Guardian Theatre Blog

It's a great idea for fringe theatres to share their spaces – but they need to share the financial numbers too

When the Park Theatre – a new 200-seat main house and smaller studio space – opens in Finsbury Park either later this year or early in 2013, it will operate as a producing house but, like many venues on the London fringe, it will also be a space for hire.

Co-artistic director, Jez Bond, says that the Park hopes to produce around 40% of its own work, eventually rising to 80%. But he also hopes to help change the culture of fringe theatre and the relationship between spaces for hire and the companies who use them by being completely transparent about the financial deal it offers. This is long overdue. Horror stories abound on the fringe, including the one about the fringe venue that charges companies for toilet paper they use on top of the hire fee, and another that demands a fee if you want details of your show to appear on the theatre website.

"The transparency starts with us," says Bond, who believes that building a theatre from scratch also allows for the building of a different kind of business culture. It is one that extends to those companies who hire the space. Of course nobody should have to work for free, and every actor, wherever they are working, should be paid. In reality, we all know that doesn't happen. The economics of fringe theatre often don't stack up, and actors in particular often end up working for very little or nothing at all. The Park will insist that any company hiring the space and not paying minimum Equity rates to their actors, must as a condition of hire use a system of accounting called "open-book".

Open-book accounting allows access to the accounts for all cast, creatives and crew so they can all see how much money is being spent on the production and exactly where it is being spent, and what receipts there have been. It spells an end to the all too common "profit-share" arrangement, where the production sells out, but the performers just have to take it on faith that there were no profits, not even enough to cover expenses.

The Park is not alone in encouraging a more transparent approach. Actor and writer, Rebecca Peyton, has recently set up a Facebook group to encourage people to use open book accounting on productions because she was tired of hearing people – herself included – moaning about not getting paid.

"The reason we moan is because we feel disempowered. People don't want to speak out because they are afraid of getting a reputation as a troublemaker. Open-book accounting is just a way of informing everyone on the show how and where the money is being spent. To me, it just makes sense. You may still end up working for free, but at least you know why you are exploiting yourself."

Charlie Ward, artistic director of Muckle Roe Productions is using open-book accounting for a revival of Wilde's An Ideal Husband, which will run at the Rosemary Branch in March. "I can't see why you wouldn't use it. It brings people together and becomes an agreement of shared intent and common purpose, which creates a sense of shared ownership. It means that everyone knows where the money has gone even if it doesn't go into their pocket."

While many British producers insist on secrecy over the financial details of productions (unlike Broadway, London's West End doesn't publish weekly gross figures that give an insight into the economics of a production), Bond says that it is the rising generation who are most open to the idea of using open-book accounting. "Most of them just say, 'That's great'. They don't have a problem. There is a new wave of younger producers who are part of a more open-theatre culture influenced by social media, who see sharing as the way forward – and that includes information."

Information alone won't pay the bills, and it is no substitute for those working on the fringe getting proper union rates for their work. But anything that leads to more openness and accountability can only be a good thing.

• Theatre

It took Judi Dench's astonishing 1989 production of Look Back in Anger to give us the play that John Osborne actually wrote – a play, like Beckett's, about waiting

British theatre is full of consoling myths. One of them is that John Osborne's Look Back in Anger caused an overnight revolution when it opened at the Royal Court on 8 May 1956. That's not quite true. What the play did do, though, was give youth a voice, stimulate other dramatists and liberate audiences. It certainly changed my life. I was a 16-year-old, Shakespeare-saturated, Midlands schoolboy when it opened. Because of Look Back I became hooked on new drama, and eventually a bit of a Royal Court groupie. I've often told the story of how, when I finally got to London to see Look Back on a Saturday evening, I studied the faces of people coming out of the matinee performance to see what impact it had made on them.

Why did the play cause such a stir? Several reasons. One was its scorching attack on the stuffiness of 1950s England. Through Jimmy Porter, Osborne has a go at everything in sight: pompous politicians and clerics, poncey upper-class twits, patronising literary pundits and a prevailingly patrician culture. Osborne's talent to abuse took everyone by surprise in those more reticent times. But the play also, through its searing portrait of Jimmy's marriage to the socially superior Alison, combines the sex war and the class war, and expresses Osborne's own gnawing discontent.

It would be a mistake, however, to see Look Back simply as a sustained monologue or a personal diatribe. In fact, Osborne is on record as saying that Judi Dench's 1989 production, the source of the clip we've just put up online, was the first in over 30 years to get the play right. "Kenneth Branagh," Osborne wrote in the introduction to his Collected Plays, "succeeded in taking the rant out of Jimmy Porter. He tried to take it trippingly on the tongue." And, in so doing, he made Jimmy very funny. Equally important was that Emma Thompson's Alison was not the usual martyred punchbag, but a genuine combatant who used silence and obdurate withdrawal as weapons of retaliation against Jimmy. It took Judi Dench's astonishing production to give us the play that Osborne actually wrote.

Dench's production also helped to nail one other myth: that Look Back in Anger was the polar opposite of Beckett's absurdist Waiting for Godot, which opened in London the year before, in 1955. I wouldn't deny the stylistic difference between the two plays. But Osborne admired Beckett's work and, according to biographer John Heilpern, "related to the dark, heroic soul of the man". And both Look Back and Godot explore one of the great themes of modern drama: the dilemma of waiting. Jimmy Porter and Beckett's tramps are both, in a sense, passing the time yearning for something that will make sense of their existence. "Why do I do this every Sunday?" says Jimmy hurling aside the papers in that extraordinary first scene of Look Back. "Nothing to be done," is the opening line of Godot, as Vladimir exasperatedly tries to pull off his boot. The echoes are fascinating and remind us that Osborne's landmark play, like Beckett's, is all about waiting and the agony of hope endlessly deferred.

• John Osborne
• Theatre
• Samuel Beckett
• Judi Dench
• Kenneth Branagh
• Emma Thompson

Lyn Gardner rounds up the weekend's stage business, from a jelly-smeared Changeling to austerity arts funding and snowy tweets

It is probably too much to hope that when Lindsay Posner's revival of Abigail's Party opens at the Menier Chocolate Factory next month, a cheese and pineapple stick starter followed by pilchard curry will feature on the themed menu in the theatre restaurant.

But it's clearly food on stage that gets critics really excited, which is probably a reflection of the fact that we are normally at work when most people are having their dinner. If there is a tiny thing that's disappointing about the extremely tasty Matilda, it is that the chocolate cake eaten by the unfortunate Bruce Bogtrotter is clearly not real. Never mind – not since Meera Syal cooked chips on stage in Shirley Valentine has there been quite such excitement about food on stage as there has been over Joe Hill-Gibbins's brilliant-sounding revival of The Changeling at the Young Vic, which features a scene in which two actors smear strawberry jelly over each other. Very Karen Finley.

Still it's food in the audience that often proves to be most distracting. When I saw Legally Blonde a few years back, somebody tucked into hamburger and chips in the row in front of me. And back in the 1980s, I saw a revival of Twelfth Night in Stratford and as Orsino declared "If music be the food of love, play on," the elderly couple next to me took out their sarnies and began to munch. Since then I can't think of Illyria without the instant olfactory recall of salmon and cucumber sandwiches.

There's building excitement about the amount of theatre and cultural activity in 2012, but when the party is over, will 2013 feel like the morning after the night before? There is a real danger that while those delivering the 2012 cultural programmes talk about building legacies, the very infrastructure necessary for the long-term health of the arts is being dismantled, particularly in some of London's poorest boroughs. The London Borough of Barking and Dagenham has persisted in cutting £300,000 from the Broadway Theatre, and a few miles further east, Redbridge Council is planning to remove £186,000 in funding to Redbridge Drama Centre, one of those unheralded yet crucial community arts resources whose upcoming programme includes the first festival of installation and performance for children.

Meanwhile, late last Friday, it was announced that the Greenwich and Docklands festival, which every year delivers a massively successful free programme of high-quality street and outdoor theatre, faces a 100% cut in funding from Tower Hamlets. Tower Hamlets is currently vying for City status as part of the Queen's diamond jubilee celebrations, and as part of its bid says that "City status will enhance and unify the many diverse aspects of our borough including our arts and creative industries". No it won't, if its arts and creative industries have been crushed for want of financial support.

I have been reading Rob Swain's Directing, a handbook for emerging theatre directors, published by Methuen. Swain runs the MA in directing at Birkbeck, which has produced a steady stream of talent. The book is terrific: down to earth, practical and inspiring. But there is one glaring omission. Nowhere does Swain mention what the aspiring theatre director should wear in the rehearsal room. Last week I popped in to watch Jenny Sealey, artistic director of Graeae and co-artistic director of the London 2012 Paralympic Games Opening Ceremony, rehearse the Ian Dury musical, Reasons to be Cheerful. So what is the well-dressed theatre director wearing? Her pyjamas, of course.

