★★★★

“Nefar has an infectious energy that easily commands the room”

‘My English Persian Kitchen’ takes its audience on a journey through time and space, from the loving Iranian childhood of its nameless protagonist (Isabella Nefar), to her dramatic escape from an abusive marriage, to finding her feet alone in London. Based on the life story of cookbook author and nutritional therapist Atoosa Sepehr, writer Hannah Khalil weaves these strands together through food. The Persian cuisine serves as a source of nostalgia, pride, and most of all, a crucial link to both the character’s family and her new community in England.

The woman is already chopping herbs as the audience walks into the auditorium, anchored behind a large wooden kitchen island, its open shelves stuffed with various kitchen utensils and spices. In Pip Terry’s evocative set, a small light hangs overhead, an awkwardly tall fridge stands forlornly in the background. The lights dim and the protagonist starts talking as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, relaxed, upbeat, and excited to share the smells of her spices, she makes for a perfect cook show host. But as her kitchen gets messier, so does the chef’s mind – plagued by the trauma of fleeing her native country on a moment’s notice, by memories of the oppressive marriage she ‘sleepwalked’ into, and the thought of the family and friends she left behind in Iran, Nefar impressively switches between seemingly lighthearted cooking instructions and narrating the darkest moments in her character’s life.

Nefar has an infectious energy that easily commands the room, never wanting for another performer to help carry the load. Guided, no doubt, by director Chris White and movement director Jess Tucker Boyd, she constantly interacts with the space and the set in unexpected ways that uphold the momentum she so expertly builds. However, Nefar’s is not strictly the only character – the ash-e-reshteh comes alive as she prepares it live on stage, and in just over an hour, the theatre is filled with the delicious smell of frying onions and herbs. As the ingredients drip and sizzle, they conjure up memories that leave the cook with no choice but to reveal more and more of herself, the constituent parts of her dish acting almost as conversationalists.

But the fragrant smells of this Persian noodle soup are not the only element to pander to the senses. Mary Langthorne’s lighting design is both effective and cinematic. The warm yellow light in which the woman is bathed as she cooks is cosy, but the stark circle around her also manages to evoke her loneliness. Cleverly using the dark to her advantage, Langthorne effortlessly transforms the character’s kitchen into an airport, a childhood home, or a private nightmare. In a few instances, almost complete darkness on stage obscures the kitchen entirely, momentarily transporting the character to wherever Nefar takes her.

The woman struggles to connect to the ‘politely disinterested’ people she meets in London until her neighbours start asking after the delicious smells that emanate from her flat: sharing her food allows her to share her culture and something of herself. The audience being invited to taste the ash-e-reshteh after the curtain falls could not be a more fitting, heartwarming, and (frankly) hotly anticipated ending to this original and hopeful show.

SHOWMANISM

Hampstead Theatre

★★★★

“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.

MY ENGLISH PERSIAN KITCHEN

Soho Theatre

★★★★

“Nefar has an infectious energy that easily commands the room”

MY ENGLISH PERSIAN KITCHEN

Soho Theatre

Reviewed on 2nd October 2025

by Lola Stakenburg

Photography by Ellie Kurttz

Previously reviewed at Soho Theatre venues:

MY ENGLISH

MY ENGLISH

MY ENGLISH

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

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