Author Archives: Dorothy Max Prior

About Dorothy Max Prior

Dorothy Max Prior is the editor of Total Theatre Magazine, and is also a performer, writer, dramaturg and choreographer/director working in theatre, dance, installation and outdoor arts. Much of her work is sited in public spaces or in venues other than regular theatres. She also writes essays and stories, some of which are published and some of which languish in bottom drawers – and she teaches drama, dance and creative non-fiction writing. www.dorothymaxprior.com

Right Here, Right Now: Site Responsive Theatre

As I write (April 2013), the new dreamthinkspeak show In the Beginning was the End has just finished a run at Somerset House; Look Left Look Right (who won a Total Theatre Award for their show You Once Said Yes, set on the streets and public spaces of Edinburgh) open their latest one-on-one show Above and Beyond, commissioned for the Corinthia Hotel; and booking is opening for the new Punchdrunk show, The Drowned Man: A Hollywood Fable, which is based on Büchner’s Woyzeck.

Site-responsive theatre is everywhere these days – in some ways one of the newer strands of contemporary theatre, in other ways one of the oldest forms, perhaps as old as theatre itself.

In recent decades, the form has moved from being mostly associated with Artaudian theatre-of-the-senses – highly physical, visual and visceral fantasias set in warehouses or abandoned industrial sites, as practised in their very different ways by Catalan trailblazers La Fura dels Baus and the legendary Dutch company Dogtroep – to embrace all manner of theatrical forms, from the Mis-Guides and mythogeographic drifts of Wrights & Sites through to the issue-based drama of acclaimed Scottish production Roadkill (which took its audience on a journey in the company of a trafficked girl held captive in a flat on a Glasgow housing estate), via the many and various off-stage theatrical experiments of the Shunt collective.

Having recently led a five-day course at LUME Teatro (Brazil) called Bem Aqui, Bem Agora – Right Here, Right Now / Site-Responsive Theatre and Performance (27 February to 3 March 2013), I felt that right here and now would be a good opportunity to reprise my long-standing relationship to this area of work; to muse on some of the common terminology used; and to reflect on the way that the course gave me (as well as the students, hopefully) good insights into the real joys and challenges of this area of performance practice.

You’ll note that I say ‘site-responsive’, which has been the preferred term in recent years, rather than ‘site-specific’. There is a lot more to be said about that, but not quite yet! First to say is that site-responsive theatre and outdoor performance are dear to my heart, both as an artist/teacher and as a commentator on other’s work.

Ragroof Theatre’s Bridges. Photo by Rosie Powell

As an artist, working with Ragroof Theatre, Grist to the Mill, Dorothy’s Shoes, and other companies I more often than not create work that is sited outside regular theatre buildings. Some of it could be called ‘site-responsive theatre’ and some could be called ‘street theatre’ and some could be called ‘performance in public spaces’. Some is harder to categorise… It’s hard to say precisely when and how my decision to work outside of regular theatre spaces got made, it just seemed to happen – but reflecting back on how things evolved, it is surely a lot to do with a desire to make work for people who don’t often go to the theatre; to really enjoy the kind of audience relationships that occur in public spaces; and to create truly 3D theatre and performance work that isn’t just a framed image viewed from the fixed point of a theatre seat.

This work is extremely varied, although what it always has at its heart is an interest in exploring the relationship with audience and site. With Ragroof Theatre, I have, over the past decade, helped to create large-scale projects set in car parks and dilapidated buildings (what we could see as the now-traditional arena for ‘site-responsive’ work). One of these was Bridges, a piece about migration and transience and a search for home; another was a ‘site-generic’ (more on terminology later – yes it’s coming soon!) show made for dancehalls and bandstands; and yet another was a show about boxing (set in boxing clubs, but also performed with its own touring boxing ring). Most recently, our Youth Club was set in a working building – a three-storied youth centre with a massive skateboard park on the top floor, a dance studio, a gymnasium, and various other arts and sports rooms. We found that trying to work in an occupied building is very different to working in an empty warehouse or car park – both have their challenges and rewards but I’d say that the problems of clearing rubble and rotting rubbish from an abandoned warehouse are nothing compared to trying to plot routes and devise scenes round a busy youth centre you have very limited access to at only some times of the day or night!

With Grist to the Mill, I recently (2012) co-created a show commissioned by Dip Your Toe for Brighton Fringe called Kissing the Gunner’s Daughter set inside a facsimile Victorian ‘bathing machine’ – a kind of beach hut on wheels. Using a soundscape of spoken word and composed music, and a visual landscape of puppetry, animation, and installation, we created an installation/performance peepshow using nautical folk tales and fairytales as our starting point. So, a work about the sea set in hut on a beach, with the sounds of both live and pre-recorded seagulls and waves and boats causing a very lovely aural confusion!

Dorothy’s Shoes is the vehicle for my own personal performance/art projects with invited collaborators, which includes work indoors and out. Behind the Moon, Beyond the Rain was a commission for Anglo-Brazilian festival BR-116 in collaboration with LIFT, made for the buses, trains and public spaces of East London; and Flying Down to Rio was an interactive performance and installation work set in a dancehall, co-commissioned by Sacred Festival at Chelsea Theatre, London, and Entre_Lugares at Sergio Porto in Rio. The former operated in public space, mostly on public transport, so an enormous number of variables were had a bearing on the performance. Who, for example, could have predicted the moment in which a fairytale princess on rollerblades got chased along the glass bridge of West Ham tube station by a bunch of coppers? The latter was a far more controlled and staged event, in which the two commissioning theatres had the nooks and crannies of their space transformed into shrines and film booths, or became the site for a carnival in a cupboard… Yet although an indoor site is far more ‘controllable’, the enormous variable in a show in which the audience can roam free under the twinkling fairy lights (rather than be strapped into seats in the darkness) is the audience – and careful thought has to go into the management of that audience in the space.

