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).

The Sleeping Trees: Treelogy

Today’s instalment of the Treelogy, a trio of fast-paced and partially improvised shows on childhood stories featuring trees by young company Sleeping Trees, was a hilarious parody of Treasure Island. Versions of The Magic Faraway Tree and The Odyssey are also to be performed in a similar style, on different days. This production was nominated for a Total Theatre Emerging Artists’ Award in 2012 and the small studio in the Pleasance Below was electrified by the sheer energy and verbal dexterity of writer/performers James Dunnell-Smith, Joshua George Smith and John Woodburn reconstructing this well-known story with wit and panache.

Elements of improvised dialogue flourish within a well-structured narrative framework and although this production has been in existence for a number of years, it is clear that the actors are still having fun adding to certain sections as they go along. The cast’s comments on each other’s ad libs or sudden amusement at a new gesture or character embellishment kept the performance feeling fresh and immediate.

A real understanding of the novel’s characters, themes and subtext made for a lively production to which the audience responded strongly. The cast’s abilities included multi-roling (with the three performers playing everyone from Long John Silver to pirate crews and a group of rather intriguing Mermen!), effective physical techniques – clowning, slapstick and gestus – and the repeated use of key motifs whose shorthand aptly set scenes and showed transitions in time and place.

Use of melodramatic devices and exaggerated characterisation were combined exceptionally well with strong vocalised sound effects to further excellent comic effect, and the pace and energy of the piece built a real sense of momentum. Treelogy is an excellent example of improvised comic physical theatre done extremely well; a bare stage devoid of props or set, and a simply costumed cast, brought Robert Louis Stevenson’s world to life completely and brilliantly.

Curious Directive: Pioneer

Curious Directive’s latest production has much in common with their earlier work After the Rainfall, which struck me as being fragmented, complex and full of big ideas and clever ways of weaving together seemingly disparate narratives. Pioneer indeed contains all of these elements, and in doing so explores perhaps one of the biggest ideas that humanity has had: the possibility of space travel, with all of its associated ambitions and risks.

Based on the conceit that that in 2025 the first human mission to Mars failed spectacularly, the production centres on Ghara 1, the latest attempt to reach the planet, at the same time weaving in sub-narratives including a marine biologist’s mission to the bottom of the ocean and two Russian brothers’ attempts to find the place where space travel began. There is a real sense of satisfaction as we begin to see how these complex strands knit together, finally revealing some surprising commonalities that speak of the universality of human endeavour.

It is pleasing to see the company’s stylistic stamp and clear voice communicating so well. This intricate multimedia production makes very effective use of projections, live camera feeds, multi-functioning set, and a strong futuristic aesthetic in Cecilia Carey’s design to illustrate and begin to make sense of the story. Slick physicality and well-rounded characterisation further drive the narrative along, and the unravelling of the two lead female characters is particularly well portrayed by Flora Denman as Imka, a fragile-seeming but driven astronaut, and Emily Lloyd-Saini as Shari, an ambitious but flawed project leader.

Taking inspiration from sci-fi thrillers, this piece explores the genre with effective attention to detail, and culminates in a particularly exciting and surprising denouement that aptly illustrates the production’s repeated idea that the space between a lunatic and a pioneer can ultimately be very small indeed.

Jen McArthur and Kallo Collective: Echolalia

In Echolalia, solo performer Jen McArthur brings to life the story of Echo, an autistic woman inhabiting a world made tiny by her own hand. Within the walls of her simply furnished little house, she is safe from an outside world that seems to overwhelm her. Inside these restrictive parameters, Echo has created an environment filled with imagination and a surprising amount of fun; her story is told with an engaging mixture of playful clowning and physicality which gives life and voice to the everyday objects around her and effectively illustrates her daily routine. It is this routine that Echo relies on, the repetitive gestures, constant counting, and tick charts that help her to function. The narrative is aptly driven forward by a clear and tangible need: Echo wants nothing more than to get out in to the world and find a job. Yet the barriers here too are of her own construction, with seemingly endless reasons created to stop her getting out of her own front door.

McArthur has created an absorbing world here and a character who an audience can really care about. There is a warmth and humour to Echo that translates well despite (or perhaps even due to) her inability to communicate clearly or understand social norms. Because her need is so clearly expressed, the stakes are particularly high throughout, keeping the story engaging even when a sense of frustration builds as she repeats and repeats her routines and seems to get no closer to her objective. The immense sense of endeavour is particularly touching, with Echo using the disjointed repetition of motivational phrases heard in films (the titular ‘echolalia’) to spur her onwards and to battle her fears.

