★★★

“what could be a gripping, nail-biting production is brought away from the cliff edge by the proclamatory style of the writing”

Malorie Blackman’s series of novels, headlined by the opener “Noughts and Crosses”, describes an alternative, present-day reality in which the controversial subject of racial power is turned on its head. The premise is explored through a tale of forbidden love in the vein of ‘Romeo and Juliet’. The two teenage protagonists are from opposite sides of the social divide in Blackman’s young adult fiction. The target audience is apparent in Dominic Cooke’s stage adaptation which has gone straight for the bull’s eye; and therein lies both its strengths and its weaknesses.

Society is divided into the subservient Noughts – the white underclass; and the Crosses – the privileged black people who hold the power. Like the novel, the story is told through the eyes of Sephy (Corinna Brown) and Callum (Noah Valentine). When their innocent childhood friendship grows into a blossoming romance it drifts into dangerous territory – Sephy is a Cross while Callum is a Nought. Furthermore, Sephy’s father is running for Prime Minister while Callum’s father, and elder brother, are embroiled in freedom fighting, plotting terrorist attacks under the banner of the Liberation Militia.

Directed by Tinuke Craig, the storytelling is exceptionally clear – with Brown and Valentine intermittently speaking out to the audience, pointing out major plot turns with their slightly false-sounding street patois. When not involved in the scene, the entire cast watch from the sidelines; silently observing, and judging, ready to jump in if needed to either calm or exacerbate the situation. Colin Richmond’s harsh metallic, multi-layered set gives the gritty backdrop required for this urban fable, although a touch incongruous against the lush greenery of Regent’s Park which it ignores rather than tries to incorporate. Max Pappenheim’s powerful sound design provides the tension and menace, aided and abetted by Joshua Pharo’s lighting. Nevertheless, what could be a gripping, nail-biting production is brought away from the cliff edge by the proclamatory style of the writing. Often too simplistic, the issues come across as overly black and white (pun intended).

Despite the lack of nuance, Brown and Valentine give persuasive performances, pitching well the impulsiveness and impetuosity of star-crossed lovers. Even if you don’t know the outcome, you get the sense of impending tragedy. Alec Boaden, as Callum’s brother Jude, is thuggish and menacing, while Richard Riddell as their father wraps his iron fist in a protective glove which, while allowing some sympathy, doesn’t condone the family’s violent drive for insurrection. Meanwhile, Sephy’s parents are portrayed more simplistically, leaning into caricature.

There is limited emotional engagement, even though it is very watchable with some great flourishes of style. Cooke has managed to keep it relevant and up to date while throwing in some subtle parallels with Shakespeare. A pseudo balcony scene is neatly hemmed in, and touches of comedy provide much needed comic relief. Even, in the bard’s true fashion, the climax seems rushed with seemingly last-minute knots being tied up. The message remains unresolved, but the ideas that pave the way are a dynamic and potent series of stepping stones. The journey is made less perilous, though, by the overstated delivery. It is the perfect show, however, to draw in a new, younger audience and it is certainly a triumph in demonstrating the raw power and necessity of theatre.

FIDDLER ON THE ROOF

Barbican

★★★★★

“Fein’s direction and Julia Cheng’s muscular choreography is marked by sublime precision”

In its Barbican transfer, director Jordan Fein’s revelatory Fiddler on the Roof retains the elemental power that made it a five-star phenomenon in Regent’s Park. He strips the beloved 1964 musical of its nostalgic veneer to expose something more potent and contemporary: a raw and resonant meditation on tradition, displacement, and the endurance of community.

Fun, too, in case there should be a misunderstanding. Great fun.

Set in 1905 in the menaced Jewish shtetl of Anatevka before the Russian revolution, Fiddler follows Tevye, a weary but devout milkman, as his five daughters begin to choose love over arranged marriage, and the outside world encroaches upon his way of life.

Anchored by songs like Tradition, If I Were a Rich Man, and Sunrise, Sunset, it’s long been cherished for its warmth and wit. But Fein’s version – subtly but decisively restaged – asks more interesting and topical questions too: what happens when the traditions that once sustained a community begin to fracture under the weight of change? What is the true impact of displacement, of a people menaced from their homes?

Where the musical was once critiqued as “shtetl sentimentalism,” this staging leans into pared-down grit, stoic humour, and haunting lyricism. There is a modern feel to the witty script – and to the resolutely ambiguous ending.

Tom Scutt’s gorgeous design is emblematic of the approach: instead of quaint rooftops, we see cornstalks uprooted and suspended above the stage, evoking both harvest and trauma. The titular fiddler (a magnetic Raphael Papo) becomes not just a symbol but a shadowy companion, echoing Tevye’s inner world with eerie cadenzas and an eventual duet with Hannah Bristow’s Chava – whose marriage outside the faith breaks her father’s beleaguered heart.

The huge cast is potent, using impressive numbers to magnificent effect, a dream sequence appearing like a fully-realised Hollywood dance number. Meanwhile, Adam Dannheisser’s Tevye is no grandstanding showman but a wry, tired father trying – and failing – to hold his family together through reason, prayer, and rueful monologues. His comedic timing is sharp and he plays out with great relish the classic sitcom paradigm of the father and husband who declares his dominance only to have it slyly eroded by the headstrong women around him.

But it’s his gentleness that resonates most, particularly opposite Lara Pulver’s commanding Golde, whose grounded and wary pragmatism keeps the domestic scenes taut and touching.

Fein’s direction and Julia Cheng’s muscular choreography is marked by sublime precision. The Bottle Dance at Tzeitel’s wedding is performed under a canopy that rises and falls. On top of that precarious canopy, and ominous, the fiddler makes clear that everything is poised on the brink of a mighty disaster. The Russians are coming.

The cast functions as a true community, especially in the spine-tingling finale as they sing Anatevka, their voices braided with longing, resilience, and bitter clarity. In a final image, the toppled milk cart, beautifully lit, appears like an oil painting. Everywhere, indeed, there is beauty and catastrophe.

One of Fein’s many achievements lies in his refusal to oversell modern parallels. The production trusts its audience to make the connections – to recognise in Anatevka’s forced dispersal the long shadow of global displacement. It neither moralises nor rants; it simply tells the story with integrity and emotional intelligence.

For all its sumptuous visual invention and musical flair, Fiddler is most powerful in its silences: a father cut off from his daughter, a community carrying candles into the dark, a fiddler playing an aching lament.

NOUGHTS AND CROSSES

Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre

★★★

“what could be a gripping, nail-biting production is brought away from the cliff edge by the proclamatory style of the writing”

NOUGHTS AND CROSSES

Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre

Reviewed on 8th July 2025

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Manuel Harlan

Last ten shows reviewed at this venue:

NOUGHTS AND CROSSES

NOUGHTS AND CROSSES

NOUGHTS AND CROSSES

FIDDLER ON THE ROOF

Barbican

★★★★★

“Fein’s direction and Julia Cheng’s muscular choreography is marked by sublime precision”