Daughter of Sweden: Cecilia Saverman on Reviving a Princess History Tried to Erase

Click on image to buy ticket

Cecilia Saverman doesn’t ease you into Cecilia Vasa’s world — she drops you straight into the madness. Five years of research left her with a life so outrageous it barely feels real: piracy confrontations that make you laugh and wince in the same breath, scandals that rattled royal courts across an entire continent, and family letters so chaotic they read like a soap opera you shouldn’t enjoy but absolutely do.

What Saverman captures is the full, contradictory force of Cecilia Vasa herself — heroine, caring mother, sharp diplomat, messy party princess, egocentric daredevil, unstoppable climber of mountains and faller into pits who always gets back up. Cecilia Vasa lived in  the 16th century (born 1540). With director Judith Hollander, she throws the audience between comedy and tragedy, intimacy and grandness, hope and surrender, never letting the story settle into one tone for long.

And beneath all the spectacle sits something fiercer: a history that was actively deleted, now brought forward almost as an act of defiance. Saverman isn’t preaching. She’s reclaiming. She wants audiences to feel closer to their own past, to recognise how stories about women become political whether anyone intends them to or not.

This is Cecilia Vasa returned to the stage — vivid, volatile, and impossible to ignore.

1. What’s the single most shocking thing about Cecilia Vasa’s life that will make people gasp? – The fact that it’s actually happened and that we’ve not heard about her. An actual princess who became a pirate, exile, diplomat, and so on! Apart from that, her life just keeps getting crazier and more unfathomable for every step along the way, it’s hard to pick just one thing. The five year research was a never-ending rollercoaster. Maybe a certain window-climbing episode.

2. Which moment in the show makes you laugh and wince at the same time? – There is an episode where her brother confronts her about her piracy, and she has to admit to a lot of what she’s done, and it’s just crazy that it’s actually true. And when one of her lovers is locked up in a castle, and she’s barred from the city to keep her away from him, but she just sneaks into a boat and rows to him, in the middle of the night.

3. How far did you push the sex and scandal on stage, and why that exact level of explicitness? – The sex aspect is suggestive, but not explicit. The scandal, however, shook the entire continent – if the royal courts are to be trusted about these matters, that is. While the acts in and of themselves plants the seed for her struggle for freedom and sets her off on her path in life, I’m more interested in the consequence of the acts, rather than the acts themselves.

4. Did you ever fear the play would be banned or spark a diplomatic row? – Last time Cecilia Vasa was in the UK she was thrown out, so lets hope I have better luck with the Swedish-UK relations.

5. Is Cecilia a heroine, a mess, or gloriously both — and why should we care? – Yes, yes, and yes. On top of that – she is apparently also related to Boris Johnson. She is a heroine, a caring mother, a smart diplomat, a messy party princess, an egocentric daredevil, an unstoppable force who will climb any mountain, fall into every pit and always get up.

6. Are there scenes that touch on coercion or questionable consent and how do you approach that? – No. Or, it depends in what sense. Most of the things she does is very questionable, and I guess the definition of piracy is that it’s non-consensual, and her whole life is a struggle to be able to control her own narrative, and there are rumours about her having a brothel, and there’s stealing and bad decisions going on, and forceful removal from several places, but nothing in the play that touch on coercion of a sexual nature. It’s been important to approach it in a mixture of drama and comedy. It can be extremely funny with someone trying to lure themself to advantages, but also very tragic.

7. Is there a line in the script which makes you blush when you say it out loud? – Not while playing…

8. How do you want audiences to feel about monarchy and power when they leave the theatre? – Difficult question. I want them to want to know more, because it’s our history, I guess. I want them to feel close to our common history. Cecilia Vasa is a princess, a pirate, a mother of seven – and also just a human being. I want them to be able to laugh about the messiness, but I also want them to feel outraged about how it’s been, and maybe see parallels to today. Why haven’t we gotten further? How can this still be going on? I’ve received several emails from people in the audience saying that they saw themselves and their family in this play, and that it both opened and healed wounds in them about power and dynamics.

9. Do you think that there is a feminist message here or about women’s ‘role’ in society then and now? – Yes. I think it’s impossible to tell a story about women today without it becoming political – in the same way I think that stories about lgbtq+ or about non-white people or about people whose bodies are outside the norm automatically becomes political – whether it’s the intention or not. I wrote this story because Cecilia Vasa fascinated me to my core, and I saw so much of my surroundings, including myself and my mother, and society in her. It has never been about sending a message, but it becomes a message because it is a story that has never been told. It’s been actively deleted – which is of course very political – so bringing it forward might in a sense be an act of defiance.

10. What’s the one historical fact you refused to change, no matter how tempting the drama? – Everything. It’s my interpretation of her life, but every fact is true. That’s the insane part.

11. How bawdy do the party scenes get, and how do you balance that with the darker fallout? – I love tossing myself and the audience between highs and lows. My brilliant director Judith Hollander has created an intense balance between comedy and tragedy, intimacy and grandness, hope and surrender. She has so much to fight for, and sometimes she’s just hilarious. During my research I read many letters between her and her siblings, and it was like a soap opera. I would laugh out loud, between the horrors that they put themselves and each others through.

12. Have you ever had hecklers or walkouts, and what did you do when it happened? – Not that I recall, but I’ve received angry emails from older men saying that they don’t believe this or that to be true, and also “that piece of prop is ugly”. Very sweet of them to take their time to let me know.

13. Would you ever stage a strictly adults‑only version — and what would you change? – Maybe adding some more in the Elizabeth-scene, haha! And the first scandal scene. And her encounter with the Spanish envoy Eraso, later on in her life. Very romantic, and got her thrown out of Sweden. But the show is only 60 min now, so not everything can be in it…

14. What single image from the production do you want to haunt people for days, and why that image? – You’ll have to come see the show! You’re in for a haunting treat!

Buy a ticket here

Leave a Comment

A Dark Line Upstairs: How a 1951 Disaster Speaks to 2021 Adulthood

Click on image to buy ticket

There’s a particular kind of artist who doesn’t treat catastrophe as a single event but as a texture — something that clings to the skin, shifts underfoot, and quietly rewrites the stories we tell about ourselves. In A Dark Line Upstairs, Matilde Vigna braids together two floods separated by seventy‑five years and a continent: the night the Polesine vanished under water, and the slow, private deluge of a woman packing up her life after a breakup. What emerges is not a neat metaphor but a restless conversation between past and present, between inherited trauma and contemporary drift, between the places we flee and the ones we pretend we’ve outgrown. It’s a debut that refuses the tidy arc, preferring instead the unstable ground where humour, grief, privilege, and generational doubt all mix together. We asked some questions…

1. Your play threads together two floods — one literal, one emotional. When did you realise that the 1951 Polesine disaster and a modern woman packing up her life belonged in the same breath?
The Covid pandemic forced me (us?) to reflect on loss. With all venues closed and all live performance forbidden, I felt like I lost everything. At the same time, this feeling seemed ridiculous in comparison both to those who lost someone, and to the fact of actually, physically losing everything — as I knew had happened to the people living in the area where I was born, 70 years ago.
(An area I ran away from as soon as I could — as I did from many other places — which sparked another reflection on roots: where am I really rooted? Is it possible to put down roots if you’ve forgotten your own? Etc., etc.)
Coming back to tragedy, talking to the wise people I’m proud to call friends made me realise that many things can fall under that category. Packing up your life in your 30s, after a break‑up, might feel like you’ve lost everything, and every step forward might feel like ten steps backwards. So why not place the two tragedies together, like two legs that advance one after the other… without a clear conclusion or moral, seeding questions and leaving them unanswered.
2. The press release describes the piece as “powerful, poetic, and sharply comic.” How do you find that balance between wry humour and the enormity of losing everything?
I think it’s a matter of touching a delicate object like a tragedy with respect — which to me means not indulging in the dark shades, but pairing them with some light strokes. It’s a light‑design concept: after looking at a light, the black feels darker.
I might add that one can find humour in anything. Of course there are things you can laugh about straight away (like our character who leaves her flat taking everything with her, even a dead houseplant) and other things that require more time (like tying your furniture to the wall with a rope or carrying the pigs upstairs. You might not laugh about that in your lifetime, but it can make audiences smile 75 years later).
3. The 1951 flood swallowed 70 square kilometres of the Polesine region overnight. What part of that historical catastrophe felt most resonant with the instability of contemporary adulthood?
I really don’t have an answer to this question. I feel there’s something there, but like in the play, the two are placed next to each other without resolving the matter. I have many thoughts (do I not want to put down roots because I fear being swept away by a catastrophe?) but no clear answers.
4. Moving house in 2021 becomes its own kind of micro‑catastrophe. What personal experience fed into that portrait of cardboard boxes, breakups, and rising mortgages?
I don’t know if this counts as a pro or a con, but my writing is never about me (I think my life is too little — but then that’s why we act in the end, isn’t it?). Rather, it’s a mosaic of stories I heard and glued together. A sort of cultural appropriation of my friends’ lives, as an account of “my generation.”
At first I thought our contemporary, bourgeois, first‑world little issues were in no way a tragedy — not when compared to real tragedies. But then everything can be a micro‑catastrophe (especially when it rains, right?) even when you compare it to something bigger. What changes is that you can laugh about it (or at least the audience can).
5. You talk about “coming to terms with chaos and the things we cannot control.” What chaos in your own life shaped this piece?
I guess the chaos is very much a generational insecurity — our inability to come to terms with the life and beliefs our parents had, for whom progress = wealth. How can we live by that same equation when it’s so clear now that our lifestyle means trampling on someone else’s life?
Chaos for me now also means coming to terms with my privilege. The woman in my show doesn’t want to buy furniture for her new flat because she has married the immaterial, while her parents push her to buy stuff. Alright, but… she owns a flat! (and a lot of stuff, as we know from her endless lists).
I guess what I want to convey is something along the lines of: our parents’ paradigm is not working, we cannot find a better one, maybe we should go back to our grandparents’ paradigm and start again (cooking bread in a common oven).
6. The sound design by Alessio Foglia turns the bare stage into a physical soundscape. What moment in the show relies most on sound to carry the emotional weight?
All the lines relative to the 1951 tragedy are accompanied by sound. It might seem simplistic, as it’s a 1:1 thing: the past always has a soundscape, the present never does. Somehow it felt impossible to relay the tragedy through acting, so we subcontracted all the emotional dirty work to sound.
I mean, as I say in the play: I’m Italian! …so the risk of melodrama was just around the corner (we’re far from that, still: better safe than sorry).
7. This is your playwriting debut, yet it’s already been nominated for Best New Italian Play at the Ubu Awards. What surprised you most about stepping into the role of playwright?
I think the main thing is that I cherish the responsibility of choosing which topics and which words the audience will listen to.
Then I realised I like to play with words, as if they were pieces in a giant jigsaw puzzle — the musicality, the rhythm, the repetitions… and the way in which, if words are put together in a certain way, the performer doesn’t need to add anything. (That’s the great lesson we all get from Shakespeare, I guess.)
Of course A Dark Line Upstairs is not perfect, but I’m quite sure magic happens in the cracks — when the play is not airtight, when the audience can connect the dots and place the last piece of the aforementioned jigsaw puzzle.
8. The piece moves between past and present seamlessly. How do you guide the audience through those shifts without losing them in the undertow?
The first trick is in the writing. When we’re in the past, the language is more lyrical, whereas in the “present day” moments the storytelling leans towards stand‑up comedy.
But mostly, it’s a sound/lighting thing. We had to shrink the whole production to its “Fringe size,” but the concept remains the same: the narration proceeds without halting, while the sound creeps in… and by the time the audience realises we’ve switched “world,” we’re deep inside it.
9. ZOO Venues is known for championing contemporary international performance. What made it the right home for your Edinburgh debut?
It has been a combination of factors. I was looking for a small room (some venues only have 40+ seats) whereas ZOO Playground 3 was just what I wished for my first time at the Fringe. And of course, being the first time (and preparing for the Fringe is quite an overwhelming experience) I wanted someone who would take me by the hand.
Furthermore, some of my friends had already performed there, so let’s say that beside its fame, ZOO Venues had some “close‑to‑heart” references… and please let me spend a word to thank them all for everything they’re doing for us!
10. You describe the story as “deeply Italian yet universally resonant.” What do you hope Fringe audiences — far from the Po River — carry out of the theatre with them?
The story touches many topics: our relationship with our roots (our family, the place we come from); whether we can decide to leave or not; what happens when we do (does it change whether it’s 1951 or 2021?); what we hold onto in order not to lose ourselves…
Even though audiences might not know where the Po River is, or which shape our local bread has, all these topics are quite relevant today, regardless of where any of us has been born and raised.
Click here to buy ticket
Advert

 

Leave a Comment

Culture Vulture 11–17 July 2026

Spider-Man swings across the schedules this week in almost every cinematic incarnation. Over five consecutive evenings, the BBC screens the Tobey Maguire, Andrew Garfield and Tom Holland films before concluding with the spectacular animated Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse. It’s a rare opportunity to watch one of popular culture’s greatest superheroes evolve over more than twenty years while remaining true to the wit, heart and humanity that have always made Peter Parker so appealing.

