Review of 2014 - Best Play: Ballyturk, Enda Walsh

Ballyturk is like Waiting For Godot an acid. 

Performed superbly by a cast of three, Enda Walsh's Ballyturk was loud and physical, but there was an aching tenderness beneath the pulsing 80s score, the kind of sadness that only Mr Walsh can encapsulate.

When it opened at the National, the play received mixed reviews, with many critics feeling that it was too difficult to understand. But that was the problem: it wasn't until two, three weeks after I saw the show that I felt I had a remote grasp on what happened, and many of the reviews were just published too quickly. Like The Drowned Man, this is a play that demands concentration, everything is symbolic, and you get out only what you put in.

Unlike a sprawling, three hour theatrical marathon, Ballyturk is a sprint to the end, and while you may be exhausted by the curtain call, nothing can quite beat that feeling of crossing the finish line. 

Review of 2014 - Best Overall Theatre: The Almeida Theatre, Islington

When Rupert Goold took over as the artistic director of London's Almeida Theatre, he promised that the two words to describe his upcoming job would be risk and vision. 

It's fitting then, that in his first season there was a post-apocalyptic play about pop-culture, a "future-history" play about the reign of Charles III , a verbatim piece exploring the 2011 London Riots, a stripped down, metatheatrical retelling of a Thornton Wilder classic and to top it off a modern-dress Shakespeare production. 

The Almeida had always been popular to those who knew about it (for many productions, tickets are gold dust) , but Goold not only brought it to the 21st century, he did so with a sense of style and vitality that we will hopefully see more of over the coming years. Take his American Psycho - by casting Matt Smith in the title role, Goold exposed thousands of young audience members to the type of drama they just don't teach in schools.

We'd like to wish Rupert, the brilliant front of house team and what we're sure is a brilliant backstage crew the very best for what we're sure is going to be a very, very good year for the Almeida. 

Review: National Theatre's Savage Medea

It would be easy going into the National Theatre's stunning new production of Euripides' Medea expecting a small budget affair. Remember their Mother Courage, with its minimalist, white-wall set, or Edward II, with the focus more on multimedia than sheer spectacle? Well, it's shocking how a £3 increase can so drastically affect a production, because Medea is big. Really big. Tom Scutt's two-storey design places the action in a dilapidated mansion, with peeling wallpaper and gaudy carpet. Visually, it's stunning, with the action taking place across both levels, often simultaneously. Upstairs, we can see a function room full of white chairs and a wedding cake from which the Chorus appear like ghosts. Downstairs, a window looks out into a forest of gnarled trees.

The floor, initially littered with the toys of Medea's two young sons, provides an ample arena for the fierce emotional intensity of the actors. The Olivier hasn't been this heated since last year's Othello. There's strong support from Martin Turner as a sadly underused and slimy Creon, and Michaela Cola is crushingly aware of the inevitable as the Nurse. Cole also manages to brilliantly navigate her way through both the opening and concluding monologues, even making Ben Power's sometimes flat dialogue seem natural and unforced. Cole has a bright future ahead of her. Also in the cast is Danny Sapani, who as Jason is both a smooth politician and loving father, devastatingly (and awkwardly) posing for a picture with his two small sons.

And then there's Helen McCrory who is a vicious and barbaric Medea. Dragging the bloody corpses of her two sons in sleeping bags, she appears more as a savage lioness than a mother descended from the Sun Gods. Her performance is richly nuanced, and despite her small stature she towers above the rest of the cast with wild-eyed power and control.

Helen McCrory in the title role
© Richard Hubert Smith

Even the music is stunning. In a brilliant design choice, Carrie Cracknell chooses to have the Chorus appear as bridesmaids, carrying boxes of flowers and dresses. They dance erratically to Alison Goldfrapp and Will Gregory's sinister, carnivalistic score, becoming more and more bloodied and messy as the show continues.

With hundreds of £15 now on sale, you have no choice. You have to see Medea. Despite some occasionally dull dialogue, this powerhouse production will go down in history as one of the best Medea's to ever grace the stage. The cast fire on all cylinders, performing on a stunning stage under the genius, focused direction of Carrie Cracknell.

9/10

A Message from Leland Stanford on The Drowned Man: A Hollywood Fable

Punchdrunk's The Drowned Man, one of the most ground-breaking pieces of theatre to ever play, will close it's red shutter doors forever on 6 July 2014. I gave the staggering epic a 10/10 in my review, there are still tickets available. Book with haste. It would be most foolish to disappoint Mr Stanford...