DDF Mark Hillery programme review
‘The level of accomplishment in this student-written show can be described as no less than exciting’…’an astounding feat of student-written theatre, and I sincerely hope all involved will reap consummate reward’…’ a fun-filled and endearing adventure full of twists and turns’
Durham Drama Festival’s 2025 programme at the Mark Hillery Arts Centre includes three incredible shows: The Magical MacGuffin, Strange Young Girls, and ICEMAN. Well-suited to all aforementioned productions, the Mark Hillery provides an engrossing performance space: for Thursday 20th February and Saturday 22nd February, you’re in for a night of magical-musical escapism, tenderly heartbreaking confession, and icy Gothic horror. Venue technicians Xende Rivero Bowers, Cameron Howe, and Breanna Voss – all led by technical manager Gemma Parker – must be commended for their hard work on each of the shows for the duration of their runs this week.
The Magical MacGuffin
(supported by Phoenix Theatre).
A ‘Dungeons and Dragons' inspired musical, The Magical MacGuffin explores a heartwarming tale of friendship and camaraderie, yet one faced with both individual and collective challenges for our group of adventurers to overcome. With an ensemble of unique characters, a charismatic villain, and various trials ranging from patience to strength, The Magical MacGuffin provides a tale which successfully transports the audience to an otherworldly realm.
Scout Pemberton, Linus Cheung, Alice Lim, and Dana Al-Tajer’s writing is very proficient in conveying all of the above. Though some characterisation is perhaps a little stock-like, it is all incredibly clear and engaging, particularly in the way in which different characters work in conjunction with one another. The characters themselves are incredibly naturally introduced, too, via The Boss’ omniscience. The metatheatrical subject of the titular ‘MacGuffin’ rings clearly throughout the musical, and The Boss’ breaking of the fourth wall is certainly a well-founded choice which did much to elevate the show’s commentary. Ultimately, I may have liked a little more character development for the ensemble, but for an hour-long musical, Pemberton, Cheung, Lim, and Al-Tajer have done exceedingly well to create something so clearly structured and engaging in the time provided.
In terms of musicality, the way in which The Magical MacGuffin delves into many a genre without losing cohesion is admirable. Highlights include the groovy bassline of Jasper’s disco-inspired song at the final trial, as well as The Boss’ lovely reversal of previous lyrics in their reprise. Some of the vocal lines and instrumentation are a little repetitive, yet this is mostly made up for in each song’s sense of togetherness and dynamic mixture of singing and spoken word – the latter is wielded particularly well by Isobel Stockton and Nemo Royle. At times certain musical choices are refreshingly ambitious: the acapella introduction to Mal’s song preceding the trial of trust, creates an interesting introduction, unifying the ensemble as they prepare to put their faith in one another.
Pemberton and Cheung’s direction, assisted by Charlie Eddison, is clear-cut and well-suited to a musical based on a theme many may not be familiar with – they do well to engross the audience into a ‘Dungeons and Dragons’-style world. Similarly, Al-Tajer and Lim’s musical direction, assisted by Cormac Moroney-Lewis, prepares the cast well for their performance of a musical. Each performer appears comfortable in and confident in each number, navigating between dialogue and song with ease. Elizabeth Lea’s choreography also has complimentary moments.
The show’s various mystical settings – whether it be forest undergrowth or dark cavernous caves – are very effectively evoked by the show’s lighting design, attributed to Annabelle Lo. Tegan Jones’ atmospheric sound also greatly contributes to this, yet at times may jar the audience when simply cut off rather than faded out. The set, designed by Primavera Jones, feels appropriately hand-crafted and eccentric enough to denote an otherworldly nature. The costume design must also be commended: each of the ensemble members’ individuality was clearly conveyed through both clothing and makeup, a particular highlight being the cohesive image of Danika.
The main quintuple’s performances are pleasingly complementary to one another: Josh Brooks’ Alaric is recognisably a compassionate leader, almost standing in as a paternal figure, and his achievements in acting through song only solidify this further. River Blatch as Mal is firmly a standout singer, fulfilling the needs of both plot and character through their brilliant execution of the Bowie-inspired number. A sense of ensemble was particularly prominent in this number, but nevertheless, Blatch’s vocal and acting performance was instantly engaging in leading the group for this scene. Harriet Stockton’s Clover is similarly consistent throughout the show, her warmth evident in each line she delivers. Aptly chatty with fast-moving lyrics, her musical number is a succinct reflection of her sunny character; this is even reflected through use of warm lighting, transporting us from the dinginess of the cave to an optimistic alternate. Danika, the headstrong and lion-hearted defender of the group, is played with ease by Isobel Stockton. She has impressively great energy, which particularly shines through in her song during the ‘Boss battle’. What is perhaps more impressive is the execution of her fight choreography whilst performing a pacy song, not once missing a beat and maintaining her sprightly spirit throughout.
