Author Archives: Dorothy Max Prior

Dorothy Max Prior

About Dorothy Max Prior

Dorothy Max Prior is the editor of Total Theatre Magazine, and is also a performer, writer, dramaturg and choreographer/director working in theatre, dance, installation and outdoor arts. Much of her work is sited in public spaces or in venues other than regular theatres. She also writes essays and stories, some of which are published and some of which languish in bottom drawers – and she teaches drama, dance and creative non-fiction writing. www.dorothymaxprior.com

Carnival!

Ola do Brasil!

If you were wondering why your editor had gone a bit quiet these past few weeks, it is because she’s been in Brazil on an extended research trip. Is still there, in fact, spending quality time with LUME Teatro and other Brazilian companies!

So being in Brazil in February/March means being in Brazil for carnival (you know, Mardi Gras/Shrove Tuesday  the big blow-out before Lent). This was my second year in a row in Brazil at carnival time, so thought a few words on the subject wouldn’t go amiss!

First to say that when I was in Rio for Carnaval 2011, I didn’t see any of the carnival displays that are beamed to TV sets across the world. That carnival is hidden away in the Sambodromo, a massive stadium where tickets costing a fortune are sold months in advance to visiting tourists, or ringfenced for corporate hospitality. There is a sense of cynicism amongst Cariocas I know about the invisibility of this famous display, the majority of the people of the city excluded from its most famous cultural activity…

 

Where they and other Brazilians throughout the country have their carnival experience is in the street ‘blocos’  which you can imagine as a kind of cross between Glastonbury and Gay Pride: fancy dress of every conceivable type on display – sequinned hot-pants, Harem pants, blue nylon wigs, angel wings, devil horns, halos, funky shades, Hawaiian leis.

But the essential element of the experience is the music and the dance. And true to the origins of carnival, the street bloco is a collective experience in which there are no onlookers, all are participants to a greater or lesser extent, and in which the roles of ‘performers’ and ‘non performers’ merge and cross.

So let me give you some idea of how these work in somewhere like Barão Geraldo (a smallish town on the edge of Campinas, Sao Paulo district). A carnival bloco is scheduled to start at, say, 6pm. Should you turn up at the designated starting point at 6pm, what you will find is a truck with a sound system playing some recorded music, and a bunch of musicians ambling about, chatting to colleagues, drinking beer, trying on band t-shirts, changing strings on their cavaquinhos or guitars, tightening up the skins of their snares – or whatever. There will be some small children in fairy wings or Superman outfits running round and through their legs, and a spattering of other people lounging around smoking and drinking. A police car will be blocking the road to traffic, and a few policemen will be leaning against it, arms folded, bored expressions on their faces.

At some point a while later – maybe an hour, maybe more – the band will have taken up their cortege formation – cowbells and tamba and bass drums and snares, with the stringed instruments to the rear, a snake-nest tangle of leads trailing from the PA truck and plugged in to the pick-ups on the instruments. There will be a few low-key guitar-and-voice based songs (mostly as a sort of rehearse-in-public soundcheck, I suspect), but then we see the band leader go round and shake everyone’s hand or hug them intensely, so we know something is about to shift.

And suddenly there is a great surge of energy, as following the whistle blow and fingers-in-the-air countdown from the bandleader, the batteria thunders into action, and the ever-growing crowd starts dancing. But we are still, as yet, in our starting spot, no forward movement. Usually there are a fair few tunes played at the starting site, and these attract more and more people in – the first things played are often popular songs that everyone knows the words to, or perhaps songs newly-written for this year, with helpers passing round sheets of paper with the words on.

Once the band are fully in their stride and the unifying first few songs have been sung, the whole cortege starts to move forward along its designated route. Which may well be a mere mile or so, but it’ll take us five or six or more hours to do that route, in a kind of ‘two steps forward, one step back’ pattern of progressing and stopping.

