Consumed – soup is taken while intergenerational trauma comes back to bite four generations of women (Lyric Theatre until Sunday 8 March, then Park Theatre in London)

Do we pass on trauma from the Troubles and even as far back as the Irish Famine from one generation to the next as easily as we learn to repeat the poor patterns of our parents’ behaviour? Consumed watches what happens when Jenny (Caoimhe Farren) and 14-year-old Muireann (Muireann Ní Fhaogáin) fly over from London to celebrate Great Granny’s 90th birthday. They find that matriarchal Eileen (Julia Dearden) hears more than her speaking-slowly-and-loudly-while-flapping-around daughter Gilly (Andrea Irvine) will acknowledge.

Between each generation of this family lies a series of secrets whose concealment has been rehearsed. Blame is always directed upwards and never towards the men in their lives. But it’s the very absence of men, together with the almost unfiltered connection between Great Granny Eileen’s mind and her mouth, that nags away at the veneer that pretends all is well, digging up deeper and deeper surprises from the present and the past. And that’s before Eileen dives down the rabbit hole of identity and delivers one of the biggest laughs of the evening (ahead of a couple of much more sobering revelations).

By extending the more common three generation family tree to four, playwright Karis Kelly cleverly allows the audience to glimpse a much broader view through the window of history. With three generations of women failing to own and address the trauma they are carrying, is the 14-year-old neurodivergent ‘English’ girl the best equipped of the four to draw a line in the sand and lead the family out of their dark exile?

Lily Arnold’s set uses a peculiar perspective to explode the kitchen while retaining a view of a hall cupboard and a rising staircase. An archway – so large it shouts out that it is a proscenium arch – suggests that great drama is afoot. Guy Hoare’s flickering lights on top of Beth Duke’s unnerving sound design drop heavy hints – a little too unsubtly for my liking – that proceedings will take a darker and more psychologically-raw and yet also physical twist before the conclusion when the family can no longer keep their secrets buried.

Dearden’s Eileen knows which side of the border she wants to live on. She’s sweary and direct, in sharp contrast with Irvine’s fussy Gilly who incessantly tidies the kitchen table while forgetting that there’s a steaming pot on the stove that may be beyond rescue. Farren plays Caoimhe as a woman who escaped Northern Ireland and her ‘melt’ of a mother (who believes hairy legs need must be covered) for London but has kept her Irish roots and many of its vices.

Muireann is believably penned as a young woman who is overwhelmed by issues of climate, agriculture, food and wellbeing. We watch her address her anxieties by pushing her chair further and further away from the rest of the family, one time escaping upstairs and another hiding under the table. And when the pressure can no longer be contained, Ní Fhaogáin (making her assured professional debut) allows Muireann’s valve to blow, exploding with articulate and passionate arguments that nearly always fall on the deaf ears of the rest of her family. If they could only listen to this troubled soul, they might learn to address their own demons.

Director Katie Posner keeps things moving over the 80-minute one-act performance. Soup is heated, spilt, and scoffed. Arguments give way to joy before old hurts return. The darkness of Kelly’s award-winning script – together with lashings of local idiom and sensibility – feed into waves of belly laughs with Belfast audiences finding no cow too sacred to become amusing. I can’t help wondering how many references (like the nuance of Ballyholme vs Bangor) will have flown over the heads of London, Sheffield, Coventry and Edinburgh audiences for whom the references are abstract rather than woven into the fabric of life?

The fact that Karis Kelly’s finely tuned script which won the Women’s Prize for Playwriting back in 2022 (while writer-in-residence at the Lyric) is only making it to a stage in Belfast in 2026 speaks of both the lack of opportunity to mount new work and the slow speed of staging work that does make it onto the production conveyor belt. Let’s hope it’s not so long before a second work will be staged.

Consumed continues its run in the Lyric Theatre, Belfast until 8 March before transferring to Park Theatre in London (18 March–18 April) in a remount presented by Paines Plough, Park Theatre and the Lyric Belfast.

