It all starts with a thoroughly intriguing concept. Two performers mix live throughout — two DJs whose lives become romantically intertwined as they share and fight for sonic control. The decks become a site of power, identity, a place to take over, find refuge, or disappear. It’s a strong idea — the music mirroring the shifts in desire and domination, the distortion of a connection that turns toxic. Yet the form never quite finds its rhythm. The techno undercurrent often sits in the background rather than driving the story — a missed opportunity in a show built around pulse and control.
Kodachrome captures with painful clarity how easily intensity can be mistaken for intimacy, how validation can slip into addiction, and how modern monsters are made out of the most vulnerable parts of ourselves. But the pace and physical language sometimes work against it. The actions are quick, unfinished, not fully committed; scenes blur before they land. We struggle to track (and hear) the plot but also her emotional attachment to him. He’s a narcissist, but the charm that should make him dangerously appealing rarely has time to settle.
Still, Kodachrome has a pulse that’s hard to ignore. Its messiness mirrors the chaos it depicts — the sudden excesses, the confusion, the emotional whiplash. At one point, her inner voice says to do it “for the plot,” capturing something deeply contemporary: the urge to feel something — anything — amid the surrounding chaos, to seek intensity when everything else feels numb, even if it means ignoring blinding red flags. Kodachrome doesn’t quite master its form, but it understands that impulse all too well.
Reviewer: Klervi Gavet
Reviewed: 8th November 2025
North West End UK Rating: