Malta Theatre & Concert Reviews

Palazzo Giuseppe Meliá Collection is a four-star boutique hotel in a restored 18th-century palazzo at 6 Pjazza l-Indipendenza, in the centre of Victoria. It is the sort of property that wins on location and comfort and then asks you to accept that a building this small cannot do everything a large hotel can. That trade-off is the whole review.

Location

Well, you really could not be more central in Victoria. Palazzo Giuseppe Meliá Collection is a four-star luxury boutique hotel located at 6 Pjazza l-Indipendenza. Just steps from the historic Citadel, you are also within walking distance of most of the restaurants and boutiques in the town, and a good supermarket is only a six-minute walk away.

The only downside is that on-site private parking is not available at the hotel property, and driving directly to the front doors can be challenging because of the tight streets and local traffic restrictions. If you are encumbered with a rental car, drop your bags and park five to ten minutes away.

For a short stay in Gozo this is close to ideal: you can walk to the Citadel before the day trippers arrive and walk back to dinner without touching the car.

Rooms

Housed in a meticulously restored 18th-century Gozitan palazzo, the accommodation has a distinct Mediterranean character, pairing classic stone elements with modern, minimalist design touches.

We can report that the number one element in a hotel, sleep quality, is good here. The beds are excellent and the windows well insulated. The bathrooms are well appointed, if nonetheless full of the quirks that betoken Gozitan plumbers.

The property offers a curated selection of boutique configurations depending on the layout and vantage point:

• Superior and Deluxe Rooms: elegant, comfortable base rooms (not the biggest) outfitted with premium bedding in neutral-toned styling.
• Superior Citadel View Rooms: positioned to offer direct, scenic views of the illuminated historic Citadel rising above Victoria.
• Citadel Junior Suites with Terrace: generous layouts that feature a private, furnished outdoor terrace, perfect for taking in the Gozitan skyline.
• Suites with Balcony: opulent, spacious rooms with traditional balustrades looking down over the bustling energy of Independence Square (if you do not mind the noise) or over the internal courtyard.

Rooms are where this hotel earns its score. The restoration is genuinely handsome and the comfort is not in question; only the base categories are on the compact side.

Services

Well, a boutique hotel can often mean there is very little down below, and this is certainly the case here. There is a small reception with friendly staff, but no overnight presence. Breakfast is served in an unprepossessing windowless area behind it. There is, however, a café next door that is part of the hotel and spills out into the square. Sadly no champagne on offer, nor crème de cassis to lighten your prosecco. For dinner you will need to walk elsewhere, and the same if you require a hairdresser or a spa.

The property advertises a restaurant, a café and rooftop facilities. We were not able to confirm that all of these were available and operating during our stay, and this review reflects only what we saw in use. The service score stands on that basis: a warm reception and a pleasant café next door are not the same as a hotel with a full restaurant, bar and rooftop in service every day, and guests should verify current availability with the property before booking around it.

Overall verdict

At 24/30, this is a hotel carried by two strong scores and held back by a third. Location at 9/10 and rooms at 9/10 reflect a genuinely attractive, comfortable property in the best position in Victoria. Services at 6/10 reflects the reality of a small palazzo: no overnight reception, a breakfast room with no daylight, no dinner on site and no spa or salon under the same roof.

None of that is dishonest of the hotel; it is simply what a boutique conversion of this size can offer. Book it for the building, the beds and the five-minute walk to the Citadel, and plan to eat, park and arrange everything else yourself.

This review is independent. MaltaGuide received no payment, discount or approval from the hotel for this coverage, and the scores above are not adjusted for the property's four-star classification or for any advertised facility.

In brief:

Last night's Madama Butterfly at Teatru Astra in Victoria was an evening of exceptional musical power and visual elegance. It proved both a tribute to opera's grand tradition and a timely reminder of how uncomfortably modern this story remains. It also delivered that very human gut punch as Puccini first intended, thanks to Celine Byrne's superpower voice and her outstanding acting.

In detail:

In its first Gozitan staging since 2012, Puccini's tragedy returned as a brand-new production directed by Enrico Stinchelli, with designs by Matteo Capobianco and John Galea conducting the Malta Philharmonic Orchestra.

Puccini's opera premiered at La Scala in 1904 and was revised after a difficult first night; it has since become one of the most performed works in the repertoire. Based on David Belasco's play and John Luther Long's short story, it follows Cio-Cio-San, a very young Japanese woman – I mean, we're talking just fifteen here – who abandons everything, not least her family and her faith, for the worthless American naval officer B.F. Pinkerton. He proves to be a real louse.

The evening belonged overwhelmingly to Irish soprano Celine Byrne. She may not be fifteen, but her Cio-Cio-San was vocally commanding from her first entrance, with a bright, focused tone that carried effortlessly over the orchestra without ever sounding forced. In the celebrated "Un bel dì, vedremo", Byrne balanced lyrical tenderness with an almost frightening intensity; the aria became less a dream of reunion than a portrait of a woman holding herself together through sheer will.

Byrne's voice grew in richness as the night progressed, and her top notes had real security and brilliance. More impressive still was her control of dynamics: she could scale down to a fragile pianissimo in the intimate scenes with Suzuki, then open into a full, gleaming sound for the opera's climactic confrontations. Her final act was devastating – restrained at first, then shattering – as Butterfly's composure gave way to grief and resolve. This was a diva performance in the best sense: technically formidable, emotionally generous, and completely in command of the stage.

Leonardo Caimi returned to the Astra as the louse Pinkerton, a classic Italianate tenor with a mixture of charm and moral carelessness. He did not soften the character's ugliness; instead, his confident phrasing made Pinkerton's self-deception all the more credible.

But forget Pinkerton. Last night it became clear that the real relationship being explored is that between the victimised girl and her protective maid Suzuki. Sanja Anastasia was simply superb as Suzuki, giving the character both warmth and moral clarity. Her mezzo-soprano had depth and authority, and her scenes with Byrne were among the evening's most affecting – two women bound by loyalty, fear, and the knowledge that the men around them have failed them. Worse, they have exploited them.

Because although often marketed as a romantic tragedy, Madama Butterfly is far more politically charged than that label suggests. Cio-Cio-San is not merely a lovesick heroine: she is a teenage girl, a child, navigating a society that has already constrained her choices, essentially sold into a "marriage" that Pinkerton treats as a temporary convenience. Her insistence on dignity, her refusal to accept humiliation quietly, and her final assertion of agency make her one of opera's most quietly radical women. In that sense, the work can be read as one of the first pieces of feminism in art. It exposes how social and imperial power combine to dispose of a woman's life while men negotiate, profit, and move on.

Yes, imperial. It is equally an anti-colonial work. Pinkerton's casual arrogance – his assumption that Japanese customs, marriages, and people exist for his enjoyment – embodies the entitlement of empire. Sharpless, the American consul, sees the injustice but cannot prevent it; Suzuki sees it most clearly of all, yet has the least power to intervene. The opera's cultural conflict is not decorative local colour. It is the engine of the tragedy, and last night's performance made that conflict feel immediate rather than picturesque.

The American Consul is an intriguing character. He is at times the only moral compass, but ultimately he is surely complicit in child exploitation. Vladimir Stoyanov's Sharpless was a full, dignified baritone: he portrayed a decent man trapped between conscience and complicity.

But rising above all this social and political commentary was the human tragedy. A young girl and her child cruelly manipulated. It is that which brought tears to many in the audience, and a well deserved standing ovation.

John Galea drew disciplined, sensitive playing from the Malta Philharmonic Orchestra. Puccini's score demands both delicacy and surge, and the orchestra delivered both: hushed Japanese-inflected colour in the quieter passages, then overwhelming waves of sound as Butterfly's world collapsed. Francis Camilleri's chorus work added further texture and cohesion.

The production's greatest surprise was Matteo Capobianco's set design, which was excellent. There was plenty of realism, such a relief for those of us who have stared at empty stages with just one chair far too many times, but more than that Capobianco used light, colour, and movement to create a space that felt both traditional and psychologically revealing. The design gave the Astra stage a striking visual clarity: intimate domestic interiors opened onto broader, more impersonal spaces, visually reinforcing Butterfly's isolation within a world governed by foreign power.

The changing light was particularly effective. Warm tones surrounded Butterfly's hopes; colder, harder light crept in as Pinkerton's betrayal became unavoidable. The staging avoided gimmickry while still offering a fresh perspective, exactly as the production had promised.

This was grand opera at its most involving: a superb central performance, a committed cast, alert orchestral playing, and design work that elevated every scene. Teatru Astra has reaffirmed its place as one of Malta and Gozo's most important operatic stages, and this Madama Butterfly will linger long in the memory.

In brief:

I should have known we were in for a bumpy ride when the "warm up" email contained information on sexual health. No wonder the show is selling like hot cakes. Last night's opening of The Rocky Horror Show at the Mediterranean Conference Centre turned Valletta's Republic Hall into a gleefully unhinged Halloween laboratory. Produced by Arthaus and the MCC, Richard O'Brien's cult rock musical arrived with a Maltese cast, a live five-piece band, and a production design that understood the show's central joke: horror-movie clichés are much more fun when everyone is wearing sequins. Overall this is a reminder that Malta can increasingly hold its head up high against the West End.

In detail:

The evening began, as it should, with audience participation. Alright, not everyone (you know who you are) but fishnets, corsets, feather boas and glitter filled the room, while the production encouraged the crowd to learn the Time Warp and join the famous callbacks. This is not for the faint hearted and it is not polite, sit-back theatre. Rather it is a party with a plot, and the MCC audience embraced the invitation with enthusiasm.

First staged in June 1973, The Rocky Horror Show began as a small-scale London production in a 63-seat theatre, with horror-film star Vincent Price reportedly among the opening-night audience. The show grew and evolved into a distinctive blend of B-movie horror, science fiction, glam rock and sexual liberation.

Richard O'Brien's score and book follow Brad and Janet, a strait-laced couple whose car breaks down outside the castle of Dr Frank-N-Furter, a self-described "sweet transvestite from Transsexual, Transylvania." What follows is a riotous collision of Frankenstein imagery, rock 'n' roll, camp comedy and rebellion against conformity. The show's longevity owes much to its refusal to take itself seriously: it invites the audience to shout back, dance, dress up and become part of the fiction. As the song says, "don't dream it, be-e-e it!"

That spirit was fully present in Valletta last night. Directed by Lucienne Camilleri, with Ryan Paul Abela as musical director and Amy Caruana Dingli as choreographer, this production very much treats the material not as a museum piece but as a living, audience-facing celebration.

Joseph Zammit led the company as Dr Frank-N-Furter, and he gave the role both command and mischief. It is one hell of a challenge when the late, great Tim Curry's performance is in everyone's mind. But his voice carried the necessary theatrical swagger, particularly in Frank's bigger numbers, while retaining the character's seductive, dangerous playfulness.

Cliff Zammit Stevens and Talitha Dimech, as Brad and Janet, provided the show's comic and emotional spine. Their wonderful performances traced the characters' journey from repressed innocence to gleeful abandon, and both displayed strong, secure voices that cut cleanly through the live band.

David Ellul made a striking Rocky, bringing physical presence and vocal power to the role. His lithe, slightly muscled body plays a crucial role in the general abandon. Neil Cutajar, doubling Eddie and Dr Scott, delivered two very different flavours of comic menace, while Stephen Oliver's Narrator gave the audience a reliable accomplice for its callbacks. And bravo to Stephen for donning his own fishnets and high heels when the time came.