The Magical MacGuffin’s more morally ambiguous characters also leave a suitably unique audience impression. To make up the group, Damien Smith embodies Jasper’s lone wolf energy very clearly indeed, conveying the fifth member as a bit of an outsider. Though still officially part of the group, Smith’s snarky sarcasm, pessimistically comedic delivery, and physical detachment create a compelling ‘other’ character within the gang, his performance successfully drawing and holding intrigue. The show’s villain is similarly convincing: Nemo Royle’s stage presence as The Boss is highly commanding, their alluring voice drawing in both character and audience to their wiles. The writing of their character, too, was cohesive and their musical performances were a particular highlight in style and content.
All in all, The Magical MacGuffin is a fun-filled and endearing adventure full of twists and turns, and a commendable testament to how varied student-written theatre, no less student-written musicals, can be.
Strange Young Girls
(supported by Suffragette Theatre Company).
With a tender, touching look into the lives of two young girls whose lives are in the process of being irrevocably changed, following the friendship between The Mammas and The Pappas’ Michelle Phillips and Lolita (1962)’s Sue Lyon, Strange Young Girls is a monumental piece of student writing. Abby Greenhalgh’s script is simply immense, and the performances that Posy Portwood and Grace Graham put in are nothing short of masterful. Greenhalgh and Megan Dunlop as co-directors create a dynamism that energises the two-person play with an electricity that never leaves the stage; the fact that scenes never discernibly change with fade-ins/outs or cuts to black is a challenge which both directors appear to navigate with ease.
The set design, though unchanging, has great attention to detail and perfectly encapsulates both the sentimentality of childhood innocence and the whirlwind changes that come with adulthood. It’s a lovely, intimate, and girl-centric space which provides a fortress against the reality of the outside world. Greenhalgh’s depiction of the 1960s film industry in relation to this is similarly compelling; so much of its exploitation is able to be understood through just Sue’s narration and Michelle’s more grounded reactions, and yet as it encroaches on Sue’s life, no physical semblance of it appears in the play – the producer’s unheard conversations with Sue over the phone are the only barely visible link.
In spite of underlying tensions, a sentimental atmosphere is largely upheld throughout the play; the show’s use of lighting is also very effective in this endeavour. Perhaps the only tripe of mine is that the initial pink hazy tones encapsulate Sue (on the bed) but not Michelle (on the box) as they are both reminiscing together, but later this turns to work in the production’s favour when dividing both characters between yellow and pink light, Michelle’s isolation from Sue evident. One particularly admirable element is how controlled the lighting design is: it is only noticeably deployed at moments when both audience and characters are transported through intense memories or hits of nostalgia. The sound design, whilst more practical than symbolic, is brilliant and perfectly timed, with the diegetic music swelling, fading, and changing perfectly in time with the record player.
The characters of both Sue and Michelle are witty, quick, and instantly endearing. Their dreams of more pull at the heartstrings of a heartbreaking nostalgia that some know all too well – the unbridled ambitions that are oft forced into dormancy to submit to the whims of reality. Moments of tension and release are expertly handled: changes in power dynamics between the two are incredible to watch, flowing into each other seamlessly. This is facilitated by the measured direction of the changing physical distances between the two, allowing the audience to visually grip the subtext of their effervescent relationship fizzing and subduing in action. Moments of awkwardness are wonderfully crafted by Greenhalgh and Dunlop, particularly in the form of dialogue used. As Michelle asks comforting small-talk questions, trying to keep Sue talking, the fallout of their conflict feels more prominent than ever. All against the backdrop of the warm, familiar bedroom, the tension hangs like an unwelcome visitor; consecutive moments of reconciliation thus turn into relief.
The audience’s investment in Sue and Michelle is pivotal to the play’s success, but it is the audience’s presumed omniscience which becomes a little harrowing when listening to Sue’s assertiveness in love, work and life. With her claims of grandeur and adultness, it’s almost agonizing when her absolute insisting comes to the fore, Michelle’s protestations falling on deaf ears. Portwood’s facial expressions throughout pose her as a spirited foil to Michelle, and she plays Sue’s more reserved aspects in particular with a haughty yet entirely serious dignity in which she portrays complete belief in oneself. One moment at which everything seems to fall away is her recollection of the pressures of familial responsibility manifested: Portwood’s performance in this monologue is potent, the portrayal of her impulses unerringly vivid. Graham acts as a phenomenal foil to Portwood throughout, her excitement upon meeting her in the opening is infectious. Her delivery of particular lines throughout is genuinely stellar; more specifically, her reaction to Sue’s confession is astoundingly perfect. She is particularly skilled, however, in allowing their convincingly developed friendship to flourish through the modes of external pressures they both face. Her insistence on a balance between work and fun and attempts to appease Sue’s disdain for her childhood self depicts Michelle as a friend that Sue not only wants, but needs – Graham’s plaintive delivery of the final lines hits all the harder to complete a painfully bittersweet end. In addition to this, Sue’s final monologue is an incredible conclusion to the play’s climax. Goosebump-inducing, it acts as a sincere distillation of what we wish we could tell our friends all of the time: all of the apologies, all of the regrets, all of the ‘I love you’s, and is particularly striking after the play’s action has run its course.