Along with musicians and accompanying crowd – some dancing wildly, some kind of edging along in what we might call the ‘carnival two-step shuffle’ – will be a whole army of drinks sellers, their beers and water and energy drinks (and in some cases, spirits and cocktails too!) housed in a variety of ways, from the simple polystyrene ice-box carried on the shoulder, to the shopping trolley filled with cans, to the rather more sophisticated fridge trolley and umbrella contraptions. Sometimes these get caught in a kind of bottle-neck, and have to edge their way to the side of the crowd.

There’s all sorts of unwritten rules about the blocos. If you are right in front of the band, then it is customary to dance backwards, so you are kind of paving the way for them rather than holding them up, as you might do if you had your back to them. This way, the band (and any ‘official’ dancers or flag bearers the band carries with them) can set the pace of the forward movement rather than the crowd setting it – although it is always a give-and-take situation. This front row of backward-facing dancers often hold hands and get into little patterns of forward and back runs or grapevine-like side steps weaving from left to right, as well as the legendary faster-than-the speed-of-light on the spot footwork the street samba dancer is renowned for!

If you stay right in the thick of things you really need to keep dancing and go with the flow – although I did, at one bloco, see a very tall man with a child on his shoulders stand resolutely still right next to the band, people weaving around and past him as if he were some sort of civic statue or sculpture to be negotiated.

If you feel that your energy is flagging, then you can ease your way out to the edges and take a break, walking slowly alongside for a while, or even just watching the parade go by, then working your way back upfront, should you so wish, once your energy returns. These slower and calmer edges are where much of the meeting and greeting goes on. In a place the size of Barão Geraldo, everyone at any event will know a great deal of other people there. What I found most amusing and lovely was the excitement with which people greeted others whom they had seen a mere 24 hours earlier – hugging and kissing each other as if they were long-lost brothers returned from a great sea journey lasting many years…

In Rio, I experienced blocos day and night – a complete carnival immersion, with little chance of escape. Barão Geraldo is a lot different, with one main bloco each carnival day, which lasts a good long spell of up to eight hours, and a number of smaller events. I went to two of the big blocos. Saturday evening’s event was led by the extraordinary and redoubtable Altaneira, who played for an astonishing and truly marvellous eight hours without a break, cleverly shifting rhythms and speeds to accommodate traditional carnival samba song, hardcore percussion-led battatuque, axe style music from Bahia, sinuous African rhythms – and a whole host of other things I couldn’t name but loved.

Monday evening saw the turn of Cupinzeiro, who had a slightly more laid-back and melodic style, and who paced their bloca in a different way. Rather than the relentless build of Saturday’s event, in which Altaneira never stopped playing, but found ways within their eight-hour set to give some musicians a short break, for example by having a number of vocal-and guitar based tunes as an interlude for the percussionists – Cupinzeiro’s event scheduled stops along the way, where the whole band came to rest for a while, and everyone had the opportunity to sample the delights of the downtown ‘portaloos’.

Both these two blocos start early evening, and there is a family-friendly feel for the first few hours, the children weaving in and out of the crowd of dancers or excitedly poking at the sculptural decorations that were wheeled along the streets at the head of the cortege (the Alterneira event on Saturday had some sort of evolutionary theme, and featured models of space rockets, dinosaurs and a rather fetching monkey writing the works of Shakespeare on a word-processor!). But as the night progresses, it gets a little more adult and earthy, as more and more people join the throng, and more and more drink is drunk. Yet despite the high volume of alcohol being consumed, I didn’t see one moment of bad humour from anyone.

I should also mention here that apart from the street events there are also special carnival bills at the live music venues, for those who prefer a more sedate carnival experience. For some people it is enough to party in their gardens with friends. Carnival is different things for different people.

But whatever choice the Brasilieros make at carnival time, one thing is for sure: it beats pancake races in the cold!

