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New Moon is nothing if not an international advertisement for the hungry virtues of virginity and young people can’t get enough of it
The Twilight Saga: New Moon
Theatre
A smart, prickly and rewarding view of sexual and emotional confusion
Cock
Restaurants
Kitchen W8 is a bargain for this area, if such sophistication is what you crave
Kitchen W8
Too long and drawn out but very entertaining with excellent special effects
This is a peculiar play and does not work for me. Some of it is very funny but there are real flaws
Alex has a strong powerful voice and was faultless, she is far better now than she was on the X-Factor
London,
Kieron Quirke's rating
Reader rating
Dir: David Freeman.
Cast: Cristina Nassif/Louise Poole (Carmen), John Dazsak/John Hudson (Don Jose), Elizabeth Atherton/Lee Bissett (Micaela), Carlos Archuleta/David Kempster (Escamillo), Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
Description: Love and lust collide as David Freeman directs a spectacular in-the-round production of Bizet's hotblooded Spanish tale. Sung in English.
Trains: Tube: High Street Kensington 
, Tube / Bus: 9, 10, 52, 360 
Phone: 0207589 8212
Website: www.royalalberthall.com
Extra info: Food, Pub
Doomed lovers: Don José (John Daszak) and Carmen (Cristina Nassif)
If you think you could do with some spectacle, I advise you head for the Royal Albert Hall. There buy a ticket for Raymond Gubbay’s production of Carmen: a visual treat with fine musical accompaniment, if only a mite of dramatic interest.
Some of my friends are snobby about Gubbay’s Albert Hall productions — all pointlessly lavish crowd scenes and amplified singing. Tosh, I say. In the acoustic hell of the Hall it’s a blessing to hear anything clearly at all. Last night the sound design was impeccable. The staging is in the round but when a singer turned the opposite way I heard him pretty much as before and could pinpoint him by ear. Impressive.
Plus, there was some fine singing. Cristina Nassif’s hussey Carmen had a seductive lilt and an excellent castanet roll. John Daszak brought a plangent quality to Don José, every inch the sweet mummy’s boy out of his depth. Elizabeth Atherton’s Michaela was as wholesomely sweet as brown bread ice cream, her third act aria a little dream.
The Royal Philharmonic, under Peter Robinson, exhibited deft woodwinds and some beautifully intertwining strings.
The pictures on stage were lovely. Lots of kids (always a winner), big parades, a huddled gipsy camp, and a sweat-shop tobacco factory: all good.
Yet there was something about the way the orchestra, locked away at the auditorium’s end, never seemed to mesh with the singers; the way the chorus, padded with actors, gave you 40 people singing like 10; the way the buzz of cooling units filled every silence; the way the singers say their lines like kids dragged on stage by over-inclusive teachers. All the prettiness felt strangely lifeless, like watching a snow globe while listening to the radio.
Until 7 March (www.royalalberthall.com).
Details are correct at the time of publication - please check with venue before booking.