Andrew Buhagiar's Riff Raff had the required nasal, otherworldly edge, and the power of his voice was striking; Bettina Mattocks brought smoky intensity to Magenta; and Bertha Farrugia's Columbia gave the show much of its tap-dancing, jazz-hands energy. Francesca Scerri's Usherette opened the night with a warm, nostalgic vocal turn, setting the tone before the castle doors opened.

The supporting ensemble was equally important. The 11 Phantoms were more than background decoration. They supplied rich choral support, sharp comic reactions and the Transylvanian glamour that has been part of Rocky Horror since the original production.

Amy Caruana Dingli's choreography gave the production its momentum. The Time Warp was appropriately infectious, but the strongest work came in the ensemble numbers, where the Phantoms moved as a single glittering organism — precise, sensual and slightly menacing.

The choreography also understood character. Columbia's numbers had vaudeville brightness; Frank's movements were deliberate and predatory; Brad and Janet's physical awkwardness gradually loosened into confidence. The result was dance that advanced the story rather than merely filling the stage.

The lighting and set design transformed the MCC's large hall into a space that felt intimate enough for a midnight movie and expansive enough for a rock concert. Thanks to Benny Sauls and Craig Howard we had thunderclaps, saturated pinks and greens, silhouettes, strobes, the reveal of the laboratory, and above all a creepy Transylvanian castle that brought back memories of my worst B&Bs. The design leaned into the show's B-movie roots without making the staging feel dated.

Stefania Grech Vella's costumes stuck closely to the original and added the essential layer of theatrical excess. One new addition was the enormous white fur coat Frank wore for his anthem, which is no doubt inspired by Lucille Ball in Mame.

The live band, led musically by Ryan Paul Abela, kept the score punchy and immediate, giving numbers such as "Sweet Transvestite," "Dammit Janet," "Science Fiction/Double Feature" and "Time Warp" genuine rock-concert force.

This was a confident, high-energy opening that honoured The Rocky Horror Show's fifty-year legacy while giving it a distinctly Maltese Halloween charge. With strong central performances, disciplined choreography, a committed ensemble, and design work that embraced the show's delicious bad taste, the MCC production made a persuasive case for why this strange little musical refuses to die. Don't dream it — b-e-e it.

This is an exhibition where the curatorial premise is front and centre. The Earth Will Swallow and Swallow takes its title from a poem by the Maltese poet Jake Buttigieg, and its central metaphor is generous rather than destructive: to “swallow” is to take something in and return it to the world transformed. That idea gives the show its intellectual coherence, framing cultural exchange as digestion and translation, even metamorphosis.

The premise begins with geography. Malta is an island in the Mediterranean; Korea is a peninsula surrounded by sea on three sides. Both have been shaped by maritime movement — trade, migration, conquest, navigation and cultural transmission — while their lands bear the marks of borders, possession and territorial ordering. The exhibition asks viewers to consider where they stand, and to recognise that standing somewhere is never neutral.

This is a strong conceptual foundation for Valletta Contemporary. The gallery, housed in converted 400-year-old warehouses on East Street, is a very welcome part of the art scene here and is now some eight years old. It gives the works an appropriately layered setting: a former commercial and maritime space now hosting art about inheritance and transformation.

The artists: the exhibition features work by Alberto Favaro, Cha Ji Ryang, Cyril Sancereau, Julian Micallef, Michael Quinton, Minhee Kim, Minhoon Kim, Norbert Francis Attard, PONKS, Oh Sera, Yeoul Son and Yuja Kim. Together they form a deliberately mixed field of Maltese, Korean and internationally based practices, avoiding the tidy national-team structure that often weakens exchange exhibitions.

Norbert Francis Attard, whose foundation operates Valletta Contemporary, brings the authority of an artist long concerned with site, perception and cultural symbolism. His presence anchors the exhibition’s connection to Malta’s contemporary-art infrastructure, while also preventing it from becoming merely an imported curatorial proposition. His PROTOHISTORY – 5 Colours of Elastic Bands is a quite remarkable, captivating work.

PONKS — the collaborative practice of Sam Alekksandra and Julien Vinet — carries forward the immersive, spatial language of BEJN / In-Between, where their ROPE TEMPLE used suspended rope and poetry to create an environment for reflection and collective imagination. Their Hairtail video provides one of the more memorable moments: silvery eels slither into view and then disappear.

Michael Quinton’s sound-based practice is especially important to the show’s sensory argument. In Gwangju his reactive sound environment drew on field recordings and archival material gathered across Malta and South Korea; here, that attention to listening becomes part of the exhibition’s wider claim that encounter is something felt in the body, not only understood intellectually.

Cyril Sancereau, previously exhibited at Valletta Contemporary with Nothing But the Sea, brings a photographic attentiveness to the sea as both image and historical force. His work aims to resonate with the curatorial framing of the Mediterranean and Korean maritime worlds as routes of movement and domination. His dramatic, monochrome blue canvasses are an homage to the sea, and perhaps to its limitless monotony.

That colour contrasts with the many small black-and-white photos in the main gallery, hard to take in in such a large white space. Yeoul Son, also involved in the Malta–Korea liaison for the Gwangju project, helps sustain the exhibition’s cross-cultural thread. The Korean artists — Cha Ji Ryang, Minhee Kim, Minhoon Kim, Oh Sera and Yuja Kim — alongside Alberto Favaro and Julian Micallef, broaden the exhibition beyond a familiar Malta–Korea binary. Their inclusion makes the show’s real subject cultural permeability: how artists from different contexts physically experience another land and interpret its histories through their own sensibilities.

Minhee Kim’s enormous Sansuna, gazing out over Sancereau’s blues, is a highlight of the exhibition.

VR and embodied encounter: a distinctive element of the exhibition is the programme of 360-degree VR performances by Charlene Galea; Tara Dalli and Felix Deepen; Romeo Roxman Gatt; Keit Bonnici; Martina Georgina; More Zmin; and KIM ON. These works prevent the exhibition from remaining a conventional gallery display. They ask the visitor to enter constructed viewpoints, to move through places that are simultaneously intimate and mediated. It is just a shame that only two at a time can partake in the VR, and that it does not come across as cutting edge in technological terms.

Two works are worth considering: Martina Georgina’s DAD 001, filmed in her father’s garage in San Gwann, and Euljiro Lady, filmed in Seoul’s Euljiro 4 district. The contrast is telling: one turns a private Maltese family space into a virtual environment, while the other translates a Korean urban landscape into an immersive encounter. Both exemplify the exhibition’s idea that place is not fixed; it is carried, reinterpreted and released in another form.

A quietly ambitious show: The Earth Will Swallow and Swallow succeeds best in that it resists spectacle-led diplomacy. It does not present Malta and Korea as exotic counterparts, nor does it reduce exchange to flags, foods or formal similarities. Instead, it proposes that cultures leave residues in one another — through language, sound, image, memory and bodily experience.

Ultimately, Moon Hyun Jeoung has curated an exhibition about transformation without pretending transformation is easy. Its artists do not simply “represent” Malta or Korea; they swallow places, histories and impressions, then give them back altered. In doing so, The Earth Will Swallow and Swallow makes a persuasive case that contemporary art can still model a more porous way of belonging to the world.

The exhibition asks a great deal of its audience: to think about colonial and maritime histories, technological mediation, poetic metaphor and personal geography all at once. But that ambition is appropriate to Valletta Contemporary, an independent gallery that has consistently positioned itself as a space for ambitious local and international contemporary art since opening in 2018. The exhibition is supported by a strong band of arts lovers: the Minister for Arts, Culture and National Heritage Dr Malcolm Paul Agius Galea, the Permanent Secretary Carlos Tabone, the Malta Tourism Authority, the Ministry for Foreign Affairs, Visit Malta, the Culture Venture fund, and even Demajo Wines and Spirits. Hopefully there will be many more exhibitions here showcasing local talent.

In brief:

This is a must for the ‘young at heart.’ Ok, if you have recently purchased a Venus Fly Trap plant, don’t go to this show. Indeed, if you have a trip to the dentist planned, then it is best avoided. But for the rest of us, Masquerade Malta and Teatru Manoel have created a Little Shop of Horrors that is enormous fun. It is bright, colourful, knowingly silly, and packed with catchy tunes that keep younger audiences grinning even when the story turns deliciously macabre. The production treats Howard Ashman and Alan Menken’s cult musical not as a solemn horror piece but as a candy-coloured monster movie with a wicked sense of humour.

In detail:

From the opening number, the show bursts with personality. Skid Row may be meant to be grimy, but this staging makes it vivid and playful: bold costumes, lively movement, expressive lighting and sharp comic timing transform the flower shop into a place youngsters can enjoy even as the plot becomes increasingly outrageous. The score’s mixture of doo-wop, rock and roll, Motown-inspired harmonies and Broadway wit gives the evening broad appeal, and the company clearly relishes every musical flourish.

I wonder if the original inspiration for all this comes from the gruesome sight of Katharine Hepburn feeding live flies to her Venus Fly Trap plant in Suddenly Last Summer. As we suffer a bad fly season this October, many Maltesers may sympathise, but a trip to this show will put you off.

Otherwise, the story began with Roger Corman’s famously quick, low-budget 1960 film, written by Charles Griffith, in which a timid flower-shop worker discovers a strange plant with an appetite for human blood. The stage version, with music by Alan Menken and lyrics by Howard Ashman, turned that B-movie premise into a loving spoof of horror films, science-fiction pictures and indeed 1960s popular culture. It went on to become a major off-Broadway and West End success, admired for its witty narration and Audrey II, one of musical theatre’s most memorable puppet characters. The 1986 film adaptation introduced a happier conclusion after early audiences reacted poorly to the stage musical’s dark ending; later releases, and this version, have restored the original cautionary finale.

The setting is Skid Row, where life’s losers congregate. Although the $100 a customer pays for a bouquet of flowers seems to get him only the kind of tiny bunch you see in Sliema at the smartest florist, not the enormous truckload you would have bought in 1960s Skid Row.

Luigi Buhagiar’s Seymour is charmingly awkward. No doubt chosen for his good looks, hidden behind a pair of Dennis Neilsen glasses, he plays a shy florist with modest dreams, and a crush he can barely confess. He has a conscience that becomes increasingly strained by a very persuasive plant. He gives Seymour enough sweetness for the audience to care about him, while finding the humour in his mounting panic as Audrey II’s demands grow more extreme. “Feed me Seymour” is the scary repeated refrain.

Michela Agius is a standout as Audrey. Her portrayal is sweet, funny and touching, but her greatest asset is her voice: powerful, assured and capable of genuine emotional force. She makes Audrey more than a comic figure in distress, bringing longing and dignity to the role, and she moves confidently between broad comedy and heartfelt balladry. Together, Buhagiar and Agius provide the show’s emotional heart: beneath the man-eating-plant nonsense, this is a small love story between two people hoping for a better life.

Francesco Nicodeme’s Orin Scrivello is a superb comic villain. As Audrey’s cruel, leather-clad dentist, he turns menace into pure theatrical relish, making the character swaggering, ridiculous and gloriously exaggerated. His performance produces some of the evening’s biggest laughs, and he understands exactly how far to push the sadism before it becomes cartoonish fun rather than genuinely unsettling.