Another theme running through the week is the legacy of science, war and the nuclear age. Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer is complemented by documentaries examining atomic weapons, modern technology and the changing political landscape, while historical programmes revisit Britain’s role in Palestine and America’s cultural transformation. Together they offer thoughtful viewing that feels particularly timely.

Classic cinema is equally well served. Alfred Hitchcock enjoys a well-deserved showcase, Ealing comedy is represented by one of its greatest films, and music lovers can enjoy documentaries ranging from Ian Fleming and James Bond to the opening night of the Proms. Whether you’re looking for intelligent documentaries, blockbuster entertainment or timeless classics, there’s plenty to enjoy.

TV & Film

Saturday 11 July

1.35pm | Talking Pictures TV | Obsession (1948)

Edward Dmytryk’s Obsession is a dark, elegant slice of postwar British cinema — a thriller that hums with quiet menace and moral unease. Dmytryk, exiled from Hollywood after the McCarthy witch hunts, brings a sharp outsider’s eye to London’s fog and restraint. His camera lingers on the genteel surfaces of domestic life, then lets the cracks show: jealousy, revenge, and the slow corrosion of civility.

There’s a precision to the storytelling — taut, deliberate, never hurried — yet beneath it runs a pulse of bitterness. You can feel the director’s own disillusionment bleeding into the frame, the sense of a man betrayed by his country and now dissecting betrayal itself. The performances are clipped and controlled, the tension coiled tight as piano wire.

It’s a film that rewards patience: stylish, intelligent, and quietly devastating. One of those overlooked gems that remind you how exile can sharpen an artist’s vision — turning bitterness into art, and confinement into clarity.

2.15pm | BBC Two | North by Northwest (1959)

Hitchcock’s great chase movie still feels like pure cinematic oxygen — light on its feet, effortlessly stylish, and propelled by a kind of mischievous confidence that few thrillers ever manage. Cary Grant, immaculate in that grey suit, glides through the chaos with a charm so polished it borders on defiance. He’s the perfect wrong man: suave, bewildered, and increasingly aware that the world has tilted into absurd danger around him.

The film moves with a dancer’s rhythm, shifting from urbane comedy to breath‑tightening suspense without ever losing its balance. The crop‑duster sequence remains astonishing — a stretch of open farmland turned into a stage for one of Hitchcock’s most audacious set‑pieces, where silence becomes menace and the sky itself seems to turn predatory.

And then there’s the Mount Rushmore finale, a delirious blend of spectacle and tension, as if Hitchcock decided to carve his own signature into American mythology. It’s playful, nerve‑jangling, and executed with such precision that you can feel the craft humming beneath every frame.

Decades on, North by Northwest still stands as one of cinema’s most irresistible entertainments — a thriller that understands the joy of movement, the thrill of danger, and the pleasure of watching Cary Grant stay cool while the world goes mad around him.

4.25pm | BBC Two | Vertigo (1958)

Hitchcock’s Vertigo is cinema as dream — a slow, spiralling descent into obsession and illusion that feels both hypnotic and deeply human. The film’s rhythm is deliberate, almost narcotic, drawing you into its web of longing and deceit until reality itself begins to shimmer and distort.

James Stewart gives one of his most unsettling performances: a man undone by desire, haunted by what he cannot possess, and trapped in the vertigo of his own imagination. Kim Novak, ethereal and enigmatic, becomes both muse and ghost — the embodiment of Hitchcock’s fascination with the fragile boundary between love and control.

Every frame is composed like a fevered memory: the San Francisco skyline drenched in colour, the spiralling staircase, Bernard Herrmann’s aching score that seems to echo from the subconscious. It’s a film about the impossibility of truly knowing another person — and the danger of trying to remake them in your own image.

Now hailed as Hitchcock’s masterpiece, Vertigo remains a haunting study of identity and obsession, a work of extraordinary visual beauty and emotional depth that lingers long after the credits fade.

6.20pm | Sky Arts | Ian Fleming and the Curse of Bond

A fascinating examination of Ian Fleming’s life and the extraordinary legacy of James Bond. It explores how the world’s most famous spy transformed both his creator’s reputation and popular culture itself.

6.45pm | Channel 4 | Mrs Harris Goes to Paris (2022)

Lesley Manville brings such warmth and quiet sparkle to Mrs Harris that the whole film seems to glow around her. There’s a gentleness to the storytelling — a belief that kindness still matters, that optimism isn’t naïve but necessary, and that sometimes the smallest acts of courage can change the shape of a life.

The film moves with an easy, unhurried charm. Paris is rendered not as a postcard fantasy but as a place where dreams feel just within reach, provided you’re stubborn enough to keep walking toward them. Manville’s performance anchors it all: funny, tender, and full of that unmistakable dignity she gives even the most modest characters.

It’s the sort of film that lifts your mood almost without you noticing. A celebration of decency, determination and the quiet thrill of following your heart — and truly, it’s impossible to watch without smiling.

8.00pm | Channel 5 | Alexander Armstrong Across America (3/4)

Alexander travels from the Hoover Dam through the bright lights of Las Vegas and into the dramatic landscapes of Utah. An engaging blend of travel, history and gentle humour.

9.05pm | Talking Pictures TV | Our Man in Havana (1959)

Graham Greene’s Cold War caper still feels wonderfully fresh — a satire that tiptoes between comedy and danger with the lightest of feet. Alec Guinness is in glorious form here, playing the mild‑mannered vacuum‑cleaner salesman who finds himself swept into the world of espionage almost by accident. His performance has that perfect Guinness blend: dry wit, gentle bewilderment, and a twinkle that suggests he’s enjoying the absurdity as much as we are.

The film’s great joke — that an entire intelligence operation can be built on sketches of imaginary weapons that are, in fact, parts of a vacuum cleaner — lands even harder today. Greene understood how bureaucracy, paranoia and political theatre could inflate nonsense into national security. The script dances along that razor’s edge, exposing the ridiculousness of spycraft without ever losing its grip on the human stakes.

Shot in pre‑revolutionary Havana, the film has an atmosphere all its own: humid, lively, slightly frayed at the edges. The city becomes a character in the story, a place where glamour and decay sit side by side, perfectly suited to Greene’s worldview.

It remains one of the sharpest, funniest Cold War satires — a tale where espionage becomes gloriously absurd, and Alec Guinness proves once again that nobody does deadpan chaos quite like him.

10.35pm | PBS America | Mandate for Murder: Britain’s Struggle in Palestine

A compelling historical documentary exploring Britain’s increasingly impossible position during the final years of the Palestine Mandate, and the decisions that helped shape the modern Middle East.

11.15pm | Channel 4 | Legion (2010)

Legion is one of those films that dives head‑first into biblically‑charged sci‑fi horror — angels as warriors, prophecy as battleground, and humanity caught in the crossfire. It takes the Book of Revelation, shakes it hard, and lets the pieces fall across a dusty desert diner where a small group of strangers suddenly find themselves defending the future of the world.

The setup is gloriously pulpy: God has lost faith in humanity, the angels have turned violent, and the only one willing to defy divine orders is Michael, played with steely conviction by Paul Bettany. He arrives armed, wounded, and determined, a fallen protector who believes humanity deserves one last chance. The film treats scripture like speculative fiction — ancient myth colliding with modern fear, celestial beings rendered as terrifying, body‑warping creatures that feel closer to horror than hymn.

The diner siege gives the story its shape. Ordinary people — a cook, a waitress, a drifter, a grieving father — suddenly become the final line of defence. The isolation of the setting amplifies the tension: heat shimmering off the tarmac, neon flickering, the sense that the world outside has already begun to unravel. When the attacks come, they’re loud, chaotic and unapologetically over the top, the kind of supernatural action that leans into spectacle rather than subtlety.

It’s not a quiet film, and it’s not trying to be. Legion is a wild, violent, end‑times thriller that mixes biblical mythology with sci‑fi energy and horror imagery. If you enjoy stories where angels descend not with harps but with teeth and fury, where prophecy becomes a battlefield, and where humanity’s survival hangs by a thread in the middle of nowhere, this one delivers exactly that

Sunday 12 July

2.05pm | BBC Two | Sweet Charity (1969)

Bob Fosse’s Sweet Charity is one of those films that seems to dance even when nothing is moving. His choreography — sharp, angular, slyly seductive — remains some of the most electrifying ever put on screen. You can feel the pulse of Broadway in every frame, yet the film has a cinematic looseness that lets the movement breathe. Fosse’s camera doesn’t just record dance; it participates, gliding, cutting, and framing in ways that make the choreography feel alive.

At the centre of it all is Shirley MacLaine, whose performance deserves far more recognition than it usually gets. She brings a warmth that softens the film’s harder edges, a humour that keeps Charity’s optimism from seeming foolish, and a vulnerability that makes her heartbreak land with real force. MacLaine plays Charity as a woman who keeps choosing hope even when the world gives her every reason not to — and that stubborn optimism becomes the film’s emotional engine.

The set‑pieces are dazzling: “Big Spender” with its jagged, confrontational staging; the psychedelic whirl of the Pompeii Club; the bittersweet tenderness of “If My Friends Could See Me Now.” Each sequence feels like Fosse testing the limits of what a musical number can be — theatrical, cinematic, ironic, and sincere all at once.

More than half a century later, Sweet Charity still shimmers. It’s bold, stylish, and unexpectedly moving, a musical that understands both the glitter and the grit of chasing happiness. And MacLaine, radiant and resilient, gives a performance that lingers long after the final fade.

4.25pm | BBC Two | Pride & Prejudice (2005)

Joe Wright’s adaptation of Austen’s classic feels wonderfully alive — not a museum piece, but a story with breath, movement and emotional immediacy. From the first shot, there’s a freshness to the filmmaking: the camera glides through bustling households, muddy fields and candlelit rooms, giving the world a lived‑in texture that suits Austen’s sharp social observations.

Keira Knightley brings a bright, quick intelligence to Elizabeth Bennet. Her performance has a modern spark without ever breaking the period spell — she’s witty, impulsive, and capable of sudden flashes of vulnerability that make her emotional journey feel utterly human. Matthew Macfadyen’s Darcy, meanwhile, is a study in quiet intensity. His reserve isn’t coldness but awkwardness, and when it finally cracks, the effect is unexpectedly moving.

The supporting cast enriches the world rather than crowding it: Brenda Blethyn’s flustered Mrs Bennet, Donald Sutherland’s gentle melancholy as Mr Bennet, and Judi Dench’s magnificently imperious Lady Catherine. Dario Marianelli’s score, built around those insistent piano motifs, gives the film a heartbeat — romantic, restless, and tinged with longing.

Elegant, warm and beautifully crafted, Wright’s Pride & Prejudice captures both the wit and the aching romance of Austen’s novel. It remains one of the most emotionally resonant and visually graceful versions of literature’s most celebrated love story.

6.50pm | ITV1 | Grease (1978)

Nearly fifty years on, Grease still fizzes with the kind of energy most modern musicals would kill for. It’s bright, cheeky, and utterly irresistible — a film that understands the joy of pure pop fantasy and delivers it with unwavering confidence.

The songs remain the engine of its appeal. “Summer Nights,” “Greased Lightnin’,” “You’re the One That I Want” — they haven’t aged a day. They’re still infectious, still impossible not to hum along to, still capable of lifting the mood of an entire room.

John Travolta and Olivia Newton‑John are endlessly charming, their performances pitched perfectly between sincerity and playful exaggeration. Travolta’s swagger and Newton‑John’s sweetness create a chemistry that carries the film through every twist of its candy‑coloured plot.

