Theatre des Bouffes du Nord / Jos Houben & Marcello Magni: Marcel

Oh what joy! Such clever clowning! What skilled Lazzi! In Marcel, the art of the gag lives on in objects that fight back (umbrellas, fold-up seats, cigarettes that won’t light), endless entrances and exits through invisible doors, and raincoats dragged on and off and inadvertently shared. But it is more, so much more. It is laugh-aloud funny, yet in parts so poignant that tears prick your eyes. The whole world is here in this marvellous onstage world: human endeavour, success and failure, friendship, love, ageing. It doesn’t get easier, life. Yet still, on it goes, relentlessly. Do we measure up to what it takes?

Marcello Magni and Jos Houben are a classic comedy duo. One is tall and lean, the other is short and sturdy. One is in charge, setting the other evermore difficult tasks. ‘Wait here’ says Houben, and reappears moments later in a different outfit: a dark suit, jogging pants and shades, a doctor’s white coat. It is, of course, the little guy who is being tested –  although for what we never quite know. Clown license renewal? A Matter of Life and Death style assessment at heaven’s door?

Marcello Magni as Marcel (a name suspiciously similar to his own) is poked and prodded and measured, running and jumping not through hoops but up and down and under and around the wooden slide occupying centre-stage. He finds a thousand ways to get on, and fall off of, the slide; he hat-juggles; he mock-ice-skates along a suddenly slippery floor. Whenever alone, he keeps up a barrage of sotto voce Italian, reminiscing about his family and his life ‘mi ricorda, mi ricorda…’

The minimal set also includes an empty metal door frame, the site for an endless number of plays on the classic mime entrance. We are brought into the play right from the start, as Marcel questions the ludicrous opening and shutting of a non-existent creaky door: ’They’ll get it. It’s theatre. It’s a mime festival…’ The audience are an important part of the action throughout – fed sweets by Marcel, invited to be complicit in the hiding of damage to the equipment – and all moments of interaction are handled with aplomb, as you’d expect of these seasoned performers.

Often the lights are bright, the action a fast-paced medley of gags. But there are passages with a different feel: a lighting change turns the backdrop curtain a deep velvety maroon, and the figure of Marcel stands at the top of the ‘slide’ with an enormous shadow rearing behind him as his circus act is announced with a drum roll (from Houben on snare, below). Later, the backdrop turns midnight blue as Marcel, now a Pierrot with a newspaper ruff, reaches for the cardboard moon above him. A moon which becomes a harp, which becomes a gondola – all in the twinkle of an eye. In between these scenes, a wonderfully surreal pantomime horse moment, as the ‘horse’ (Houben sporting a horse-head mask, Magni with a fine long tail) tries to climb up the slide.

The ultimate test set for Marcel: can he keep a minute’s silence? Will the audience help or hinder? I’ll leave you to imagine the outcome.

Marcel, created and performed by Houben and Magni, is presented under the auspices of Peter Brook’s Theatre des Bouffes du Nord. It comes to London after a long run in Paris, and it has the feel of a well bedded-in show: everything onstage is timed perfectly, balanced beautifully. Of course, these two bring to the stage not just the experience of making and playing this show, but decades of working together in Complicite (they are both founder members) and beyond. Set and costume design (Oria Puppo) and lighting design (Philippe Vialette) are just right, elegantly serving the stage action.

The perfect show to start the London International Mime Festival – a reminder that top-notch physical comedy is alive and kicking in 2016.

Kneehigh - Dead Dog in a Suitcase

Kneehigh: Dead Dog in a Suitcase (and other love songs)

Kneehigh - Dead Dog in a SuitcaseKneehigh’s reputation has been built over 30 years, working with a changing ensemble to make acclaimed multidisciplinary popular theatre. Coming towards the end of a four month tour, Dead Dog in a Suitcase (and other love songs), written by Carl Grose and directed by Mike Shepherd, packs Shoreditch Town Hall with a cornucopia of characters – from puppets serving cocktails from a cement mixer to an oversized ghostly dog carcass looming, in an eruption of newspapers and glitter, over the audience. A cast of 13 stonking musicians, who appear as multiple characters on a dark and misty set with revolving platforms and a sneaky slide, create a raucously dark musical based on, but by no means constricted by, the structures and features of John Gay’s 18th century classic, The Beggar’s Opera.