Max Dingli gives Mr Mushnik a dry, irritable authority, while Karl Bartolo makes Audrey II a true scene-stealer. The plant is not simply a special effect: Bartolo gives it personality, menace and impeccable timing, making its musical numbers major highlights. Rachel Fabri, Natassja Chapman and Abigail Zarb, as Crystal, Chiffon and Ronette, are the show’s stylish commentary trio. Their energy is irresistible, and they guide the audience through Seymour’s escalating disasters with flair.

Anthony Bezzina directs with a light touch and evident affection for the material, keeping the action quick, funny and visually lively. Kris Spiteri’s musical leadership gives the score plenty of punch, while Valerie Burke’s choreography adds bounce without slowing the story. Simona Mamo’s costumes reinforce the bright, comic-book atmosphere, and Sergio Costa’s sound work ensures both the singers and the plant’s larger-than-life voice carry well through the historic theatre.

Although Teatru Manoel advises the production for ages 13 and above, children who enjoy playful spooky stories are likely to adore its colourful monster, broad jokes and big songs. Parents should be aware that the humour involves blood, death and a nasty dentist with a taste for sadomasochism. But thankfully the treatment is so stylised and theatrical that it feels closer to a fun haunted house than real horror.

This is a joyful, polished and thoroughly entertaining Little Shop of Horrors: a production with a powerful Audrey, a hilarious dentist, a charismatic plant, and enough colour and comedy to make even Skid Row feel like a celebration.

In brief:

ŻfinMalta's latest double bill, Echoes – Fall Seven Times and NÁCAR, made for an evening of contrasting physical languages: one work reaching inward through descent, suspension and recovery; the other surging outward with a sharper, more communal energy, but haunted by memory nonetheless. Presented as part of the company's collaboration with tanzmainz, the programme demonstrated why ŻfinMalta continues to position itself as one of Europe's most adventurous contemporary dance companies.

In detail:

German muscle power was to the fore last night thanks to tanzmainz, the girls as much as the boys. They picked up the big guys as if they were rag dolls, and tossed them over their shoulders.

Fall Seven Times, created by Guy Nader and Maria Campos, is simply stunning. It opened the night with a striking sense of instability. Its title proved less a literal instruction than a choreographic principle: bodies fell, caught, folded and rose again, turning gravity into both adversary and partner.

"Fall seven times, get up eight" is a traditional Japanese proverb — Nana korobi ya oki (七転び八起き) — that means true resilience is rising one more time than you fall. The dancers therefore did not simply perform falls; they investigated what happens in the moment before impact and in the fragile aftermath of recovery. It was almost like being at the circus when those daring acrobats take to the trapeze and continuously tease us with dropping from fearless heights only to be caught by a well placed colleague. At one point a girl was flung across the stage and thankfully caught by two men, upside down with her head barely six inches above the ground. If tanzmainz's insurance broker was watching he must have had a heart attack.

The movement vocabulary was grounded and muscular, full of low travelling phrases, sudden releases and these endless carefully timed catches. There was a compelling tension between control and surrender. At times, the ensemble moved as a single breathing organism; at others, individual dancers seemed stranded in private cycles of collapse and renewal.

All of the ten tanzmainz dancers are incredibly gifted. Tanit Cobas, Mia Boggs, Zachary Chant, Finn Lakeberg, Daria Hlinkina, Federico Longo, Lin van Kaam, Elisabeth Gareis, Thomas Van Praet, and Jose Garrido.

Finn Lakeberg and Thomas Van Praet were the gentle giants who quietly dominated the stage. Ukrainian Daria Hlinkina and Mia Boggs were tossed from one to the other with style and ease. Mia is small but oh so powerful. Lisa Gareis was effortless queen of all she surveyed, and brought particular clarity to this ambiguity, combining technical precision with an openness that made the work's repeated descents feel human rather than merely acrobatic. Panamanian Jose Garrido is one to watch.

The design elements reinforced the piece's atmospheric pull. Lighting designer Sebastian Ahrena, shaped the stage with pools of light and deep shadow, while Miguel Marin built a score that moved between hush, pulse and rupture. Rather than illustrating the choreography, these elements gave it emotional texture.

Paloma Muñoz's NÁCAR burst onto the stage with a different kind of charge. Muñoz, whose work returned to Malta for this collaboration, created a piece that felt tactile, rhythmic and fiercely ensemble-driven. The title—suggesting nacre, the iridescent material formed inside shells—found an apt physical analogue in the dancers' ability to shift between hardness and softness, polish and rawness.

Paloma has tweaked the choreography giving more emphasis to the spectral elements. This really was Dance of the Zombies. It had its downside in that the result was less sexy than the previous version but fans need not fear the piece is still highly charged. Mario Manara continues to be hypnotic, engaging closely with the audience.

The choreography was built from sharp isolations, rapid directional changes and close-contact partnering. The performers seemed constantly to negotiate space: advancing, retreating, mirroring, disrupting. There was a welcome sense of risk in the timing. Rather than settling into predictable unison, the group allowed small fractures to appear—an arm arriving late, a gaze diverted, a body pulled out of formation—before snapping back into collective purpose.

The ŻfinMalta dancers—Maya Attard, Andrea Biagioni, Martí Blanco Romeu, Pearl Calleja, Lotte La Haye, Mario Manara, Alessandro Pellegrinelli, Elisa Ruffato, Amber Van Veen, alongside apprentices Victoria Mercieca and Nina Ragonesi—met Muñoz's demands with impressive commitment. Their stamina was evident, but more impressive was their attentiveness: this was dancing that required listening as much as executing.

The result was a work about memory as much as movement: echoes of previous gestures returning in altered forms, as though the dancers were continually remembering bodies they had already left behind. And in their ghostly make up that is no doubt what was intended.

Together, the two works made a persuasive pairing. Echoes – Fall Seven Times invited the audience into a meditative space of vulnerability; NÁCAR answered with vitality, precision and collective momentum. Neither piece relied on narrative explanation, yet both communicated clearly through the intelligence of their structures and the conviction of their performers.

The evening's greatest strength was its refusal of easy spectacle. These were dances about process: falling and recovering, fragmenting and reforming, remembering and letting go. ŻfinMalta and its collaborators offered not just technically accomplished contemporary dance, but a reminder of how powerfully bodies can think, listen and transform. Bravo Matthew William Robinson, ZM's artistic director, and all the supportive team at NAPA.

In brief: The designers had one clear fetish in last night's La Traviata at Gozo's Aurora Theatre. And no question what that was – ankle boots. Think Nancy in Oliver. There were one or two other strange costume choices, but overall it was a moving, polished celebration of Gozo Opera Festival's fiftieth year. Zuzana Marková's Violetta stood out for her vocal agility, emotional depth and finely judged acting, making the heroine's decline heartbreaking. Colin Attard led the Malta Philharmonic Orchestra and Aurora Opera Chorus with sensitivity, and the creative team's elegant staging kept Verdi's tragedy intimate and compelling. But the Aurora theatre has work to do in a few crucial areas to make an evening there enjoyable – see bitchy paragraphs at the end.

In Detail

Last night's performance of Verdi's La Traviata at Teatru tal-Opra Aurora was an evening built around a Violetta of unusual emotional depth: Zuzana Marková gave a portrayal that combined vocal polish with a rare sense of psychological truth. From her earliest moments on stage, she made Violetta's glittering public confidence feel fragile, as though every laugh and toast concealed a private uncertainty.

Marková's singing grew more affecting as the opera progressed. In the early Paris scenes, her voice had brightness and agility, but she resisted turning Violetta into just a display of technical fireworks. Instead, each ornament and high note seemed motivated by character. Her account of Violetta's inner conflict was especially convincing: the excitement of possible love, the instinct to protect herself, and the growing realisation that Alfredo's devotion might offer a different life. By the final act, her sound had become quieter and more exposed, and the effect was heartbreaking without ever feeling manufactured.

Her acting was equally strong. Marková used stillness as effectively as movement, letting Violetta's exhaustion register in small changes of posture and expression. In the later scenes, she conveyed a woman who understood exactly what was being taken from her, yet continued to behave with grace and courage. This was not simply a beautifully sung Violetta; it was a fully imagined one.

Up against this colossus, we can perhaps forgive Raffaele Abete's Alfredo for being a little quiet at first. But as he warmed to his role he became an ardent, youthful presence, demonstrating he is a tenor capable of both tenderness and impulsive force. He was particularly persuasive when Alfredo's humiliation turned into public fury in Act II. The cruelty of that moment made his eventual remorse feel earned rather than merely conventional.

Dimitris Tiliakos brought stature and subtlety to Giorgio Germont. Rather than presenting Violetta's adversary as a cold enforcer of social respectability, he revealed a father caught between duty, prejudice and genuine feeling. His scenes with Marková gained from this ambiguity, and his eventual recognition of her sacrifice carried real weight.

The supporting singers strengthened the production throughout. Veteran Andriana Yordanova gave Flora lively charm, while Clare Ghigo's Annina provided warmth and quiet loyalty. Alan Sciberras, Noel Galea, Louis Andrew Cassar and Hidenori Inoue each made their contributions count, giving the smaller roles clarity and personality rather than treating them as background figures. Cassar always has stage presence and I long to see more of him.

Colin Attard led the Malta Philharmonic Orchestra with a keen sense of Verdi's contrasts: the sparkle of the opening festivities, the urgency of the confrontations, and the hushed intimacy of the closing scene. The Aurora Opera Chorus contributed energy and precision, helping the social gatherings feel populated and alive.

Riccardo Buscarini's direction, developed with Pia Partum, kept attention firmly on the relationships at the centre of the story. Giammaria Farina's designs supplied elegance through one device - the stage was dominated by an enormous triumphal arch...or was it a marble fireplace? This worked well for the party scenes but was wisely dismantled for the intimacy of the death bed scene in the final act. Overall, the production's visual richness made Violetta's loneliness all the more pointed: amid beauty, wealth and company, she remained profoundly alone.

"She's a courtesan, not a common prostitute..."

Mara Pieri's costumes also had their moments – not least the chorus like an endless parade of Degas dancers. But there were also some brave choices. Apart from the ankle boots, the bizarre notion of Violetta receiving all the party guests in her underwear. She's a courtesan, not a common prostitute. And would Germont, a stickler for etiquette, really turn up at a stranger's house in his shirt sleeves?

This was an accomplished and deeply felt La Traviata, distinguished above all by Marková's moving, intelligent and vocally assured Violetta.

And above all else, Brava Madame Marková for not letting the painful cries of a baby in the audience get to you, as you executed some of your most demanding vocal acrobatics. Yes, a baby. Quite why the Aurora theatre thinks sing-along-a-baby is worth pursuing eludes me.

But that was not their only mistake...

But that was not their only mistake. Timing was quite fictional. The opera started nearly twenty minutes late, and both intervals went way over budget time wise. The result was we were not back on the streets until quarter to twelve. It was as if we had just sat through Wagner rather than Verdi.

I presume the generous long intervals are to give punters a chance to utilise the preciously few public toilets. Maybe also to give the bar some profits, though the football on screens might not be what opera goers desire in the interval. Is the same also true of the excruciating temperature? On a relatively cool evening the temperature in the unconditioned auditorium must have been close to 30 degrees.

