Review – Between Friends

Kibbutz life is based on principles of economic and social equality. As Amos Oz demonstrates in this engaging collection of eight stories, translated from Hebrew by Sondra Silverston, communal living can be lonely and those that strive for equality often end up compromising on something else. Oz and his family lived on a kibbutz for many years and he has previously used his experiences in his fiction. In Between Friends he returns to the 1950s when the Holocaust is still fresh in people’s minds.

Oz introduces us to a variety of characters who offer different perspectives on their collective community. Many are dealing with loss, disappointment, or are searching for something that is always just beyond reach. Despite their libertarian ideals, Oz’s kibbutzniks are governed by strict rules and prohibitions. Some have been denied their preferred career paths or had to abandon plans to study for the good of the community. Most are defined by what they do best on the kibbutz. Through casual observations in the first person, Oz suggests that he is bearing witness.

Zvi Provizor is a lonely, middle-aged bachelor who tends the gardens. He delights in being the first to relay the news from outside, particularly if it is bad – “earthquakes, plane crashes, buildings collapsing on their occupants, fires and floods” – as well as noting which famous people have died. He is nicknamed “the Angel of Death”, and other kibbutz members give him a wide berth. Zvi strikes up a friendship with a widow but is too afraid to take it further: “Never in his adult life had he touched another person intentionally, and he went rigid whenever he was touched.”

An air of disappointed love also imbues “Two Women”. Ariella writes to Osnat to ask for her advice. After stealing Osnat’s husband she has discovered that he is not all that she expected and is experiencing intense feelings of guilt. Wisely, Osnat does not reply and the kibbutz’s daily routine allows her to retain her dignity: “Her nights are dreamless now, and she wakes even before the alarm rings. The pigeons wake her.”

In such a close-knit community it is almost inevitable that some marriages will fail, and that there will be separations and betrayals of friends. In the title story, David Dagan, a middle-aged teacher and one of the kibbutz founders, is a classic philanderer. He changes lovers frequently and has fathered six children with different women. But no one dares to judge or criticise him. Nahum Asherov, a quiet, solitary electrician, is dismayed when his 17-year-old daughter moves in with David but is unable to articulate his true feelings to his friend.

One of the most heartbreaking stories is that of Moshe Yashar, a sensitive young man and animal lover, whose elderly father is in a hospital on the outskirts of Jerusalem. Moshe seeks permission to leave the kibbutz and is allowed only the briefest of visits. On the way he witnesses a dog being run over and, tending to the dying animal, is delayed. When he finally arrives, Moshe has to endure the agony of conversing with a parent who barely recognises him.

Moshe’s cutting of familial ties is one of the many examples of self-sacrifice that kibbutzniks are expected to make. Another involves the “sharing” of offspring. Children are deemed to belong to the entire kibbutz. They sleep in a children’s house and are permitted to visit their parents for only a few hours a day. When Roni Shindlin’s son is badly bullied one night, he ends up beating an innocent five-year-old boy as retribution. His violent reaction, one suspects, is in response to being forcibly separated from, and so unable to protect, his son. In “Deir Ajloun”, Yotam’s uncle offers him the opportunity to study in Italy. Yotam dreams of escape, but knows the committee will never agree to him accepting his uncle’s gift.

Oz brilliantly conveys the harsher side of kibbutz life. Individual actions have to be for the good of the community and everything is held in common. But frustrated desires breed resentment and there is a vivid sense of repressed anger running through some of the tales. As one character observes, the older generation have “simply exchanged one belief system for another. Marx is their Talmud. The general meeting is the synagogue and David Dragan is their rabbi.”

Oz also touches on controversial issues such as some kibbutzniks wanting to keep their Holocaust reparation money and the employment of women in the kitchen, laundry, and children’s house while the men work the fields. Both challenge the kibbutz’s principles of equality. Oz offers no easy answers to the questions he raises. Instead, using beautiful, spare prose, he builds an evocative portrait of a 1950s kibbutz, the hopes and dreams of its inhabitants, and the successes and failures of communal living.

Originally published in the Independent on Sunday

Book Review – Souffle

Soufflés are notoriously hard to get just right. The centres have a tendency to collapse as soon as they are out of the oven. Asli Perker’s first novel to have been translated into English (she translated it herself) is similarly ambitious. The Turkish author has set herself a hard task by choosing to write about ageing, death, and grief in a domestic setting, but, for the most part, she pulls it off.