Dead Dog also takes much from its Brechtian forbear, The Threepenny Opera, which made John Gay’s legendary ‘Jack the Lad’ Macheath (from whom the phrase originates) into a more sinister, murderous, and violent criminal in 1928, responding to the rise of Nazism in Germany. It is this Macheath who now dabbles in contemporary criminal activity with a resounding message that nothing changes.

Coined as the Beggar’s Opera of our times, a contemporary music score composed by Charles Hazlewood certainly brings the opera crashing into our own society. Toe-tapping to a rocky, punchy, and poignant variety of songs, the audience was almost as rambunctious as the cast. The full house burst with laughter and commentary at this satisfyingly dark and unfestive frolic. Instruments galore, this piece was a walking talking dancing orchestra of gags strung together into a full length narrative. Audiences could sit back and enjoy each montage, crack, or song, and get their teeth into the ever changing journey of the dog in the suitcase as it is passed obliviously from pillar to post.

With a questioning morality at its core, and a distrust of bourgeois social structure that made it so appealing a story for Brecht, here there are no heroes or happy-ever-afters. The dead dog’s comic-tragic journey is surrounded by the wheelings, dealings, and love triangles of Polly Peachum, Lucy Lockit, and Macheath, whose epic decisions exert such tremendous consequences on each other’s lives.  The values of both the cast of characters and us as audience are thrown into relief by a punctuating commentary of exquisite Punch and Judy glove puppetry (Sarah Wright). Choice and consequence run steadily through the show, engaging viewers by continually breaking the fourth wall, exposing the mechanics of the set, actors playing multiple characters and revealing possible decisions.

The piece seamlessly navigates performers, puppets, instruments, and characters into the blocking of the narrative, making it as a whole fast-moving and full of content. Navigating a myriad of busy scenes sometimes overshadows opportunities to respond sensitively to the audience. Gags were never missed but the breathless pace rushed us ever onward. Occasional clunky transitions into song and an inconsistent use of microphone detract from what is a musical and theatrical showstopper.

A subtly yet noticeably tired cast is evident in the depth of voice work but is entirely made up for by their musicianship. Sax, uke, violin, accordion and recorder to name a few, the original score draws on all sorts of iconic tunes, from Greensleeves and Cabaret’s Money to Led Zepplin’s Immigrant Song. A montage of music from across the centuries scatters the post-modern rock score with nods to its theatrical origins and contemporary society. This was an opera cum classical cum rock concert with grit, attitude and naughtiness to boot.

The Games People Play

Mi Gran ObraAn interview with David Espinosa, creator and performer of  Mi Gran Obra

Imagine for a moment that you have an unlimited budget and bounteous resources. The largest theatre in the world. A cast of hundreds. Marching bands. Animals. Helicopters. You could make the biggest, the best show ever seen!

Spanish artist and theatre-maker David Espinosa has, since his arrival on the Barcelona scene in 2001, eschewed spectacle and the grandiose, focusing instead on work that plays with the boundary where new dance, physical theatre and conceptual art intercept. Somewhere along the way he became interested in exploring how the animated object might represent and replace the performing body – a puppetry of sorts. And this has led him to the idea that he could perhaps create the greatest show on earth – on a tabletop with figurines and toy animals. Thus, in 2012, was born Mi Gran Obra (My Great Work), which comes to the London International Mime Festival 2016, presented in collaboration with Tate Modern.

It is one of a series of works that David Espinosa has made which explore the notion of megalomania. When he first created the show, he worked with a sound and lighting operator. Now he does everything: towers over the tiny people and animals, pulling them hither and thither; zooms in with the toy helicopters; turns the lights on and off. He is the god of this miniature world, a Zeus lording it over his plastic Olympus. This is the grandiose theatre he never wanted to be part of, ironically embraced with gusto.

Although Mi Gran Obra seems a long way from his starting point as a dance and physical theatre performer, Espinosa insists that it is on a clear continuum. ‘I think choreographically,’ he says, ‘my work is about the relationship between space and time. And sound…’ In word-free work, he says, ‘music is half the performance’ – the sound becomes crucial to the dramaturgy of the piece, giving it ‘its timing, its meaning’. He works with composer and sound artist Santos Martinez, a renowned film score composer and winner of the coveted Gaudi prize, who has no interest in the film industry, preferring the place where performance and experimental music collide. The two artists devise together – music making and physical action intrinsically linked. Deconstructing and reconstructing ‘the masterpieces of music’ was a key element of Mi Gran Obra: ‘Beethoven, Deep Purple, Tibetan monks… we make Beethoven’s Fifth better than Beethoven!’ Espinosa also regularly collaborates with a number of architects. At the beginning of the process of of making Mi Gran Obra, he had an intention of making an elaborate model theatre, but the architects talked themselves out of the work, insisting that it would all work so much better with an empty space. Also key to the process is company manager cum creative producer Marta Oliveira, whose mantra is ‘Don’t forget the audience!”