So, that’s a few examples from my own experience of how site can become a major character in the show. Now, onto that niggling matter of definitions within the umbrella term ‘site-responsive’, with a few examples from recent work seen…

Let me start by letting loose a bee from my bonnet: the term ‘site-specific’ is used more and more often these days, yet very little of what is presented is truly site-specific. The clue is in the name: a site-specific work is specific to that site and no other. It cannot tour, it was created right here, and it belongs right here and now. No other time or place is possible.

A good example was seen in Sao Paulo, Brazil, where I spent a few days in January before moving onto LUME’s headquarters in Campinas. Teatro de Vertigem’s Bom Retiro 958 Metros is a truly site-specific theatre show. It is a response to a kilometre-long stretch in Sao Paulo, an area called Bom Retiro, which has traditionally been the core of the dressmaking and tailoring industries. Teatro de Vertigem followed an extensive process of interviewing residents, street-dwellers and immigrants to the area (and like many inner city areas worldwide, this area has seen waves of immigrants over the years – traditionally a Jewish area, the main ‘newly immigrant’ group here now are the Koreans). The reminiscence work has gone hand-in-hand with a process of historical research, and a (psycho) geographic and choreographic investigation of the chosen site (which includes narrow streets, a shopping mall, a busy crossroads, and an abandoned clothing warehouse), and these sites, together with the specific stories of inhabitants past and present (of seamstresses and consumers; street-dwellers and landlords; warehouse skivvies and fashion mannequins) are what makes the piece what it is.

Teatro de Vertigem’s Bom Retiro, Sao Paulo, Brazil

So, there is some work that is truly ‘specific’ to its site, but a great deal of performance work presented as ‘site-specific’ is in fact ‘site-generic’ (a term coined by UK company Wrights & Sites, who create work of very many different sorts, usually outdoors, often site-specific). By ‘site-generic’ we mean that the work is made for a particular genre or type of site, but it doesn’t necessarily have to live in that site – it could tour to another similar site. Examples of sites used by artists are many and various, but include: shops, hotels, bars, ballrooms, parks, churches, graveyards, bus stations, trains, kitchens, bathrooms, playgrounds, supermarkets… Of course some work in these sorts of sites is ‘specific’ to that site. Or perhaps the core of the show is ‘generic’ but some changes are made each time it is presented in a new site to make it ‘specific’ to that site. Examples of artists who work in this way includeGrid Iron, who have made shows in department stores, airports, bars, children’s playgrounds and museums amongst other sites. Stalwarts of the Edinburgh Fringe, their new show, Leaving Planet Earth, will instead be part of Edinburgh International Festival 2013.

Then there’s a whole body of work we could label ‘community responsive’ – site-sensitive work that is as interested in the people that use a particular site as it is in the site itself: the place, its use, and the people who use it are all interlinked, and it is this that is of interest to the theatre-maker/artist. It may (as in the case of Bom Retiro, cited above), be a fully site-specific work about one particular community in one geographic location, and thus non-tourable – or it could be an ongoing project recreated in numerous different communities with shared factors or interests. Often in community responsive / site-sensitive work, the line between ‘professional’ and ‘community’ art is deliberately blurred: the work is led by professional artists, but the engagement of the community that is being worked with is crucial, and their active involvement key to the success of the project. An artist who immediately springs to mind to cite here is Keith Khan, an example of someone who, both with Moti Roti and as a solo artist, has taken the notion of art within a community to its highest levels.

Linked to the above, historical and research-based work extends the interest from the current users of the site to its historic users. A very common example of this strand of work will be focused on a well-known historic event, series of events, or crime that took place in a certain site. Often the historical/research approach will combine with an interplay with other, imaginative elements in the creation of performance or installation – see, for example, Peter Reder’s work, including his latest piece The Contents of a House, presented atBrighton Festival 2013. (Brighton Festival have shown a longstanding commitment to supporting and commissioning site-responsive work, with past successes including pieces by Dreamthinkspeak, Frantic Assembly, and Fevered Sleep.)

Moving into more nebulous areas of performance/art: the ‘psychogeography’ movement, which has close ideological links to the French Situationist movement, sets out to reclaim the streets with artistic intention, using ‘drifting’ (walking with an open heart and mind), and conscious walking / meditative walks – mentally remapping and redesigning the environment. In the UK artists such as writer Iain Sinclair, photographer Mark Powers, artist Janet Cardiff, and theatre-makers Wrights & Sites (who describe themselves as ‘a group of artist-researchers with a special relationship to site, city/landscape and walking’), have been at the heart of this movement.

Mythogeography, a term coined by Phil Smith of Wrights & Sites, takes the psychogeographic approach deeper, proposing a multi-layered investigation of the streets, shopping malls, rivers and fields around us, taking in archaeology, anthropology, history, geography, sociology, and of course mythology. Many of the exercises I used in the Bem Aqui, Bem Agora workshop – themed daily walks focusing on, say, touch or smell, or what’s above in the skies, or what’s below at street level; creating portraits of a street; using maps to inspire memories of places never visited – were inspired by or adapted from the works of Phil Smith and Wrights & Sites, and in particular by their marvellous Mis-Guides (to Exeter and Everywhere).

Abre Alas outdoor performance by LUME Teatro, February 2013

Another area of work that I’ve become increasingly interested in over the years is the creation of ritual performance and Rites of Passage ceremonies. Welfare State International were for many decades pioneers of site-responsive performance. Over the years, the company moved from creating large-scale outdoor works to focusing on smaller-scale work, and developing models for alternative Rites of Passage to mark key moments in life such as marriage or the birth of a child. Such work blurs the boundaries between ‘real life’ and ‘art’. Welfare State co-founders John Fox and Sue Gill have since formed Dead Good Guides, ‘an artist-led company, seeking a role for art that weaves it more fully into the fabric of our lives’. Dead Good Guides focuses on rites of passage enactment and training, and on environmental art (by which I mean art that not only has the natural environment and the human relation to it as its subject, but which also places that art within the environment). One of the key elements of the Dead Good Guides rites of passage work is the creation of a new ‘sacred art’ that exists outside of conventional religious practice.