Photo credit: Pamela Raith Photography

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Animal Farm – modern day protesters give their take on Orwell’s classic tale (Tinderbox Theatre at The MAC until 28 February)

Four stellar performances anchor Tinderbox’s adaptation of Animal Farm. A group of women have been placed in a distressed holding cell that looks like it had long been abandoned until a large number of people were arrested at a protest and suddenly needed to be held, just part of a wider state crackdown. In an act of solidarity, they each declare “I am George Orwell” and from that point the four refuse to say anything other than recite sections of the famous book.

They work their way through the main beats of the story: the overthrow of the humans, the seven commandments of animalism, the plans for a windmill (brought to life with a precarious stack of chairs), moving back into the farmhouse, making deals with the humans, and turning on each other.

You need to suspend disbelief – though this is a Tinderbox production so that very much comes with the territory – that anyone, even fervent anti-totalitarian protesters, could quote huge chunks from Orwell’s allegory which celebrated its 80th publication birthday last summer. (Wearing a different hat, I produced an episode of BBC Radio Ulster’s Sunday Sequence devoted to the anniversary, and the interview with the director of the Orwell Foundation Jean Seaton, and the Ukrainian author Andrey Kurkov (whom Seaton says is a modern day Orwell) can still be heard if you’re on the UK side of the BBC’s geoblock wall.)

The protesters’ Animal Farm excerpts are interrupted by tannoy announcements from an unseen guard who warns that their behaviour is crime and will not be tolerated. In my head, the voice through the speaker on the wall was going to end up narrating a smaller contemporary story that would be neatly woven around the familiar Animal Farm tale. However, Tinderbox had their own ideas and the guard’s admonitions merely grow steadily more severe and increase the fervour of the women’s literary protest.

Tracey Lindsay’s set consists of a cell with metal-legged tables and chairs. The grimy concrete back wall (with its convenient white board) is raised up from the MAC’s floor. The gap beneath enables a rather effective special effect as the women’s behaviour finally tips the authorities to react with more than words.

The whole production could perhaps also be viewed through the lens of a fever dream, inspired by the increasingly totalitarian behaviour of some actual governments – and particularly some political leaders – as a vision of how people could fight back by holding a mirror of Orwell’s analysis up to state perpetrators who seem to be skidding towards repeating some very regrettable history.

No matter how you choose to analyse how Tinderbox have set the story, Orwell’s concepts are made to feel very contemporary. History is being rewritten. Former allies are being turned into enemies of the state. Power is being seen to corrupt. Fighting back is being crushed with violence and oppression. Old enemies are becoming strange bedfellows.

So much of the movement on stage and the use of props has clearly been devised during the rehearsal process. The simple chairs become attack dogs. Rosie McClelland’s costumes combined with the actors’ twisted bodies, stance and gait transform them into pigs, horses, a cat, and rather brilliantly, chickens.

Like Boxer, one of the book’s many characters that she plays, Clare McMahon is a workhorse who carries some of the crucial parts of the story, starting with Old Major’s idealistic speech that has to be so well anchored for the subsequent creeping rewriting of history to be effective. Clare also has the ignominy of playing the greatest number of characters that come to a grisly end.

Catriona McFeely is amazing throughout, with her animated hen one of the strongest and funniest moments of the play as she flicks through a range of emotions. Her physicality rarely pauses, bounces up on top of tables, transforming into a flirty cat, playing the pig Snowball as well as the farmer Mr Jones.

Susan Hoffman’s whiteboard marker-sniffing Squealer delivers believable missives to the other animals that misdirect them from the truth.

Jo Donnelly is no stranger to playing political tyrants, and her stare-eyed take on Napolean is fearsome, doubling down on those questioning the logic of what is happening, rewriting history with an iron fist, and letting others do his dirty work until he eventually gets blood on his hands.

In recent years, Tinderbox have excelled at putting a contemporary spin on classic tales. Shifting Rhino into the world of gaming and screens was genius. Switching Yerma from Spain to rural Ireland rooted the playwrights message in the local.

This adaptation of Animal Farm is a fine retelling of much of the tale and the production’s lens of protest certainly accentuates the contemporary resonances. Napoleon announcing that the windmill will be known as Napoleon’s Windmill has an eerie echo of arts centres and airports being named after presidents. The fact that it’s humans rather than cartoon animations playing the animals and speaking the pigs’ perfidious dialogue adds power to the message. But the fine animal characterisations and the energy on stage still seem to be lacking something that would more substantially glue the reciting protesters to their fulsome knowledge of Orwell’s text and the manner of their protest.