David Espinosa comes from a regular working-class Spanish family who have no connections to the art world. This, he feels, is important as it has given him a freedom to move in whatever direction he wishes, free from an overbearing middle-class view of what art or culture might be. ‘For most of my family, the first time they went to the theatre was to see me!’ he says. He was an only child, used to playing on his own, creating imaginary worlds – something he still does. Game-playing is core to his artistic practice. A key area of investigation of all the work he has made over the last decade or so is: how can I continue, as an adult, to play with the full immersion and passion of a child. Did he have toy soldiers or other tiny plastic models as a child? No, he says, he was never allowed them for some reason, no matter how often he asked – which is perhaps why he is now getting so much pleasure from playing with them in Mi Gran Obra: ‘Now I choose what I can spend my money on so I can buy as many as I want!’

On leaving school, he went (aged 18) to study theatre in Valencia – a pretty traditional text-based course. ‘Lope de Vega…’ he says, with a small sigh. He wasn’t sure at the time why he choose this path – he just wanted ‘to do something different’ – but with hindsight, he feels it stemmed from ‘a desire to carry on playing’. Contemporary dance and physical theatre classes and courses brought him closer to something he wanted to do: to use his body to create art and tell stories. Like everyone else working in physical performance in the 1990s, he admired Pina Bausch greatly. After a three-month spell in Brussels, he found himself in Barcelona as a dancer – and it is here that he has laid down his hat and made a home, with partner in life and art, Afrika Navarro (also a professional dancer, turned eagle-eyed outside eye on the work) and their children. ‘We have very different ideas, ‘ he says of Afrika. ‘She likes things to be beautiful, I like things trashy.’ So it is not so much that they are co-creating work: he makes the work, and she takes the role of dramaturg – observing, questioning, challenging. ‘We have a good connection because we fight,’ he says with complete honesty. Somehow between them they ‘arrive in a balanced place’.

The children have had a direct influence on his work too: watching them play has inspired him, but more than that he has appropriated their toys into his work –  not only in Mi Gran Obra but also in the subsequent piece Much Ado About Nothing (2014), in which all of the works of Shakespeare are performed in one mad burst using toys, puppets, models, ornaments. ‘Everything I could find in the house…’ This progresses a way of working that has been a recurring aspect of his practice: to take whatever he finds in his immediate environment and incorporate that into his work. An earlier solo piece saw him involving his computer in the studio play, turning himself into the living avatar of a football manager video game: ‘a chance to make real all my fantasies!’ he says. This was before he decided to replace the living body with object substitutes – or, as in the case of another work, La Triste Figura (which premiered autumn 2015), replacing the performer with the audience member who has to discover the work through a journey armed with torch and opera glasses.

The past fifteen years of Espinosa’s work has a seen a steady progression away from contemporary dance into work that is informed by fine arts practice – especially sculpture. It is no coincidence that Mi Gran Obra is being presented at Tate Modern alongside the big Alexander Calder retrospective currently showing.  Joseph Seelig, co-director of the London International Mime Festival, and Marko Daniel of Tate Modern saw Mi Gran Obra at Birmingham’s BE Festival 2014, and hatched a plan to present the work in tandem with the Calder exhibition. Espinosa, like Calder before him, describes his work as ‘performing sculpture’. He continues on that trajectory with the new work that he is currently planning, which will be threefold – an opera, a dance performance, and a 3D film – using big toys and other large-scale models. This will evolve over the coming two years.

The work in development will be the third stage of the investigation into megalomania, alongside Mi Gran Obra and the Quixote-inspired La Triste Figura, and will progress the key principles and obsessions that drive the artist. Adult toys. The power of play. A love of the homemade and the handmade.

In the wake of the financial crisis that has decimated Spain in recent years, David Espinosa considers his choice of a small-scale and lo-tech ethos to be a political one. He also finds it impossible to separate the issues of scale and the dramaturgy of a piece of theatre. ‘How much money has been spent, how much support – these things inform the work.’ Whilst viewing these big overblown productions, he has found himself asking ‘what would I do if I had these conditions?’ And so, the creation of Mi Gran Obra, to use ‘ the little scale to do a big performance.’

