Archive for Politics

BOXEUR – Dundee Fringe 2026

September 17, 2026 at 8:15 am · Filed under Boxing, Politics, Solo show, Theatre ·Tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,

★★★★★ Before the narrative settles, before the politics sharpen, before the audience fully understands what it’s being asked to witness, Stefano Pietro Detassis is already skipping, already boxing, already pushing his lungs to the edge while delivering lines with absolute clarity. Anyone who has ever sparred — even lightly — knows how quickly breath becomes unruly, how speech collapses under exertion. Detassis keeps control. It’s not a trick; it’s a statement. The body is part of the story, and he tells it without compromise.

Plot Summary

The piece (written by Maura Pettorruso and translated by Stefano Pradel) follows two immigrant boxers in France on the eve of the Second World War. Eugenio, an Italian socialist worker fleeing Fascism, and Victor, a Tunisian Jewish man fleeing poverty, arrive in Paris hoping to carve out better futures. A boxing match is scheduled — the moment their paths are meant to cross — but war postpones it indefinitely. As Europe fractures, their personal ambitions are overtaken by the political violence around them. Eugenio becomes a worker‑boxer fighting for exploited labourers; Victor becomes a symbol of resistance against Nazi‑fascism. Their private hopes also represent a collective struggle for dignity, identity and survival.

The Performance

Stefano Pietro Detassis

Detassis carries the entire production, and he does so with a physical intensity that never feels ornamental. The skipping, the footwork, the bursts of movement — they’re not flourishes. They’re the pulse of the show. He speaks through exertion, and the exertion becomes part of the meaning. Breath is political here: who gets to breathe freely, who doesn’t, who has to fight for the right to exist.

The set is deliberately sparse: a chair, a clothes stand, and a reflex punch bag — the freestanding kind mounted on a flexible pole, the type that swings back at you when struck. That minimalism forces the focus onto the performer. No visual distractions, no scenic cushioning. Music is used sparingly but effectively, shaping mood without dictating it.

Whether the absence of visual projections is a creative choice or a limitation is open to debate. On one hand, the starkness suits the piece: two men stripped of nation, home, safety, reduced to their bodies and their will. On the other, a shifting visual backdrop — archival imagery, abstract projections, even simple colour washes — could have deepened the sense of historical pressure. There’s an argument both ways. For me, the minimalism worked, but I could see how a more dynamic visual language might have expanded the emotional palette.

Themes and Resonance

At its core, Boxeur is about choices — the ones forced upon you, the ones you make anyway, and the ones you refuse to surrender. Boxing becomes a metaphor for life, not in the clichéd sense of “fighting spirit,” but in the way the show frames endurance, breath, stance, and refusal. You keep your guard up. You take hits. You decide when to strike. You decide when not to bow your head.

There’s a moment where Detassis describes the local fascists: petty, middle‑class, petit bourgeois bullies who “had always been bastards like that,” looking down on others while hiding behind ideology. It’s delivered with a sharp comic edge, and the follow‑up — knocking one of their teeth out so they can no longer pronounce Duce properly — is a brilliant piece of antifascist humour. It lands because it’s rooted in character, not caricature.

The comedy throughout is well‑judged. It doesn’t soften the politics; it sharpens them. Laughter becomes another form of resistance, another way of refusing to be cowed.

Conclusion

Boxeur is a disciplined, urgent, and deeply human piece of theatre. Detassis’ ability to merge physical exertion with narrative clarity is genuinely impressive, and the production’s political spine is unmistakable without ever becoming didactic. The minimal staging keeps the focus where it belongs: on the performer, on the story, on the breath.

Pequod Compagnia have brought a work to Dundee Fringe that understands the past not as a distant archive but as a living pressure. It asks what you believe, yes — but more importantly, it asks what you will refuse to give in to.

A powerful, lean, and resonant hour of theatre.

By Patrick Harrington

Performances on 17th and 18th of September 2026 available at the Little Theatre. Find out more about the Dundee Fringe 11-20 September

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Why Kipling’s Jungle Book Is More Political Than You Remember

September 9, 2026 at 5:55 pm · Filed under Books, Politics ·Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,

Kipling’s Jungle Book is far more political than its reputation suggests — a study of earned identity, instinctive order, and the quiet laws that govern belonging.

Rudyard Kipling’s Jungle Book is often remembered as a children’s adventure, but its politics are quiet, instinctive, and unexpectedly radical. Beneath the stories of wolves, tigers, and a human child learning to survive, Kipling builds a world where belonging is earned, danger is constant, and identity is shaped by conduct rather than ancestry. More than a century later, these ideas still unsettle modern readers — not because they are outdated, but because they remain uncomfortably relevant.

The Stillness Before Action

Kipling’s jungle does not begin with noise. It begins with stillness — a charged, electric pause before anyone moves. A human child stands in a wolves’ den facing a tiger who wants him dead. No speeches. No negotiations. No sentimental overture. Only wolves shifting almost imperceptibly into formation around him, their bodies speaking a language older than any human tongue.

This moment is Kipling’s first political gesture: belonging is earned through action, not language. The jungle cares for behaviour, courage, and stance — not declarations. It is a world where instinct is the first currency and loyalty the second.

Contemporary readers recognised this immediately. In August 1894, Andrew Lang wrote in Cosmopolitan that “The Jungle Book was perhaps the most original new book of the season.” Lang wasn’t praising novelty for its own sake — he was pointing to the book’s unusual moral atmosphere, where characters reveal themselves through movement, silence, and instinct rather than dialogue.

That atmosphere is already present in the opening confrontation. The wolves do not debate whether the child belongs. They watch him. They watch the tiger. They watch each other. And then they act. Kipling’s jungle is a place where decisions are made without rhetoric, alliances formed without ceremony, and danger recognised without denial. It is not a world where characters explain themselves. It is a world where they demonstrate themselves.

