Late Night Staring at High Res Pixels – Part 2 – Finborough Theatre

When we left 1 and A in Episode 14 of Athena Stevens’s Late Night Staring at High Res Pixels they were both in some kind of moral and emotional jeopardy, and it seems appropriate on International Women’s Day to return to this nuanced and considered exploration of female agency, solidarity and behaviour. Created by a predominantly female team, including Stevens as writer and star, Evelyn Lockley as 1, Director Lily McLeish and Designer Anna Reid, serialised in 6-7 minute epsiodes in February and now available to view in its entirety, the second half of this story is unafraid to confront the confusion of relationships, our behavioural failures as women and the complex layers of perspective through which we view out friends and loved ones.

Episodes 15-28 are focused on self-reflection as the consequences of the first half play out against the carefully cultivated atmosphere of male toxicity and a groundless female competitiveness that affects the central characters in quite different ways. As suspected, A and 1 take opposite trajectories in the this section of Late Night Staring at High Res Pixels, although their paths to enlightenment are not straightforward. That both emerge with a new found recognition of their own power and independence by no means overshadows what becomes a sometimes torturous process for them both in different ways as whole chunks of their behaviour and attitudes are stringently re-examined. This brings not only empowerment and resilience but, for A especially, confusion, shame and even disbelief as her logical mind and instincts fight against the dawning realisation that this man is not what she supposed.

Part 2 is an especially honest excavation of our in-built assumptions about the people we trust and how difficult it can be to see them from an alternative and unfavourable perspective. Stevens digs deep by letting A come slowly to the realisation that not only has her friend mistreated and manipulated her by creating competition with another woman in order to bolster his own ego, but, by reconsidering a key event from Episode 2 which overshadows and drives the subsequent narrative, it becomes possible to quite specifically label this man’s actions.

Across a couple episodes in the final portion of the story, A truly and uncomfortably wrestles with the black and white starkness of the term and how its much wider societal implication seems hardly to apply to a man she knows and cares for. How Stevens weighs-up his traits both in writing and performance are fascinating – gruelingly so for A who struggles to reconcile the application of this incendiary word with the man she laughs with, shares confidences and even finds herself momentarily attracted to. That Late Night Staring at High Res Pixels becomes more than a message of solidarity makes this concluding segment so interesting while engaging critically with what it means to see an abstract term in a real situation, setting in motion the consequences of that realignment in her thinking.

Though perhaps coincidental, the chosen character names of 1 and A seem increasingly significant in Part 2, with both anonymising symbols notifying equivalent importance and seniority as well as universality, as though Stevens is subtly reinforcing the idea that whatever external or patriarchal layers are imposed on and shape our perspective of these women, they and their experiences in this story are of equal importance – reflected in the evenhanded she said / she said structure. This plays out nicely in the narrative of 1 who we were encouraged to see in Part 1 as something of a victim, a timid even weak personality whose self-worth and daily purpose is derived from her boyfriend.

While the viewer had already begun to question his value in her life by Episode 14, in Part 2 something very different emerges for 1 who comes to recognise her own needs and how to reach for them. There are wobbles as she reunites with this terrible man ever-believing that she can change him, but so involved has the viewer become in her experience and so invested in a positive outcome for her, that you may punch the air as 1 steps easily into a position of control in the relationship and its destiny. This strength was always there, only muted and as 1 grapples with a lingering interaction with A, her balance and clear-headedness prove a useful point of character development and contrast so pointedly with the messier emotional entanglement of A – a rare example in theatre and film where a romantic relationship ends with a cleaner break than a friendship.

And then there is him; how much more we learn about this unnamed middle-aged man toying with the honest connection two women offer him in the remaining 14 episodes. At 45, he reveals not only a disregard or lack of thought about other people’s feelings but an underlying deliberate cruelty and anger when the tables are turned on him. The way Stevens writes the absent presence of this crucial character is a little ambiguous, sometimes presenting him as coercively and deeply manipulative, using 1 and A to make the other jealous and to enhance his own feelings of control, but occasionally, there is a suggestion that this man may be blithely unaware of the impact he has or the ingrained toxicity that shapes his behaviour.