Spare a thought for @Slunglowalan, who on Saturday afternoon as the UK waited for the snow to arrive was stuck at Slung Low's Leeds base and tweeted: "Genuinely waiting for courier delivery of fake snow at an increasingly arctic HUB. The irony is not making me warmer." Meanwhile the canny @Royalcourt realised that a snow-bound country was a smart way to drum up entries for its 100-word play competition, saying "It's certainly cold outside ... Why not settle in for the day and have a crack at writing a 100 word play?" Why not?

It was very hard to leave Soho theatre the other evening because the place was buzzing, and there were queues all over the building as audiences waited to go into one or other of the venue's spaces. I tripped over several people on my way out. I don't mind the bruises. I spend far too much time in half-empty theatres to be cross at the sight of an audience, particularly one that is so young, exuberant and clearly anticipating a good time. As Soho theatre artistic director Steve Marmion said to me a few days later: "Art is pointless without an audience. Unless it's a two-way process and you make work with your audience in mind, it is just an act of masturbation." Er, quite.

• Theatre

Rarely have I seen a more money-grabbing show than Punchdrunk's current reworking of Macbeth, which has wowed New York's critics, but left me feeling short-changed

I had no problem when Punchdrunk created a promenade piece, The Night Chauffeur, to promote a new tipple for Stella Artois. I didn't flinch when they transformed London's Old Vic Tunnels into a hellish underworld to help flog a Sony computer game. In these cash-strapped times – hell, in any time – why shouldn't a company engage with the business world if it helps them advertise their brand, or make great work elsewhere?

But I do worry when these commercial concerns begin to undermine a company's own theatrical productions. And rarely have I seen a more commercially minded show than Punchdrunk's current stateside hit, Sleep No More.

This reworking of Macbeth, which opened at The McKittrick Hotel back in March 2011, is an undoubted commercial hit. The New York critics are raving about it too, with Ben Brantley gushing that it was "a voyeur's delight". The website is packed with quotes from famous people, cooing enthusiastically. According to Olivia Wilde, the show is "the coolest, sexiest, most mind-blowing thing [you've] ever done in New York. Mind-blowing." Look more closely at the website, though, and you'll notice the Broadway-priced tickets, private events offers and even a gift shop.

And these money-grabbing touches extend all the way into the show. In fact, they begin as soon as you the queue for Sleep No More outside New York's McKittrick Hotel. Although the website lists staggered arrival times, on the night I went the audience was kept waiting outside for nearly an hour. It wasn't exactly atmospheric, as the taxis whizzed past and an out-of-role ticket checker weaved his way along a queue full of people frozen stiff.

The show doesn't even begin once it, well, begins. After leaving your belongings at the cloakroom (only a small fee, naturally), the audience is led into a red-lined bar. This space is really a waiting room and, though it does little to delve into the world of Macbeth, it does its damn best to dig deep into the audience's pockets. Tip jars are scattered everywhere. Bar men sell hideously overpriced drinks. There are no actors on hand to help set the scene, except a singer and someone advertising themselves as a soothsayer – why? – and, when you finally enter the hotel, you're rattled for all the wrong reasons.

Once inside, the comprehensive design, which spans over six floors, does impress. The only problem is that, apart from a dusty reception area and a dingy restaurant, this shadowy space doesn't look a bit like a hotel. Why make such a fuss of relocating Macbeth if you're not relocating it at all? The hotel backdrop is actually a pretty hopeless theatrical tool, which makes little sense of the original text and fails to create a complete or claustrophobic world.

This lack of "aesthetic rigour" (a useful requirement identified in Michael Billington's recent blog on theatrical experimentation) persists even as you leave the show. As the audience is kettled into yet another queue, the actors reappear and attempt to sell souvenir programmes, a final touch that struck me as cynical.

Chatting to an actor-cum-salesman, I asked why I hadn't seen a single murder in this re-imagining of Macbeth. The actor, on the defensive, replied: "There's 13 hours of footage in there. You'll need to come back to make sense of it." How on earth can a company charge such high prices for a show you cannot hope to appreciate fully in one, two or even three sittings? The numbers just don't add up. Except in the box office. And at the bar. Oh, and in that gift shop.

• Punchdrunk
• Theatre

It's cold outside but theatre is hotting up this week with family drama The Gatekeeper in Manchester and Sex with a Stranger, starring Jaime Winstone and Russell Tovey, in London

Lots of quality theatre around this week. Take your pick from the wonderfully inventive Swallows and Amazons at the Edinburgh Festival Theatre until tomorrow, or the Abi Morgan/Frantic Assembly tear-jerker, Lovesong, which goes into the Citizens in Glasgow from next Tuesday. It's a last gasp for the Manipulate festival at the Traverse in Edinburgh, and a first sight for the return of Grid Iron's 2010 festival hit, Barflies; the Charles Bukowski-inspired look at life under the influence is at the Barony Bar from Monday. The Infamous Brothers Davenport continues at the Royal Lyceum. Over in Glasgow, the Tron plays host from next Friday to Mwana, a new play by performance poet, Tawona Sithole. Gary McNair, who created the wonderful money-shredding show, Crunch , will be testing the human body to the limits in Born to Run at Oran Mor. Head to Dundee and Discovery Quay for another Oran Mor show, Spirit of Adventure, a piece by Oliver Emanuel about early 20th-century age of exploration. In Belfast, meanwhile, there's a treat as Mick Gordon revives Brian Friel's version of Chekhov's Uncle Vanya with the marvellous Conleth Hill in the title role.

Third Angel are being playful at Northern Stage in Newcastle with What I Heard About the World, a piece about stories, traditions and idiosyncrasies from across the globe, including the place where the radio broadcasts silence. Keswick's Theatre by the Lake revives a truly great play, David Harrower's Knives in Hens, a tale of language, identity and murder. Lancaster's Duke's Theatre hosts Ishy Din's Snookered, a play about British Asian male friendships that arrives on Tuesday after its run in Oldham. Chloe Moss is a great writer, and her latest is The Gatekeeper, a family drama of resentments and secrets which is at the Royal Exchange, Manchester from Wednesday. The lucky Lowry over in Salford has Propeller's Henry V and The Winter's Tale. Mogadishu is at Liverpool Playhouse until tomorrow, and Terry Hands revives As You Like It at Clwyd Theatr Cymru.

In Leeds , Red Ladder's Big Society with Phil Jupitus is running out of time, but Talawa's all-black Waiting for Godot at West Yorkshire Playhouse has got plenty to spare (not least because it's touring). Awkward Cough's Crimmy plays one night at Harrogate Theatre on Tuesday and Hull Truck's revival of Dennis Kelly's tale of teenage cover-ups, DNA, is at Sheffield Crucible studio. The main house at Sheffield stages Congreve's The Way of the World. Paines Plough joins forces with Hull Truck for Matt Hartley's Sixty Five Miles, which takes its title from the distance between Hull and Sheffield. Tonight, the Square Chapel in Halifax hosts Blind Summit's brilliant evening of extreme puppetry, The Table.

Cheek by Jowl are at Warwick Arts Centre with John Ford's 17th-century thriller 'Tis pity She's a Whore until tomorrow night, before heading to Oxford Playhouse next week. The RSC premiere Helen Edmundson's The Heresy of Love which is about religion, faith and writing. Nora, a version of A Doll's House, continues at the Belgrade in Coventry. Steven Berkoff stops off at Nottingham Playhouse on Tuesday with Shakespeare's Villains, but the show you shouldn't miss is Swallows and Amazons, which pops up at the Theatre Royal after leaving Scotland (see above). Michael Clark and company are at the Curve in Leicester with Come, Been and Gone. Paper Birds are at MAC in Birmingham on Thursday with their show about tipsy Britain, Thirsty. Before that you can catch Nick Makoha's My Father and Other Superheroes. Spymonkey's Oedipussy at the Royal and Derngate in Northampton is a comic take on Greek tragedy written by Carl Grose and directed by Kneehigh's Emma Rice; let's hope it's blindingly good. Stagefright looks fun at the Theatre Royal in Bury St Edmunds. The excellent Ian Dury musical Reasons to be Cheerful is at the New Wolsey in Ipswich from Thursday. I can also recommend Mogadishu, about violence and vengeance in a school, which is at Cambridge's Arts theatre.

In Plymouth the Drum hosts Sound&Fury's Going Dark, which is all about seeing stars and going blind. From the Thursday, the Bike Shed in Exeter premieres Peter Kesterton's Playing With Snails, a tale of guilt and redemption. Mayday Mayday is at Bristol Old Vic tonight and tomorrow; after that you can catch the touching mask/mime show Translunar Paradise. Paper Birds' Thirsty (see above) plays The Brewhouse in Taunton tonight, the Ustinov in Bath tomorrow and then the Theatre Royal Winchester on Tuesday. Don't miss Curious Directive's wonderful Your Last Breath at the Ustinov from Thursday. The Shakespeare at the Tobacco factory season in Bristol begins with King Lear with John Shrapnel in the title role. Another Shakespeare, Headlong's Romeo and Juliet opens at the Nuffield in Southampton, while Chris Larner's An Instinct for Kindness continues the debate about assisted suicide at Swindon Arts Centre and Forest Arts in New Milton.

