Author Archives: Sarah Davies

About Sarah Davies

Sarah is a Drama Lecturer (UAL Acting and Applied Drama), Freelance Writer, Facilitator and Improviser who has written for Total Theatre Magazine since 2011. Recent work includes play commissions from Theatre Centre, Menagerie Theatre and Now Press Play, and facilitation/directing for The Marlowe Theatre, All The World's a Stage and Improv Gym. Her recent improv performances include Mount Olymprov (Greece) with Big Bang Improv Boston, Amsterdam Improv Marathon,and Improfest (London).

Move to Stand: The Collision of Things

This inventive and physical production from new collaborative company Move to Stand was stunning in its honest simplicity, multi-faceted characterisation and visual symbolism. The feeling of heart and substance in a story executed with focused professionalism made The Collision of Things a joy to experience. A simple set consisting of adult and child-sized plastic chairs, a water cooler, open white floor lanterns, and a laptop for sound effects gave the production a ‘back to roots’ fringe feel and belied the complexity of the subsequent multi-layered narratives, always delivered with engagement and clarity.

The production begins with a physical sequence featuring repetitive arm movements specific to each character but remaining cleverly in time – an indication of what is to follow as lives collide and merge before separating and changing for good.

We meet Jan and Luciana, a couple from Poland and Argentina respectively who are living in London, and see the enchanting story of their first meeting and growing relationship. Tom from Yorkshire is the prospective lodger, having come to London for the funeral of a father that he never knew and seeking to stay in order to get to know this world. His first viewing of the flat is an effective physical sequence, slickly executed. Tom is portrayed as a warm and engaging character, who is involved in much of the direct audience address. The bustle of the big city is well illustrated through movement of chairs to symbolise the tube and so on, and Tom’s naïve reaction to it is beautifully expressed.

Dramatic tension is subtly introduced, both between the seemingly happy couple harbouring secret longings – for a child and a more exciting life – and for Tom whose internal conflict centres on his alienation from his father and the strident wish to be remembered for having done something amazing in life. Such tension was effectively illustrated in particular moments: a rhythmic dance-like sequence represented the passions of the couple’s sex life, juxtaposed brilliantly with the boredom of supermarket shopping and a hilarious sequence where Jan dreams of escape in the vegetable stock aisle by becoming a bird. Tom too pushes himself to take risks in his new world; when finding out that his father liked to dance, he abandons himself lankily and hilariously to the music playing with a joy that is absorbing to watch, and his impetuous aim to jump into and swim in the Thames is hilariously realised as well. It is these layers and subtexts that make the show feel so well-rounded, with well-drawn characters whose journeys I really cared about, underscored by clever visual symbolism that brought the themes to life. The smaller chairs and a discarded baby’s shoe became signifiers of Luciana’s desperate need for a child, and the water dispenser was used to surprising effect.

That the performance ends in tragedy is mentioned in the promotional literature, but I won’t spoil the ending here! Suffice to say, through a literal and shocking collision, we see the characters able to begin mending some of the holes in their lives, and the narrative and strong performances kept me engaged until the very last moment.

Third Angel: Cape Wrath

In the evocative confines of a stationary minibus, Third Angel co-founder Alex Kelly takes us on a journey without ever actually leaving our parking space. This intriguing concept sees a small and attentive audience drawn in to Alex’s story of how, upon retirement, his grandfather set out to take the longest possible bus journey, one re-traced by Alex following his grandfather’s death. This journey culminated at Cape Wrath, the northernmost point in Scotland, where upon arrival Alex’s grandfather looked out at the sea and contemplated his life, and then simply ’got up and went home’. It is this statement that for me is the key to this production; the detail here is in the small things, an exploration of little escapes from everyday life and pleasure taken as much in the journey as in the final destination.