A Family Formed Without Permission

Popular culture often softens the wolves’ adoption of Mowgli into a charming fairy‑tale beat. Kipling’s version is sharper, almost confrontational. It challenges the human assumption that identity is fixed and immutable: the pack does not ask whether Mowgli is human — they ask whether he is theirs.

They watch how he moves, listens, reacts. They see a creature who understands instinct before he understands language. This is not charity or pity. It is a political act.

Modern criticism has explored this tension between species and belonging. William Boyd, reflecting on Kipling’s imaginative power in the New Statesman (8 December 2021), wrote: “Kipling’s stories had an intense allure for me… I imagined myself as Mowgli, lost and vulnerable.” Boyd’s remark captures something essential: Mowgli is not a symbol of human superiority but of human uncertainty. He is a child who must earn his place through courage, loyalty, and instinct.

The wolves choose him because he fits their world better than the tiger who claims him. They choose him because he respects the Law of the Jungle before he even knows its name. They choose him because he behaves like one of them — not because he looks like one of them.

This is not a sentimental moment. It is a radical one. Kipling’s jungle is not a democracy or monarchy. It is a meritocracy of instinct — a place where belonging is earned, not inherited. Mowgli’s identity will not be determined by birth, but by behaviour. He will not be defined by the species he comes from, but by the family he chooses and the laws he learns.

In this sense, the adoption scene still feels modern. It rejects the idea that identity is destiny. It suggests that belonging is something you prove, not something you inherit.

Kipling’s political instinct is clearest in how the jungle responds to disruption. Every creature understands that order is not maintained through speeches or ideology but through behaviour—through the quiet, disciplined observance of rules that no one needs to recite. When Mowgli enters this world, he isn’t judged by ancestry or appearance but by whether he can move within that order without fracturing it. This is the book’s most radical gesture: a society that measures belonging not by inherited status but by conduct, competence, and the willingness to uphold shared obligations.

Learning the Forest’s Pulse

Mowgli’s education is not instructional; it is immersive. He learns to track by watching how wolves pause. He learns danger by watching Bagheera’s muscles tighten before he speaks. He learns survival by feeling the shift in the wind and knowing it means something. Kipling’s jungle teaches through experience, not explanation.

This is Kipling’s second political gesture: humans are not separate from nature; they are capable of belonging to it. Mowgli listens to the jungle, adapts to it, and becomes fluent in its unspoken language. He learns the forest’s pulse the way a child learns a mother’s voice — through proximity, not instruction.

Real criticism supports this reading. eNotes, in its published analysis of The Jungle Book, notes that “the jungle operates under a comprehensive legal code that governs behavior with far greater consistency than human communities.” This is a striking idea: Kipling suggests that nature is not chaotic but ordered, and that humans can live within that order if they are willing to listen.

Mowgli’s education reveals the jungle’s deeper politics. Knowledge is not hoarded. It is shared. Bagheera teaches him stealth. Baloo teaches him law. Kaa teaches him patience. The wolves teach him loyalty. Even the dangers teach him something: the Bandar‑log teach him the cost of chaos; Shere Khan teaches him the reality of malice.

The jungle is not a school. It is a society. And Mowgli learns its rules not by memorising them, but by living them.

Kaa’s rescue of Mowgli at the Cold Lairs sharpens this lesson even further. The monkeys’ chaotic, leaderless world collapses the moment real danger arrives, while Kaa, Bagheera, and Baloo move with the coordinated precision of creatures who understand law, loyalty, and consequence. The scene exposes the jungle’s political hierarchy with absolute clarity: chaos cannot protect you, but order can; noise cannot save you, but discipline can. Mowgli survives not because he is exceptional, but because he is part of a structure that values action, alliance, and earned trust.

Predators, Politics, and the Reality of Danger

Kipling never pretends the jungle is safe. Shere Khan is the obvious threat, but he is only one of many. The Bandar‑log, the silent hunters, the watchers in the trees — all remind Mowgli that danger is constant. The jungle is not a utopia. It is a world where power is contested, safety temporary, and alliances essential.

Danger, in Kipling’s world, is political. Every creature has its own interests, its own territory, its own alliances. The jungle does not hide danger behind politeness or pretend threats can be reasoned away. It acknowledges that survival requires awareness, loyalty, and the willingness to stand your ground.

Janet Montefiore’s scholarship in the Kipling Journal (July 2017) emphasises how Kipling uses animal characters to explore political conflict without human institutions. Shere Khan is not merely a villain; he is a competing political force — a creature who believes the jungle should be ruled by fear rather than law. His conflict with Mowgli is not simply personal. It is ideological.

Bagheera’s mentorship, Baloo’s teachings, and the wolves’ protection are not decorative bonds — they are political alliances forged through shared danger. Kipling’s jungle is a world where relationships are shaped by necessity, not sentiment. Mowgli survives because he understands this. He learns that loyalty is not a feeling but a practice, and that courage is not a virtue but a requirement.

The Animals’ Fear of Humans — And Their Love for One

One of the most striking threads in Volume One is the animals’ fear of humans with guns. They know humans kill not for hunger but for dominance. The jungle understands human violence better than humans understand themselves.

Yet they love Mowgli.

This tension — fear of the species, love for the child — is where Kipling’s politics become most complex. The animals recognise that humanity is capable of destruction, but also capable of innocence. They fear humans because humans are unpredictable. They love Mowgli because he is not yet shaped by human cruelty.

Modern criticism often highlights this duality. Boyd’s reflection in the New Statesman reinforces the idea that Mowgli represents a human untouched by the violence of civilisation — a child who can be trusted because he has not yet learned the habits that make humans dangerous.