The in-form Landor revives Lynn Ahrens and Stephen Flaherty's pre-Ragtime musical, Lucky Stiff. Howard Brenton's Bloody Poetry gets an outing at another fine fringe venue, Jermyn Street. Ivor Novello's Gay's the Word plays Sundays and Mondays at the Finborough. Paper Cinema's animated storytelling show, The Odyssey, is at BAC. Improbable's new piece, The Devil and Mr Punch, plays the Pit. Doug Lucie's The Shallow End about media ethics is at Southwark Playhouse, and Mathematics of the Heart is a new play about chaos theory and love at Theatre 503. Earthfall's dance theatre piece, At Swim Two Boys, is set before the Easter Rising in Ireland and appears at Riverside. Absurdism and paranoia are on the menu at Camden People's Theatre with Shutterland and How a Man Crumbled. Sex with a Stranger is happening nightly at Trafalgar Studios – and starring Jaime Winstone and Russell Tovey – courtesy of playwright Stefan Golaszewski. The West End openings are Masterclass with Tyne Daly as Maria Callas at the Vaudeville and Ayckborn's Absent Friends at the Harold Pinter. Have a good weekend – and remember theatres are nice warm places to avoid the chill.

• Theatre
• Dance
• West End

A political battle rocks Hungarian theatre – while New York debates the delicate etiquette of praising shows you don't like

Hungarian theatre has hit the headlines in recent months, after György Dörner, an actor and playwright known for his far-right views, was installed as artistic director of the New Theatre in Budapest by the city's mayor, István Tarlos.

At Tarlos's request, Dorner had previously dropped his proposals to rename the theatre the Hatorszag, a term with militaristic connotations that translates as "hinterland", and to install István Csurka, the playwright-founder of the far-right Hungarian Justice and Life party, as an artistic associate. He officially started the job this week and was greeted by hundreds of protesters outside the theatre and a rival rally in support nearby. Dörner's appointment and the surrounding furore has been widely reported in the UK media, but another appointment by the city government has gone relatively unnoticed.

Last month, the artistic director of Trafó House of Contemporary Arts György Szabo was replaced with choreographer Yvette Bozsik. While Bozsik hasn't made the inflammatory political statements that have made Dörner such a controversial figure, she is deemed by some bloggers to be "a willing puppet," expected to replace the venue's extensive international programme with largely homegrown work. A new blog calling for Szabo's reinstatement includes contributions from DV8's executive producer Eva Pepper, Forced Entertainment's artistic director Tim Etchells and Ant Hampton of Rotozaza, who writes: "There isn't really much of a conversation to be had – Szabo's removal is a disgrace."

Elsewhere, there's a lingering (but mostly good-humoured) sense of negativity around the theatre blogs. Village Voice's Michael Musto has written a stinging diatribe worthy of Molière's Alceste, in which he complains about everything from acronymised show titles ("What the fuck do you mean by HTSIBWRT?") to the frequency of Bible-based musicals.

Another of Musto's gripes is the unenviable dilemma of anyone who's ever seen a friend in a terrible show, yet who still has to go backstage and congratulate them (His suggestions for non-praising praise range from "Interesting! You really did it!" to "Your energy never flagged! You were the best one up there!") He could do worse, I think, than take a look at Gwydion Suilebhan's blog on the etiquette of such situations, and perhaps take inspiration from his newfound willingness to be honest about work he doesn't like: "If I don't care for something, and I think I have a valid and constructive point to make about it, I'm going to say so, he writes. "And it feels scary, but also honest... which is a good thing."

But then, playwrighting isn't as easy as just writing a play, something made clear by Rob Kozlowski's vaguely dispiriting – and yet still upbeat – post about his switch to novel writing. Kozlowski's obviously found a new lease of life in prose and from the list of obstacles he encountered when writing plays, you can see why. He puts it bluntly: "Writing a play doesn't matter if you don't get it produced," and that, of course, can take more than just a good play.

Jez Bond, artistic director of the Park Theatre, is facing similar problems with regards to fundraising. "One would have hoped," he writes on the venue's refreshingly candid blog, "that a strong application could sail through to success based purely on its own merits. In the majority of cases it seems to be not so – we're constantly asked 'who on your board knows people in trusts and foundations?'"

Thanks heavens, then, for the optimism of Anne Bogart, who has once again turned a problem on its head with a gorgeous post on the importance of getting stuck. From the hitches in a creative process, she writes, come the solutions. "The most effective way to get unstuck is simply to move," she suggests. "Move anywhere, anyhow and in any direction."

• Theatre
• Hungary

The theatre world's London bias particularly affects new writing, which seldom attracts much attention beyond the capital

One of the best plays I saw last year was Lungs, an off-kilter love story by Duncan Macmillan. Did Macmillan's play appear in the best-of-year roundups? No, but that's hardly surprising because no other national critic reviewed it. Why? Almost certainly because it premiered in Sheffield rather than at the Royal Court or the Bush in London.

To take another example, Nick Payne's Constellations recently opened at the Court and got widely reviewed. But when his play One Day When We Were Young opened at the Sheffield Crucible Studio as part of Paines Plough's Roundabout season just a few weeks earlier, it got precisely one review. Is a Nick Payne play in London worth more than one in the regions?

We've talked on this blog in the past about the inequalities of funding, critical attention and prestige between London and the regions, but nowhere does that seem more apparent than in new writing. It often feels as if a playwright or a play simply hasn't arrived until it has arrived in London.

The imbalance was raised at the Junction in Cambridge on Saturday, during a discussion I chaired called State of the Nation, which was part of the Hotbed festival of new writing. The session covered various issues, ranging from the way the nature and definition of new writing has changed to reflect the changing nature of theatre itself – which, as Paines Plough's James Grieve suggested, is often multi-disciplinary and more collaborative than in the past – to whether such labels matter.

As playwright Mike Bartlett pointed out, audiences really don't care whether what they are coming to see is called new writing or not; what they do care about is having a good night out. "What you want to do as a playwright is to give them something that they will remember and feel changed by," said Bartlett.

Grieve bemoaned the attitude of agents who don't want their client to sign up for a cracking part in a touring production just in case "a walk-on in Downton comes up". But he also thought it crucial for theatre to get out of the mindset that people really ought to come and see shows. "I see myself in competition with HBO," he said. "Mad Men is my direct competitor; we've got to produce work as good as that in the theatre and which it is worth audiences leaving home and paying money to see."

However, much of the debate was devoted to the regional imbalance that means playwrights have to get their work seen in London – a place Bartlett described as being increasingly like "a huge industry trade fair" – if they are to receive real attention not just from critics, but from literary managers, artistic directors and the theatre world as a whole. "You have to go to London and be seen in London if you want to build a career," said Bartlett. "You have to keep up the buzz."

Grieve, who directed Bartlett's superb Love, Love, Love for two regional tours, and who will be taking it into the Royal Court in May, says that when he and George Perrin took over Paines Plough in 2010, they decided not to stage work in London for two years, instead spending their time touring to more than 70 towns and cities.

"We are a touring company and we thought that was the right thing to do," he says. "But some accused us of elitism or reverse snobbery and said we were denying London from seeing the work. My answer was: 'Get on a train'."

Suzanne Bell, literary manager and dramaturg at Liverpool Everyman and Playhouse, who is heading to the Royal Exchange in Manchester next month, pointed out there is something odd about the way a new piece of work shown in the regions may get an audience of 7,000 but only one review, while the same play in London at the Royal Court Upstairs would get at most an audience of 2,000, but extensive coverage and attention. She said she saw her job as caring for playwrights, nurturing their careers and supporting the years of craft-learning and experience that are essential for real career progression.

Bartlett agreed, observing: "My first professional play was actually my 10th play." Bell pointed out that Tom Wells – whose play The Kitchen Sink ran at the Bush before Christmas and was highly acclaimed – did not appear from nowhere. Wells has previously written about 10 plays and had productions at West Yorkshire Playhouse, among other venues.

"The cult of the new and the birth of the first play as a masterpiece is a fallacy," said Grieve. Playwrights only get good by doing a lot of work, and often that work is in and with regional theatres, who seldom get the due they deserve when that playwright hits the Bush or Royal Court.

"What we are trying to do in Liverpool," says Bell, "is support career development. There are plenty of opportunities if you are under 26 and living in London, but what about all those playwrights who are over 28 and living in Cambridge and beyond?"

What indeed. For playwrights in 2012, it would seem that all roads still lead to London.

• Theatre

A number of writers' schemes help young talent get a foothold in theatre. But why do they so often shun those over 25 or 30?