This all matters. Opera must be a pleasant evening, not least as it commands high prices. Maybe those of us who adore it will persist, but newcomers to the art will wonder what the fuss is all about.

In brief

It's not every show where you want to take the art home with you. Not just the odd piece, but the whole lot. Spazju Kreattiv you have been warned!

Beyond the Visible: The Metaphysical Worlds of Olaug Vethal is a lively and memorable tribute to an artist who made Malta both her home and her greatest source of inspiration. The exhibition gathers paintings that move confidently between everyday Maltese life and music, and more private, spiritual territory. It is a show that rewards soaking up the art, not only for its subject matter but for the sheer physical pleasure of Vethal's paint.

In detail

The exhibition's background is rooted in Vethal's long relationship with Malta. Born in Norway in 1946, she studied in Oslo and Hamburg before settling here in 1988. She taught art at De La Salle College and became a significant presence in the local art scene. She is known for her expressive brushwork and energetic figures, and for her ability to turn ordinary moments into scenes charged with feeling. She died in 2007, leaving behind a substantial body of work that continues to feel immediate and alive.

The display is organised as a journey through several interconnected themes. Early on, visitors encounter Malta itself: harbours, boats, villages, bathers and coastal views rendered with a warmth that avoids postcard sentimentality. Vethal's Malta is not merely picturesque; it is inhabited, noisy and full of movement.

Her paintings of musicians and dancers are especially compelling, translating rhythm into colour, gesture and swirling marks that make you almost feel you are at the Malta Jazz Festival. The influence of her early fascination with jazz is clear, yet the works never feel like simple illustrations of performance.

Other sections explore Malta's deeper past and its metaphysical possibilities. References to the Ħal Saflieni Hypogeum sit alongside self-portraits, meditations on mortality and visual exchanges with artists such as Utagawa Kunisada, Kitagawa Utamaro and above all Caravaggio.

Take 'After the Body' which enters into a dialogue with Caravaggio's Narcissus, and Martha and Mary. These works broaden the exhibition's scope, showing an artist who was curious about art history, spirituality and the boundaries between the seen and unseen.

The ukiyo-e inspired works draw on the visual language of Japanese art, particularly Utagawa Kuniyoshi's richly patterned figures and multi-layered compositions. Birds move freely across boundaries, while figures and fragments appear suspended between the observed, remembered and imagined.

The portrait series enters into dialogue with the bijin-ga tradition of Kitagawa Utamaro, exploring interiority through expressive colour and the physical movement of paint. The women's faces emerge from vivid fields of orange, green and black, while the boundaries between figure and surrounding space remain fluid and unresolved.

The final impression is of a painter who used figuration not as a limitation but as a doorway into imagination.

What makes the exhibition particularly enjoyable is its colour. Vethal's palette is bold and saturated: sea blues, sunlit yellows, warm oranges, deep reds and unexpected greens collide across the walls. Her brushwork gives these colours a tactile energy, so the paintings seem to pulse rather than simply hang. Was this her joyful reaction to the bright light and sense of fiesta she found here in Malta, perhaps a sharp contrast to her native Norway?

The lighting throughout 'Space A' is excellent, carefully balanced to reveal the texture of the paint without washing out the darker, more contemplative pieces. It allows each work to hold its own atmosphere while contributing to the overall rhythm of the show.

Beyond the Visible is open Tuesday to Friday from 9am to 9pm, and Saturday to Sunday from 10am to 9pm. Admission is well worth the visit for anyone interested in Maltese art, expressive painting or an artist whose work continues to celebrate movement, colour and the mysteries beneath ordinary life.

Gabriel Caruana: Public – Play – Private is a lively, generous survey of an artist who refused to keep art in its place. At the wonderful VP Gallery in Valletta, we are treated to a broad panoply of works and indeed media. Ceramics, painted wood, mixed-media painting, reliefs, archival photographs and documentation come together to show Caruana not merely as a studio artist, but as a maker of encounters. Someone who carried a bold colour palette, almost childish humour and, as shown in this exhibition, public participation, out of the studio and into Malta's squares, beaches, schools and even carnival routes.

The exhibition's central strength is this sheer material variety. Caruana's ceramics dominate in spirit: hand-modelled, rough-surfaced, glazed in yellows, reds, blues and greens that seem drawn from festa decorations and sun-baked Maltese earth. Around them are painted wooden figures, sculptural totems, textured reliefs and mixed-media works whose surfaces feel scraped, layered and improvised. The curators also include photography and archival material, making clear that Caruana's public installations and community projects were not peripheral to his art but fundamental to it. Is there some sort of political agenda here?

That breadth is entirely fitting. Caruana began with electrical work, parish feast lighting and carnival floats before becoming one of Malta's leading modern artists, and the exhibition captures how those popular, communal forms fed into his fine-art practice. His work has the brightness of a village feast, the crude energy of a carnival float, and the ancient, almost geological, texture of the island's prehistoric sites. Yet it never feels merely decorative. The apparent simplicity is a strategy: colour, scale, humour and tactile material lower the barriers between viewer and artwork.

The title's three terms give the show a convincing structure. "Public" evokes Caruana's installations and his belief that art belongs in shared space; "play" describes both his formal language and his invitation to touch, rearrange and imagine; "private" leads the visitor toward the quieter, more introspective works. The transition is well handled. Early, extroverted pieces give way to objects that feel more personal and contemplative, without losing their physical immediacy.

One irritation, however, is hard to ignore: so many works are untitled. In an exhibition so concerned with access, communication and public engagement, the absence of titles can feel strangely withholding. A viewer may respond strongly to a ceramic face, a painted wooden construction or a relief, yet be left without even a provisional phrase to anchor the experience. Titles would not explain the work away; they would offer a useful point of entry, especially for visitors less familiar with Caruana's career.

Some pieces seem 'otherworldly', and yet familiar — such as "On and Off". Is it purely alien, or reminiscent of children's giraffe toys. But it is hard to pick out highlights to include when so many are "untitled" such as a piece of painted ceramic and asbestos pipe.

It is a small artist frustration in an otherwise welcoming exhibition. Happily, the gallery itself exhibits the work exceptionally well. The VP Gallery's spaces allow dense, tactile objects room to breathe, while the sequencing encourages movement from communal exuberance to private reflection. A soundscape by Chris Galea further supports the exhibition's themes without overwhelming the visual experience. The display also benefits from its collaboration with Fondazzjoni Patrimonju Malti and the Gabriel Caruana Foundation, which helps situate individual works within a wider artistic and social history. Many private collections have lent pieces, some of course unnamed, but the lenders include HSBC Malta, the University of Malta Valletta Campus, The Philomonic Mnarja Society in Gozo.

Ultimately, Public – Play – Private succeeds because it presents Caruana as both exuberant and serious. His art is joyous, but its joy has purpose: it insists that art can be public, participatory and rooted in everyday Maltese life. Despite the maddening abundance of untitled works, this is an affectionate, visually rich and thoughtfully staged tribute to one of Malta's most influential modern artists.

Hoorah! A new thriller set in Malta. Or at least partially set in Malta.

Mark Grenside's The Bastion is a brisk, inventive conspiracy thriller that turns a Hollywood production into the hiding place for a dangerous financial secret. Building on the world introduced in Fall Out, it follows producer Marcus Riley and his partner Mako as they become entangled in a plot involving stolen insurance data, and a high-profile abduction of a Hollywood star.

The novel begins with a compelling idea: a classified Lloyd's list identifying the world's most heavily insured and wealthy individuals is smuggled inside the frames of a major film. Using steganography, only just recently referred to by MI5 as a real world risk, the criminals conceal the data within images and place it in a secretive Maltese digital vault called the Bastion. This gives the story an unusual hook, making cinema itself part of the criminal mechanism rather than simply a backdrop.

When British movie producer Marcus Riley discovers that his own big-budget production sits at the centre of the conspiracy, the danger becomes personal. The film's star is abducted and taken into the underground tunnels beneath Valletta, where she unknowingly holds information vital to the criminals' plans. Marcus and Mako must trace her whereabouts, understand the scale of the scheme, and prevent the stolen list from being sold to syndicates intent on exploiting its contents.

Grenside keeps the narrative moving with short, purposeful scenes and a clear sense of escalation. Boy can he write dialogue. This book, indeed his whole series, would be just perfect for television.

The story shifts between California and the Mediterranean, giving the book an international scope without losing sight of its central rescue mission. The Malta setting is especially effective: Valletta's history, architecture, and underground spaces lend the climax a distinctive atmosphere that separates the novel from more generic Los Angeles-based thrillers.

Marcus and Mako make an engaging duo. Marcus is resourceful and increasingly forced to question whom he can trust, while Mako brings urgency and emotional stakes to the search for their abducted friend. Their partnership gives the novel warmth amid the betrayals and technical manoeuvring. The villains are suitably menacing, motivated by the enormous value of the list and willing to eliminate anyone who might expose them.

What gives The Bastion particular credibility is Grenside's professional background. Before becoming a novelist, he worked in kidnap, ransom, and extortion insurance at Lloyd's of London, then spent more than two decades producing film and television. That dual experience informs both the financial mechanics of the plot and the convincing depiction of a large-scale movie production under pressure.

The novel will appeal to readers who enjoy fast, plot-led fiction in the tradition of international conspiracy thrillers. It combines a puzzle-box premise with action, pursuit, and a race against time, while retaining enough human drama to keep the stakes felt rather than merely described. Its blend of cybercrime, insurance intrigue, and showbusiness makes it difficult to pigeonhole, and that originality is one of its chief strengths.

The Bastion is an assured second entry in the Marcus Riley series. It expands the franchise's world, delivers a self-contained adventure, and leaves plenty of room for further cases. Gripping, topical, and full of cinematic energy, it confirms Grenside as a writer with a sharp instinct for high-concept commercial suspense.

Drinkers of chamomile tea, be warned. Jean Genet's The Maids is being staged in Malta for the first time in an all-male production directed by British theatre-maker Scott Le Crass. It is an intense, pressure cooker of a piece. This is intelligent theatre and, if you are brave enough, you should go.

The decision to use three male actors is not some hideous example of woke cross dressing on stage. Genet originally instructed that the female roles should be played by men. The casting is therefore not merely a modern experiment; it follows an important part of the playwright's original theatrical vision. Genet wanted exaggerated gestures, voices and appearances so that the actors would not pretend to be realistic women. Instead, the audience would constantly be aware of theatre, disguise and transformation. This is not pantomime. It is thought experiment.

A couple of things make this particularly heightened. The fact that two of the cast wear beards (a decision made post the poster thank God). And in this production, Galea's portrayal can make 'Madame's' femininity appear deliberately theatrical, reminding the audience that every character is performing a role. This is emphasized by a bizarre costume that makes Madame appear like a seven foot high Drag Queen. This caused confusion for some. Part of the audience had come expecting a comedy – an early Pantomime perhaps. But this costume choice is all part of emphasizing the writer's original intention.

The Maids was first produced in Paris in 1947. It is a shocking piece. Genet based it partly on the notorious 1933 case of Christine and Léa Papin, two sisters who worked as maids and murdered their employer and her daughter. The real crime shocked France because of its extreme violence and because it exposed the resentment produced by domestic service and class inequality. Genet transformed the event into a poetic and highly theatrical study of fantasy, humiliation and revolt.

