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class="style2">Reviews Archive <span class="style4">Summer & Autumn 2010</span></a><br /> </p> <p align="left" class="style2"><a href="archiveedinburgh2010.html" class="style2">Reviews Archive <span class="style4">Edinburgh Festival Fringe 2010</span></a><br /> </p> <p align="left" class="style2"><a href="archivespring0910.html" class="style2">Reviews Archive <span class="style4">Spring 2010</span></a><br /> </p> <p align="left" class="style2"><a href="archiveautwin0910.htm" class="style2">Reviews Archive <span class="style4">Autumn-Winter 2009-2010</span></a><br /> </p> <p align="left" class="style2"><a href="archive08.htm" class="style2">Reviews Archive <span class="style4">2008</span></a></p> <p align="left" class="style2"><a href="archive09.htm" class="style2">Reviews Archive <span class="style4">2009</span></a><br /> </p> <p align="left" class="style2">&nbsp;</p> </td> <td width="20" valign="top" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"><p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&nbsp;</p></td> <td valign="top" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"> <h1><strong>Total Theatre Reviews Spring 2010</strong></h1> <p><b>White Rabbit <br><i>Are You Sitting Comfortably? - Pyjama Party!</i> <br>The Basement, Brighton <br>19 June 2010</b> <p>Storytelling collective White Rabbit celebrated the summer solstice and the end of their season with a pyjama party and stories on the theme of Midsummer Night s Dreams at Brighton s Basement. A good half of attendees played along and turned out in nightwear, from cast member Gareth Brierley s striped blue  Cary Grant pyjamas , to elaborate silk dressing gowns. There is something very appealing about putting your pyjamas on to see a show and with the flower strewn, candlelit cabaret tables the atmosphere was set for the sleepover / Midsummer Night theme.</p> <p>A cast of three actors read nine 1000 word stories in three acts; some self-penned, others chosen from open submissions. The quality and tone of the stories varies wildly from comic to haunting, some reworking well-used ideas, others more offbeat and unexpected. Though there are moments of crassness, and the odd cheap punchline, the novelty of being read to, sat in a basement in the middle of the night with a midnight feast of children s party food, is irresistible. A slideshow of black and white photographs, drawings and etchings of historical midsummers and faerie visitations rolls on behind the readers. Clearly some work went into sourcing them and they add an unspoken scholarliness to proceedings.</p> <p>At midnight we adjourn for ice cream and pass the parcel, which everyone seems to enjoy, albeit ironically. The whole evening is a precarious balance between ironic enactment and unaffected childish pleasure. We watch a few homegrown short films, the standout contribution being <i>Death of a Double Act</i>, while in the next room silent films are projected onto the wall of the slumber room as the sleepover begins in earnest. At this point us lightweights slope off into the night, but we re told the diehards will be served a champagne breakfast in the morning. As good a way as any I suppose, to break the spell and cast the pyjama clad listeners back into the adult world after an enchanted night.</p> <p><b>Sophie A.R. London</b> <br><br> <p><b>Carabosse<br> <i>Chez Cocotte</i><br> Oude Helihaven | Oerol Festival, Terschelling <br>12 June 2010</b> <p>A marriage made in heaven: Oerol festival, held on a beautiful island in the North Sea off Holland and <i>the</i> place to visit if you like site-specific theatre, and Compagnie Carabosse, <i>the</i> group to see if you like spectacular and inventive fire installations. <p>This was a rare theatre show by the company and was played out on a small-scale. There was room for 200 people on raked seating overlooking an elaborate set-up of 50 or so pressure cookers simmering away on shelves of gas cookers. <p>There were two performers. An older man wearing a traditional French beret and blue workman s coat accompanied by a younger technician in dungarees and a baseball cap. The older guy had retired and he was about to reveal the fruits of his dreams  steam theatre. <p>The show consisted of eight scenes. We were told not to try and find connections between the scenes, and for me it was here that the problems started. For a company who specialise in such bold and arresting uses of fire the show seemed incredibly throwaway. The visual possibilities were great, especially when you consider the technical expertise the company could have brought to the production, but the show seemed to depend almost entirely on the personality of the older performer as he demonstrated his vision. <p>I suspect his impenetrable French accent alone (translated into Dutch on this occasion) and shrugged-shoulder demeanour would cause a French audience to howl with laughter , but it seemed a rather slim premise to hang an entire show on  especially as the technical set-up behind all those verbal meanderings set your expectations so high. <p>The synthpop of Jean-Michelle Jarre was invoked, there was a tilting against Catholicism, a nostalgic bow towards the France of café-theatres, a projection onto steam that the Terschelling gusts of wind cruelly curtailed, and finally a rather nice jet of steam which rained on us. <p>Steam is an ephemeral substance so it was wise to avoid any bombast, but <i>Chez Cocotte</i> was far too low-key. <p><b>Edward Taylor</b><br><br> <p><b>Race Horse Company<br> <i>Petit Mal</i><br> Queen Elizabth Hall<br> 4 June 2010</b> <p><img src='../images/reviewsjune/racehorsecompany_petitmal.jpg' alt='Race Horse Company, Petit Mal' title='Race Horse Company, Petit Mal' padding='0 0 5px 5px' align='right'>If you re looking for an antidote to the overpriced po-faced big name circus that sweeps the UK annually (mentioning no names Cirque du Soleil), this is a pretty good place to start. Finnish trio Race Horse Company have a slightly unorthodox performance ethic, executing acrobatic stunts with seeming indifference, tripping each other up and scrapping like school boys. <p>The off-kilter attitude of the troupe pervades throughout; they knock each other down and sabotage stunts, perform terrifying drops and impressive tumbles as though they are simply tying a shoelace and never seek or even acknowledge applause. <p>There is something a little schizophrenic about <i>Petit Mal</i>. Their routines are deliberately unrefined while displaying a highly trained level of technical accomplishment at trampoline, acrobatic ball and Chinese pole, and their stage outfits are loose, shabby and virtually colourless for the most part. Midway through the show however, they break into an inexplicable Elvis routine, involving balls and feathers and tyres which frankly baffles without showcasing any of their exceptional skills. The kids did love the pantomime horse though. You haven t lived till you ve seen a trampolining pantomime horse frankly. This broad slapstick isn t Race Horse Company s forte however, and I felt it broke the illusion of their post-apocalyptic, indifferent virtuosity. <p>This bizarre interlude soon gives way however to more of the good stuff. Highlights of the evening include all three men climbing the Chinese pole, twining around each other, culminating in Petri Tuominen executing a heartstopping drop of three or four metres that is arrested mere inches from the stage, and a virtuoso trampoline routine, replete with improbable bouncing headstands, from Rauli Kosonen. <p>The close of the show doesn t go quite to plan, but, as with the preceding hour, it s impossible to tell what is intentional and what is incidental. There were moments which didn t seem to fit, but then that is what <i>Petit Mal</i> is all about: a language of inexactitude and risk in an unforgiving environment which is nonetheless full of unlimited creative potential. <p><b>Sophie A.R. London</b> <br><br> <p><b>Brighton Theatre <br><i>I Am A Warehouse</i> <br>Newhaven Fort | Brighton Festival Fringe <br>23 May 2010</b> <p>Before the performance the audience were led into an installation in the tunnels below Newhaven Fort. There were no guides or helpful laminated explanations for the things we saw below the ground; just occasional fluorescent lights and a persistent smell of burning. <p>Finally we entered a corrugated iron warehouse stood away from the more permanent brick buildings of the Fort and this is where the performance took place. Based on the one-man production <i>Epitaph</i> by UN Press Officer Chris Gunness, <i>I Am A Warehouse</i> incorporates film, movement, poetry and real-life accounts. We learn that Anna-Maria Nabirye embodies the ill-fated UNRWA warehouse in Gaza  and make more sense of the opening sequence wherein this mummified woman unswathed herself of bandages while her two castmates quoted poetry and viewpoints from either side of the conflict. <p>Excerpts from a talking head documentary with manager Jodie Clarke stood outside the remains of the warehouse punctuate the drama. Although shoehorning in genuine selflessness and struggle against the odds could be construed as a deliberate device designed to manipulate an emotional response to the dramatic interpretations on the concrete before us, it is impossible not to be moved by this woman s matter of fact accounts of war and imminent death. <p>An almost interminable speech by an Israeli military leader, essentially speaking for the nation, uncomfortably positioned behind the seated audience and apparently stood on the seat of a quad bike, feels incongruous and literal after the representational and metaphorical body of the piece. This character has clearly been appended in the interests of balance, but should have been better integrated into the main performance. <p>In all, this production had very little new to say, it was a re-presentation of a familiar situation, but by foregrounding UNRWA and saying, 'This is <i>your</i> money burning - this is <i>our</i> input in this conflict', an interesting perspective was reached, if not maintained. A novel production, but they were preaching to the choir and it was never clear what they were intending to achieve. On previous nights Jodie and Scott, managers of the Warehouse, had been present to answer questions from the audience but were unable to stay for the entire run. Perhaps this was the contextualisation that was lacking here. <p><b>Sophie A.R. London</b><br><br> <p><b>Whitebone Productions<br> <i>Bane: Part Two</i><br> Upstairs at Three and Ten | Brighton Festival Fringe<br> 22 May 2010</b> <p>Joe Bone is a consummate physical comedian with a well-versed jukebox of characters and a fairly extensive line in sound effects. Although he is very well regarded by audiences and critics alike, this performance didn t light up my switchboard. <p><i>Bane: Part Two</i> is an SF gumshoe noir which plays in the expected genre tropes and parodies familiar film clichés. He is doing nothing original - I ve seen every part of this done before - but for what it is, he certainly does it well. Though the show hasn t really got anything to say, it is a textbook example of physical comedy, comic mime and character acting which is well worth the door tax. <p>A standout sequence sees the eponymous Bane walking through the zoo and encountering a variety of animals as he passes; Bone leaps into the persona of each species, contorting his body and delivering startlingly accurate brays, bellows, calls and chatters in turn. Another moment of riotous hilarity occurred in his Python-pastiche when an overzealous neighbourhood cop sacrifices his limbs one by one to a marauding beast. <p>The jokes keep coming, though many of them you see some way off. This show would be far more engaging, I felt, had there been a greater level of improvisation. Bone is so practised and the material so established that there is no sense of immediacy. An element of audience input determining the direction of the plot would have challenged the star s inventiveness and wit and the crowd would have more investment in the narrative as they try to anticipate how Bone will tie up the wayward strands. <p>Nonetheless, an entertaining hour which no doubt will be well-received in all quarters. <p><b>Sophie A.R. London</b><br><br> <p><b>Stranger Media/Gawkagogo<br> <i>Paul Zenon s Cabinet of Curiosities</i><br> The Brunswick | Brighton Festival Fringe<br> 22 May 2010</b> <p>Paul Zenon s seaside sideshow is inhabited by a wealth of eBay-acquired artefacts and ephemera. From passenger memorabilia from the sunken Moriarty to the glass-encased Mermaid of Fiji, both the supernatural and the stupid are invoked. Zenon, of both magic and children s TV fame, presents an impressive mixture of tricks, including fire-eating, Chinese rings and needle swallowing. There are, however, a few too many filler items on display. Bubble blowing and telling stories with a pack of cards are both pleasant small-scale tricks, but in front of a reasonable-size audience make for a disappointing lull in momentum. <p>Zenon is accompanied by the singer and musician Pete Howells. Often wryly apt, his songs have a dry and clever humour to them, such as  The Biblical Freak Show . Euphemism is one thing, but Howells lyrics have a tendency to border on the crass; whilst oblique references are funny, the smutty content of these songs is really low humour. <p>Still a fledgling production, <i>Cabinet of Curiosities</i> does have a promising basis on which to ground further development. As it stands there is currently not quite enough material to sustain the fairly long show. There really needs to be greater cohesion between Zenon s mock tarot reading, satirical songs and show-and-tell in order for him to truly attain the status he aspires to, that of being  gloriously pointless . <p><b>Helena Rampley</b><br><br> <p><b>LIVE dART<br> <i>Eugena-Un& Der& Dressed</i><br> Brighton Media Centre | Brighton Festival Fringe<br> 21 May 2010</b> <p>We enter an irregularly-shaped room draped in a white cotton canopy, hung at oblique angles to form a set of asymmetrical geometric