Tag Archives: Marty Langthorne

SHOWMANISM

★★★★

Hampstead Theatre

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.



SHOWMANISM

Hampstead Theatre

Reviewed on 23rd June 2025

by Giles Broadbent

Photography by Amanda Searle

 

 


 

 

 

Last ten shows reviewed at this venue:

LETTERS FROM MAX | ★★★★ | June 2025
HOUSE OF GAMES | ★★★ | May 2025
PERSONAL VALUES | ★★★ | April 2025
APEX PREDATOR | ★★ | March 2025
THE HABITS | ★★★★★ | March 2025
EAST IS SOUTH | ★★★ | February 2025
AN INTERROGATION | ★★★★ | January 2025
KING JAMES | ★★★★ | November 2024
VISIT FROM AN UNKNOWN WOMAN | ★★ | July 2024
THE DIVINE MRS S | ★★★★ | March 2024

 

 

 

SHOWMANISM

SHOWMANISM

SHOWMANISM

VINCENT RIVER

★★★★

Trafalgar Studios

Vincent River

Trafalgar Studios

Reviewed – 21st May 2019

★★★★

 

“Mahy’s performance perfectly condenses an unstable and volatile mix of anger, vulnerability, belligerence and dependence”

 

Philip Ridley is a playwright whose finger is always on the pulse, and even though “Vincent River” was written at the birth of this century it has lost none of its punch. Unfortunately, this has as much to do with how slowly society changes as it does with the timeless quality of the writing. During the last five years, homophobic hate crime has reportedly been rising. What is seldom reported is the aftermath: the personal story that this play heart-breakingly throws into the spotlight.

Anita is in her new flat, having been forced to flee her previous home. A youth has wandered in through the door into her living room. He is Davey, wearing a black hoodie, a black eye and an even darker obsession with Anita whom he has been stalking for months; ever since Anita’s son, Vincent, was murdered by thugs in a disused railway station’s toilet. Over the next eighty minutes, these two characters fight to understand themselves and each other. Played out in real time the audience are drawn in so much that we feel like the third character in this drama.

The rhythm and melody of Ridley’s dialogue is a gift for the two actors, and under the assured direction of Robert Chevara, the pulse never wavers. Thomas Mahy plays Davey like a dangerous dog whose threat of menace and aggression can be swiftly curbed with a flash of Anita’s bared teeth. Mahy’s performance perfectly condenses an unstable and volatile mix of anger, vulnerability, belligerence and dependence. Yet the undoubted force that drives this piece is the charismatic Louise Jameson, with her matchlessly poignant portrayal of a mother suffering her worst nightmare. A naked study of grief for the loss of a son that is believable throughout. Her raw pain is the skeleton upon which she drapes cloaks of humour, scorn and even tenderness. We are riveted right up to the climax when she finally rips through her armour with a blood curdling howl.

Jameson and Mahy circle each other like wild cats on Nicolai Hart Hansen’s simple and effective set that conveys Anita’s new flat with just a sofa, some unpacked boxes and quite a few opened bottles of gin. But beneath the humdrum stillness of the surroundings runs the vicious undercurrent of Vincent’s murder. The overall effect is hypnotic and electrifying. This is one of Ridley’s more accessible scripts, rooted in reality rather than veering off into the surreal promiscuity or gothic gratuitousness he is known for. But it is no less provocative – in fact its naturalism strengthens the message. The honesty of these performers makes us question the honesty with which we lead our own lives. Truth hurts – but we need that pain in order to start the healing process.

 

Reviewed by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Scott Rylander

 

 

Vincent River

Trafalgar Studios until 22nd June

 

Previously reviewed at this venue:
Silk Road | ★★★★ | August 2018
Dust | ★★★★★ | September 2018
A Guide for the Homesick | ★★★ | October 2018
Hot Gay Time Machine | ★★★★★ | November 2018
Coming Clean | ★★★★ | January 2019
Black Is The Color Of My Voice | ★★★ | February 2019
Soul Sessions | ★★★★ | February 2019
A Hundred Words For Snow | ★★★★★ | March 2019
Admissions | ★★★ | March 2019
Scary Bikers | ★★★★ | April 2019

 

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