Within the Right Here, Right Now workshop, I included exercises on shrine-building and the creation of mini ‘instant ceremonies’ for a new (non) religion that were inspired by work that I had done in the past with Sue Gill, John Fox and Gilly Adams of Dead Good Guides. It was a delight to meet the various gods and goddesses of the night garden that my dear students unearthed in their work… During our afternoon sessions we had outings to the lovely Praca de Coco, whose trees and plants and pathways presented all sorts of opportunities to explore the possibilities of installation and durational performance work. A nod here in the direction of environmental art companyRed Earth, whose work sits between visual arts/sculpture, durational installation and performance.

From the rural to the urban: it would be a mistake to forget that the city is an environment too. I’ll just mention in passing the possibilities of parkour, street dance and circus/aerial dance – all of which interact with the urban environment – and contain myself to reflecting on how street theatre and site-responsive theatre are placed in relation to each other. Street theatre – unless it is just a regular play set outdoors on a static stage, which is not true street theatre, just theatre placed outdoors – is inevitably site-sensitive, as it is not possible to perform in a public space without being responsive in some way to the environment in which the performer is working. But street theatre is usually less concerned with site per se as it is with audience, and that relationship to audience is the key defining characteristic of ‘street theatre’ – it takes place in a public space (street, beach, bar, hospital, shopping mall), it is unticketed and at no cost to the audience, and the audience is free to walk away if they wish.

Abre Alas rehearsal, LUME Teatro February 2013

The performer/audience relationship is of course always crucial in theatre, but in street theatre the artist has no stage to define their performance area, no pre-existing division between performance space and audience space, and no ‘fourth wall’ to hide behind. The crossover between site-responsive theatre and street theatre occurs when the performance takes place in public spaces. Some forms of street theatre / performance are of course more fully site-responsive than others, and some street theatre work is site-specific – but this isn’t a defining characteristic. In our workshop, we crossed over into more familiar street theatre territory when we developed a city maps exercise into an ensemble piece set in a petrol station and neighbouring streets.

This last example was one of many versions of ‘transposition’ that we used on the course. By which I mean the process of taking material inspired by a response to one site and siting it elsewhere. Of course, in the making of theatre, we do this all the time – take pre-existing texts or memories or imaginative ideas and transpose them to the theatre or rehearsal room. But the key difference here is the choice to transpose these elements into a new ‘non-theatre’ site in order to enjoy the ambivalence of the two placed together. Another example from the Bem Aqui, Bem Agora workshop: we can take memories of our home, images of our home, songs from our homeland and we can create a new ‘home’ elsewhere (in this case, in the LUME house or garden) and explore how these two ‘homes’ fit together.

One last nod in the direction of Wrights & Sites and an idea mooted in the Mis-Guides: ‘imaginary site’ work is the natural extension of the notion of transposition. In this case, we are allowing our imaginations to run wild in our response to a site: perhaps we see angels in the sky, or spirits in the trees. Or perhaps we imagine ourselves to be a stray dog seeking out the best porch to shelter under – as we did in one of the most moving exercises on the workshop, which we dubbed ‘Simi’s Dog’ in honour of the dog who took up residence outside LUME actor Carlos Simioni’s house. Framed within a silent city walk after dark, the street in which LUME are based was brought to life by a series of beautifully performed miniature performance pieces in which drunks, strays, cats, birds, wandering spirits and homeless waifs emerged from the shadows to tell their stories in words, pictures, and physical actions. Each person used the site they had chosen artfully. Pavement stones and steps, doorways and gates, parked cars and moving people, trees and bushes, stacks of wood – each was integrated beautifully with the chosen performance mode. One of the highlights of a very fruitful week of explorations of ways we can respond to a given site.

Bem Aqui, Bem Agora photos from showings of installation work in progress in the Praca de Coco, Barao Geraldo, March 2013.

Bem Aqui, Bem Agora – Right Here, Right Now – Site-Responsive Theatre and Performance, led by Dorothy Max Prior, took place 27 February to 3 March 2013 as part of LUME Teatro’s February workshop season and Terra LUME programme, at the company’s base in Barao Geraldo, Campinas SP, Brazil.

LUME Teatro are supported by and affiliated with UNICAMP (University of Campinas).

Do I Look Like a Peggy?

‘Could this piece be performed by anyone else?’ asks someone at the post-show discussion that follows the presentation of Ruff, the latest solo performance by the legendary Peggy Shaw, co-written and directed by her Split Britches partner, Lois Weaver, and seen at Chelsea Theatre as part of their ongoing Sacred season.

Peggy and Lois like the question and muse on it awhile. ‘That might be interesting,’ they say, and no conclusions are drawn. But it is obvious from the audience’s response that the majority view is no, no one else would do – this is Peggy’s story, and her presence in the telling of it is crucial.

Ruff is the latest in a series of works – earlier Peggy Shaw shows presented in the UK include You’re Just Like My Father, Engendered Species, Menopausal Gentleman, and MUST (a collaboration with Clod Ensemble) – that blend autobiography with observation and reflection on the wider world, starting with the self and spiralling out to encompass all of us in the room, and everything beyond. Ruff is in many ways a continuation of recent work. It takes off from where Menopausal Gentleman left off in its insightful and playful exploration of popular culture icons and tropes that define the gender-play of ‘becoming a man’. With a sideways step, it also follows on neatly fromMUST in its intense investigation of the workings of the body, and the relationship between inside and outside, personal and universal, art and science. Both previous shows also, like Ruff, pivot around an ironically humorous acknowledgement of the ageing process and the awareness of mortality.