The play concerns two sisters, Claire and Solange, who work as servants in the home of a wealthy woman known simply as 'Madame'. While Madame is away, the sisters perform an elaborate ritual in which they exchange identities. One becomes Madame and the other becomes the servant, allowing them to act out their feelings of hatred, envy, dependence and desire. Their fantasy repeatedly moves towards the murder of Madame, but the boundary between theatrical role-play and genuine violence gradually becomes uncertain.

The play means more than simply a story about two servants plotting murder. It asks what happens when people are denied dignity and treated as possessions. Claire and Solange hate 'Madame,' but they also desire the world she represents. Their rebellion is therefore trapped inside the system they oppose. Through role-play, they briefly imagine freedom, yet their identities remain shaped by servitude.

A very French concept. Post the Revolution, everyone is a 'citoyen' with rights and must be treated as such. Workmen must be addressed as Monsieur or Madame, while they may use your Christian name if they chose.

This is all a demanding piece and bravo to this production for tackling it. The cast consists of Victor De Bono, Malcolm Galea and Anton Saliba, with movement direction by Chakib Zidi. Malcolm Galea plays Madame, while Anton Saliba plays Claire; the excellent Victor De Bono completes the central trio, playing Solange.

The production places Genet's themes of identity, power, sexuality and social inequality at the centre of the performance. Anton Saliba's Claire and Victor De Bono's Solange are not simply conventional domestic servants. They are women performing versions of femininity, obedience and rebellion. Their relationship is intensely emotional: they are sisters, collaborators and rivals. Each both needs and resents the other. Malcolm Galea's Madame represents the social world that gives the sisters employment and status but also reduces them to objects. She is admired for her clothes, beauty and wealth, yet she is also the focus of the maids' anger.

The use of male actors also exposes gender as something constructed through clothing, movement, voice and social behaviour. Le Crass has explained that the all-male casting offers a fresh perspective on the play's sexual dynamics and its queer undertones. With only three performers on stage, the production becomes an intense "pressure cooker" in which there is nowhere for the characters—or the audience—to hide. The physical language created by Chakib Zidi is therefore important: movement can show the shifting power between the sisters and the ways they imitate, attack and depend on one another.

The Maltese production makes this meaning especially visible. By having men perform all three roles, it refuses a realistic interpretation and highlights the artificial nature of gender, class and power. The characters are not only pretending to be other people; they are showing how society forces individuals to perform identities every day. In Genet's dark theatrical world, liberation is imagined through disguise—but the disguise may also reveal the truth.

This is cutting edge for us here in Malta. Challenge yourself and go.

The moment the first palmas cracked through the hush of Teatru Salesjan, you could feel the room lean forward. Puerto Flamenco's latest appearance in Sliema wasn't just a concert; it was a high-voltage communion between stage and audience, a night where every zapateado, the mesmerizing rhythmic footwork, seemed to spark off the walls and land straight in the chest. From the opening cante to the final, breathless flourish of guitar and percussion, the energy never dipped—it built, surged, and finally exploded into a standing ovation that felt less like applause and more like release.

Puerto Flamenco understands this intimately. Founded in the early 2000s by Grima and Vujicic, the company has spent two decades touring the world's major festivals while staying true to the grassroots spirit of the Andalusian tablao. Their mantra—"we don't change flamenco to fit the stage, we change the stage to fit flamenco"—was on full display in Sliema, where the theatre was transformed into an intimate space that encouraged interaction, spontaneity, and shared emotion. Helped along by the odd bottle of wine.

At the heart of this electric current was Francesca Grima, "La Chica," the Maltese-born, Seville-trained dancer who leads the company with the authority of someone who has earned her place in the city's most demanding flamenco tablaos. Her dancing was a masterclass in control and fire: each turn precise, each stomp deliberate, yet infused with an improvisational daring that kept the audience guessing. When she danced, the room didn't just watch—it followed, breath held, as if her feet were conducting the very rhythm of the night.

Beside her, Andrej Vujicic, the Serbian-born percussionist who has made Seville his home for over two decades, anchored the rhythmic cycle with his cajón (box drum) that sounded less like an instrument and more like a second heartbeat. His interplay with the guitarists and singers was so tight, so instinctive, that the boundary between accompaniment and conversation seemed to vanish.

The rest of the cast matched this intensity step for step. Not least, Juan del Puerto, representing Seville's new generation of bailaores (male dancers), who brought a masculine ferocity to his solos, his footwork a blur that somehow never lost clarity. His costumes were wonderfully flamboyant, where does he get them? And his rhythmic pumping of the beat caused flutters amongst the girls, and or two boys, in the front row, who were seen to use their fans exuberantly.

Cristina Tovar's voice cut through the hall with a power that felt almost physical, her cante jondo (deep, profound song) moments dropping the temperature in the room before lifting it again with lighter, more playful palos/styles.

Rubén Romero's guitar work was both technically dazzling and deeply expressive, his guitar solos, known in Seville as falsetas, weaving around the singers and dancers like a third voice in the dialogue. And Tremendo Hijo, the prize-winning cantaor, delivered verses with the gravitas of someone carrying generations of tradition on his shoulders, yet with a freshness that made every line feel newly discovered.

What made the evening so electrifying wasn't just the individual brilliance of the performers, but the way they fed off one another—and off the audience. Flamenco, after all, is not a spectacle to be passively consumed; it is a living exchange, a conversation between artist and witness.

For those who know the nuances of flamenco's geography, the Seville influence was unmistakable: the polish, the theatrical flair, the command of space that comes from performing in the city's legendary venues like El Arenal and the Flamenco Biennial. Yet there was also a hint of Cádiz in the ease with which the performers slipped into lighter, more festive forms, a reminder that flamenco's soul is as much in the streets and carnivals as it is in the grand theatres. This blend of discipline and playfulness, of depth and joy, is what makes Puerto Flamenco so compelling—and what made this particular night so unforgettable.

By the time the final note faded, the audience was on its feet, clapping not just in appreciation but in participation, as if to say: we were part of this too. And in a very real sense, they were. For a little over an hour, Teatru Salesjan had become a tablao, a gathering place where the old rules of performer and spectator dissolved into something more primal, more human. It was, in every sense of the word, electrifying.

As Andrej shouted out "Here's to 'Team Human'!"

The Malta Society of Arts' 2026 Members' Annual Exhibition, KIND | STRANGE | BEAUTIFUL, offers an expansive portrait of contemporary artistic practice in Malta. It feels a bit like the Summer Exhibition at the Royal Academy in London, albeit a smaller version and actually a bit more enjoyable.

Bringing together more than eighty artists at Valletta's historic Palazzo de La Salle, the exhibition is less a unified statement than a lively encounter between differing perspectives and generations, and indeed different media. Curated by Prof. Charlene Vella, it presents an environment in which painting, sculpture, photography, ceramics, printmaking and mixed media can coexist without being forced into a single aesthetic or narrative.

The title provides the exhibition's principal point of departure, though not a strict framework. "Kind", "strange" and "beautiful" are deliberately open-ended categories, capable of overlapping and contradicting one another. A work that initially appears beautiful may reveal something unsettling; an image that seems strange may contain tenderness; an act of kindness may be expressed through an unfamiliar visual language. This ambiguity gives the exhibition its intellectual energy. Rather than instructing visitors how to interpret the works, it encourages them to test their own assumptions.

That openness is particularly appropriate for a members' exhibition, where variety is not a problem to be concealed but a central virtue. The participating artists include established practitioners, emerging voices, international artists living in Malta and individuals who may be exhibiting publicly for the first time. The result is a broad and sometimes unpredictable cross-section of the country's creative community. It reflects not only what artists are making, but also the different experiences and expectations shaping artistic life on the islands.

Particular highlights are Michelle Gialanze's Earthskin showcasing "identity as an ongoing process of vulnerability." Martin Degabrele's Presence of the Moth which states "close attention reveals the moth's intricate beauty, turning an overlooked creature into a symbol for people who are different or misunderstood." Yuxiang Tang's excellent Can see Imdina's Sink which has a curious body floating in a domestic sink. Jade Zammit's Take me to Places That Live Inside You: Dreams 3 is more straightforward, but just as lovely.

Among the wonderfully provocative sculptures Andreas Paul Muscat's Evanescenza is a puzzling nude figure which "seems to dissolve between presence and disappearance." Mariz Cassar Wirth Cavarro's Seated Figure Sculpture is equally quixotic, best understood 'in the round.' While Sue Bencini's Beneath Becoming is more like an alien creature than coral from this planet.

There are several particularly Maltese works that emphasize the distinctive charms of this country. Ethelbert Perini's The Old Man seems very familiar. Daniel Borg captures a Dancer in a Maltese Kazin in quite a Hopper-esque way. Margaret Farrugia's Solar Equinox pays homage to the ancient history of these islands. Mariam De Giorgio's Easter Breakfast is distinctly Maltese, and very beautiful.

Vella's curatorial contribution lies in giving this diversity structure without diminishing its individuality. Her attention to subject, medium, colour, scale, technique and mood creates relationships between works that might otherwise remain isolated. The exhibition's rhythm depends on contrast: bold beside restrained, familiar beside unexpected, technically polished beside exploratory. Visitors are invited to move through the few small galleries freely, forming connections according to their own responses rather than following a predetermined argument.

This approach also allows the exhibition to function as a conversation between generations. Vella has emphasised her interest in the participation of younger artists and in discovering how a new generation approaches both traditional and contemporary media. Their presence alongside more established artists creates an important sense of continuity, while also revealing shifts in artistic language and subject matter. The exhibition therefore becomes more than a display of individual achievement; it is a record of a living artistic community.

Palazzo de La Salle, with its parquet floors, decorated ceilings and historic architectural details, gives the artworks an atmosphere of distinction and permanence. Yet the restored galleries and considered exhibition lighting ensure that the building remains a supportive backdrop rather than an overwhelming spectacle. The dialogue between the historic venue and contemporary art is one of the exhibition's quiet pleasures. However, I did find the lighting not quite right in some instances, perhaps reflecting the challenges of the space.

Most importantly, KIND | STRANGE | BEAUTIFUL marks the return of the MSA Members' Exhibition after a three-year absence and its relaunch as an annual event. Free admission makes it accessible to a wide public, while the scale and range of the exhibition reward repeated visits. It is a generous celebration of artistic plurality. In bringing so many voices together, the Malta Society of Arts demonstrates that a cultural institution's history is most meaningful when it continues to create opportunities for the future.

Moveo Dance Company, founded in 2008 by Artistic Director Dorian Mallia in Malta, is an award-winning contemporary dance ensemble. Renowned for original productions like "Frida," "Carmen," and "The Other Door," it performs at local festivals such as Malta International Arts Festival and Notte Bianca, while touring internationally with shows like "From Malta with Love."

Their latest show '7 Sins' is an interesting if uneven work. Each of the Seven Deadly Sins is explored, in a supposed underground chamber presided over by a Master Of Ceremonies. This is 'immersion theatre' in the sense that each member of the audience is asked to vote at the end of the piece with a token given to you as you enter, just don't drop on the way to your seat as I did.

The concept is good, and some of the individual sins stand out. A weird exploration of 'Gluttony' with a nun devouring chocolates who turns round to reveal a giant mouse head, and somehow dances backwards. 'Wrath' sees one of the company infuriated as we all have been, to the point of uncontrollable anger by a telephone bot that just won't recognize the jumper he has ordered is supersize. 'Vanity' is also haunting, and well performed.