When challenged late in the series, he reacts with furious anger and a knowing defensiveness, severing a friendship and hitting-out with accusations of his own that refuse to address A’s questions, legitimising his own actions by actively belittling her concerns. The point, as Stevens final monologue goes on to elucidate, is to explore the many shades of character in which we can be different things to different people, where the context in which we interact can readily conceal another’s internalised prejudices. These wider realisations when they come for the man and his best friend A are hard to reconcile and process, and Stevens engages intellectually with externally reported instances of toxic behaviour framed by celebrity downfalls and criminal charges and the personal, everyday and accepted experiences of many women, a boundary that is valuably shown to be quite blurred. Late Night Staring at High Res Pixels demonstrates when and how lines are crossed. These are meaty and complex debates that Stevens tackles head-on, leaving her audience as much as her characters examining their own conduct.

Throughout this second tranche, the visual style of these monologues in colour, filming style and technique increasingly reflect the overspilling emotional experience of the characters whose fluctuating journeys are captured so beautifully. Episode 16 is a particular joy as the distraught A, having received an especially loaded birthday gift from her male friend, is thrown into tumult by its meaning and implications. Laying – for the first time – prostrate on her bed, the room designed by Reid is a maelstrom of vivid colour as the electric royal blue / purple walls and bedspread saturate the screen while A is picked out in her stark red dress, inconsolably confiding her confusion.

At other times, McLeish forms deliberate barriers by filming through objects that suggest the women are hiding from their true feelings or perhaps just concealing them from the unforgiving gaze of the intrusive camera. Notably, a wire wastepaper basket sits between us and 1 in Episode 15 as she reveals her own reaction to the birthday dinner; later A peeks through the slatted banister of her staircase in Episode 26 while angrily denouncing an aggressive phone call from Him. It’s clear also in this second half of the story that a darker mood begins to consume one of the characters as deepening shade and perspective are used within the visual design to a noticeably sinister effect – the very absence of Reid’s striking colours as significant as the tonal variations used to demarcate the lifestyles of 1 and A in the early episodes. 1 now embraces a vertical posture and the light as A is consumed by shadow in several segments including Episodes 20 and 27.

Both Lockley and Stevens deepen their engrossing performances from the earlier episodes, picking-up on some of the hints they gave about their character’s future while reinforcing the underlying confusion their quite different relationship with the man between them creates. But there is far more light and shade in the second set of performances, as moral ambiguities take precedence. 1 and A wrestle with the outcome of Part 1, with Stevens in particular having to chart a steep and rapid decline in her character’s emotional stability that turns her inside out. However, this never detracts from or lessens the expansion of Lockley’s character whose growing resilience is developed with equal care.

It is no exaggeration to say that this has been a tremendous piece of work – visually, tonally and in the openness with which it confronts larger issues around male and, crucially, female behaviours where women have (albeit unthinkingly in this case) created a culture of repression, judgement and exploitation of others. Stevens work considers the fuzzy limits between the personal and the political, as well as the ownership of female bodies, privacy and the consequences of not speaking out. To have used this short, episodic format to do that has been a revelation and a significant achievement of this third lockdown. Late Night Staring at High Res Pixels became an anticipatory event waiting for the next daily installment to appear at 6pm, and, if you can refrain from consuming all 28 episodes in one sitting, there is considerable value in experiencing these as Stevens and McLeish intended, as a slow-burn pause for thought that will consume more than their allotted 6-7 minutes as you muse on these character confessionals and their cumulative meaning.

While another prolonged period of lockdown has necessitated the online reorientation of Stevens’s play, the opportunity to reimagine it in this serialised format has been a huge success. As we approach the anniversary of theatre closures, McLeish and Reid in particular have notably demonstrated how sophisticated digital theatre has become in that year. February was all the brighter for a daily dose of Late Night Staring at High Res Pixels, a story that unfolds over many months, so with every episode now available, let them consume your March evenings as well.

Late Night Staring at High Res Pixels Episodes 1-28 are now available for free on the Finborough YouTube channel. Follow this blog on Twitter @culturalcap1 or Facebook Cultural Capital Theatre Blog.

Late Night Staring at High Res Pixels – Part 1 – Finborough Theatre

The development of our hybrid theatre model continues apace, but this third lockdown has produced a particular period of acceleration as the transfer from stage to screen becomes even more innovative, daring and sophisticated. This week Nick Evans premieres his CGI version of Romeo and Juliet that dispenses with the Zoom boxes to place actors in a virtual world. It makes for a strange viewing experience but it demonstrates the leaps and bounds of technological possibility in the last 11 months. Athena Stevens takes an entirely different but equally fascinating approach to her new play serialised in 28 parts for the Finborough Theatre, half of which are now available for free on their YouTube channel.