The whole thing moves with a kind of giddy momentum: slick choreography, bold colours, and that unmistakable sense of fun that defined late‑70s Hollywood musicals. It’s nostalgic without being dusty, exuberant without tipping into chaos, and warm‑hearted enough to make even its silliest moments feel affectionate.

9.00pm | BBC Two | The Tech Billionaire Takeover

A timely investigation into the extraordinary influence of today’s technology billionaires and the growing impact they have on politics, business and society.

9.00pm | BBC Three | Elvis (2022)

Baz Luhrmann’s dazzling biography is as flamboyant as its subject, with Austin Butler delivering an outstanding performance as the King of Rock and Roll.

10.00pm | BBC Two | Oppenheimer (2023)

Christopher Nolan’s Oscar‑winning epic remains astonishing in its balance of scale and intimacy — a film that moves between vast historical forces and the private, conflicted mind of J. Robert Oppenheimer. Cillian Murphy’s performance anchors everything: precise, haunted, and quietly devastating, capturing a man who can envision the future yet cannot escape the consequences of bringing it into being. The film’s structure — fractured, looping, almost musical — mirrors the moral complexity at its core, shifting between the feverish race to build the bomb and the political reckoning that followed. Nolan treats the creation of the atomic bomb not as a triumph of genius but as a moment of irreversible human transformation, and the film’s final act makes that weight unmistakable. A towering achievement: intellectually fierce, visually overwhelming and morally unflinching.

12.05am | Channel 4 | Beau Is Afraid (2023)

Ari Aster’s sprawling, surreal odyssey is a wild mix of dark comedy, psychological horror and anxious fever dream, following Joaquin Phoenix through a world that seems determined to punish him at every turn. It’s funny, disturbing and often exhausting — a three‑hour plunge into paranoia and maternal dread that shifts tone and genre without warning. Bold, strange and defiantly uncompromising, it’s one of the most adventurous studio films of recent years, though its intensity and eccentricity mean it certainly won’t be for everyone.

Monday 13 July

7.05pm | BBC Three | Spider-Man (2002)

Sam Raimi’s hugely influential superhero adventure still crackles with energy, establishing the template that modern comic‑book films would follow for decades. Tobey Maguire brings an endearing awkwardness and sincerity to Peter Parker, making his transformation into Spider‑Man feel genuinely emotional. Willem Dafoe’s Green Goblin remains one of Marvel’s most memorable villains — theatrical, menacing and psychologically sharp. A landmark in the genre that still holds up beautifully.

9.00pm | BBC Two | Evolution

A major new documentary series exploring the science of evolution and humanity’s place in the natural world. Beautifully filmed and intellectually ambitious, the complete series is also available on iPlayer.

9.00pm | BBC Three | Spider-Man 2 (2004)

Often hailed as one of the greatest superhero films ever made, Spider‑Man 2 deepens everything that made Raimi’s first instalment so beloved. Tobey Maguire’s Peter Parker faces a crisis of confidence that gives the film real emotional weight, while Alfred Molina’s Doctor Octopus is magnificent — tragic, intimidating and richly human. The action sequences remain spectacular, but it’s the character work and moral complexity that make this sequel endure.

9.00pm | BBC Four | Andy Warhol’s America

An engaging portrait of the artist who transformed modern art while capturing the contradictions of post-war America with extraordinary wit and originality.

10.30pm | BBC Four | American Visions: The Age of Anxiety

Continuing the story of American art through the Vietnam era, this episode examines how artists responded to conflict, political upheaval and profound social change.

Tuesday 14 July

8.00pm | BBC Four | Penelope Keith Night

BBC Four celebrates one of Britain’s most treasured comic actors with an evening of programmes showcasing a career that has brought pleasure to audiences for more than five decades. A welcome tribute to an actress whose impeccable timing and effortless charm made her a television favourite.

10.40pm | BBC One | Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)

Tom Holland’s first solo outing as Peter Parker has a buoyant, youthful energy that instantly sets it apart. The film leans into the awkwardness, enthusiasm and uncertainty of being a teenage superhero, giving the character a freshness that feels true to the comics without repeating earlier screen versions. Holland plays Peter as a kid desperate to prove himself, tripping over his own eagerness, and that sincerity becomes the film’s heartbeat.

The Marvel spectacle is there — slick action, sharp humour, a lively pace — but it’s grounded by the film’s smaller scale. Instead of world‑ending stakes, Peter is navigating school, friendships, crushes and the desire to impress Tony Stark. That balance keeps the story human even when the set‑pieces get big.

Michael Keaton’s Vulture is one of the franchise’s most believable and sympathetic villains. He’s not a cosmic tyrant or mad scientist; he’s a working‑class man pushed into criminality by circumstance and resentment. Keaton plays him with a quiet, simmering intensity, making him both threatening and understandable. His scenes with Holland have real tension because the conflict feels personal rather than abstract.

Bright, funny and character‑driven, Homecoming is a confident reset for Spider‑Man — a film that remembers the hero is at his best when he’s juggling homework, heartbreak and high‑flying danger all at once.

10.55pm | Film4 | Misericordia (2024)

A dark, quietly gripping French drama, Misericordia builds its tension with patience rather than noise. It’s the kind of European cinema that trusts atmosphere, silence and moral ambiguity to do the heavy lifting. The result is a film that feels unsettling in a slow, deliberate way — not through shocks, but through the steady tightening of its emotional screws.

The story unfolds in a rural community where old wounds and buried secrets begin to surface. The filmmaking is restrained, almost austere, yet beautifully composed: muted colours, long takes, and a sense of stillness that makes every small gesture feel significant. That visual calm becomes a counterpoint to the moral turbulence beneath the surface.

Performances are subtle and lived‑in, with characters who rarely say exactly what they mean. The tension comes from what’s left unsaid — glances, pauses, the weight of shared history. As the film progresses, the moral uncertainty deepens: guilt, forgiveness, and responsibility blur into one another, leaving the viewer to navigate the same fog as the characters.

It’s intelligent, atmospheric and quietly haunting. Misericordia rewards patient viewing, offering a slow‑burn drama where the real drama lies not in what happens, but in what it means.

11.00pm | Sky Documentaries | Cobain: Montage of Heck (2015)

Brett Morgen’s acclaimed documentary remains the most intimate portrait of Nirvana’s Kurt Cobain. Drawing on home movies, artwork, journals and previously unseen archive footage, it paints a deeply human picture of a remarkable but troubled artist.

11.10pm | BBC One | Rush (2013)

Ron Howard’s Rush isn’t just a motor‑racing film — it’s a character study wrapped in adrenaline, a story about two men who push themselves so close to the edge that the line between triumph and self‑destruction becomes almost invisible. The James Hunt–Niki Lauda rivalry is presented not as a simple clash of personalities but as a kind of elemental duel: instinct versus calculation, swagger versus discipline, chaos versus control.

The racing sequences are exhilarating, shot with a visceral immediacy that makes the cockpit feel claustrophobic and the track terrifyingly alive. But the film’s real power lies in the contrast between its two leads. Chris Hemsworth’s Hunt is all charm and recklessness — a man who seems to burn brighter the closer he gets to danger. Daniel Brühl’s Lauda, meanwhile, is meticulous, introverted, and fiercely intelligent, a driver who treats every lap as a problem to be solved. Their rivalry becomes a strange form of respect, each man recognising in the other something he lacks, something he fears, something he needs.

Howard’s direction gives the story a glossy, almost operatic sheen, yet the emotional beats land with surprising weight. Lauda’s near‑fatal crash and agonising recovery are handled with restraint, allowing the horror of the injuries — and the sheer will required to return — to speak for themselves. The film understands that greatness often comes at a price, and it doesn’t shy away from showing how brutally that price is paid.

Beautifully photographed, superbly acted and far richer than its high‑octane surface suggests, Rush is a gripping exploration of ambition, rivalry and the dangerous seduction of being the best — whatever the cost.

Wednesday 15 July

7.05pm | BBC Three | The Amazing Spider-Man (2012)

Andrew Garfield brings warmth, humour and vulnerability to a fresh interpretation of Peter Parker. Overshadowed at the time by other superhero films, it has grown considerably in reputation.

7.55pm | PBS America | Silent War: The Shadow of Atomic Bombs

A sobering documentary examining the nuclear age and the political, military and human consequences of atomic weapons. An important reminder that the legacy of Hiroshima and Nagasaki continues to shape international affairs.

8.00pm | Sky Arts | D.H. Lawrence: Sex, Exile and Greatness

A thoughtful portrait of one of England’s most controversial literary figures, exploring the experiences that shaped his life and inspired works that challenged social conventions.

8.35pm | Talking Pictures TV | The Man in the White Suit (1951)

One of Ealing Studios’ sharpest comedies, The Man in the White Suit still feels startlingly relevant — a satire wrapped in whimsy, powered by Alec Guinness at his most quietly brilliant. If Sunday’s screening slipped by, this second chance is well worth taking.

Guinness plays Sidney Stratton, a mild‑mannered chemist whose invention — a fabric that never wears out and never gets dirty — should be a triumph of human ingenuity. Instead, it becomes a threat to the entire economic order. The film’s genius lies in how lightly it handles such heavy ideas: progress, fear, vested interests, and the way institutions react when confronted with change that might actually benefit ordinary people.

The comedy is gentle but pointed. Factory owners panic at the thought of profits evaporating; unions fear unemployment; politicians fret about upheaval. Everyone, in their own way, becomes a guardian of the status quo. Stratton, glowing in his luminous white suit, becomes a kind of accidental prophet — a man whose idealism is too pure for the world he’s trying to improve.

Ealing’s trademark blend of charm and bite is on full display. The film moves briskly, the dialogue sparkles, and Guinness anchors it with that wonderful mix of innocence and determination. More than seventy years on, its observations about innovation and resistance to change feel uncannily modern.

9.10pm | BBC Three | The Amazing Spider-Man 2 (2014)

Visually bold and emotionally charged, The Amazing Spider-Man 2 is a film that swings for the fences — sometimes too enthusiastically, but often with real heart. Its greatest strength lies in Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone, whose chemistry gives the story an emotional core that keeps it grounded even when the plot threatens to overload itself with villains, mysteries and franchise‑building threads.

Garfield’s Peter Parker is at his most open and vulnerable here, torn between responsibility and desire, fear and hope. Stone’s Gwen Stacy remains one of the most compelling love interests in any superhero film — smart, capable, and fully realised, never just a narrative accessory. Their scenes together have a warmth and sincerity that elevate the entire film.

Visually, it’s ambitious. The neon‑lit action sequences, especially the battles with Electro, have a kinetic, almost musical rhythm. The film embraces colour, movement and spectacle, leaning into a heightened comic‑book aesthetic that sets it apart from other Spider‑Man incarnations.

Yes, it tries to do too much — juggling multiple villains, backstory threads and future‑setup ambitions — but when it focuses on Peter and Gwen, it becomes something genuinely affecting.

A flawed but striking entry in the Spider‑Man canon, held together by two performances that give it real emotional weight.

Thursday 16 July

9.00pm | Channel 5 | The Odyssey with Dan Snow

Dan Snow combines archaeology, history and mythology to follow the journey described in Homer’s epic poem. An accessible and entertaining exploration of one of the foundation stones of Western literature.

9.00pm | BBC One | Who Do You Think You Are? – Toby Jones

The acclaimed actor explores his family history, uncovering stories of resilience, hardship and unexpected discoveries. As ever, genealogy provides a fascinating window into Britain’s social history.

9.00pm | BBC Four | Kim Novak’s Vertigo

A fascinating documentary celebrating Kim Novak’s unforgettable performance in Alfred Hitchcock’s masterpiece and exploring the film’s extraordinary legacy.

9.00pm | Sky News | Iran School Bombing: The Search for Truth

A serious investigation into one of Iran’s most shocking recent tragedies, examining the evidence, the aftermath and the continuing search for accountability.

10.15pm | BBC Four | Vertigo (1958)

Following the documentary, Hitchcock’s masterpiece returns to the screen.

Vertigo feels hypnotic — a film that doesn’t simply tell a story but pulls you into a psychological undertow. Hitchcock’s masterpiece is a slow, spiralling study of obsession, memory and the treacherous illusions we build for ourselves. It moves with a dreamlike cadence: deliberate, unsettling, and strangely beautiful.

