Bristol-based The Mechanical Animal Corporation have transferred their production of Howard Baker’s play from a warehouse-like space in their hometown to a dingy room in C Soco’s basement, and it’s a context that suits it rather better I should think. The dank room with uneven concrete floor and ceiling plugged by gaffered on pieces of corrugated card contrasts powerfully with the grandeur of the protagonist, Und, an ‘artistocrat’ who teeters about in gloves, heels and a tightly corseted dress promising a sort of tea ceremony for a guest who never comes. She is increasingly menaced by threats from the outside world – endlessly ringing bells, images of violence, smashing glass – as it becomes clear that the suitor she idolises and who is probably just outside, is a Nazi and she herself a Jew. Barker’s poetry in this extensive monologue is an excavation of delusion and slowly builds a momentum of unease that feels claustrophobic and genuinely frightening.
The sense of both ceremony and poised vulnerability is heightened by a set, taken from the Wrestling School’s original production, that uses a number of sheets of brushed metal suspended on fine cords from the rig as gently swinging surfaces which hold almost all of the props. Resonating with a repeated segment of text that refers to weapons slicing through the air as our unseen romantic lead walks calmly forward through them, their fragility and threat is heightened by a clever, if inconsistent sound design (Matt Chilton) which is at its best when using real objects such as the chilly whistle of sharpening knives to deepen our focus on the delicately balanced objects in the room. (It wasn’t clear to me why only some of the sound design was performed live.) Anna Barrett’s light design merits particular mention, making inventive use of rigged and handheld lanterns to work richly on atmosphere, tone and shadow.
But the translation into a smaller space has also caused the company problems. There are times when Annette Chown (Und)’s impressively sustained performance of hysteria and self-deception feels out-of-scale and rather relentlessly shrill. Further, the creeping stage managers sometimes felt ridiculously visible – there’s nowhere to hide in a traverse staging and its better not to try: all the text’s ambiguity about whether the protagonist was really alone in the house surely afforded some more interesting play on how these stage hands were deployed.
Elegant and chilling, this competent and atmospheric production of one of Barker’s challenging plays shows some flashes of brilliant theatricality, and the text’s dense poetry and rich ideas ensure an intensely memorable performance.