Author Archives: Matt Rudkin

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About Matt Rudkin

Matt Rudkin is a theatre maker and teacher who creates work as Inconvenient Spoof. He has a BA in Creative Arts, an MA in Performance Studies, and studied with Philippe Gaulier (London), and The Actors Space (Spain). He was founder and compere of Edinburgh’s infamous Bongo Club Cabaret, concurrently working as maker and puppeteer with The Edinburgh Puppet Company. He has toured internationally as a street theatre performer with The Incredible Bull Circus, and presented more experimental work at The Green Room, CCA, Whitstable Biennale, ICA, Omsk and Shunt Lounge. He is also a Senior Lecturer in Theatre and Visual Art at the University of Brighton.

Chris Thorpe: Status

Status reverberates with quality throughout its several artfully combined mediums: the observational precision of the writing, embodied and articulate delivery, mood-altering soundscape and subtly shifts visuals. Indeed, Chris Thorpe would seem to have become a virtuoso performer in a genre of his own devising, albeit with a great deal of help from his collaborators. With his distinctive northern twang and artfully meandering narratives, he recounts the post-Brexit wanderings of a man called Chris, on a quest to find answers, or simply to get away from this national disaster.

This Chris, he insists, is not him, though as with so much of the telling, one suspects he is purposefully playing with our assumptions and expectations.   A drunken encounter with heavy-handed police in a Serbian bar leads him to realise that his identity as a British national provides a shield of protection he perhaps would rather not have. He journeys to Monument Valley on a quest to bury his passport, where a First Nation guide rebukes him for littering, and a talking Coyote seemingly claims to be from East Berlin. I may be mistaken about that bit – the frames within frames shift so quickly its possible to lose the plot as one goes off on ones own little reflective tangents.  I suspect he may have been on Peyote.

In Singapore he meets an ex-American crypto-currency dealer who claims to have escaped from national identity, and a talking cardboard cut-out advising him to take care on the escalators. It’s a kind of magical realism delivered in a punk performance prose style, cleverly varied by the use of some sung-spoken sections accompanied by his own live grunge guitar playing. The running theme is nationhood, and the constructed lines on the map and in our minds that cut across and parcel up the continuity of the global landscape into owned domains.

This Chris doesn’t like that. He sees the damage it does and it disturbs him. And yet this dense, thought-provoking swirl of recollections and reflections conveys a sense of his own befuddlement rather than offering a roadmap to solutions. One thing that struck was the fact that whilst all the other characters we encounter have jobs and roles and backgrounds, we get to know nothing of these about the Chris that isn’t Chris Thorpe. Perhaps he is simply a professional artist seeking experiences to make into a show? And what also seemed omitted were encounters with the working class masses that voted to Leave, which would surely make for a great part two to this undeniably accomplished if head-spinning odyssey.  It’s certainly a show that could be seen several times given the rich complexity of ideas.

 

 

 

Annie Saunders & Becca Wolff: Our Country

Composed somewhat in the postmodern tradition of the Wooster Group et al, this piece doesn’t follow a clear linear narrative but presents a collage of related fragments in a mixture of styles. It is lent overall coherence by the unifying theme of a troubled sibling relationship, and the strong visual, auditory and choreographic elements, all of which are well considered and executed.

The piece takes place in a large hall, with the stage space scattered with wooden furniture; a table, cases, a stepladder and a trunk, the unified visual design of beige, tan and cream colours evoking 1950s rural America. It begins with co-creator and performer Annie Saunders ‘as herself’ introducing herself as Antigone, or Annie for short. The rest of the piece deals in large part with her relationship with her brother, here played by Max Hersey. The parallel with the Greek myth is that Annie, too, seems to suffer through her dedication and self-sacrifice towards her brother. Her concerns seem to stem mainly from his forays into criminality, in particular as a marijuana farmer in California. This element leads to the second thematic thread of the piece: the legal ambiguities, corruption and comparative lawlessness of the still-Wild West.

Sections of the piece are presented as live recreations of recorded phone conversations between Annie and her brother, delivered with the performers wearing headphones. As is the case with the production throughout, the design and composition of this section is finely crafted, with a telephone audio effect appearing and disappearing seamlessly as the performers switch between addressing the audience and resuming the conversation. There is a layered and sophisticated soundscape running throughout, sometimes featuring snippets from Western movies, sometimes delivering a barely perceptible, ominous drone to underscore the action with a troubling tone.  And there are small inventive touches, like the wonderful moment when a swallowed coin creates the sound of galloping horses.