James Stewart gives one of his most complex performances, a man drifting between desire and delusion, unable to trust his own perceptions. Kim Novak, luminous and enigmatic, becomes both muse and mirage — the embodiment of Hitchcock’s fascination with identity as something fragile, malleable, and dangerously idealised. Their relationship is less romance than haunting, a dance between longing and control that grows more disturbing the deeper the film descends.

Visually, it’s astonishing. The colour palette, the famous dolly‑zoom, the spiralling imagery, Bernard Herrmann’s aching score — everything works together to create a sense of emotional vertigo, as if the film itself is tilting beneath your feet. San Francisco becomes a city of ghosts and echoes, a place where past and present blur and memory becomes a trap.

More than sixty years on, Vertigo remains one of cinema’s greatest achievements: hypnotic, unsettling, and endlessly rewatchable, a film that reveals something new every time you let it pull you under.

10.40pm | BBC One | Spider-Man: Far From Home (2019)

Tom Holland’s second solo outing as Peter Parker has an easy, breezy confidence — a film that understands the appeal of Spider‑Man as both wide‑eyed teenager and reluctant hero. Taking him out of New York proves inspired: the European setting gives the story a fresh rhythm, letting the film play with new landscapes, new dangers and a sense of dislocation that mirrors Peter’s own uncertainty after the events of Endgame.

Holland is terrific here, balancing humour, vulnerability and that slightly overwhelmed charm that makes his Spider‑Man so engaging. The film leans into the awkwardness of adolescence just as much as the spectacle of superhero action, and that blend keeps it emotionally grounded even when the plot becomes gloriously extravagant.

Jake Gyllenhaal’s Mysterio adds a fascinating twist — a character who shifts between mentor, illusionist and threat, embodying the film’s central theme: nothing is quite what it seems. The action sequences are inventive, especially the reality‑bending illusions that feel closer to psychological mazes than traditional fights.

It’s colourful, funny and surprisingly heartfelt, a post‑Endgame adventure that lets Peter Parker grow up a little without losing the youthful energy that defines him. A lively, entertaining chapter in the Spider‑Man story.

Friday 17 July

4.40pm | Film4 | Tolkien (2019)

Nicholas Hoult gives an understated performance as the young J.R.R. Tolkien in an intelligent and moving portrait of the friendships, love and wartime experiences that inspired one of the twentieth century’s greatest literary imaginations.

7.00pm | BBC Two | First Night of the Proms

The 2026 Proms open with a celebration of American music, including Copland’s Fanfare for the Common Man and Gershwin’s An American in Paris. South Korean pianist Yunchan Lim performs Ravel’s Piano Concerto before the evening concludes with the world premiere of a new work by French-British composer Josephine Stevenson.

7.20pm | BBC Three | Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (2023)

A breathtaking animation that pushes the boundaries of superhero storytelling. Dazzlingly inventive, emotionally rich and visually extraordinary, it stands among the finest animated films ever made.

7.45pm | Sky Documentaries | The Bee Gees: How Can You Mend a Broken Heart (2020)

A warm, insightful documentary charting the extraordinary rise, reinvention and enduring legacy of the Bee Gees. Rich in archive footage and wonderful music, it’s essential viewing for pop fans.

9.00pm | ITV1 | The Twisted Tale of Amanda Knox (1/8)

A new documentary series revisiting one of the most controversial criminal investigations of the twenty-first century, examining the evidence, media frenzy and legal battles from fresh perspectives.

10.00pm | ITV1 | The Twisted Tale of Amanda Knox (2/8)

The story continues immediately, exploring the extraordinary twists and turns that kept the case in the headlines for years.

11.05pm | BBC Two | Insomnia (2002)

Christopher Nolan’s Insomnia is one of his most quietly unsettling films — a psychological thriller that trades spectacle for atmosphere, letting dread accumulate in the endless daylight of an Alaskan summer. The sun never sets, shadows never arrive, and that perpetual brightness becomes a kind of torment, blurring judgement, eroding certainty and pushing its characters toward dangerous moral ground.

Al Pacino is superb as Will Dormer, a detective already frayed at the edges before he even arrives in Nightmute. The insomnia isn’t just a physical affliction; it becomes a metaphor for guilt, fear and the slow collapse of self‑control. Pacino plays him with weary intensity — a man who can’t sleep, can’t think clearly, and can’t outrun the mistakes he’s made.

Robin Williams delivers one of the most chilling performances of his career. He’s quiet, deliberate, almost gentle — and that restraint makes him far more disturbing than any flamboyant villain. His scenes with Pacino have a cat‑and‑mouse tension built not on action but on psychology: two men circling each other, each seeing something of himself reflected in the other, each trying to manipulate the shifting moral fog.

Nolan’s direction is controlled and atmospheric. The landscape feels vast yet claustrophobic, the light oppressive, the air thick with unease. It’s a thriller about perception, guilt and the way truth becomes slippery when exhaustion takes hold.

Moody, intelligent and quietly gripping, Insomnia remains one of Nolan’s most underrated achievements — a study of conscience and corruption set beneath a sky that refuses to go dark.

Streaming

The streaming services continue to offer an impressive mix of prestige drama, documentaries, independent cinema and films worth catching before they disappear. This week’s highlights range from Sherlock Holmes’ irrepressible younger sister and a gripping crime thriller to an acclaimed documentary on Spanish bullfighting. There’s also a timely reminder to check the “leaving soon” lists, with several outstanding films making their final appearances.

Available Now

Enola Holmes 3 (Netflix)

Millie Bobby Brown returns as Enola Holmes for another witty mystery packed with adventure, humour and Victorian intrigue. With its engaging performances and playful energy, the series continues to prove that Sherlock’s younger sister is more than capable of carrying her own adventures.

Red Right Hand (NOW Cinema)

Orlando Bloom stars in this hard-edged Southern crime thriller about a former enforcer drawn back into violence. Gritty, atmospheric and packed with tense confrontations, it’s an entertaining addition to NOW’s growing collection of action films.

Afternoons of Solitude (MUBI)

One of the year’s most acclaimed documentaries, this thoughtful and visually stunning study of bullfighting examines ritual, performance and mortality through the experiences of one of Spain’s leading matadors. Whether admired or criticised, it offers fascinating insight into a deeply contested tradition.

From Saturday 11 July

Deadly Influence: The Social Media Murders (Discovery+)

This unsettling true crime series explores cases where social media played a central role in manipulation, obsession and ultimately murder. Disturbing, timely and thought-provoking, it examines how online lives can have devastating real-world consequences.

From Wednesday 15 July

Lucky (Apple TV+ – first two episodes)

A stylish crime thriller in which a woman attempting to escape her past discovers it is unwilling to let her go. Strong performances and an intriguing premise suggest another quality drama for Apple TV+.

Ride or Die (Prime Video – all eight episodes)

Arriving as a complete box set, this fast-paced action series mixes crime, friendship and high-stakes adventure. Perfect for viewers looking for an addictive weekend binge.

Leaving Soon

Better Man (Prime Video – until Sunday 12 July)

The imaginative Robbie Williams biopic is unlike any conventional musical film, using bold visual storytelling to explore fame, success and self-doubt. One of the most inventive British films of recent years.

The Lavender Hill Mob (Channel 4 Streaming – until Monday 13 July)

Alec Guinness stars in one of Ealing Studios’ greatest comedies. Witty, elegant and endlessly entertaining, it remains one of the finest British films ever made.

BlacKkKlansman (BBC iPlayer – until Tuesday 14 July)

Spike Lee’s Oscar-winning drama combines humour, suspense and righteous anger in the remarkable true story of a Black police officer who infiltrated the Ku Klux Klan. Powerful, provocative and unforgettable.

Radio

Radio offers a thoughtful selection this week, ranging from philosophy and popular music to history and extraordinary personal testimony. Particularly moving is the BBC World Service’s account of Holocaust survivor Harry Haft, while Radio 4 marks the fiftieth anniversary of one of the most influential books ever written on animal welfare.

Saturday 11 July

Archive on 4: 50 Years of Peter Singer’s Animal Liberation (BBC Radio 4)

Half a century after Peter Singer’s groundbreaking book transformed attitudes towards animal welfare, this edition of Archive on 4 examines its enduring influence on ethics, politics and the modern animal rights movement.

Sunday 12 July

6.00pm | BBC Radio 2 | 30 Years of Girl Power

Three decades after the Spice Girls burst onto the music scene, Radio 2 celebrates the phenomenon that reshaped British pop culture. Packed with memorable music and archive material, it’s a nostalgic look back at one of the defining musical movements of the 1990s.

Monday 13 July

9.45pm | BBC Radio 3 | The Essay: The Dawn of Music

An absorbing exploration of how music first emerged in human society, examining archaeology, anthropology and the evolutionary origins of one of humanity’s defining achievements.

Friday 17 July

1.30pm | BBC World Service | Heart and Soul

The extraordinary story of Harry Haft, the Polish Jew forced to fight in more than seventy brutal contests for survival inside Nazi concentration camps. Later adapted into the 2021 film The Survivor, this moving documentary explores not only his remarkable endurance but the psychological scars that remained throughout his life. Powerful, haunting and deeply affecting listening.

Advert

Leave a Comment

Counter Culture – Midweek Song List 08/07/26

Our last Song List went out on Wednesday 1st July , and it happened to fall on a grim anniversary: 110 years since the first day of the Battle of the Somme . The campaign dragged on until 18 November 1916 , leaving a combined British, German and French casualty figure of well over one million, with 300,000 deaths . The Tyneside Irish and Tyneside Scottish battalions of the Northumberland Fusiliers were hit hardest — around 8,000 casualties on day one .

Numbers like that are obscene. They should echo whenever a politician starts rattling sabres and urging the UK to back another round of US military intervention somewhere in the world .

With the anti‑war homily out of the way, we bring you music .

Louis Armstrong – What A Wonderful World

We begin with Satchmo — born 1901 in New Orleans — a man who didn’t just play jazz, he re‑shaped it. Armstrong’s trumpet style, forged in the clubs of Storyville, helped drag jazz from ensemble playing into the era of the virtuoso soloist. By the time he recorded What A Wonderful World in August 1967 , he was already a global icon. The song itself was written as a counterpoint to the turbulence of the late 60s — Vietnam, civil rights struggles, assassinations. It topped the UK charts in April 1968 , offering a moment of calm in a year that had very little of it. You like it for the voice — gravelly, warm, unmistakable — and for its unhurried optimism .

Benedict Cork – Have A Good Life (See You Never)

Our first reader recommendation. Cork, from Hertfordshire , is one of those artists who seems to have arrived fully formed: sharp songwriting, clean production, and a knack for melodies that stick. The track is a bittersweet pop gem — upbeat on the surface, quietly bruised underneath. You noted that if there’s any justice, he’ll become a household name . Hard to disagree.

The Offspring – Blitzkrieg Bop (Ramones cover)

This came from a reader answering the question raised in issue 153. You’d featured Agnostic Front’s cover of the Ramones classic and asked who’d done the most memorable version. The Offspring’s take is fast, faithful, and full of energy — a US rock band covering a US punk anthem, keeping the spirit intact . The original Blitzkrieg Bop (1976) was the Ramones’ opening salvo: two minutes of pure down‑stroke guitar, shouted vocals, and the birth of American punk. The Offspring lean into that heritage rather than modernising it, which is precisely why the cover works.

Johann Sebastian Bach – Prelude No. 1 in C Major

A palate cleanser. Bach wrote the Prelude as part of The Well‑Tempered Clavier (1722), a collection designed to show that music could be written in all 24 major and minor keys — revolutionary at the time. The piece is deceptively simple: arpeggios rising and falling like breath. You joked that if you’re not calm after listening, you may need urgent medical help . It’s the kind of music that resets the room.

The Interrupters – Take Back The Power

Our third reader recommendation. The Interrupters emerged from the Los Angeles ska‑punk revival, carrying the torch lit by bands like Rancid and Operation Ivy. Take Back The Power is built for movement: brass stabs, driving rhythm, and Aimee Interrupter’s unmistakable voice — the thing you singled out as especially powerful . It’s political without preaching, catchy without pandering, and exactly the kind of track that earns repeat plays.