Steven’s story is an exploration of toxic masculinity and the complex and contradictory responses of two women connected to the unseen male character. But this is not about a large scale abuse of power but the smaller, casual and everyday experiences of coercion and control that affect the unnamed man’s girlfriend and best female friend whose perspectives are dramatised. What was intended to be a two-hander in which the protagonists narrate the unfolding story, painting a picture of their friend in common, comes alive on screen in an addictive 6-7 minute format.

By definition, theatre is a difficult thing to reformat; the process and cost of asking an audience to potentially return night after night to see a longer story often isn’t practical and while there are notable examples of plays that exist over multiple parts – the Henriad Trilogy and Angels in America (recently added to the National Theatre at Home streaming service), being the most obvious – what Stevens in looking to do with Late Night Staring at High Res Pixels just isn’t possible on stage, and this play will certainly take on a different resonance when the Finborough space reopens. So, the current lockdown gives Stevens the opportunity to serialise her work as Charles Dickens, Wilkie Collins and Arthur Conan Doyle once did in periodicals, while at the same time using the technical possibilities of digital theatre to create a particular visual style and tone that brilliantly enhances the depth of this material.

With 14 of the 28 episodes so far aired and new editions premiering daily at 6pm, Late Night Staring at High Res Pixels has already become a gripping anatomy of relationships and the attempts to manipulate two quite different women. Stevens plays “A”, the man’s confidant and world-wise best friend who, while well-aware of his approach to dating and occasionally inappropriate behaviours, remains weirdly drawn to him almost in spite of herself. This smart, glamorous and self-assured woman feels only sympathy for his forlorn girlfriend, known only as “1”, but in trying to offer support, her conflicted loyalties become entangled in awkward exchanges and territorial divides that build a wall between the two women.

Structurally, Stevens employs a she said / she said format, giving each woman the space to talk in half the episodes. Usually 1 is first and A second, with only two of the 6-minute sessions involving a conversation between them on the phone – the only piece of direct dialogue in this first part of the series. Each monologue advances the overall story, outlining particular incidences, activities and plot developments that progress the narrative while complementing one another. In doing so, the viewer is able to see two versions of the same story with an insight into how events are intended and then received.

1 agonises over a racy picture to her boyfriend, posing for and trying to perfect it, yet we learn from A that the boyfriend received it during Sunday lunch with his family and showed it quite thoughtlessly. Later in Episode 8, the women reflect on their own conversation with one another; A reiterates her feelings of sympathy and concern for 1 as a result of the man’s bad behaviour while these overtures are less well received by 1 who, afraid that her boyfriend will find out, is unconvinced by A’s protective approach. The shifting perspective here is one of the most intriguing aspects of the play, considering how the same events can be perceived or be relayed completely differently.

Steven’s writing captures those unspoken nuances between two people and the messages conveyed without any words being spoken. D.H. Lawrence elucidates this so well in Sons and Lovers where he explores an unspoken tension between the central couple resulting from changes of mood and the process of two souls struggling for and against one another that undercuts the success of their meeting. Stevens draws out precisely that experience here, where communication becomes stilted even uncomfortable despite A and 1 both saying the right things. This recognition that voice and chemistry can simultaneously be at odds adds layers to the story that keeps the audience coming back for each installment.

Its cinematic style is another, and director Lily McLeish along with Designer Anna Reid have created one of the most visually arresting hybrid productions of recent months, using colour, tonal variation and pattern to give variance to each sequence while saying so much about the personality and emotional state of the characters. The back and forth structure is energised by locating each scene in a different part of A and 1’s homes while unusual shots and perspectives add a beauty and meaning to the unfolding story. It is incredibly stylish, even chic, and McLeish uses the spaces so carefully to immerse the viewer in these separate lifestyles while pushing the boundaries of technique to visually hold our attention – an approach that works whether you watch this piecemeal or in binge sittings.

For 1, softer shades and patterns are a feature, using accents in frosty blue and soft pink. Even when 1 is wearing a stronger hue in Episodes 10, 11 and 13, the framing of these scenes still accords with her surroundings, like a high-end magazine photograph creating rich but slightly flattened tones. To enhance this effect, McLeish shoots 1 from strange and unexpected places or angles, framing her against the black, grey and white patterned floor in the bathroom while capturing her face from above or from the side. In Episode 11 the same patterned flooring becomes a foreground, no longer dominating the screen but drawing the eye towards 1 squeezed into the corner by the toilet where a partially open door offers a light and shade effect that feels quite painterly. With other locations including her bed, sofa, hallway and living room, these combinations of colour choices, shot selection and performance create mutually beneficial harmonies with the monologue content.

