Having seen some of Sleeping Trees’ previous shows, my expectations were high for this comedy-theatre performance, presented in a rotating bill parodying either the ‘mafia’ or ‘western’ genre. The inclusion of a live three-piece, The Physics House Band, on stage made this production particularly distinctive. First, spatially, as the set-up immediately becomes more gig-like than theatrical, leaving the actors with a limited amount of room (nonetheless used very well) and secondly by bringing a vibrancy and energy to what is already a highly vibrant and energetic performance.

In Mafia?, we are presented with an hilarious take on The Godfather, a classic tale involving young boy ‘Johnny’ who desperately yearns to be a gangster at any expense. What results is a playful and skilled mining of the genre for all it is worth, including puns aplenty, the introduction of a huge variety of amusing characters and some very funny movement sequences. Sleeping Trees’ approach of demolishing and reconstructing well-known narratives is particularly effective in the this genre. There is much comic potential in characters who take themselves so seriously, and the resulting misunderstandings are set up and resolved very well.

Each performer in this three-piece company is highly skilled, but John Woodburn particularly stands out in terms of his ability to multi-role and introduce elements of the ridiculous with a slickness that made them wholly convincing. The company’s trademark style of slipping between timeframes, freezing the action, and using direct audience address are all in evidence here, and the addition of the live band to provide sound effects as well as musical accompaniment creates a great sense of pace and fun.

Headlock Theatre, a young company founded by Sheffield University students in 2010, have created an energetic and very physical devised adaptation of the classic fairytale Bluebeard. Their narrative centres on Blue, a young woman and distant relation of the titular Bluebeard, a man renowned for killing his young brides when they dissatisfy him. Soon Blue meets and marries the sweet young girl Bower. Along with her brother Chalk, Bower is left alone in Blue’s intimidating house under the proviso that they do not enter a particular room. Inevitably they cannot resist the temptation and in the denouement discover that the family tendency towards murder still runs deep in Blue.

With a simple set consisting of table, chairs, and golden picture frames, Headlock bring the  narrative to life with some imaginative devices that emphasize the themes of power and control in the story nicely; rhythmic sequences that become more complex and confusing as time goes on, some effective lift work, and some elements of contemporary dance. Rebecca Solomon plays Blue with confident delivery, although her youth perhaps means that the character does not always fully communicate the gravitas the character demands. Ben Price stands out as brother Chalk, a comedic and affable character, and Tori Klayes plays Bower with an effective mix of apparent innocence which belies an eventual core of steel. I would like to have seen the more inventive elements pushed a little further to really mine the narrative, and perhaps the context was somewhat confusing at times, as the decision to ‘modernise’ the narrative by the inclusion of female lovers was interesting but not fully explored. Yet there are some interesting moments in this piece, and the actors’ commitment and energy is laudable.

Returning for its second year at the Fringe (with a new set of stories) This Time Tomorrow offers an intriguing premise – the most intimate of site specific theatre that frames the audience as willing voyeur. We are led from the venue to a car park, to watch (participate in, almost) three separate pieces taking place in three separate vehicles. The intimacy, immediacy and familiarity of the space, for just two audience members at a time, makes for an engaging and visceral experience. There is something unendingly fascinating about being able to ‘spy’ on snippets of other people’s lives; essentially it could be argued that this is at the root of all theatre, and your role as audience in this context is heightened by being so close to the action as a silently watching passenger – singularly aware that any responses, be they laughter or shock, are immediately obvious to the actors.

Within this framework, the first story that I experienced involved a classic mother and daughter stand-off; a teenage girl (played with complete credibility and the essential dash of angst) has been caught bunking from school. The actors enter the car mid-argument, with the worn mother attempting to keep her composure amidst the turmoil. As the argument progresses, we learn that the scenario is a potentially dangerous one; the daughter has been hanging out with much older men, caked in make-up and wearing a mini skirt. A scary concept for any parent; indeed my fellow audience member, a mother herself, found this scene particularly affecting. I would have liked to have seen a little more from the mother character too; she is trying to contain her anger and to hide a secret of her own, but the potentially nerve-inducing context of performing in such a small space on a first night seemed to affect the actor’s clarity of delivery a little.

Story two, in a second vehicle, was particularly effective, gentle and harrowing. An older couple run in from the Scottish rain having being shopping. As they inventory their purchases it becomes apparent that the husband has forgotten some items. At first there is humour in this and in the couple’s affectionate banter, but as time passes it seems that this forgetfulness is pointing to something altogether more concerning. I felt fully invested in these characters, who look set to face an imminent retirement beset by the challenges of dealing with some form of dementia. This story definitely left me wanting more, as did the energy and realism bought to its portrayal.

