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The Wind of Heaven, Finborough Theatre

The Wind of Heaven is something of an old fashioned brain fart.

Chemistry uses the wonderdrug of intimate performance to produce a great two-hander.

It’s the play you know with added, if implicit, racial commentary. Does it work? Well if you read on I’ll tell you!

The nights are drawing in and as the evenings get colder I find myself wondering what theatre will dominate the

Velvet invites you to take a trip down the River Weinstein with a young wannabe. No leaving the boat!

What’s lost when your local boozer becomes a block of overpriced flats? A lot, if Anna Jordan’s play is anything to go by.

If the devil’s in the detail, David Hare’s old polemic against Rail Privatisation is a satanic ejaculation.

J.B. Priestley’s old standard turns up unannounced in Bromley and withstands modern scrutiny with its timeless call for a compassionate society.

Lloyd Evans’ play gives voice to the once muzzled Mrs Blair. But does she have anything to say?