By contrast, A’s set design is bolder and cleaner, preferring stark jewel colours and modern minimalist design using bright accents to underscore the notion of A as a women to be feared and admired. Costume too is an important element of self-expression for A, wearing fitted office dresses in bold shades that reinforce a level of independence, taste and even financial security including a royal blue dress against the white and red kitchen or a yellow loose gown in her Episode 5 bedroom, while her home is decorated with contemporary art and chic appliances in shades deliberately designed to pop. The effect, conversely, is to draw attention to some of those unspoken contrasts with A’s outward appearance and, certainly at this stage of the story, these suggest an unresolved emotional undercurrent – in such a stylish setting, why does she live only with an occasionally visible cat, never mentions her own love life and talks only of this quite imperfect and unavailable man? McLeish films A in the reflection of her own window, leaning against the sofa or in her kitchen; so far always upright, often outraged but always in control – at least she thinks she is.

In a story of this kind, it is the absent characters that must feel as vivid and credible as those we see in order to make sense of the obsession with them. The man here is still a little blurred by Episode 14, but Stevens has given the viewer just enough to recognise his behavioural traits and mode of operation that makes his effect on 1 and A believable. His casual treatment of 1 seems callous, even cruel especially when A adds her interpretation of his words and actions, helping the view to build a picture of a man who refuses to commit fully, runs a mile when his girlfriend says she loves him (Episode 10) and never sustains a relationship beyond 18-months. This is someone who likes to feel powerful and to have others envy him hence his insistence on how 1 should look and the bragging way in which he shows her off to A. He is, we note, indiscreet about their private relationship, talking openly about their sex life and 1’s personality flaws which he uses as a means to control both women, making 1 think she has everything to lose while dangling the possibility of his dissatisfaction in front of A, flirtily indicating she is the perfect women instead. While half way though this series we don’t know so much as his name, what he looks like or any material detail of his life, we know he is a toxic presence and one that makes us fear for both 1 and A in the remaining editions.

Both actors are providing immersive, gripping performances. You wonder, perhaps, if these characters are on opposite trajectories because there is something unresolved in A’s attitude to this man that goes beyond a simple friendship. Stevens is navigating this possibility really well, suggesting A is almost a stranger to herself, that her natural impulse to be kind to 1, knowing the man as she does and her to-camera outrage at his actions suggests a deeper hope than she may yet realise. Stevens gives A confidence, surety and balance, hinting that she would never let anyone treat her so badly yet leaves so many questions unanswered especially on why she has never challenged his behaviour directly. Where the rest of the series will take this character remains to be seen, but her (so far) stifled interior life has far more invested in this man then she knows or is prepared to admit.

Evelyn Lockley by contrast shows a trepidatious young woman slowly eroded by the man she cares for, absorbing any criticism and picking-over every conversation as evidence that she is not good enough. 1 is quite delicate and despite a relationship nearing 18-months, she is like a crushed flower, timid and uncertain, pouring over his every word and action while nervous, possibly even suspicious though not necessarily jealous, of A’s proximity to him and complete contrast with herself. 1 is worn down by the man’s critiques of her personality and needs, making her passivity hard to watch but Lockley balances a wounded emotional despair with a determination for self-improvement, hinting at a stronger strain of resolution that may be significant as the story plays out. 1’s fragility is tempered even early on by a recognition of her own beauty (Episode 2) and while her desire to please and be acceptable to him has dominated the story so far giving Lockley the chance to explore the impacts of coercive control, there are suggestions that 1 knows something of her value and that the second half of this story may offer her a chance for decisive action.

The first 14 episodes of Late Night Staring at High Res Pixels utilises its digital format to enhance the themes and tone of the play while opening several possible directions this might take. This combination of Stevens’s text and characterisation, McLeish’s smart direction and Reid’s delicious visual design have created an atmosphere of intrigue, leaving the audience to muse over the potentially sinister tone, the silently complicated relationship between these two women, how long they will remain in the thrall of this undeserving man and the meaning of the title. With nearly 90-minutes of content already available and just as much to come, whether you tune in every day or consume this in one sitting, you’ll be eager to find out what happens next.

Late Night Staring at High Res Pixels is streamed for free on the Finborough Theatre YouTube channel with new episodes added at 6pm every day until 28 February. The full play will then be available from 1-30 March. Follow this blog on Twitter @culturalcap1 or Facebook Cultural Capital Theatre Blog.

