Author Archives: Charlotte Smith

Counter-Active: Traumatikon

Counter-Active: Traumatikon

Counter-Active: Traumatikon

Traumatikon is certainly ambitious in scope. A 26-strong cast creates vignettes within a café and circus setting, using figures from history including Robert Mugabe, Muhammad Ali, Frida Kahlo and Virginia Woolf. Counter-Active cite the work of Tadeusz Kantor as an influence: the piece was produced in collaboration with two former members of Cricot2. It also aims to evoke Russian constructivist theatre, Dadaism and the performance art of Kurt Schwitters.

This is not necessarily clear from the performance, however. For the audience, a character might be an astronaut (but not Neil Armstrong), flamenco dancer, half-naked woman or two very angry girls chained up in some sadomasochistic routine with a mad ringmaster. The initial scenes suggested carnage in the early 20th century (lost husbands, morphine with coffee, emotional scars), but narrative threads became increasingly elusive.

Traumatikon does have an intense, stylised visual language that is perhaps something of a rarity in the UK (a comparison point might be The Orpheus Complex by Théâtre de l’Ange Fou). There were nice moments, such as the framing of the Freya story; gutsy performances, for example from the flamenco dancer or head waitress; and some humour, as in the Lady Marmalade parody. However, at the risk of showing ignorance and arrogance, Traumatikonseemed heavy and unwieldy too. Some aspects came across as sententious, indulgent or muddled.

The initial strains as we were led up the Summerhall steps were tuneful enough, but the music could encroach, with cloying piano and violin tuning. The sound was built around surreal combinations, suggesting Wagner and gibberish, Joplin and Moulin Rouge, the ‘Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy’ then the ‘Song of the Volga Boatmen’, and possibly ‘Also Sprach Zarathustra’ with the didgeridoo.

The determination to explore unusual styles has to be admired, and arguably the work was built on strong intentions. However, I found the piece too disparate and intense. Sometimes it felt like watching a degree show after losing the syllabus. And although the size of the cast justified some of the choices, Traumatikon was perhaps also a little long, so the grand finale did not come too soon.

www.sites.google.com/site/counteractivetheatre

White Rabbit, Red Rabbit

Volcano / Wolfgang Hoffmann / Remarkable Arts Production: White Rabbit, Red Rabbit

White Rabbit, Red Rabbit

Watching rabbits… The title comes from the author’s uncle, who devises an experiment for his rabbits. The one that leaps up a ladder to nab the carrot is daubed in red, while the other white rabbits are doused with cold water. The red rabbit is attacked by its companions, even without the water, carrot or memory.

This becomes the starting-point for a theatrical experience that makes the audience into rabbits and metaphorical guinea pigs. Given numbers, people come forward to play parts that explore trust, cunning, human nature. The format creates some unusual moments, which will never be repeated and are made by amateurs. It is oddly moving when they make perfect sense.

A different actor gives a cold reading of the script each day. After a brief explanation from the producer, he or she is handed an envelope. Today, Debbie Pearson, the 28 year-old co-director of Forest Fringe, gave a steady, sustained performance, with grace in the face of the unexpected.

Partly pulling the strings is the Iranian writer Nassim Soleimanpour. His script considers ‘me’ the actor, ‘me’ the writer, and ‘you’ the audience, playing with location, time and space. Although its references are not very culturally specific, the distance and possibility of disappearance add poignancy. It’s tempting to feel this piece gives a glimpse of Iran, while crossing borders.

The underlying game is one of murder and suicide. In a twisted magic trick, poison is added to one of two glasses, although after closing your eyes and other audience intervention, it’s hard to remember which. The actor dutifully downs one and lies prone at the end, but the text has pre-empted our distrust of illusion. We are reminded of the unknowns (such as a possible death wish of the actor).

White Rabbit, Red Rabbit is presented by Volcano Theatre (Canada), Remarkable Arts and Wolfgang Hoffmann, a leading light in physical theatre who was also co-producer of the former venue Aurora Nova. It is both formally innovative and fundamentally scripted, interrogating the control mechanisms inherent in a script and involving the audience in concrete ways. The brown envelope and pieces of paper become an object that a participant can take away as a parting gift. We are also given an email address and asked to send photos and notes to the writer.

White Rabbit, Red Rabbit is certainly thought-provoking. The slightly scratch set-up may mean some underwhelming moments but also heightened awareness and connection when it works. The suicide drama is contrived but relevant. We are told that there are seventeen ways of committing suicide – the eighteenth way is life.

www.volcano.ca / www.remarkable-arts-ltd.com

Circle of Eleven: Leo

Circle of Eleven: Leo

Circle of Eleven: Leo

Leo is majestic. Simple and sophisticated, the whole one-man show is built around a trick of perspective: the live performance is presented side by side with a projection that rotates it by ninety degrees.

