DDF 2026: Mount Oswald Hub programme review
‘the festival’s future is in safe hands’
Staging a play as a part of the Durham Drama Festival is a challenge. Each piece of work is constrained to a fifty minute timeslot and a small budget. Placed in competition with one another, performances and writing cannot hide behind technical wizardry or excessive set. Having performed in the Durham Drama Festival for the past two years, it’s exciting to be placed in the audience with no bias to see what 2026’s writers and actors have brought to the table. Judging from the three shows at the Mount Oswald Hub, the festival’s future is in safe hands.
‘effortlessly conveys the power in self-acceptance’
Mythweaver (written by Charlotte Walton)
Written and directed by Charlotte Walton, with assistance from Eva Clarke, Mythweaver is a poetic exploration of the ultimate power of love. Walton takes on no small feat in exploring lesbian identity through the character study of Ancient Greek poetess Sappho, embodied with ease by Emilia Lewis. Intertwining Sappho’s poetry with Walton’s prose, the play stylistically mirrors Ancient Greek dramatic style, balancing declamatory moments of direct audience address and emotional monologues with fast-paced, tender conversation reminiscent of stichomythic exchange.
Mythweaver’s narrative centres Sappho, displaying her struggle in parting ways with previous lover Atthis (Khaliun Mark) and joy in finding connection and passion in a new member of Sappho’s thiasos in worship of Aphrodite, Eirana (Pearl D’souza). Mark offers a strong supporting performance as Sappho’s past lover, suggesting the struggles of the pair’s past relationship through her truthful embodiment of bitterness and frustration. D’souza’s Eirana offers levity, teenage innocence, and respect in contrast; her chemistry with Lewis is an easy standout within the performance. As their love become fractured, the audience is left uneasy, upset in their seats. Commendations to both.
Lewis’ depiction of Sappho is complex as she allows the character to be moved by her own emotions, shifting gracefully between petulant frustration, uncontained love and desire, and grounded grief for her lost love. Moments of audience address connect us to her struggle to find self-acceptance in a judgmental world trapped by custom, a resonant parallel to the modern day. Credit should be given to the directing team in managing to humanise such a mythologised (and mythmaking) character whilst retaining her poetic flare.
Walton offers two maternal figures as people of solace for Sappho: her actual mother Kleis (Grace Heron) and the goddess of love, lust, and sex, Aphrodite (Iris Varla). Heron effortlessly represents Sappho’s caring and kind mother, exuding a comforting and wise aura with ease. Her depiction makes Sappho’s legendary grasp of human emotion believable – simply talking to Kleis helps Sappho figure out who she is beyond her ability to love others, offering a calm reprieve and change of pace for both herself and the audience. In contrast, Varla’s Aphrodite is unforgiving. Initially conveying the traditional allure of the goddess of love, Varla quickly becomes restrained and harsh, criticising Sappho’s inability to accept what she has been offered. Varla is ethereal and regal, and displays the vengeful side of godly omnipotence through well-directed control of the stage.
Walton’s script is elevated by her attentive detail: moments of connection are uplifted by subtle references to Greek myth. Sappho’s gift to Eirana of a crown of crocuses quietly alludes to goddess Persephone’s picking of the flower when stolen by Hades – another tale of forbidden or condemned love within Greek culture. These moments add flair to the play, which is well-rounded and polished despite a few technical difficulties. That being said, flourishes of birdsong and lyre by Technical Manager Hamish Campbell add to the atmosphere. Some bold creative decisions, such as dream sequences and interactions with the godly, could have been stylised further through lighting or sound to emphasise their otherworldliness, but this is a minor reservation. The stage design is impressive – especially the lifelike statue of Aphrodite – and the costume design is beautiful. Although the use of coloured sashes sometimes restricted actors’ movements in an unnatural way, all actors offered performances which worked in tandem with one another. Mythweaver effortlessly conveys the power in self-acceptance.
‘Pharoah’s writing is storming. The play as a whole worked seamlessly, and its discrete set and naturalistic design were fantastic choices’
Oranges and Lemons (written by Miranda Pharoah)
Oranges and Lemons begins wholesome, if a touch awkward, as past schoolmates in their mid-twenties return to their old school after their headmistress has passed away. As the play develops, however, shared histories and eerie ghost stories are revealed, and the night takes on a spectral character. Written by Miranda Pharoah and co-directed by Pharoah and Beau Singleton, Oranges and Lemons is a powerful vignette of the experience of reconnecting with lost friends, and the nostalgia in reliving past lives. Shared dreams (or nightmares) of oranges serve as a metaphor for the characters’ shared experiences – the sharing of an orange between friends – as the play opens with the reading of the Don Paterson poem ‘Two Trees’, found in a Christmas card to the late headteacher. Exploring the experience of lost relationships through the analogy of the grafting and splitting of two trees, the poem epitomises the subtext of Oranges and Lemons, as the audience is slowly shown the character’s past relationships with one another.