frames. Onto random panels of this fabric short films are projected and across them an animated young Eugena travels. The character is ostensibly the protagonist here, within the allegorical meta-narrative, but it is really a story about her mother (and symbolically all mothers). The conceit of the story is that the mother  dies at the point the daughter is emancipated and becomes her own woman. <p>On the first screen, a paper cutout-style animated Eugena is repeatedly born to a fuzzy monochrome pair of legs in an endless cycle of rebirth. On the next a tiny girl crawls across the bottom of the screen as her parents argue and push each other around. She watches them, then crawls away, into the future. <p>Following the arrows on the floor I encounter a haunted-looking young woman bleeding from the wrist. At this point the observer becomes aware of a recorded monologue playing just above the gentle flotation tank-style background music. She speaks of the relationship of a daughter to her mother in largely abstract terms and over the course of the recording recounts the power balance from birth to independence; from security and ignorance to the day she says goodbye. <p>Rounding a pillar, ducking hanging folds, the entire installation is finally revealed as the train of the performer s dress. The entire room is a not particularly subtle metaphor for the way we bear our experiences: she is almost literally wearing her heart on her sleeve, and while the intentions may have been earnest, it did invite a slightly weary eye roll. <p>The final stage, as hushed audience members stand in awkward close proximity- entirely ignored by Eugena herself - she bends slowly and one by one draws almost-destroyed photographs of her mother from a large goldfish bowl, half-filled with dubiously orange water, laying them out on the ground around her feet and touching them wistfully, before dropping them back in face down. This is the most opaque component of the experience and although there is a mesmeric ambience to watching this ritual, in comparison to the obvious symbolism of the preceding sections it felt a little frustrating. <p>A well-meaning multimedia performance art realisation of a traditional fairytale which has some way to go to produce a meaningful experience. <p><b>Sophie London</b><br><br> <p><b>Hofesh Shechter Company<br> <i>Political Mother</i><br> Brighton Dome | Brighton Festival<br> 21 May 2010</b> <p><i>Political Mother</i> had Hofesh Shechter's trademark immersive sound and ability to put dancers and musicians together on stage in a blended whole, while also using the empty space and darkness for gentler, more intimate, even sinister parts. It began with a single warrior committing hara-kari, a concise and compressed image of leadership and death. Soon though we saw a back wall of four drummers - initially just their drum pads and the buttons of their military tunics, then above them four heavy metal guitarists, making a literal wall of sound. In front of them dancers were morphed from prisoners, with their hands raised in surrender, to an adulatory crowd, waving their arms at the singer/dictator figure shouting and raving at them from the centre of the wall. The dancers' costumes, ranging from drab greys, reminiscent of the prison camp, to more colourful but ordinary clothing accentuated the precision and vibrancy of their movement. This was high-energy spectacular dance. <p>What emerges at other times is barer dance, still intricate, but with fewer dancers, emerging from mist and shadows. The lighting and use of the whole space was masterful, banks of side lights flooding the arena in golden-red hues and a single white light picking out smaller episodes. There were transitions from energetic military formation, to more illustrative storytelling, to folk music steps and figures used to contain and express that same discipline in a different context. <p>This was ironically counterpointed by the neon words that appeared in three stages across the back wall: 'Where there is pressure... there is... folkdance'. It was well received in Brighton, but not ecstatically so, or perhaps ecstatically by some but not by others, just as last year's audience was divided. Apart from the artistry and sheer pleasure in movement and dance that you witness in Shechter's work, there is this playfulness, humour and irony and my guess is that this is what some don't like, as perhaps they take it rather literally - but it is only a guess, as I was in the ecstatic half. <p><b>Bill Parslow</b><br><br> <p><b>Pink Fringe<br> <i>Literary Bent: Neil Bartlett and Bette Bourne</i><br> Marlborough Little Theatre | Brighton Festival Fringe<br> 20 May 2010</b> <p><img src='../images/reviewsmay/pinkfringe_literarybent.jpg' alt='Pink Fringe, Literary Bent: Neil Bartlett and Bette Bourne' title='Pink Fringe, Literary Bent: Neil Bartlett and Bette Bourne' padding='0 0 5px 5px' align='right'>The tiny theatre above the Marlborough pub has played host this year to a new festival-within-the-Brighon-festival  the Pink Fringe. It is a veritable coup for this small venue and mini-festival to have attracted such luminaries as the renowned theatre-maker Neil Bartlett (site-specific theatre innovator and director of the Lyric Hammersmith during its most fertile years, amongst other credits) and writer/performer/gay icon Bette Bourne (founder of Bloolips and recent collaborator with Mark Ravenhill in the staging of Bette s life history, <i>A Life in Three Acts</i>), and the auditorium is thus crammed with expectant admirers. <p>As the two performers appear into the small, heady room, full of tokens of faded opulence, it is clear that there is something enticingly illicit about spending an evening with these two legendary figures  it is as if we are sitting in their front parlour, eavesdropping. <p>Reflecting on their friendship and working relationship, Bartlett and Bourne perform six staged readings from salient works by gay writers. The presence of Wilde looms large, and the indebtedness of both performers to his life, style and social dictums is evident. Bartlett plays the part of Vince from his own play, <i>A Vision of Love Revealed in Sleep</i>, a work not so immediately well-known to the audience. Its acute social observation, forthrightness and modest humour make it a piece to remember, and something to go away with and think about. <p>The difference in appearance of the two performers is striking. Bartlett is sleek in a red shirt and bold pinstriped suit, whilst Bourne is more classically radiant in a long black and gold sequined jacket. Bourne spell-bindingly performs the 'style is sincerity' speech from his famed production <i>Resident Alien</i> (the dramatised biography of Quentin Crisp, written by Tim Fountain) with awe-inspiring elegance and poise. The feeling this evening is that Bourne's composure, wit and stature promote him to an iconic position beside Crisp himself. <p>Wistful and reminiscent, yet thoroughly down to earth, these readings and reflections support Bartlett's observation that, with Bourne, 'there is no gap between high and low art'. Few other performers could get away with their first words being 'Well, I fucked up that opening', yet with Bourne it enables him to play to his strengths and to forge an immediate bond with the audience. When the pair embark on the final piece, the Lady Bracknell and Jack Worthington interchange from <i>The Importance of Being Earnest</i>, it initially seems as though they're falling back on an old stalwart. However, as we reacquaint ourselves with the drama, a contemporary political aptness is revealed. Wilde has the rare gift of being able to stand the test of time, to remain constantly apposite and responsive to the new. So too do Bartlett and Bourne. <p><b>Helena Rampley </b><br><br> <p><b>Grafted Cede/Theatre T&eacute;moin <br>Nobody's Home <br>Upstairs at Three and Ten <br>19 May 2010</b> <p><img src='../images/reviewsmay/graftedcedeandtheatretemoin_nobodyshome.jpg' alt='Grafted Cede/Theatre T&eacute;moin, Nobody's Home' title='Grafted Cede/Theatre Týÿmoin, Nobody's Home' padding='0 0 5px 5px' align='right'>Billing <i>Nobody's Home</i> as a modern Odyssey, Grafted Cede and T&eacute;moin provide far more than an updated version of an old tale. Odysseus' long journey home after the Trojan War, beset by Poseidon, Cyclops and Circe is well known, but this performance adds layers of modern and emotional perspective. Interpreting the old stories in dance and movement the two actors convincingly and skilfully slip in and out of a modern returned soldier's real life, his obsession with zombie video games to help him sleep, and the nightmares that beset him - as well as the hapless, but not helpless, plight of his partner Penelope, who is as strong a presence as he is. <p><i>Nobody's Home</i> captures the alienation that comes from thinking that the physical journey home is all there is. As Penelope and Grant struggle to reinvent the loving relationship they had, the play strides into the harsh realities of lost communication - it's not enough to rely on what was before, reinvention is the lifeblood of every relationship. <p>The poignant opening scene (just the lovers' legs entwined together appearing out of the bath), the slapstick re-enactment of the video game world, the Cyclops as psychiatrist, the twist and turn from flashbacks of war service to nightmares to the distress of the couple's desire to keep together, are all powerfully danced, spoken and set out before you. Despite so much change and invention, and the bath that stays centrally on stage throughout, they never lose the strands of journey, relationship and myth, weaving them together in an effective whole. Physically and vocally both performers hold your attention and your involvement - no mean feat in this, at times, highly stylised and surreal show. To have that degree of invention and mix of reality and fantasy but still keep the central threads connected with your audience is a fine thing. The denouement, with that same bath on the stage, adrift in the high seas, brings the performance to a close that is moving and profound. <p><b>Bill Parslow</b><br><br> <p><b>Beeja Dance Company<br> <i>Sacred Sketches</i><br> Iambic Arts Theatre | Brighton Festival Fringe<br> 17 May 2010</b> <p>Initially, the authenticity of this collection of traditional bharatanatyam dance pieces by choreographer Anusha Subramanyam was perhaps a little undermined by the carelessly disguised railway carriage set at the top of the stage. This trifling concern was soon forgotten however as the company set about weaving an elaborate and detailed tapestry of expression through movement and sound. <p>The tapestry analogy feels apt for this ancient form of dance - the fine details are what make it so absorbing. Such precise and intricate hand gestures must have some specific meaning; it is a comprehensive sign language which, if I could only decipher it, would reveal all the wisdom of dozens of generations of women. <p>Subramanyam acts as a visual narrator and in the interlude after the introductory number begins to subtitle her precise and discrete gestures in ornate prose. Another sequence follows, demonstrating how facial expressions, sidelong glances and rolls of the eyes convey as much as the whole body. <p>The startling control each of the dancers has over what impact their body has on the world is worth noting too. These petite women can move so lightly they seem not to touch the ground at all, yet when they stamp, which they often do, for percussive or emotional effect, the impact resonates throughout the studio. Their command over their very matter speaks of a culture of discipline and restraint quite unknown to modern Western women. <p>In the next interlude we learn about the architectural qualities of bharatanatyam, the importance of rhythmic structure - always playing with a count of seven. They are laying bare the mechanics of the form, showing us each strand before they present the finished article. Now some of the hand signs are interpreted for us - compassion, destruction and creation. This is a dance form so expressive it borders on mime; now that we are privy to some of the language we can better translate the cogent narratives within. <p>Later, in a post-show Q&A, we learn that this is one of the few traditional Indian dance forms (originating in the Southern temples) performed only by women. That emancipation and feminism from a time of great chauvinism and female oppression is clearly evident in the stories we saw told. <p>With moments out of the series of dances to focus on the percussion - performed live by the only male in the company - it was a highly educational evening and a fascinating insight into a discipline with little exposure in the West. <p><b>Sophie A.R. London</b><br><br> <p><b>Sue MacLaine<br> <i>All That I Was/All That I Am (Sid Lester)</i> <br>Pavilion Theatre | Brighton Festival <br>18 May 2010</b> <p><img src='../images/reviewsmay/suemaclaine_sidlester.jpg' alt='Sue MacLaine, All That I Was/All That I Am (Sid Lester)' title='Sue MacLaine, All That I Was/All That I Am (Sid Lester)' padding='0 0 5px 5px' align='right'>Sid enters the darkened stage pushing his shopping trolley, dressed in flat cap, shirt and tie, worn Macintosh and old trainers. The houselights are up so Sid can see us, and after introducing himself he passes around bags of Werther's Originals, enough for the entire audience (a packed house for Sid s Brighton Festival appearance). <p>After a little bit of chat, he takes out a portable stereo and asks a member of the audience to press play once he is safely behind the curtain. Sid slowly shuffles to the back of the stage ready for the show to begin. House lights down, stage lights up. <p>If it wasn't for the wrinkles, the flecks of grey, the laboured breath and the slight stoop, one could quite easily believe we were watching Sid Lester in his heyday. The patter, the schmooze, the unmistakable walk  the only thing missing is his long-time assistant and missus, Florrie. <p>He starts by taking a microphone from its stand, which turns out to be faulty  working intermittently. Some