20 Stories High served me a reminder that my preconceived notions about theatre are best thrown in the bin. No one is without prejudice and before the show I thought, Oh dear, this is going to be worthy and predictable, I’ll go in with an open heart sure enough, it’s my job to do exactly that, but I don’t expect to be impressed. I was not impressed. I was totally blown away. This is a brilliant show. Performing each other’s words from headphones and with texts arranged in thematic sections, the actors have the pure charm that comes with enjoying every minute they are on stage. They display excellent timing and bring out the comedy present in their recorded conversations or monologues. The pauses in discussions of difficult subjects such as race and religion show us how hard it is to articulate these issues even as you experience them, making me examine my own thoughts on these subjects. The work is not without some faults, although none of these can be laid at the feet of the performers. There is in the context of the fringe an unnecessary level of formal explanation at the beginning of the show, although it is clear that in a different place it might be more important to inform the audience how what they are about to witness has been created. Then there are a few sections where a quick coda allows both the audience and performers off the hook rather than forcing us to settle into, confront, and then deal with the very real difficulties that have been alluded to. That the stories are handled with sensitivity, as evidenced during the incredible way in which they hold the most difficult personal story present in the show, is a testament to the very practical love that exists between the company members as they fulfil one of the central roles of art: the transmutation of grief into acceptance. This is a wonderfully charming, candid, and thought-provoking show.

Arcos have created a complex and multilayered show, rich in resonances and yet baffled by its own complexity, feeling like a trio of disparate shows bolted together. There is a philosophical response, a multimedia solo show exploring family history, and a dance piece which sits in relation to the other two.

It starts with a section playing with the ideas present in the story of Plato’s cave, in which morph suited shadows dance amid counterparts projected on the vast white screen at the rear of the stage. This turns out to be a prelude and its relevance to the following work is never quite made clear.

The choreography is at once flowing and martial, enlivening the delivery of the narrator which at times feels overly earnest and simplistic. Points better left to the imagination and intelligence of the audience are stated with a deadening clarity, denying our intrinsic responses. The control and precision of the dancers serves the emotional core of the story of post-war lovers. Indeed, the narrator expresses himself to best effect when playing the keyboard which often provides the audio landscape for the dancers. In these moments everyone on stage feels connected and the piece works very well.

The extensive use of projections, on multiple surfaces, is interesting and playful, although at times just a little too clever, such that the formal or technical aspect takes over from the storytelling. Overall there is the feeling that a focused and perhaps slightly ruthless dramaturg might perform a few necessary surgical extractions, bringing space to the work and allowing the audience to more fully inhabit the world being created.

From the very first moment of the wonderfully loose café-based intro to the fine vulnerability of the shows closing moments, Milk hold us with an gorgeous charm. The three performers and musician have impeccable complicity, their ability to listen to each other and respond just at the perfect moment lends a seamlessness to the glamourous DIY aesthetics. Perhaps it is easy to be generous when you are this talented.

The cabaret pastiche, complete with faux-beatnik stylings, is a canvas used to explore the complex territory of Queer. The show manages to be both fun and inspiring, exploded vox pops and sublime OHP manipulation lead us on an exploration of how an desire for self determination and definition collides with the rejection of heteronormative structures while also wanting the same rights as those accorded previously only to pairs of people whose ‘sexual organs fit each other perfectly’ (this being one of the crass definitions by which Ann Widdecombe justified her fear-fueled anti-equality stance on marriage).

There is at once the rejection of constrictive normality and the need to be accepted as normal. The fear that campaigning for gay marriage represents being co-opted by the very system that you are fighting to change. The irreducible complexity of Queerness is present throughout the show, from the best riot grrrl version of Single Ladies (Put a ring on it), to the horrors of dehumanising state supported homophobic violence in Russia, to the worry that you will just end up with the same unfree life under capitalism, an existence of quietly crushed suburban mediocrity.

It is the great triumph of this show that it manages to hold the uncertainties, the understanding of the near impossibility of authenticity, the inescapable uniformity of the ‘exceptional’ with such tenderness and self acceptance, leaving us in the transcendent state of knowing the life to be hoped for and celebrating the life that is.

Three singers on a bare stage wheel through corkscrew-tight curls of song, ricocheting between techniques and styles as they jump from impressionistic, abstract vocals into capitalist gregorian chant and beyond. If you want to hear three incredible voices embark on an intricate journey then this is the show.

Mmm Hmmm is a combination of sublime vocals and ludicrous choreography. The technique, commitment and power evident in the performers’ voices is undercut by movement that verges on the comically arbitrary without really giving us the freedom to laugh. The costumes are another oddity, initially they look awful: baggy, formless, each completely of a colour that feels almost distressing in combination with the others. As the things progress they reveal themselves to be an aspect which supports and develops the changes of mood present in the piece.

Reading into the work I see references to the female perspective on love from a range of eras. There is a feeling of the having to cope happily with repression; the desire for everything to appear to be ok.

The apogee of the show comes, appropriately enough, in its finale where a perfectly executed song of unrequited love and stifled affection reduced me to tears with its beauty. I left the theatre vibrating with the spirit of the work, a resonance that continues long beyond its final notes.