Leo Parker-Rees
Christ's, Management Leo describes himself as a Man of Philosophy, despite failing to get a first for three years in a row. He began writing for The Tab as a Theatre Critic, but soon ran out of pithy variations of "sloppy and under-rehearsed". Refusing, on point of principle, to write tedious, Varsity-style plot-summaries in place of real criticism, he decided to become Opinion Co-Editor, a role enabling him to criticise everything, and encourage criticism from others. He still reviews plays occasionally - when, as he hatefully puts it, "The Theatre needs me".

Be My Baby

LEO PARKER-REES finds himself refreshingly un-nauseated by pregnant teens and 60’s hits.

DSK: The Great Divider

Everyone has something to say about DSK’s visit to Cambridge. But why do we insist on being so offensive towards each other?

Hitting Women

LEO PARKER-REES says violence is bad, whether or not you have a vagina.

The Tempest

LEO PARKER-REES isn’t angry, he’s just disappointed.

Zombie Haiku

LEO PARKER-REES / Writes review in haiku form / Just because he can.

The Two Gentlemen of Verona

LEO PARKER-REES isn’t sure if even a children’s charity is worth this level of pain.

Speed-the-Plow

LEO PARKER-REES makes merry marking the Mad Men Mamet at Magdalene.

Miss Julie

LEO PARKER-REES is seduced by a mad little mistress of a play.

Beginning, Middle, End

LEO PARKER-REES’ one-night stand ends happily but isn’t quite true love.

Sit Down, You Awful People!

In the wake of mass walkout of the RSC’s production of Marat/Sade, LEO PARKER-REES tells the audience where to get off. Expect offensive language and adult themes.

Jerry Springer the Opera

LEO PARKER-REES conducts a paternity test and finds that this show truly is the daddy.

Kings

LEO PARKER-REES is turned off by a drama that misses the point of television.

Twelfth Night

LEO PARKER REES finds himself washed up on a shore of mediocrity. Pleasingly, his brother was there too.

Soundtrack to Your Life

LEO PARKER REES: ‘Very probably talented writers… But they have miles to go before they sleep contentedly on a pillow of my approval.’