All of the tableaux are visually charged. They are also weird - do girls really have sexual fantasies about other girls dressed as Father Christmas as in 'Lust'? And the masks in 'Greed' were both visually charged and weird. Nothing wrong with that.

But overall there is just not enough dancing, and some of the pieces feel a bit thin. I found myself losing concentration, particularly as two girls in row B were filming the performance on their iPhones, very distracting in the dark.

I know this young troupe well and I think they could do more. More dancing less acting please.

Sway is a wonderfully fluid and emotionally resonant work, performed with striking commitment by the ŻfinMalta company. Diego Tortelli knows his art and blends all the elements together – music, movement, lighting, even costumes.

From its first moments, Sway draws the audience into a world of tension, trust, and mutual dependence, a kingdom where every movement feels charged with meaning. It is a work that thrives on physical sensitivity as much as technical precision.

What makes Sway especially compelling is that it never feels coldly abstract; beneath its formal elegance lies genuine emotional weight. The choreography seems to ask how people hold on to one another, how they drift apart, and how trust is built through motion.

Tortelli's choreography is full of shifting balances, near-collisions, and gliding transitions that give the work its distinctive pulse. He weaves the performers into the music and brings out the best from them. The dancers move as if they are constantly negotiating space, gravity, and one another, which creates a powerful sense of vulnerability.

The performers themselves give the work much of its impact. Overall, the dancers' presence on stage is both supple and fearless, and they bring a human intimacy to the choreography that makes the piece feel immediate. Each performer contributes to the ensemble's overall coherence, while also allowing moments of individuality to emerge. The wonderful Mario Manara is unchained and allowed to let rip — he is simply mesmerising. Alessandro Pellegrinelli gives his best performance yet. Lotte La Haye and Andrea Bagioni have delightful cameos and Martí Blanco Romeu's character is brought out well. Tortelli has clearly bonded well with the team.

And then there's the costumes. Fabulous! And cleverly intertwined with the concept. Designs by Diego Tortelli and Laurent Uyttersprot give the dancers a look that channels Rhinestone cowboys (a throwback to the great Bob Fosse) – glamorous, sexy and vibrant. Indeed, the chaps with rhinestone strands galvanize the dancers' swirling and swaying movements and give the piece its title. I have rarely seen costumes so well adapted to a choreographer's vision.

Dali Aguerbi's lighting design is also effective, creating an environment that subtly shifts the emotional temperature of the piece and supports its sense of flow and intimacy.

The cheeky encore was an extraordinary bonus, and emphasised the sense of fun which the work embodies.

What lingers after Sway is its sense of grace under pressure. It is a piece about connection, fragility, and resilience, and it communicates those ideas not through explanation but through movement itself. That is what makes it so satisfying: it trusts dance to do what only dance can do. The result is a beautiful, moving work that stays with you long after the final image fades.

One of the great things about the arts scene in Malta is that it is genuinely international, and in particular taps into two rich overseas scenes – the UK and Italy.

Balletto di Milano is one of Italy's foremost touring ballet companies and a leading ambassador of Italian dance abroad. Since its founding in 1998, it has become known for its vibrant staging and broad repertoire that spans classical and contemporary works. The company is especially praised for its charming, family-friendly La Cenerentola, which reimagines the Cinderella tale with expressive choreography and colourful production design. It is also celebrated for La Dolce Vita, a Fellini-inspired ballet that blends cinematic mood and Italian glamour with fluid, character-driven movement.

Balletto di Milano's production of Carmen is a bold, physically charged reimagining of Bizet's opera that confidently marries classical ballet with contemporary and flamenco-inflected movement. Choreographed by Federico Veratti, the piece reframes the familiar story of obsession, jealousy, and tragic fate as a visceral, modern-leaning dance-drama rather than a strictly traditional narrative ballet. This means whilst it is in the rich tradition of Manon and Boheme, operas danced as ballets, this production is strikingly different. Though as in those pieces, a knowledge of the original is helpful if not obligatory.

The production is described as physically demanding, requiring dancers to combine classical precision with athletic power and expressive rawness. This is definitely the case with the Toreador Escamillo, danced by Gianmarco Damiani. His performance was electric, and the whole show came to life as he leapt in the air. As in the opera, Don José danced with precision by Mattia Imperatore didn't stand a chance of hanging on to the slippery Carmen.

Carmen herself emerges as a magnetic, untamed figure, portrayed with both seductive allure and stubborn independence by Giusy Villarà. Her interactions with Don José and Escamillo are charged with palpable tension, underscoring the triangle of desire that drives the plot. The choreography gives the title character ample space for bravura solos and tightly wound partnering, so that her fatalism and fatal attraction are readable in gesture and weight as much as in facial expression. Giusy can act which is not true of every prima donna.

Veratti's choreography blends clean, lyrical lines with sharper, more grounded gestures, giving structure and rhythm to the opera's sumptuous score while allowing the cast to invest each step with emotional intensity. One new aspect he has added is the character of Fate, a muscly Alessandro Orlando. The result is a show that feels dynamic and urgent, with ensemble scenes in particular crackling with energy and tightly coordinated patterns.

The company deliberately mixes tradition and modernity, framing Bizet's music with a dance vocabulary that fuses classical ballet, contemporary movement, and flamenco-inspired articulation. This stylistic blend suits Carmen's themes well: the score's familiar melodies feel revitalized, while the choreography amplifies the opera's undercurrents of passion and danger. The staging is relatively stark, with giant CGI backdrops, relying on the dancers' to fill the visual space.

It is just sad that as often in the dance world performances were just one day. March 29th.

Step into Sailor's Paradise Bar in Valletta's historic Strait Street—once known as The Gut—and you're not just watching a show; you're living it. Udjenza's Sailors in the City: The Strait Street Experience, directed by Toni Attard, is immersion theatre at its best in a bar setting. It whisks you to Victory in Europe Day, 1945. WWII's end unleashes music, mischief, and clinking glasses in this intimate "living museum," where original artifacts whisper tales of Malta's gritty past. Grab the complimentary beer, or even better a couple of cheap but strong cocktails, and surrender to the magic.

As you head towards Paradise Bar you pass a small sign at waist level announcing you are in The Gut. It reminds you of the street's colourful past as the Soho of Malta, teeming with young tarts. One such girl is at the heart of this piece. Violetta, brought to vibrant life across rotations by Hannah Gatt, Tina Rizzo, and Charlotte Formosa. On the night I attended, Violetta's singing was pure, emotive gold. Her renditions of wartime classics like We'll Meet Again and Lili Marlene dripped with barmaid swagger and heartfelt nostalgia.

Her brother Duminku, played outstandingly by Jeremy Grech (who also penned the script), was great fun, and almost stole the show. Bursting with front-line stories, Grech embodied the cheeky sailor perfectly—his charisma, comic timing, and poignant delivery revived forgotten Strait Street characters with infectious energy. He bantered endlessly with us punters, make sure you've had that cocktail, and belted out Roll out the Barrel like his life depended on it.

Gennaro, the accordionist portrayed by Albert Garzia (also the music director), deserves high praise for his masterful playing. His lively squeezes infused the classics with authentic Maltese flair, though at times, it was hard to fully hear Violetta over his powerhouse playing—a minor immersion hiccup in the bar's cozy acoustics, but one that heightened the raucous street-party vibe.

Particularly meaningful, in these bellicose times, this 60-minute gem from Udjenza blends theatre, music, and history into pure joy. Visitors shouldn't miss it—Valletta's past has never pulsed so vividly.

Grab a Blue Label on the house and step back into the gritty glamour of Malta's most legendary strip.

Malta's classical music scene is incredibly rich with deep roots in the many churches and their choral traditions. But opera also flourishes, with a strong emphasis on the baroque thanks to the annual festival at the beginning of each year. Singers are often brought in from Italy or elsewhere, as well as the strong home grown talent. And producers are not afraid of unearthing lesser known works such as this one.

Girolamo Abos's opera Pelopida, was originally commissioned and performed in Rome's Teatro Argentina in 1747. This is the first time in living memory that the opera has been performed in its entirety and in costume, rather than as a concert performance.

It is a richly crafted, luxuriant piece with no shortage of arias. The set is also innovative. Ancient Greece is reimagined as a contemporary sculpture museum thanks to designer Anthony Bonnici.

The plot is as complicated as ever. Exiled patriot Pelopida returns to Thebes to defend its liberty. King Creon, seeking reconciliation, decrees that the former tyrant Pisistratus be restored to the throne. Creon's envoy Egisto brings this command before the Theban council, urging obedience. Outraged, Pelopida summons the citizens before the altar of Mars and makes them swear an oath never again to suffer a tyrant's rule. Complex plots ensue.

Strong performances from Valentino Buzza (Pelopida), Filippo Mineccia (Egisto) and Lorrie Garcia (Aspasia). Giulio Prandi conducts with confidence, and Luke Azzopardi carries the costume concepts well.

All this takes quite some time, and is not for the faint hearted, but this was a highly successful production of a rarely done opera.

The excellent ZfinMalta national Dance Company had a hard act to follow after the huge triumph of NACAR last week. They offered us an interesting if confusing work.

German choreographer Sita Ostheimar has worked with the Hofesh Shecter Company in London and the Paris Opera Ballet. She describes her work as follows: "the strong physicality of her creations generates a deep connection with each performer's mental state and emotional inner world." The connection with the audience is perhaps less prioritized.

Mortal Heroes is a difficult work to get to grips with, and the creatives' description doesn't help. We are told it is a "visceral exploration of human potential—an odyssey through chaos and love, shadow and light, fragility and force" which "creates an atmosphere both intimate and vast....tense yet alive...delicate yet explosive, aggressive yet tender."

This can be confusing, but at base would seem to be an exploration of human interactions, a strange repetition of attractions and rejections, where "the heroic lies not in perfection, but in vulnerability, courage, and the will to continue." After 50 minutes you just about get it, there are a lot of repeated interactions and movements, to Andrea Casalis's throbbing music.

The intention is perhaps clearest in the occasional pas de deuxs, such as a well executed one between Andrea Biagioni and Mario Manara, and another between Andrea and one of the women — it was hard to make out exactly who with the low lighting.

Indeed the "immersive lighting" by British designer Barnaby Booth plays a big part in this piece. The close collaboration over some years between him and Sita becomes clear. There are dramatic darknesses when the dancers rearrange themselves to surprise us when the lights come back on. But generally the lighting is very soft and adds to the confusing world in which the performers seem trapped to repeat their relationship failures, but somehow keep going.

Holly Knowles' costumes were also hard to get. Loose, flowing, blousy, it was hard to be sure what they were saying, even after 50 minutes. But then again, perhaps that was the point.

The jewel in the crown of Malta's Baroque festival was intended to be The Quattro Stagioni Extravaganza, and boy did it live up to billing. It was an electric evening led by the cream of the London and Maltese music scene, gifted virtuosos like Maximilian Hornung, Charlie Siem, and Carmine Lauri.

Vivaldi's set of concertos depicting the Four Seasons is the most famous and iconic work in the Baroque repertoire and Charlie began by poking fun at "lift music," and telling us not to worry, we would be treated to something closer to the glorious original heard in early eighteenth century Mantua.