We follow the fortunes of three characters in late middle-age, living in different cities and coming to terms with dramatic changes in their lives. Lilia is 62 when her husband, Arnie, suffers a stroke. He becomes bedridden and all of their savings go on his hospital treatment, so Lilia has to rent rooms in their New York home to make ends meet. In Istanbul, Ferda’s elderly mother, Mrs Nesibe, has also taken to her bed after breaking her hip. She refuses to get up and swiftly deteriorates into dementia. Marc, a Parisian, has lost his beloved wife of 22 years and suddenly has to look after himself.

Perker’s characters seek solace in their cooking. Their stories are linked by one particular cookbook on soufflés, sub-titled “The Biggest Disappointment”, and they all try their hand at this difficult dish. Along the way we learn that Lilia and Arnie’s marriage has been a sham, and that years earlier she had unwittingly signed over any right to their shared assets. Perker eloquently captures Lilia’s quiet despair as she comes to terms with her wasted years in a loveless marriage. This is neatly summarised in her brief fixation with one of her younger tenants that, almost inevitably, ends in disappointment. Meanwhile Marc has to learn to cook, which means buying kitchen utensils and learning how to use them – with disastrous consequences.

There is rather too much detail in some passages and Perker has a tendency to tell rather than show her characters’ emotions, but she writes movingly about the ageing process, dealing with disappointment, and adapting to major life changes. She also writes very well about dementia and finds humour in Mrs Nesibe’s frequent digressions and various alter egos. Like all good books that focus on food, Perker’s descriptions of cooking should stimulate readers’ taste buds and have them itching to get into the kitchen.

Originally published in the Independent on Sunday

Film review – The Spirit of 45

The DVD release of Ken Loach’s 2013 documentary The Spirit of ‘45 is particularly timely given the present government’s attempts to reform the National Health Service (NHS) and the furore surrounding Margaret Thatcher’s recent death. Loach remains a staunch socialist and his film is, in large part, a celebration of Labour’s achievements after its landslide victory in the 1945 general election. He compares the acute poverty that existed in the 1930s, the huge gap between rich and poor, with the community spirit that flourished after the war and was to prevail under Labour for the next few years.

Loach combines archive footage with contemporary interviews. Miners, nurses, doctors, railway men trade unionists and ordinary working class men and women describe the poverty that they were rescued from and the sense of hope they all felt with the nationalisation of Britain’s heavy industries and public utilities and the building of new public housing. The high point of Clement Atlee’s government was the birth of the NHS in 1948 – championed by minister of health, Aneurin Bevan.

The post-war Labour administration oversaw a period of dramatic change in Britain, from 1945 to 1951, and this is perhaps why Loach, after covering the period jumps abruptly to 1979, the year Thatcher came to power. During her eleven-year reign she was responsible for dismantling all that the Labour party held dear, returning everything to the private sector. However, by omitting these two decades, the strikes, three day week and rampant inflation of the 1970s inherited by Thatcher is not even touched upon.

Inevitably, given his politics, Loach’s perspective is going to be one-sided. He includes fascinating footage of Winston Churchill and Thatcher being booed (apparently cinema audiences also jeered when Thatcher first appeared on screen). Loach clearly blames Thatcher’s policies for Britain’s current disunity. Mass privatisation and the crushing of the trade unions led to public disillusionment and social unrest which, he implies, we are still reeling from today. Through clever editing, Loach links today’s protests – such as Occupy in St Paul’s – with earlier demonstrations against poverty and injustice.

The Spirit of ’45 is shot in monochrome until its final moments when we return to the footage celebrating the end of the war, which has been coloured by Gareth Spensley, underlining the explosive and exhilarating sense of optimism and hope. In documenting this period so carefully, Loach seems to be suggesting that the time is now ripe for British communities to pull together once more. By recapturing the spirit of 45, finding a national solidarity that challenges the austerity measures, Britain may yet return to the unity needed to achieve a fairer society.