will recognise this as the signature gag of the great Norman Collier  throughout the performance Sid pays tribute to his old variety and music hall chums by immaculately pilfering from their acts. <p>The show is quiet, well-mannered, considered, beautifully executed, sometimes joyful, often heart-wrenchingly sad. It pulls no punches, but is always polite and gentlemanly. <p>Sid reminds us how he got his reputation in show business during a very moving and poignant scene, in which he slowly and painfully removes his trainers and replaces them with the tap dance shoes he takes from his trolley, then proceeds to perform a tap routine as good as Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly (if they were in their eighties and living in a council flat in Brighton). His body may be weak and a little malnourished, but Sid's still got it. The hour-long performance may have worn Sid out, but the audience are left shouting for more. <p>Sid Lester is the creation of Sue MacLaine, who is doing a brilliant job looking after him, and should be encouraged to help Sid back on the stage as often as is possible. <p><b>James F Foster</b><br><br> <p><b>Die Roten Punkte<br> <i>Die Roten Punkte: Robot/Lion Tour</i><br> Komedia Downstairs | Brighton Festival Fringe<br> 17 May 2010</b> <p><img src='../images/reviewsmay/dierotenpunkte.jpg' alt='Die Roten Punkte, Die Roten Punkte: Robot/Lion Tour' title='Die Roten Punkte, Die Roten Punkte: Robot/Lion Tour' padding='0 0 5px 5px' align='right'>A Monday night in the middle of Brighton Festival is a tough call for a one-off show and I felt for the 'Teutonic' duo in the sparsely filled downstairs space of Komedia. That within minutes of opening they got us singing, shouting, on our feet, joining in and laughing is a tribute to the performance muscle of the rock sensations, Otto and Astrid Rot. After a world tour and successful runs at Edinburgh and other major festivals, the ramshackle-but-slick professionalism of the pair shone through their set of parodic rock songs with questionable lyrics. The show centres on their brother/sister relationship (referencing The White Stripes) and recent attempts at psychological recovery training. But Astrid secretly glugs vodka in her Irn-Bru as anxious Otto raises flash cards with acceptable beverages printed on them for us to shout out. The sub-plot is just about sustained and the songs are good enough to motor the pace and build empathy. Astrid (Clare Bartholomew) is a natural comedienne and Otto (Daniel Tobias) has just the right tone for an emo boy with a Kraftwerk and lion obsession. Using a mixture of miniature instruments, guitar and drums ('I have a very small drum kit with a lot of air around it,' moans Astrid), they play and sing with vigour, they engage and entertain. Very much fun, as Otto might say. Rock-bang! <p><b>Lisa Wolfe</b><br><br> <p><b>Cheek by Jowl<br> <i>Macbeth</i><br> Theatre Royal | Brighton Festival<br> 15 May 2010</b> <p>Cheek by Jowl have made their name through the reinvigoration of classical texts - using an inventive theatricality to give familiar literature contemporary leases of life. Their approach to <i>Macbeth</i> makes use of a number of unusual theatrical conventions, most notably the practice of having all soliloquies, and quite a lot of direct speech, spoken 'out' over the audience's heads to a middle distance somewhere above the back of the stalls. Whilst allowing for some rather beautiful stage pictures (removing the necessity for actors to face one another when they speak gives director Declan Donellan free rein for pleasingly formal arrangements of bodies in space) it strips the exchanges of any real immediacy with either other characters or the audience. This was one of the most fidgety houses I've ever sat in and I'm certain the coughing and wriggling and sighing felt permitted because of the pervasive sense from the stage that what we were watching had very little connection to us as its witnesses. Rather than genuine connection or exchange we were entertained by its timing and choreography. <p><i>Macbeth</i> lends itself to beautiful, compelling and tidy productions. Its quick-fire succession of scenes and the compact mechanisms of its tragedy encourage slick productions that can easily be overtaken by concept. The challenge is to render the material humane - to support the audience's empathy with the troubled protagonists, not to pre-empt their darkest deeds and the nihilism of the second act. <p>Yet this is where Donnellan's choices unavoidably seem to lead us. There's a sense of thought overridden by inventiveness whose effect is ultimately cheapening. Scrapping real swordplay for graphically mimed violence made for some wonderfully vivid, gory death scenes that really set the atmosphere, but the choice then to mime all props, including the banquet table and dinner, whilst offering the performers good chance to demonstrate some detailed physical acting, felt like it decoupled the play from reality. <p>Overall it felt less a 'world of the imagination' than a world whose theatrical imagination had been employed without discipline. Instead of showing us the play invigorated, we see the vigorous application of concept, and attempts at originality that obfuscate our connection to performers and play. <p><b>Beccy Smith</b><br><br> <p><b>Spun Glass Theatre<br> <i>Laura</i><br> The Temple | Brighton Festival Fringe<br> 12 May 2010</b> <p><img src='../images/reviewsmay/spunglasstheatre_laura.jpg' alt='Spun Glass Theatre, Laura' title='Spun Glass Theatre, Laura' padding='0 0 5px 5px' align='right'>Often, the one thing you take away from a performance is a facet or flaw of character in the protagonist, or antagonist. You dwell on how that one detail of their personality was the root of the entire narrative. This devised reimagining of Tennessee Williams' <i>The Glass Menagerie</i> is the inaugural production from fresh new company Spun Glass Theatre and it plays upon that common response to theatre; the company stripped <i>The Glass Menagerie</i> bare, binned the script and began again with nothing but Laura's insurmountable shyness. That shyness renders her incapable of joining the world she is so fascinated by. <p>The production starts with Laura sat, literally, at our feet watching, so we are compelled to watch with her, a film she has made, from her bedroom window, of a couple who pass by her house each day. She has watched their relationship, witnessed their moments of magic, of shame, and she has chronicled them on film and crafted her own narrative from these scraps of the lives of others. <p>We are, by necessity, positioned with Laura. We join her in the socially condoned voyeurism of cinema and then continue to watch her life, as she watches others, unable to speak or intervene, to overcome that invisible barrier. The convention of the fourth wall is as restrictive to us, the audience, as Laura's shyness is to her. Were an actor to brazenly walk out into the auditorium, I would be willing to engage them in conversation- but I would never breach that divide of my own volition. <p>From this standpoint we witness the world crashing in on Laura in the form of Jim, a classmate she has carried a torch for since her school days. The interplay between the two, the wrought silences, the clumsy words and sudden eloquence, form the body of the short production. Their strength lies in physical language, for the movements and facial expressions of the actors feel much more nuanced and polished than perhaps their vocal performances. There are moments when the cast seem unsure what is about to happen next, testament to the improvised nature of the play, but the choreographed moments are compelling. <p>This is a very promising first production with a standout performance from Marie Rabe as the eponymous heroine. The company are taking <i>Laura</i> to Edinburgh and I suspect their next production will be in for a lot of attention. <p><b>Sophie A.R. London</b><br><br> <p><b>Circolombia<br> <i>Urban</i><br> Freerange | Brighton Festival Fringe<br> 12 May 2010</b> <p><img src='../images/reviewsmay/circolombia_urban.jpg' alt='Circolombia, Urban' title='Circolombia, Urban' padding='0 0 5px 5px' align='right'>The Colombian circus is a thing to behold. The first thing you notice is the immediacy - bare floor, no stage, no ring, no safety nets. Then you stop noticing anything as the acrobats get to work. It's fair to say I'm not that easily impressed; for every good review there are a great many indifferent and several unwritten. This, however, has left me without words for entirely the right reasons. The incredible physical feats I witnessed this company perform, and so casually, really need to speak for themselves. The entire troupe is fearless and often nonchalant in the face of death or serious injury. <p>My first and most striking observation was the sheer masculinity of the troupe. They are all the finest examples of physicality, and these are muscles developed through using their bodies, not showy gym muscles. The corporeal power of these guys is palpable, but then they dance and suddenly there is a whole new dynamic to their movement. They all move with a Latin sensibility, wiggling their hips and clicking their fingers in unabashedly camp fashion. The high-energy, high-attitude bearing of street dance is clearly in evidence here, but it would typically seem incongruous in men who are almost brawny in their physical might. They are all so powerfully assured of their masculinity that feminine hip sways, gyrating and pairing up to grind together sensually, semi-clad, are all in order. <p>Now is probably time to mention the lone woman in the troupe; standing at not much more than five feet she is dwarfed by many of her colleagues. She begins the show masquerading as one of the boys, before revealing herself and then going on to a performance of hyper-femininity, including an aerial straps routine performed in four-inch silver stilettos. <p>This is circus, but it's BadSexyDangerous, fitting for a Colombian initiative that trains street children and at risk youth from the country's toughest areas. The urgency, danger and Latin vitality of this show spurs the audience, like the performers, to relish the very blood in their veins. <p><b>Sophie A.R. London</b><br><br> <p><b>Daniel Somerville <br> <i>Three Works</i><br> Coachwerks | Brighton Festival Fringe<br> 12 May 2010</b> <p><img src='../images/reviewsmay/danielsomerville_threeworks.jpg' alt='Daniel Somerville, Three Works' title='Daniel Somerville, Three Works' padding='0 0 5px 5px' align='right'>After the first piece there was dead silence, until someone said 'maybe we should clap now', and everyone did. It wasn't reluctance to applaud but the sheer power of the performance that left the entire audience unable to move or speak. Extending the moment when someone says 'I'm leaving you' in a controlled and beautifully worked sequence of movement and expression, Daniel Somerville showed exquisite control and emotion. It was breathtaking stuff - impossible to recreate in words, as you might expect from a journalist turned performance artist. It's as hard to categorise as it is to describe, because although you can refer to Butoh as an inspiration, labelling doesn't do the piece justice. <p>The words were there too in the third piece <i>My Egypt Stories</i> which is a strange but effective fusion of dance, spoken word and operatic song. The second piece explored the experience of loneliness, crafting and exposing feeling through the movement and music. Somerville makes sparing use of simple accessories - dry ice, incense, bubbles, white body make-up - to create a multi-<i>sensual</i>, more than a multi-media, experience. The music, soundtrack - again call it what you will - was evocative, intricate and beautiful to the ear. At the beginning of the second piece he says 'I'm not a dancer, an actor or a composer...', but the works encompass all the skills and magic of these professions while still, somehow, slipping in-between their definitions to produce something new, powerful and fresh. <p><b>Bill Parslow</b><br><br> <p><b>Theatre Alibi with Exeter Northcott and Oxford Playhouse <br> <i>The Ministry Of Fear</i> <br> Northern Stage, Newcastle <br> 11 May 2010 </b> <p>Suspicion in every casual sentence, threat in the most tranquil of settings. This is a scenario that most politicians would gouge their third eye out for, but while the theme of Graham Greene's wartime novel <i>Ministry of Fear</i> would be easy to update, Exeter's Theatre Alibi have kept it very much in time and place: a claustrophobic, menacing 40s free from heroism and stiff upper lips. <p>At the centre of the performance is a romance that emerges amidst the treachery and paranoia. A romance that ultimately must stare down loyalty to country, comrades and family. <p>In adapting the world of the novel, Alibi have created one of the most unusual and effective stage designs I have seen. What at first glance looks like a jarring modern art version of a playground is wonderfully transformed into a bunker, a shipyard, a hospital - always evoking an emotional sense of period. The actors move beautifully around the set, often creating amazing incidental scenery that adds much to the drama. <p>The script has moments of insight and poignancy, but unfortunately it never quite matches the design in creating the stifling suspense crucial to the story. The adaptation seems too faithful and introduces too many unnecessary subplots and characters. Certainly when the two main characters finally admit their feelings it seems a lost moment, with little having been done to establish the denouement. The music adds a sense of time, but could have been allowed to breathe and create its own tension rather than meticulously follow the plot. <p>It is, however, a fine first showing for a fascinating story with good performances throughout, especially the compelling and twisted Derek Frood whose characters provide so much of the menace. <p><b>Paul Tarpey</b><br><br> <p><b>Long Nose Puppets<br> <i>Penguin</i><br> Freerange | Brighton Festival Fringe <br> 9 May 2010</b> <p><img