Soho theatre, London
The comedian’s compelling show explores gender politics in modern India, singledom and self-improvement

Modesty: “I don’t speak for all women …” Swagger: “… but I do speak for many.” Prashasti Singh’s Divine Feminine shuttles between these poles, now deprecating her own foibles as a thirtysomething unmarried woman in modern India, now running the rule over gender politics in the 21st century. A deft balance is struck, with enough self-mocking silliness to endear herself and keep us entertained, but some arresting thinking too about Singh’s home country and its progress towards female liberation.

That’s the subject under interrogation here, albeit refracted through the confusions and contradictions of a woman who grew up wishing to be a man. Few of the female role models on offer in India seemed terribly inspiring – and the one that did, a high-achieving distant relative, undercut her inspo standing with a very unsisterly warning against spinsterdom. No wonder our host swings wildly between pride in her independence well into middle age, anxiety that her descent into “crazy lady” status may soon be irreversible – and therapy sessions advising she reframe her sadness as a colourful personality trait.

Park theatre, London
Gleefully leaning into all the cliches and groansome laughs, Dan Patterson and Jez Bond’s musical vampire romp is supremely silly

If ever there was a show where the title came first, you’d guess it was this one by Dan (Whose Line Is It Anyway?) Patterson and Jez Bond. Why else, if not to justify a pun, would you make an a capella singing version of the Victorian vampire novel? And Dracapella is nothing if not fond of a pun. (“There is a supernatural force at work in Transylvania.” / “Which is?” / “No, not witches.”) There’s lots more where that came from in this spooky comedy romp, in which an undead Romanian count concludes his 400-year search for love to a soundtrack of closely harmonised 80s power ballads and champion beatboxing.

The latter is all provided by ABH Beatbox, a cast member of the BAC Beatbox Academy’s Frankenstein, in whose globetrotting success I discern another (distant) inspiration for this music-gothic crossover. This one’s a more traditional affair, a knowing entertainment forever sending up its own storytelling cliches, and at every turn choosing groansome laughs over thrills. Arguably it lowers the stakes (it’s catching!) when a story about centuries-spanning passion becomes a vehicle for The Play What I Wrote-style larks. But the relentless silliness of Patterson and Bond’s confection amply compensates, as Harker’s train to Dover is decanted on to a rail replacement bus, and Dracula demonstrates his metaphysical powers by having his henchman consume – as if by magic! – a bowlful of marshmallows.