This hour of girls trying to navigate the world of adulthood as they are expected to is equal parts warm and saddening. With its basis in the real friendship between Michelle Phillips and Sue Lyon, it’s revelatory of the reality many young girls face at the hands of the film and music industries, and at the hands of a world which expects them to sacrifice everything for adulthood. Overall, Strange Young Girls is an astounding feat of student-written theatre, and I sincerely hope all involved will reap consummate reward.
ICEMAN
(supported by First Theatre Company).
Almost a sister-script to Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre, Bethan Crotty creates a perfectly measured Gothic thriller drawing on themes of isolation, madness and family. Perhaps most impressive is her use of the “madwoman-in-the-attic” syndrome which spreads contagiously throughout the play, seeping into every crevice of potential paranoia. Victorian concepts of heredity also ground ICEMAN in its surrounding society, allowing us to fully grasp the plight of the protagonist, Tess, against the rigid and isolating social mores she is up against.
Crotty and Lauren Williams as co-directors, assisted by Merichel Herman, ought to be lauded for their handling of a complex narrative set in a multitude of locations. Their weaving through setting and across different planes of character is extremely fluid and the narrative cohesion achieved by this is magnificent. Direction of their actors also appears exceedingly natural: each is convincing and has clear chemistry with their counterparts.
All sound effects are incredibly well-blended into the play’s run: not once was I drawn out of the action because of them. The lighting, too, is highly accomplished and the cold blue and white tones throughout mark the Gothic genre instantly. This further extends to ICEMAN’s set design, which is dynamic and interesting with clear area divisions, however, some scenes feel perhaps a little clunky as sometimes a sense of place is difficult to discern. With so many set pieces, settings like the train station could have been given some more space to assert themselves. That being said, the performance space was used wonderfully for the most part, especially with the reminder of the ICEMAN’s ever-present enclosure.
Alice Toner’s Tess is a driving force for much of the play: her urgency to have agency is frankly palpable. Toner’s moments of direct address feel genuinely tender, and her deft movement between these moments of diegesis and non-diegesis is seamless and a wonder to watch. Whilst at times, her quickly spoken delivery risks becoming lost, her pacy and introspective descent into paranoia is skilfully conveyed, since Toner is proficient in portraying a distinctly Gothic type of fear. A cerebrally perfect foil to Tess, Matthew Lo as the titular ICEMAN is instantly engaging. His simultaneous wearied raspiness and pure ire, bridled only by his physical constraints, portray a particularly intimidating figure in his opening monologue. His consistency in his guttural physicality is formidable, and this remains so over the course of the play. Crotty’s decision to have him play the role of storyteller is particularly poignant, evoking a sympathetic Frankenstein-like narrative. Further, his elements of meta theatricality and fourth-wall-breaking gives our protagonist “madwoman” an other, which becomes markedly noteworthy in the play’s resolution. In addition to this, the directors’ use of the voice diegetic to only Tess and the audience when reading out Grandmother’s letters is incredibly controlled and a highly successful theatrical device to establish – the way it contributes to the contagion of the play’s madness is marvellous, seemingly permeating the audience time and time again.
Tess’ Mother (Clara Dammann) and Father (Elias Rosen) are a suitably functional match, Rosen’s passive yielding to Dammann’s neurotic materialism, and particularly her depiction of distress, coming naturally and believably to inform a hostile family dynamic no doubt inspired by Jane Eyre’s. The double casting of Rosen and Dammann as Mr Marley and Grandmother respectively is also particularly successful: Rosen’s dead-eyed portrayal, though sometimes struggling to maintain tension in early scenes, becomes an ominously disconnected and deceptive red herring, and Dammann’s introduction is positively film-like, appearing surreal in each encounter. Hana Swaddling’s performance as Mariella, whilst at times fleeting, is nonetheless impressively impressionable. Her taunting of Tess is particularly effective, providing the audience with an almost Umbridgian character which we love to hate. Two-faced, entitled, and with a sense of foreboding characteristically similar to Mr Marley’s, it’s a joy to watch her embody the childish snideness of her antagonising force.
ICEMAN is overall a fantastic production, with a skillfully handled narrative and some truly great performances. The level of accomplishment in this student-written show can be described as no less than exciting, particularly in its deft control of genre – I’d love to see more stagings of horrors akin to this one.
By Emi Sharples.