The final scene was my favourite, written with an excellent comic touch and performed in a nuanced and highly effective manner. A man and a woman appear to be about to go to a restaurant for their first date. The male character is particularly hilarious; a highly anxious and seemingly ‘odd’ man whose overly careful speech and physical quirks make him captivating to observe. His ‘date’ responds well as a surprisingly patient and energetic foil who seems determined to push him out of his comfort zone by encouraging him to try new food. The twists and turns in the narrative were captivating; I almost wanted to pull the woman aside and advise her to get out of the car, but by the end, surprisingly, the pair find some touching common ground and seems to bode well for a future (slightly odd) relationship! In all, the form heightened my engagement with these characters, ensuring this played out as drama and not simply theatrical  ‘experience’. This well executed concept proved highly appealing to the voyeur in all of us.

Boxed In explores many of the issues that I am most passionate about; gender roles and the associated stereotyping of expected behaviours, society’s urge to ‘box in’ and label the sexes, and specifically its arguably deeply-established roots in childhood and parental attitudes. Further, as an FE drama lecturer, I have noticed how this has become a hot topic for exploration in the past year; much student work explores these issues, there are websites such as Let Toys Be Toys dedicated to de-gendering play time, and even a hit song ‘Little Game’ by Benny exploring the many connotations of pink and blue.  Thus I came to this production intrigued by how this seemingly ‘zeitgeist’ issue might be approached, and whether Portmanteau could explore what was (for me) a well-trodden topic in a fresh or inventive way.

There is unquestionably a lot of substance behind this production; as Artistic Director Melissa Booth explains at the end of the show, the company have created the Boxed in Project, a fascinating website where people can share their own experiences of being ‘boxed in’ within assigned gender roles (a quite look yields the powerful example ‘when all my rage and sadness can only be justified as a biological monthly imbalance’). The influence of such perspectives is clear in the performance, where universal issues are explored and familiar experiences made real in a satisfying way. Yet conversely, it is perhaps the very recognisability of the material that at times for me makes it feel a little obvious; perhaps stating what we already know is not enough to fully engage us, even if, as in this case, it is done with slick professionalism and laudable energy?

The narrative itself is simple and well structured. Gender roles are explored through the experiences of fraternal twins James and Jessica. First presented as 25-year old adults in their day jobs (James is assertive and shooting ahead in his career, Jessica’s insecurities are holding her back from promotion) then returning to their family home to clear out boxes of their old toys. In the adults that these characters have become, we see the children that they once were, Jessica raised to be ‘super sweet’ and James to be ambitious and strong, stereotypes underscored by their choices of toys, Barbie and Action Man respectively.

Actors Lily Beck (Jessica) and Rose Wardle (James) bring their stories to life with well-honed physicality and a keen ability to multi-roll and to successfully parody the clichés spouted to their childhood  selves by ‘well meaning’ adults. Wardle sustains a believable male persona throughout, communicating an effective subtext of concealed vulnerability; a result of the pressure to conform as a man. The decision to have a female actor playing this male character was intriguing and puzzled me a little; if Portmanteau’s aim was to fully explore gender roles equally, might this have been better achieved with a male actor? The risk in not doing so is to potentially caricature one gender over the other. Stylistically, Director Booth used the Cellar’s relatively small space very well, with some particularly effectively choreographed movement scenes, and the writing (in collaboration with Eva Hibbs) stood out as being lyrical and well developed. Finally, a number of important questions were raised and explored, making this a valuable production, that could yet be pushed a little further to fully confront the issues raised in a really inventive manner.

Every so often, a play comes along that changes the way that I think about theatre, and to me, that is one of the most exciting experiences of all. Having read but not seen Tim Crouch’s previous work, I came to An Oak Tree full of excitement but relatively unsure of what to expect; I knew that this was a ten year revival, that the premise hinged on a man losing his daughter and’ finding’ her again somehow in a tree, and that it would in all probability be stylistically innovative and experimental in nature. This in itself was enough to pique my interest, but the real joy in this production was its sheer theatricality. By interrogating and exposing the very nature of theatre and performance, Crouch has created a work that is vivid, fascinating and somehow, quite magical.

Our protagonist is simply The ‘Father’. As a result of his daughter’s death, his reality is turned on its head: he is suddenly starring in a play without a script or directions. As too is the actor who plays him; a new performer each show is briefed beforehand but has no script, rehearsal or direction, and can be of any adult age and gender. This device adds a layer of intrigue and, importantly, risk to the piece that makes it one of the most absorbing experiences that I have encountered. In this performance, Aoife Duffin took the role, bringing a focus and gravity to the character that communicated his complex feelings entirely believably despite her contrasting physical appearance and the technical challenges of the text’s frequently flipping between character and actor.

Crouch himself inhabits the second role – the disturbing Hypnotist who accidentally ran over the Father’s child (as well as ‘playing’ himself, as an amiable performer who gives Duffin instructions and encourages her throughout the performance). The Hypnotist has struggled with the aftermath of the child’s death; for him, magic has gone and all that is left is a failing show. The Father attends the Hypnotists’ show, looking for answers and setting the stage for an inevitable, and incredibly absorbing confrontation.  Whole theses could be written about the layers in this piece; like bark, as one is stripped away, another is revealed. The communal nature of theatre, the role of audience as voyeur or spectator and the transformative nature of theatre are all explored in stunning detail, but my lasting impression is of a piece throbbing with raw human emotion and bursting with big ideas.