The twist in the tale is that Peggy Shaw had a stroke in January 2011. The stroke was in her PONS, which rhymes with the Fonz, as she points out in the show – the Fonz, along with Marlon Brando and Frank Sinatra, being one of her many male role models as she grew from girl-in-a-green-dress to iconic butch woman performer with three legendary companies (Hot Peaches, Spiderwoman Theatre, and Split Britches) and concurrently as a solo performer / collaborator with many other theatre-makers in the USA, the UK and beyond. We learn that since having the stroke she’s realised that she has never really performed solo. She has always had a host of lounge singers, movie stars, rock and roll bands, and eccentric family members living inside her. Ruff is thus ‘a tribute to those who have kept her company these 68 years, a lament for the absence of those who disappeared into the dark holes left behind by the stroke and a celebration that her brain is able to fill the blank green screens with new insights’.

I’ll admit to some moments of trepidation before the show. She’s one of my favourite performers, someone whose work I’ve loved since first meeting her when the Hot Peaches troupe brought their wild multi-gendered post-Stonewall extravaganzas to the ICA theatre in London in the mid-1970s – and like an anxious relative coming into the hospital after hearing the bad news, I walked into the theatre wondering what I might find of ‘my’ Peggy, fearing she’d be a shadow of her former self. And if she were, that would be OK, I tell myself…

But she’s not. She’s no shadow, she’s fully there, present. She’s alive, she’s alive – do not doubt that she’s alive. She’s as strong and as powerful and as entertaining as ever, a stage presence to be reckoned with. She’s different, yes, to her old self (or selves – one of themes of the show is that we are always many people wrapped up in one body) but the differences are placed upfront, are handed up to us to view and reflect upon.

Screens play a big part in the show. The use of a number of monitors turned now towards her, now towards us, are both a practical device to prompt her memory (should that prompt be needed), and a way of exploring memory, repetition, mediating and ‘monitoring’. Sometimes they run the text of the show and sometimes they run footage of brightly coloured fish swimming round and round (fish whose memories are so short that they don’t feel trapped in a tank?). A large rear-stage screen portrays that internal rock and roll band, externalised larger than life: pounding drums, screeching guitars – and accordions. At another point, the screen gives us a shaky and blurred image of a young woman in a green dress walking towards the film camera – a woman that Peggy knows is ‘her’, yet is clearly someone else from a far-off time and place. Again and again in the show we come back to the same question, reflected in many different ways and finally stated directly: ‘Am I the one you know?’

It’s interesting (as my companion points out) that it’s the words that need the prompts – the physical action on the stage, the scenographic relationship of body to space, needs no prompting other than one brief moment when Lois calls a direction from the back of the auditorium. Again, there is no subterfuge, or trickery, or embarrassment – the possibility that this might happen is built into the show. These safety nets are there, upfront and clearly present, for us to see and accept, but in fact they are not too often needed. A few links and transitions need some double-checks, but each monologue or song sees her getting into her stride and enchanting the audience in the way that has always been her special gift.

She has this odd and wonderful kind of rapping/lip-synching to popular tunes thing she does in her shows – here taken into very odd and interesting territory. There is, for example, a very funny take on Shirley Ellis’ 1964 pop hit The Name Game (I’m old enough to have sung it in the playground: ‘Shirley, Shirley bo birley, banana-fanna fo-firley, fee fie mo mirley – Shirley!’) which comically explores the post-stroke problem with remembering names, using audience members’ names for the game. Later, we get a satirical take on the Hokey Cokey (‘put your left arm in, take your whole face out…’); a clever identity-switching rework of Jacques Brel’s paean to bohemian male bravado, Jacky’s Song; and an oddball appropriation of Leonard Cohen’s I’m Your Man, with Peggy’s voice layered over footage of Cohen in concert: ‘If you want a boxer I will step into the ring for you. And if you want a doctor, I’ll examine every inch of you.’

Aha, so here we are – back to the doctors, and back to the stroke. The show is called Ruff – a piece of costume, something that externally marks the internal meeting of neck and head – and Peggy tells us that she is dizzy from ‘the same neck holding the same head holding the same brain’ for all these 68 years, the old brain and the young brain ‘thrashing it out’. She says she sees lights, and we see lights twinkling in her hands. She coughs and needs water, and retrieves the bottle she asked someone to hold at the beginning of the show. Constantly the audience are drawn into the show with small moments of direct contact. She tells us that she has drunk too much coffee in her life. Maybe that’s why she had a stroke. She hears clocks ticking all the time; the clocks are everywhere, she can’t escape them. She can’t sleep for worrying about remembering to get up to make a ham sandwich for her small grandson’s lunchbox.

None of this is acting. This is for real (although ‘real’ does not mean there is no need for performance – playing yourself is probably the hardest job of all). Which brings us back to our opening question: could anyone else take Peggy’s place on stage?

If they did, it would be something other than this show, something very different. I was interested to note that the Time Out listing placed the show under Cabaret rather Theatre. Hardly your usual Cabaret material – but on reflection, there’s a kind of logic. In Cabaret – as in Clown – there is a parallel to Performance in that it is an extension or version of the self that is being portrayed. You could argue that an actor has nothing to mould his character from other than his or her self, but there is something intrinsically different about an actor playing a character (real or fictional), created through a process of observation and mimesis, and an artist who performs the self – or some aspect of the self. It’s perhaps about transparency, about there being no attempt to submerge the self in something ‘other’. In acting, the self and other merge to become one; in performing, the skills of the actor are used without the taking on of an ‘other’.

Whether we give the word ‘actor’ to the creator of this process, or whether we instead use the preferred (in Live Art circles, anyway) word ‘performer’, we’ll here acknowledge the great body of solo work in which the self performing is indivisible from the self who created the content of the work. The best examples of this autobiography – this writing of the self – are, like Peggy’s work, not autobiographical in a self-indulgent navel-gazing way, they instead use the self as the springboard to explore the world of which they are part, finding the personal in the universal and the universal in the personal. Peggy shares this heritage with a host of esteemed performers of her generation who use (or ‘used’ in the case of those who have left this world) the self as their raw material: a list that includes Holly Hughes, Penny Arcade, Carolee Schneemann, Laurie Anderson, Karen Finlay, and Spalding Gray – amongst others.

