GABRIELE NEHER draws attention to an astoundingly skilled Flemish painter who defied the notion that women cannot paint like men
IN THIS solo tour-de-force from actor Rafe Spall, Michael is an estuary lad on a rolling boil of nervous energy.
With clipped strut and barely comprehensible speech he makes his entrance on to a set which, akin to a cockpit, resembles the cross of St George. Red against white, it evokes a wound as well as a symbol of national pride.
You wouldn’t want to meet Michael if he was pissed or if Leyton Orient were losing — he’s volatile enough sober. But Michael is in crisis and the layers of his persona and raw intelligence are stripped back as he recalls his father’s death while watching England’s last World Cup effort.
MAYER WAKEFIELD is gripped by a production dives rapidly from champagne-quaffing slick to fraying motormouth
JAN WOOLF is beguiled by the tempting notion that Freud psychoanalysed Hitler in a comedy that explores the vulnerability of a damaged individual
JAN WOOLF finds out where she came from and where she’s going amid Pete Townshend’s tribute to 1970s youth culture
MARY CONWAY revels in the Irish American language and dense melancholy of O’Neill’s last and little-known play