Species does not dictate morality. Behaviour does.

Bagheera protects him because he acts well, not because he speaks well. Baloo teaches him because he listens, not because he is special. The wolves defend him because he stands with them, not because he belongs to them by birth.

This is Kipling’s third political gesture: identity is not destiny; behaviour is.

The Jungle’s Final Lesson

Strip away the adventure and danger, and The Jungle Book leaves a single truth: in the jungle, your actions define you.

Mowgli survives because he behaves with honour. He is loved because he shows loyalty. He is accepted because he proves himself. The wolves adopt him because he stands, not because he asks.

Victorian reviewers understood this. In June 1894, The Athenaeum wrote: “Our sincere thanks to Mr Kipling for the hours of pure and unadulterated enjoyment he has given us.” Their praise was not for sentimentality but for Kipling’s ability to build a world where morality is demonstrated through action.

This is the politics of nature in Kipling’s work: a world where belonging is earned, danger is constant, and innocence survives only when protected by genuine bonds.

In a world full of predators, that might be the only law that matters.

Why This Matters Now

Kipling’s politics of instinct, belonging, and earned identity resonate today in debates about community, migration, and who gets to belong. Mowgli’s story remains unsettling because it suggests that identity is not inherited — it is lived. It challenges the idea that birth determines destiny and proposes instead that loyalty, courage, and conduct shape who we are.

In an age of fractured communities and contested identities, Kipling’s jungle offers a provocative alternative: a world where belonging is not granted by ancestry but earned through action. It is a world where alliances matter, where danger clarifies values, and where morality is measured not by what we say but by what we do.

By Mia Fulga

Further Reading

  • Bradley Deane — Kipling and the New Imperialism (2008)
  • Jan Montefiore — Kipling’s Children’s Literature (2012)
  • The Jungle Books — Oxford World’s Classics edition (introductory essay)

 

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Inside Mandelson’s Mind: ‘Mandy: Prince of Darkness’ Delivers Precision and Irony

August 27, 2026 at 2:42 pm · Filed under Comedy‑drama, Edinburgh Fringe 2026, Edinburgh Fringe Festival, Edinburgh Fringe Festival 2026, Politics, Theatre ·Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,

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★★★★★ A sharply observed, meticulously researched and often darkly funny portrait of Peter Mandelson, delivered through a performance of such precision that it becomes less an impersonation and more an act of political possession. Richard Stirling doesn’t just play Mandelson — he inhabits him.

Mandy: Prince of Darkness is a one‑man political biography told from inside the mind of one of the most enigmatic figures in modern British politics. Stirling structures the piece around Mandelson’s own recollections, justifications and rhetorical flourishes, anchoring each chapter of his career with projected headlines and dates behind him. It’s a simple device, but an extremely effective one: the audience is never left drifting. Every scandal, every comeback, every resignation is pinned to a moment in time.
The effect is cumulative. You begin to realise just how many times Mandelson fell, rose, fell again, and rose again — until finally, as the show concludes, he meets the one scandal he cannot return from.
Performance: A Masterclass in Political Mannerism
Richard Stirling’s performance is the engine of the show, and it is extraordinary. He captures Mandelson’s mannerisms with forensic accuracy: the sly, fox‑like half‑smile; the careful modulation of tone; the way he leans into a phrase as if it were a tool he’s about to use.
But the real brilliance lies in the switches. When Mandelson quotes Tony Blair, Stirling shifts instantly — a recognisable Blair arm‑and‑hand gesture, the slight lift in vocal timbre, the earnestness that borders on sermonising. It’s subtle, funny, and deeply effective. He doesn’t break character; he folds Blair into Mandelson, showing how the two men lived inside each other’s political space.
This is mimicry at its highest level: not caricature, but observation.
Language, Manipulation & the Limits of Persuasion
One of the show’s most interesting threads — and one that came through strongly in your reflections — is the tension between Mandelson’s linguistic brilliance and the public’s instinctive scepticism.
Stirling presents Mandelson as a master manipulator of language: elegant phrasing, polished argument, the kind of rhetorical charm that can make nonsense sound like strategy. But even at his most persuasive, there’s a sense that ordinary people can smell when something isn’t quite right. The show captures that beautifully. You hear the justification, you admire the craft, but you don’t buy the conclusion.
It’s a portrait of a man whose intelligence was both his greatest asset and his greatest blind spot.
The Epstein Irony
The final act of the show deals with the Epstein scandal — the moment that ends Mandelson’s long cycle of comebacks. Stirling plays it with a deliberate irony: the arch‑strategist suddenly presenting himself as naïve, manipulated, unaware.
The email exchanges shown on screen undermine that claim. They hint at a man who knew exactly what he was doing, or at least knew enough not to pretend innocence convincingly. It’s a quietly devastating moment, and Stirling lets the audience draw its own conclusions.
Private Life, Public Persona
Stirling also touches on Mandelson’s approach to his private life. He didn’t hide being gay, but he didn’t foreground it either. It was simply part of who he was, not a political tool nor a public performance. The show treats this with sensitivity, acknowledging the complexity without sensationalising it.
Verdict
Mandy: Prince of Darkness is a superb piece of political theatre: sharp, intelligent, and anchored by a performance of remarkable skill. Richard Stirling gives us a Mandelson who is manipulative, charming, brilliant, flawed, hardworking, private, and ultimately undone by the one scandal he could not outmanoeuvre.
It’s a portrait of a complicated man, delivered by an actor who understands that complexity down to the smallest gesture.
A compelling, thoughtful and thoroughly engaging show.
Reviewed by Pat Harrington
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Edinburgh Fringe Review: The Pitch Finds Humanity and Humour in Belfast’s Divides

August 26, 2026 at 7:47 am · Filed under Comedy‑drama, Edinburgh Fringe 2026, Edinburgh Fringe Festival, Edinburgh Fringe Festival 2026, LGBT+interest, Politics, Theatre ·Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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★★★★★ Set in East Belfast, The Pitch centres on three teenagers whose lives intersect on a contested local football field. Robbie, a soccer‑mad loyalist kid, has spent his whole life practising on the same patch of grass. His sister Melissa is curious, open‑minded, and still figuring out where she fits. Deren, a GAA player raised in the same streets, has never had a home pitch of his own. When plans emerge to convert Robbie’s football field into a Gaelic pitch, the trio collide over sport, culture, identity, and the shifting political landscape around them — all against the backdrop of a looming United Ireland referendum.