There are sections of stylised physical choreography, skilfully performed to dramatise the relationship of care and resentment between the two, and a sequence of impeccably timed miming to each other’s voices. A large patchwork of sheets and blankets is raised to form the screen for a shadow sequence in which the pair as children appear to play out a cowboy scene.  Later this is hoisted via ropes and pulleys to completely cover the audience, bringing us within the den of the play-acting. This is such a large-scale shift in the staging that I expected some major change to the piece, such as audience involvement, but this did not happen.

Instead, the piece continues with this collage of recollections, delivered through different registers, sometimes stylised and ambiguous, and then suddenly direct and informative. We learn that both their parents came to work as criminal defence lawyers, and then (quite late on) that Annie spent two years in a psychiatric institution as a teenager. This seemed quite an important point that might have been useful earlier. There may be perceived a hint of self-indulgence in basing a piece on conversations with a troubled brother – especially when casting oneself as a victim – but when we learn the relationship had such a crucial and devastating effect on her life, the source material seems more poignant and pressing. As her concern for her brother transforms into anger, we see her resentment at the obligation she feels towards him. Even though he apparently isn’t asking for her help, she cannot help but be hurt when he hurts himself.

At one point the brother describes their conversation as being ‘caught in a feedback loop and going nowhere’, and the structure of the performance recreates that dynamic. It meanders around without a clear and gripping story arc and however inventive and well produced the delivery may be, this might prove frustrating for some. For my part, whilst I may have appreciated a few more moments of narrative progression, and perhaps a little less self-referencing, this was an absorbing and enjoyable experience, and I would certainly see more of the company’s work in the future.

 

Our Country is co-produced by Wilderness, Aurora Nova and Boat Rocker.

 

 

Two Destination Language: Fallen Fruit

The stage space is surrounded by a small wall of tiny cardboard boxes, each with a painted letter in a strange alphabet. The likeable and friendly presence of performer Katherina Radeva gently greets the audience as we arrive, referring to some as ‘comrade’, and then leads us through a lesson in pronouncing these unusual letters, which I later come to realise are Bulgarian.

What follows is a solo show based on reminiscences of the demise of communism, as experienced by Katherina as a 7-year-old living in Sofia. There is a knowing naivety to the style and tone, which makes sense given they are the recollections of events experienced by a young girl, and possibly also reflects the relationship between the state and people at that time. It also reminded me of that faux-naïve characteristic of live art utilised to approach depth and complexity obliquely via stealth. It also makes the show a few edits away from being a family/children’s show (it is listed as suitable for ages 14+).

The delivery changes register between conversational storytelling and sections of more stylised and poetic text, gestures and actions. The cardboard boxes come to stand for characters; a very charming dog with a cute rope tail, and a lesbian couple, Stacey and Frida, whose relationship is profoundly affected by the political system. Theirs is a parallel story running throughout the show, and was the strongest element for me. One cannot tolerate the system and is prepared to the take the significant risk to escape to freedom, whilst the other is more cautious and conservative and stays behind.

Another element that runs through the piece is a TV gameshow the couple are watching called ‘What’s boxed up?’ featuring multiple-choice questions about politically correct actions with all the prizes being communist party membership. Initially, the host clearly indicates which of the answers is the correct one, but not in later rounds. I didn’t quite see how this example summarised life under communism, or how it related to the love story. Towards the end, we see hear news of the fall of the Berlin Wall, and a surprise appearance of David Hasselhoff giving a concert for Berliners.

The show left me hungry for more specific geographical and historical details, but I can certainly imagine that some others may better appreciate this more impressionistic/poetic style, and arousing my curiosity is certainly a positive outcome.

Featured image (top) by Alex Brenner

 

Pocket Epics: Puppet King Richard II

From the vocal virtuosity of the performers to the beguiling visual design, this eccentric and inventive retelling of Shakespeare’s tragedy inspires confidence from the start – we are clearly in highly skilled hands. Cleverly staged in the covered courtyard of the ONCA gallery in Brighton, the production employs a bricolage aesthetic with wonderful details emerging throughout the show.

There’s an unusual combination of visual elements, like the hand-painted scenery juxtaposed with the King’s fur-fringed purple shell-suit, and found-object characters next to ‘real’ and sophisticated puppets. In the wrong hands it might be an incoherent mess, but here the artistry and attention to detail creates a deeply appealing sensual feast. Look closely to notice the tiny battlements found on various aspects of the furniture, which serve to suddenly transform the throne into a castle when the miniature King appears, providing a shudder of aesthetic satisfaction.