DVD release 94 mins

Dogwoof 15th April 2013

features an additional disc (420 mins)

Originally published by Cine-Vue

 

Book Review: The Hired Man and Winters in the South

The most recent Balkans conflict was shocking in its cruelty and, for many, difficult to comprehend. Two novels offer a new examination of Croatia’s role in the war. What is refreshing about both these books, written by outsiders, is their impartiality, though neither author is a stranger to the repercussions of conflict. Aminatta Forna was raised in Sierra Leone and her memoir The Devil That Danced on the Water (2002) was an attempt to clear the name of her father, who was hanged for treason in 1975. The English Years (2002) by the Austrian writer Norbert Gstrein was about a Jewish author who fled Nazi Austria only to be interned as an undesirable alien on the Isle of Man.

In The Hired Man, an English woman, Laura, and her two children arrive in the small Croatian town of Gost. They’ve come to renovate a beautiful blue house that has remained derelict for the past sixteen years. Their neighbour, Duro, offers to help the family with repairs, and together with Laura’s daughter, Grace, he uncovers a mosaic concealed beneath the plaster. As they restore it, hidden resentments among the townfolk begin to surface. What the family doesn’t know is that Duro has a long association with the blue house, and is reconstructing a past that has powerful repercussions for the future. The conflict may be over, but memories of the bloodshed linger. Forna is eloquent on the far-reaching consequences of ethnic hatred. Two local men, Fabjan, the owner of the local bar, and Kresimir, Duro’s childhood friend, appear to have sinister connections to the past. The three, we later learn, have blood on their hands – whether by shooting enemy soldiers, betraying a family to the death squads, or bearing responsibility for the murder of their neighbours.

Forna reveals a conspiracy of silence. Duro does not refer openly to the victims but alludes to them as “the people who use the word hleb for bread”. The terrible ethnic cleansing is never spoken about. All that remains is the graveyard, a metaphor for the town’s history. We are told: “There are different neighbourhoods for the rich and the poor and people who worship in one church and people who worship in another. Everything you need to know about Gost is here in the cemetery”.

Winters in the South also explores the region’s ethnic tensions, but from a different perspective. Gstrein recalls the end of the Second World War, when the Croatians who had allied with the Nazis tried to flee to Austria. Many were then returned to Tito’s Partisans. Gstrein’s central character, Marija, was six when she found refuge in Vienna with her mother. Her father never joined them and is presumed to have been killed.

Now aged fifty, Marija is adrift from her marriage and comfortable existence in Vienna. Though there are rumblings of war, she decides to return to Croatia in an attempt to find herself. She is unaware that her father managed to elude capture in 1945. Like many other fascists, he fled to Argentina where he has been waiting for the opportunity to resume the fight for Croatian independence. Focusing on the old man’s obsession with the past, and his determination to exact revenge, Gstrein illustrates how old differences left to fester can lead to new conflict.

As war erupts, Marija’s father begins preparations for his return. He hires Ludwig, a disgraced expat Austrian policeman, as his bodyguard, and installs a shooting range in his cellar. He gives the lifesized dummies names: a long list of candidates, among whom there always featured a former partisan general or a minister of the People’s Republic of Yugoslavia whom he hadn’t managed to dispatch himself yet, until Ludwig too knew the names of all these prominent figures by heart, consoling himself with the afterthought that many of these World War Two heroes and postwar fighters were already dead anyway.

Gstrein uses the various settings in his novel to draw parallels between the Axis occupation of Yugoslavia, the 1990s Balkans conflict and Argentina’s Dirty War. Each of his characters has a different perspective on war, and Gstrein cleverly juxtaposes the ideology of the two men in Marija’s life. Her husband is a renowned communist revolutionary and respected journalist whose anti-fascism sits uneasily with her father’s fervent nationalism. The author’s multi-layered approach and convoluted style may frustrate some readers, but Anthea Bell and Julian Evans have done a good job of rendering his complex sentence structure into accessible English prose.

Originally published in the TLS

Film review – Amour

Michael Haneke’s award-winning feature, Amour (2012), is at times almost unbearable to watch. We know, right from the start, that someone has died. The film begins with a door crashing open as fireman break into an apartment to find the corpse of an old woman. She is lying on a bed, carefully dressed in black, her features are serene and she is surrounded by flower petals.