Third Angel are known for taking this specific focus in their work, and under the strong direction of Rachel Walton, tiny fleeting connections between strangers and brief moments of passing interaction attain a poignant significance. Alex’s grandfather is very well drawn as a character; the type of person whom one would dearly like to meet, painted as a quirky and humorous setter (as of impossible puzzles) and sender of ridiculous postcards. Alex’s regard for him is clear, and this makes for a warm and open performance as we hear the story of the original journey, made stronger by a number of devices which promote gentle interaction amongst the audience as the narrative progresses. The space is used well with some effective movement and variety, but I did feel that this could have been pushed a little further as we were in such a unique environment.

The story of the original journey was the one that appealed to me the most, a clear illustration of how meaning can be found in minutiae and simple human experiences; brief friendships made in youth hostels, and the comfort of a good packed lunch followed by a seemingly regulation two squares of dark chocolate directly afterwards. To Alex, his granddad’s action of simple contemplation at Cape Wrath was the sign of a happy man and a life well lived, an affecting interpretation that draws the audience in.

The significance of this core story was not quite matched for me by Alex’s re-tracing of his granddad’s steps – maybe because I was looking for a similar sense of conclusion on the second journey. No doubt the lack of conclusion was intentional, mirroring the way that life often works. Although I could not always engage with his re-telling of what seemed in the main to have been a rather mundane journey, this small sticking point did not detract significantly from the quality of the concept. A journey to Cape Wrath is a journey very much worth making.

Accidental Collective: here is where we meet

This cleverly devised production from the Marlowe Studio’s first resident company seeks to deconstruct and explore memory and inheritance through visual metaphor, direct address and imagined meetings with long-dead relatives. The stimuli is John Berger’s semi-autobiographical book Here is Where We Meet, a disparate narrative which travels across Europe as the elderly protagonist ‘John’ reflects on his life by experiencing similar meetings. This inter-textual influence is clear throughout the show, providing a compelling hook to hang memories upon.

Accidental Collective are a company well known across Kent for producing innovative and experimental work, and this production contains much stimulus for reflection and some moving moments. The piece opens in a cramped house constructed of fabric walls and containing dusty-looking vintage paraphernalia, as yet unpacked – fertile ground in which to discover things mislaid and overlooked. Some lovely moments include walls being torn down both literally and in the character’s memories, and some imaginative interweaving of Berger’s poetic text with devised content. This is important new work to occur in a region still largely dominated by more traditional or conservative theatrical fare, so I would have liked to see a little more risk-taking in terms of the creative production of the piece. The visual aesthetic is strong but could perhaps have been pushed further at points, particularly in the use of slide projections and by fully utilising the interesting set-up.

There is an interesting gamble, as acknowledged in the programme notes, with a younger company attempting to bring to life the memories and experiences of a much older person, looking forward as the character himself looks back. It is a gamble that in the main pays off well, creating some exciting moments facilitated by sensitive characterisation and well-staged scenes. The scenes concerning Berger’s ‘meetings’ are performed mostly by Emma Darlow and Kascion Franklin, newer additions to the company who have clearly engaged well with the text. Darlow in particular creates an absorbing and believable character as John’s long-dead mother. Kascion seems a little less focused at times, losing a few lines but still showing solid potential.

Daisy Orton and Pablo Pakula (two founding members of the company) are consummate performers whose open address to the audience about their memories of lost relatives is very well framed and delivered. I was most absorbed by Pakula’s lyrical take on his grandmother’s death and the mind’s tendency to confabulation – constructing false memories to fill in the gaps. There is a risk that this style of address however can seem self-indulgent after a while, a fact that the performers themselves acknowledge. There were moments when I felt the narrative straying a little in this direction, but it was pulled back quite quickly and interspersed with some diverse scenes. In this, the company have achieved their aim of creating a ‘meeting place’ for memories and reflection, both on stage and in the spectator’s mind. In some senses here is where we meet is a fragmented and complex piece, but this is surely the point, reflecting as it does the nature of memory and contemplation. It did indeed prompt me to reflect on my own experiences and inheritance as well as what has passed, and some moments created stayed with me long after the production had finished.

