ian McKellen, Patsy Rodenburg, Steve Nallon, Fiona Shaw and more – each offering reflections on the craft.

Beau mouths their words with uncanny fidelity, capturing the hesitations, stumbles, and emphases that make speech human. It’s not impersonation, rather, it feels as though the voices are using him – inhabiting him.

In one glorious meta moment – and for one night only – the voice of Ian McKellen reflects on seeing Dickie’s performance of Ian McKellen, watching himself while watching from the audience. Meanwhile, on press night, the actual Ian McKellen was in the stalls hearing himself talking about hearing himself… and so on.

The themes spiral outward from familiar theatrical lore (a missing script, a drying actor) into questions of ontology. What does it mean to perform? Is theatre a form of worship or therapy? A hiding place? A revelation? The voices disagree. Some revere the stage as sacred ground; others are dryly dismissive. Critics are roasted, actors adored, and through it all, Beau remains both the medium and the message.

Under Jan-Willem van den Bosch’s direction, the show is exquisitely controlled yet elusive. Marty Langthorne’s lighting and Dan Steele’s sound design conjure a dreamscape more felt than seen, while Justin Nardella’s set thrums with backstage nostalgia. The effect is like wandering through someone else’s memory of theatre.

Beau, physically, is a marvel. Barefoot or barely clothed, he transforms with minute adjustments of face and form. There’s mischief, melancholy, and moments of startling stillness. And when, briefly, he mimes to his own recorded voice, the effect is disarming. Who, really, is doing the talking?

Showmanism is not tidy. It veers towards the self-indulgent. Performers talking about performers. Elevating themselves to gods. Ugh, who needs it? Beau is told on tape by a panoply of greats how thoughtful and warm and wonderful he is, and we are reminded that Beau decided to include all this flattery in the show so we could all hear. It can become too much, too me, me, me – but then again only briefly.

The show doesn’t build to a climax or deliver a thesis. At times, it wanders. The meaty content is on tape, so much of the show is not a live performance at all. But that’s also part of its spell. It separates performance from message so the latter can explore the former. For all its intellectual reach – and it is rich with references – it is also unexpectedly funny and physically immediate.

Dickie Beau offers something new, something original, an antidote to the short-form brain-rot video snacking that dominates the culture – and yet adjacent in trickery and technique.

1984 at Cambridge Arts Theatre

★★★★

“As he twitches and screams, the audience responds with a petrified silence at the horror. It is a deserving accolade for Quartley’s stunning performance”

Marking seventy-five years since the first publication of George Orwell’s sensational dystopian novel, Ryan Craig newly adapts the work for the stage in this production directed by Lindsay Posner.

On entering the theatre, a huge screen at the rear of the stage is projecting images of members of the audience as they take their seats. Initially I am unsure whether the coverage is live or recorded until I am picked out on screen scribbling down these very notes. This is not a playful kiss-cam but something much more sinister: Big Brother is watching you. And if we are in any doubt of this at all the telescreen is in the shape of a giant eye (Justin Nardella designer).

Winston Smith (Mark Quartley) works in the Ministry of Truth where he abets the totalitarian state’s control of the past by rewriting historical records and airbrushing former heroes into insignificance. Dressed in the official uniform of blue overalls and black boots, he already looks worn-out. And he has a secret… despite living under the constant scrutiny of telescreens, spies and informers, he has purchased a vintage journal in which he is writing down seditious thoughts. This is brilliantly portrayed in retrospect, behind gauze at the rear of the stage, almost as a dream sequence.

Winston catches the eye of co-worker Julia (Eleanor Wyld) who proudly wears the red sash, somewhat ironically we will discover, of a member of the anti-sex league (and, therefore, almost certainly not to be trusted, says Parsons). They begin an affair in which their illicit trysts are rare moments of colour in a production in which all else is in different shades of grey. A beautiful projected backdrop of the sun’s rays peeping through into green woodland has an unreal quality about it which emphasises the fantastical nature of their impossible relationship. Julia’s naivete is summed up with her line, “They can’t stop me loving you”, because, of course, they can.

It’s a shock to come back after the interval for Act II. The backdrop is now a huge steel wall, the face of Big Brother faintly etched upon it. Parsons (David Birrell) is lying on the floor of his prison cell, his clothes soiled, his body disabled, his mind broken. It’s a fine performance from Birrell and a brilliant transformation; Parsons’ earlier joy and ebullience replaced with fear and desperation.

Winston’s interrogation is one of the most gruesome scenes I have ever seen on stage. O’Brien (Keith Allen) interrogates with a driving patience, so confident that he will win however long it takes and his suppressed brutality is chilling. Live aerial shots of Winston’s torture are projected onto the back screen as his body is electrocuted again and again. As he twitches and screams, the audience responds with a petrified silence at the horror. It is a deserving accolade for Quartley’s stunning performance.

But there is a limit to how much we can bear and Winston facing up to his ultimate fear in Room 101 is performed in a total blackout. O’Brien’s audio description of the terrors within is almost drowned out by the sounds of Winston’s screams and, despite the blackout, the scene is close to unbearable.

As well as the actors on stage, there are recorded elements from other named characters shown only on screen and the technical aspects of this production are of high importance. With so much going on, both on stage and on the telescreen and with recorded files as well as live camera action, it is sometimes hard to see where to focus the attention.

The necessary abridgment of the text means the love affair between Julia and Winston doesn’t entirely convince, nor the ease with which they commit to betraying themselves to O’Brien. But the production as a whole and Mark Quartley’s performance especially will live long in the memory. As the state continually rewrites the dictionary, removing all unnecessary words from usage, I am only left to say that this production is double-plus-good.

SHOWMANISM

Hampstead Theatre

★★★★

“a shape-shifting reflection on theatre’s sacred, absurd, and slippery essence”

SHOWMANISM

Hampstead Theatre

Reviewed on 23rd June 2025

by Giles Broadbent

Photography by Amanda Searle

Last ten shows reviewed at this venue:

SHOWMANISM

SHOWMANISM

SHOWMANISM

1984 at Cambridge Arts Theatre

★★★★

“As he twitches and screams, the audience responds with a petrified silence at the horror. It is a deserving accolade for Quartley’s stunning performance”

1984 at Cambridge Arts Theatre then UK Tour continues

Reviewed on 22nd October 2024

by Phillip Money

Photography by Simon Annand

Previously reviewed at this venue:

1984

1984

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