[This blog is an edited version of a post that first appeared on www.terralume2012.blogspot.com]http://www.terralume2012.blogspot.com

LUME Teatro: Cravo, Lirio e Rosa

LUME Teatro: Cravo, Lirio e Rosa

LUME Teatro: Cravo, Lirio e Rosa

Blackout, and we hear the William Tell overture. A grand entrance is anticipated; the same kind of anticipation I built when I was purchasing the Play Goes Wrong show tickets. Lights on – and, and… And here is Teotonio, who is delighted to be on stage. So delighted. It shows in every muscle of his body, which is as tightly primed as an overwound clockwork toy. He veers from nervous grinning at the audience to a worried exploration of the extremely large and forbidding empty space that is the SESC theatre stage. Nothing! Is he, Teotonio, supposed to do something? He doesn’t seem to know. Now what? There’s no hiding place, although he makes a feeble attempt to erase himself by retreating upstage, spread-eagling himself up against the blacks, his arms outstretched, his back to the audience. But there is no peace to be had, as he (and we) suddenly notice a tiny white spot on the black curtain, which has to be removed and disposed of – easier said than done.

The William Tell overture – encore. And this time we really do have a grand entrance, the arrival of the high-and-mighty Carolino, who takes immediate control of the situation with nose-in-air disdain and a regal wave of the hand, suitcases large and small organised into their X-marks-the-spot stage positions (Teotonio doing the actual donkey work, of course). All is prepared, on with the show!

What follows is a delicious clown parody of the instant-show-in-a-suitcase tradition. First up in the tricks and turns department is a demonstration of the marvellous skills of a tiny wooden trapeze artist (one of those simple mechanical children’s toys), pulled from a suitcase with great aplomb. In one of the many gorgeously realised moments in the show, the toy breaks, mini trapezist hurtling through the air to land in a broken heap, then anxiously given emergency resuscitation treatment by Teotonio, who weeps desperately – until he sees Carolino playing with a new toy, a push-along cycling puppet on a stick. The tiny trapezist is thrown to the dogs, and the new toy takes the spotlight…

More foolishness unfolds with the toys and the suitcases, and then there’s a shift in dynamic as Carolino disappears and his female alter-ego Gilda arrives onstage – a vision of blonde curls, dressed in a delightful blue-and-yellow polyester dress. She gyrates to the sound of the Gypsy Kings, lips slightly parted, hips circling, feet (clad in rather fetching blue towelling mules) swivelling on the spot. Teotonio is mesmerised. His attempts at courtship fail (Gilda is as high-and-mighty as Carolino, in her own inimitable way), but pride comes before a fall, and it’s not long before Gilda gets her comeuppance, which ends in her crashing arse-over-elbow to the floor, legs akimbo, with yellow lacy knickers revealing a rather unladylike bulge. Not to be outdone in the drag department, Teotonio dons a tutu and punk-pink hair ribbons – and ultimately the two ‘ladies’ together discover an Arcadian paradise in a suitcase full of flowers.

Cravo, Lirio e Rosa, created and performed by Carlos Simioni (Carolino) and Ricardo Puccetti (Teotonio) of LUME Teatro, first saw the light of day in 1996. It has subsequently become a mainstay of the company’s repertoire, appearing in festivals across Brazil – a continent-sized country – and throughout the world. It is classic theatre clown with a contemporary bite, playing with the traditional clown hierarchies of status with more than a touch of irony. We can see evidence of Ricardo Puccetti’s training with Philippe Gaulier; and evidence in both performers of the intense personal physical training, inspired by the legacy of Etienne Decroux disciple Luis Otávio Burnier, that is at the heart of LUME’s work.

So tradition is there in the foundations, but the show is very much its own unique self, built around the relationship of the two clown characters – and of course the relationship between the two actors, who have honed these wonderful clown characters in partnership over many years. The experience shows in the tremendous ease and control with which the game is played out: the timing is immaculate, and it is commendable that the two performers have allowed themselves the liberty of a slow and carefully orchestrated build. I particularly like the fact that music is used sparingly but effectively.

