★★★

“a thoughtful and heartfelt piece”

Tim Graves’ Walking Each Other Home opens by inviting us into a set that immediately establishes the emotional terrain of the play: a modest family living room designed by Jason Marc-Williams and Noah Cousins. Beside the sofa sits a cluster of cards featuring family members, a simple but effective visual device that hints at memory, loss and fractured relationships before a word is spoken.

We first meet Frank Maloney, played by Christopher Poke, an elderly man living with early-stage dementia. Poke gives Frank a layered and deeply sympathetic presence. At times bewildered, at times lucid, Frank drifts between confusion and clarity, uncertain of the day, the moment, or even who is standing in front of him.

Into this uneasy domestic space arrives Frank’s son Michael, played by Edward Fisher, returning from Peru with a backpack and years of unresolved pain. From the outset, we understand that Frank often believes Michael is dead, a heartbreaking symptom of his condition. Their reunion is therefore not one of warmth but of collision: old wounds resurface immediately, and bitterness between father and son dominates the room. Michael’s sexuality, and Frank’s historic discomfort with it, becomes one of the central fault lines of the drama.

What emerges between them is not only estrangement but an ongoing contest. Father and son seem locked in a competitive game for emotional ground: who has been more wronged, who deserves understanding, who can wound the other first.

Graves begins the play at a high emotional pitch, with anger and trauma already fully ignited. While this gives the opening urgency, it also leaves limited room for the tension to build further. Much of the play therefore sustains the same heightened emotional register rather than developing through shifts in rhythm or surprise.

The production finds welcome contrast in Sandeep Singh, Frank’s live-in carer, played with warmth and precision by Amrik Tumber. Sandeep provides much-needed lightness through dry humour, wit and emotional intelligence, and many of the play’s jokes land sharply and effectively. Sandeep also acts as a mirror to Michael. Where Michael has travelled across the world searching for peace and belonging, unable to find acceptance at home, Sandeep embodies a quieter certainty rooted in family, responsibility and inner balance. Their contrast is one of the play’s most interesting dynamics.

Frank frequently speaks of “visitors” and seeing other people in the room. Whether these figures are hallucinations, memories or something more spiritual is left intriguingly open. Combined with Michael’s interest in Amazonian shamanism and Sandeep’s Sikh faith, these moments give the play an ambitious metaphysical dimension.

There are scenes of real beauty here. Poke is especially moving when Frank confronts his own reflection and no longer recognises himself. Tumber also shines in moments of blunt honesty and tenderness. Fisher captures Michael’s pain convincingly, though the character can feel more symbolic than fully grounded.

Marc-Williams’ direction handles the emotional themes with sincerity, and the play’s core concerns are compelling: intergenerational trauma, forgiveness, queer identity and the need for support systems beyond blood ties. At times, however, the script leans too heavily into repetition, restating motivations rather than trusting the audience to infer them. Some monologues embrace a heightened poetic theatricality that can occasionally feel at odds with the play’s grounded emotional realism.

Even so, Walking Each Other Home remains a thoughtful and heartfelt piece – one about reconciliation, memory and the difficult but necessary work of learning how to forgive. For all their flaws and pain, each of its characters is ultimately reaching toward hope.

IONESCO/DINNER AT THE SMITHS

Riverside Studios

★★★★

“a deliciously served celebration of the strangeness of ordinary life”

To attempt to out-absurd the absurdity of Eugène Ionesco strikes one as an absurd challenge to undertake. Writer and director Marianne Badrichani fearlessly takes on the task with her production of “Ionesco/Dinner at the Smiths’” and succeeds brilliantly, not only by paying homage to the playwright’s unique blend of surrealism and notions of the ‘anti play’, but by making it instantly accessible. The ‘Theatre of the Absurd’ can often be considered a touch niche, but Badrichani’s interpretation can be enjoyed by anybody who, A) likes a good night out at the theatre and B) is up for a good laugh. The latter, in fact, should come as a trigger warning – it will have you in stitches (I saw the show just a week after open surgery, and was laughing so hard in places that I feared my still-fresh stitches would come undone).