Dark Night of the Soul – The Globe

Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus remains one of the most frequently performed plays in London along with Doctor Jekyll and Mr Hyde, Macbeth and Much Ado About Nothing, plays that appear again and again in locations as diverse as pub theatres, former railway arches and, of course, the big playhouse. While Jamie Lloyd’s 2016 modern version staring Kit Harrington proved divisive, the Globe is offering a more traditional staging as part of its winter season in the Jacobean-esque Sam Wanamaker space. But someone at the Globe may have sold their soul to the devil after all because it is the companion piece Dark Night of the Soul that is exactly the kind of successful initiative they need.

Michelle Terry’s first year in charge has been a mixed one, and while she has earned praise for her own central performances across a number of productions, the overall summer season was relatively unadventurous, with even the hailed return of Mark Rylance to the Globe stage as Iago producing an unsatisfactory Othello. Yet, the 2019 repertory list champions female-led interpretations of the major history plays, following in the footsteps of the Donmar Warehouse who received rave reviews for its Shakespeare trilogy in 2016. With all-female casts scheduled to perform both Henry IV plays and Henry V, 2019 is set to be a year of empowerment at the theatre.

While the classical canon is filled with stories about men, female actors assuming traditionally male roles is only half the story, what is needed are new stories written by and about women, just as we need the perspectives of all kinds of under-represented voices. Here Terry is definitely ahead of the curve, dedicating space in the winter programme to five writers conjuring five very different responses to Faustian myths. Collectively these plays, known together as Dark Night of the Soul, have been scheduled on four anthology evenings in January and February in the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse, as well as being offered as individual productions (with reduced pricing) in the tiny Tiring House behind the Globe mainstage.

Dark Night of the Soul is clearly a collective work in progress but, alongside programme notes and talks, it is a really smart way to look at the far-reaching effects of a particular play and the universality of the concepts it raises. This is exactly the kind of intellectual exercise modern theatres should engage in, questioning and re-evaluating the themes, impact and value of well-known work to a modern audience, while offering creative opportunities for new writers to stage plays in established companies. Using the prism of female experience opens-up the play to five alternative responses which through comedy, family dramas and supernatural experiences proves we are all still grappling with Marlowe’s concept of selling the soul for a moment of happiness.

The evening opens with Athena Stevens’s play Recompense which draws on the moment that Faustus’s past finally catches up with him and he must pay the price for 25-years of good living.  Transposed to a modern doctor’s office, a disabled woman arrives for a consultation only to reveal her life was determined at birth by the very doctor (Mandi Symonds) she has come to see. Like the Ghost of Christmas Past, Stevens’s character takes the doctor back to her original mistake and its daily consequences.

Stevens, most recently seen at the Barbican in Redefining Juliet, writes frequently about our perception of character based largely on performance tradition rather than anything specified in the text, creating a narrow basis for casting. Stevens argues that audiences as well as directors and producers have preconceived expectations that she uses her own work to challenge, and here Stevens uses Recompense to draw attention to the ways in which an individual life can be defined by external forces, by how you look, speak, move and, in this case, someone’s failure or inability to act at the crucial moment which set the character’s life on an entirely different course as a result of that negligence.

Of all the one-act pieces in this collection, it has the most directly confrontational message and the characters become ciphers to serve that particular end – the doctor must realise her faults and the patient is there to champion a form of justice. Consequently, Recompense has the least potential to expand into a fuller piece, but it does engage with the supernatural aspects of Marlowe’s play as well as the idea of the past catching-up with you, of there always being a price to pay.

The French Welcome by Lily Bevan, by contrast, has a much larger life than the snippet presented here. The most accomplished short of the night, it is set in 1604, as the first performances of Doctor Faustus were being staged, watched by Marie Mountjoy the French wife of a jeweller who makes tiaras and happens to be Shakespeare’s landlady. Captivated by the themes of the play and visited by Mephistopheles (an excellent Louis Maskell), Marie debates the lot of women with her maid who reveals a sickness she can no longer conceal, and fears of being sold to the local brothel-keeper by Marie’s husband Christopher. On consulting their local physician, Marie realises that a sacrifice is needed.

Bevan’s play is a joy, combining an interesting approach to Marlowe’s play and its effect on contemporary viewers (nicely tying it back to Shakespeare – so a double tick for The Globe), with a cheeky engaging humour that draws in the room. Playing Marie, Bevan charms the audience immediately as her smart and sassy character is filled with enthusiasm for the life-changing production she has seen, leading her to question the extent to which women have the same freedom as Faustus to make choices about a fulfilling life of comfort, travel and contentment.