The ultimate irony of Mi Gran Obra is that, tiny though it is, performed on a small table to audiences of 20 or so people at a time, it has been an enormous success and has toured the world, and has thus been seen by thousands and thousands of people. Which would delight any megalomaniac, really!

 

David Espinosa’s Mi Gran Obra will be performed at Tate Modern 14–17 January 2016 as part of the London International Mime Festival. Limited audience capacity. Bookings: www.mimelondon.com 

For more on David Espinosa’s work see www.davidespinosa.org 

Dorothy Max Prior is editor of Total Theatre Magazine, online at www.totaltheatre.org.uk, and a judge of the Total Theatre Awards, held annually at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe.

 

Dickie Beau: LOST in TRANS

We meet, and the angels sing…

LOST in TRANS gives us a plethora of interlocking love stories. Recordings. Traces. Echoes. Our host for the evening is Tiresias, the blind sage who lived part of his life as a man and part as a woman. This was back in the day – you know, Olympus and all that. Who feels the most desire, Zeus’s wife Hera asked. Who experiences the most pleasure in sex, man or woman? And here, the answer is laid bare.

Richard Boyce plays Dickie Beau who plays Tiresias as a hermaphrodite playing all other characters in the many stories we hear tonight. Well, almost all. There is also Eleanor Fogg playing johnsmith playing a pantomime horse playing Pegasus.

The key story around which all else turns is the myth, from Ovid’s Metamorphosis, of the nymph Echo who loved and pursued the beautiful youth Narcissus. But he was in love with his own reflection, and eventually died of unrequited love, wasting away until nothing was left of him but a little yellow flower – a narcissus. Echo too wasted away until nothing was left but her voice, doomed forever to repeat the last words of everything she hears.

One of the many marvellous things about this beautiful new show from Dickie Beau is its challenging portrayal of female sexuality, and investigation of what it means to be a woman. Echo is a gentle nymph, but she’s no retiring flower. She is upfront about her desire for Narcissus and pursues him with determination, throwing herself upon him in a rejected embrace.

Spring flowers feature in another extraordinary love story, captured on a 3-inch reel-to-reel tape found on a commuter train in the mid 1960s, and posted (under the name Nubbin) on a site that shares found audio material. An unnamed Canadian woman has recorded a love letter. The full 15 minutes is incorporated into the show. It starts with mundane commentary on the worsening weather in whatever city her lover lives in; on a friend or relative’s medical problems; and on the level of work she’s dealing with. Inundated, she says. She’d rather be at home, she says, snuggled in bed… the recording then moves into a highly charged declaration of sexual desire that is stunning in its honesty and detail. The recording steers back into the everyday, with a reflection that the crocuses and daffodils are coming out…

Another found recording also features a love letter, this time from a man to a woman – a married man, a clandestine relationship, so the man spins discs while he is making the recording so his wife doesn’t hear him. Dance band classics serenade us: And the Angels Sing. Smoke Gets in Your Eyes. His love is an obsessive, devouring love. But it is love, not sex, he insists.

And then there’s the drag queens, and the trans women, who add their voices. One voice talks about taking hormones, but holding back from going under the knife – you can always change your mind that way: be both sexes, like Tiresius, and move from one to the other and back again. One has made the transition, and is happy to be all woman. Another voice is clear that s/he might dress as a woman but is not a ‘real’ woman: ‘I’ve never had that service once a month.’

So those are the words – but there are pictures too! Oh such wonderful images that burst out of the darkness, morph into something else, dissolve. Toynbee Studio theatre’s traditional proscenium arch stage is perfect for the cinematic scenography of the piece. A thin black gauze veils the front of the stage. To the rear, stage left, a circular white screen – a moon, a mirror, a glowing sphere, sometimes projected on, sometimes shining white and empty – with a microphone on a stand placed in a spotlight in front of it; a podium stage-right which is the site for many of the live body’s moments of transformation.

Throughout most of the show, the dominant aesthetic is white and black, a play on the binary divide. The black-clad Tiresias, with a womanly bosom and a manly groin, has his/her trunk superimposed by a sexless white babygro suit that becomes a puppet-esque animated figure; and Narcissus appears as an enormous upside-down head in the ‘mirror’ that is the projected image on the gauze. A siren with floor-length hair sits and muses; a giant headless be-suited Perseus dangles a beheaded Medusa by her hair. Who’d be a hero? Joseph Campbell’s words resonate.