Anonymous Ulster – Brothers From Across The Water

A nod to your fascination with obscure artists and genres . This track sits in the tradition of Ulster folk storytelling — rough‑edged, earnest, and rooted in cross‑border identity. It’s the kind of song that feels like it belongs to a place rather than a market.

Fugees – Killing Me Softly

Lauryn Hill’s vocal on this track remains one of the defining performances of the 1990s. The song itself began life in 1973 with Roberta Flack, but the Fugees’ version turned it into something else entirely — hip‑hop soul with a heartbeat. It’s a reminder of how reinterpretation can eclipse the original without erasing it.

Orange Juice – Rip It Up

Post‑punk meets pop in one of Scotland’s most infectious tracks. Released in 1983, Rip It Up was a pivot point: Edwyn Collins blending punk’s angularity with Chic‑style funk guitar. It’s a song that sounds like a band discovering colour after years of monochrome.

Morrissey – The More You Ignore Me The Closer I Get

Mid‑90s Morrissey: melodic, sardonic, and steeped in irony. Released in 1994, the track was one of his biggest solo hits, built around obsession, humour, and a hook that burrows in. It’s Morrissey doing what he does best — unsettling charm.

Slade – Mama Weer All Crazee Now

A glam‑rock riot from 1972. Slade specialised in songs that sounded like Friday night in a Midlands pub — loud, loose, and designed for maximum chaos. This track is pure energy: stomping drums, shouted vocals, and a chorus built for crowds.

Slipknot – The Devil In I

Modern metal with theatrical flair. Released in 2014, the song marked a shift in Slipknot’s sound — still aggressive, but more melodic, more controlled. It’s a track about identity, masks, and the parts of ourselves we’d rather not meet.

Will.i.am – Heart Breaker

A glossy, beat‑driven pop track from the late 2000s. Will.i.am’s production style — sharp edges smoothed into radio‑friendly shine — is all over this one. It’s sleek, synthetic, and built for dancefloors.

Advert

Leave a Comment

Inside The Movement: Fringe Anarchy with Ethan & Gigi

Click on image to buy tickets

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.

Click here to buy tickets

Advert

Leave a Comment

Reclaiming La Goulue: Stella Kulagowski on Giving Louise Weber Her Voice Back

Click on image to buy ticket

Stella Kulagowski is the writer‑performer behind Louise: The Last Dance, the Fringe show that pulls Louise Weber — La Goulue herself — out from under a century of mythmaking and lets her speak, move, and breathe again. Kulagowski isn’t just interpreting Weber; she’s inhabiting her, stitching together the fragments history left behind and confronting the ways women and queer artists are still framed, consumed, and rewritten today. What emerges is a portrait that refuses nostalgia and refuses sanitisation — a raw, funny, furious reclamation of a woman who lived loudly, loved widely, and paid dearly for being unforgettable.

In this conversation, she talks about finding the real Louise beneath the legend, the power dynamics that shaped her rise and fall, and what it means to stand alone on stage and argue back on behalf of someone who never got to tell her own story.

1. Louise Weber’s life reads like a rise‑and‑fall myth — laundress to the highest‑paid entertainer in France, then back to the margins. What was the moment in your research when she stopped being a legend and became a living, breathing woman you felt compelled to inhabit?

There’s a moment in the research for a project like this where you stop reading about your subject and start feeling her. For me it was stumbling on the Lacombe footage, the documentary clip filmed not long before she died at sixty two years old. She’s old, missing teeth, dressed in rags, and then she starts to move. And something happens to me in the carriage of her arm – this small, but unmistakable elegance. You catch this smirk on her face and suddenly you’re not looking at a broken old woman, you’re looking at the most famous dancer in France, the muse. That’s the moment her legend became tangible to me. Her life is the epitome of the rags-to-riches-to-rags arc and her story sounds so unbelievable, but watching her move, decades past her prime, in the mud outside her caravan, made it raw in a way no photograph or painting quite had. She wasn’t performing nostalgia for the camera, film was so new there wasn’t any expectation of how to even perform for film. She was just being, deep in her bones, exactly who she’d always been. That’s the woman I knew I could feel in my own body on stage.

2. The show begins in 1928, with Louise living in La Zone — the part of Paris where the city hid what it didn’t want to see. What drew you to that late‑life vantage point rather than the glittering Moulin Rouge years? What does starting at the end allow you to reveal?

From the moment I saw that Lacombe footage, I knew the show had to bookend there. It felt like the only place to start and end. So much of what I’m telling in this piece is about how Louise was documented endlessly by other people and never once recognized for her own talent, her own creation, except as a footnote, a subject for men to paint and photograph and write about, right up to the last months of her life. There’s something almost unbearably poetic about that: being filmed to the very end and still never truly seen. Starting there, in Montmartre, blocks away from the Moulin Rouge where she was once the biggest star in France and was now selling peanuts to get by, gives the whole piece a kind of sad “I bet you’re wondering how I got here” jumping off point. And when we go all the way back and end up there again, I think it feels so satisfying.

3. Louise was painted by Renoir, immortalised by Toulouse‑Lautrec, photographed, mythologised, and endlessly consumed — yet her own voice was never recorded. How do you approach giving voice to someone history refused to hear?

She wasn’t entirely silent, that’s the incredible thing. There are fragments: an interview here, a remembered line there, diary pages, moments where her own words slipped through the cracks of everyone else’s reporting. And her wit and bite were epic, even by today’s standards. She really did yell out to the Prince of Wales in the middle of the Moulin Rouge “Hey Wales, you buying the champagne or are you just here waiting for your mother?” I’m obsessed. I built the show out from those fragments like scaffolding. Then of course, so much of her record was made into scandal and exaggeration, so we don’t always know what is real. So, of course I made artistic (and editing) choices, but they’re never careless ones. Everything I present in the show is built on extensive research into who she was, what she survived, how she moved through the world. I’m not inventing someone, I’m standing in for someone I have come to care for deeply, using her own documented fragments as my compass.

4. Your work blends projection, archival media, dance, and direct address. When you’re reconstructing a life that’s been fragmented by other people’s gazes, how do you decide what belongs to Louise and what belongs to the world that used her?

The projection is meant to do the work of anchoring us in time and place, using all the actual documented paintings, photographs, and posters people might already half-recognize. Those images do the work of a thousand words, or ten thousand dollars of set design (!), in about two seconds. That’s evidence of this wild life lived and what the world saw and made of her.

The sound design is where the emotional weight lives. We hear the music she remembers in her own head, propelling her dance. And we hear the men in her life, Renoir, Zidler, Lacombe, as disembodied voices, cutting in, directing her, deciding things about her. That disembodiment is deliberate, it’s their force and influence without a face or body, just power acting on her from outside.

But you’ll notice the important women in her life, (her sister, her lover) are never disembodied voices. They live in her own body, in memory, because they were never outside her the way the men were. They’re not haunting her from a projection or a speaker. They’re still with her, held close, because that’s where love lives when everything else about you has been documented, torn apart for profit or taken away.

5. La Goulue’s stage persona was famously audacious — high kicks, hat‑flicking, drinking from patrons’ glasses (where it is said she derived her name, ‘The Gluttion’ from), teasing the crowd. How much of that bravado do you bring into the show, and how much do you strip away to reveal the person underneath?

I lean hard into exactly these things. Her bravado is real and one of the most documented, factual things about her. And she earned every ounce of it. What I try to strip away is the assumption that bravado and fear can’t exist at the same time. I don’t play her struggle as a betrayal of her audacity, I play them as the same muscle flexed in opposite directions. She can flick a duke’s hat off his head with her high kick and simultaneously be quietly terrified that someone younger and prettier is already lined up to replace her. Both things are true in the show, moments apart. I don’t need to dial down the swagger to find the person underneath, the swagger is just one layer of a truly complicated woman. The true challenge is trying to show all that in a sharp 50 minutes!

6. Louise loved women and men and champagne and life with equal ferocity. Do you see her as a figure of queer joy, queer tragedy, or something more complicated — a woman whose appetites were both her liberation and her undoing?

Honestly, it’s complicated, and I’m still sitting with that complication rather than resolving it. She hid her relationships with women, but looking at it through a contemporary lens, that wasn’t shame in the way we’d think of it now, it was survival. Her income depended on men. Her safety depended on being legible to them as available. Hiding her female lovers wasn’t erasure imposed from outside, it was a choice she made to protect the very fame and money that kept her alive.

But other people absolutely wanted to profit off her queerness when it suited them;  Zidler putting that painting of her and Marie up, Toulouse capturing what she couldn’t (or wouldn’t) say out loud. She never got to control that either. She’d have been the one left holding the scandal if it went wrong, not them.

A lot of my work explores queer joy, taking classic texts and stories and placing them in queer context. But this one is harder, because it’s not fiction and it doesn’t resolve that way. I don’t think this is a story of queer joy. I think it’s a story of a woman who loved fiercely and still had to calculate, every single day, what that love might cost her. I’m not sure there’s a tidy ending here for her and Marie, and I’m not going to manufacture one just because it would feel better to tell.

7. You’ve had three sold‑out Toronto Fringe productions and a background in burlesque, dance, and visual art. Where does Louise: The Last Dance sit within your artistic evolution? Does it feel like a culmination, a departure, or a new beginning?

This feels like a new chapter, more than a culmination or departure. Almost everything I’ve made before this has been big ensemble work, spectacle, dance, song, burlesque, a whole cast of talented people to lean on and hide inside. This is the first time it’s just me, alone, on stage, for fifty minutes. It’s terrifying! There’s nowhere to hide when it’s just me, telling my little story, no ‘somebody else’s striptease number’ to carry the room while I catch my breath.

But stripping away (ha!) all those crutches has made me a stronger, more confident creator than any of the bigger shows did. When you can’t rely on spectacle, you have to trust the writing, the performance, the genuine meaningfulness of the story. You have to trust yourself. I don’t think I could have made this show five years ago. I needed everything I learned building those ensemble pieces just to have the nerve to stand up here alone.

8. Louise’s story raises a sharp question: who gets to tell their own story, and who gets rewritten by others? In making this piece, did you find parallels between Louise’s era and the way women and queer artists are framed today?

Oh, absolutely, one hundred percent, this piece is meant to evoke how we continue to treat women artists. The media has never stopped loving setting women up just to tear them down. Women artists get cast as bitchy, crazy, difficult, emotional wrecks, while their male counterparts get called artistic geniuses for the exact same behavior. The way we still erase women’s achievements is shameful, and it’s not new. Louise was possibly the first in an endless line of women lambasted publicly to the delight and profit of mostly men. There’s actually a huge nod to this in the show, but I don’t want to spoil it. Is it cheesy to say you’ll have to come see it for that reveal?

9. The Moulin Rouge era is often romanticised — all colour, spectacle, and bohemian glamour. What truths about that world surprised you most when you dug beneath the posters and the mythmaking?

I think how precarious it all was, even at the very top. The “muse” relationship with those painters was far more transactional than the romantic legend suggests. A modeling session with Renoir’s circle paid ten to twenty-five francs, and a laundress at the time made roughly two francs a day. So a single afternoon sitting still, often nude, could be worth a week or more of scrubbing other people’s linens. The men got the immortality and she got a fraction of what her image was actually worth.

Even at her peak, none of it was stable. She was attacked by wolves and lions during her menagerie years and entered into marriages of convenience and safety. The whole ‘Belle Epoque’ era gets remembered as color and champagne, but underneath it was this woman – the most famous of the era – calculating constantly, how much of her body and safety she could afford to risk for the next franc.

10. Finally, if Louise Weber could step into Ivy Studio during your Fringe run and watch the show, what do you hope she’d recognise in your performance — and what do you hope she’d forgive?

Oh gosh, I’d like to think we’d go out afterward and share a cheap bottle of wine and absolutely cackle at how wrong I got it! But really, I hope with all my heart, that she’d love the gumption and the spirit of it all. I hope she’d recognise the refusal to make her sanitized and palatable. I didn’t sand down the drinking, the audacity, the mess, the contradictions, because I think she’d have hated a version of herself that was too easy to like. I hope she’d see a woman finally allowed to argue back.

As for forgiveness, there are places where I fully imagine her interior life: what she felt in a given moment, what she might have said to her lovers in private and what they said to her. I hope she’d forgive me those inventions, because I made every one of them in service of being truthful to her, never at her expense.This is a love letter to, and about, a complicated, messy woman. Not a scandalous headline. Not a poster in a giftshop. Just Louise.