Animal Farm continues at The MAC until 28 February.

Photo credit: Carrie Davenport

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The Barber of Seville – a finger-picking and financially-wise Figaro engineers romance (Lyric Opera Ireland at Grand Opera House until Saturday 21 February)

Figaro can fix your love life as well as spruce up your barnet. The barber helps a poor student Lindoro to enter the Seville home of a beautiful woman to woo her. (Nothing remotely suss about that!!) But her grumpy guardian Bartolo has plans to marry Rosina. Cue multiple disguises, cunning plans being rumbled, a true identity being revealed, and an opera-sized heart to end Gioachino Rossini’s comedy masterpiece (with libretto by Cesare Sterbini).

Lyric Opera Ireland’s director and designer Cav. Vivian J Coates has conjured up a modest but colourful production of The Barber of Seville which puts the characters at the heart of the performance without using flashy sets or gimmicks (other than a gorgeous cloud that floats down). After some curtain twitching fun during the very hummable overture, the opening scenes don’t really impose a sense that the show will be comic until Figaro properly bursts onto the stage bringing a warmth and a physical buffoonery that lights up the mischievous wordplay in Sterbini’s lyrics.

The paper programme instructs audience members to “please refrain from unwrapping sweets during the performance”. One gentleman near me with a noisy bag of even noisier individually wrapped sweets competed with the 29-piece orchestra (under the baton of Carmen Santoro) and the cast until being tapped on the shoulder. With neither the singers nor the majority of the orchestra being amplified, the volume levels are lower than you might expect, so distractions are particularly unwelcome. (At Tuesday evening’s performance a mobile phone rang out at the exact moment Fiorello was crooning about “No one is around to interrupt our singing”!)

Morgan Pearse’s finger-picking and financially-wise Figaro plays a mean guitar and is the stand-out presence on stage with a great set of gestures and a winning vitality. His baritone voice cuts through the technically complex Largo al factotum with its rapid-fire lyrics like a hot knife through butter.

With Rosina much talked about but little heard in the first act, it’s only after the interval that we get to hear more of Sarah Richmond’s rich and powerful mezzo soprano voice. Rossini’s women are underwritten and somewhat two-dimensional. So it’s immensely pleasing that soprano Sandra Oman delivers a star turn as Bartolo’s feather-dusting maid Berta who sums up the dysfunction that surrounds her household in the song Il vecchiotto cerca moglie.

Matteo Torcaso manages to look silly but sing very seriously with a big blob of shaving cream on Bartolo’s nose. The character (first introduced as) Lindoro is played by Randall Bills and becomes a man of many disguises whose tenor voice blends so well with Pearse and Richmond.

Wearing maroon berets, the male chorus are the very model of a tuneful paramilitary force, including local lads Dessie Havlin (a regular in the NI Opera chorus) and Harrison Gordon (who only a few years ago was starring in the Belvoir Players panto and a youth theatre production of Footloose).

At times Coates shows great playfulness, allowing lyrics like “quick let’s get going” to become a prolonged joke, getting Figaro to shave off a beard to the delight of the audience, and orchestrating a case of rapid onset Scarlet Fever. Coates has a fine sense of farce and is unafraid to use large props to ridicule a scene or create a very modern-looking (but not too anachronistic) Instagram moment for the finale. Some choreography is less surefooted with no one standing remotely close to the character singing the line “don’t touch me” in the first act.

Heavy, menacing marble columns are made to glide around the stage by the female chorus. Sometimes their reconfiguration adds to the tension in a scene; sometimes the movement becomes a distraction. Large TV monitors for the cast to see the conductor at the side of the stage (rather than their usual location mounted on the front of the grand circle) block sight lines for some of the audience in the stalls.

Sung in its original Italian, English surtitles are displayed above the centre of the stage. Tuesday evening’s performance finished after half past ten, so bear that in mind as some people had to leave early to catch the last bus or train home.

