A febrile energy powers Timothy Sheader’s production of Jesus Christ Superstar, which arrives in the West End with an edgy vibe that powerfully conveys the idea of Jesus as a dangerous revolutionary.

The best thrillers have not one, but two twists. Often, there’s a predictable twist, and an unpredictable one. So it is with The Guilty, Chloë Moss’s adaptation for the stage of the 2021 film of the same name by Antoine Fuqua, starring Jake Gyllenhaal, which is itself an English version of the 2018 Danish original, Den Skyldige, by Gustav Möller and Emil Nygaard Albertsen. Currently playing at the Donmar Warehouse, it’s a 60-minute monologue performed with compelling intensity by Russell Tovey.

Hot from its successful run at the Old Vic, Carrie Cracknell’s Olivier-nominated revival of Tom Stoppard’s 1993 masterpiece has made a particularly sweet landing in the West End. For opening night was accompanied by the news that the play’s venue, the Duke of York’s, is to be renamed the Tom Stoppard Theatre. 

In 1939, the newspapers dubbed it the Hot Dog Summit. When King George VI and his wife Queen Elizabeth visited President Franklin Roosevelt, it was the first time a reigning monarch had visited a sitting president in the US. In the last year we’ve watched King Charles travel to the US to try and repair the tatters of Trump’s ties to NATO.

A couple of years ago, on a drive through the picture book hills and lakes of Connemara, my pal (his car, his driving, his choice) played a compilation of Frank Sinatra’s hits on the music system. He sang along lustily, as I contemplated the contrast with the landscape and wondered about how long it would be before I could suggest a bit of Van Morrison, The Pogues, Val Doonican…

Violence against women – it’s horrible, and horribly familiar. Let’s make a list: everyday sexism, coercive control, physical attacks, mind games, casual cruelty, double standards, victim shaming, gaslighting, constant undermining, sexual manipulation, domestic abuse, gross neglect, femicide, grooming, harassment, unwanted touching, catcalling… It’s a long list, exhausting, but hardly exhaustive. So how can you dramatise this in a 90-minute play?

Language is a weapon in the RSC’s vigorous adaptation of Cyrano de Bergerac ­– we feel viscerally that wordplay is just one letter away from swordplay, and verbal discord can result in death. Co-adaptor Debris Stevenson cut her teeth on the Grime poetry scene, and brings a raw, abrasive energy to this love story for word nerds that transforms poets into warriors as Cyrano strives for the survival of the wittiest.  

Terrorists are monsters. Or so we are told – pure evil. Well, it makes a good story. Even if it isn’t completely true. Actually, most political assassins are quite ordinary young men, often troubled, often vulnerable, unsure of themselves and so prone to being led by others. American playwright Rajiv Joseph takes this insight and applies it to the Serb terrorists whose actions precipitated the First World War.

Ben Ockrent’s Relics had me hooked from the moment the safety curtain started rising: a metal number with a banner of packing tape marked FRAGILE on it. As it rose, the teddy bear that had been lying in front of it was silhouetted, hanging from it by one arm.

Post-Covid British theatre has a crush on adaptations, especially those with a star actor. So it’s easy to see why National Theatre chief Indhu Rubasingham is staging the latest sparkling verse play by Martin Crimp, whose electric version of Cyrano de Bergerac with James McAvoy conquered the West End in 2019.