src='../images/reviewsmay/longnosepuppets_penguin.jpg' alt='Long Nose Puppets, Penguin' title='Long Nose Puppets, Penguin' padding='0 0 5px 5px' align='right'>Brighton-based Long Nose Puppets return to the Fringe with their new play, <i>Penguin</i>. Featuring more of the captivating puppets that have been so loved in their previous hit shows <i>Shoe Baby</i> and <i>Flyaway Katie</i>, Long Nose surely have another hit on their hands. <p>Based on the book of the same name by Long Nose's Polly Dunbar, Penguin tells the tale of Ben, a little boy who will try just about anything to get his new penguin to talk. His ever-increasing desperation leads both characters to some unexpected places and keeps the audience thoroughly entertained in the process. <p>The hour-long play is perfectly-paced, propelled along by the vibrant music (by Tom Gray of Gomez) and the delightful cast of Long Nose puppets. The company's inventiveness creates some magical moments which illustrate just why good puppet theatre is so compelling and versatile, for example the subtle transitions from large-scale puppets to dancing paper figures projected on an OHP which enrich the storytelling beautifully. <p>The dreamy, almost hypnotic quality of this show is reminiscent of 1970s children's shows like <i>Bagpuss</i>, even down to the droll-voiced narrator, and the piece exudes a quiet confidence in its lo-fi magic that is both compelling and justified. <p>Performed in the Freerange tent, where the size, seating and acoustics tend to hinder performers, <i>Penguin</i>'s simple set, design and front-on presentation ensured that everyone had a good view. The sound quality was good and the packed audience, including many under threes, were absorbed throughout. A really wonderful tale, delightfully told. <p><b>Victoria Jarvis</b><br><br> <p><b><i>Wallstories</i><br> Bom-Banes Music Cafe | Brighton Festival Fringe<br> 09 May 2010</b> <p><img src='../images/reviewsmay/wallstories.jpg' alt='Wallstories' title='Wallstories' padding='0 0 5px 5px' align='right'>With the cryptic description 'it's cinema but it isn't. It's cartoons but it isn't. It's reading a book but it isn't. It's reading stories from a wall of pictures' the audience weren't sure exactly what to expect, but in the intimate setting below the stairs at Bom-Banes cafe all was made clear. The charmingly old-fashioned 'diafilm' is a storybook printed on a strip of film, which is rolled manually through a simple projector. Smoother than slides, but more static than animation, with 'subtitles' rather than sound, the format is still hugely popular in Hungary, where it was introduced as a means of distributing Soviet propaganda. <p>Proprietor Jane Bom-Bane acts as narrator, with the gathered parents and children volunteering to play the parts, and there is a friendly collaborative feel to the communal act of storytelling. The stories themselves are a little surprising. As diafilm never really caught on in Western Europe, there are very few English slides available and those that are hark from a very different era. <p>The illustrations are charming and remind me of ancient library books from my childhood, with fuzzy seventies colours and flagrant race and gender stereotyping. The actual tales however, range from twee fables to alarming cautionary tales. This is moralising from a different era and though the little folk around me accept each story quite blithely I was quite taken aback by the little woodcutter who cheerfully delivers his greedy landlord to the gates of Hell, has a wee chat with the Devil, then dusts off his hands and skips home for tea as the man is dragged down into the fire and brimstone. I always say today's children are made of sterner stuff than we give them credit for, but this kind of message isn't one I'd be comfortable in passing on. <p>Perhaps it was the quaintness of the stories that made this work, and the fact that these were all immaculately raised middle-class children clearly helped, but I can see a future for this format and the communal (even sneakily educational) environment is one certain types of theatre often attempt to simulate. <p><b>Sophie A.R. London</b><br><br> <p><b>Dr David Bramwell and Otherplace Productions<br> <i>The No. 9 Bus to Utopia</i><br> The Earth Ship, Stanmer Park I Brighton Festival Fringe<br> 8 May 2010</b> <p>From the fantastical time-travel cathedral in the Italian mountains, Damanhur, to Copenhagen's hippy (ex-)drug haven Christiania, via the hot-tubs of California's Synanon and a dominatrix-led castle in the Czech Republic - David Bramwell's tireless search for Utopia sounds like a Boy's Own adventure. That he manages to convey his travel tales, thoughts and experiences and keep his audience engaged and entertained is quite a feat. He carries it off with natural charm, fluency and wit. <p>Seated in the cozy glow of the eco-Earth Ship, surrounded by lush green hills, the performance lecture is animated by slides and musical interventions with a bit of character-work to take it out of a book-talk format. The catalyst for David's exploration of contemporary utopian styles of living was a break-up with a girlfriend. Interest from a publisher and an Arts Council grant made the project feasible and he set off with a bruised heart, an open mind, a big notebook and the intention to write a bestselling book. <p>It's lovely storytelling; not rambling and not patronising to the communities he visits (however easily parodied). It has the zeal of a real enthusiast for alternative ways of living, albeit one with a hot-tub obsession, and is well directed, with a natural feel for the subject matter and an eye for a visual joke by Emma Kilbey. Whilst David's acting skills are pretty rudimentary, he is a great communicator. The ending is neat. Back in the UK, with 30,000 words ready to submit to his publisher, what happens? Tobias Jones publishes <i>Utopian Dreams</i> - a year of living in five different alternative communities. The reader's loss is the theatre-goer's gain, and whilst he may not have found a ready-made utopia, David has got over the girlfriend and made a few hundred new friends along the way. <p><b>Lisa Wolfe</b><br><br> <p><b>Hewlett & Eaton<br> <i>Barbara and Yogashwara's Safe Space</i><br> Barbara and Yogashwara's Caravan (Komedia) | Brighton Festival Fringe<br> 8 May 2010</b> <p><img src='../images/reviewsmay/hewlettandeaton_barbaraandyogashwarassafespace.jpg' alt='Hewlett & Eaton, Barbara and Yogashwara's Safe Space' title='Hewlett & Eaton, Barbara and Yogashwara's Safe Space' padding='0 0 5px 5px' align='right'>A very Brightonian set-up for a dark satirical pastiche that really pushes the boundaries of performer-audience trust. This is not for anyone with boundary issues, or without a very healthy level of New Age scepticism. The tone is set by the preternaturally mild woman who greets us outside the caravan and passes round a collection bucket for a charity supporting families affected by Munchausen's by proxy - 'a cause very close to Barbara and Yogashwara's hearts'. <p>The attention to detail in the tiny caravan (seats four on floor cushions and there's no way out past the two performers) is laudable. I particularly enjoyed a poster for 'How To Be More Like Me - A Seminar by Barbara Dwindle' to be held at Hove Town Hall. I was less enamoured with the yoni-worshipping, fantastical pastels. <p>We were told to prepare for the re-feminising of our auric fields, whence our chakras would be cleansed, with mindfulness. What follows is forty minutes of toe-curling hilarious horror. As I watch an 'instructional video' which depicts, amongst a wealth of other wrongness, Yogashwara being forced to ingest sacred crystals, I realise what is coming next and loosen my grip on the stone in my hand. As we watch the re-emergence of these crystals (into a 'sacred singing bowl' that looks suspiciously like Tupperware) and the subsequent rinsing, the other woman on the cushions squeals in disgust and tries to put hers down. <p>Then, it gets even more intense as Barbara entreats us to join Yogashwara in imbibing her 'precious menstrual fluids', whilst handing round plastic cups containing a suspicious-looking dark red liquid. It smells a lot like beetroot, but none of us drink ours - just in case. <p>The two women maintain character admirably in the face of our laughter and discomfort, which is one of the few things that reassures me that this can't be real. The couple who enter with me and my friend didn't seem to realise quite what they were letting themselves in for, and their rabbit-in-the-headlights reaction perhaps influences the passive observer role we all take, but as we leave - still laughing, but feeling slightly violated - my friend questions whether other audience members might have tried to rescue poor Yogashwara. We are certainly implicated by our complicity. <p>This performance is as intimate as a colonic irrigation and, if it's possible, funnier. I laughed throughout, but I also squirmed. The New Age flimflammery Barbara practices is exactly as I would have expected were this a genuine enterprise and their caustic lampooning of these exploitative practices is razor-sharp. Pure brilliance, but go and see it with someone you trust. <p><b>Sophie London</b><br><br> <p><b>Cabinets of Curiosity <br> <i>Five Clever Courtesans </i><br> Marlborough Theatre | Brighton Festival Fringe<br> 7 May 2010</b> <p>The title describes the characters, and gives you a good inkling of the sexy and intelligent play that follows, full of clear, fast-paced wit. The five are on stage all the time, ever present, sexually charged, and just where is that line between looking and ogling? The courtesans don't care; this is their stock in trade, the base of their power and wealth. They are plucked from different periods of history: a concubine from China who rises by her wiles to become Empress; Cora Pearl, who became the richest, most daring and admired courtesan in Paris; Nell Gwyn and her oranges; the horse mistress Catherine Walters; and the Venetian Veronica Franco, courtesan and poet of note. <p>The performance is high octane, fast-paced and erotic - and all five keep it up for ninety minutes without pause or rest. Word perfect, professional acting, but with real power and passion behind it. <p><i>Five Clever Courtesans</i> is a fascinating play about female power, or the lack of it, and the use and abuse of sexuality which, for these women, was their defining offering to the world. The concubine T'zu-Hsi says that it is wearing to be at a man's beck and call, but all are successful when they realise that, inch by sexual inch, that power can be turned back on the male wielder. <p>This is a multifaceted play about sexuality and women's power which does not romanticise the nature of their ascent, nor pretend it always ends well. But it does celebrate the beauty and sexual power of women; the production relishes and delights in their figures and costumes as well. From their vantage point they see how much freer the richer women of the modern world are now, but see that that independence can still lead to Botox and the plastic surgeon's knife. These reflections are not too heavy though, and are the more effective for that. At the end of the play the women stand proud, beautiful and successful. The audience is left thinking about the difference between looking and ogling, thinking and dreaming? There was a bit of everything in there. <p><b>Bill Parslow</b><br><br> <p><b>Actors v Spectators<br> <i>Without Planning Permission</i><br> Hanbury Club | Brighton Festival Fringe <br> 6 May 2010</b> <p>Much improvisational theatre these days concentrates on comedy, a la <i>Whose Line Is It Anyway?</i> or short contemporary satire, but <i>Without Planning Permission</i> is different. More 'sit-about' than walkabout, this is theatre meets Mike Leigh in a set of interactions that sometimes builds a story further, other times is just something completely different. As an audience member you can choose to have complex reactions in the role that is indicated for you or sit back and watch what unfolds. <p>The set-up needs some explaining. There are about ten tables set out in the ballroom, each with a chair either side and a lamp. Audience members sit in an empty chair and then the character for that table moves into place and begins talking to you. Their discourse and manner give clues as to who you 'are' in this interaction - you can remain silent, or you can engage and talk back. Certainly the more you talk and communicate with the character the more interesting and live it feels. Explaining that she'd been done, swindled, robbed, the story of the young woman who gave five thousand pounds, in cash, and all her trust to her absent boyfriend to fund a new life outside of society in a field in Wales was strangely distressing. The character's disbelief and dawning realisation were beautifully observed, and out of that encounter I felt the terrible sadness that you feel from communicating bad news to someone who was, until then, living in a brighter more trusting world. <p>As ever with improvised productions, the show is still evolving. The interludes where the table characters froze while a singer and musician wandered round sampling the events didn't quite pull things together, and felt slightly superfluous (though well performed). The link-in to contemporary events (it was election night and the show was billed as including reactions to this) was strong in one of the acts, but a bit tenuous in others. <p>Overall it was fascinating, involving, intriguing - all those things that you really want from theatre but don't always get. The individual involvement the production demands, is, well, demanding, but worth it. It's a show I'd go back to if I wasn't going to another - there's plenty more I would like to have explored. <p><b>Bill Parslow</b> <br><br> <p><b>Northbrook College<br> <i>The Shadow Maker's Wife</i><br> The Old Police Cells Museum | Brighton Festival Fringe<br> 05 May 2010</b> <p>This site-specific student performance takes place beneath Brighton's Town Hall, in a surprising and cramped space. The play begins with a colourful, exuberant