Let's begin with a disclaimer: this July, I turn 30. The less generous among you may interpret what I'm about to say as the ranting of an embittered 29-year-old mourning the passing of youth.

But nonetheless allow me to raise the following question: why are there so few opportunities for anyone over the age of 30 – and, in many cases, 25 – to get a toe-hold in theatre, and most other areas of the arts?

There are several schemes that offer an important – and necessary – conduit for young writers, directors and performers to enter an industry whose portals often appear at best shadowy, at worst barred to anyone without the right contacts. The Royal Court's Young Writers Programme, open to 18 to 25-year-olds, is one example: top-notch young playwrights such as Bola Agbaje, Alia Bano and Polly Stenham have honed their talents through the intensive 12-week course, or through the theatre's Young Writers festival: this year's event kicks off later this month. Similar youth programmes are run by the Liverpool Everyman and Playhouse, the Traverse in Edinburgh, and by several other theatres around the country.

Then there's IdeasTap, a superb organisation for emerging artists, offering both a promotional platform and a source of contacts, job offers and commissions. Anyone can join (I should make clear that I am a member), and some of the opportunities are open to all ages – but the majority are limited to those below 25 or 30. Affiliated to IdeasTap is Old Vic New Voices, whose 2012 launch I attended last weekend: run by a team at London's Old Vic theatre, it's a laudable scheme aimed at theatre-makers aged 18-30; among their many great new projects is a competition to find five new plays to sponsor through this summer's Edinburgh festival.

My issue isn't with any of these schemes: they are excellent and much needed. But why is there no similar targeted help for new artists over the age of 30?

Many artists only find their voice later in life, after pursuing earlier careers in other fields. Playwright Dennis Kelly started writing at the age of 30; mezzo-soprano Christine Rice was deep into postgraduate studies in physics when she decided to become a singer; writer Mary Wesley was in her 70s when she had her first novel published. We don't all get started on a career in the arts at the tender age of 17 or 18. Everyone's career path is different, and somebody writing their first play at 40 may have just as much to say as somebody writing their first play at 19 – if not, given life experience, a good deal more.

I am aware of a few official routes to getting started if you're over 30 (if you know about any others, please do tell me about them below). There's no upper age limit to Unheard Voices, the Royal Court's other entry-level scheme for playwrights "whose voices are under-represented on the British stage" (this year they're focusing on Chinese and East Asian writers), and the Soho Theatre's writers' programmes are, I believe, open to all ages. Most drama schools and art colleges accept mature students, and anyone can apply for a Grant for the Arts through Arts Council England – though good luck to them, in the current climate.

Then there's the usual riposte to any concern about a lack of official access schemes: that talent will out, and success can come at any age, if you're good enough. I still can't help feeling, though, that once I'm 30, that gossamer-thin chance to be the next great British playwright, actor or director will have well and truly passed. But perhaps that's just a feeling we all learn to live with.

• Theatre
• Polly Stenham

Surviving clips of the iconic US dancer reveal a freedom, vigour and joy beside which footage of her contemporaries looks quaint

In October 1925, when Josephine Baker made her Paris debut in La Revue Nègre, it was reported that news of her performance had "spread like wildfire" through the city's cafes and bars within half an hour of the curtain coming down.

Back in Manhattan, Baker had been an end-of-the-chorus-line girl – too skinny, too dark, too comical to be a star. In Paris, however, she was hailed as a black Venus, an ebony pearl and an embodiment of the authentic soul of Africa. Picasso, Léger and Hemmingway admired her then, and such is the power of the Baker legend that, even today, a performer like Beyonce wants to claim her as an inspiration.

Yet, to appreciate the original power of her dancing, you have to piece together evidence from a very few surviving clips.

This 1927 footage of her trademark "banana" dance (the surreally erotic "tutu" was originally designed by Jean Cocteau) reveals more about the racial and cultural stereotypes that informed Baker's packaging than her style. But still we get some glimmer of how radiantly and subversively she channelled the performance trends of the day: the cross-eyed, comic routines of black vaudevillians; the old minstrel dances like the cakewalk and the newer, jazz-age dances like the black bottom and Charleston.

You also see the wicked precision of Baker's timing. This shorter clip illustrates why Anita Loos spoke so admiringly of Baker's "witty rear end": in the "chicken feathers" move, she shakes her jutting buttocks with a speed made all the more insinuating by the co-ordinated, flickering flourish of her wrists and hands.

In this "plantation" clip, scroll past the generic slapstick to see how clever the rhythmic counterpoint is between Baker's torso and her long, long legs: her feet swivelling (1 min 19 sec) and her legs sliding out from under her, almost as if she's slipping off balance (1 min 35-50 sec). It's an interesting contrast with a later, masculine Charleston routine which has a looser swing and a lower centre of gravity.

Two other tiny clips highlight Baker's precision further. In the Charleston "fan" move, her legs seem as light and brittle as hummingbird wings. In the second clip, look at the unbelievably neat cross-stitching of her feet and ankles.

Bitty as the footage is, what shines through is the peculiarly modern dynamic of the dancing. Baker may have been a prisoner of cultural convention, yet she moves with a rare freedom, vigour and joy. Most footage of dancers from the 1920s looks somehow muted and quaint, yet – even on film – Baker scintillates. She must have been sensational in the flesh.

• Dance
• Theatre

With theatres developing a new sense of purpose and identity, London's off-West End theatre is more vibrant than ever

We could start with several arguments. First, about what actually constitutes "fringe". Second, about the economics of producing work there. And third, about the importance of theatre beyond the M25. But can we temporarily put them aside and say this? London's fringe theatre is the strongest it has been for years.

Last week, the Off West End awards – or Offies, as they're affectionately known – announced their final shortlist and it is overwhelmingly dominated by fringe theatre. That might sound not merely obvious, but outright tautological. However, the list of around 80 eligible venues includes some of the capital's most historic, heavily subsidised, not-strictly-West-End-but-not-far-off venues. Though six major theatres have taken themselves out of contention, some after winning Offies last year, there are still some giants amid the minnows.

Offwestend founder Sofie Mason explains: "I would rather Davids and Goliaths were compared, in all their vastly varying glory, to see how many shows on a shoestring actually outdid those with bigger budgets." That leaves the Almeida up against the Arcola, the Bush in competition with the Rosemary Branch and the Young Vic squaring up to the Union.

All of these theatres received nominations from Offwestend.com's team of 40 assessors, but, at the shortlisting phase, overseen by a panel of professional critics, more than three-quarters of finalists were indisputably fringe productions. The Finborough has seven nominations, the Landor six, and there are three apiece for the Union, Southwark Playhouse and Rosemary Branch. Contrastingly, the Almeida has four, with the Lyric Hammersmith and Bush receiving two each. Even allowing for the possibility of some well-intentioned positive discrimination – the awards are, after all, designed to champion London theatre's underdogs – it's a considerable achievement that clearly demonstrates London's fringe is in the rudest of health.

One reason for this blossoming is, I think, the recession. Even at the best of times, the theatre industry has many more potential employees than jobs. And it's noticeable that established talent is now working on the fringe: the Print Room, for instance, has recently enticed Michael Pennington, Iain Glen and Penny Downey, while the Union frequently hosts West End regulars, as does east London's Arcola.

More than this, however, the fringe has currently got real purpose and, with it, a sense of identity. Individual fringe theatres are genuinely beginning to have definite characteristics and mission statements, in a way that they have sometimes lacked. The Union and the Landor specialise in micro-musicals, the Finborough in feisty new writing and forgotten classics. Theatre503 are exploding the commissioning process, while Rachel Briscoe and Rebecca Atkinson-Lord have restored some order to Ovalhouse with bold, experimental programming. Even those theatres that embrace variety, such as the Arcola or Southwark Playhouse, are regularly selecting work with real brio and panache.

The London fringe might not be as radical it once was – or as nostalgia perceives it to have been – but its as robust and vibrant as I've known it. And surely that's worth celebrating.

• Theatre
• Fringe theatre
• Awards and prizes

With a touring binge-drinking drama and a play about the Champions League final, theatre lets loose as February begins

The big news in Scotland is the Manipulate festival, a feast of visual theatre and animation, at Edinburgh's Traverse theatre. Highlights include Akhe Engineering Theatre's very strange but undoubtedly mesmerizing Gobo. Digital Glossary, Invisible Thread's intriguing Plucked and a puppet version of Heiner Müller's Hamletmachine from French company Sans Soucis. Also worth celebrating is the arrival of Swallows and Amazons at the Edinburgh Festival theatre. The Infamous Brothers Davenport continues at the Royal Lyceum. It's still very quiet in Glasgow, but the Tron has Woody Sez, a show about the life, times and music of Woody Guthrie. Divided City at the Citizens is a musical adaptation of Theresa Breslin's children's novel about an unlikely friendship between a Rangers and a Celtic fan. At the Byre in St Andrews, Blackeyed theatre revives Stephen Berkoff's The Trial.

