Went to the Bradford Alhambra with a giant party of Year 10 students to see a touring version of J.B. Priestley’s An Inspector Calls.

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Some great touches: Edna’s settling down with knitting towards the dénouement, impassive tricoteuse; the Inspector’s impassioned stumbling in his closing speech (politics is not just for polished speakers); the isolated house set in waste land.

Some less great aspects: rather a lot of stomping/scampering about, shouting and self-consciousness.

All things considered, though, an interesting take. Sold out too. Popular choice of set text. Looking round the theatre at the five or six huge school groups attending the matinée performance, I imagined an examiner groaning inwardly and sinking into their seat.

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