wedding dance in Bartholomew Square which culminates with the tragic death of the new bride. Her husband The Tailor (soon to become the eponymous Shadow Maker) withdraws beneath the ground in grief and we follow him down to the salty gloom. Here the real story begins. <p>The transition down to the site doesn't go as smoothly as the cast might have hoped and at first we don't realise that we have arrived in the performance space. The audience cram into the narrow corridor, expecting to move through to our seats. A brief, rudimentary shadow puppet story plays out on the sheets hung along what appears to be a wall. We learn that The Tailor is trying to bring back his wife by finding her a new shadow and that here, beneath the town, he met an engineer who built him a show-making machine. Okay, we'll run with it. Then the sheets are whisked away and we peer through an odd wooden frame into the performance arena. <p>This is a production with a great deal of potential. The students have clearly done their research. The production design is excellent: costume and set alike have a well-realised steampunk aesthetic which has a good deal of subcultural capital in Brighton and London. The physical performances are outstanding - the zenith coming as the cast form an organic engine-like machine into which each of them throws their full body with an astute vocabulary of movement. Where they fell down perhaps was in the dialogue and audience interaction, which needed more refining. This would certainly make wonderful interactive children's theatre. Good-scary, like Gaiman and Dahl. Given the title and the premise, I felt the company could have played more with actual shadows. The storyline was perhaps slightly flimsy, but there was a nice gothic illogic to the macabre underground machinations of a grieving widower. All in all, a very promising look at the next generation of physical theatre practitioners. <p><b>Sophie A.R. London</b><br><br> <p><b>Uncontained Arts<br> <i>Alice in Wonderland </i><br> 02 May 2010<br> The Insect Circus Society<br> <i>The Insect Circus</i><br> 05 May 2010<br> Freerange | Brighton Festival Fringe </b> <p>Theatre is an amazing medium for children  they are willing and easily able to enter the imaginary worlds on offer. Children s theatre should make the most of this delicious invitation to stimulate the imagination, and be playful and abundantly creative in its storytelling technique. Good children s theatre also allows adults to share this experience - to see the world anew though un-jaded eyes and be as entertained and inspired as the children. The Fringe offered several inviting children s productions, all embellished with the usual lavish promises, some of which were met, some exceeded, and still others were what Mary Poppins would call 'Pie-crust promises' - easily made, easily broken. <p>Uncontained Arts, a young company of recent graduates, definitely need to reconsider their publicity blurb for their production of <i>Alice in Wonderland</i>. Any production of this iconic tale comes with a weighty load of pre-expectation. This offers rich opportunities to conform to or subvert the audience s expectations. Any production must bring something new to the tea party, or is weakened by the comparisons. <p>This company told us to: 'Expect the Unexpected'. Well, I do expect to be able to hear a performance, so at least in this they delivered. The three actors were straining at the very limits of their voices in a valiant attempt to be heard over the passing traffic; this forced sound robbed their speech of necessary colour and variation of tone and quality. Why weren t they miked up? The venue, the red Freerange tent, is a cavernous vacuum of a space, but this is no excuse. In a supposedly professional performance with a not inconsiderable crowd each paying £8 a ticket, this is just not acceptable. <p>The performers certainly gave their all, and energetically tried to communicate the story to the audience. But where was the puppetry we had been promised, and where indeed the physical theatre? I will concede there was one puppet, used to represent the diminished Alice, but there were many lost opportunities that could have enriched this fast-paced interpretation. Physical theatre seems to be an attractive umbrella term at present for any performance involving a modicum of  movement . But in these post-Complicité days, we rightly expect more, having seen how effectively this approach can enrich storytelling. There was a depressing lack of innovation and imagination here, and although my daughter said she had enjoyed it, I regret the performance it could have been considering the wealth of the source material, and the potential of its energetic and committed performers. <br><br> <p>Also in the Freerange (but thankfully with adequate sound and lighting) was the ever popular <i>Insect Circus</i>. This highly successful show is based on a great concept and affection for the circus genre. The audience is drawn deep into a fully-formed alternative reality to encounter charmingly eccentric characters and their over-sized insect co-stars. The performance and its performers are bestowed with a loving nostalgia for a bygone era; the air almost becomes sepia-tinged as the performance unfolds. <p>To the delight and trepidation of the younger members of the audience, the show begins with giant ants climbing amongst us before they are driven back by their keeper. Accompanied by evocative barrel-organ music, it s a great way to start the show, drawing us in whilst setting the tone of the piece. <p>The show, running at just over an hour, contained ten separate acts with Sir Ronald McPeake, the  owner of the Insect Circus, introducing the acts with witty fanfare and generally keeping things moving. It s a packed bill with some really amusing performances and demonstrations of excellent circus skills including balancing acts, rope-work and trapeze. The show did feel slightly over-long, and needs either a bit more variety - there was a definite over-abundance of aerial work - or fewer acts. <p>But there was much to love here, be it ladybird, wasp or stag beetle. Particularly enjoyable were the Mighty Mites Tea Party with Nursey Nurse, Albina the Awesome s hula hoops act, and Fakira and Ernestina the Earwig with their bed of nails and sword act. The death-dance of the Mayfly was another highlight, filled both with pathos and perfectly-pitched dark humour. <p>The best compliment I can pay them is that my 6 year-old was so utterly absorbed in their reality that she wasn t ever quite sure if it was real or not. For adults, it s beautifully silly. Warm-hearted and witty, this is one show that totally delivers on its promises. <p><b>Victoria Jarvis</b><br><br> <p><b>Compagnia Rodisio<br> <i>The Story of a Family</i><br> Pavilion Theatre | Brighton Festival<br> 1 May 2010 </b> <p>Compagnia Rodisio owe me one. For the past 48 hours, since seeing their energetic exploration of Spanish family life, I've been plagued by the repetitive tuneless grammelot employed by 'Mother' during an extended mime sequence that seemed almost to play out cooking a family dinner in real time. 'Na neh, ne ne neeh; nenehnineh Nenaaaaah.' It was not a catchy tune (more of a rhythmic verbal tic), drummed-in over the course of a five-minute movement scene that sought to capture both the joy and the joylessness of this repeated private task (Father and Daughter waited in the 'next room' in varying states of imperviousness and desperation). <p><i>The Story of a Family</i> aims loftily to approach some of the more philosophical questions of family existence - among them, 'What happens if there is too much love?' - through beautifully composed stage imagery (complemented by a simple but evocative lighting design) and vigorous mime, with a few heroic attempts at English translation for some of the stilted family conversations. All is played 'out' in strictly presentational mode, which allows for some attractively rendered and wittily deconstructed images alongside play-like statements ('Daddy is probably the head of the house'). <p>The show often felt thin. Much of the mime work was energetically entered into (a full-family food-fight was a highlight) but not nearly specific enough to be compelling. In the cooking sequence mentioned above I had no idea of the food being prepared. <p>The programme proclaims that the piece has been developed in partnership with school children yet the show itself fundamentally outlines the unfulfilling banality of family living. Unless Spanish seven year olds are far more sophisticated than British ones, it's disingenuous to claim such provenance for your material. Perhaps there really are major cultural differences between the two countries, as the family portrait painted here was unfamiliar (unless you grew up in the 50s). Gender stereotyping abounded - mother ran the house, father worked. In order to have any aspirations not to follow in her mother's domestic footsteps, Daughter must assume the testosterone fuelled tendencies of her Papa (played out in a brilliant mime sequence where she transforms into a bull). But what has this material to say to a contemporary audience? I fear this was another case of Theatre People passing judgement on how terribly Banal and Depressing the lives of the Regularly Employed must be. Beautifully executed but depressing stuff. <p><b>Beccy Smith</b> <br><br> <p><b>Quarantine and Company Fierce<br> <i>Susan and Darren</i><br> Sachas Hotel, Tib Street, Manchester<br> 1 May 2010</b> <p>Quarantine s intimate and delightfully touching <i>Susan and Darren</i> returns in an updated version for Queer Up North s 18th Birthday celebrations. The biographical cabaret-style piece, first constructed in 2006, is centred around and about the lives of dancer Darren and his mum Susan. With this performance located in a function room of the iconic Sachas hotel on Tib Street, the sparkling chandeliers and mirrored ceilings bring an added touch of sparkle to Darren and Susan s tales. These tales, punctuated by Darren s dancing and Susan s party preparations uncover the intimate and mundane details of their life together in a delicately understated and moving way. <p>Although predominantly a revival, there are several moments where we can see explicitly that time has moved on: Susan has spent the money from the first tour, whilst Darren has a new boyfriend; but the themes and their relationship have remained consistent. The explicit highlighting of the changes that have happened, though, lends further weight to the feeling of the transience of life that permeates the piece. In one of the most touching added moments, Darren s ex, sat on Susan s sofa staring into space, speaks on film about the pain of the loss of their relationship. <p>As with the rest of the piece, it is the mundane details of their life, their living room and the associations of the objects therein that provide a comforting and grounding influence to the gently heart-rending stories that unfold. <p><b>Tom Wilson</b><br><br> <p><b>Something Witty & Otherplace Productions<br> <i>The Importance of Being Earnest</i><br> The Grand Hotel | Brighton Festival Fringe<br> 1 May 2010</b> <p>Oscar Wilde is hard to get wrong. The setting is perfect: the Victoria Lounge of the Hotel Grand, cream tea and cucumber sandwiches laid out on tiered silver and perfectly turned out valets to attend to our needs. It was a wonderfully English affair. <p>The setting is a lovely touch, but the production itself is conventional. This is by no means a bad thing, Wilde hardly needs elaboration. The laughs are genuine and frequent, the pace bubbles along satisfyingly and the blocking does the job. I would have liked to see more actor-audience interplay; performing in the round does lend itself to winks and asides. <p>The performance took place around and across the large room, with the actors frequently stepping out of the unofficial performance arena to move amongst the seated guests. The fourth wall is fragile in this production; a character may make an aside to an audience member seated nearby, though a moment before we had been invisible spectators. <p>The cast weren't quite word-perfect for the performance, but that didn't spoil the effect. Jason Delplanque, Heather Rayment and Kate Dyson are well cast as Jack, Gwendolen and Lady Bracknell respectively, and Algy is a perfect rotter, although he and Cecily were cast perhaps with little consideration for the supposed age of the characters. <p>This is a minor gripe from one raised in the era of verisimilitude, but I felt a younger actress could have prattled and frolicked more naturally, rather than resorting to a rather affected 'little girl' voice and gait in order to present herself as a gushing eighteen year old. That said Emma McArthur does very well with the courtship scenes and her rapport with Gwendolen is more fully realised than a teenaged actress might have managed. <p>A first-rate tea and a very personable cast in a play that never gets tired, down on Brighton seafront in May. It's a recipe for success which doesn't disappoint. <p><b>Sophie A. R. London</b><br><br> <p><b>Fletch Productions <br><i>And The Devil May Drag You Under</i> <br>Freerange | Brighton Festival Fringe <br>1 May 2010</b> <p>Returning to the Brighton Festival Fringe after its run last year, <i>And The Devil May Drag You Under</i> lacked all bar two of its previous acts. It was also in the much more cavernous arena of the Freerange Dome, so some of the acts, like Piff and the contortionist, were difficult to see, and the show would have benefited from being in a more intimate cabaret space. Individually all the acts showed consummate physical skills, the marionette-like spinner and manipulator of hula-hoops especially building up a fine visual show that came to a whirling climax of multiple hoops and lights.</p> <p>Whether it all cohered is another question. The central conceit around which the show was built seemed a little random - why would we want to vote for acts to go to an anodyne heaven or the more salaciously described hell? Asking the audience to cheer or hoot after each act as a vote felt like exactly what it was: a calculated ploy to keep the audience involved and making a noise.