The Poison Belt | Paprichoo
Movement Director
Venue: Jermyn Street Theatre, London
Director: Becca Chadder
Writer: Arthur Conan Doyle
Set and Costume Designer: Jida Akil
Lighting Designer: Simeon Miller
Sound Designer: Khalil
Props: Venus Raven
Producer: Jo Walker
Ensemble: Sara Lessore, Amma-Alf Osei, Yuki Sutton
Synopsis: The first UK adaptation of this classic science fiction. When Professor Challenger predicts that Eart is heading towards a deadly gas cloud, Ned Malone, Prof. Summerlee and Lord John Roxton go to Rotherfield to investigate the end of the world. Trapped in a single room with enough oxygen to last until morning.
Press
'as we approach the end that the purpose of this is revealed in a very moving scene. Having travelled to London, believing they are the only ones who have survived the poison belt, the three come across dead bodies everywhere (the actors having strewn all the clothes, symbolising the dead – those of babies, young and old alike) across the stage' (Everything Theatre)
(The reviews hub) ****
'There’s some hypnotic work with Monica Nicolaides’ movement, as on occasion the three swivel with spectacles extended in a trance dance.' (Fringe Review)
'there’s a haunted scene, passing the innumerable dead in London, as Sutton strews clothing, top hats and flat caps from those boxes as bodies heap up. It’s a sobering image, both in Conan Doyle and resonating over 110 years as clothes, bodies thicken.' (Fringe Review)
'as we approach the end that the purpose of this is revealed in a very moving scene. Having travelled to London, believing they are the only ones who have survived the poison belt, the three come across dead bodies everywhere (the actors having strewn all the clothes, symbolising the dead – those of babies, young and old alike) across the stage' (Everything Theatre)
(The reviews hub) ****
'There’s some hypnotic work with Monica Nicolaides’ movement, as on occasion the three swivel with spectacles extended in a trance dance.' (Fringe Review)
'there’s a haunted scene, passing the innumerable dead in London, as Sutton strews clothing, top hats and flat caps from those boxes as bodies heap up. It’s a sobering image, both in Conan Doyle and resonating over 110 years as clothes, bodies thicken.' (Fringe Review)