Let's start at the Theatre in the Mill in Bradford, which is hosting Ellie Harrison and Jaye Kearney's The Reservation at the Midland Hotel today, and tomorrow invites you into the Tunnel, an interactive installation that takes you through the seven ages of man. Things get busy in Sheffield, where Propeller's The Winter's Tale plays the Lyceum from Tuesday and The Way of the World is in the Crucible from Thursday. You can also catch Paper Birds's look at our love affair with alcohol in Thirsty, a touring show that stops off at the Crucible studio on Monday. The delightful tale of one man's love affair with radio, John Peel's Shed, follows on Thursday. Another small but lovely show, Caroline Horton's story of a wartime romance You're Not Like Other Girls Chrissy, is at Harrogate theatre on Thursday, and Ian Brown's all-black version of Beckett's Waiting for Godot opens at West Yorkshire Playhouse in Leeds next Friday. In Oldham you can catch Ishy Din's Snookered, a tale of young British Asian masculinity directed by Iqbal Khan and heading for London's Bush theatre. Vivienne Franzmann's gripping story of playground violence and classroom politics, Mogadishu, goes out on tour from Liverpool Playhouse.

Helen Edmundson's new play for the RSC, The Heresy of Love, which tells the story of Spanish Golden Age playwright Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, starts previewing in Stratford next Friday. Edmundson is best known for her adaptations, among them Coram Boy and Swallows and Amazons, but she's a great playwright too, with The Clearing surely deserving of a major revival. Cheek by Jowl's 'Tis Pity She's a Whore moves from Cambridge Arts to Warwick Arts Centre. Patricia Benecke directs Nora, Ingmar Bergman's version of A Doll's House at the Belgrade. MAC in Birmingham premieres Nick Makoha's spoken-word show My Father and Other Superheroes, about growing up without a dad. Spymonkey's Oedipussy – written by Carl Grose and directed by Emma Rice – begins a long tour by premiering at the Royal and Derngate in Northampton.

Norwich Puppet Theatre also plays host to the Manipulate festival of visual theatre and animation. In Cambridge at the Junction this weekend, the Hotbed festival offers a new perspective on playwriting. I'll be there tomorrow, and chairing a panel called "State of the new writing nation", which features Paines Plough's James Grieve, playwright Mike Bartlett and others. You can also catch the best of Hotbed at Soho in London on Monday night. Two other shows worth catching at the Junction this week are Dan Canham's haunting 30 Cecil Street and Made in China's We're Hope You're Happy (Why Would We Lie). Beating Berlusconi, a rather enjoyable piece about the 2005 Uefa Champions League final between Liverpool and AC Milan, is at the New Wolsey in Ipswich.

Dennis Kelly's story of teenagers trying to get away with murder, DNA, is at the Drum in Plymouth as part of a long tour. Paper Birds's Thirsty (see above) stops off to sink a pint or two at the Brewhouse in Taunton after a brief visit to the North Wall in Oxford on Tuesday. Tristan Sturrock's story of his broken neck is told in Mayday Mayday at BOV studio and then touring. Shutterland, a dark tale of surveillance, is at the Ustinov in Bath tonight and tomorrow. Salisbury Playhouse mounts Coward's Design for Living and the Nuffield in Southampton plays host to Headlong's Romeo and Juliet. Out of Joint's acclaimed revival of Caryl Churchill's Top Girls is at Oxford Playhouse tonight and tomorrow.

It's last-gasp time for the London International Mime festival with Sugar Beast Circus at Jackson's Lane, Fleur Elise Noble in The Pit and Théâtre Tête de Pioche's cabinet of curiosities, Fragments de Vie, at the Roundhouse. A last gasp at the Roundhouse, too, for the fabulous La Soiree. Chris Larner's Edinburgh hit, An Instinct for Kindness, about accompanying his ex-wife to die in Switzerland, goes out on tour from the Southbank tonight. Also at the Southbank this week is the amazing Love Letters Straight From the Heart. I gather it's sold out, but it is touring and worth a journey. The Arcola boasts a major revival of Philip Ridley's first play, The Pitchfork Disney, while in Studio 2 there's Rick Limentani's Freedom, which focuses on Tajikistan opium farmers. I haven't seen it, but there have been raves for Upstairs at the Gatehouse's Guys and Dolls in Highgate, which has been extended to 3 February. It may be sold out but you could stake it out for a return ticket.

The big openings in town are Jamie Lloyd directing She Stoops to Conquer at the NT with Katherine Kelly and Sophie Thompson and Joe Hill-Gibbins directing The Changeling at the Young Vic, with Jessica Raine swapping midwivery for murder. Over at the Finborough, a theatre which has far surpassed many subsidised houses with its output over the last year, Outward Bound is the first London production for 50 years of Sutton Vane's 1923 play set on an ocean liner. Happy New at the Old Red Lion is Australian Bendan Cowell's play about two brothers living in a chicken coup. Cowell wrote Rabbit, a rather interesting piece that was produced by Frantic Assembly a few years back. Frantic, by the way, continue at the Lyric with Abi Morgan's Lovesong for another week. I loved it less than many Frantic shows, but many find it a three-hanky job. I'll be discussing it, along with The Madness of George III and Simon Stephens's The Trial of Ubu (playing at Hampstead), with critic Mark Shenton at the Criterion theatre next Thursday lunchtime. I can't vouch for Elastic Bridge at the Tabard, but it's new so if anyone does see it let us all know what it's like.

Blanche McIntyre, who just won the Critics' Circle most promising newcomer award, directs Repentance/Behind the Lines, new plays from unpublished writers at the Bush. Howard Brenton's Bloody Poetry, which is based on the story of Percy and Mary Shelley and their circle, is revived at Jermyn Street, and Belt-Up's flawed but emotionally acute The Boy James, which delves into the life of JM Barrie, returns to Southwark in a venue called Goldsmith on Southward Bridge Road. Details of how to find it are here.

Have a great weekend and do please share with us what you're seeing.

• Musicals
• Fringe theatre
• West End
• Theatre

Comic Daniel Kitson invited a New York audience to lash out at anyone seen scribbling notes. I'd rather do my job in peace

A few days ago I perched on an aisle seat at St Ann's Warehouse, waiting for Daniel Kitson's latest solo piece, It's Always Right Now, Until It's Later. Before the show began, Kitson – who is at once mildly repellent and helplessly magnetic – gave the usual speech asking audiences to turn off their mobiles. Then he added further instruction. Recent attendees had complained that the scribbling of a critic had distracted them from of the play. Kitson had a neat solution. If spectators should spy a critic taking notes, they should respond with punches. Kitson admitted that this might prove a further distraction, but he thought it worthwhile.

Me? I would prefer, if possible, to attend the theatre unslugged. I'd like also to take notes – though as it happened I wasn't reviewing Kitson, so my pen and pad could stay shoved beneath my seat. My memory, while good, isn't close to perfect and I need to scribble a few remarks about set and costume and lights to spark recollection – even if I struggle to read those remarks afterward. (Writing in the dark is no mean feat.) Also, in cases such as Kitson's, who declines to distribute scripts to reviewers, critics need to record choice bits of dialogue as quickly as we can. As much as Kitson feels antipathy to reviewers in general, I would venture that he likes ones who misquote him even less.

Yet I do feel there's some level of etiquette critics should strive for. Firstly, we ought to be on time, which most of us are, even to the point of obsessive promptitude. I've been late only a handful of times in my professional career, twice owing to the subway having hit someone. We ought to graciously accept whatever free seat a publicist provides. And we ought to do our work unobtrusively. I used to use a reporter's notebook, but I did find the pages rustled, so now I use a notebook with larger pages so that I only have to flick them once or twice. And fine point pens don't squeak. About a decade ago I remember having to turn to another critic at intermission and tell her, as nicely as I could, that the shriek from her felt-tip was drowning out the actors. I even offered her one of my own pens. (She didn't accept.)

Then again, I've also acquired some habits that border on impolite. I believe one should applaud respectfully throughout the first curtain call, but during subsequent ones I do take to gathering my coat and making a hasty escape up the aisle. (The sooner I return home, the likelier I am to see my husband before he goes to sleep. I'm sentimental that way.) I know one critic who seems able to disappear even before the house lights rise; I think it might be magic. And I will confess that when handed a paper script rather than receiving one via email – email's so much nicer: environmentally friendly, searchable – I have, when very bored, flipped through it to determine how many more pages I had to endure.

This is quite bad behaviour, and by admitting it, I'm promising to curtail it. Yet I still don't think I ought to be punched for it. I'm not necessarily against physical violence – indeed, during that same Kitson show, I fantasised about thwacking the ankles of the woman who keep kicking my seat-back, except the seats didn't have backs, so it was actually my bottom, and no amount of spinning around and glaring would dissuade her. But what is civil society without limits? So here are mine. Should I steal your boyfriend, dropkick your dog, instigate a nefarious plot to evict you from your rent-stabilised apartment then, by all means, thump away. Until then, why not let me get on with my scribbling?