He also reminded us that these compositions marked a significant shift in musical interpretation, indeed were quite revolutionary. Vivaldi depicted natural elements such as flowing streams, a variety of birds—each identified by distinct characteristics—buzzing insects, storms, icy landscapes, and the warmth of winter fires. He blended these with human interactions with the changing elements. A shepherd accompanied by his dog, dancers under the influence of alcohol, hunting scenes from both the hunter's and prey's perspectives. Extravaganza properly captures its scope and majesty.

There was quite a jokey rivalry between Carmine and Charlie which pushed both of them into giving perhaps the best performances I have ever seen from each. They are both at the very top of their game and their complex honed talent is a delight to behold.

It is certainly the best performance I have ever heard of the Four Seasons, and I've heard many. It is a feather in the cap of the Festival's organizers that they can capture such big beasts of the European classical music scene for us to enjoy.

The term 'pavilion' comes from the Venice Biennale, where a selection of countries curate their own pavilions in the general art park.

Here in Malta, the 'pavilions' are in reality 'rooms' around the main courtyard at Fort St Elmo. The spaces vary in size and this can affect one's appreciation. The Chinese Pavilion, "The Realm of Clarity: Ecological Foresight and Civilisational Exchange in Oriental Wisdom", feels somewhat cramped in the space provided, with a lot of works crammed in. Curated by Ying Jinfei and realised by 13 contemporary artists, it weaves a "water culture" narrative through woodblock prints, ink paintings and watercolours.

There are a lot of wordy descriptions in these exhibitions, and a lot of politics. Rather than "didactic eco‑propaganda", the Chinese works propose "harmony between humanity and nature as a slow, almost calligraphic discipline, where restraint and emptiness matter as much as image". In this setting, "ecological foresight becomes inseparable from civilisational dialogue": the pavilion invites visitors to read Malta's harbours through concepts like "nourishing all beings" and "clarifying all rivers", suggesting that sustainable futures depend on mutual learning as much as technological solutions.

So far so good, but one can't help but think that in proposing a "long‑duration, trans‑Asian–Mediterranean dialogue about balance and restraint" the foreign policy of the People's Republic is being fulfilled. The aim to "link Chinese rivers to the Mediterranean Sea" sounds too like an expression of the CCP's "Bridge and Road initiative."

Other spaces are also politicised, but are more generous in what they offer to the curators, and some have sought to interact with Fort St Elmo itself. The French Pavilion, "Facing the Challenge", seems to be channelling the Fort's defensive history as a metaphor for our perceived current protections from what feels like the 'End of Times'. It presents Louis‑Paul Caron's immersive installation confronting climate crisis and generative AI as twin urgencies. Curated by Dominique Moulon, it stages strangely serene scenes amid encroaching fires, using AI‑generated imagery to question responsibility, and technological complicity. As well as our impulse to keep looking, and yet keep ignoring. A series of figures who we view from the back seem to be watching the end of the world in a series of cataclysmic fires. Passively.

Otherwise, for me perhaps the most memorable exhibition was one of the smaller ones. The Armenian Pavilion, "The Sound of What Was Never Seen", is a haunting, slow-burn meditation on erased histories and fragile remembrance. Painter and sculptor Raffi Yedalian, curated by Sona Hovhannisyan, has installed a highly successful mobile with Braquian elements. One of Fort St Elmo's stone chambers becomes a space where sound, shadow and scratched surfaces stand in for missing archives. Rather than illustrating specific events, the work evokes "the emotional afterimage of violence and displacement, asking what it means for a small nation to carry vast, often invisible trauma into a seemingly placid Mediterranean present."

Poland's "Archive of Hesitations" has similar themes, with Weronika Zalewska's work treating the archive not as a store of facts but as a choreography of omission, redaction and second thoughts. I am not sure the grainy black and white images of post industrial Poland are the best advertisement for Poland's tourist industry however.

Overall, this a thought provoking Biennale. Not least because I came away wondering if the very lengthy descriptions of what the art is trying to say, in themselves say something about the contemporary art world. Why does our art require pamphlets? Picasso's Guernica did not need much description. It communicated in itself, like a punch in the face.

KorMalta continues to go from strength to strength, and offer plenty of fun along the way for audience and performers.

A Madrigal Journey was an intelligently conceived and beautifully executed lunchtime concert. The programme's promise "to explore the art of painting with sound across five centuries of choral history" was fulfilled, as the ensemble traced a vivid arc from Renaissance madrigal to contemporary part-song with clarity and poise.

I just wish more of the intention had been available on the day. Because the programming was highly intelligent. The madrigal was framed not simply as a historical genre but as an "artistic idea: the union of poetry, nature, and emotion," and the performance bore that out in the way each piece illuminated its text, from the sprightly awakenings of dawn to the suspended calm of night.

Beginning with Salomone Rossi's Con la luce e col canto and moving through Morley, Monteverdi and Banchieri to Britten, Elgar, Saint-Saëns, Mendelssohn, Stanford and the modern voices of Carmelo Pace, Bruno Bettinelli and Matteo Magistrali, the concert felt like a single, carefully plotted narrative rather than a stitched-together anthology.

An accomplished quintet — Mariette Borg and Alexandra Camilleri Gambin (sopranos), Bianca Simone (alto), Lorenzo Bellagamba (tenor) and Riccardo Bianchi (bass) — proved an ideal vehicle for this concept. Small enough to give the music a vivid intimacy, yet sufficiently varied to accommodate the wide stylistic spread from Renaissance polyphony to Romantic lushness.

Throughout, one sensed the "specific vocal architecture" that the notes highlight paying dividends: the upper voices wove those "sonic textures" that made images of shadow, light and birdsong almost tactile, while the lower parts provided a firm yet flexible foundation.

Interpretatively, the ensemble's priorities were clearly text and affect. The notion of affetti — the "internal movements of the soul" — was translated in singing that tracked the rhetoric of each line, especially in Monteverdi's Sfogava con le stelle and Zefiro torna e'l bel tempo rimena. In Britten's The succession of the four sweet months, the overlapping texts and criss-crossing lines never turned to confusion; instead, they created that "impression of time unfolding all at once" that the notes describe, with each voice characterfully delineated yet scrupulously balanced. The Romantic items, notably Saint-Saëns' Calme des nuits and Stanford's The Blue Bird, benefited from a transparent approach that favoured luminous tuning and long-breathed phrasing over luxuriant weight, allowing the harmonies' inherent colour to glow.

Perhaps the most affecting stretch came towards the close. Stanford's still waters and distant bird in The Blue Bird offered one of the evening's most serene moments, the ensemble sustaining the fragile textures with admirable control. Matteo Magistrali's Goodnight, my love, written to Paul Laurence Dunbar's sea-faring poetry and dedicated to Bianchi, his family and the friends of KorMalta, brought the journey "into the contemporary world" with a calm, flowing tempo that the performers shaped into something both intimate and expansive. The sense of personal connection between composer, conductor and ensemble was palpable, lending the conclusion a warm, almost valedictory glow.

Situated within KorMalta's broader "season of light, legacy, and innovation," A Madrigal Journey felt less like a one-off and more like a statement of intent: that Malta's national choir can honour historical roots while speaking in a contemporary voice, and can "step into the heart of the music" by placing text, image and emotional truth at the centre of performance.

Sometimes you need a star to carry a show. This was certainly the case at Andrew Lloyd Webber's Sunset Boulevard which arrived in Malta for the first time at the Mediterranean Conference Centre. It was a landmark event, a full-scale, self-produced musical, and Maltese star Talitha Dimech delivered the goods. She was simply superb as Norma Desmond, the faded Hollywood superstar.

Talitha managed to perfectly capture the role's demands of simultaneously being both emotionally fragile and haughty/imposing. She has a surprisingly good voice, and negotiated the score's more demanding passages with assurance, delivering the show stoppers "With One Look" and "As If We Never Said Goodbye" with aplomb. She can also act, and this role certainly needs both skills. Her final descent down the staircase of her mansion was electric.

Cliff Zammit Stevens as Joe Gillis provided a strong counterweight, balancing youthful charm and hard-nosed cynicism. He also mastered an American accent, which not all players attempted, while Talitha had a perfect stagey voice. Neville Refalo brought appropriate dignity to the role of Max von Mayerling, Norma's butler and keeper of secrets. Eleanor Spiteri was a glamorous and touching Betty Schaefer, difficult in a role that is always in Norma's shadow, and the ever present Stephen Oliver this time carried off Cecil B. DeMille.

With its lush almost operatic score and dark foreboding atmosphere, the show lends itself to large-scale treatment, and that is exactly what was delivered by this grand production. Unlike the most recent London version that incorporated video cleverly, but somehow lost the authenticity of the original, this was a more faithful rendering. The set and lighting choices evoked both the faded glamour of old Hollywood estates and the colder, more modern studio world Joe inhabits.

The production was directed by Hermann Bonaci, who I am told returns to the theatre after a gap of many years. He put strong emphasis on the underlying psychological imperatives and the taut dynamics between the main characters.

Musical direction by Joe Brown ensured that Andrew Lloyd Webber's Tony-winning score received the lush, dramatic treatment it demands. The presence of a live orchestra also made this a special production, and added weight to numbers such as "The Perfect Year" and the Act Two finale. Sue Vassallo's choreography was much required in the ensemble scenes. The costumes by Tamsyn Coetzee were simply fabulous — perfectly capturing the era and Norma's flamboyant character.

On the negative side, the first ten minutes were badly flawed by sound issues, at least for those of us in the front of the stalls. I hope something that will not be repeated at future performances.

Overall, Malta's premiere of Sunset Boulevard was both authentic and yet freshly local. I look forward to the next production of a musical classic.

KorMalta's Holy Week concert "Crux" on Wednesday 1 April offered a contemplative, tightly focused evening that highlighted the choir's blend of technical polish and spiritual intent within an intimate setting.

At the heart of the programme stood Rheinberger's Stabat Mater, the work around which the entire evening seemed to pivot and deepen. Riccardo Bianchi, directing from within the ensemble, balanced the dual demands of singing and conducting with striking assurance, his gestures clear yet never fussy, and his own vocal line seamlessly integrated into the texture rather than sitting on top of it. KorMalta unfolded Rheinberger's long phrases with unhurried patience, allowing the harmonic suspensions and releases to register with almost physical weight, and shaping the text with a quiet intensity that avoided operatic excess while never feeling emotionally distant. The choir's control of soft dynamics in the closing movements created one of the night's most affecting stretches of stillness, a sense of collective listening that made the final cadence feel earned rather than merely arrived at.

Bruckner's Christus factus est provided a darker, more granite-hewn counterpart, and KorMalta leaned into its architectural clarity. Here, Miguel Rosales' bass gave the lower lines a deep, steady anchor, lending gravity to the harmonic foundation and allowing the upper voices to soar without ever sounding top-heavy. The carefully graded crescendos towards "exaltavit illum" were exceptionally well-judged, powerful but never forced, and what impressed most was the choir's ability to sustain line through Bruckner's long phrases, keeping the music flowing instead of fragmenting into blocks of sound.