Find out more and buy ticket here

Advert

Leave a Comment

Desire, Delirium and Defiance: Hannah Ponturo Reimagines Strasbourg’s Dancing Plague

For 1518: The Dancing Plague,playwright‑director‑producer Hannah Ponturo doesn’t just revisit a medieval hysteria — she queers it from the inside out. At the centre of Strasbourg’s civic collapse she places Katherine and Anna, two women whose long‑fractured romance becomes the emotional pulse of a society losing its grip. Ponturo treats queerness not as an add‑on but as the lens through which the crisis sharpens: desire as defiance, intimacy as resistance, love as the one human truth that refuses to behave, even when the world is convulsing around it.

Her production moves between satire, tenderness, and outright absurdity, but the queer heart of the piece never wavers. In a story about bodies pushed past their limits, she insists on showing what happens when two people try to reclaim their humanity in a society determined to deny it. The result is a work that feels both ancient and urgently contemporary — a queer love story beating beneath the noise of mass panic, political failure, and the strange comfort of collective delirium. We asked her to tell us more…

 

1. What does it mean to centre a queer love story between Katherine and Anna in the middle of a medieval mass‑hysteria crisis — is love the antidote, or just another form of delirium?

Neither. Love is a human need but it can’t save us from either ourselves or outside forces.

2. Why does a 500‑year‑old dancing plague feel more recognisable than anything we lived through in 2020?

Writing this piece post covid allowed me to accidentally draw parallels without initially intending to. Once it was clear, I wanted to channel Arthur Miller a la The Crucible and write about a historical crisis that was really about a modern event.

3. The clergy and city authorities scramble to contain the outbreak — is the real satire aimed at how power behaves when it loses control?

Yes, the clergy and city authorities get a hard beating from me throughout the show. Ultimately people who hold power are just people and during a crisis it’s very difficult to make the decision that will be deemed “right” in hindsight. Nevertheless some choices were so obviously wrong in the moment.

4. What’s the moment where the audience realises the comedy is getting uncomfortably close to our own recent chaos?

It sneaks up on you naturally until you start to realize that one plague is not so different from the other.

5. Does the play treat hysteria as a disease, or as something society manufactures when it can’t face the truth?

A little bit of both. The characters within the play truly believe that it’s a disease while I hope to portray that it’s the latter.

6. Katherine and Anna’s “long‑fractured romance” reignites while Strasbourg collapses — is queer love the rebellion here?

Queer love and fighting for one’s humanity is the rebellion.

7. How much of the dancing is pure comedy, and how much is a metaphor for people being pushed past their limits?

There’s only a small portion of the dancing that’s actually comedy. Our choreographer, Sydney Diamond, has created a language for the dancing sickness using the four elements: air, fire, water, earth. At first the dancing is air. These people are living in an enormously oppressive society and being able to dance feels good. Then, it becomes fire and the energy is full of sparks until we get to water and it becomes heavy. Ultimately earth is our destination before death.

8. What’s the most outrageous moment in the show that audiences absolutely won’t see coming?

Come and see!

9. How does the production balance the absurdity of people dancing themselves to death with the tenderness of a queer love story?

The incredible actors are able to balance this flawlessly: Britney Shields, Nicole Souza, Ryabrae Ngaida, Tallulah Jones, Gilberto Ortiz, Anne Marie Howard, and Don Berman.

10. Does the play suggest that crises bring people together, or that they expose what was broken all along?

Perhaps both. I’m sorry for being so Switzerland in this interview but I really do believe that there’s not just one answer to anything (except math, which I’m bad at).

11. What single image from the show captures both the comedy and the horror of the dancing plague?

Our logo, designed by Max DiRado, is the perfect image to describe our show. It’s a modern girl twerking with the medieval doctor plague mask on. I LOVE it.

12. If the dancing plague happened today, would it start on TikTok — or would TikTok just monetise it?

I think both. Today, anything that can be monetized will be.

13. How does the show use satire to talk about modern crises without ever naming them outright?

Bad government, heightened emotions, and incorrect medical advice are sadly timeless.

14. What do you hope queer audiences take from Katherine and Anna’s story that straight audiences might miss?

There’s a raw vulnerability to their love that I hope everyone can see, relate to, and experience either now, in the future, or in the past.

15. Why does a medieval dance‑till‑you‑drop epidemic feel like the perfect metaphor for the way we cope with uncertainty now?

The Dancing Plague is inherently silly and disarming so I hope to use this as a way to bring people in before getting to the subjects that may be less palatable.

Find out more and buy tickets here

Advert

Leave a Comment

Chained, Charged and Completely Exposed: Joseph N. Alberts on Padlocked!

Click on image to buy ticket

Some Fringe shows toy with constraint; Padlocked! builds an entire world out of it. The premise is disarmingly simple — one man, one bedroom, one set of chains — but what unfolds is a sharp, funny, unexpectedly revealing hour of theatre. At the centre of it all is Joseph N. Alberts, the actor playing Guy, who spends the entire performance padlocked in place. No shifting, no pacing, no physical escape. Every interruption, every rising panic, every emotional crack has to be played from a single fixed position, which somehow makes the chaos around him feel even more intimate.

 

  1. The entire play traps Guy in one physical position — chained, padlocked, unable to escape. What did you discover about the character by being literally stuck in place?
What I loved finding out about this character was how his occasionally waspish sense of humour ended up being a defence for quite a vulnerable core. He has some longstanding things about himself that he has never come to terms with. Being stuck in the one place means that he can’t escape from confronting those issues, or at least someone telling him some home truths, so how he deals with that is very interesting to play. He can still very much go on a journey of character even though he is not actually moving.
  1. The show blends kink with everyday life in a way that’s funny but also revealing. What part of Guy’s real‑world responsibilities felt most relatable to you?
I think the amount of (metaphorical) plate spinning and how we effectively act differently according to the different people around us in our lives, which is very much in the play, has really struck me. I’m sure all of us have things with family, work, neighbours and, dare I say it, potential lovers that we have to deal with, but luckily they might be spread over a week rather than within one hour in one afternoon.
  1. There’s a vulnerability in being restrained that goes beyond comedy. How did you approach that emotional layer without losing the humour?
I think realising the humour (of situation, and of Guy’s reactions and cynical comments) and the emotion are all wrapped as different facets of the same character. Keeping it emotionally honest, but also witty.
  1. The interruptions Guy faces — family, work, neighbours, even Alexa — are relentless. Which moment of escalating chaos is your favourite to perform?
There is a sequence where Guy needs to obtain a password to open a document for a work colleague he is on the phone to, and he realises he very much can’t get hold of it in the usual way… I think that is my favourite to perform.
  1. The press release hints that the story draws from real experiences. How much of Guy’s panic, desire, or denial feels personally familiar?
Luckily not the panic! The hopefulness of meeting one’s beau on Grindr and the increasing realisation that things may not work out as envisaged does feel very familiar. As is the case for wanting certain areas of your life not to overlap with other areas of your life.
  1. Fabio is alluring but elusive. What do you think Guy is really looking for in him — fantasy, escape, validation, or something else entirely?
I think Guy is ultimately looking for someone with an understanding of who he is and what his sexual desires are (wanting someone else to take control for a bit), but the fact that Fabio is so sexy is a definite bonus! The situation Guy is hoping for is its own escape, I’d say.
  1. The show is sex‑positive but also life‑negative, as the press release puts it. How do you balance those two tones on stage?
I would say our approach is to be unapologetic about the adult parts of the show and the amount of flesh on display for Guy’s kink, but also to find an honesty about the difficulties of life that come into the story, with relatively few people Guy feels he can be honest to.
  1. What’s the biggest challenge of performing a role where the comedy depends on timing, physical restriction, and rising tension?
It’s a blend of several things. Keeping the pace up, but keeping the contrasts between how he talks to the different people in his life. And making sure those one-sided phone conversations sound realistic in their timing. For some reason, remembering what to say between the conversations is proving harder than remembering the conversations themselves!
  1. If audiences come in expecting pure farce, what deeper truth do you hope they walk away with?
Perhaps the deeper truth that the chains may be metaphoric as well as literal. Or maybe that we all have different areas of our personalities, with triumphs and frustrations. Maybe being honest about personal things – or even kinks – might be the way ahead.
  1. And finally — what’s the part of Guy you’re most protective of, the thing you hope audiences really understand about him?
I love the realisation that he can change, even within an hour in his own bedroom. Despite his cynicism, he remains optimistic for as long as he can. I hope that audiences will find the way I portray the character engaging, even though he definitely has his flaws. He is wittier than I am, but I think he has a reason for that wit.
Find out more and buy tickets here
Advert

Leave a Comment

Culture Vulture: 4–10 July 2026

The Fourth of July casts a long, confident shadow across this week’s viewing, and broadcasters have embraced the 250th anniversary of America’s Declaration of Independence with gusto. History, music, politics, travel, and a run of films that remind you just how deeply American storytelling has seeped into the cultural bloodstream. It’s a week where Neil Armstrong rubs shoulders with Ravi Shankar, where The Specials share the stage with Blondie, and where Ridley Scott’s neon‑soaked Los Angeles still feels like the future.

There’s celebration, certainly, but also reflection. The concluding chapter of The American Revolution lands with real weight, while Armstrong offers a quieter portrait of a man who changed the world simply by stepping onto another. And if you’d rather mark the week with music, Sky Arts and the BBC have you covered with 2 Tone, Blondie, and a generous helping of American icons.

Film lovers are spoiled: Blade Runner, The Lady Eve, Leave Her to Heaven, Atonement, BlackBerry, Official Secrets, Red Rooms — a line‑up that swings from Technicolor noir to modern paranoia without missing a beat. It’s a rich, varied week, and one that rewards dipping in and out rather than trying to consume everything at once.

Saturday 4 July

8.00pm – Alexander Armstrong Across America (Channel 5)

Armstrong’s cross‑country wander continues, this time through West Virginia. He’s a genial guide — curious without being intrusive, amused without being arch — and the series has settled into a relaxed, intelligent rhythm. Ideal early‑evening viewing.

9.00pm – 50 American Music Icons at the BBC (BBC Two)

A generous sweep through the artists who shaped modern music. Expect the usual BBC archive magic: grainy footage, unexpected pairings, and performances that still crackle decades later.

9.00pm – Starter for 10 (BBC Four, 2006)

Starter for 10 begins as a gentle comedy about a working‑class lad arriving at Bristol University in the mid‑1980s, but quickly becomes something more textured: a story about belonging, aspiration, and the awkwardness of trying to reinvent yourself. James McAvoy plays Brian with a mix of earnestness and self‑inflicted calamity, the kind of young man who wants desperately to be clever but hasn’t yet learned how to be comfortable.

The University Challenge sequences are great fun — brisk, competitive, and full of the kind of trivia that once felt like the height of sophistication. But the film’s real strength lies in its emotional honesty. Brian’s romantic missteps, his friendships, and his attempts to reconcile his new life with the one he left behind are handled with a light touch that never slips into sentimentality.

The supporting cast is uniformly excellent, especially Rebecca Hall and Dominic Cooper, who bring nuance to roles that could easily have been caricatures. And the soundtrack — all jangly guitars and wistful nostalgia — gives the film a warm, lived‑in feel. A small story told with generosity.

9.00pm – The Specials Live from Coventry Cathedral (Sky Arts)

This 2019 concert captures The Specials at a moment when their music felt newly urgent. Performing inside Coventry Cathedral — a space steeped in history and resilience — the band channels decades of political frustration into something electrifying. There’s no sense of nostalgia or polite revivalism; the performance is sharp, committed, and defiantly present.

Tracks like “Ghost Town” and “A Message to You, Rudy” land with renewed force, their themes of inequality and social tension sounding depressingly familiar in 2026. It’s a reminder that 2 Tone wasn’t just a musical movement; it was a cultural reckoning.

10.15pm – The Creator (Channel 4, 2023)

The Creator wears its ambition openly. Gareth Edwards builds a future where artificial intelligence has evolved into something indistinguishable from humanity, and the film explores the uneasy boundary between creation and control. John David Washington anchors the story with a performance full of conflicted empathy, and the relationship between his character and the AI child gives the film its emotional spine.

Visually stunning, thematically bold, occasionally uneven — but always sincere.