Northern Irish theatre has always excelled at interrogating identity through the everyday, but The Pitch arrives at the Edinburgh Fringe with a particular urgency. As one of only five productions selected nationwide for the Pleasance Edinburgh National Partnerships programme, it stands as a flagship example of regional work that speaks directly to the realities of young people in a changing Belfast. This is not a play about “the past”; it is about the present — and the future that is rapidly approaching.

Philip Catherwood’s writing is sharp, funny, and politically literate without ever becoming didactic. The central dispute — whether the pitch should remain a soccer field or become a GAA ground — is not a contrivance. It is a precise metaphor for the cultural shifts happening in East Belfast today. The expansion of Gaelic games into traditionally Protestant areas has become a genuine flashpoint, and the play captures that tension with clarity and nuance.

Robbie’s fear of cultural displacement is rooted in lived experience. He is not a caricature of unionist defensiveness; he is a teenager terrified of losing the one place that feels like his. Deren’s frustration at being treated as an outsider in the community he grew up in is equally grounded. Melissa, caught between the two, embodies the emerging generation — less doctrinaire, more fluid, but still shaped by the legacies around her. The play avoids the tired “two tribes” framing and instead shows how identity is negotiated in mixed communities where lines blur and loyalties shift.

The humour is quintessentially Northern Irish: dry, sharp, and often deployed at moments of tension. Jokes about Tayto crisp packets, Irish street signs, and the semantics of “soccer” are not throwaway gags; they are cultural markers, reminders of how the smallest details become battlegrounds in contested spaces. The comedy never undermines the seriousness of the themes — it humanises them.

The emotional arc is clean and convincing. The characters begin in conflict, move through misunderstanding, and arrive at a fragile but genuine recognition of each other’s fears. The subplot involving Deren’s feelings for Robbie could easily have felt tacked on, but instead it deepens the stakes. It shows how personal vulnerability sits alongside political anxiety, and how the two often inform each other.

The production craft is strong across the board. Director Thea Mayeux keeps the 70‑minute running time tight, with pacing that mirrors the shifting emotional terrain. The staging makes clever use of the pitch as both literal and symbolic space — a place where lines are drawn, erased, and redrawn. Danae Crawford’s technical design supports the transitions without overwhelming them, and Rebekah Fitch’s sound work adds texture, particularly in moments where humour gives way to tension. The ensemble chemistry is exceptional; the three actors feel like real teenagers negotiating real stakes.

James Grimm’s Robbie is all brittle loyalty and jittery defensiveness. Jake Douglas brings warmth and quiet resilience to Deren, grounding the character’s frustrations in something deeply human. Dión Di Maio’s Melissa is a standout — perceptive, funny, and entirely believable as someone navigating mixed loyalties with more maturity than the boys around her. Their dynamic is lived‑in, messy, and convincing.

What ultimately makes The Pitch so effective is its understanding that constitutional debates are not abstract. They filter down into friendships, families, and the small patches of grass where young people define themselves. The play recognises that fear is not irrational when it has precedent, and that hope is not naïve when it is grounded in shared humanity. It offers a vision of common ground that feels earned rather than sentimental.

A witty, moving, and politically intelligent piece of theatre — one of the most thoughtful Northern Irish productions at this year’s Fringe, and a deserved flagship for the Pleasance National Partnerships.

Reviewed by Pat Harrington

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Woody Sez – Edinburgh Fringe 2026

August 7, 2026 at 6:45 am · Filed under Biographical, Edinburgh Fringe Festival, Edinburgh Fringe Festival 2026, Folk, Musicals, Politics ·Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

★★★★★

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Woody Sez is a warm, engaging tribute to Woody Guthrie, built around his songs and the stories that shaped them. The show blends biography, politics, humour and hardship into a fluid, fast‑moving piece of musical theatre. It’s presented with an easy, unforced charm that draws you in from the start.

I arrived knowing Woody Guthrie largely through his better-known songs, particularly the union anthems that have echoed down the decades. I left with a far richer appreciation of the man, his extraordinary catalogue and the experiences that shaped him. The production introduces audiences to songs that deserve to stand alongside the classics, performed with such conviction that they feel as fresh today as when Guthrie first wrote them.

The staging could hardly be simpler. Four musicians, a backdrop of photographs drawn from Guthrie’s life and the turbulent times through which he lived, and very little else. There are no elaborate sets or distracting theatrical flourishes. None are needed. The music, the words and the performances tell the story.

Although one performer remains Woody throughout, this is emphatically an ensemble piece. David M. Lutken reprises the role of Guthrie for this production, devised Woody Sez: The Life & Music of Woody Guthrie with original director Nick Corley. Cast members for this production are David Finch, Nyssa Grant and Raquel Chavez. The other three musicians step naturally into the voices of those around him, including members of his family, before returning seamlessly to the music. They play more than twenty instruments between them – and the spoons. No one dominates.The result is a genuine collaboration in which every performer makes an indispensable contribution.