Co-adapted by Bradrichani, with Edith Vernes, “Ionesco/Dinner at the Smiths’” draws from interviews with Ionesco, and a few of his plays, most notably “The Bald Soprano”. In addition, we are treated to original conversations, musings, debates, arguments, theories, poetry and movement that seamlessly blend into Ionesco’s own writing; rhythmically and ideologically. The result is a deliciously served celebration of the strangeness of ordinary life and the limitations of language that, I am sure, Ionesco would be absurdly proud of. Be prepared to have your sense of reality and logic completely undermined. There is, after all, a written proviso in the programme stating that a doctor is in service in case of existential crisis.

The premise is set up before we enter the space. A willowy butler (Suzy Kohane) meets and greets us, inviting us into the home of Mr and Mrs Smith. Kohane is the epitome of cool, but with torrents of eccentricities sloshing around beneath the surface. Having been handed a glass of wine, we are led to our seats around a long dinner table. At opposite ends are Mr Smith (Sean Rees) and Mrs Smith (Lucy Russell). They talk nonsense. Of course they do. There are enough dramatic pauses, though, for us to take in and appreciate the attention to detail in our surroundings. Lydie Drouillet’s set has more than a touch of René Magritte. The upturned sconces of the candelabras, apples instead of candles, a backwards clock on the wall. There are even visual references to Ionesco’s other works.

But so far, we are still in ‘The Bald Soprano’ territory. The Smiths’ guests arrive – Mr and Mrs Martin (David Mildon and Edith Vernes respectively). They are dressed identically to their hosts. They arrive late and, ignoring the Smiths at first, launch straight into a private conversation as though they are strangers to each other. Bit by bit they flirtatiously discover coincidences and similarities, until they eventually recognise they are, in fact, married. The ensuing dialogue between the four of them spirals deeper into hilarity and banality. Each actor delivers their lines with impeccable timing and pitch, and every gesture, tic and expression is spot on. There is more than a hint of Monty Python (who, of course, were profoundly influenced by Ionesco) as logic breaks down further and linguistic convention is sent up higher and higher.

There is still time for a serious word or two, however. Slipping out of his jacket, Rees intermittently switches from Mr Smith into playing Ionesco himself, interviewed by his fellow cast members. These are short bursts, yet full of concise insight into Ionesco’s modus operandi and, with significant poignancy, his views on the ‘contagion’ of fascism. That is a whole other story, but in a few short lines, sentiments are clearly outlined.

Then it’s back to the party. The menu continues to dish up further courses of wordplay, wit and mindboggling silliness. We are invited to momentarily wear blindfolds and just listen instead – while other senses are also catered to. A fire chief arrives (Mildon at his most bonkers), disappointed at the lack of a fire to tackle. Nevertheless, a fire-themed poem is recited as consolation. A song is sung, and a few more twisted truisms and anti-aphorisms punctuate the proceedings. All the while our grins our getting wider, yet beneath the humour we are still aware of the odd pertinent message burrowing its way into our consciousness.

The show ends where it started – sort of – giving the impression of a cycle. The temptation is to remain in our seats to see if it all starts over. I could quite happily watch it again (under my surgical team’s orders though… I would rather the side-splitting comedy remain a figure of speech, not a literal medical emergency). It would be absurd to turn down an invitation to Dinner at the Smiths.

Tag Archives: Lidia Crisafulli

WALKING EACH OTHER HOME

★★★

Old Red Lion Theatre

WALKING EACH OTHER HOME

Old Red Lion Theatre

★★★

“a thoughtful and heartfelt piece”

WALKING EACH OTHER HOME

Old Red Lion Theatre

Reviewed on 30th April 2026

by Nasia Ntalla

Photography by Lidia Crisafulli

WALKING EACH OTHER HOME

WALKING EACH OTHER HOME

WALKING EACH OTHER HOME

IONESCO/DINNER AT THE SMITHS

★★★★

Riverside Studios

IONESCO/DINNER AT THE SMITHS

Riverside Studios

★★★★

“a deliciously served celebration of the strangeness of ordinary life”