• Comedy
• Theatre
• Comedy

Theatres are keen to advertise their own shows, but not events at other venues. Isn't it time to pool publicity for the benefit of all?

There's much talk of collaboration in theatre at the moment, but how far does it really extend? We've already seen the National helping regional houses unlock philanthropic donations, but are there other areas where theatres could do little things to help each other?

I ask because on a daily basis I sit at my desk and piece together which companies are touring where, even when the shows in question are co-productions between different venues. The theatres have pooled the money and the talent, but they don't seem to pool the publicity or marketing information. The venues send out publicity with their own dates, but don't mention subsequent dates in other venues.

Last week I popped into the Southbank Centre, looking for a London International Mime festival, assuming I'd easily find one because the venue hosts a number of shows. But I couldn't find one in any of the many displays I found of the venue's own branded publicity and leaflets .

Although the press office has since assured me that there is a display by the box office (I must have missed it), according to the Mime Festival's Helen Lannaghan, in previous years the Southbank has been reluctant to take Mime festival brochures, arguing that advertising performances in other venues was obstructive to their trade and detrimental to their own branding – she's understandably delighted that this year they have changed their minds. Dance Umbrella was also previously unable to display its own festivalwide brochures at the Southbank Centre, although managed to come to a satisfactory agreement for the 2011 festival. Clearly the Southbank has realised that it is really not so damaging for audiences to know that dance or mime or circus takes place beyond its walls, and that Blind Summit's The Table is on at Soho theatre or that Sugar Beet Circus is playing at Jackson's Lane.

Great news – but why is it such a struggle? Large, well-funded organisations such as the Southbank and others should, as a matter of course – and as a condition of being a National Portfolio Organisation, funded by the Arts Council – be reaching out a helping hand to those who are smaller and less financially comfortable than themselves. Why shouldn't the Southbank always have brochures available for, say, Jackson's Lane, a venue that frequently offers similar work but which is far tinier? A little more generosity may help develop an audience for visual theatre, puppetry and circus; and the bigger the audience, the more chance that these art forms will benefit, and venues both big and small benefit too.

Sadly, however, competitive thinking on the part of larger theatres and venues is not uncommon, even in the subsidised sector. While the canniest players recognise that they are stronger together, which has led to the launch of initiatives such as World Stages and Taste Theatre, where a number of London theatres from BAC to the Young Vic pool resources to promote not just their own shows but each other's too, others remain locked in their citadels with the drawbridges up.

What we urgently need is greater co-operation between venues, including the sharing of audience data – although legal issues regarding data protection need to be addressed. Some still argue that sharing is a step too far; restaurants don't give house room to each other's flyers or share diner information. But even in the commercial world of the West End, it's possible to pick up a guide and find out what is going on at rival theatres. Theatres aren't in competition with each other, but breathing the same air. What's good for one is likely to be good for them all.

Theatre-goers are very much creatures of habit, and in London in particular audiences are often fragmented into particular venues and for particular art forms. I find as much to interest me at Sadler's Wells as I do at the National Theatre, but I might not know that if I were to think of one as exclusively a dance house and the other as a theatre venue, and never saw the brochure for the other.

Attitudes are changing, but slowly – is West Yorkshire Playhouse really so concerned that Leeds audiences will suddenly decide to go to Northampton instead to see The Go-Between? Of course they won't. But if they enjoy the show they might tell their friends in another town or city, and if journalists or bloggers are given the information they will be more likely to mention it in features and reviews. Such small acts of kindness could have a big impact.

• Theatre
• Marketing & PR

The Ukranian prodigy's resignation has shocked the ballet world – but the clues were there that something wasn't right

When I interviewed Sergei Polunin just before Christmas I certainly got no sense that he was about to do a runner from the Royal Ballet – yet there were some comments, even then, that stuck me as odd. We were in discussion with Ivan Putrov about the changing profile of men in ballet and Putrov was talking with passion about his desire to extend his career well beyond his 40s, and well beyond the role of classical princes. "Dance is dance," said Putrov happily. "I love it." Yet when he turned to Polunin for agreement, the latter simply laughed and said: "I want to retire when I'm 28."

The conversation moved on. But there were moments when it felt as though there were two Polunins in the room. There was the one who described the exhilarating physical kick he got from ballet, and the excitement he felt from discovering a musical and dramatic chemistry with another dancer (he cited his partnership with Tamara Rojo in Ashton's Marguerite and Armand as one of the most important moments in his career).

But then there was the Polunin who spoke almost angrily of the kid he might have been had he not been pressured into ballet by family duty – the kid who could have gone to football matches, knocked around the streets with his mates and got into trouble. And it's tempting to imagine it's that kid who was in charge when Polunin walked out of the Royal Ballet two days ago and went to ground in the tattoo parlour he co-owns and loves. It was also that kid who has, according to certain reports, grown so sick of the discipline of ballet that he wants to give up dancing for good. Certainly all this seems to have been on the mind of Royal Opera House chief exec Tony Hall on Channel 4 News last night when he expressed the hope that when Polunin had "done his thinking" he might come back. Putrov, who was also interviewed on Channel 4, implied that Polunin did want to carry on dancing – but only as a freelance, so that he would be free to take, and discard, what work he chose. Polunin himself, of course, has said not a word since going, which means that the rest of us can only speculate.

Certainly the schedule of performances that he had been dancing at the Royal was very heavy – this season he was making his debut in at least four major roles. It's a schedule that would have made it impossible to accept the financially tempting offers to guest elsewhere I'm sure he received. And, like other dancers before him, he may simply have decided he wanted to chase the money. Having worked for so many years to please everyone else – his parents, his teachers, his colleagues – he may have felt it was time to reward himself. (Is it relevant that one of his most frequent contacts on Twitter has been a tattoo artist calling themselves @eazzzy_money? It's a tempting thought.)

Other sources suggest Polunin might accept an engagement with another company, where the schedule is less rigid and artists are permitted a looser affiliation. American Ballet Theatre has recently lost its own golden boy, David Hallberg, to the Bolshoi and would love to have a replacement like Polunin, who is as good as all the headlines suggest – not only technically gifted, but graced with the poetry of stage presence, musical instincts and an intelligent dramatic sense. Another contender would be the Mikhailovsky Ballet in St Petersburg, which has private money to spend and, with Natalia Osipova and Ivan Vasiliev already signed up, an apparent determination to become the new supertroupe of the ballet world. (The Mikhaikovsky insists it had nothing to do with Polunin's departure from the Royal, yet hasn't denied the possibility of a future discussion.)

But it would be wrong to overstate the drama of Polunin's case. There's a long line of dancers who have flown nests that they've found too small or too uncomfortable, from Vaslav Nijinsky, Rudolf Nureyev and Mikhail Baryshnikov to Carlos Acosta – even Anthony Dowell, the most classically English of dancers, left the Royal for a couple of season to spread his wings in New York.

But there are two things that hit hard with Polunin. For all of us in London who have felt lucky to be watching a career like this in the making, his departure feels a horrible loss. And it's a worrying one, too. The abruptness of his going, combined with the rackety image he presented of himself via Twitter – sleeping until late afternoon, starting the morning with a beer, making gnomic comments about living fast and dying young – suggest he's in a fragile, volatile state. At the point where he seems to be craving independence, Polunin may also be most in need of steady guidance. It's the kind of guidance you would hope he would get from inside a company. And which some are hoping, even now, the Royal might be able to reach out to Polunin and persuade their prodigal son to return.

• The standfirst of this article originally said that Polunin was Russian, rather than Ukranian. This was corrected on 27 January 2012.

• Royal Ballet
• Dance
• Ballet

US writer and critic George Hunka says he's done with the 'blowsy and illusory connections' of blogging – and a Simon Stephens monologue becomes available for download

Less than a month after Thompson's Bank of Communicable Desire closed for business , I'm sad to report that another blogging behemoth is following suit (at least partly). George Hunka started Superfluities in October 2003; in that time, it has been a continuously challenging, rigorous and defiant sliver of online space.

Hunka is not shutting up shop entirely, but, as he explains in a post entitled Unpopular Culture, he'll be writing "less about theatre and drama, and more about other things." As its title suggests, Hunka's post expresses his disillusionment with the 'blowsy and illusory connections' of blogging and – to a lesser extent – theatre itself, an art form about which he cares deeper than most. He writes: "The mad desperate craze for connection, for accessibility, for popularity, for community, I find profoundly foreign and hostile to my nature as a writer and as a person, especially in an art form like theatre."

Noises Off, however, remains optimistic. Yes, sections of the blogosphere can be frustratingly shallow and inanely repetitive. However, there is still plenty of original, intelligent and good-spirited writing knocking around online.