And sometimes, a personal story just has to be told by that person. The body, mind, soul and sacred essence combined to make up that person is the only possible storyteller – and Ruff is a case in hand. At one point in the show, our storyteller asks, ‘Do I look like a Peggy?’ To which the reply might be: you don’t look like a Peggy but you certainly look like the Peggy – the one and only, the truly remarkable performer that is Peggy Shaw.

Ruff was seen by Dorothy Max Prior at Chelsea Theatre, London, on 5 April 2013. It was presented as part of the ongoing Sacred Season of Contemporary Performance. For more information on this year-round season, and for the coming shows, see the Chelsea Theatre website.

For more information on Peggy Shaw’s solo performances, and her work with Split Britches and other companies, see her website.

Ding Ding – Half Time at Brighton Festival

So here we are, half way through May, and therefore half way through theBrighton Festival, which runs 4 – 26 May (although the Fringe is cheekily marching on till 2 June this year).

So far, I’ve stayed focused on the main festival. In the past 10 days, I’ve schmoozed in the glorious Regency Town House venue with HOUSE festival, at the private view of Mariele Neudecker’s Heterotopias and other Domestic Landscapes; joined Peter Reder at Preston Manor for the site-specific (yes, really and truly site-specific!) The Contents of a House, reviewed here; been to the circus (Circus Eloize’s Cirkopolis at the Dome); visited The Old Market for Tam Teatromusica’s Picablo, an homage to Picasso; gone back to the Dome for the diametrically opposed in all ways Bigmouth and Flathampton; frequented various street corners and alleyways in pursuit of a lost music-hall performer for Magna Mysteria; seen and heard Felix’s Machines flash and tinkle at the University of Brighton gallery; vaguely noted the distressed clothes dressing the Clocktower (one part of Kaarina Kaikkonen’s The Blue Route); shivered in the cold whilst watching outdoor extravaganza The Bone Yard; and laughed my socks off with Victoria Melody’s Major Tom at The Basement.

And although I haven’t, whilst wearing my Total Theatre hat, as yet engaged much with the Fringe, I have done so (switching hats / changing shoes) as my alter-ego Dorothy’s Shoes, hosting two Ragroof Tea Dances at the Famous Spiegel Garden, and leading some instant dance classes in Swing, Charleston and Paso Doble on the streets of Brighton for Fringe City.

So it’s been a busy ten days, and it’s interesting to reflect on what works and what doesn’t work so well in this major festival context. I realise I’m in a privileged position as the recipient of press tickets – I quite like seeing things I don’t like or think haven’t worked, because the experience is such interesting food for thought, but I might perhaps feel differently if I had forked out an arm and a leg for tickets. Although sometimes I think that when people have paid a lot for tickets, perhaps treating a friend or partner to a night out, they are really keen to enjoy the experience, regardless of what is presented, and are sometimes a little over-generous. Audiences are generally very kind, I find!

So first some thoughts on festivals and where the audiences come in. Brighton is the biggest arts festival in England, second only to Edinburgh when it comes to UK fests, but Brighton is a very different beast to Edinburgh. There’s a lot of shows and events all over the place, true, but they are for the most part on at normal show times – evenings and weekends. There isn’t an army of eager theatre-goers who move into Brighton for the month, as they do with Edinburgh in August, tearing round the city day and night in search of the next show. Most tickets are sold to locals, and most people are getting on with their lives in between seeing the shows.

This may be why Mercurial Wrestler’s Magna Mysteria didn’t work quite as well as it could have, although it is very well-intentioned and a lovely idea. It’s a kind of magical mystery tour, in which you sign up at a beautifully crafted fairground sideshow fortune-telling booth, receive a sort-of tarot card (mine was The Sisters – there’s also a Policeman, a Siren, and a Magician), and then await instructions. Now, like other people I know, I’d assumed this meant you’d get the instructions there and then, and you’d then spend an hour or two following a trail. I’d put aside a whole afternoon to do this very thing. But no – you get a text that asks you to visit a website, and you then (over the next few days) get instructions to meet characters at various times and places and thus piece together the unfolding story. Now, I have a pretty flexible life as a freelance artist and writer, but I only managed to make two of the appointments, and I also missed the final denouement. God knows what people who have proper jobs, or who have care of small children or elderly relatives, would do. I completely understand why the company want to create something that unfolds over a number of days, and to keep the instructions and assignments secret till the last minute, but I just can’t see who could manage to complete all the tasks and still live their lives.

I had an interesting chat about it to seasoned street theatre / site-responsive performance director Damian Wright (of Periplum). He has enormous sympathy for the company as he has created similar work in the past, and has learnt along the way about the hazards of such projects. How to balance the mystery with the necessity for people to be able to plan in their engagement with an artistic project? How to find a way to weave in and out of regular life? ‘There must be a way!’ he cries, and together we decide that ideally Magna Mysteria needs to take place on an isolated island with a tiny population so that there is no escape and everyone can be engaged – somewhere like Summerisle in the Wicker Man film, perhaps.

I was with Damian having just seen another of the Without Walls commissions at the Brighton Fest, a show that he’d had a hand in (well, more than a hand – he was the hired-in director of the show). Rag & Bone’s Bone Yard Tales is a kind of environmentally conscious Steampunk romp, featuring some rather nice animated objects tearing around on three-wheeled trolleys. I enjoyed it, but with some reservations – like Magna Mysteria, it felt a little bit work-in-progress so I’m hoping to catch it again at the Norfolk and Norwich Festival on 18 May before saying too much more. I will muse on and report back soon… Keep a look out for the street theatre/outdoor performance round-up.

