It’s a universal truth that the most memorable Halloweens feature booze at industrial volumes. Now whether this results in “TOP NIGHT LADZ XX” or ending the night alone, vomit streaked into your Joker facepaint… well, that depends on the Moon. One way of ensuring the former is by tottering down to the Beavertown bash at The Bike Shed on the 29th. There’s a special new brew (Elderberry Pale), plenty of dancing and – mercifully – a no catsuit policy.
How “multidisciplinary” is your life? Yes, the fact that you’ve managed to hold down your job and collate the merits of every Wetherspoon in south-east London does sort of count. But if you fancy discovering its other meaning, and having a Halloween that doesn’t revolve around going to see Alien again, then Music To Be Murdered By at Brasserie Zedel is a serious shout. Combining music, theatre and comedy, all narrated by big Alfie Hitchcock (really), it promises a tricksy night of something different.
Though the thought of immersive storytelling might conjure up memories of school trips to National Heritage sites, over-enthusiastic Viking role-players and your ex’s experimental theatre shows, it doesn’t have to be that way. Well, certainly not with The Crick Crack Club’s Day Of The Dead Halloween show. Essentially, it’s a deeply odd interpretation of the Mexican festival of death. Expect a complex weave of performance, myth and surrealism.
The only truly scary thing about the Crofton Park/Brockley border is that every cash machine seems to charge £100 for a withdrawal. Don’t let that dissuade you though – the Rivoli Ballroom is a hidden treasure. One for the Halloween date crew, it’s showing films in the grand, draughty old hall. Oh, you also get to stuff your face with a variety of school-disco treats while terrifying yourself stupid at The Shining and the original Halloween film.
It’s been a funny year: innumerable political tremors, bizarre cultural happenings, earthquake shocks in sport. But, in its own small way, the killer clown craze deserves its place at the forefront. It’s just so infantile, so nonsensical. But it speaks to a very peculiar kind of human urge, the urge to seek out scares. Now The End Of The World Party people are very canny people. They have figured out that a) people like to be scared, and b) people like to get steaming. So, replace clowns with zombies, drop a tenner, lock yourself in Electric Brixton and p*ss it up like the world’s about to end.
Preposterous and delicious limited-edition meat parcels
At the National Portrait Gallery's Taylor Wessing Photographic Portrait Prize