Operas have large casts and require sizeable orchestras. They’re bold, brash and make big statements. Nothing is too ostentatious or outlandish in the world of opera. Everything is magnified … including the costs to design, rehearse and stage. Working within these constraints, Lyric Opera Ireland’s The Barber of Seville is a pleasing no-nonsense production of a classic opera. The costumes are colourful but traditional. The story-telling stays true to classical expectations. The performances are strong, although the compact nature of the cast meant that the final anthem, Amor e fede eterna, si vegga in noi regnar, lacked a bit of oomph and would have benefitted from a greater crescendo.

The Barber of Seville continues its short run at the Grand Opera House on Wednesday 18, Friday 20 and Saturday 21 February. Alongside the annual production from NI Opera (down from two a year to one), it’s great to see a second company bringing opera to a Belfast stage.

Photo credit: Federica Ferrieri (top) & Neil Harrison Photography (all the others) 

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The Human Voice – truth, lies, betrayal and a forlorn sense of hopelessness (Prime Cut Productions at Lyric Theatre until Saturday 28 February)

A day later and I’m still haunted by just over an hour spent in the life of the woman at the heart of The Human Voice. She’s a professional working in a health and social care role, and instinctively walks through a therapeutic technique for the man at the end of a long phone call she wishes would never end. But there’s no one to offer similar help to address her own distressed state.

The untidy bedsit mirrors her state of mind. The dishevelled bed clothes speak of restlessness rather than passion. The record player that’s still spinning with the needle stuck in a grove feels emblematic of the woman’s condition. The packed bag at the door is a symbol of the imminent removal of the evidence of past joy. She looks out through a curtain and the audience can see real cars passing on Ridgeway Street (only the second time I’ve seen that window integrated into a production). There is a world outside, but she has trapped herself in a flat that is now empty of love and almost devoid of hope.

Jean Cocteau’s 1930 monologue La Voix Humaine (The Human Voice) has been adapted by Darren Murphy and is set within a half mile radius of the Lyric Theatre. It’s a case study in muted theatre, with no room of showy hysterics. Ciaran Bagnall’s lighting states gently caress his blue walled set. Rosie McClelland’s costume design extends from painted toenails, through jogging bottoms, and up to a gorgeous mop of copper auburn hair. Conor Mitchell’s soundtrack uses pizzicato cello sequences that periodically touch the action before fading away. The woman’s reverie – she has a name but it’s only revealed towards the end – is only interrupted by her work phone (she’s insistent that she’s not on the rota to be on call) and her personal mobile (longing to speak again to her departing lover).

Seating banks surround three sides of the bedsit, the audience almost hugging the troubled figure who claims to be “a young-ish woman of independent means who follows her heart”. There is much talk of telling nothing but the truth, with some lies thrown in for good measure. Closure seems to be far out of reach.

After a pleasingly unexpected entrance, Nicky Harley pads rather than prowls around the flat. She steers her forlorn character between being somnolent, morose, agitated, resigned and defeated. Emma Jordan’s delicate direction is unhurried, and Murphy’s script drip feeds details about the situation we are watching unfold. Piecing together the elements of the puzzle – and I’m being careful not to reveal too much of the jigsaw in this review as that process is the almost the point of this piece of theatre – there are moments when I wonder whether the woman is experiencing a psychotic episode or something supernatural is at play.

Yet the pendulum of reality swings back towards a more painful certainty that she has been badly wronged and is struggling to come to terms with what is happening. The final scene sees the woman interrupted once more by her work phone and Harley’s changed tone and mood shifts, suggesting that this broken woman may still be ready and willing to help another person at risk.

Harley ably joins a long and hallowed list of incredible actors who have taken on the challenge of this role on stage and in film. She’s no stranger to monodramas, and lauded for her (tragi-)comedy roles. Like a previous collaboration with Jordan (The Beauty Queen of Leeann), Harley brings her A-game to a serious story dotted with a few episodes of gentle humour. While the plot is almost deliberately absent of big moments of drama, the intricate detail of this extended phone call carries the unravelling story of devastation and betrayal. 

The Human Voice is a Prime Cut Production and is being staged at the Lyric Theatre until Saturday 28 February.

Photo credit: Ciaran Bagnall, featuring Nicky Harley

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Expösed – a titan of fashion’s personal standing is seen to flag (Baby Lamb Productions at Accidental Theatre until Saturday 7 February and then London)

Some of the freshest theatre comes from companies formed from young actors who’ve trained together and graduated from drama courses and colleges. It can be raw and rough around the edges, but it puts training into practice and is full of an urgency to create.

Founded by alumni from The Oxford School of Drama, Baby Lamb Productions has brought Expösed, its comedic take on The Emperor’s New Clothes to Belfast this weekend.

Hans Christian Andersen’s folktale is a well-known story about vanity trumping common sense and pride coming before well sign-posted humiliation. Baby Lamb whisks the audience’s imagination over the Berlin Fashion Week where Ze Emperor’s latest collection has bombed. New thinking is required to rescue the reputation of his underwhelming brand, and more importantly, boost his flagging personal standing. Out of the ‘ideas stream’ jumps a collaboration with the creators of Nücloth.

Jacob Baird’s delusional Emperor (whose private philosophy is based on his fondness for The Lion King) is clad in white from top to tie, mimicking the blank canvas of his mind. His court includes the uber-cool Johan (a very believable Nicholas Alexander) who turns to contemporary dance when words fail him, and commercially savvy Yanik (Ashok Gupta dressed in Steve Jobs’ uniform). Nisha Emich plays the competent, straight-talking but totally overlooked aide Maureen with great empathy. Two ‘French’ designers offer an exclusive deal to show off their cutting-edge fabric: confident snake oil saleswoman Bree (Hannah McLeod who also directs the show) and her bumbling sidekick Oche (Kiera Murray).

The original five-minute fairy tale is satisfyingly stretched out to create a 70 minute long show with lots of visual humour, clever dialogue, slow motion sequences, puns, carefully placed sound effects, a pumping and very cheesy soundtrack, and very knowing acknowledgements of the doubling of parts across the cast of six. The ensemble mostly makes sense of the mélange of comedy styles and techniques thrown at the elongated story. The mentions of fast fashion and body positivity are mainly there for the story’s punchline, but hint at threads that could have been more fully woven into the fabric of the script.

Given that the Emperor cannot comprehend that his servant Alexa isn’t a robot, it’s no surprise that the voice of reason at his side, Maureen, is almost invisible to him. Jacob Baird’s natural Belfast accent makes the Emperor’s moment of honesty speaking truth to his own soul rather profound for the home audience. The quick costumes changes are effective, and the final crocheted outfit is certainly worth the wait.

Leaving aside very established companies like the amazing Bruiser, the Northern Ireland theatre scene doesn’t have many indigenous outfits in its pipeline like Baby Lamb with a talented ensemble of young performers creating new work that is primarily comedic in nature (and not solely focused on Norn Iron or Troubles stories). So it was a joy to sit down and enjoy the craic as the six versatile visiting performers took on ten roles and jumped from one skit to another with this witty show. It’s a great showcase for their talent, and long may their ingenuity and energy feed their ability to stage fun theatre.

You can catch the final performance of Expösed in Accidental Theatre on Saturday 7 February before their UK tour whisks them away to Lion & Unicorn Theatre in London later this month.

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Maggie’s Menopause – another stage of life but no less eye-wateringly funny (Grand Opera House until Saturday 7 February and NI tour)

Maggie Muff is older, but is she any wiser? The east Belfast woman’s escapades began in book form before Leesa Harker translated Maggie to stage with comic actor Caroline Curran bringing the titular character to life along with her entire colourful friendship group.

Back in 2022, I was somewhat bemused when I joined their adventures in Benidorm in episode 3: Maggie’s Fag Run. Last January, there was a fond and raucous recap of the first four tales. And this year, her story once again jumps forward to Maggie’s Menopause.

The ‘change’ means Maggie is now flushed and sweating profusely, though her vaginal dryness means her sex-life is all but a collection of fun (and not so fun) memories. Big Sally Ann continues to be the one driving much of the story. With a cry of ‘no surrender’, she’s on a one-woman crusade to find a ‘cure’ for the menopause. Old friend Sinead the Greener is having a hen-do and it’ll definitely involve strippers. Greta Grotbags hasn’t gone away. Curran’s physicality transforms and her gestures clarify each new character before we hear them speak. Husband Billy is there too, quietly lurking in his bedroom. (There’s space amongst the menopausal mirth to pause to usefully consider the impact it’s having on Billy … which also sets up a later plot point.)