As with any good show, it’s the details that make the difference: that small white dot on the black curtains obsessively picked at, Gilda’s blue slippers shuffling rhythmically, the ludicrously manic way in which the push-along puppet is steered around the space, the arch of Carolino’s eyebrows and arrogant angle of his red nose, the jittery shake of Teotonio’s hands and his colt-like charges around the stage, the touching tenderness with which they finally make their peace…

Cravo Lirio e Rosa unsurprisingly garners a standing ovation on this, its opening night of a three-night run at the SESC Santana theatre. A lyrical piece of theatre, a great demonstration of clowning skills, and a lovely vehicle for the tremendous talents of LUME’s two longest-standing members. Bravo!

www.lumeteatro.com.br

Not if but when: Culture Beyond Oil

Not if but when: Culture Beyond Oil Unbound 2011Eds. Jo Clarke, Mel Evans, Hayley Newman, Kevin Smith, Glen Tarman

This publication, available in a hard copy limited edition run of 1000, has bold aims. Part documentation of actions and artworks by artists and activists concerned with oil company sponsorship of our art institutions, part information pack on the reasons why these artists are concerned, and part artwork in itself (artist Ruppe Koselleck has made each copy unique by daubing it with oil from the BP Gulf of Mexico spill).

With a little under 100 pages, the book provides a broad range of approaches to the topic. There is an insightful analysis of why exactly it is that BP and Shell need art sponsorship (a fact easily forgotten in the discussion that focuses on why art institutions need the oil money), a history of the campaign, an article explaining exactly why Shell and BP are such problematic companies (aside from covering the global dilemma around peak oil and pollution, their abuses of human rights in oil-rich countries are well documented), and a series of very clearly argued responses to a broad range of the arguments put forward in favour of the sponsorship. And this is less than half of the areas covered.

The texts are thoughtful and, even to those not previously disinterested in the discussion, impressively educational.

By presenting the documentation of so many artworks, installations and interventions in one place, a real sense of the strength of the movement is presented, and a rallying call to action inspirationally given.

Perhaps the contributions from the wider selection of artists and arts administrators that come at the end of the book could have used further editing; some of the texts unfortunately read as less detailed rehashes of arguments presented elsewhere more eloquently, though even this section serves a valuable role in revealing how many there are who oppose the abuse of power.

Culture Beyond Oil is a slickly presented, media savvy argument, much needed in the battle against the massive PR machines of the oil behemoths. I urge you to seek out a copy and share it with your friends. In the battle against the spin that these corporations and their friends push out on a daily basis, this and all the work of the three co-publishers is an essential counter.

As the Mexican painter Diego Rivera said (and is quoted as saying in the publication), ‘If it isn’t propaganda, it isn’t art.’

Available as download from: http://tinyurl.com/oilculture
Available in hard copy from Unbound: www.thisisunbound.co.uk

eehigh & Little Angel Theatre: A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings

A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings

eehigh & Little Angel Theatre: A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings

Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it’s A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings – he’s come from who-knows-where and he’s landed in someone’s backyard in a small village somewhere-or-other, causing quite a flurry. What is he exactly, chicken man or stargazer? The locals divide up into those who consider him to be an angel, singing ‘Bring him wine and bring him bread / Let him sleep in a feather bed’, and those who think he’s a devil, to be kept on a chain in a backyard cage and fed potato peelings. An uneasy compromise ensues: he’s kept chained up, but ‘allowed’ to receive visitors, who with a mere touch of a wing are cured of their odd ailments – visitors such as Bernardo the Back-to-Front man who ‘had his head turned by a woman’, a poor unfortunate who ‘cannot sleep for the noise of the stars’, and an old misery-guts who finds herself tickled back to merriment with a feather. So many people are now coming from far and wide to seek a miracle cure that the villagers are starting to charge for services, making a pretty penny out of it all. It’s not long before the church poke their nose in, and ‘Lo, here comes Father Gonzalo’ with his three tests of angelhood, which of course our Very Old Man fails (divinity is never too keen on being tested). Watching all of the goings-on is the village gossip who peers out from her window, providing us with explanations and commentary, and just occasionally stepping out of the action, as in the end of the first act when she announces, ‘Interval! I’m going for a pee!’