Jimmy Grimes / Magpie Puppet Co: The Boy With the Cuckoo Clock Heart

It is an immense credit to Magpie Puppet Co’s storytelling prowess that they were able to evoke such vibrant and absorbing images of a freezing Edinburgh night within The Pleasance’s Attic, a sweltering sauna of a space on the day in question. Under Jimmy Grimes’ direction, the company’s debut production effectively explores the story of baby Jack, whose heart freezes at birth during a cruel Victorian winter. Jack is saved by the eccentric and brilliantly characterised Dr Madeline with the aid of a cuckoo clock device which prompts his heart to beat again. However, this gift of life comes with conditions: as Jack grows he must avoid over-exertion or excitement, and especially, cannot fall in love.

Based on the adult fairytale (and soon to be released animated film) by Mathias Malzieu, the show has a deliciously gothic, steam-punk feel, enhanced by an atmospheric set and darkly absurd dialogue. Winners of the Les Enfants Terribles Award 2012, the company bring the tale to life using a multidisciplinary mix of artforms and methods that includes puppetry, song and direct audience address. The edgy compere Mr Heim (Martin Dempsey) moves the action along in a style reminiscent of The Tiger Lillies, which keeps the audience engaged but at times could be tempered by greater vocal variety and less shouting.

The young Jack, represented as a puppet expertly operated by the ensemble, inevitably falls in love as soon as he is allowed out of the house. Although this feels predictable, the story is well set up and comments effectively on the folly of the human heart. Whilst well played out, the timeline of events here is slightly confusing, with Jack’s age at various stages being unclear, exacerbated by some poor sight-lines. The beautiful Acacia (Nadia Babke) is Jack’s object of affection, an almost blind singer, cruelly treated by her employer Mr Heim. Babke is perfectly cast, playing the role with an absorbing grace and fragility that hints at disaster just around the corner. Quickly this disaster finds Jack in the form of a violent event, and he is forced to flee to Paris. Here he is eventually reunited with Acacia, but presented too with a love rival who acts as a catalyst for the seeming destruction of his delicate heart. In this dark tale, the resolution that one hopes for never comes, but this feels fitting as a commentary on the vagaries of love, delivered here with stylistic virtuosity.

www.magpiepuppet.co.uk

Future Ruins: Exterminating Angel – an Improvisation

Two elements initially piqued my interest in watching Exterminating Angel: the first, its premise – set as it is in a dinner party that never ends; the second, its style – improvised content framed by an established structure, aiming to provide each new audience with a fresh experience. The levels of risk-taking, confidence and ensemble work required to really achieve this are staggering, and Future Ruins do not disappoint. It is no surprise to learn that, under the leadership of director/deviser Jack McNamara, the company have evolved their unique style over an intensive three year research and workshop process. The dialogue flows, with frequent interruptions and actors talking over one another in a simple naturalistic manner which nonetheless takes a great deal of skill to deliver. We could easily believe that we are voyeurs peeking through the curtains at our neighbours dining, and the initially mundane and frivolous conversation tempered by a middle-class sense of restraint is extremely well-observed and often hilarious.

Luis Buñuel’s acclaimed film The Exterminating Angel is this production’s stimulus, a darkly absurd work focusing on a band of upper class friends who are, for unknown reasons, unable to leave a dinner party. This structure translates extremely well to the stage, particularly in The Pleasance Two’s fairly intimate semi-round space. A palpable sense of tension creeps in around the edges of a seemingly pleasant evening, and our first hint that all is not as it should be is illustrated by the visitor’s strange reluctance to go home.

In playwriting, we often ask ‘what is it that is keeping the character(s) in the room?’ as a way of making the action more intense, and it is something never named but clearly so monstrous that we are fully intrigued. The stakes are raised with almost textbook precision; an initial reluctance to move evolves into a puzzling inability to execute even simple tasks (such as answering a ringing phone). Finally, we are presented with searing violence and cruelty that seamlessly indicates how quickly the veneer of civilised behaviour can wear thin, achieving a breathtaking conclusion that begs for a second viewing.