Fervent fans no longer wear Maggie Muff-branded white knickers over the top of their jeans at performances. Paper fans might have sold well at a merch stall for this new run. The set revolves around two stretched out leopard print fans, providing Curran with a concealed entrance for the penile prop which gets one of the largest laughs of the night, almost stalling the action for 30 seconds as waves of merriment ripple around the auditorium a mere ten minutes into the show. Well-timed sound effects add greatly to the levity of key moments. Director Andrea Montgomery has the measure of the loyal audience and Curran is never behind the door in her committed delivery of lines that will raise the roof.

Even though Maggie’s going through a dry phase, there are plenty of throwbacks to historic hookups. Right from the start, the language is even more coarse, crude and sustained than the stage version of Trainspotting Live. But no one in the sold-out Grand Opera House audience seems remotely offended and finds the whole production eye-wateringly funny. While younger Maggie’s tales of BDSM and debauchery may have stirred up a sense of fantasy and escapism in the majority female audience, the power of this latest instalment is more about recognition. The show creates two hours were there is no need for embarrassment, no need to worry about sniggering at a joke that you could only share privately with a best friend, no need to worry that a man won’t understand. Harker, Montgomery and Curran create a safe space.  

Various therapies are explored and at one point Maggie’s ‘muffalo’ begins to talk. (Even though it doesn’t really sound that like the figure being impersonated, neither in terms of accent nor the kind of suggestive comments he used to make, this recurring element of the show gets a lot of laughs.) There are fresh insights into vol-au-vents, bladder control, a ring of fire, and plenty of making whoopee. Despite Sally Ann’s best efforts, it’s not until she steers ‘Maggot’ down another more medical path that the show hits its fulcrum, the giggling is subdued, and Curran skilfully leads the audience into another side to Maggie’s inner world.

Fans of Harker’s grown-up wild-child are very much in love with the foul-mouthed character. The lyrics written by Johnny Cash’s (soon-to-be) second-wife June Carter come to mind: “The taste of love is sweet / When hearts like ours meet / I fell for you like a child / Oh, but the fire went wild”. There’s plenty more mileage in the Maggie franchise. Becoming a grandparent? Cancer treatment? Supporting a friend like Sally Ann with dementia? A nursing home romance to the annoyance of staff and family? I’d imagine that Maggie and her colourful muff will be back on stage before too long.

Just a handful of single tickets remain for the last two performances of Maggie’s Menopause at the Grand Opera House. Next week the show moves to Newtownabbey’s Theatre at the Mill (Monday 9 and Wednesday 11), Lisburn’s Island Arts Centre (Tuesday 10), Down Arts Centre (Thursday 12 and Friday 13) and Cookstown’s Burnavon Theatre (Saturday 14).

Photo credit: Melissa Gordon, Gorgeous Photography

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Melania – my takeaways from the elegant film that everyone is talking about but few have seen (currently playing in Cineworld and Odeon Belfast)

The film Melania identifies as a documentary and covers the twenty days up to and including President Trump’s second inauguration. Melania’s husband only plays a minor role in the film which keeps her in frame and in focus throughout.

What did I takeaway from the film? 

Melania gives good hugs and is happy to be blessed. She’s very comfortable with silence but can still do small talk.

She’s fond of being caught on camera doing the actions to YMCA. Her favourite song is Michael Jackson’s Billy Jean. It keeps popping up during the film. She can lip-sync to it, describing the singer as “very sweet, very nice”.

There isn’t a scene in this film in which she’s not wearing high heel shoes or boots with a large heel.

She rotates between the White House, the New York apartment, and the family home in Mar-a-Lago (where she has a whole drawer for sunglasses in the same way a rich male billionaire might have a drawer of expensive watches).

Melania seems totally unconcerned at the dissonance between her wealthy lifestyle and the threadbare wallets of less well-off US voters.

Barron Trump is very tall and is seen in this film to have been brought up with good manners. The moment at the end of the inauguration when he reaches over to shake hands with President Biden and Vice President Harris is included in the footage.