The musicianship is exceptional. Every instrument is played with assurance, every harmony feels earned, and there is a warmth to the performances that draws the audience into Guthrie’s world. It never becomes a concert interrupted by biography, nor a play occasionally broken up by songs. The two are woven together so skilfully that each strengthens the other.

What surprised me most was how much of Guthrie’s life I didn’t know. I was aware of the Great Depression, of the poverty that scarred so many American families and of the political climate in which he found his voice. I knew far less about the personal tragedies that marked his life, the devastating fires that affected his family, and the cruel progression of Huntington’s disease that ultimately silenced one of America’s greatest songwriters. Understanding those experiences made his lifelong commitment to ordinary working people feel even more authentic. His politics were not abstract theories but convictions forged through hardship.

Yet the production wisely refuses to turn Guthrie into a solemn political icon. His mischievous streak is always present. There are moments of gentle humour and sly observations that reveal someone who could laugh even while confronting life’s harsher realities. That balance gives the evening its humanity.

The audience responded in kind. They listened intently throughout, joining in enthusiastically when familiar songs invited participation. By the end, the standing ovation felt entirely deserved.

One aspect particularly caught my attention. Listening to Union Maid, I could hear striking echoes of the Strawbs’ Part of the Union. Guthrie’s Union Maid uses the defiant refrain “I’m sticking to the union” as a straightforward declaration of solidarity. Strawbs’ Part of the Union echoes the same cadence and sentiment, but turns it into a wry, satirical take on 1970s British labour politics. One is earnest and rooted in American folk activism; the other is a pop‑rock pastiche that knowingly plays with the same idea.

The production touches briefly on Guthrie’s influence on figures such as Pete Seeger and Bob Dylan, but wisely keeps its focus on Guthrie himself. There is more than enough in his own remarkable life to sustain the narrative.

Perhaps the most powerful moment comes not in a song but in one of Guthrie’s newspaper columns, Woody Sez. Reflecting on war, he writes that a bomb is a bomb and a kid is a kid. It is an observation of disarming simplicity and enduring humanity. Decades later, with civilians still paying the price for conflicts across the world, those words retain their moral force.

That, more than anything, is why Woody Sez succeeds so completely. It is not an exercise in nostalgia. It reminds us that Guthrie’s compassion, wit and unwavering belief in the dignity of ordinary people still speak with remarkable clarity.

Reviewed by Pat Harrington

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Inside The Movement: Fringe Anarchy with Ethan & Gigi

July 9, 2026 at 9:31 am · Filed under Comedy, Edinburgh Fringe Festival, Edinburgh Fringe Festival 2026, Interviews, LGBT+interest, Politics ·Tagged , , , , ,

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Some revolutions begin with manifestos. This one begins with two performers who are absolutely convinced they’re leading one. The Movement follows Ethan & Gigi — self‑appointed liberators, overconfident artists, and, depending on who you ask, either visionary or “legitimately unwell in a mental sense” — as they attempt to reshape the world through theatre. Their show is a chaotic, high‑energy act of political clowning that  insists the revolution won’t be televised, it’ll be live. 

In this interview, we talk about why they built a piece that blurs satire, activism and sheer unhinged commitment; how comedy can still connect people in a fractured moment; and what it means to ask an audience not just to watch, but to move, react, and become part of the disorder they’re staging. It’s theatre as provocation, theatre as mischief, theatre as a dare — and Ethan & Gigi are more than ready to break a few legs along the way.

You describe yourselves as artists who genuinely believe they’re leading a revolution. What’s the creative spark behind playing characters who are both delusional and completely committed?

GIGI: I gotta say…the spark behind playing people who are delusional and completely committed? That’s clown, baby! That spark comes from an urgent need to feel free in an ever-oppressive world. The clown has this big, beautiful dream about themselves and they either A) fail and it’s funny and the audience loves them for trying and everyone becomes connected through that particular access point of the recognition of your humanity or B) they succeed and it’s beautiful and they win. I cannot imagine a better use of my time! I mean what else is there but to be delusional and committed to the idea of a better world?  We either fail and it’s funny and sad and we become more deeply connected …or we win.

ETHAN: I wouldn’t say we are playing characters, but more so, caricatures of ourselves, the essence is completely: us. That’s our clown. What makes us the unique humans we are is what we put on the stage. Gigi and I genuinely want to participate in a revolution in real life, but we honestly don’t know how to do that. But what if we believed we could be the leaders of this revolution, and committed to this role 110%? THE MOVEMENT is the result of that delusion/vision.

The show sits between clowning and revolutionary politics. How do you strike the balance between satire and sincerity without tipping too far in either direction?

GIGI: This is a great question and something we often check in about.  There’s a part of the show that is undeniably satire, that we made not as clowns but as clever improvisers hungry to create a searing indictment of the American empire. At the end of the day, we wanna make sure we come across as idiots. Satire is more in the world of the bouffon which we do love to play with, but our pleasure in this show is wrapped up in being losers, not clever winners.

ETHAN: It’s completely a tight-rope balancing act, and what keeps us on the high wire is the sensitivity and vulnerability we lean into while we perform. Giving people permission to laugh AT YOU opens up a kind of a magical portal. The target of the humor in the show is always us, we are complete fools that believe ourselves to be competent, highly-skilled, and have all of the qualities of charismatic revolutionary leaders, when this isn’t quite the case.

You mention themes of artistic delusion, oppressive systems and the power of community. Which of those became the backbone of the show, and which emerged unexpectedly during development?

GIGI: Oppressive systems were the backbone.  This might seem like a joke but we’re activists first and foremost. We want to burn it all down. As for artistic delusion…we don’t have to try for that to be a theme, that’s just an organic byproduct of our delusion:  we are doing a clown show that we believe will radicalize people.  But the power of community was discovered as we were struggling to find an end to this show and to answer the question, “How do you start a revolution?”