Dashes of colour: the subtle brown-and maroon shades of the centre of a spinning vinyl record projected on the thin black gauze as we hear our obsessive male adulterer say again and again ‘ I love you. I suppose you’re going to get tired of my saying it.’ The moon-like sphere a deep purple. Later, an intense reddish pink immerses the wildly wigged one-eyed Dickie who takes to the mic for a plaintive song: ‘ Only a dark cocoon before I get my gorgeous wings and fly away…’

The last time I saw Richard – Dickie – was in Blackouts at Sacred just a few weeks ago. LOST in TRANS uses many familiar motifs and tropes – the things that have become the tricks of his trade. The transformations. The play on gender. The investigation of identity. The interest in the play between artifice and reality. The lip-synching to recorded voice. The obsession with ‘found’ audio material: radio, reel-to-reel tape and vinyl. The use of the gauze screen and projections. The wigs. The multiplicity of overlapping voices. The slow, careful, movement work – living sculpture.

But LOST in TRANS feels light years ahead – a great leap into new territory in its complexity and richness of imagery and ideas. Richard’s got his gorgeous wings – and he’s flying high.

 

Featured imaage: Dickie Beau: LOST in TRANS at Toynbee Studios: Photo James Allan.

Jessie Cave - I Loved Her

Jessie Cave: I Loved Her

Jessie Cave - I Loved HerI Loved Her tells Jessie Cave’s true story about making a baby with a one-date wonder, and salvaging a relationship from the fallout. Part character comedy stand up, part live art with cartoon masks and dodgy shadow puppetry, the shrill tension between the sharp subject matter and giddy form of this show makes it a unique and interesting clash of performance and private life.

Jessie adopts the character of ‘Jessie’ to deliver her tale: an unapologetically neurotic, quirky -in-the-constructed-way, fast-talking, over-sharing, social media obsessing twenty-something young mum. This heightened version of herself feels deliberately close to the real thing. Dressed in a frumpy frock with huge nerdy glasses and plaited pigtails down to her waist, she is styled as a pastiche child star, grown too big for her gingham. Cave shot to fame playing Lavender Brown in the Harry Potter films. Since then she has tumbled through theatre acting, youtube video making, drawing, and becoming a mother at high speed. The Jessie we encounter on stage embodies all of the chaos of a young woman growing up on Instagram in the blurry gaze of the public eye. She plays a Jessie who is so full of modern anxieties, whilst still being packed with the magical idealisms of a young starlet, that I can almost picture her clicking her heels together at any point and truly believing she might wake up in Kansas.

This is a storytelling show, in a loose sense, as Jessie recounts the basics of her fateful first date with comedian, and now father of her child, Alfie Brown, using the medium of self-proclaimed ‘shoddy’ shadow puppetry. The rest of the performance becomes more like a stream of consciousness weaving together snippets about her neurotic behaviours and anxieties in reaction to being thrown into parenthood and a relationship at speed. The intensity of her neurosis and demonstrations of her anxiety are painfully palpable and sometimes feel too much. Jessie’s unstoppable, full throttle delivery make her accounts somewhat more digestible. Her inability to hold back when she tells us that she ‘masturbated in-front of the Great British Bake Off’ before her first date with Alfie, along with other multiple over-sharings, offer humour and soften the madness, helping to keep the audience on side.

There are times when it feels a little difficult to stay with her though, or even keep up. The dizzying speed at which Cave talks seems fitting for the subjects she is exploring, however, I wonder if some moments of calm, stillness, emptiness might aid in making the frenetic movement of this show somehow sharper and the humour of her performance brighter. There are lighting changes and the use of music, but these never seem to alter Cave’s state, she is a runaway train, blazing towards telling you anything and everything she has ever thought. Of course some would describe this as the Lena Dunham-style charm of the show, but I am left with a niggling feeling of dissatisfaction. These are truly heart pounding, poignant slices of life that Cave is delivering to us, but they feel just out of reach to truly chew over for myself: perhaps I would like a little more space for my own reactions, or perhaps she really is just too fast for me. Either way, it’s surely worth attempting to catch up with her somewhere and I will follow her rapid movements with interest.