“Le Grand Mort feels like the most petite of gestures”: Brendan Macdonald on a disappointing dinner party-based vehicle for Julian Clary.
Cameron Kelsall calls bullshit at the hell Max Posner reserves for an over-burdened son.
Thatcher’s children: Catherine Love reviews a stage adaptation of Bernard Hare’s Urban Grimshaw and the Shed Crew.
Loren Noveck finds unexpected emotion in Monica Bill Barnes’ newest dance-theater work.
Juliet Hindell reviews Amy Herzog’s new play about navigating the US health care system. Side effects may occur.
“It’s impossible not to be drawn into the atmosphere”: John Murphy reviews Sam Yates’ revival of Eugene O’Neill’s classic tragedy at Sheffield’s Crucible Theatre.
Remarkably fresh, depressingly relevant: Tracey Sinclair sees the contemporary parallels in Gore Vidal’s 1960 political thriller about a hard-fought race for The White House.
“If Wesley Snipes did Shakespeare…”: Geoff Mills reviews Angus Jackson’s production of Coriolanus, the final instalment in the RSC’s up-and-down Rome season.
Requardt and Rosenberg’s Deadclub “clashes a children’s party with the ticking timebomb of our own inevitable demise”.
“Too long forgotten”: Amy Borsuk reviews the London transfer of Alice Childress’s play.
Never quite sets on fire: Geoff Mills reviews the Royal Shakespeare Company’s performance of Christopher Marlowe.
From self-aware 90s moshing to hastily resolved first sex: Sally Hales reviews a coming-of-age story set in the Scottish Highlands.
A loving portrait of an unlovable industry: James Graham’s play about The Sun’s founding days transfers to the West End.
Loren Noveck immerses herself in a full-on simulation of a K-pop “factory” and comes out humming.
Please don’t send flowers: Rosemary Waugh reviews a revival of Arthur Kopit’s play about recovering from a stroke.