We then track back in time to a few months earlier. Two elderly Parisians, Anne (Emmanuelle Riva) and Georges (Jean-Louis Trintignan) are retired music teachers who still enjoy a comfortable existence. But their lives are torn apart when Anne suffers a stroke and Georges has to care for her. After undergoing an operation she arrives home paralysed down her right side and makes Georges promise not to hospitalise her again. At first, Anne gets around in a wheelchair and the couple can still talk together, listen to music, read and, on occasion, even laugh. Then Anne deteriorates dramatically. She suffers another stroke, becomes bed-ridden and can no longer communicate properly. Gradually, she loses all consciousness of who she is and her surroundings. Georges is left with a terrible choice.

Haneke is unrelenting in what he chooses to film, whether it is Anne’s face and body contorted in pain, George’s quiet desperation as he tries to feed her or the nurse’s insensitive handling of her patient. Sound is also amplified – we hear every mouthful of food Anne swallows – and “it hurts” is a constant refrain. Their daughter, Eva (Isabelle Huppert), a successful musician who lives abroad, visits only rarely and when she does, finds it hard to cope. Conversely, her face is frequently obscured as she turns away to face a window or hides it in her hands. We realise that she is now irrelevant to them, her parents have no need for her, for it is their long past together that sustains them.

A profound meditation on old age and dying, Amour is rich in symbolism: A grand piano dominates the sitting room but is no longer played; an errant pigeon becomes trapped inside the apartment until it is caught and smothered by Georges; and a photo-album becomes the sole remnant of the couple’s love and life together.

Those who have experienced the loss of a loved one will connect with the film on many levels. Others will be moved by Haneke’s sensitive treatment of a difficult subject and the provocative and topical questions he raises. There’s a brilliant and terrible conceit at the heart of Amour; a violent act that is imbued with love.

Originally published by Cine-Vue.com

DVD release 18 March 2013

Runing time: 125 Minutes

 

 

 

Film review – Alps

Greek auteur Giorgos Lanthimos’ latest venture,Alps, is out on DVD this week and proves as unsettling, bizarre and memorable as his acclaimed 2009 feature film Dogtooth.

A group of people hire themselves out to the newly bereaved. They are led by Aris Servetalis’s paramedic who names the business after the mountain range because, he claims, it does not reveal exactly what they do and yet is symbolic. The Alps, he tells his three colleagues – a young gymnast, her male coach and a nurse – are so imposing that each of them could stand in for another mountain and yet they are irreplaceable. He names himself after the highest one, Mont Blanc. His rationale is as bizarre as his business plan. Mont Blanc’s office is in a gym where he interviews perspective clients and introduces them to the members of the group who will enter their homes and take on the roles of the recently departed. Their intervention is meant to help the grief-stricken deal with loss until such time that they feel able to move on.

What makes Lanthimos’s work so refreshing is his quirky, highly original storylines and audacious cinematography. Aggeliki Papoulia’s hardworking nurse becomes so obsessed with her role playing that it begins to take over her life. The line between fiction and reality becomes increasingly blurred and she starts crossing boundaries with her clients. Gradually, we realise, she is herself struggling with loss and grief.

All the principle characters are, to some degree, damaged, but it is the women who suffer the most. The nurse and the gymnast are effectively controlled by the two men in the group. Mont Blanc proves cold and brutal when crossed, while the coach constantly undermines his young protégée’s confidence and denies her the opportunity to make her own choices.

There is both humour and sadness in the way the characters rehearse their roles, delivering their lines in dead pan voices like bad actors or automatons, and their desire to fulfil their clients’ demands, however bizarre. But their ‘professional’ empathy is empty and potentially damaging. The paramedic thinks nothing of grilling a young girl (a promising tennis player, bleeding profusely in his ambulance) for the name of her favourite actor after telling her that she probably won’t make it. Later, when she does die, his two female colleagues vie for the opportunity to stand in for her.

Of course the whole premise is absurd. Members of Alps can never replace the real thing and everything they are involved in becomes devoid of meaning. This is driven home in the explicit sex scenes that are mechanical and unerotic. The headless shots and characters breaking in and out of frame give a vivid sense of fragmented lives.

It’s intentionally disconcerting, but part of Lanthimos’ skill as a filmmaker is that he constantly pushes boundaries both cinematically and in terms of narrative. He persuades us that the surreal could be real. The bereaved want to believe in the scenarios they create and we sympathise with their desperation.