The underground car park in Trump Towers needs spruced up as it’s very dowdy compared to the glitz and mirrored glamour up above.

In a similar vein, screen 3 in the Odyssey Cineworld in Belfast is very dirty. The screen the film is projected onto, not the floor and seats which are pristine! Even worse that some of the distractingly filthy Lisburn Omniplex screens.

Secret Service agents look very uncomfortable wearing ill-fitting bow ties and better fitting tuxedos.

Melania’s modelling background is obvious in scenes where she patiently allows her designer Hervé Pierre and his team intimately poke and prod, pin and tuck to take account of Melania’s feedback on the cut of new fashion creations. At no point does is she seen critiquing the fit of her husband’s clothes.

FLOTUS is very hands on when it comes to style and design. Given the opportunity, she can chip in to improve her husband’s speeches (his reference to being “peacemaker and unifier” is her suggested flourish).

Her extraordinary and unending eye for detail means that it is unlikely to be an accident that this 104-minute Amazon Prime documentary of which she had editorial control (and was paid millions of dollars to take part in) keeps highlighting the value of people who have immigrated to the US (including herself – “my journey as an immigrant” – her fashion designer and her interior designer).

Given her presumed level of say in the shooting and editing, it feels of note that Elon Musk is prominent in the pre-inauguration dinner scenes (sitting directly opposite President Trump) and is the only person in the whole film to be seen with a woman sitting on his lap. There’s no attempt to rewrite history and downplay Musk’s role in DOGE.

And there’s a strong sense that love trumps hatred … in contrast with her husband’s actions as commander in chief.

Brett Ratner’s film would be improved if Melania’s narration was simply removed: the pictures would tell their own story. But the client might not have approved of that change. The scenes shot with old cameras on film stock are a constant nod to the First Lady’s father but the transitions are jarring and the footage is unnecessary. The verbose end credits outlining Melania’s contributions to the Trump administration lay it on far too thick.

Part music video, part pitch to be a lifestyle goddess, by the end of the so-called documentary, Melania is still an elegant enigma wrapped up in a very stylish overcoat with beautifully proportioned lapels. A huge question looms over the film. Why did the usually reclusive Melania (who contradicts reality by saying her role as FLOTUS will be “a very public life”) agree to be immortalised and showcased in a puff piece documentary?

It’s hard to believe that mere vanity would be a sufficient driver. The answer may be that her control of this largely propaganda piece means that she can differentiate her legacy from her husband’s. And the alleged multi-million paycheque for taking part could be a useful financial cushion if circumstances change, or a slush fund to invest in new post-White House opportunities as a high-end influencer.

For a Monday evening in a small screen, Cineworld will have been delighted with tonight’s attendance. It’s not a difficult film to watch, but it left me with more questions than answers.

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The Importance of Being Earnest – even more giddy, flirty and flighty than last year (Lyric Theatre until Sunday 22 February)

The Lyric Theatre’s production of The Importance of Being Earnest has been revived and returned to its main stage over the weekend. The sense of satisfying exaggeration is maintained, perhaps dialled up to eleven, with the duplicitous men outshone by the brilliantly flirty, flighty and – ultimately – flexible women.

My June 2025 review stands true.

Jimmy Fay’s vision for the classic satire is vibrant and allows every department to go wild. Big statement bows are back in vogue, but the pink polka dot one atop Cecily’s head deserves have its own postcode. Gwendolen’s floating hat remains a masterpiece. Wet Leg’s Chaise Longue pumps out at the end: an anachronism, yet as utterly fitting as the unexpected musical interlude in the second act.

Christina Nelson brings a real sense of hysteria to her portrayal of Miss Prism. Not just a few, but a mountain of cucumber sandwiches are demolished by Algy (Conor O’Donnell). Neil Keery’s Lane is hasty back stage but slow and deliberate with his entrances and exits. Later, his Merriman benefits from being more demonstrably drôle and less poker-faced than 2025.

The Importance of Being Earnest is a joy to experience. It’s confident, supremely over the top, and playing in the Lyric Theatre until Sunday 22 February. Enjoy the wild ride from an ensemble cast who are firing on all cylinders.

Photo credit: Carrie Davenport

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