Another family-friendly show with a strong visual aesthetic is Tam Teatromusica’s Picablo, an almost word-free homage to Picasso. It’s a pleasant enough hour watching the unfolding and morphing 2D and 3D images, as paintings and drawings we are all familiar with (images of harlequins, ballerinas, blue-faced beauties, doves, bulls et al) construct and deconstruct themselves through digital projection that, with the help of two whimsical live characters, interplays with a set of screens, canvases and cubes – the whole thing moving from animation to shadow play to multi-layered moving picture. It’s all very easy on the eyes, and there is a wit and playfulness to the show that reflects Picasso’s own approach to life, but it goes nowhere really as a piece of theatre. Reading the programme notes, I learn that the company’s main interests are in fusing film, music, video and painting. As might therefore be expected, the live performers are the weakest link in this mix – I can only imagine how much better a show this would be with a couple of really top-notch physical performers on stage… too much skipping and posing and not enough dynamic physical action from these two.

So moving on from the so-so to the wow factor shows: my highlights of the first week were Cirque Eloise’s Cirkopolis, a feisty piece that takes its inspiration from Lang’s Metropolis and Gilliam’s Brazil, which I’ll be writing about in a festival circus round-up; the highly entertaining and thought-provoking Major Tom by Victoria Melody, review to come; and the much hyped Bigmouth by Belgian company SKaGeN – a one-man homage to the art of oration that lived up to the hype. See Matt Rudkin’s review of it at Edinburgh Festival Fringe 2012.

In the Bigmouth post-show discussion (very ably led by Brighton Festival theatre programmer Orla Flanagan – so ably that she restored my faith in the value of post-show talks. Keep the audience out of it for as long as possible, that’s the secret, folks!) solo performer Valentijn Dhaenens spoke of the pleasures and pains of being part of SKaGeN – a four-person actor-led company with no director, with all the negotiations that entails (hence the need to make a one-man show where he could do what he wanted, without compromise) and of the journey from first idea to project fruition in the creation of Bigmouth. For many years, he accumulated speeches from 2.500 years of human history – Socrates to Osama Bin Laden via Martin Luther King – and had many false starts with the show whilst trying to find the key to the piece. He was, he said, ‘waiting for the speeches to talk to each other’. The breakthrough came with the recasting of the Nazi leader Joseph Goebbels’ call to the women of 1930s Germany as a gentle, seductive wooing, which he juxtaposed with the verging-on-the-insane rantings of General George Patton, who demands that cowards be killed before they breed so that America can become the land of the brave. He also has some interesting comments to make on the use of song in the show, which he sees as crucial pauses or moments for reflection in between the torrents of words. The live mixing of sound is a key element of the piece, with echo, reverb, looping, and layering adding to the key dramaturgical notion of the show, which is that words work on us on many different levels, semantic and semiotic. I had trouble reading the surtitles, so just sat back and listened to the sounds – and oh what lovely sounds he made! He has a lovely singing voice, as well as a lovely speaking voice, an easy familiarity with many European languages, and amazing talents as an actor, switching between four different languages and many different accents and timbres. I love his rendering of La la la la la A-mer-ica and how it segues to and from Sinatra’s swinging Fly Me to the Moon and Marilyn Monroe’s breathy Happy Birthday Mr President…

After such a mind-altering and seductive experience, I really ought to have gone home to bed to let it all digest but no, I went from the sublime to the ridiculous, in the form of Flathamptom.

Now, this is a show aimed at primary school children: ‘Ninety joyously playful minutes’ in which ‘children and their families meet the residents of Britain’s flattest town and help them turn Flathampton into a fully three-dimensional world’. For one night only, a special late-night version of the show was turned over to adult festival-goers. We were gathered up by a ‘bus driver’ and toot-tooted from the Dome bar into the Corn Exchange and round a giant playmat, then co-erced into building Ikea-flat-pack play-houses and furniture, then let loose with our toy money to spend and play at the village shops. Unfortunately I just wasn’t in the mood and found it excruciatingly horrid – like being thrown sober into a late-night Glastonbury Festival ‘immersive’ field or a tacky themed club night.

I think I would much rather have experienced the show with its intended audience, primary school children, rather than with a bunch of late-night revellers lapping up the irony. Piña Colada instead of lemonade didn’t do it for me, I’m afraid – although I did enjoy the sherbet dib-dab and the opportunity to guess the number of sweets in the jar. The performers (the cast including many physical and devised theatre stalwarts like Becky Kitter and Frank Wurzinger) did a sterling job in engaging their adult audience in the playtime activities (making cakes, raiding the dressing-up box, playing doctors and nurses, running toy post offices etc), but it just wasn’t my cup of tea. I did stay for the allotted 90 minutes, but unfortunately the show was running over time, so I left to catch my last bus home without seeing how the mayhem and merriment got brought to a conclusion. Time for bed, said Zebedee – and off I went, feeling rather old and tired.

Only another ten days to go. Or three weeks if we count to the end of the Fringe…. I need a little kip before the next round, which kicks off for me at the Theatre Royal with Cassus’ Knee Deep, another classy circus show – wake me up before you go-go.

Mayhem

The Bangkok Ladyboys have taken up residence on Grand Parade, the Famous Spiegel Garden is sparkling away on the Old Steine, there’s a crashed planeapparently made out of withies and tissue paper sticking out of the ground next to St Peter’s church, a shipping container or two on the seafront, Brighton’s taxi drivers getting into gear for their annual collective denial of the very existence of The Basement arts centre (Where love? Never ’eard of it’), not to mention the ‘shared space’ of New Road awash with afternoon drinkers trying hard to avoid the onslaught of kamikaze truck driving and persistent flyering…

It is very evidently May, and as I’m sure you know – even if you live far, far away – Brighton in May means festival month. That’s ‘festival’ as in theBrighton Festival, a curated festival of international work from many disciplines; the Brighton Fringe, an uncurated hotch-potch of stuff, many of it in pop-up venues, so rather like a mini-Edinburgh Fringe); The Open House festival of art in people’s front rooms, and the edgier and newer Open House offspring HOUSE; the Charleston Festival, in Virginia Woolf’s old gaffe; the Tate on Tour’s Artist Rooms (featuring naughty-but-nice Jeff Koons); and the Great Escape music festival. Plus, the things that people just do in May, because it’s festival month…

Yes, I know how you feel: exhausted just reading all this. We are four days in, and already I’m ready to put my feet up with a nice cup of tea for the rest of the month. But no, on we go.