For proof, look no further than a new multi-authored blog, curated by Hannah Nicklin and Andy Field, building up to this year's State of the Arts conference. It's already got several enticing nuggets of thought – and it's only been live for a week. Exeunt's Daniel B Yates asks "artist or beggar?, Tania El Khoury offers a punchy polemic against overanalysing labels in performance and Field writes about the art of imagination. With another three weeks before the conference itself – which will naturally be blogged live – it's well worth keeping an eye on.

Meanwhile, Alex Fleetwood, founder and director of Hide & Seek, is looking forwards by looking back. The company create and produce pervasive games, many of which are influenced by computer games and use technology (particularly smartphones and the like) creatively. So it's somewhat surprising – and really rather exciting – to hear him wax lyrical about the use of outdated apparatus and work that makes a virtue of its awkwardness. His post is beautifully put together, starting with an celebration of 18th-century trumpets and advocating the use of analogue technology in spite of – or rather because of – its flaws.

Finally, two brief parish notices. Jo Caird has put together a really useful list of 100 people to follow on Twitter to keep up to date with UK theatre. It's pretty much comprehensive, but missing a few of my personal favourites: Chris Goode, Tim Crouch, Financial Times theatre critic Sarah Hemming and playwright Simon Stephens – though, in fairness, he only joined this week …

Speaking of Stephens, I recently stumbled across a website that lets you stream or download a film of his monologue Sea Wall. Both cost £3.50, but it's a devastating miniature performed with delicate intensity (and intense delicacy) by Andrew Scott, the actor now known to the nation as Jim Moriarty. First seen at the Bush in 2008, it played at the Edinburgh Fringe a year later, during which time Lyn Gardner tweeted of the play: "You will remember it for the rest of your life." Recommendations don't come much stronger than that.

• Theatre
• Sherlock

The innovative work coming out of fringe venues such as the Finborough and Bush puts much commercial theatre to shame – but producers would be wise to pay attention

I like the Critics' Circle drama awards, which took place earlier today, more than any other – and not just because I'm a critic. The ceremony is short, the voting democratic, the results sensible. Even though I am sorry that there is no recognition of Mike Bartlett's outstanding 13, the awards acknowledge real achievement: Richard Bean's One Man, Two Guvnors (best new play), Mike Leigh's Grief (best production), Benedict Cumberbatch and Sheridan Smith (best actor and actress for Frankenstein and Flare Path).

But it's the awards that look to the future that always intrigue me. I'm delighted that director Blanche McIntyre picked up a best newcomer award for her productions of Foxfinder and Accolade at the Finborough. The first of these was a dystopian fable by Dawn King about the danger of fundamentalist certainties: the latter was a 1950 Emlyn Williams West End play about the need for tolerance of sexual waywardness. Wildly dissimilar, both were brilliantly directed. McIntyre surrounded King's rural drama with a chilling aura of silence. And in the Williams play she caught exactly the sense that the 50s was, for many public figures, a period of double lives and double standards.

What saddens me is that two such fine productions disappeared so quickly after their allocated three-week run. Neil McPherson, who runs the Finborough, does amazing work on minimal resources. The turnover of new and old plays is so rapid that he can't be expected to keep reviving his old hits. But why, for pity's sake, did no other producer come along and offer Foxfinder and Accolade an extended life? I'm told that Nick Hytner has been spotted at the Finborough, but I wonder whether most commercial producers have the foggiest idea where the theatre is or that McPherson is consistently offering work of a calibre that puts their own drearily unimaginative fare to shame.

In a good year for small theatres, the best new playwright award went to Tom Wells for The Kitchen Sink, which played at the new Bush as recently as December. I was possibly a bit grudging in my praise for this play, which did something rare in modern drama – offered a celebration of working-class family life without lapsing into condescension or sentimentality. It also (and this is even rarer) showed the parents accepting that their son was gay as a fact of life rather than a trauma-inducing issue. Although I hope Wells's play quickly gets revived on the regional circuit, Tamara Harvey's production deserved a longer life.

One problem is that, apart from Trafalgar Studios 2 and the Arts, it is hard to think of any West End theatres suited to transfers from the fringe. But, at the moment, a lot of good work is going down the plughole after an all-too-brief exposure. If today's Critics' Circle awards achieve anything, I hope it will be to alert producers to the fact that venues like the Finborough and the Bush are consistently punching above their weight, and coming up with work that cries out for a longer life.

• Theatre
• Awards and prizes

Standup legends Frank Skinner and Alexei Sayle are returning to their compering roots. But how do famously funny MCs avoid upstaging the acts they are introducing?

The compere at a comedy gig is not usually the night's highlight, but this week that may be the exception to the rule – twice. Tonight Frank Skinner launches a two-week run of his Frank Skinner and Friends performances at London's Noel Coward Theatre. Until 4 February, Skinner will be hosting variety shows featuring music, juggling and chums such as Al Murray and Richard Herring.

Then, tomorrow, another standup legend pitches up within heckling distance of Skinner. Alexei Sayle made his name as the compere at Soho's original bearpit, the Comedy Store, back in 1979. Now approaching 60, he introduced some acts at a Royal Festival Hall comedy night last year and enjoyed the experience so much that he's doing the same at London's Soho Theatre on the next three Tuesdays.

It is intriguing that these two formidable talents have both chosen to return to the stage without performing the usual extended set that is the norm for headline acts. For Skinner, this harks back to his cut-price Credit Crunch Cabaret shows at the Lyric in 2009 – and heaven knows the economy is also harking back to 2009 – but more significantly it reflects his origins, compering at the XXXX Club in Birmingham in the late 1980s. Then, every gig required new material, in contrast to the touring acts who could rehash the same set all over the country. Facing the same returning audience, Skinner was forced to keep things fresh. It helped him to develop that quickfire quipping survival instinct that he still has today.

Compering is no soft option, though. The best comperes enthuse the audience and amuse them without actually upstaging the acts they introduce – not easy when many fans will be at these gigs precisely to see the compere. When Peter Kay was starting out and compering around Manchester, legend has it that acts had genuine difficulties appearing with him; he was so popular that audiences would drift off to the bar during the turns, and only return when Kay sauntered on.

Of course, MCs don't always help their fellow performers. Kay – again – was the host of a Teenage Cancer Trust benefit in 2005, and after Noel Fielding had been slightly wrongfooted by a heckler, Kay treated the packed Royal Albert Hall as the fictional Phoenix Club and publicly suggested that Fielding was not his cup of tea either. Not much in the way of showbiz solidarity.

Then again, some comperes become famous exactly for doing the latter. When the late, legendary Malcolm Hardee used to front gigs at his Tunnel Club in Greenwich he was quietly supportive of newcomers offstage, but onstage he threw down the gauntlet. "This next act's probably a bit shit," was Hardee's trademark way of introducing the talent. Not a line, one suspects, those kindly old pros Skinner or Sayle will be using.

• Comedy
• Comedy
• Theatre

There's lots going on in theatre around the country with Alfie in Bolton, the Hotbed festival of new writing in Cambridge and the Tricycle's Stones in His Pockets coming to Belfast

Peter Arnott's story of 19th-century stage magicians, Ira and William Davenport, The Infamous Brothers Davenport, sounds enticing at the Royal Lyceum in Edinburgh. At the Traverse on Wednesday and Thursday, Stellar Quines presents two new pieces by Angela Cairns and Jennifer Tremblay. The Captain's Collection, which concerns the man who compiled a collection of Scottish folk music, is at the Brunton in Musselburgh tonight. On Friday, the Byre in St Andrews plays host to Donna Rutherford's Kin, an exploration of the relationship of elderly parents with their middle-aged children. You have until tomorrow to catch Oily Cart's marvellously ingenious children's show, Ring Ding a Ding, at the Macrobert in Stirling. In Northern Ireland, the Tricycle's acclaimed revival of Stones in His Pockets goes into the Grand Opera House in Belfast.

Two large shows have their press performances tonight: Red Ladder's Big Society, a music hall comedy at City Varieties in Leeds, and the revival of Bill Naughton's Alfie at the Bolton Octagon. Jim Cartwright's new double-hander Two opens at the Royal Exchange in Manchester, but the show you should look out for there is in the studio in February: Chloe Moss's The Gatekeeper, a tale of family celebrations and fall-outs. Mick Martin's story of Northern Soul, Once Upon a Time in Wigan, is new at Hull Truck, as is Northern Broadsides' Love's Labour's Lost at the New Vic in Newcastle under Lyme. You have to today and tomorrow to catch Tim Crouch's I, Malvolio at the Sheffield Crucible. Stephen Daldry's An Inspector Calls goes into the Lowry; it's still worth it for the famous collapsing set. Tena Stivicic's powerful story of transnational migration, Invisible, stops off at the Lawrence Batley in Huddersfield.