This proves a rich source of physical comedy. Tobias Wegner may be lying down, while his doppelgänger is leaning against a wall. Or defying gravity, levitating in a corner of the rotated room.

He generally takes the harder option with grace, completing the movement at a funny angle (horizontal not vertical). For example, he plays the saxophone lying down or holds press-up or plank positions that look quite natural at right angles.

Just as you are starting to tire of the trick, the show blooms and zooms to another level. A whole living-room is drawn in chalk, with brilliant touches such as the bird that works from both angles (is that an owl or a stork?). The light switch, the goldfish, the cat, table and chair… They are then illuminated and animated and take on an energy of their own.

The soundtrack ranges from contemporary to classical, possibly with some jokes. There are strains of Frank Sinatra’s ‘I’ve got the world on a string’, and orchestral music that is familiar yet elusive. Was that a bit of ‘Swan Lake’? Or has the wordless performance just opened up a mental space where Lionel Richie’s ‘Dancing On The Ceiling’ meets Kafka and ‘The Sorcerer’s Apprentice’?

A dystopian vision takes hold after the goldfish bowl floods, leaving the hero floundering then fleeing a shark. The film becomes a mad graphical swirl as the character frantically wipes the chalk clear. In another sequence, the projection is delayed, so that the character is haunted by his shadow.

The final bid for freedom, as a suitcase reveals a trapdoor through which the man climbs, was surprisingly moving. An ingenious, elegant show, Leo leaves the field open to interpretation.

www.circleofeleven.de

John Osborne: John Peel’s Shed

John Osborne: John Peel’s Shed

John Osborne: John Peel’s Shed

John Osborne shares his love of radio in this tactile show. It’s linked to his book, Radio Head: Up And Down The Dial Of British Radio, which is dutifully plugged at the end (copies for a fiver). But this is also a well-crafted performance, gently reminiscent of Daniel Kitson or Josie Long.

At the heart of the story is a box of records that he won by sending off an appreciation of John Peel’s show in 2002. It spawns some eccentric artists, such as the Boyzone cover band Oi Zone, or Atom and his Package, who had to retire from the music industry when his asthma got too bad. Songs are played on vinyl with lyrics supplied on a retro overhead projector.

Into this is woven a coming-of-age story. This can be charming: after a halting but promising friendship, John bottles it when asking out his colleague Poppy to a Belle & Sebastian gig (all girls like Belle & Sebastian, he quips). The following day he is made redundant from his data entry job at Anglia Windows, so never sees Poppy again. Sometimes the material is a bit too familiar: the teenage epiphany of The Smiths makes the heart sink slightly, and the ‘hip to be square’ vibe may not be everyone’s cup of tea.

The material about radio is priceless, however. John Osborne captures the intimacy of the medium, the startling human connections and priceless stories. On Virgin Radio, he hears about Sandra, who marries a stranger for the sake of a child. On arthouse radio station Resonance FM, he tunes in to ‘Me and my floor’, a soundscape of the presenter’s living-room. And there’s some war and peace on the chat forums about Radio 1.

John Peel’s Shed is perhaps not formally innovative. However, it has a nice arc and completeness, with a professional happy ending if not a personal one. John Osborne has succeeded in plotting a path from his bedroom to community radio to publication and performance, with the help of John Peel’s box of vinyl. It’s an uplifting if occasionally twee story that makes a classic, nostalgic fringe piece.

Stuart Bowden: The World Holds Everyone Apart, Apart From Us

Stuart Bowden: The World Holds Everyone Apart, Apart From Us

Stuart Bowden: The World Holds Everyone Apart, Apart From Us

Stuart Bowden’s one-man show explores a dystopian future, where love is a luxury and loneliness common currency. Bernard, Sarah and Celeste are the only people that the narrator meets in fourteen years, and it turns out that Sarah and Celeste are one and the same person. Perhaps loneliness is a tricky subject for a whimsical solo show, as it may border on self-pity and self-indulgence.

Space travel is the narrator’s solution, on a mission to rid the world of solitude. A cut-out set frames the space exploration and we’re taken to ‘once upon a lingering time’ in 2054. Programme notes suggest that the space fantasy originated in a childhood game, with Stuart’s imaginary friends Bissy and Nevermind setting forth into a limitless galaxy.

The World Holds Everyone Apart, Apart From Us is stylised. The literal jokes, for example, can start to grate. ‘I’ve misplaced my meaning, perhaps it’s under the bar stool – oh no, only a peanut,’ is fairly typical. If you don’t fall for the twinkly-eyed charm of the performer or perhaps if you see the show on a more wobbly day, the effect is fairly shallow.

This piece was nominated for best performer, best theatre production and the Underbelly Edinburgh award at the Adelaide Fringe Festival. It has nice moments, such as the story flying away at the end. However, I failed to be charmed by its self-conscious sweetness. A show for adults, it nonetheless relied on child-like wonder, but failed to generate this. The result was sentimental and underwhelming.