Elsewhere in the programme, Rheinberger's Abendlied offered a luminous moment of repose that lingered long after its final chord, so it felt entirely natural when it returned as the encore. Long-serving alto Bianca Simmone brought a calm, centred presence to the inner lines, her sound knitting the harmony together, while a newcomer tenor added a fresh, bright edge to the top of the chord, suggesting a section in healthy evolution rather than mere continuity. In its first appearance the choir emphasised the piece's prayerful intimacy, with translucent inner voices and a gentle, almost conversational approach to "Bleib bei uns," and in the reprise Abendlied felt like a benediction over the whole evening: slightly warmer in tone, a shade more expansive in phrasing, and sung with the ease of music that the choir clearly loves and inhabits deeply.

Surrounding these pillars were finely etched readings of Lotti's Crucifixus, Rachmaninoff's Bogoroditse Devo, Gesualdo's O vos omnes, Liszt's Ave Crux, Brahms's Geistliches Lied and Mendelssohn's Herr, nun lässest du, each chosen to illuminate a different facet of Holy Week contemplation without disturbing the concert's overarching sense of unity. Together, they framed the Rheinberger and Bruckner works not as isolated showpieces but as stations along a carefully plotted spiritual journey, shaped from within by Bianchi and grounded by a consistently strong core of solo and sectional contributions.

KorMalta goes from strength to strength.

The Soho Theatre is a super-efficient fringe theatre mecca, churning out multiple shows a day in the heart of London.

In many ways The Theatre Next Door is the exact opposite. Its marketing is haphazard - it is very difficult to find out what is on especially as the email doesn't work. On the night we attended, the one hour performance started 15 minutes late for reasons that were never shared with us. And whilst it claims to be next door, in fact it is really in the middle of the countryside, in a location that causes Bolt drivers to get confused.

Given all this, how was a slick Soho Theatre fringe romp going to work there?

Well it did....up to a point.

String V SPITTA aims to be a sharp, high-energy comedy that turns a simple children's party setup into a gloriously chaotic rivalry between two very different performers.

The first thing to say is the two performers Kiell Smith-Bynoe and Ed MacArthur are incredibly talented. The rhythm is brisk, the jokes come thick and fast, and the performers keep the momentum alive with rap battles, puppetry, magic, and plenty of musical invention.

What makes it especially effective is the contrast between the polished "Silly String" persona and the anarchic energy of Spitta, which gives the show a built-in comic engine.

It works well because this premise is funny, but the writing is a little thin. There is satire around class, privilege, and show business underneath the silliness, but like the comic duo themselves, it never quite lands its punches. Darker themes of exploitation and social tension are hinted at but not explored. This might be compulsory in contemporary London to get UK Arts Council funding, but feels a little superfluous here.

Nonetheless, the performance style is immersive and lively, with the cast working hard to pull the audience into the world of the show rather than simply performing at them. In this world it is Anastasia's birthday, the daughter of a Russian oligarch, protected by her own body guard (poor punter "Dimitri" in the front row was a marvellous accomplice to the clowns' antics).

It succeeds in creating a world of its own. A children's party that has been hijacked by very talented adults. Kudos to producer Jo Caruana for spotting this and bringing it to Malta. More please.

When I walk along the waterfront of the Three Cities, or spot a gondola (albeit motorized) in the Grand Harbour, I often think that Malta has great similarities to Venice. So perhaps it is no surprise that it should have its own version of that City's famous Biennale (bi-annual) Contemporary Art Fair.Malta's inaugural edition was in 2024, now in 2026 this second edition, under curator Rosa Martínez has a theme "Clean. Clear. Cut." Full stops in the wrong place being a current fad. It runs March 11th to May 29th, across eleven Heritage Malta sites, including Birgu and Gozo's Ċittadella. There will be over 130 artists from 43 countries showcasing works in 29 national/thematic pavilions, as well as numerous satellite events.We will return to the main show later. For now let's discuss one of the best of the satellite events."Entry Denied" is a provocative satellite exhibition at Christine X Art Gallery in Sliema. Best described as small but powerful. It confronts the hidden barriers in the global art world, spotlighting artists impacted by visa refusals. This ties into the Biennale's theme by exposing contradictions in art's supposed interconnectedness. The global art scene celebrates mobility, yet bureaucratic, racialized, and economic hurdles systematically exclude many creators from international platforms."Entry Denied" aims to transform these personal struggles into powerful "artivism," challenging the myth of the unrestricted "global artist." Featuring contemporary artists whose careers were disrupted by cross-border exclusions, the works include documentary pieces like rejection letters and deferred dreams. These pieces resist invisibility, fostering radical empathy and questioning access inequities—who speaks, who is seen? It reimagines a future of justice and reciprocity in culture.For me the standout artist is Dereje Shiferaw, an Ethiopian painter born in Asmara, Eritrea. His paintings are bold, colourful creations that are testaments to his African roots. The works exhibited here feature a black hero figure who dominates the canvases. A real person, indeed a big person, yet one whose creativity is denied, and who the bureaucracy aims to make invisible. In one work, 'Visa', the Visa he has been denied dominates the canvas, and yet it doesn't. His strength wins through.Whilst there is a strong racial theme to this exhibition, its appeal is broader. To all of those, creatives or otherwise, who have faced off against a grim and often unyielding bureaucracy.Christine X Art Gallery, 53 Tigne street Sliema, open Monday-Saturday, 10am-1pm and 4-7pm until April 9th.

This much anticipated production of 1984 is sadly flawed, not the performance, but the writing. This adaptation by Duncan MacMillan will annoy purists and most fans of George Orwell's original work. Nonetheless, the strength of that original shines through, particularly for newcomers. There were some skateboarders, with their boards, at the back the night I attended, and they loved it. Indeed, as ever, the cleverness of 1984 comes across in the multiple reactions which it engenders in its audience, and in its eternal lessons.

George Orwell's 1984, written in 1948, portrays a grim dystopian future in which 'the Party', led by the omnipresent Big Brother, rules 'Oceania' through relentless surveillance and thought control. Protagonist Winston Smith, a low-ranking member of the 'Outer Party' employed at the Ministry of Truth, spends his days altering historical records to align with the regime's ever changing version of reality. Disillusioned, he embarks on a forbidden diary and then begins an illicit affair with Julia, a fellow worker employed to "tend the machines that create fiction" – interestingly Orwell predicted AI here. The two seek fleeting moments of humanity amid the oppression, but their rebellion draws the attention of the 'Thought Police', leading to Winston's arrest, and harrowing torture in the 'Ministry of Love.'

The greatness of the piece comes not least in the differing audience reactions which it creates. One theatre goer thought it was obviously all about the current "Islamofascist regime in Iran", another saw it as a reference to contemporary China with its sophisticated attempts at mind control and continuous surveillance through technology. Both are very valid views.

But we should perhaps look a little closer to home as well. Central to the piece, and indeed our reactions to it, is the new language Orwell invented – Newspeak. This has been introduced by the totalitarian Party to corrupt the very meaning of language and permit alternative truths. In this sense, others see the Manoel production as a reference to the current debate around 'Fake News.' Or, if you like, a posing of the question: is it the Gulf of Mexico or the Gulf of America?

But what is clever about Newspeak is that it is intended not just to permit propaganda, but through its restructuring of language and manipulation of words, to make negative, unpermitted thoughts themselves almost impossible. As such, one final group declares this play to be a clear indictment of the rise of political correctness and the cult of woke. The elimination of gender pronouns in language, or the blurring between singular and plural with the newly required use of "they," linguistic changes enforced to achieve political goals.

That so many people can come away with so many different interpretations is a testament to the golden treasure trove of evergreen truth that is at the heart of this work.

What is most disappointing is that much of the rewriting for this production has corrupted and blunted the original. Winston's inevitable downfall is too clearly signposted (this could perhaps be corrected by the Director). The relationship between Winston and Julia is not given enough room to grow. And the chorus in Winston's head at the beginning makes the first ten minutes of the play very slow.

More successful is the updating of the technology necessary in a science fiction work nearly 80 years old. As are the performances by Edward Caruana Galizia as Winston, and Tina Rizzo as Julia. And the torture scenes are as shocking as ever. This is not a play for children. But perhaps it is one that is important for the skateboarders.

Fauré's Requiem received a sublime, intimate rendition last Friday from the KorMalta Ensemble. The concert took place at the breathtaking Church of St. Catherine in Italy—a venue perfectly suited to this chamber scale, its Renaissance arches and golden frescoes enveloping the music and allowing this performance to seem bigger than it was.

Performed in a rare arrangement for harp, violin, cello, and piano under guest conductor Christopher Muscat, this event in KorMalta's Ensemble Series successfully captured with luminous clarity the work's essence of offering peaceful consolation amid life's sorrows.

Gabriel Fauré composed his Requiem between 1887 and 1890, inspired by personal grief including his father's death. Defying grim traditions for this genre and rejecting judgment and damnation, he crafted a "lullaby of death" emphasising serenity and redemption. Born from his organist tenure at La Madeleine in Paris, movements like "Pie Jesu" and "In Paradisum" radiate the triumph of hope over terror.

KorMalta, Malta's national choir under NAPA, is led by Artistic Director Riccardo Bianchi—who thrillingly sang himself on Friday. Since 2018, the ensemble has elevated Maltese choral artistry to symphonic heights, mastering polyphony, and acquiring new polish in the Island's festivals.

Six strong voices including Bianchi delivered ethereal blend and precision, with the soprano soaring to the rafters in the final movement. The volume from just five instruments and six singers was extraordinary, filling the majestic space with profound depth. Emotional unity from pros who performed as one.

St. Catherine's beauty amplified every harp glissando and vocal flourish, making this Requiem a transcendent balm.

Dance in Malta goes from strength to strength. The national dance company, ŻfinMalta, forms part of the National Agency for the Performing Arts and is made up of ten incredibly talented full-time dancers, and two apprentices, hailing from Malta and across Europe. It is producing its own works under the artistic direction of Matthew William Robinson, who earned his dancing spurs as the artistic Director of VERVE in the UK.

The company also produces some very interesting works in collaboration with choreographers from elsewhere in Europe such as this glorious new work NÁCAR. It is simply outstanding.

Paloma Muñoz is a Barcelona-based choreographer and dancer from Extremadura, holding a degree in Choreography and Performance from the Conservatori Superior del Institut del Teatre de Barcelona. She herself has danced with notable companies including IT Dansa, Metros, Ramón Oller, Thomas Noone Dance.

This new work by Paloma "explores a desire to inhabit ghosts; those that survive in images, that persist in our bodies, and call out from the invisible." In this choreography, she invites us to "lend our bodies to the memory of others — to become vessels of presence, beauty, and shared echoes." It is a challenging concept, particularly as the dancing is highly sexualized, but it works.

When the dancers first appeared I noticed that Alessandro Pellegrinelli had strangely red eyes and I though he must have been overdoing it in a club the night before. I then realised they all had them, and that this was in fact all part of Lind Rowell's design theme. Think 'Dance of the Zombies.' She naturally puts the dancers in floaty white costumes.

The dancing is simply outstanding, and all the dancers deserve applauds especially as Paloma's choreography is quite demanding. Such as when Marti Blanco Romeau has to support himself with his head at a sharp angle and the rest of his body pointed skywards like a giant 'L'. Mario Manara is mesmerizing and demonstrates extraordinary flexibility, true star quality.

The music by Alejandro Da Rocha is suitably haunting. A rhythmic drumming like a heart beat. This is a simply "must see" show that I hope will be frequently reprised.

To learn more about ŻfinMalta visit their website. Photos by: Darrin Zammit Lupi