Alps is released on DVD 11 March 2013

Review originally published by huffingtonpost.co.uk

 

Theatre review – Purple Heart

One of the central messages of Bruce Norris’s brilliant play – written in 2002 and given its UK premiere at the Gate Theatre – is the dehumanising effects of war. He focuses on what this means for those left behind and the often disturbing nature of the grieving process.

It’s 1972, somewhere in the American Midwest. Carla (Amelia Lowdell) is mourning the death of her husband in the Vietnam War and has sunk into alcohol dependency. When not drunk she sleeps off her hangover. Her 12-year-old son, Thor (Oliver Coopersmith), attempts to distract himself and his mother with novelty games and jokes. It’s another way of coping. Carla and her overbearing mother-in-law Grace (Linda Broughton), constantly bicker. We never learn what Grace feels about losing her son.

Then a lone soldier, Purdy (Trevor White) turns up on their doorstep. He is calm and quiet and sits almost deathly still. At first Carla thinks he is there to share memories of her husband but gradually a more sinister reason for his visit is revealed.

Cleverly, Norris gives his anti-war drama a domestic setting and frequently plays with our expectations. Grace is not as insensitive as she seems and Carla is struggling to disentangle ambivalent feelings towards her late husband – whom she loved, but who was also abusive.

PURPLE HEART was originally commissioned by the Chicago-based Steppenwolf Theatre Company known for their actor-centred ensemble work. Norris is clearly a dream writer for actors. The four give excellent performances and Christopher Haydon’s finely judged production draws out the play’s contemporary resonances. Norris writes with real vigour and his frequent plot twists and shifts in tone keep us guessing until the end.

Running at the Gate Theatre until 6 April

Review originally published by Theatreworld

 

Review – Television and DVD: Dancing on the Edge

A key voice in television drama for the past three decades, Stephen Poliakoff makes gloriously flamboyant films with sprawling plots and all star casts; Dancing on the Edge, a five-part period drama set in the 1930s, is no exception. London is between two world wars and still feeling the aftermath of the Great Depression. A new musical phenomenon, led by black musicians, is about to shake things up.

The Louis Lester Band plays jazz in subterranean bars in London’s seedier quarters until they are discovered by music journalist Stanley (Matthew Goode). He introduces Louis (Chiwetel Ejiofor), the band’s charismatic front man, to his well-connected friends and persuades the swanky Imperial Hotel to let them play a regular gig. The band engages two female singers and, after the endorsement of the Prince of Wales and his brother George, their careers take off.

Poliakoff’s trademarks are all here: Dancing on the Edge is lavishly shot and deliciously melodramatic, has a preoccupation with class and royalty, a sensational soundtrack and a stellar cast that includes both American and British actors. It’s a vivid portrait of the early jazz era in Britain with a political edge.

Racism is rife. At first, the musicians can only use the tradesman’s entrance and are not allowed into the hotel’s bar or restaurant areas unless they are playing. After cutting their first record, the band’s popularity grows. They are given rooms on the top floor and become on first name terms with the hotel’s grumpy proprietor (Mel Smith). However, fame and fortune don’t stop them from being sneered at by their fellow passengers when travelling first class by train. Members of the German Embassy are the most ferocious racists, preferring to leave the room rather than have to listen to the band play.

After the tragic murder of the band’s main singer, Jessie (Anglea Coulby), Louis finds himself implicated and his attempts to flee London act as a framing device for the series. Despite celebrity status and the support of royals, class and race prejudices come to the fore even amongst those he once considered his friends. Suddenly Louis doesn’t know who to trust anymore. The behaviour of some of his biggest fans, the reclusive Lady Cremone (Jacqueline Bisset), Donaldson (Anthony Head) the suave man of leisure, and Masterson (John Goodman) the American Tycoon, becomes increasingly suspect.

There are, as always with Poliakoff, elements that will incite criticism – the meandering narrative, some stereotypical characters and occasionally clunky dialogue – but Dancing on the Edge evokes the decadent milieu so effectively, it’s easy to forgive these flaws. There are also plenty of contemporary resonances – a financial crisis (which barely registers with the already affluent), sadistic immigration officials, a preoccupation with celebrity culture, a power-hungry newspaper magnate and, most importantly, a passion for music.

Originally published by http://www.cine-vue.com

Film Review – Hi-So

Newly returned from studying abroad, Ananda (Ananda Everingham) is filming on location in Thailand. He plays an amnesiac, trying to rebuild his memory and identity after having survived the 2004 tsunami. The setting is the ruin of an old hotel destroyed in the disaster. Ananda’s good at his role but occasionally struggles with the correct Thai pronunciation, betraying his privileged background and an international education.