</p> <p>Piff the Dragon was a fantastic character, a rather sad-looking dragon who admitted ruefully that his costume was an over-embellished sleeping bag, and produced delightful small-scale magic and comedy. The pole dancing Private, the banjo bank manager (purveyor of nineties rave hits), and the contortionist all had their moments, but overall there wasn't anything that made you feel 'Wow' and it didn't quite hang together. Maybe because of shows like La Clique you expect more now from headline cabaret.</p> <p><b>Bill Parslow</b><br/><br/> <p><b>Amy Godfrey<br> <i>The Biscuit Chronicles</i><br> The Western Front | Brighton Festival Fringe<br> 28 April 2010</b> <p>Amy Godfrey does everything right. Everything except adhere to a low calorie eating plan maybe, and that is the theme of this devised one-woman show. After we all chorused hello in response to her greeting, she assured us that no further participation was required - to our collective relief. <p>She embodies all of her varied characters impeccably, imbuing each with an accent, stance and delivery all their own. Their only common trait is a BMI above the 'ideal'. Godfrey joins the dots between these vignettes, each of which highlight or lampoon contemporary attitudes or ignorance around obesity and dieting, by addressing us as herself. She talks to us about the show, why it came about, her personal experiences of being fat, whilst changing into the costume of the next character from behind a rather inadequate clothes rail. As the performance progresses and the audience-actor relationship grows more intimate, Amy (or rather her onstage persona) becomes increasingly less self-conscious, until she is orating in the centre of the space clad in only her underwear and a self-deprecating defiance of social norms. <p>Though Godfrey makes some serious and valid points about disproportionate and alarmist attitudes to eating disorders, you are never more than a few seconds away from a laugh with <i>The Biscuit Chronicles</i>. My plus one and I chuckled, guffawed and sniggered from start to finish; albeit through cringes during the cling film routine. A few highlights have to include the opening voiceover as our as-yet unintroduced narrator debates what to buy for lunch (so arrive on time!), an unfaithful cover of Queen's 'Fat Bottomed Girls', the dieting revelation that 'eating a kiwi and a cheese straw together will create antimatter' and a reflection on the inefficacy of suicide by biscuit. <p>Apparently this is an unpolished work-in-progress, but I saw very little evidence of that; it was a consummate and highly entertaining performance upstairs in a slightly sweaty pub. With free biscuits. Don't forget the biscuits. <p><b>Sophie A.R. London</b><br><br> <p><b>Periplum <br><i>1000 revolutions per moment</i> <br>Various locations, King's Cross, London | Reveal Festival <br>24 April 2010</b> <p><img src='../images/reviewsapril/periplum_1000revolutionspermoment.jpg' alt='Periplum, 1000 revolutions per moment' title='Periplum, 1000 revolutions per moment' padding='0 0 5px 5px' align='right'>Meaty, beaty, big, and bouncy... <i>1000 revolutions per moment</i> is about pop, politics and posing; the search for the perfect gig; music and social change; remembering the soundtrack to growing up - and a whole lot more... <p>Truly site-responsive theatre is that in which the site is an intrinsic part of the performance: change the site and you change the work in an elemental way. <p>In Brighton on a sparky winter's evening, weaving in and out of crowded bars, speakeasies and streets awash with drunks and dogs and cheery passers-by, jiving to the boombox sounds, 1000 revs seemed to be saying: 'The revolution will not be televised; it's here, it's now!' <p>In King's Cross, still light this spring evening, we're in sterile streets devoid of passers-by, anxiously watched by curtain-twitchers. We are given 'silent disco' headphones so the locals won't be disturbed (cut off from the outside world, in our own bubble). We aren't allowed into the famous venues name-checked (The Water Rats! The Scala!), but we get to visit a few quiet pubs with fireplaces, and the Lumen church in Tavistock Square. Rock and roll it ain't... <p>Periplum take the sad sterility of the cleaned-up King's Cross into the heart of the piece, adapting the spoken text accordingly. This version of <i>1000 revs</i> thus has a rather melancholic feel: 'gone are the rock and roll days,' it seems to say, 'but always something there to remind me...' <p>Common to both versions of the show that I've witnessed is the strong performances - in particular the two feisty women 'rockers', Sarah Leaver and Denise Evans (always in the kitchen at parties), and 'busker' Steven Grainger, whose ease with the audience is a key factor in the show's success. <p>Also to be flagged up is the behind-the-scenes work - from the collation of audience-suggested songs fed into the texture of the show in various ways, to the complexities of staging a show spread across so many venues, carparks, parks and streets, and the careful integration of community performers into the action (I very much enjoyed being locked in a Transit van with a local reggae combo...). <p>So that was Kings Cross, and so it goes - <i>1000 revs</i> will be different every time, remade and remodelled for each new town, but it'll always have something to say, and songs to say it with. Catch it if you can! <p><b>Dorothy Max Prior</b> <br><br> <p><b>Folded Feather <br> <i>Suitcase Circus</i><br> Sh*tty Deal Puppet Theatre<br> <i>Oh What A Sh*tty War</i><br> Little Angel Theatre<br> 23 April 2010</b> <p><img src='../images/reviewsapril/suitcasecircus.jpg' alt='Folded Feather, Suitcase Circus' title='Folded Feather, Suitcase Circus' padding='0 0 5px 5px' align='right'><i>Suitcase Circus</i> is a hit or miss sketch show cabaret, occasionally crude and unashamedly silly, but always good-natured. The two-man company revel in 'showing the strings' as it were, making no attempt to disguise the apparatus of their art. <p>In fact, chief puppeteer Oliver Smart goes so far as to embody the characters of his animations, grinding and thrusting with the sleazy tie snake, slumping in exhaustion with the Mexican hat frog. <p>The indifference of mute musician 'Maurice' and the cast's deliberate ineptitude at preparing the acts were running themes which added to the audience's sense of being in on the joke. The 'stunts' performed by a ledge-dancing milkshake straw (who had just escaped a 'vacuous and hollow' existence in McDonald's) or a daredevil ski glove with a baseball for a head were as entertaining when they went wrong as when they were made to go off without a hitch. <p><i>Oh What A Sh*tty War</i>, the second act in this double bill, had a skeleton of narrative supporting the glove puppet history of human warfare and some good jokes. Others were rather near the knuckle. Having the prophet (in debate with Jesus over Christianity vs. Islam) depicted as a pirate behind a screen was mocking, but it didn't feel like it was crossing any lines; holding a Gollywog auction to demonstrate the American Civil war however... <p>Well, had the performers paused for a moment they might have noticed the uncomfortable silence. <p>I found most of the comedy in this piece rather too obvious and it was nothing I hadn't heard before, though much of it I'd never heard that loud. Most of the crowd seemed happy to run with it however, perhaps relieved that the only participation required of them in this act was the occasional shout of 'Yes Mister Doper sir!' <p>The troupe were clearly having fun and their ad-libbing, in front of deliberately makeshift props and hand-drawn backdrops, made the performance feel as though we had wandered into a rehearsal. At times I wondered whether they were performing for us or for themselves. An early instance of corpsing led another actor to throw in, 'If you want to laugh then pay your ten quid and go and sit out there!' <p>Though there was no thematic link, the childish adult humour and rough-and-ready production values brought the two pieces together well enough and the crowd seemed to thoroughly enjoy their night. <p><b>Sophie A R London</b><br><br> <p><b>Marisa Carnesky<br> <i>Dystopian Wonders</i><br> The Dorfman Hub, Roundhouse, London | CircusFest<br> 23 April 2010</b> <p><img src='../images/reviewsapril/marisacarnesky_dystopianwonders.jpg' alt='Marisa Carnesky, Dystopian Wonders' title='Marisa Carnesky, Dystopian Wonders' padding='0 0 5px 5px' align='right'>Welcome to <i>Dystopian Wonders</i>, in which 'morbid showwoman' Marisa Carnesky and 'sinister preacher' Rasp Thorne delve into the strange worlds of waxworks and effigies - a journey that takes in sideshow sensationalism and religious ecstasy via Guns n Roses style rock excess, fairy tales, crooning, and a plethora of distorted tricks and disturbing turns. Created with an impressive team of collaborators (visual artists, illusionists, circus and cabaret performers), Carnesky's latest show features strands of investigation familiar from earlier works: religious iconography; ablution rituals; the parallels between abuse of women and the misogyny of many classic stage illusions; women's madness, and its perceived link to 'women's blood'. <p>We start in the 'museum', where we encounter three disturbing exhibits: a wax woman with a breathing belly; one that grows a second silver-wigged head but apparently has no lower body; and one with a ripped-apart gut revealing a growing foetus within ('come closer, don't touch'). <p>In the 'lecture hall' the Showwoman gives a slide presentation on waxworks and effigies, musing on death and decay versus resurrection and preservation, and referencing a whole host of examples of 'preserved' women, from the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin to Snow White in her glass coffin. Next come the live demonstrations: a distorted dance in bloodied red shoes; a walk up the Ladder of Swords; a bloodletting aerial silks turn; and a Saw-the-Lady routine featuring Ms Carnesky herself wielding a chainsaw on Raphaelle Boitel (cue audience walkouts). <p>The ideas flow and the visual images are rich, although there are problems with the pace and some of the performances. Carnesky is in good form as keeper of the exhibits, but Rasp Thorne doesn't win me over as the mad bad preacher. Amber Topaz underwhelms as the disgruntled tour guide, but comes into her own as a shell-shocked showgirl with the voice of an angel (and the belly-button of a breathing waxwork!). The aforementioned Boitel is the star of the show in my book - soft and languid contortion combined with a never-wavering performance presence infused with the spirit of Edgar Allan Poe. <p>Often with Carnesky's work, I feel that there is so much research, so many ideas, that it takes a while for it all to mulch together. I look forward greatly to seeing the show develop, and hope to have the pleasure (and the pain) of revisiting the <i>Dystopian Wonders</i> on some future occasion. <p><b>Dorothy Max Prior</b> <br><br> <p><b>Fools Proof Theatre<br> <i>Je Suis Dead</i><br> Unity Theatre, Liverpool<br> 22 April 2010</b> <p>The interaction with <i>Je Suis Dead</i> started with an usher demanding that we observed the notice advising us not to panic if we found the performance's non-linear structure disorientating. It continued with the three cast members introducing the audience members to each other from seats within the auditorium. None of this made me feel too comfortable, but within a few minutes of the actual performance it was clear this was not to be defined by gimmicks but by a highly original concept, passionately developed. <p>Three people, linked by their survival of a tragic event, overcome emotional turmoil and comic misunderstanding to find an understanding of themselves through the traumas and resolve of their ancestors. This is bewildering at times as the dead interact with the three characters, their stories confined to their own time and place but infecting the actions of the living. <p>The play is thoughtful, provocative, demanding and funny. Everything from awkward silences to mania is portrayed with both subtlety and intensity. On top of all this are touches of humour that are as delicate as they are farcical. Although the performers were all excellent, Mary Pearson's warmth and incredible sense of comic timing was breathtaking at times. <p>Simple onstage costume changes and a limited set meant the audience were never distracted from the fluency of movement and the wonderfully complex characters. At the end there was little resolution but a massive amount of empathy with the three main roles. And then I avoided the Q and A, just in case. <p><b>Paul Tarpey</b><br><br> <p><b>Matthew Robins<br> <i>Sad Lucy - A Fish Opera</i> <br>Little Angel Theatre, London <br>20 April 2010</b> <p><img src='../images/reviewsapril/matthewrobins_sadlucy.jpg' alt='Matthew Robins, Sad Lucy - A Fish Opera' title='Matthew Robins, Sad Lucy - A Fish Opera' padding='0 0 5px 5px' align='right'>There's something to be said for individual artistic vision. There's an undiluted quality to work that springs from a single soul, and with the right vision springing from the right soul, something akin to undiluted wonder can result. When encountered, there's an understandable pleasure and, pleasantly enough, the experience to be had in this conglomeration of shadow puppet operas from Matthew Robins and friends is more often than not just such concentrated joy. <p>The elements of Robins' brain that are channelled into his work are quirky, charming and more than capable of capturing the magical surreality lurking in the everyday. Though the <i>Sad Lucy</i> story - a new work - provides the title for the evening, plenty of other tales were also told, with the <i>Flyboy</i> series being perhaps the most coherently cuckoo. <p>Anecdotal adventures such as <i>Flyboy went to the Butchers</i> and <i>Flyboy and Mothboy go to the Zoo</i> allow Robins and company to charm and beguile the audience into inhabiting the skewed