Clever use of audience interaction helps to illustrate how Echo views the world, and these transactions are handled seamlessly by McArthur, who transmits a real sense of energy and purpose on stage. Winner of the Best Solo Show in the New Zealand Fringe Awards 2011 and co-winner of Best of the Fringe in Dunedin, the production translates well to the Edinburgh stage and the relatively intimate atmosphere of the Gilded Balloon’s Dining Room serves to heighten the tension well.

As the story progresses, McArthur utilises elements of contemporary dance to show how Echo’s frustration with her inability to leave her house grows, resulting in a climatic ending which is well structured but could perhaps have contained a little more detail and development. Yet, it is perhaps in leaving one with this feeling that Echolalia most succeeds as a production: having been thrown in to Echo’s world, I didn’t want to leave, and was eager to know what would become of her.

Sven Werner: Tales of Magical Realism

Set within the wonderfully evocative spaces of the Small Animal Hospital in the ex-veterinary school that is now performance venue Summerhall, this immersive film and installation piece is filled to the brim with tangible qualities of history and intrigue that make it a delight to participate in. Tales of Magical Realism is created by Sven Werner, who is amongst many other things a director, artist and musician. Based on Werner’s film Oculista (in which a lone traveller meets a beautiful mysterious girl at a train station), the piece features music by Graeme Miller.

The production is exceptionally well delivered from a stylistic viewpoint, allowing each audience member to have an individualised experience by casting them as the protagonist in a mysterious journey to the magical train station. Carefully guided by headphones broadcasting recorded instructions and narrative, and aided by discreet performers, participants are led through atmospheric rooms to view a series of vaudevillian style miniature slides. The visual aesthetic here is detailed and exciting, juxtaposed against a simple and slow paced storytelling style that is designed to allow the audience room to fill in the gaps. The slides themselves are presented in a range of inventive ways, all of them necessitating direct audience interaction to power or view them, which makes for an engaging experience.

It is in the feeling of abandoning oneself to the unknown, and discovering each new element in turn, that much of the pleasure lies. There is a poetry and lyricism to the experience that I believe fully fulfils the aim listed in the programme notes of bringing the viewer closer to the poetry in their own lives. Space is created for reflection and contemplation, prompted by the experience’s gentle pace, repeated images, and effective soundscapes.

For those (like me) who are particularly interested in magical realism as a genre, the production really does bring to life this most ethereal of forms. A tiny caveat is that if you are (again, like me) particularly tall or creaky of back you may need to approach carefully, but this is a beautiful, simple, and unusual experience of the type that lingers in the mind long after it ends.

Made in China: Gym Party

The first night of this bizarre and darkly funny show sees a full house of mostly young people who laugh readily and seem very engaged. The simple and effective visual aesthetic, created by Clementine Keith-Roach, is comprised of neon-lit performer’s names as a backdrop, and pristine white gym outfits with colourful wigs. Yet already we see that all is not as bright and jolly as it seems – for each performer also has a trail of blood issuing from their nostrils.

Made in China, formed in 2009 by Tim Cowbury and Jessica Latowicki, seek to produce playful and provocative work, and Gym Party certainly has a clear sense of identity and an almost childlike sense of playing with form that is exciting to witness. The skilled performers – Latowicki, Christopher Brett Bailey and Jenna Watt – produce some well-rounded and absorbing work, asking more questions than they answer and inciting various and interesting audience responses. It was the questioning of the audience’s role throughout the piece that I found the most exciting, as we forcibly became voyeurs, spectators, and, for some, direct participants in Gym Party’s twisted games.

The performers state their objectives clearly from the start: bouncing dexterously across the stage they tell us they will be taking part in a contest, with each fiercely competitive character determined to win and to be the best. They are here for us, as we are here for them, they say. But then, they also tell us that they tend to lie, and as the contest progresses, the bubbly facade gives way to an altogether darker underbelly, making some important comments on human nature and the many facets of competitiveness.

Initial games such as puzzle room and performers catching as many skittles as possible (thrown from the audience) were humorous and well set up, and here we are comfortable spectators happily watching the action progress. However, as the competition heats up, uncomfortable ‘punishments’ are doled out to the losing performers, with personalities, physical defects and hidden weaknesses exposed and criticised, and our own function changes altogether. Finally, at the production’s culmination, the audience are asked to vote on all manner of difficult personal questions specific to each performer, resulting in a palpable sense of tension that makes for interesting viewing.

This is vibrant work, and the few small first night glitches (principally sound problems) did not detract from the intrigue of the piece. A few tweaks could be made in places – naming the winner of each contest seemed an overly lengthy process and the ‘awkward’ dance sequences were maybe not quite clearly awkward enough to really communicate meaning – yet the questions that this production asks and the heartfelt ensemble performances make for an unusual experience that, for all its discomfort, is strangely enjoyable!