Charlotte Skeoch

Music fans, I know you're grieving the lack of Glastonbury in 2012, but for all you field-loving, ruddily muddy campers, I pose this alternative: Latitude, surely the only festival for any discerning culture vulture. This year, London's premiere dance venue, Sadler's Wells returns with a stellar line up: Jonzi D,...

Theatre Delicatessen has undoubtedly cornered the 'pop-up theatre' market. The mind-child of Roland Smith, Frances Loy and Jessica Brewster, Theatre Delicatessen was born in 2007 and has since made it's mark by inhabiting disused buildings around London, then transforming them into immersive theatrical experiences. Picking up awards and notable press...

2012 has been a year of outlandish happenings, from the mundane to the absurd. Wikipedia spent 24 hours offline, rendering every University student in the country capable of Key Stage 2 curriculum only. Samantha Brick revealed herself as some kind of sexual Medusa; her crippling beauty having a near-deadly affect...

The Duplass brothers make the kind of indie films that make Blockbuster gobblers dry retch. The very same Duplasses make the kind of indie films that make the bespectacled, shuffling mumblecore lovers turn up their noses at the reek of commerciality. But, are either of these attributes really a bad...

Twenty-four hours ago I was a naïve child: I knew nothing of the domestic storage world, nothing of the joys of effective food preservation... in short, compressible Tupperware was yet to touch not only my hands, but my very soul. Such was the selling prowess and stage authority of Dixie...

Remember the days when you went to proper birthday parties? The kind where you walk away with one tenth of the pass the parcel, sickly sweet cake wrapped in lurid napkins and a party bag with toy cars and lollipops? Weren't they the days? Well, I am pleased to inform...

Since the inception of British hip hop culture, Jonzi D has been at the epicenter of it's creative development. After graduating from London School of Contemporary Dance in 1993, his career has impressively embraced dance, music, spoken word, theatre and often- as a by-product- education. After enjoying international success as...

'We hate poetry that has a palpable design upon us': John Keats' self-assured proclamation is nakedly emblazoned across two large projection screens, flanking Luke Wright. In Essex boy twangs, jiggling from foot to nervy foot, he repeats the phrase with rising incredulity, before slamming our country's most revered poet for...

It's the morning after the night before, and all the revellers out at London's Troxy last night are waking, not to sore heads, dry mouths and an extortionate babysitting fee, but sore calves, hoarse throats and the best breakfast table chit chat since Santa came to visit. Future Cinema's immersive...

If there's one director that divides opinion more dramatically than Moses divided the Red Sea, it's Wes Anderson. Like a walking, talking, film directing Twiglet, you either love him or you hate him.

The advent of yet another colour coded, emotionally ambiguous, fashion fest of an Anderson film will...

I don't remember a great deal about 7 Day Drunk. This may be the most ill advised opening sentence to a review ever, but stay with me if you can. I don't remember a great deal about 7 Day Drunk because, like a lamb to the liver slaughter, I got...

Any film that has felt the soft, plasticine moulding touch of Nick Park's nifty fingers gives me a quasi-illicit thrill of excitement. Call me a debauched plasticine deviant if you will, but from Wallace's wrong trousers, to Mrs Tweedy's chicken pies, a lolloping great Were-Rabbit and even CGI Christmas fiddlings,...

Swinging with the Finkels' director, Jonathon Newman, reminds me of a particularly heinous breed of middle class acquaintance. The specific sub-genre of this species that Newman imitates with such accuracy is the lesser-spotted Farmers Market pervert. The lesser-spotted Famers Market pervert hoards the finest, most expensive ingredients: organic, free-range, with...

Whether you are single, celibate, widowed or blessed with possessing a healthy amount of hardened cynicism, the chances are that the 24-hour period between the 13th and 15th February is not one that you await with bated breath.

The tradition of being insufferably intimate and toe-curlingly cutesy in public places...

I would like to begin with a big, fat disclaimer: I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, a football fan. The entirety of my football knowledge is as follows:
1- Jose Mourinho is a little bit fit if you're over 30.
2- Thierry Henri is...

Umoja couldn't have opened at a better time. Admidst the grey, cold, miserable backdrop of dreary February pessimism, the sounds, sights and joy of South African culture are a welcome ray of light. If, like me, your spirits need a good hoik in a skyward direction wherever and whenever possible...

The 'dance flick' formula has enjoyed an uprising of meteoric proportions. So over-populated was this corner of Hollywood, it even got its own parody movie in the shape of Dance Flick.

First conceived in the cushy, emotionally manipulative womb of Save The Last Dance, ballerinas and B-boys have been...

There's no escaping the buggers. 52% of us have them, the remaining percentage are drawn to them like doe-eyed panting puppies are to Pedigree Chum. They're suckled, jiggled, pushed up, strapped down, enhanced, deflated, the subject of envy, lust, pride, embarrassment and manipulation.

The power of our puppies, ladies,...

I don't think it's wildly hyperbolic to suggest that musical theatre is generally regarded as the arse-end of all culture. Like the happy-go-lucky mongrel among a snooty pack of pedigrees, dragged on a leash by their oddball ringmaster, Andrew Lloyd Webber; they tend to get it wrong more times than...

When I was seven, the most genuinely important thing in my life was William Brown. The hero of Richmal Crompton's achingly British series of books was, to my mind, like the muddied, bad-ass, rebel alternative to Blyton's nauseatingly saccharine Famous Five. While the scrubbed fairy-boys of Blyton's world picnicked on...