familiarity of the parallel universes they present, getting us to sing along with such wonders as an ovine variation on Jerusalem and a chorus of 'I wanted you to love me, but a snake bit my hand' with something approaching gusto. <p>Robins is an entertaining MC, talking with the audience between songs in an honest and revealing way. Unfortunately, this honesty occasionally reveals the flipside to the aforementioned wonders of individual vision with some comments grating a little because of what could be perceived as arrogance. Sometimes, some things do need a little dilution (Ribena and, to an extent, Robins' ego being good examples). There's an awful lot of talk about 'my shows', which with the constant promotion of the merchandise and future work meant that, when the band introductions were almost forgotten at the end of the night, the event felt a little too Robins-centric. <p>A minor detail, and an understandable trait considering the self-confidence, will and sheer volume of work it must take to bring together so many different people and elements into a show. Nevertheless, to be presented with it so visibly in the performance when there are four people sharing the stage creates a somewhat uneasy feeling amongst what would otherwise be a remarkable excursion into a particularly idiosyncratic world. <p><b>Tim Jeeves</b><br><br> <p><b>Compagnie XY <br><i>Le Grand C</i> <br>Roundhouse | CircusFest <br>19 April 2010</b> <p><img src='../images/reviewsapril/compagniexy_legrandc.jpg' alt='Compagnie XY, Le Grand C' title='Compagnie XY, Le Grand C' padding='0 0 5px 5px' align='right'>I was warned that Compagnie XY do 'pitching', which not many circus companies do these days. It seems this is not about sales or ships, but performers launched and flying like projectiles through the air. However, nothing prepares me for the heart-in-mouth experience of watching <i>Le Grand C</i>. <p>The piece starts slowly. In semi-darkness, the company forms the first of their human pyramids, a stack of four plus four plus two people. Snatches of accordion and other music help conjure up a small village green in France. The costumes are gently traditional, so it could be fifty or even five hundred years ago. And the next scene is teasingly simple, as single performers balance on a wooden log. <p>As the pace picks up, the seventeen-strong company soars and dives in complex and breathtaking formations. Petite women are catapulted metres through the air from the teeterboard; they execute backward flips and somersaults from a column of two others, balance on a single leg or shimmy playfully, and are caught perfectly by groups. Moments when the wooden log falls over comically, and one when the last stages of a stack may not have gone entirely to plan, enhance the effect of nerve, skill and danger. <p>Into this are woven gentle glances, quizzical or nonchalant looks, so the show has a warmth and connection throughout. Perhaps my favourite sequence involved acrobalance and medieval song, with the live patter of 'Celle qui m'aime' running through as human totem poles were formed. The performers always climb up each other with great care. At one point, two simply hug near the teeterboard. <p>When an older member of the company talks the others through some of the final balances, it gives a glimpse of the technique involved, drawing the audience in. And after the last bow, the performers linger in the wings of the Roundhouse, just sipping water, as if ready to strike up conversation. So <i>Le Grand C</i> is memorable not just for its myriad stacks, courage and heart-stopping movement, but also for the feeling that you only live through the people who support you, balanced precariously. <p><b>Charlotte Smith</b> <br><br> <p><b>Dizraeli and Baba Brinkman <br><i>The Rebel Cell</i> <br>Contact Theatre, Manchester <br>17 April 2010</b> <p><i>The Rebel Cell</i> is based in the near future where the world has gone satirical. The BBC is now the BNPBC and Glastonbury is Britain's Guantanamo. So not all bad then. This world is presented to us through the story of Dizraeli and Baba Brinkman, two ex-rap colleagues who disagree on the fundamental way in which we effect change. This has resulted in Dizraeli's imprisonment as a dangerous dissident, with Baba adopting the role of a liberal, well-meaning journalist. <p>The play is in effect a visual representation of a hip-hop concept album and the story holds together like a selection of tracks on a theme. Written in skilfully conceived rhyme by two technically gifted artists, <i>The Rebel Cell</i> is very accomplished but unmoving and unchallenging. <p>It may well be a highly personal view of the performance to say that it failed almost entirely in what its stated aims were, but without any real objectives for the play other than the political and personal, it seems the only way that I can properly comment. It is written in a manner that suggested to me a belief that achieving a better world is the work only of the intellectual or cultural elite, and all the discussion and polemic that takes place between the artists falls on that conceit. <p>Beyond that there is no sense of duality or complexity from the two main characters, no real attempt at presenting new visual ideas, and no surprises in the storyline. If you find the artists inspiring in themselves then you will be inspired by the play, but don't blame me if you end up feeling like one of the duped masses the lads say they represent. <p><b>Paul Tarpey</b> <br><br> <p><b>Sugar Beast Circus <br><i>The Milkwood Rodeo / Sugar Beast Circus Show</i> <br>Roundhouse | CircusFest <br>17 April 2010</b> <p><img src='../images/reviewsapril/sugarbeastcircus.jpg' alt='Sugar Beast Circus, The Milkwood Rodeo / Sugar Beast Circus Show' title='Sugar Beast Circus, The Milkwood Rodeo / Sugar Beast Circus Show' padding='0 0 5px 5px' align='right'>A harlequin figure, with spangly clothes and a silky ruff, lies on stage at the start of <i>The Milkwood Rodeo</i>. She is the main performer, but the story also uses film, projections, fleeting faces and corde lisse. Welcome to the highly atmospheric, bizarre and gently sinister world of a traditional circus in India. <p>The flickering clips of circus artists are accompanied by tales of 40&#8451; nights, corrupt managers and the disappearance of Frank, a performer who is dwarfed by his Sinatra-style name. Snatches of song become jarring and uncomfortable, as we hear about the animal trainer who lost half an ear or the management carrying the takings to their tent while the troupe goes hungry. The images can be funny (projections of dogs), evocative (a clown's face floating behind a gauze) and clever (as the angular body mirrors a starry constellation). <p><i>The Milkwood Rodeo</i> describes circus life, but has tantalisingly few tricks, with the movement instead suggesting a lonely performer after or before a show. <i>Sugar Beast Circus Show</i> features longer, acrobatic sequences by three performers using aerial hoops in tandem to describe an imaginary meeting between P.T. Barnum and Charles Darwin. <p>The stories make their own use of words. 'Infinity' is used when you expect 'affinity', and there's an odd description of Frank's disappearance as 'auspicious', perhaps instead of 'conspicuous'. Darwin's masterpiece of 1859 is described as 'the evolution of species', not <i>On the Origin of Species</i>, and we are told about Schr&#246;dinger's bear not cat. <p>The slightly unreliable narrative is only one element, and words seem clumsy compared with the physical prowess. The three white-clad, sequined performers each have their own circus tent, which acts as a curtain, going up and down to reveal just a foot hanging. An aerial duet is particularly accomplished, and there is a disappearing act as two are gobbled up by a lion. The huge lion mask, on a petite dancer in beige fishnets, was perhaps the biggest beast of all in an evening of sugar, spice, tamed and wild animals. <p><b>Charlotte Smith</b> <br><br> <b>Inspector Sands<br> <i>If That's All There Is</i><br> Battersea Arts Centre<br> 6 April 2010</b> <p>'Death, drama - in all of us,' states the erratic therapist to her wearisome client Daniel. He presents her with meticulous notes on the strange habits of his fianc&#233;e - she watches Spanish soaps, but doesn't speak Spanish and comes to bed smelling of onions. <p>This frighteningly observant physical production sees Daniel and wife-to-be Frances unravelling in the painstaking meaninglessness of their wedding preparations. Their story is set to cartoon-like whooshing sounds and extracts from opera and ballads, as the two yearn for the drama their lives so evidently lack. <p>The three actors inhabit their characters with breathtaking precision. As the therapist, Giulia Innocenti is deliciously unstable - unrecognisable when she transforms into Frances' gormless work experience girl. Props are used deftly, especially by Lucinka Eisler as Frances, who captures her despair on a photocopier and performs an elaborate dance to rearrange sofa cushions. The piece revels in those moments when you want to scream in public to test the boundaries of routine - Daniel, played by Ben Lewis, breaks into a rendition of Phil Collins' 'Against All Odds' while giving an office presentation. <p>But this isn't a kooky portrait of our disconnection from others and the suspicions we harbour about our partners. Rather it is a tragedy. The fine line between love and hate seems actually to be between hate and indifference. Frances and Daniel's climaxes of imagination are explored alone and lead nowhere, impotent gestures offering no escape. It takes exquisite technique to create a piece like this, but the juxtaposition between mundane and absurd is so calculated that there's little room left for heart. Apart from one instant when Frances stands, head back so her neck is bathed in sunlight, it seems decided that - as the title from the Peggy Lee song states - this is 'all there is'. Despite this bleakness, it's an experience that I will keep revisiting to wrestle with for some time. <p><b>Louise Ridley</b><br><br> <p><b>Tilanne<br> <i>Muualla-Elsewhere</i> and <i>Balloon</i> / <i>Polar</i><br> Jacksons Lane, London <br>16 April 2010</b> <p><img src='../images/reviewsapril/tilanne_polar.jpg' alt='Tilanne, Muualla-Elsewhere & Balloon / Polar' title='Tilanne, Muualla-Elsewhere & Balloon / Polar' padding='0 0 5px 5px' align='right'>The first piece in Tilanne's double bill was divided into two solo aerial performances by Ilona J&auml;ntti, entitled <i>Muualla-Elsewhere</i> and <i>Balloon</i>. Both were clever interactions between performer and the animation projected onto the white-painted brick wall behind. The most striking thing about these two short pieces was their intrinsic playfulness; I smiled like a child at a fireworks display throughout the first act. <p>J&auml;ntti toyed with our conceptions of space and dimension as imagined rooms suddenly turned in on themselves; she walked along the fourth plane of an animated representation of a room plan whilst suspended from a rope ten feet above an empty stage. Improbable mechanical beasts walked across the screen and J&auml;ntti mimicked their shapes and movements apparently effortlessly, reminding us that organic and, ultimately, human understanding of the physical world is at the root of all we create. <p>Our perspective and sense of direction was inverted and disregarded as J&auml;ntti demonstrated her remarkable prowess as both acrobat and aerialist, and the wonderful animation by Tuula Jeker was the perfect accompaniment. <p>For the second of the night's two pieces, <i>Polar</i>, J&auml;ntti was joined by handbalancer and dancer Natalie Reckert. With a performance created specifically for Jacksons Lane the pair were able to really explore and exploit the space, shattering the fourth wall by appearing above and beside the audience, from every aspect the venue allowed. Cold, industrial-looking streams and sheets of wire mesh were suspended above and laid across the stage and the performers' interaction with this unforgiving material formed the theme of <i>Polar</i>. Reckert demonstrated her extraordinary skills by beginning the performance, entirely unannounced, balancing ten feet above the audience on a taut wire net. One by one the crowd realised what was happening and looked up and while it was a fascinating new angle from which to witness acrobatics, it was also profoundly uncomfortable after the first minute. <p>Some impressive collaboration as Reckert balanced on J&auml;ntti's hands, feet, shoulders and back aside, <i>Polar</i> lacked the humour or narrative momentum of the first act and, true to name, felt somewhat cold in comparison. <p><b>Sophie A.R. London</b><br><br> <p><b>Laurie Anderson<br> <i>Delusion</i><br> Barbican, London | bite</b> <p>'I'm going to tell you a story about a story.' For three decades Laurie Anderson has been tucking us in and reading us bedtime metanarratives. She's fascinated by the templates that give our thinking its rhythms and our speculations their shape; she stops and stares at the signs (and the stars) by which we navigate. In <i>Delusion</i>, everything seemingly radiates out from one core scene - her mother's deathbed encounter with a menagerie of hallucinated animals - around which fragments of material orbit, appearing perpetually about to float free. One minute she's quoting Kierkegaard, the next she's duetting (with herself) on a rendition of 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star' (sounds cringey; is heartstopping): what holds it together is Anderson's signature skill at drawing the shortest possible line between the quotidian and the numinous, the familiar and the imponderable. <p>The music here is more adventurous than we've heard from Anderson in a while, bittersweetly besprinkled with major/minor tensions - mediaeval 'false relations' meet Cole Porter's 'how strange the change...'