10.20pm – Anyone But You (BBC One, 2023)

A sun‑drenched rom‑com that leans unapologetically into screwball tradition. Sydney Sweeney and Glen Powell spark off each other with the kind of chemistry that can’t be faked, turning bickering into foreplay and mishaps into momentum. Breezy, confident, and exactly what it sets out to be.

10.35pm – Record On: The Specials – A Message to You (Sky Arts)

A compact, lively documentary exploring one of the defining tracks of the 2 Tone era. It’s a reminder that some songs become landmarks not because they’re catchy, but because they capture a moment with uncanny precision.

12.10am – White Riot (Sky Arts)

White Riot remains one of the most vital music‑politics documentaries of recent years — urgent, angry, and absolutely crackling with purpose. It charts the rise of Rock Against Racism, that scrappy, DIY coalition of musicians, activists and ordinary kids who refused to let the far right colonise Britain’s youth culture in the 1970s. What makes the film sing is its blend of raw archival footage and present‑day testimony: it feels historical and contemporary at the same time, a reminder that the battles fought then still echo now.

The documentary captures the electricity of those early RAR gigs — the sense of possibility, the belief that culture could be a weapon rather than a mirror. Punk, reggae, ska: all thrown together in a glorious, defiant mess that said more about Britain than any politician ever could. It’s a portrait of people who didn’t wait for permission to resist; they just built a movement out of flyers, fanzines, borrowed amps and sheer bloody-minded conviction.

And of course, the far right noticed. The National Front, rattled by RAR’s momentum and terrified of losing cultural ground, responded by creating Rock Against Communism — a clumsy attempt at a counter‑movement that eventually morphed into White Noise, a more organised and effective effort to push racist music into youth subcultures. It was the mirror image of RAR: where one side preached solidarity, the other peddled division; where one fused genres, the other narrowed them into a clenched fist. The fact that White Noise gained traction is a reminder that culture wars aren’t new — and they’re never fought on just one front.

White Riot doesn’t shy away from any of this. It’s a call to remember that culture can be a force for change, but also that it’s always contested. RAR won hearts, minds and dancefloors — but the NF kept trying to exert influence. The film ends with a sense of unfinished business, and rightly so. We’re still waiting on the documentary that tackles Rock Against Communism and White Noise head‑on, tracing how the far right tried to reshape youth culture in the opposite direction. It’s a story that deserves the same forensic, fiery treatment.

Until then, White Riot stands as a testament to what happens when ordinary people decide they’ve had enough — and pick up guitars instead of giving up.

1.30am – Godland (BBC Two, 2022)

A stark Icelandic drama of faith, colonialism and endurance. Slow, severe and visually extraordinary — a film that demands patience and rewards it with depth.

1.55am – Ian Dury and the Blockheads: Hold On to Your Structure (Sky Arts)

A late‑night jolt of energy, attitude and sheer artistic stubbornness. This documentary doesn’t just sketch Ian Dury; it inhabits him — the charisma, the bite, the wit, the refusal to be anything other than gloriously, awkwardly himself. Dury wasn’t built for tidy narratives or polite applause, and the programme wisely leans into that. It shows a performer who treated the stage like a battleground and a playground at the same time, swaggering through songs that sounded like they’d been chiselled out of everyday life and then electrified.

What emerges is a portrait of a man who understood rhythm as instinct, language as weaponry, and performance as a kind of joyful confrontation. The Blockheads, tight as a drumskin and twice as sharp, weren’t just a backing band — they were co‑conspirators. You see how their precision allowed Dury’s lyrical mischief to land with maximum impact. The documentary captures that chemistry beautifully: the way a sly grin from Dury could send the whole ensemble pivoting into something loose, funky and unmistakably theirs.

There’s also a strong sense of context — Britain in the late 70s, restless, loud, and culturally up for grabs. Dury wasn’t punk, but he wasn’t not punk either. He occupied that strange, thrilling space where pub rock, art‑school eccentricity and working‑class grit collided. The film shows how he channelled all of it: disability, class, frustration, humour, defiance. He turned the messiness of life into songs that felt like they were speaking directly to you, even when they were taking the mick.

What the programme gets right is the emotional truth beneath the bravado. Dury’s uncompromising nature wasn’t just attitude — it was survival. He built a structure for himself out of words, rhythm and sheer bloody-mindedness, and then held onto it with both hands. The documentary honours that without smoothing the edges or romanticising the chaos.

It’s a lively, affectionate, slightly rowdy tribute to a performer who never fitted neatly into any category and never wanted to. Charismatic, uncompromising, utterly original — the film reminds you that Ian Dury didn’t just make music. He made a world, and invited you in if you were brave enough to keep up.

Sunday 5 July

9.25am – Jane Eyre (BBC Two, 1943)

What makes this version endure isn’t just its fidelity to Charlotte Brontë’s story, but the way it captures the novel’s emotional weather. There’s a dampness to the air, a sense of wind pressing against old stone, that gives the whole film a haunted, half‑lit quality. Joan Fontaine plays Jane with that soft‑spoken resolve she was so good at: a woman who has learned to survive by shrinking herself, yet whose inner life is fierce, alert, and quietly defiant. You see it in the way she holds her posture, in the small hesitations before she speaks, as though weighing the cost of honesty.

Orson Welles, meanwhile, storms through Thornfield like a man wrestling with his own legend. His Rochester is theatrical, yes, but that’s part of the pleasure — he brings a bruised grandeur to the role, a sense of someone who has lived too intensely and now hides in the shadows of his own house. When he and Fontaine share the frame, the contrast is electric: her stillness against his volatility, her moral clarity against his romantic turbulence.

The Gothic atmosphere isn’t decoration; it’s the film’s emotional architecture. The fog, the candlelit corridors, the sudden bursts of sound — all of it mirrors Jane’s journey from repression to self‑possession. Even after eighty years, the film feels startlingly alive, a reminder of how potent Brontë’s story becomes when treated not as a costume drama but as a tale of yearning, loneliness, and the stubborn hope of finding a place where one’s heart is finally recognised.

8.00pm – Inside Classical: The Rite of Spring (BBC Four)

A clear, engaging introduction to Stravinsky’s revolutionary masterpiece. Accessible without oversimplifying — ideal for curious newcomers.

8.45pm – BBC Proms 2017: Passages (BBC Four)

Ravi Shankar and Philip Glass’s collaboration is performed in full. Hypnotic, intricate, and quietly transcendent.

9.15pm – Armstrong (PBS America)

A thoughtful portrait of Neil Armstrong that avoids hero worship. Disciplined, private, and quietly determined — a man defined not by fame but by precision.

10.00pm – Ravi Shankar in Concert (BBC Four)

Watching Shankar perform is witnessing music as conversation. Fluid, expressive, and masterful.

10.00pm – Blade Runner (BBC Two, 1982)

There are films that age, films that date, and films that simply continue — Blade Runner belongs to the last category. Every return to Ridley Scott’s neon‑drenched Los Angeles feels like stepping back into a dream you half‑remember. The city is vast, exhausted, and strangely beautiful, as if decay itself has become a kind of art form.

What keeps the film alive isn’t just the production design; it’s the moral unease that runs through every frame. Rutger Hauer’s Roy Batty remains one of cinema’s great tragic figures — a creature fighting for dignity in a world that denies him even the right to exist.

Vangelis’s score wraps the film in drifting melancholy. Blade Runner hasn’t been overtaken by the future because it already occupies it.

1.20am – Glory (Channel 4, 1989)

What strikes you, watching Glory again, is how completely it refuses to soften the brutality of the American Civil War. Edward Zwick frames the story of the 54th Massachusetts — the first all‑Black regiment in the Union Army — with a kind of sombre grandeur, letting the mud, smoke and chaos speak for themselves. It’s a film about courage, yes, but also about the grinding cost of being asked to prove your worth in a world determined to doubt it.

Denzel Washington’s performance remains the film’s emotional centre of gravity. He plays Private Trip with a rawness that never tips into sentimentality: a man hardened by injustice, suspicious of authority, and yet capable of moments of piercing vulnerability. The famous flogging scene still lands like a punch — Washington’s silent tears aren’t a plea for sympathy but a statement of defiance, a refusal to be broken again. It’s one of those rare moments in cinema where an actor seems to compress an entire history into a single expression.

Around him, Morgan Freeman brings quiet moral authority, and Matthew Broderick — often underestimated — gives Colonel Shaw a thoughtful, conflicted presence, a young officer learning the difference between command and leadership. The film’s final act, the assault on Fort Wagner, is staged with operatic intensity: not triumphant, but tragic, a recognition that heroism often comes without reward.

Glory endures because it treats its subject with seriousness and respect. It’s earnest, moving, and essential — a reminder of the sacrifices made by men who fought not just for a country, but for the right to be seen as part of it.

Monday 6 July

2.45pm – The Lady Eve (Film4, 1941)

Preston Sturges’ sparkling comedy remains a masterclass in elegance and timing. Barbara Stanwyck is sensational — sly, seductive and effortlessly in control — while Henry Fonda’s earnest innocence gives the film its comic heartbeat.

Sturges’ dialogue still crackles, full of sly jokes and perfectly timed reversals. Romance, deception and champagne-light wit combine into something timeless.

10.40pm – I Am Legend (BBC One, 2007)

Will Smith carries this post‑apocalyptic thriller with surprising emotional heft. Atmospheric and quietly affecting.

11.40pm – BlackBerry (Film4, 2023)

A whip‑smart, chaotic and irresistibly entertaining dive into the rise and implosion of the world’s first smartphone obsession. BlackBerry plays like a tech thriller filtered through a punk fanzine — scrappy, fast, and vibrating with the energy of people who have no idea they’re about to change the world, then absolutely no idea how to hold onto it.

Jay Baruchel is superb as Mike Lazaridis, all nervous brilliance and apologetic genius, a man who can build the future but can’t quite look anyone in the eye while doing it. His twitchy, soft‑spoken intensity gives the film its emotional core: the engineer who wants to make something elegant, functional, beautiful, and keeps watching it get swallowed by forces louder and more ruthless than he is.

Enter Glenn Howerton as Jim Balsillie — a volcanic, vein‑popping storm of ambition who seems to operate at a frequency only dogs can hear. It’s one of the great recent performances in a business drama: terrifying, hilarious, and weirdly compelling. He doesn’t just chew the scenery; he detonates it. The film’s best scenes come from the collision between Baruchel’s fragile idealism and Howerton’s corporate berserker energy, a partnership that feels both inevitable and doomed from the moment they shake hands.

Director Matt Johnson keeps the pace frantic and the tone razor‑sharp, capturing the absurdity of tech culture before tech culture learned to hide its absurdity behind glossy keynotes and minimalist branding. There’s a real pleasure in watching the early days of innovation rendered as something messy, human and slightly ridiculous — a reminder that the devices we now treat as extensions of ourselves were born out of chaos, ego and sheer improvisation.

What makes BlackBerry stand out is its refusal to mythologise. It’s funny, biting and occasionally bleak, but never reverent. It understands that the story of the smartphone pioneer isn’t a tale of heroes and villains — it’s a story of people who flew too close to the sun while arguing about data compression and supply chains.

One of the most entertaining business dramas in years, and one that knows exactly how to balance satire with sincerity. It’s frantic, funny and sharply observed — a rise‑and‑fall story that never stops moving, because neither did the people who built the thing in the first place.

12.05am – Official Secrets (BBC Two, 2019)

Katharine Gun’s whistleblowing story becomes a quietly gripping drama about conscience and consequence. Keira Knightley is superb — restrained, determined, and deeply human.

12.05am – Secrets of the Celebrity Sex Tapes (Channel 4)

The series concludes with Kim Kardashian and the birth of scandal‑as‑currency in the digital age.

Tuesday 7 July

10.00pm – The American Revolution (BBC Four)

The final episode — The Most Sacred Thing — lands with real force. A clear, confident account of the ideals that shaped a nation and still echo today.

10.40pm – The Lady in the Van (BBC One, 2015)

Maggie Smith is magnificent in Alan Bennett’s bittersweet tale.

What Bennett understands — and what this film preserves so beautifully — is that eccentricity isn’t a quirk, it’s a form of armour. Maggie Smith’s Miss Shepherd arrives on screen like a small weather system: unpredictable, sharp, and entirely uninterested in being liked. Yet Smith plays her not as a caricature of British oddity but as a woman whose stubbornness has become a survival strategy. There’s a flinty dignity in the way she occupies Bennett’s driveway, as though claiming a tiny republic of her own.