Based on a short story by Gabriel García Márquez, a version of A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings was first staged by Kneehigh many years ago on a clifftop in Cornwall. Director Mike Shepherd has retained his fascination with the story, and this time round teamed up with the Little Angel’s Wright family – puppet-maker and designer extraordinaire Lyndie Wright, ultra-talented puppeteer-performer Sarah Wright, and internationally acclaimed film-maker Joe Wright – to retell the tale using a fantastic array of puppets of all shapes, sizes and forms. I hear tell there are over a hundred puppets featured in the production, from the army of scuttling crabs that invade the stage at the beginning, to groups of villagers (cleverly mounted on boards, so they can be manipulated four or more at a time), to individual characters (those with strange ailments particularly lovely – a back-to-front man is a puppeteer’s gift!). Then there’s the Old Man himself – a beautifully realised magical being, scrawny and crow-like in stillness, looking like little more than a cage full of old bones and feathers, yet when he lifts his head and spreads his wings, a beautiful black angel embracing the world.

Lyndie Wright’s set design is perfect for the story, a multi-levelled affair allowing for ground action (the yard with the caged creature being the central focus for the first act), window action in the ‘buildings’ to each side, little stage-thrusts left and right (allowing for individual characters to move into more intimate relationship with the audience as needed), and up high a representation of distant hills and roads, animated by little bicycles and buses whizzing to and from the village. In the second half, the auditorium is drawn into the stage action, the audience embroiled in the plans to welcome a dignitary from afar to the village: ‘Glad to see you’ve dressed for the occasion,’ says one of the puppeteers to me, and ‘Would you kindly hold this?’ to my companion as a string of bunting gets pulled across our heads.

It goes without saying that the puppetry skills are top-notch – this is a Little Angel production after all – and for much of the show my critic’s hat is knocked off as I sit in child-like wonder, often forgetting that the puppeteers even exist, especially in the sections in which they are out of sight or in low-key visibility mode. Yet at other points, the puppeteers are very much performers too – singing, interacting with their puppets, engaging us in the action. It’s a clever mix.

Like many traditional fairy tales, this relatively modern one introduces us to archetypal characters that have specific relevance to our own time and place – the dogmatic and inflexible priest who turns out to be corruptible and is literally defrocked (a moment that causes an uproar of hilarity for the feisty ‘special schools’ audience in that day), the avaricious banker who eventually swells so much he pops, the innocent child who believes, et al. At the heart of the story are questions of faith, trust, love, and attitude to ‘otherness’. A tale for our times – and for every time and every place, as essentially what’s in the cage being poked and prodded is our very humanity.

Ultimately, what’s most wonderful about the show is that it manages to combine the best of Keneehigh with the best of The Little Angel Theatre. Which is what you’d have hoped for in the collaboration, but to see it realised so beautifully is a joyous thing.

www.littleangeltheatre.com

Kings and Fools

Epiphany! So the Three Kings have come and gone, the Christmas trees have been taken down, and the Twelfth Night revellers have sobered up. The world is no longer turned upside down – everything’s back in its rightful place. It’s back to work, then…

Except of course that for many working in theatreland, the Christmas hols are hardly a holiday – what with pantos, puppetry shows and various Christmas residencies. A few names to drop for their seasonal successes are the Total Theatre Award winning 1927, whose The Animals and Children Took to the Streets did a run at the National Theatre that was sold out almost from the moment it was announced; the Little Angel Theatre’s collaboration with Kneehigh, The Very Old Man with Enormous Wings (profiled on Radio 4’s Frontrow special on puppetry); Theatre-Rites latest collaboration with Arthur Pita, Mojo, at the Barbican; NIE”s Hansel and Gretel at The Junction, Cambridge; and Travelling Light’s Cinderella at The Tobacco Factory Theatre in Bristol. At least some of which are reviewed here

The New Year kicked off with the usual nationwide extravaganzas of fireworks displays, parades and parties – keeping many of our Total Theatre friends and associates (street theatre artists, circus and cabaret performers, pyrotechnicians) in employment.

At the stroke of midnight, I was to be found at the Komedia in Brighton for Trailer Trash – a regular bi-monthly ‘participatory event’ which features live performance, film and music inspired by one particular film or cinema genre. So, a bit like Secret Cinema except, er, not secret – they advertise the theme and the audience dresses appropriately.