. Everything else is vaguely soporific: the screensaver-like video is our flickering virtual campfire, and Anderson's plangent voice dips and swoons like a Manhattan shipping forecast. One might hanker for the more urgent wit and political cogency of <i>United States</i>, her early 80s <i>gesamtkunstwerk</i>. But <i>Delusion</i> instead offers crafted space, for wandering through in thought. <p>The diverse geographical locations of Anderson's stories are always America in disguise: a conceptual topography of dream diaries, thought experiments, the yearning for contact. Hopefully Anderson's inner-space voyaging will someday reach beyond the boundaries of this familiar territory, but <i>Delusion</i> is nonetheless occasionally sensually rapturous and ultimately deeply affecting. <p><b>Chris Goode</b><br><br> <p><b>Tanztheater Wuppertal Pina Bausch<br> <i>Kontakthof</i> with Ladies and Gentlemen over 65<br> <i>Kontakthof</i> with Teenagers over 14<br> Barbican Theatre, London | BITE<br> 1 & 2 April 2010</b><br><br> <p><img src='../images/reviewsmarch/pinabausch_kontakthof.jpg' alt='Pina Bausch, Kontakthof' title='Pina Bausch, Kontakthof' padding='0 0 5px 5px' align='right'>A waltz, a tango, a jive. A dance hall lined with chairs, a curtained stage, a piano, a couple of mics. Two dozen or more men and women (an even split) - dressed in evening wear, the men suited and booted, the women coiffed and glossed - move downstage in turn, showing their wares (to us, and/or to an imaginary mirror - that telling moment before a night out), exposing their physical and psychological imperfections: see here, this is me, and now from behind, and now me in profile. <p>The age-old battle between the binary divides (male/female, sex/death, love/hate) is fought through a choreography of stylised gesture: the company enacting fragments of dances in couples and ensemble; creating mesmerising patterns of bodies in space as they group, disperse and regroup - here a formidable line of bodies edging towards us staggers through a dislocated line dance; there a circle of cocky tango walks is enhanced by self-assured gaucho grins; now the traditional dancehall asking-for-a-dance ritual is transposed to a line of scuttling chair-men edging across stage to the far wall where a line of wildly jiving women await. <p>Occasionally, the dancers' silence is broken and we get fragments of spoken texts: a bitchy commentary to-mic on someone's legs or dress sense; performers seated in a row of chairs almost to the edge of the stage confessing intimate moments of love, dating disasters, romantic hopes and dreams. If moments like these seem a little postmodern and an over-familiar technique, it is good to remember that this work was made three decades ago, long before Forced Entertainment, or Ontroerend Goed, or any of their many imitators, had the idea of lining up performers and asking them to confess into a mic. Yet still this raises the issue of how to evaluate work seen many years after it is made versus work seen in its time. <p>For <i>Kontakthof</i>, a piece by Pina Bausch, was originally made in 1978 with Tanztheater Wuppertal; was remade a decade ago for dancers from the community aged over 65; and now we are brought another reworking, this time for teenagers. This version for teens was instigated by Pina Bausch and was one of her last works before her untimely death in June 2009. This and the version for over 65s are presented at the Barbican (although at different times, and not on the same ticket, causing confusion to some audience members). <p>Seeing the version for older dancers and the version for teens on consecutive nights is certainly an interesting experience. The choreography is identical, exactingly performed by both sets of dancers, and it is thus extraordinary to witness the differences that differently-aged bodies bring to the work. An older couple playing out a nose-tweaking, bum-slapping duel of physical insults is poignant to the point of heartbreak, with its connotations of a marriage long gone stale; in the younger dancers, the same scene seems mere horseplay - or at least it does until the game centres on one young woman being got at by a group of young men, and then the tables are turned, as this scene has far more of a sense of the threat of rape than the same denouement enacted by the older dancers. <p>Pina Bausch's masterful use of space, and manipulation of the power of the large ensemble, means that both versions are beautiful, and both executed with extraordinary discipline - but for me, the version for older dancers works far more successfully as a standalone piece that can be assessed on its own merits. The version for teens I feel really needs to be seen and reflected on in relation to the earlier versions of the piece by adult or older dancers, relying as it does on irony for much of its punch. <p><b>Dorothy Max Prior</b><br><br> <p><b>Jessica Hannah <br><i>The Living Room</i> <br>Justin Cabrillos <br><i>Faces, Varieties, Postures</i> <br>Every house has a door <br><i>They re Mending the Great Forest Highway</i> <br>Chicago Cultural Center | IN>TIME 2010 Festival <br>27 March 2010</b> <p><img src='../images/reviewsmarch/justincabrillos_facesvaritiespostures.jpg' alt='Justin Cabrillos, Faces, Varities, Postures' title='Justin Cabrillos, Faces, Varities, Postures' padding='0 0 5px 5px' align='right'>Following a symposium on the subject the day before, the Chicago Cultural Center  a former central library turned exhibition and office space in 1974  was invaded the evening of 27 March by artists cherry-picked for the IN>TIME 2010 festival. The three-hour programme of performance and durational art took IN>TIME from hopefully to officially biennial; co-curators Mark Jeffery and Sara Schnadt organised its debut in 2008 with work from Mexico City, New York and Oslo. In addition, two emerging Chicago artists were given exposure though IN>TIME s Incubation programme, an element Jeffery says is integral to his and Schnadt s concept. <p>Justin Cabrillos and Jessica Hannah were this year's recipients; Hannah s <i>The Living Room</i>, like Paul Taylor s <i>Company B</i>, filled with dread the veneer of peace and placidity America collectively hallucinated post-WWII until the husk began to crack. Audience-interactive via clipboard-toting surveyors from Stepford, its installation in an anteroom satisfied through forcing the architecture to comply; by performing in a staging area, we viewed their pastel delusion  replete with passionless recital of Jerome Kern songs  as preparation to exit a psychological airlock. Its eight performers seemed doomed to suffocation. <p>Had they stepped out anyway, they would ve encountered Cabrillos, whose large audience in the rotunda nearly forced the abbreviation of his performance space. Gasps for air were weighed down by their ubiquity in Chicago performance of late (although we sit only 176 metres above sea level, our creatives have been wheezing as though atop Everest). Nevertheless, Cabrillos' <i>Faces, Varieties, Postures</i> is a compelling solo of task execution (circumnavigation of the floor atop tree-stump shoes) and dense yet comprehensible text. <p>The aesthetic concerns of the late Goat Island Performance Group, of which Jeffery was a member, are being carried forward by ex-Goats Lin Hixson and Matthew Goulish s project Every house has a door. <i>They re Mending the Great Forest Highway</i>, shown as in-progress, is a dance for three men following an introduction explaining its relation to research  on Benny Goodman s 1938 commission of Béla Bartók  inside recollections of an old woman struggling with a bundle that may or may not have been a baby. (Wallace Stevens 'Man Carrying Thing' was tangentially invoked.) Where their <i>Forest Highway</i> goes is still an open question, but Hixson and Goulish are in pregnant and potentially transcendent territory. As I settled to watch on the floor of the old Grand Army of the Republic Hall  like Cabrillos , this showing was well beyond capacity  two women nearby noted, 'Remember when this used to be the library?' <p><b>Zachary Whittenburg</b> <br><i>Zachary Whittenburg is the Dance editor at Time Out Chicago.</i><br><br> <b><p>Sarah Leaver<br> <i>Memoirs of a Hermaphrodite</i> <br>The Oval House, London <br>26 March 2010</b> <br><br><p><img src='../images/reviewsmarch/sarahleaver_memoirsofahermaphrodite.jpg' alt='Sarah Leaver, Memoirs of a Hermaphrodite' title='Sarah Leaver, Memoirs of a Hermaphrodite' padding='0 0 5px 5px' align='right'> On a blue-lit stage a white-faced figure of indeterminate sex is caught in a frozen pose, then slowly removes their hat, and, with a wry grin, takes an elegant bow. Behold, ladies and gentleman, the wonder that is Herculin Barbin: born as an hermaphrodite (or intersexed person, to use the currently acceptable terminology) in France in the late nineteenth century; raised as a female in a nunnery; and, when banished for declaring her love for a girl, forced to eke out a living in the Parisian underworld, working the circus freakshows. <p>The marriage of 'new writing' and physical theatre is often a troubled one, but Sarah Leaver's virtuoso solo show, <i>Memoirs of a Hermaphrodite</i>, manages to knit together its many and various performance languages into a wonderfully harmonious whole. <p>The first thing that Leaver (who is writer as well as performer) gets right is to bypass the usual solo-show monologue choice of a not-very-believable chat with the audience (the 'mirror-in-the-dressing-room' syndrome, let's call it), preferring instead to keep the fourth wall intact, with the text (written in rhyming couplets) making no pretensions towards naturalistic speech. Thus the words can ebb and flow in beautiful cadences, gently drawing us into the story with poetry, rather than catching us by the throat with the crudities of in-yer-face drama. That said, there are plenty of harshly dramatic moments: not least the scene in which Hercule is 'outed' and violently beaten. <p>Sarah Leaver's years of experience with troupes such as Mime Festival favourites Company: Collisions and street arts supremos Periplum have paid off in her obvious command of her own body and the onstage space it occupies - all aided and abetted by director Denise Evans' expert eye. Every movement is carefully choreographed, each image immaculately sculpted, and all is beautifully framed by a design that relies on nothing more than a few key objects delicately placed and Martin Chick's painterly lighting design. <p>Then there's Jason Pegg's lovely score in which samples of whimsical fairground waltzes and 'Chat Noir' accordion are given a contemporary twist. All-in-all a very satisfying combination, and a well-rounded piece of theatre. <p><b>Dorothy Max Prior</b><br><br> <b><p>Iambic Arts Theatre<br> <i>Fridays When It Rains</i><br> Iambic Arts Theatre, Brighton<br> 26 March 2010<br><br></b> <p>From the platform ticket stapled to the front of the programmes to the authentic 1940s posters on the walls of the 'waiting room' (the theatre bar), <i>Fridays When It Rains</i> evokes a bygone era with comprehensive attention to detail. Adapted by star and director Vicki Carpenter from the 2006 Nick Warburton radio play, the tense two-hander is a one-act exercise in nostalgia. <p>The play opens with narrator Robin Saikia stood before the black curtain, telling us a story about a girl. Over on stage right a monochrome film flickers into the blackness and we see the young woman hopelessly lost in the narrow alleyways of Hampstead. (Sadly during my preview the production was beset by technical difficulties, but on viewing the film after the performance their intention was clear.) <p>Suddenly the music crescendos, the black curtain is whisked away and the narrator who has been telling us of this young woman integrates himself into his own story. The girl steps off the screen and onto the stage. Either he has made this happen, or we have. Somehow there are two people in a railway carriage and the storyteller is captive in a narrative he himself initiated. <p>The play is a ghost story about obsessive unrequited love and the constraints of class. Although I had a fairly good idea where the play was going, much like the train it was set on, the experience was all about the journey. It's a tense, claustrophobic hour which begins to explore the deceptive nature of storytelling as a trusting young woman is drawn in to a tale which may be more than fiction. <p>The radio origins of <i>Fridays</i> are evident in the often static, dialogue-heavy approach, which works very well in the setting, but of more interest to me was the reliance on sound design. Clearly for radio, good sound effects are vital to create a sense of place and action. Forcing the audience to listen carefully to sounds coming from all about them, in an uncommonly dark space, is a potentially disorientating and subversive device in live performance which could have been exploited to greater effect here. While the use of recorded voices, rather than live microphone effects, did leave chilling echoes reverberating in the small studio, the heavy-handed use of tinkling bells to signify danger/horror undermined what the actors were doing with faces and bodies. <p><b>Sophie A.R. London</b><br><br> <br /> <br /> <br /> </td> <td width="10" valign="top">&nbsp;</td> </tr> </table> <!-- InstanceEndEditable --> <table width="800" border="0" align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"> <tr> <td><p align="center"><span class="tt_footertext"><a href="#top"><strong>^Page Top</strong></a> | <a href="/index.html">Home </a>| <a href="/news/index.html">News</a> | <a href="/magazine/index.html">Magazine</a> | <a href="/links/">Links</a> | <a href="/awards/index.html">Awards </a>| <a href="/Reviews/">Reviews</a> | <a href="/general/about.html">About</a> | <a href="/general/contact.html">Contact</a> | <a href="/join.html">Join TT</a></span><span class="style4"><br /> </span></p></td> </tr> </table> <p align="center" class="tt_footertext">website by<br /> <a href="mailto:gabzfp@hotmail.com">Gabz Digital Media</a> &amp; <a href="http://www.kindnesscreative.com">Kindness Creative </a></p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <script type="text/javascript"> var gaJsHost = (("https:" == document.location.protocol) ? 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