Alex Jennings, doing a double-act as Bennett’s internal and external selves, gives the film its gentle hum of self-mockery. He captures that familiar Bennett blend of wry detachment and reluctant compassion — the writer who would prefer to observe life from a safe distance but keeps finding himself drawn into its mess. Their relationship becomes a kind of slow, awkward dance: two people circling each other, neither quite willing to admit they care.

What lifts the film is its refusal to sentimentalise the situation. The humour is dry, the melancholy unforced. You feel the weight of Miss Shepherd’s past pressing through the cracks, and the way Bennett’s quiet acts of kindness accumulate almost despite himself. By the time the film reaches its final, lightly magical flourish, it feels earned — a recognition that even the most unlikely connections can leave a lasting mark.

It’s gentle, humane and quietly transformative, a story about responsibility that sneaks up on you and becomes something tender.

2.20am – Ayena (Channel 4, 2022)

A thoughtful independent drama exploring identity and expectation with sensitivity and restraint.

Wednesday 8 July

9.00pm – How to Get Filthy Rich with Gary Stevenson (Channel 4)

Stevenson brings rare clarity to discussions of wealth and inequality. Provocative, evidence‑driven and bracing.

9.00pm – Katie Price: Nothing to Hide (Sky Documentaries)

An unexpectedly intimate portrait of a figure long defined by tabloid glare. Candid, empathetic and quietly revealing.

11.10pm – Red Rooms (Film4, 2023)

A chilling psychological thriller that burrows under the skin. Cold, clinical and unsettling — a study of obsession in the digital age.

11.45pm – David Brent: Life on the Road (BBC Three, 2016)

Ricky Gervais drags his most excruciating creation back into the spotlight, and the result is a mockumentary that leans hard into the painful humour that made The Office so indelible. Brent, still clinging to the tatters of his rock‑star delusion, bankrolls a doomed tour with a band who’d clearly rather be anywhere else. It’s a familiar cocktail of bravado, desperation and toe‑curling self‑promotion — the kind of comedy where you laugh, wince, and occasionally look away.

What gives the film its pulse is the way Gervais threads moments of genuine pathos through the cringe. Brent’s loneliness is never overstated, but it’s always there: in the forced banter, the awkward silences, the way he keeps performing even when no one’s watching. The jokes land because the sadness is real, and the sadness lands because the jokes are so sharply observed.

There’s also a sly commentary on ageing ambition — the man who can’t accept that the world has moved on, still chasing the dream he sketched out in a Slough office two decades earlier. The film doesn’t redeem Brent, but it does understand him. And in that understanding, it finds something oddly touching amid the chaos, the bad gigs, and the endless, exhausting need to be loved.

Thursday 9 July

9.00pm – Bletchley Park: Codebreaker’s Forgotten Genius (BBC Four)

A deserved tribute to Gordon Welchman, whose wartime innovations shaped Allied intelligence. Thoughtful and quietly moving.

9.00pm – The Road (Great! Action, 2009)

Cormac McCarthy’s bleak novel becomes an equally stark film. Viggo Mortensen gives a remarkable performance — gaunt, haunted, fiercely protective. A difficult, powerful meditation on love and survival.

10.40pm – Elvis (BBC One, 2022)

Baz Luhrmann’s maximalist whirlwind of a biopic — loud, glittering, and absolutely determined to sweep you off your feet. It’s cinema as spectacle, every frame straining with colour, movement and musical pulse. Yet beneath the rhinestones and riotous editing, the film keeps circling back to the emotional cost of myth‑making: the boy who became the brand, the man trapped inside the legend.

Austin Butler is magnetic throughout, not just mimicking Elvis’s swagger but finding the vulnerability underneath — the hesitations, the longing, the flashes of fear when the machinery around him grows too big to control. His performance gives the film its heartbeat, grounding Luhrmann’s operatic excess in something recognisably human.

And then there’s Tom Hanks’ Colonel Parker, a grotesque carnival barker of a presence, steering the story with a sinister grin. The dynamic between Butler’s raw sincerity and Hanks’ oily manipulation becomes the film’s engine, driving it through the highs, the heartbreak, and the inevitable crash.

It’s bold, messy, and often overwhelming — but that’s the point. Luhrmann isn’t trying to tell the story of Elvis so much as recreate the sensation of him: the dazzle, the noise, the impossible momentum of a life lived in the spotlight.

Friday 10 July

8.15pm – Women of World War II: More Untold Stories (PBS America)

Important, absorbing accounts of women whose wartime contributions deserve far wider recognition.

9.40pm – Blondie in Concert (BBC Four)

Asbury Park, New Jersey – September 29, 2018: Debbie Harry of Blondie performs on stage at the 2018 Sea Hear Now Music Festival.. Picture credit: Adam McCullough / Shutterstock.com

Captured in Glasgow in 1979, Blondie in Concert is a time capsule of a band at the height of its powers — tight, stylish, and effortlessly cool. Debbie Harry commands the stage with icy charisma, her voice cutting through the mix with precision and attitude. The performance brims with confidence: the band knows exactly what it’s doing and how good it sounds.

What’s striking, watching it now, is how modern it feels. The rhythms, the energy, the interplay between punk edge and pop sophistication — all of it still sounds fresh. Blondie were never just a band riding a trend; they were architects of a sound that bridged worlds, bringing New York grit into the mainstream without losing its bite.

Harry’s stage presence remains magnetic. She moves with the ease of someone who understands that cool isn’t about effort; it’s about control. The camera loves her, and she knows it, but there’s no vanity — just a performer completely in command of her craft.

The Glasgow crowd, caught between awe and exhilaration, adds its own electricity. You can feel the pulse of a moment when Blondie were redefining what pop could be: sharp, stylish, and utterly alive. It’s a concert that reminds you why they mattered — and why they still do.

10.00pm – 1977: When Virginia Wade Won Wimbledon (Channel 5)

A timely look back at Britain’s last women’s singles champion as Wimbledon reaches its climax.

11.00am – Leave Her to Heaven (Film4, 1945)

Gene Tierney’s performance remains one of cinema’s great femme fatale turns. A sumptuous Technicolor noir that hides darkness beneath its glossy surface.

12.05am – Atonement (BBC Two, 2007)

Romantic, devastating and beautifully made. Joe Wright’s adaptation of Ian McEwan’s novel remains one of the finest British films of the century — a story about guilt, imagination and the long shadow of a single mistake.

Streaming

Saturday 4 July – Turn: Washington’s Spies (ITVX)

All four seasons drop at once. Jamie Bell anchors this smart, underrated drama about espionage during the American Revolution. Ideal for a long weekend binge.

Sunday 5 July – Sparks of Tomorrow (Netflix)

Weekly episodes. An imaginative anime set in an alternative twentieth century — visually striking and narratively ambitious.

Monday 6 July – Hamnet (Netflix)

Maggie O’Farrell’s novel becomes a sensitive, beautifully acted drama about grief, family and the shadows cast by genius.

Friday 10 July – Miguel Ángel Blanco: The 48 Hours That Changed Spain (Netflix)

A powerful documentary revisiting a moment that reshaped Spanish politics and united a nation.

Friday 10 July – Star City: Season Finale (Apple TV+)

The For All Mankind spin‑off reaches its Soviet‑side conclusion. Ambitious, thoughtful alternate‑history storytelling.

Leave a Comment

2 Guys, 3 Drams — Counter Culture UK Interview

Blues, whisky, and a room full of willing conspirators — few Fringe shows blend music, storytelling and guided tasting with the swagger and charm of 2 Guys, 3 Drams. Now entering their fourth consecutive Edinburgh run, Felipe and Paul return with a fresh line‑up of whiskies, a new sponsor in InchDairnie, and the same mission as ever: to turn a room of strangers into one merry, whisky‑swigging organism. Counter Culture asked the duo to talk drams, blues, audience alchemy, and why their show title is technically a lie…

You describe the show as “more than a concert and more than a tasting.” What’s the moment where those two worlds collide most perfectly on stage?

Honestly, the moment we start playing the first song of the show, and we bring out the first whisky to serve our audience. It’s an unusual format, so this is the point where I think everyone realises together “oh, they’re DEFINITELY serving whisky too” and is immediately ready to go along with whatever we have planned for them.

Felipe Schrieberg and Paul Archibald

Three whiskies in an hour is a bold structure. How do you choose which drams make the cut each year?

We reach out to different brands or distilleries who have whisky that we really like, and then curate the selection of available whiskies for the show. We prefer to have something lighter to start, spicier and more robust or unusual second, and preferably something quite heavy or peated last. We regularly rotate the selection throughout the run.

Blues and whisky both have deep cultural roots. What’s the connection between them that keeps pulling you back?

In blues, you rarely are playing more than three chords with relatively simple grooves. In Scotch malt whisky, you’ve just got three ingredients to work with. And yet, there’s infinite ways to prepare and combine those elements, meaning that you end up with so much character, flavour, and variety across both. I think this is why they’re such a good pairing.

You’ve had three consecutive sell‑out years. What’s the biggest change you’ve made to the show for 2026?

We don’t actually follow a script. We block the show out in modular segments that encourage audience interaction, provide some kind of educational fact about the world of whisky, or feature tricks on sounding clever whenever you’re drinking whisky. We’re constantly coming up with new segments to add, or swapping different ones in and out with each show. It’ll be the same this year. The whiskies we’re working with are completely different as well.

InchDairnie is sponsoring the run — how does working with a new‑wave distillery influence the tasting experience?

InchDairnie is one of nine sponsors, but the only one involved for a full run, and we’ll be serving their fascinating rye whisky every night. The team really gets what our show is about and what we want to do. In their case, it is truly unusual to try a Scottish rye whisky (under Scottish law, it is technically a “grain whisky”), so this is a chance to showcase some truly unique aromas and flavours to our crowd. Even most hardcore Scotch geeks won’t have tried something like this before.

Felipe, you’ve said audiences will “leave knowing how to sound clever about whisky.” What’s the one whisky fact people always get wrong?

I don’t know about “getting wrong,” but we like to joke that our show title is a lie. In old‑school Scottish bar‑speak, a dram actually refers to a double measure whereas a nip refers to a single measure. Over the years, the word “dram” has become a catch‑all for any measure that everyone uses, even the whisky industry. Since we’re actually serving single measures at the show, a more appropriate title for the show is 2 Guys, 3 Nips

The show mixes humour, education, and live music. What’s the hardest part of keeping all three elements in balance?

I would say being able to calibrate the performance to the energy of the room. It means meeting the audience where they are, and then seeing where you can go together.

It’s quite special when we can make the audience turn into one merry whisky‑swigging organism over the course of the show. We employ a whole suite of tricks to do it, and blending together music, education and humour actually gives us many useful tools to work with to reach our goal.

Blues is often about storytelling. Whisky is too. What’s the best story behind one of the drams you’re serving this year?

InchDairnie is a really interesting one — they really are a truly groundbreaking distillery with how they produce their whisky, and serving a rye that’s normally associated with the USA and Canada is really fun. It helps break the usual preconceptions people have about whisky and what it should “be.”

We’re also serving a blended whisky called Ardray, which is actually a collaboration between Beam Suntory’s top Scotch whisky master blender and the legendary Japanese whisky blender Shinji Fukuyo. It’s a great argument as to why you should never see blends as inferior.

You’ve played everywhere from tasting rooms to festival stages. What makes the Fringe audience different?

For us, it’s more the nature of doing a theatre show. Performing at the Fringe is a format that makes us tighten up our usual chaos into something more formal and structured. We actually like this — we think it’s vitally important as musicians to be performing in different contexts. It means you stay present, take nothing for granted, and learn how to connect with your audience no matter the situation. Putting together a Fringe show is a different way to explore making meaningful connections through music and whisky.

After years of performing this show, what’s the most surprising reaction you’ve ever had from someone tasting whisky for the first time?

Not too surprising, but we always give ourselves a little pat on the back when we get someone who says they thought they didn’t like whisky until they came to our show and realised that they actually do like whisky after all!

Find out more about the show and buy tickets here
Advert

 

Leave a Comment

« Newer Posts · Older Posts »