Sort Of Theatre: Buttons

Puppeteer Joni-Rae Carrack presents two shows, in rep on alternating days, at the Warren’s Brighton Fringe venue.

At the heart of Buttons, the first show by emerging puppetry company Sort of Theatre, is a very powerful puppetry metaphor. Buttons, snipped from the clothes of Jewish people as part of the complete stripping of their resources and dignity on arrival at the camps, are used in silhouette as the faces of those reduced to objects at the hands of the Nazis. The buttons, tenderly moved around by Carrack, are unexpectedly evocative – the slightest tilt of their ‘faces’ expressive of uncertainty, sorrow, confusion. These qualities are also conveyed by the sparse text used in the puppetry sequences which baldly describes some of the horrors of their treatment.

This imagery is highly successful and its power undiluted even by the problematic noise spill at The Warren’s Studio 3 venue. Phil Maguire has created a subtle score drawn from the noises from real life and real objects that reinforces the transformation of inert objects into poignant characters. The company are playing with the friction between the real and theatrical throughout: this tension is at the heart of puppetry as a form but it becomes more complicated when applied as an aesthetic to their drama more broadly. Trying to ‘play’ the reality of chatty interactions around the making of the show is a very hard tone to pull off and the exchanges between the two performers (Carrack plus performance partner Dana Segal) as they describe their journey to Auschwitz to research the show, often feel stilted. There’s some very effective and subtly detailed puppetry though and the moments of emotion, when they come, feel genuine.

Carrack’s second show, with even newer company Beardog, is Do You Mind? The format is similar – genuine personal stories, openly told, with some low-tech support from overhead projector and puppetry – although this is a solo piece. Built around a tricky conversation with a new partner – on a second date, no less – the show makes a heartfelt, honest, personal, and relatively uncomplicated plea for mental illness to be seen as an illness that can be treated, and for that to be something we can talk about openly. But the show is, formally and at heart, a love story: cleverly built around all the experiences and choices that lead up to that conversation. It’s very well structured – switching from here-and-now explanations and demonstrations (including puppetry, brain diagrams, and some chemistry on the OHP), to pleasingly non-linear storytelling, to ‘it didn’t happen like that’ counterfactuals.

Ultimately though, it isn’t fully satisfying: the scripted faux-casual text delivery again doesn’t always ring true (and there are jokes that just don’t quite land due to lack of performance crispness); the script sometimes feels a few edits away from really hitting the target as well. A good example is a sequence with a puppet, where the ‘rules’ of puppet operating are shared and interrogated to illuminate human psychological realities. It’s a great idea, but neither the rules or the psychological analogies are clearly explained and demonstrated enough to be effective.

But it’s encouraging to see puppetry used thoughtfully in a show that is really in something close to a live art form; most interesting because this is not, I think, its natural or straightforward home, and there is much promise and ambition in both these pieces.

Additional writing by Darren East

Robert Cohen has ploughed a lonely, yet finely turned, furrow in solo character comedies in the past few years, taking on communist-turned-informer in The Trials of Harvey Matusow or maligned (or was it malignant?) traffic warden in High Vis. This production has another misunderstood antihero at its heart: fratricidal usurper Claudius, whose actions (in)famously trigger the plot of Hamlet.

In Cohen’s smart adaptation we sit on the edge of the action, not unlike Stoppard’s approach in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, and much of the comedy derives from his slant reinterpretation of the well-known story. Here, though, the content is character-led, rather than philosophically-driven. Cohen draws Claudius with warmth as well as wit and an ambiguity that makes us wonder if his storytelling will turn accepted interpretation on its heads. Claudius has a childhood here (rather abusive); a running feud with Yorick (darkly hilarious, with the jester cast as a sort of unreconstructed Northern pub stand up); and far more of a history with Gertrude than convention suggests. All the parts are multi-roled with some subtle adjustments and initially Cohen seems more confident in these broader stylings and shifts of voice than in the part of his leading man. But the image of Claudius gradually solidifies, at the same time becoming more equivocal. The show treads the fine line between character comedy and character drama effectively.

This is a thoughtfully made piece of theatre. It is highly structured, its byline ‘100 days of Claudius’ (recalling another oft-criticised leader, Napoleon) broken down into nine bite-sized and tonally shifting scenes, thoughtfully named in the programme to map us through what could otherwise be a rather intense solo in the tightly packed theatre at the Waterfront 2. Clever and funny, its minimalistic staging achieves maximum storytelling effect.

There aren’t many events for you in Brighton Fringe if your child is under three. I know, I looked, hoping to share bit of the cultural feast taking over the city with my one-year-old son. There are however two ‘baby discos’ – different venues, different price points, different musical aesthetic (one assumes). The retro styling and classy Speigeltent venue of Monski’s Mouse’s event, the shorter of the two sessions, drew our eye and so, disco pants on, we took to the floor.

The venue at Speigeltent is an immediate win; its mirrored walls, enticing booths, and bouncy wooden floor make it a magical playground for little ones. It’s also big enough for running around but small enough to create a real crowd on the dance floor. Australian DJ Monski Mouse (Monica Corduff-Gonzalez) has dressed the space minimally but well. Bright monochrome stripes cover the DJ desk that she dances around in her trademark Disney-styled ears, and there’s a baby chill-out area of stuffed animal cushions and rugs that my small person found very reassuring.

Her set is supported by two 50s-styled dancers who mingle and help raise the atmosphere in the crowd. Their muteness is occasionally a bit disconcerting – Monski is firmly the host – but they are a smiley and enthusiastic presence that helps to break down parental inhibitions. Beyond the styling of the dancers the retro theme is not much in evidence – the set is a mixture of disco classics both recent (Pharrell Williams’s Happy) and less contemporary (the B52s’ Loveshack) – but this didn’t seem to matter to the swelling crowd of cheerful parents and carers who threw themselves into the spirit of the event with gusto for a wild and wet Saturday morning. That crawling on the floor being a ‘lovecat’ or a sleeping bunny came so readily (to the adults!) is a testament to the skill with which the tone is set and the event managed by the team.

The mix of tracks to appeal to kids (actions!) and grownups (memories!) was well handled and, even though it was a bit strange hearing every song played to the very end there’s no denying that the mix was good and the hour the right length. In all, we felt well looked after and Monski’s background in early years work shone through. This was a highly successful and enjoyable hour spent sharing some of the energy and fun of going clubbing with the main reason you haven’t been able to do it for the past three years.