ETHAN: When you make a show, sometimes it feels like wandering through a foggy forest, you can’t see, and it’s the artistic delusion that keeps you stumbling forward. You’re following the initial impulse that sent you out into the woods, and where you end up is often a total surprise. “How do we start a revolution?” was the impulse, and the power of community is where we ended up. When you want to dream big (like overthrowing and dismantling oppressive systems) – you can’t do this alone.

One of your supporters called the show “deeply stupid” in a complimentary way. What does “stupid” mean in your artistic vocabulary, and why is it useful?

GIGI: “Stupid” means to use your gut, not your brain.  It means to let your body lead even if you have no idea what is going to happen. It means to allow yourself to be illogical and to make mistakes. It’s useful because it’s freeing! We use “stupid” as our North Star and sometimes we ask ourselves, “How can we make this more stupid?”

ETHAN: When we take the stage, we are in pursuit of the quality of laughter that makes your belly hurt because you can’t stop, that type of laughter comes from the “stupid” place, not the “clever” one.

You’ve been described as brave, hardworking and possibly a bit unhinged. Do you think good clowning requires a willingness to push past normal social or theatrical boundaries?

GIGI: I think more than anything good clowning requires a willingness to push past your own limiting ideas and narratives about yourself and the world and if that happens to also result in pushing past normal social and theatrical boundaries, great! But sometimes people do things just for the sake of provocation, with no humanity or sensitivity behind it.  There’s no sense of self in that.  Good clowning allows us to see *you*.  Sometimes that leads to pushing past normal social and theatrical bounds but it’s not needed. Sometimes you end up doing something very safe, polite, normal and everyone relates to it and it’s the funniest thing.

ETHAN: Where you are in life is where you find yourself on the stage – especially as a clown. It’s a total reflection of your humanity, neuroses & all. It’s less about pushing social norms or theatrical boundaries, and more about where you’re willing to go within yourself. “Good” clown to us is when you see someone onstage, and as an audience member you feel & think: “Oh there you are. That’s you. You’re not hiding.” It’s more of a feeling than an intellectual thing, but you know when you experience it. Your standards for anything short of that level of vulnerability become extremely high.

You’ve said laughter can be an act of resistance. What do you think audiences are resisting when they laugh with you rather than at you?

GIGI: Wonderful question!  Sorry to clarify, we DO want you to laugh at us.  There is a freedom that comes with having a sense of humor about yourself and when others witness you bask in that freedom, it can be really inspiring.

ETHAN: Peeing.

You talk about the show being created through a “village” of mentors, teachers and friends. What did collective creation allow you to do that a traditional rehearsal process wouldn’t?

GIGI: Collective creation allows us to work our material in real time to see what works and what doesn’t.

ETHAN: What THE MOVEMENT means to us versus others is different, we all have our own unique experiences of the show. We love getting feedback from the audience and our community, and our show has been seen and passed through many hearts and minds. Everybody that has contributed their feedback, ideas, and direction has left their own imprint in the DNA of our show- and that can’t replicate that in a vacuum.

You’ve staged large‑scale stunts, including marching an audience through New York to perform in front of an LED truck. What attracts you to theatrical disruption outside conventional spaces?

GIGI: Referring back to the clown, we want to push ourselves to dream as big as possible so that other people feel pushed to do the same — did you hear about the couple that scaled the Empire State Building, waved a banner from the highest point, and got engaged while police helicopters swarmed around them? Way to dream! It got everyone’s attention and surely some folks thought to themselves, “I want to do that.”

ETHAN: The theatre is a place where we can shine a spotlight, and everyone looks exactly at that spot on the stage. The power of theatre is being able to shine that spotlight at ourselves and the world we live in, so we can illuminate and examine the unseen. That experience shouldn’t end when the show is over and the audience leaves. Staging performances outside of the theatrical container reminds us that we always have the power of the spotlight – life can be theatre. Also, when you step outside, the sun is in the sky, and that’s the biggest spotlight of all.

Your SoHo Playhouse performance on the anniversary of 9/11 was deliberately provocative. How do you navigate the line between meaningful provocation and empty shock?

GIGI: Always punch up.

ETHAN: In our world, there’s no shortage of bastards to kill.

You say you’re not here just to make people laugh — you’re here to make people free. What does “freedom” look like inside a one‑hour Fringe show at 11pm?

GIGI: It looks real stupid — you gotta come to find out!

ETHAN: There was your life before you joined THE MOVEMENT, and life after. Our show is what happens in between.

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Fringe review: Alice Hawkins – Working Class Suffragette

August 17, 2025 at 8:00 am · Filed under Biographical, Edinburgh Fringe Festival, Edinburgh International Festival, Politics ·Tagged , , , , , ,

Alice Hawkins – Working Class Suffragette
— a powerful spoken-word tribute presented by her great-grandson Peter Barratt, with “sister suffragette” Ruth Pownall

From the moment Peter Barratt took to the stage, it was clear: his passion for Alice Hawkins, his great-grandmother, is not just historical—it’s heartfelt. With warmth, a sprinkle of humour, and steadfast pride, he guided us through her extraordinary life, sharing family archives, letters, and stories that felt both personal and universally stirring. His delivery felt like a chat with kin—welcoming, sincere, and deeply human.

Peter Barratt

Ruth Pownall, as “sister suffragette,” breathed theatrical life into Alice’s voice. With words drawn from real letters and speeches, and with suffragette songs woven into her portrayal, Ruth added another evocative layer that helped transport us back to those fervent years. Her singing gave a poignant rhythm to the fight, reminding us that the suffragettes’ struggle was not only political, but deeply emotional.