Pharoah’s script is a masterclass in the one-act-play. The writing never fails to take on too much for its short length, being witty one second and tugging at the heartstrings at the next. The play is precisely directed – each actor uses silence wonderfully, creating an awkward tension which is well-supported by the use of a constant wind sound throughout. This is a great way to establish atmosphere, although its volume was a little too loud as some actors struggled to project over it, which led to some dialogue being lost.
Despite being an ensemble piece, every single actor could have been the lead from a performance perspective. All members were at the top of their game, creating believable and emotional performances which left the audience stunned. Laurie Davidson as Hamish and Thomas Pizii as Hec had an undeniable unspoken tension, which culminated in the play’s final moments in a powerful ending. Pizii’s delivery was dry and witty, and he conveyed a sense of jadedness as a young parent which is difficult to achieve. Davidson is well-suited to Hamish’s character as a newly-ordained minister, who has forced to repress his emotions and his past for his faith – he balanced awkwardness with a desire to reconnect with his old friends very effectively. Claudia Schreuder’s Charlotte has strong comedic timing whilst retaining a deep emotional core, managing to say just the right thing to leave both the other characters and the audience bleary eyed. River Blatch and Milly Hale as Gabriel and Nellie respectively also offered compelling performances which were strong and multi-dimensional. As they became more comfortable drinking with their old friends, more of their past histories became revealed. Blatch’s depiction of grief was emotionally resonant, and Hale’s experiences being bullied by her old classmates were powerful, completely succeeding in forcing the audience to reconsider their perception of what they were watching.
Overall, Pharoah’s writing is storming. The play as a whole worked seamlessly, and its discrete set and naturalistic design were fantastic choices. Although not every bow was tied at the end, I was left thinking about the characters and their shared histories as I walked home. Evidently Pharoah has been learning from the greats: always leave them wanting more.
‘Relevant and resonant, the entire team should be commended for this powerful piece of theatre’
The Hope That Kills You (written by Molly Barnes-Tate)
Molly Barnes-Tate’s The Hope That Kills You is a stress-inducing, powerful depiction of the experience of being publicly outed. Footballer Ollie Mackintosh, played by Arthur Hamilton, is Arsenal’s star player in his prime, until he is forced to grapple with the social stigma within British football culture. Opting for a minimalist set and heavy use of recorded audio and phone buzzing, the stage transforms into an overstimulating and nightmarish depiction of a man’s life crashing down around him just for being who he is.
The use of tech was largely effective, and commendation should be given to Technical Manager Hamish Campbell for this. Although sometimes actors were drowned out by mistimed sound effects, the recorded sounds resulted in a cacophony of insults mixed with sympathy, embodying the wide range of perspectives found on social media. Despite the minimalist set, sometimes the play’s blocking led to dialogue being lost as characters faced away from the audience, whilst being drowned out by sound effects, but this is a minor problem and the performances were largely sound. Lighting design worked well to break the barrier between real-life and the surreal. Directed by Oli Ingoe with assistance from Felix Napier, the execution of Ollie’s breaking the boundaries of the phone screen, interacting with his boyfriend and manager face to face despite the reality of his situation at home by himself, was polished and professional.
These decisions would not have succeeded without Hamilton’s unbelievable performance as Ollie. What is a very challenging role to pull off was executed with ease, as Hamilton’s stress built believably to an emotional climax during the play’s peak. Remaining on stage throughout the play’s hour-long runtime, Hamilton engaged the audience through direct address, leaving them devastated by his suffering and panic about being outed. Hamilton managed to balance his desire to live true to himself and his internalised homophobia strongly, conveying his difficulty in accepting himself due to unrelenting societal pressure. His performance was honest and powerful.
Hamilton was supported by the angel and devil on his shoulder: his unsympathetic manager Chrissie, played by Joshua Brooks, and his calming and kind boyfriend (and Harry Styles-esque pop sensation) Reuben Vines, played by Callum Ryan. Although Hamilton’s supporting cast sometimes struggling to match the complexity and emotional intensity of his performance, both actors were well-placed in conveying the two sides of Ollie’s breakdown. Brooks’ characterisation of the manager was unforgiving and brutal, beginning with an unflinching rage and not letting go until the bows – this character could have easily drifted into being one-note, but Brooks managed to provide Chrissie with a sense of subdued self-resentment and intrigue that kept the audience hoping that he might drop his guard. This is testament to Barnes-Tate’s writing and pacing. Ryan contrarily provided a kind-eyed, much-needed voice of reason and sympathy, which was a well-placed balance to the ongoing stress of online cancellation.
The Hope That Kills You is a potent play dealing with a prevalent issue. Relevant and resonant, the entire team should be commended for this powerful piece of theatre, which was well-executed overall.
By Edward Clark.