His American girlfriend Zoe (Cerise Leang) comes to visit and stays nearby in a five star beach resort. It’s low season, there are no guests at the hotel, and Ananda is too busy shooting and learning his lines to pay her much attention. Alone, Zoe soon becomes listless. Bored in paradise and tired of hanging out on the film set, she befriends the hotel staff and even attends the maid’s birthday party. When it comes time for Zoe to leave, the cracks in her relationship with Ananda have become crevasses.

After Zoe’s departure, Ananda becomes involved with May (Sajee Apiwong) who is working on the production side of his film. Like Zoe, she is beautiful and intelligent. The action shifts to the city. May lives with Ananda in the luxury apartment block owned by his wealthy mother. One side, we discover, has been decimated by the tsunami and is only slowly being rebuilt. Another part of the ruined building has been sold off to developers.

‘Hi-So’ is short for High Society. Ananda is certainly of that ilk; young, rich and aimless. Ananda and May laugh and play together but something fundamental is missing from their relationship – the nearest the couple come to properly connecting is when they adopt a stray dog. Like Zoe, May is unable to adapt to the culturally diverse worlds that Ananda drifts between and finds it hard to bond with his brash American friends.

Umpornpol Yugala’s cinematography is impressive. Although Hi-So is lushly shot, and the Thai landscape (much of it devastated by the 2004 disaster) is as much a part of the film as the characters, Aditya Assarat’s script may prove too ponderous for British audiences. He offers a vivid portrait of contemporary life in Thailand but female viewers, in particular, may be disappointed that Zoe and May are such disempowered characters. They are easily discarded by Ananda who seems incapable of settling down or offering his girlfriends more than a warm bed.

Consequently, it is hard to sympathise with Ananda’s sense of alienation – a central theme of the film. He is not entirely at ease either in Thailand or amongst his American buddies. However, his feelings of cultural displacement are too superficial. Assarat never gets fully under his protagonist’s skin and consequently Ananda feels sketchily drawn; like the film he is beautiful to watch but ultimately an empty vessel.

Originally published by Huffingtonpost.co.uk

 

Theatre Review – God’s Property

It’s London, 1982, and the Brixton riots are still fresh in people’s minds. Chima (Kingsley Ben-Adir) returns to his mother’s house on a small council estate in Deptford. He’s been away so long his little brother, Onochie (Ash Hunter), now sixteen and dressed as a skinhead in DMs, upturned jeans and braces, doesn’t recognise him. Knives are drawn until Chima convinces Onochie of their shared history.

The brothers are mixed race; of Irish-Nigerian extraction. Their father is dead and their mother strangely absent. During the course of 90-minutes we learn of Chima’s years spent in prison. Onochie doesn’t want his brother’s past to affect his burgeoning relationship with his white girlfriend and neighbour Holly (Ria Zmitrowicz). Inevitably, though, they meet and Chima ends up cooking them a traditional Nigerian meal. Already angry with Onochie for dressing in a “pillock’s uniform” and denying his Nigerian roots, he becomes suspicious of Holly’s true intentions after she drops in a casually racist remark.

Although there are some minor inconsistencies in the plotting and some clumsy exposition in places, Arinze Kene’s drama packs such a punch that one can easily forgive a few flaws. Kene constantly plays with our expectations and raises interesting questions about race and identity without being heavy handed. There is plenty of humour, particularly in the scenes between Onochie and Holly, as well as a real political edge to his writing. At the heart of Kene’s absorbing work is a terrible injustice born out of racial inequality. It serves as a damning indictment of the racism that provoked the riots. Sadly, we realise, nothing much has changed in thirty years.

Ellen Cairns’ detailed kitchen set comes complete with a patterned lino that deliberately clashes with the flock wallpaper. At the side are broken slabs of concrete and corrugated iron reminding us of the poverty outside and the threat of violence.

Kene is clearly a talent to watch and is well served by a terrific cast. Michael Buffong skilfully negotiates the changes in mood of this provocative and entertaining play and allows the tension to brew until its inexorably brutal conclusion.

Soho Theatre running until 23 March 2013

Originally published by Theatreworld