Alice Riley Hawkins—born in 1863 in Stafford—became a leading suffragette in Leicester. A machinist at Equity Shoes, a devoted socialist, and a mother of six, she lived the daily grind of working-class life while pushing a suffrage campaign. Through the cooperative structure at her factory, she accessed education and socialist ideas—precisely the foundation that fired her activism. In 1894 she joined the Independent Labour Party, and by 1906 she was in correspondence with Sylvia Pankhurst. When Sylvia came to Leicester in 1907, Alice helped organise and launch a WSPU branch there, alongside Mary Gawthorpe.

Alice was jailed five times for militant actions on behalf of the WSPU—a testament to her courage and dedication. In February 1907 she was arrested after a Hyde Park rally turned violent, when police on horseback charged the protesters. She was sent to Holloway Prison, where a lawyer remarked that “in no other civilised country would women be dealt with in this manner.” In 1909 she attempted to enter a Winston Churchill meeting from which suffragettes had been barred. Arrested again, she went to prison and took part in a hunger strike. In 1911 she smashed a Home Office window with a brick in full view of police. In 1913 she poured ink into a Leicester postbox and was suspected, though never proved, of the famous “no votes, no golf” slogan written in horse dung on a golf course. Alice also received a Hunger Strike Medal from the WSPU and was among the working-class women selected to meet leading politicians like Lloyd George and Sir Edward Grey to press their cause directly.

Ruth Pownall

Alice’s husband Alfred was no bystander—he actively supported her. When he was assaulted and had his kneecap fractured after questioning Churchill at a Liberal Party meeting in Bradford, the court awarded him compensation. That wasn’t just solidarity—it was bravery in its own right. His backing allowed Alice to keep campaigning, even while raising a family of six children.

Peter’s storytelling shone with a warm confidence and touches of humour that made history feel alive—not dusty. We sensed the pride in his family history, the importance of sharing it, and his belief that Alice’s story still resonates today. Ruth’s performance, rooted in real letters and speeches, gave voice to the suffragette soul—and the songs and her stagecraft made it unforgettable. For many in the UK—even today—these stories of suffragette violence and state repression remain poorly known. The police charges, the arrests and imprisonment, the force-feeding, the property damage—all were radical but essential tactics of a desperate, determined movement. Sharing those stories matters: it highlights how hard-won women’s rights were—and how easy it is to take them for granted.

Ultimately, their efforts prevailed. Women secured the vote—gradually, starting in 1918, and fully by 1928. Today, a bronze statue of Alice Hawkins, seven feet tall, stands in Leicester’s Market Square—her arm raised, mid-speech, a commanding presence recalling that she once preached change in that very spot. The unveiling in 2018 was a community moment, with thousands watching, including members of her family who had fought for years to have her commemorated.

This was a moving, inspiring experience. Peter Barratt’s passion and pride bubbled through his every word—his warmth and humour made history feel close. Ruth Pownall’s theatrical presence, singing, and faithful voice-of-Alice made it vivid. Alice Hawkins deserves to be known—not just as a suffragette, but as a working-class mum, machinist, socialist, and fighter. Her story speaks to what it takes to change the world—and why we must remember.

Reviewed by Pat Harrington

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Analysing “The Communist” Newspaper: Issue 22 Review

March 16, 2025 at 11:12 am · Filed under Political Newspapers & Magazines, Politics ·Tagged , , , , ,

543 words, 3 minutes read time.

“The Communist” is an intriguing publication that offers a distinct and thought-provoking perspective on contemporary political and social issues. Issue 22, dated 26th February 2025, delves into a range of significant topics, each analysed through a lens that challenges mainstream narratives.

“The Communist” – A thought-provoking read

One of the central discussions revolves around Britain’s financial support for Ukraine. The newspaper raises critical questions about whether the substantial financial aid, amounting to £13 billion so far and a promised £3 billion annually, truly serves the interests of working people in the UK. It contrasts this with the rising cost of living, noting increases in essentials like water, energy, and council tax. This juxtaposition serves as a reminder of how foreign adventures can adversely impact domestic welfare.

The paper also delves into the rise of the Reform Party, exploring why segments of the working class might be drawn to it. Yet, it cautions against the division along racial lines, arguing that such fractures weaken the collective power needed to fight for better economic conditions. This aligns with its broader critique of how societal divisions can distract from economic struggles. It should be noted that thus far the ‘Left’ has had little success in refocusing many working class people in the UK away from a very deep hostility to woke or overcoming a very deep nationalist instinct. My own view is that one problem the ‘Left’ has had in connecting to working class people is their failure to listen to their concerns.

In addressing the concept of “woke,” “The Communist” advocates for rejecting cultural battles in favor of systemic change. It posits that the exploited and oppressed should focus on class struggle against the billionaires and bankers, rather than getting entangled in what it views as a “reactionary war on woke.”

A particularly compelling piece in this issue is the review of Mussolini: Son of the Century. The newspaper highlights how fascists historically rallied the middle class and landowners by exploiting their fears during times of economic crisis and revolutionary turmoil. The review notes Mussolini’s rhetoric, such as “Against the red beast, let us make a ram of all our lives,” to illustrate how fascism can gain momentum by manipulating public anxieties. The conclusion of the review warns not merely of the threat posed by ‘strong’ leaders but rather the fragility of “bourgeois democracy” and how the ruling class, when faced with a choice between socialism and fascism, might favour the latter to protect their own interests. I also reviewed this programme myself and found it deeply insightful. As cuts in services bite in the UK and costs rise we may see a further increase in support for non-mainstream or populist parties and movements. As of now it seems this will favour the ‘Right’ rather than the ‘Left’.

Unfortunately, “The Communist” is not easy to purchase. I obtained my copy at the excellent Housmans bookshop near King’s Cross, and it is also available by subscription (details can be found on the web at communist.red).

