Let’s hear it for transformation. There is a slow tottering walk on stilettos, the body quivering in its shag-pile jacket and beaded thong, the head bejeweled, bald, white. On the sound system the slowed down groan of Nat King Cole’s ‘Mona Lisa’ and then the words: ‘Hello, I’m Lili Handel, let’s have a party.’
Quite who, or what, Lili Handel is is one of the main conundrums of this astonishing piece of performance theatre, by a man totally subsumed by his creation. Many have taken Lili to be an aged diva, and, in the hoarse whispers and tortured opera arias, there is more than a whiff of Baby Jane in this character. But to me it seemed less gender specific, almost more animal than human.
Over the course of an hour, Lili was playful, malicious, provocative and needy. It was rather like watching a precocious, talented child doing whatever the hell they wanted. Whether scampering about slapping the buttocks squealing delightedly ‘stop it, that hurts’ and checking to see how pink they were getting, or doing elephant impressions with a battered horn, Lili was constantly surprising. The interruptions – ‘we definitely need some good poetry now’ or ‘this is too exhausting and doesn’t make a lot of sense’ – demonstrate that beneath the apparent buffoonery is a layer of questioning about performance itself.
Ivo takes this further by asking an, in this case, unfortunate audience member if he’d like to go to the pub and have a chat, or stay with the show and provide some motivation (Lili’s motivation has gone). Sadly the chap is stuck for words and it gets a little embarrassing. Similarly, auctioning a vial of blood isn’t as lively as it could be. ‘I got £50 in Bristol,’ Lili murmurs. But what’s the right price for an artist’s blood? What would Bryony Kimmings say?
The show is all about the body and Lili’s love / hate relationship with it; ours too, as viewers and voyeurs. It is a willful, shape-changing thing; the flesh pale and solid but vulnerable. Throughout the show Ivo’s physical skill is magnificent: look how he arches backwards over the chair with a seemingly rubber spine. There are some stunning movement sequences – an odd running motif while sat down wearing a battered sort of Stetson, or twirling a ribbon to make us relax and enjoy the beauty – and everything is elegantly choreographed. Vocally too his range is extraordinary, from a conversational back of the throat mutter to the howl of a wild beast, and proper operatic technique.
Some have found this show baffling and boring. The Brighton audience appeared wooed by a performer so at one with his creation, who knew his craft, created magic, kept us guessing and made us think. Lili Handel is an old piece and Ivo has made many others since, but this is the only one that gets booked in the UK. Programmers! Please bring him here again, I think there is much more fun to be had.