‘What do you recommend?’ asked a friend on Facebook a few minutes ago. Oh Lord, I don’t know. I recommend hiding under a duvet for a month with a torch and a good book? No, no – I don’t mean it, I love it all, really I do…

Anyway, here goes with a quick whip-through. A highly subjective and idiosyncratic round-up. OK, disclaimer over – here goes.

First to say that elsewhere on this site we’ve got an extensive news/preview item on the main Brighton Festival programme. I’d just add that reviews are going up as and when, so do check – for example, see my review of the big site responsive commission for 2013, Peter Reder’s The Contents of a House. The only other thing I will say here is that the Brighton Festival programme (as in selection of works) is a good and interesting mix, but the Brighton Festival programme (as in the paper thing with information in it) is a dog’s dinner – terribly confusing, horrid layout, awkward daily diary – and the worst sin of all, the listings under artforms at the front and the page numbers don’t match up in many cases, so it’s almost impossible to find what you are looking for. I have actually thrown it across the room in disgust a number of times in the past few weeks… There, I feel better now.

The Fringe frightens me. It’s not as bad as Edinburgh, but that great mass of stuff out there all fighting for our attention… Aaaaaggghhhhh! One way through it is to go to venues you trust – oases of curation within the great open desert of good, bad, and sometimes downright ugly performance work out there. The Nightingale is as good a place as any to start. Winners of Star of the Fringe and Most Groundbreaking Act awards for their off-site extravaganza Dip Your Toes in 2012, the venue are this year keeping things indoors, with a programme that cuts across divides of new writing and physical/visual performance. Although there is one off-site piece, Red Herring’s Speakers’ Corner: A Platform For You, which is very much what it says on the can. (25 May, on New Road as part of Fringe City.) To reserve your slot, email Red Herring.

Two Nightingale shows that cross the new writing/physical theatre divide are Caroline Horton’s Mess, a big hit at the Edinburgh Fringe 2012, which kicked off the Nightingale’s May programme; and Tunnel, written by Mags Chalcraft and directed by Tanushka Marah of Company:Collisions which runs till 12 May, promising ‘poetry and physicality’ to tell its story of a Gaza Strip smuggler stuck in a tunnel with a surfboarder and a goat… other highlights include Boogaloo Stu’s Pop Magic (featuring the Two Wrongies), David Sheppeard’s Holocene (about volcanoes: quote Sheppeard: ‘I love volcanoes’), and Lecoq trained Clout Theatre’s How a Man Crumbled (another Ed Fringe 2012 hit, shortlisted for a Total Theatre Award). There are two very different puppetry companies featured: Annie Brooks’ Colossal Crumbs with Fish Pie, and Touched Theatre with Blue. I’ve seen excerpts from both of these shows at The Nightingale’s year-round new puppetry night, Punched, and on the basis of what was seen there, would urge you to get your tickets now!

Talking of Punched: this ‘puppetry night for grown-ups’ moves (just for May) to a new venue, The Old Market (TOM). A large stage and a big auditorium with lots of room for audience members might be a bit of a risk for producers Touched Theatre, but Punched have been selling out three-night runs at The Nightingale this year, so it should pay off. The Best of Punched night (26 May) will feature some of the juiciest bits from the last year – including work by Matt Rudkin of Inconvenient Spoof fame, Annie Brooks from Colossal Crumbs, and Isobel Smith of Grist to the Mill – not to mention Philip Suggs and his Toy Theatre, Foz Foster and his animated musical instruments, and of course Touched Theatre themselves (a company led by Darren East and Total Theatre’s very own Beccy Smith). We are also promised a few brand-new titbits thrown in for good measure.

TOM is still finding its feet as a venue, and in May is splitting itself between Brighton Festival and Fringe presentations. Included in its frankly worryingly varied May programme is Les Enfants Terribles with The Trench, and an off-site guide-tour type show by TrailBlaze called Someone Else’s Shoes that sounds interesting but could be wonderful or awful, who knows? And it’s also host to numerous music-theatre and cabaret events, so worth checking them out. Ditto The Warren, which last year had a very strong and interesting programme, including the marvellous Translunar Paradise by Theatre Ad Infinitum, for which it won a Best Venue of the Fringe award – not that I got to anything at The Warren in 2012, but never mind – perhaps this year! Warren highlights for May 2013 include My Robot Heart by Molly Naylor, Theatre Temoin’s The Fantasist, Sparkle and Dark’s The Girl with No Heart, Smoking Apples’ The Wordcatcher, and The Girl with Iron Claws by The Wrong Crowd. Nice to see so many puppetry/visual theatre shows programmed, Warren!

Other venues worth checking out include The Marlborough, which punches bigger than its weight with appearances by Bette Bourne and Neil Bartlett amongst other treats, amongst which are a staging of The Secret Garden that looks interesting, and the acclaimed Young Vic production Bitch Boxer.

If circus is your bent, then you are probably best off looking at the main festival programme – except that NoFitState’s Bianco_Turning Savage is part of the Fringe – they are in residence in their own silver spaceship tent on Hove Lawns from 14 May to 2 June. What’s so great about NoFitState (previous winners of a Total Theatre Award for physical/visual performance) is the opportunity to get really close-up to the 20 or so circus performers plus live band who will no doubt be swinging and honking and twirling all around us as we promenade throughout. Also on the Fringe circus front is a beautiful show I saw last year by Feral Theatre called Triptych, featuring three interwoven tales from an aerialist, a shadow puppeteer, and a spoken-word storyteller, staged most lovingly in the Preston Manor old church (right next door to Peter Reder’s (Contents of a) House. Read about Triptych in last year’s Brighton Fringe round-up here.