In sum, “The Communist” is a publication that challenges readers to think critically about societal structures and the power dynamics within them. It encourages a re-evaluation of priorities, urging a focus on class unity and systemic change over divisive cultural battles. I’ve only just scratched the surface of the articles in this issue, as it offers a wealth of thought-provoking content. Despite its title, the newspaper provides valuable insights that are relevant across the political spectrum, making it a worthwhile read for anyone interested in a deeper understanding of contemporary issues.

By Patrick Harrington

Pat Harrington reviewed Mussolini: Son Of The Century here

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Made in Dagenham (2010)

December 17, 2022 at 5:16 pm · Filed under Film & DVD Reviews, Politics ·Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,

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Made in Dagenham is a captivating film based on true events which took place in 1968 at the Ford motor plant in Dagenham, England. It follows the story of a group of women working in the factory, who fight for equal pay and rights eventually led to a major breakthrough for women’s rights across Britain.

The film begins with Rita O’Grady (Sally Hawkins) and her co-workers being informed that their jobs have been downgraded from skilled to unskilled status despite having done the same work as their male colleagues. This decision leads to them going on strike, and eventually forming an unlikely alliance with union leader Albert Passingham (Bob Hoskins). Together, they battle against sexism and inequality, determined to make an impact on British law and society.

The story is remarkable for its inspiring characters, its historical context and its timely reminder of struggles faced by working-class women of the time. At its heart is Rita’s struggle to find her voice amidst the male dominated atmosphere, while also balancing her home life. Her character arc is beautifully told through Sally Hawkins’ performance, which earned her an Academy Award nomination for Best Actress. The supporting cast are equally excellent; Miranda Richardson as Barbara Castle stands out particularly as she attempts to navigate political bureaucracy while trying to protect the workers’ rights.

The film succeeds by accurately capturing both the atmosphere of the 1960s workplace and wider society during this incredible period in British history. Set against a backdrop of changing social conventions around gender roles and equality, Made in Dagenham reminds us how much progress has been made since then as well as how far we still have yet to go when it comes to issues such as race and class discrimination.

It also offers a valuable perspective on collective action; how small acts can come together to create large-scale change if people are willing to take risks and stand up for what they believe in. This message is embodied perfectly by our female protagonists who refuse to be intimidated or silenced by those who attempt to keep them down.

Overall, Made in Dagenham is an inspiring film full of emotion that captures perfectly an important moment in history when ordinary citizens stood up against injustice. It will leave you feeling uplifted yet also mindful of ongoing struggles faced by marginalized communities today; proving that even small acts can have significant consequences over time if we choose courage over fear.

Reviewed by Pat Harrington

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Exodus

August 22, 2022 at 7:06 am · Filed under Drama, Edinburgh Fringe Festival, Edinburgh Fringe Festival 2022, Politics

Exodus has been described as satire but it should more properly be viewed as part of the great tradition of the British farce. As Wikipedia defines it:

Aryana Ramkhalawon and Sophie Steer play the Home Secretary and her Spin Doctor. Photo credit Tim Morozzo.

“Farce is a comedy that seeks to entertain an audience through situations that are highly exaggerated, extravagant, ridiculous, absurd, and improbable. Farce is also characterized by heavy use of physical humor; the use of deliberate absurdity or nonsense; satire, parody, and mockery of real-life situations, people, events, and interactions; unlikely and humorous instances of miscommunication; ludicrous, improbable, and exaggerated characters; and broadly stylized performances.”

That certainly sums up Exodus to me. A Home Secretary, Asiya Rao (a caricature of Priti Patel), is at a photo shoot in Dover, standing in the water to underline her desire to prevent illegal migrants from entering the country. It’s in preparation for the launch of Operation Womb, to separate Britain from the rest of the world with the slogan “Look inward”. All starts to go wrong when a living baby is washed up between her feet, and, instead of handing the baby in to the police, she stuffs the baby into her expensive handbag. On the train back to London St. Pancras an actress paid to play her mother, and a journalist interviewing the Home Secretary create a chaotic situation full of misunderstandings and miscommunication.

The performances are great. My favourite was Sophie Steer playing the scheming amoral advisor/spin doctor Phoebe. The show is very enjoyable. If you view it as a farce and don’t consider the underlying political message too critically there are many laugh-out-loud moments. You have to either suspend disbelief and treat this as pure entertainment or look at the message behind the play analytically. If you take the second route it raises difficult questions about what our immigration rules should be, how we became a wealthy nation, and what integration means. On top of that, you would have to consider what British identity is (to me Exodus put this in an overly simplistic and negative light). Perhaps you can view it as both entertainment and consider its message too – I found that difficult.

It’s also my view that the villain should get some good lines. That didn’t happen here perhaps because it was in a farce format. Aryana Ramkhalawon playing Home Secretary Asiya Rao had few persuasive arguments in the script or even any half-way convincing points or rebuttals. It also dodges the question of how a second-generation immigrant has adopted such a hard-line stance on migration and asylum. The only answer put forward is opportunism and a lust for power but is it that simple? Real life is not so cut and dried. Sometimes the villains have good (or at least seemingly convincing or popular arguments) – that’s one of the things that makes them so dangerous.

The play ends with footage of people in Glasgow preventing the deportation of a migrant while chanting “The People united will never be defeated”. Of course, people have never been united on the subject of immigration. Perhaps Exodus will contribute to a debate where we can reach a consensus on the many thorny issues it raises. Here’s hoping!

Reviewed by Pat Harrington

Venue 15
Traverse Theatre – Traverse 1
Aug 23-28
1 hour 25 minutes
Group: National Theatre of Scotland
https://tickets.edfringe.com/

Can’t see it in Edinburgh? The check-out tour dates on the website.

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