Previous evenings had been dedicated to David Lynch, Baz Luhrmann and Barbarella. For the New Year’s Eve special – sold out well in advance, with many Trailer Trash ‘first-timers’ in addition to the hardcore regulars– they played it a little safer and more generic and went for a Las Vegas theme. So, yes, inspiration galore there: Honeymoon in Vegas (there was a Vegas chapel-of-love set up for anyone feeling the need), Leaving Las Vegas (plenty of broody Nic Cage look-alikes on stage and in the audience), Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (there were a good few gonzo journalists around the place). Elvis Presley’s Viva Las Vegas and the James Bond Diamonds Are Forever provided swinging inspiration for the house band, whose lead singer Laura Wright started the night in a gorgeous metallic gold dress and headdress, and ended the night in nothing more than red frilly knickers and a pair of star-shaped pasties. There were plenty of Showgirls, including the saucy burlesque dancer Coco Deville, who is lovely to watch as she always seems to be enjoying herself onstage so much – and I hear that I missed a troupe of feathery fan dancers earlier in the eve. The Ocean’s Eleven bodged heist scene informed a cleverly convoluted doubles corde lisse act by Trailer Trash co-founder Kitty Peels and her aerial partner Milo, their twists and turns, tumbles and tangles echoing the hitches and hiccups of the plot, the routine culminating in a hasty descent to the ground as they (and we – this act is performed in the middle of the dancefloor, not onstage) are showered by a paper money from a bursting bag.

Just a few days later I find myself at the Royal Albert Hall for Cirque du Soleil’s latest, Totem – back for a second year. It is directed by fellow Quebcois artist Robert Lepage, which might give one hope of something with a little more edge than usual – but I found it hard to discern the Lepage influence on the production. But if we put aside any expectations of what Lepage might bring, and focus on the circus itself, it delivered some very good acts (as you’d expect!) and thus an enjoyable enough evening. See review here…

Next up for me this January will be the annual London International Mime Festival who this year (as ever) are presenting a must-see programme of physical and visual theatre work, from the UK and from around the world. UK companies to look out for include No Fit State, and Sugar Beast Circus, who come to Jacksons Lane (making its debut in 2012 as a LIMF venue!).

Total Theatre strongly recommends Gandini Juggling’s Smashed (as featured on the cover of the current issue of the magazine, subject of The Works by Thomas Wilson), and I can also personally recommend Translunar Paradise (playing at the Barbican) by Theatre Ad Infinitum, a story about ‘life, death and enduring love’ that took the Edinburgh Fringe 2011 by storm. It was shortlisted for a Total Theatre Award and I described  it in my Edinburgh Fringe reviewhere as ‘A near-perfect example of contemporary wordless theatre’.

I’ll be chairing two of the festival’s post-show discussions. First for Blind Summit’s The Table which comes to London hot on the heels of a phenomenal success at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, where it won a Fringe First, a batch of rave reviews, and a packed house throughout its run. The show opens the 2012 festival at Soho Theatre, a new venue for LIMF. The post-show is on Monday 16 January.

Then I’ll be at the Roundhouse on the following night, Tuesday 17 January, with Invisible Thread, the company formed by Liz Walker from the ashes of Faulty Optic. They appeared previously at LIMF with a three-part work-in-progress called Fish, Clay, Perspex and here return with their first fully-fledged full-length show, Plucked.

I am also planning on a trip to the Southbank Centre to see Toron Blues corde lisse piece Tendre Suie, inspired by Jean-Paul Sartre’s Huis Clos, which explores the notion that ‘hell is other people’. (Ah, so perhaps a doubles aerial act that isn’t about romance?); Australian company Fleur Elise Noble with 2 Dimensional Life of Her, a work of ‘light and shadows’ that uses drawing, animation, puppetry, projection, and paper, presented at the Barbican’s Silk Street Theatre; and also at the Barbican, Camille Boitel’s L’Immédiat: ‘On a stage crammed with machinery, objects, junk and bric-a-brac of every kind… a tumultuous, visual commentary on the uncertainty and mayhem of modern times’.

The London International Mime Festival runs 11 – 29 January 2012. For information on all the above shows and more, see www.mimefest.co.uk For venue details and online bookings, see here.

Perhaps I’ll bump into some of you at one or other of the above.

Happy New Year!