Propeller's Henry V and The Winter's Tale will be well worth the effort at the Everyman in Cheltenham. Also in Cheltenham next Friday, the Parabola Arts Centre plays host to Stand and Stare Collective's Guild of Cheesemakers at a secret location. There's just time to see Caryl Churchill's Top Girls at Warwick Arts Centre this weekend, and you should definitely check out the superb Oh Fuck Moment, which is there on Tuesday and Wednesday as part of its tour. The RSC open Lucy Bailey's revival of The Taming of the Shrew.

Cheek by Jowl's take on 'Tis Pity She's a Whore which opens at Cambridge Arts Theatre this week as part of a short tour before heading to the Barbican. Also in Cambridge, this time at the Mumford Theatre, is No Exit's The Secret Garden. The main business in Cambridge this week, though, is the start of the Hotbed festival of new writing at the Junction. It includes new voices and work, workshops and panel discussions (including one, State of the Nation, about what's going on in new writing chaired by me with Mike Bartlett and others on Saturday 28 January), and a chance to see Fishamble's Silence, a show that got rave reviews during its brief run in Edinburgh last summer.

It's your last chance this weekend for the glorious Swallows and Amazons at Chichester before it moves north. That's followed by the hugely successful Yes, Prime Minister. Ayckbourn's wryly topical Neighborhood Watch continues at the Yvonne Arnaud in Guildford. Salisbury Playhouse follows Invisible this weekend with a revival of Coward's ménage a trios drama, Design for Living. Bath's Ustinov plays host to Rhum and Clay's Edinburgh success, Shutterland – a tale of surveillance, secrets and a hidden past. Mayday Mayday at Bristol Old Vic and touring is Tristan Sturrock's account of his life-threatening accident. Don't miss Little Bulb at the Tobacco Factory this weekend: it features The Marvellous and Unlikely Fete of Little Upper Downing. Over in Exeter, Dan Canham's spooky and unsettling 30 Cecil Street is at the Phoenix on Tuesday in a double bill with another dance theatre piece, In the Making. In Kent, German Wheel specialists Acrojou premiere their first full-length show, Wake, which is at the Gulbenkian in Canterbury and then touring.

Owen Sheers wrote the NTW hit The Passion, and he draws on the experiences of wounded servicemen and women for The Two Worlds of Charlie F, which is on for just two performances at the Theatre Royal Haymarket on Sunday. The London International Mime Festival continues, and it's been a very good one. Check out Smashed at the Linbury Studio and the extraordinary L'Immediat at the Barbican. No Fit State Circus are also in action with Mundo Paralelo.

David Haig takes the title role in Alan Bennett's The Madness of George III, which comes into the Apollo in Shaftesbury Avenue. Simon Stephens has The Trail of Ubu, about international tribunals, at Hampstead; Katie Mitchell directs. The Sea Plays by Eugene O'Neill are at the Old Vic Tunnels, and Jack Thorne's Stacy is revived at the Pleasance. Soho, which has just announced its new season which includes a new Ella Hickson play, sees the return of The Bee with Kathryn Hunter, as well as Shallow Slumber, social worker Chris Lee's play written in the wake of the Baby P case. Ardal O' Hanlon stars in Tom Attenborough's revival of Conor McPherson's Port Authority at Southwark Playhouse. Miss Julie is the latest offering at the New Diorama from Faction Theatre Company, whose Twelfth Night and Mary Stuart have been much admired. And Bijan Sheibani directs Emily Mann's new version of The House of Bernarda Alba at the Almeida.

As always, share your own tips – and flag up things we all should see.

• Theatre

This week, bloggers were getting back to the very basics of what theatre is about – and not just on the stage

What are stories for? Poet and children's writer Michael Rosen isn't talking directly about drama, but his question gets to the heart of the medium. Rosen sets about finding stories even where it looks like they don't exist. Narrative underpins proverbs, he suggests, and props up science. His fascinating exploration of sport as story – an event, which is then reported on, thus making up two stories – has parallels with theatre that protests to be non-narrative. "Matches and games we watch are made mythic and many are mythic before they happen," he argues.

Rosen suggests stories have to do with understanding – the ability to "redescribe [things], to say this thing is like this thing" – and wisdom. The latter, he proposes, "is the marriage of ideas and feelings: two spheres we've learned to keep apart when necessary … Put the two together, attached to beings that we can believe in, can think we know and grow to care about, and we have the potency of story."

As it happens, both these elements are picked up in two unrelated blogs by American playwrights: Gwydion Suilebhan and Catherine Trieschman. Suilebhan sides with ideas, writing: "I am beginning to think lately that the secret mission of every play I write – of everything I write in every genre – is to help people understand how the universe works." He's been thinking, in particular, about science and theatre's ability to humanise everything from selfish genes to climate change.

Trieschman, who describes herself as "a progressive Christian", jumps from considering religion to advocating feelings in theatre. Noting that she writes more sinners than saints, and also all her Christian characters are morally repugnant, Triescham writes, "When it comes to theatre, I'm a complete pagan." Beneath this, is the notion of theatre as a safe space to live out dark fantasies vicariously.

"I want something more than an ennobling education," she writes. "I want to be knocked on the side of my head with the mysteries of the universe; I want to explore the wild and woolly terrains of myself that I keep a lid on in polite society; I want to fuck strangers and fear God and poke my eyes out with a needle." (Who, er, doesn't?)

From God to gods. Or creative producers, as they're called these days. Ben Monks and Will Young, creative producers at the Tristan Bates theatre, ask what that that job title even means. In an impassioned piece for Whatsonstage, they ask: "Why should we shy away from being proudly, nakedly, producers? ... The beauty of the job is its diversity, requiring at one moment the artist's mindset, and at the other an accountant's."

Since we're going down this route, let's finish with creation and director Anne Bogart's eloquent, comprehensive and reassuringly candid blog about beginnings – specifically, first rehearsals. "How do we begin?" she asks, before citing Peter Brook, who said first days are simply about getting to second days, and Picasso, for whom "the first stroke is always a mistake and that the remainder of the work on the canvas is the attempt to fix that mistake".

For Bogart, "beginning is simultaneously exciting and harrowing," but from the simple challenge of starting, great things – fresh approaches, new ideas – can come. The question is how to begin again and again, to begin even at the very end, and to become, as she puts it, "a perpetual beginner".

• Theatre
• Michael Rosen
• Poetry

The so-called 'Shakespeare of Bengal' specialised in bold, defiant women – as demonstrated by two London shows based on his work

"If you cry because the sun has gone out of your life, your tears will prevent you from seeing the stars." Call me cynical, but the banality of aphorisms like that put me off Rabindranath Tagore for a long time.

He's widely considered "the Shakespeare of Bengal", and I knew I was supposed to find him terribly profound and understand that he'd been a significant influence on language, politics and culture. Other than that, the sum of my knowledge was that he'd been born (the youngest of 14 children) into a hugely wealthy family, was privately educated in England and became an inspiration to Gandhi and Nehru, the founding fathers of modern India. Nothing to sneer at, but not enough for me to be moved, if lines such as "Love's gift cannot be given, it waits to be accepted" were seriously regarded as the pinnacle of his achievements.

But Tagore was, of course, far more than that: a painter, a writer of short stories, novels, poems, plays and essays, and a composer of thousands of songs (including the Indian and Bangladeshi national anthems). He became the first non-Westerner to win a Nobel prize in 1913. And as I later found out, having been lauded by the Western literary establishment – WB Yeats was an early champion – he was knighted just two years later (an honour he resigned in 1919, in protest over the Amritsar massacre). But as impressive as the accolades might be, it was and is his connection to the man on the street that I reckon to be most intriguing. His insistence at using everyday language (something more obvious in Bangla than in his translated English verses) resonated with the public; he's still a massively popular figure in Bangladesh.

And so, when I started reading more, I realised what I'd perhaps been missing: first, in the realisation that English translation (much of it Tagore's own) does him little justice. Secondly, that as great as Gitanjali might be, it was okay to skip straight to his plays and short stories. I belatedly discovered that Tagore, the old coot, was something of a feminist. And his heroines – Mrinmayi, Uma, Mrinal – weren't just put on pedestals, but on stages in theatres across the country. These female characters were bold and defiant: Mrinmayi was a tomboy, Uma literate and stoic, Mrinal sarcastic and independent.

The thought of Tagore's stories playing to theatre (and later film) audiences at the turn of the 20th century seems encouraging somehow. That they still do so today, even more so: Kali Theatre Company, for one, is putting on two new shows inspired by Tagore's women at the Southwark Playhouse this week. Purnjanam/Born Again and Endless Light take classical Tagore characters and rewrite them in the modern world. Elsewhere the V&A has mounted an exhibition of 50 of Tagore's works for public show. If ever there were a moment to revise or find an opinion on Bangladesh's greatest cultural export, now seems to be it. To put it in his words: "True modernism is freedom of mind, not slavery of taste."

• Theatre