Most of the characters are similarly represented in different forms and scales, from the crude and charismatic woollen-headed gloves of the first scene to the wonderfully sculpted wooden figures that arrive later on. This continuous variety of elements, especially the re-configured staging between the halves, ensures the production remains continuously engaging; indeed, it reveals its quality by stealth as it proceeds.

The show is directed by Linda Marlowe, designed by Willi Kerr, with puppets by Jitka Davidkova and Brigitte Dörner. It is performed in the main by Gregory Gudgeon, as the Narrator, King and the majority of other roles, each rendered distinct and believable through both the nuanced character voices and fine object animation skills. He has an assured command of the text, and it is no surprise to discover his credits include work with both the RSC and Complicite. He is very ably assisted by co-deviser and performer Lucas Augustine, who provides musical accompaniment, occasional prompting, and some equally wonderful characterisations. There is a charming chemistry between the two performers, including some swift ad-libbing in response to apparent errors, continuing a spirit of playfulness that runs throughout the show. I don’t know why Bolingbroke and his men look like ducks and speak with American accents, and I don’t care; it’s sweet and funny and effective.

Despite all of the fun, virtuosity, and ingenious use of puppets and objects, be mindful of the fact that this is 100 minutes of Shakespearian verse and if you are not familiar with the play you may well lose the plot, so some swotting up pre-show may be advisable. For buffs of the Bard, however, this will surely be a real and easy treat, and a rare opportunity to witness the tragedy of Richard II by highly skilled performers at very close quarters.

 

Photo credit: Pocket Epics: Puppet King Richard II at ONCA. Photo by Peter Chrisp.

 

 

 

 

Bea Roberts: Infinity Pool – A Modern Retelling of Madame Bovary

The programme notes state that the creative process was motivated by the question; ‘is it possible to adapt a novel for the stage and still allow the audience to imagine the characters as if they were reading?’  The answer is a resounding YES, as this very accurately describes my experience of the piece.  The writer, Bea Roberts, is also sole performer, or might more accurately be described as ‘operator’ since she is largely engaged in managing the various audio-visual devices that generate this augmented reading experience.

Loosely based on Flaubert’s 1856 novel  Madame Bovary (but with no prior knowledge required), Infinity Pool follows the story of an unhappily married admin assistant, Emma, and her burgeoning romance with a disgruntled customer, Kick.  Emma is unhappy with her figure, obsessed with images of celebrity perfection and partial to a Michael Hutchence fantasy. Her first encounter with Kick is via the online helpdesk that she oversees as part of her job at a plumbing supplies firm, and from then on their interactions are conducted entirely through emails and text messages.

Whilst the onstage performer occasionally ‘stands in’ for Emma, neither she nor Kick are ever depicted directly to the audience, just suggested via images of their surroundings, an atmospheric soundscape, and animated text projections representing their messages. Speech between other characters is similarly shown, with different fonts used to signify the utterances of different characters and media of communication. There are some moments of live performance in the form of object animation, such as the projection of adverts onto hastily unfurled paper sheets, and a wonderful suggestion of nightlife indulgence achieved through the play of plastic glasses on the overhead projector.

This impressionistic audio/visual collage generates the story so effectively in the imagination of the audience that, just as when engrossed in a good novel, it’s easy to imagine you’ve actually heard the characters’ voices. Actors beware: this show demonstrates how little you are actually needed. Indeed, the few sections where we do hear the voices of secondary characters are perhaps the least satisfying – a written line can be imagined spoken authentically, whilst a performed line usually betrays some hint of artifice.  But this is not really a criticism, and the local radio host and mother’s answerphone message are enjoyable enough. In fact there is nothing about this production that isn’t enjoyable.

The beauty of the writing is that it creates believably human characters through everyday exchanges with great efficiency and without needless literary flourishes. What I found most refreshing was that this innovative form of multi-media theatre was used to convey a wholly accessible story about ordinary people in ordinary circumstances, which ordinary people might easily relate to and deeply enjoy. It is by turns a humorous and moving story, full of engaging characters and finely crafted to deliver a poetically satisfying end.

 

Bea Roberts: Infinity Pool was shortlisted for a Total Theatre Award 2016 in the Emerging Artist category.