The key to its success is to wrap these debates in a warmly engaging shell that makes the audience part of the story. The characters frequently speak directly to the crowd, and while a restrained use of Allo Allo pronunciation earns some laughs for the leading lady, the good-natured audience-participation adds to the inclusive effect of the show – without leaving their seats, one man becomes her not so secret lover, while others have a hilarious Pauline McLynn as Dr Simon Forman read their palm and examine the majestic qualities of their middle finger. This is a play that demands more time, easily suggesting several ways in which Bevan can expand it to a fuller length.

Just before the interval Amanda Wilkin’s The Little Sob looks at confessions, shame and redemption in a reality TV-style set-up that is influenced as much by Black Mirror as Doctor Faustus. Wendy Kweh is a presenter offering strangers the chance to reveal their guilty secrets, relieving the burden on their conscience while providing entertainment to everyone watching. As Wilkin’s character talks about body image and telling white lies to her friends to stay home, a more troubling story of inaction and collusion is revealed.

Wilkin’s play takes a slightly different perspective on the selling of souls and, rather than a single bargain, considers the slow erosion caused by bad behaviour, indifference and the self-preservation we all prioritise over helping others. Being silent, she argues, is just as dangerous and damaging, while refusing to get involved can be more shaming than doing the wrong thing. The reality game-show construct is an interesting one, using Kweh’s insensitive presenter as one devil revelling in the contestant’s misfortune, while Lucie Sword plays the more nervous, angelic, voice of reason. Again, this scenario has considerable possibility for expansion, building on some of the issues it raises about sexual misconduct and supportiveness, as well as the visibility of individuals in the age of social media.

The second half begins with Katie Hims’s Three Minutes After Midnight, an intriguing short story about the ownership and commercialisation of memory. Set in a hospice run by unseen nuns, two women gather at the bedside of a dying relative whose life has been far more interesting than her daughter, Corporate Lawyer Daisy (Lily Bevan), ever realised. When a big family secret is exposed, Daisy’s relationship with her playwright aunt deteriorates further when she discovers scenes from real life in her latest draft and insists her aunt (another excellent performance from Pauline McLynn) asks permission from her mother before it’s too late.

The detailed characterisation of the two women onstage, as well as the unseen dying mother at the centre of revelations suggests this should be the start of a much larger work for Hims who could take the story in a number of different directions. Three Minutes After Minute looks back to two sisters growing-up in a strict Catholic Ireland and having to support each other through their own childhood tragedy, but it also leaves open a future track in which the writer-aunt must endure the consequences of whichever choice she makes about plundering her own life for art and the burden of creativity that require the sale of part of her soul for success.

This idea of theatre and the dramatic process as the acquisition of other people’s thoughts, voices and experiences is exactly what drives Souled Out, the concluding section written by Lisa Hammond and Rachael Spence. With a few scenes distributed between the earlier plays to allow for tiny set changes, this partly stand-up, partly-acted show is a crowd-pleasing examination of the Faustian bargain. The writers have interviewed women from the Southwark area, asking them about their biggest wishes, the biggest lie they ever told and what they would be prepared to sacrifice to achieve their desires.

Performed by the writers, they adopt the voices, accents and intonation of the original speaker whose responses are fed to them through ipods that the audience cannot hear. Often hilarious, real answers about magically tidy houses provide an impression of surprisingly domestic aspirations, an unexpected confession of perjury and the public’s muddled knowledge of Marlowe’s original story. As Hammond and Spence swap their angel wings for black masks, you realise the switch they’re pulling on us, implying their own (jokingly) mercenary approach to plundering and exaggerating reality to create successful art, and the cannibalistic process of theatre that feeds-off the emotions and experiences of others.

Dark Night of the Soul is exactly the kind of work the Globe and similar spaces with multiple auditoria should be doing, creating opportunities for mentored new writing programmes that simultaneously reinforce appreciation for the season’s big classical show. With Shakespeare’s Henry-plays this summer, there is a chance to engage with ideas of leadership, duty, revolt against expectation, and the cost of responsibility for others, as well as opening-up the perspective of the women in the plays, conquered as part of the land-grabbing actions of the male characters. The five plays in Dark Night of the Soul together have much to say about Doctor Faustus so let’s make this a regular exercise. More please!

Dark Night of the Soul is at The Globe until 1 February. See the plays individually in the Tiring House for £3 or in the full anthology nights in the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse from £10. Follow this blog on Twitter @culturalcap1 or Facebook: Cultural Capital Theatre Blog