There’s also circus within a cabaret context at many venues, not least the The Spiegel Garden (run by The Famous Spiegeltent, but for Spiegel anoraks, this is their second tent on-site, the Moulin Rouge big sister is back home in Australia). La Clique returns (although many of its original famed stars have set up their own thing, La Soiree, elsewhere – it remains to be seen what the new lot are like!), and Spiegel favourites like Mikelangelo and the Black Sea Gentlemen and The Ragroof Players (vested interest, yes yes – I know!) who are there on Sundays throughout May with their famous glamorous Tea Dances. The Spiegeltent are one of many venues who are hosting both Brighton Festival and Fringe shows – which is slightly confusing, I find, but maybe that’s just me.

Talking of programmes that sit between fences, the HOUSE programme 2013 – which started as a kind of alternative programming of domestic spaces for more cutting edge work within the Open House programme – is this year staying both out of houses (except the Regency Town House, which doesn’t count as it isn’t a real lived in domestic space) firmly in the contemporary visual arts camp. Some things (like those shipping containers, featuring an audio-visual piece called Aria by Emma Critchley) look interesting but sadly, no wonderful cross-artform performative thingies like the Hangover Square installation or Sue McLaine’s Still Life, which were two highlights of last year’s programme. And the Regency Town House show by Mariele Neudecker is listed as a Brighton Festival and HOUSE co-commission. Does this matter? I somehow feel a bit cheated – all these different festivals and organisations are getting funding to put on work, so personally I’d rather they did that, not kind of shared it… I’d like to really feel the taste and touch of each individual festival curator.

Is that enough? What else can I mention? Hang on, I’ll just have a glance at my Facebook ‘events’. Oh dear – so, so many. Here’s a selection: Horlicks and Armageddon, featuring ‘electronic music, automata and archives’ from Sarah Angliss of Spacedog fame (at the Old Police Cell Museum); 50 Shades of Suit, being fifty Situationist performances by the legendary Dave Suit (Caxton Arms); a Double-Header of solo performances by Adriano Fettuccini and the Karavan Ensemble’s Marion Deprez at the Lord Nelson; an interactive game by Root Experience, with very little information about what or when but maybe the answer is here; and all sorts of fantastic goings-on at Jane Bom Bane’s café, including an interactive tribute to the crossword puzzle (which has its centenary in 2013), called 20 Across 5 Down.

Right, that is surely enough – perhaps too much – information? Can I go back to bed now please? See you in June!

Compagnia Dello Scompiglio: Trilogia dell’Assenza / Trilogy of Absence

Time – a long time, a short time, recent times, past times. Time – a moment that never passes. The past no longer exists, the future has never existed. There is only the present moment. The present is always – this. Yet still the hands of the clock turn, still the minutes tick by, still we wait for lift-off. Time waits for no man, and certainly for no woman either, so here we all are, and there they all are, caught in this moment forever: two retired ice-skaters making a desperate bid to relive past achievements; a soiled white bride who wants the dreams and desires of the future to satisfy the present, sailing from a great height down into a lake; an ashen black widow who wishes she could wipe out all that is lost, kneading the earth as if it were dough; a team of suited men who read and rant and roll through the hills; an astronaut whose bike was his first spaceship, commencing countdown to the tune of Thus Spoke Zarathustra whilst arranging absent friends into a dream dinner-party.

Cecilia Bertoni’s Trilogia dell’Assenza (Trilogy of Absence), set indoors in the arts centre (first and third shows) and outdoors in the luscious landscapes of the Tenuta dello Scompiglio in Tuscany (second show), is an epic production that takes its audience on a journey – both literally and metaphorically – to explore themes of winning and losing; of childhood shame and adult mortification; of innocence and experience, of presence and absence. And memory – ever-present memory that exists to taunt us, to pull us out of the present moment into a land of hopes and regrets. If only, if only… if only we could be like the Scompiglio dogs Didi and Gogo, always present in the moment. Ah, memory – the joy and curse of being human.

Part one is entitled Tesorino, perche hai perso? (Sweetheart, why did you lose?). We start indoors, in the theatre space, with the ice-skaters who’ve lost everything and want to get it back. It’s as if they are forever destined to overcome past humiliations and failures. They could be Adam and Eve trying to find their way back to a lost paradise. (In the second part of the trilogy a text from Nietzsche reaffirms this suggestion: ‘Smooth ice / Is paradise / For those who dance with expertise.’) Two recorded texts set the scene: a story of a ten-year-old boy’s shame and horror at being home-filmed in his underpants by his crowing father, following an unfortunate incident with a cowpat; and a ten-year-old girl’s humiliation at her Catholic Confirmation ceremony, wearing her emancipated mother’s choice of a cream dress and ‘Florentine’ straw hat, when every other little girl in the church is in virginal white dress and veil. Words, images and associations from these texts resonant throughout this first piece, and in the subsequent two other works in the trilogy. Our two skaters are pulled between gravity and levity: dangling from harnesses, clambering over a multi-tiered moveable scaffold, falling with full force to the ground. The ice is long gone, and with one skate off and one skate on, they hobble and posture and pose, preening themselves and each other. They are past their prime, but there is the hope of one last victory – even if it is just a victory over the other one. The onstage relationship between the two performers (creator of the trilogy Cecilia Bertoni, and French actor/co-creator of part one, Serge Cartellier) bears the mark of longtime collaboration and complicity. They are at ease in their roles and with the interactions of their two characters, creating a playful dynamic that balances the humour and pathos of their situation. The soundscape, by Carl G Beukman, expertly weaves spoken texts, crackling radio recordings and mindless muzaks together into a rich, multi-layered aural tapestry. Grainy videos (by Claire Guerrier) projected onto a rear screen and two small metal cases at the front of the performance space add a layer of visual imagery as hazy as half-remembered dreams. We believe unreservedly in the limbo world our two protagonists occupy, and in the situation that (inevitably) cannot be resolved.

Next we are escorted by a suited man wielding a megaphone into the great outdoors for part two, Riflessi in bianco e nero (Reflections in white and black). We journey through the woods and terraces of Scompiglio, cleverly guided by our man with the megaphone – it is great to witness the always challenging problem of how to lead and steward an audience being dealt with in a creatively interesting way. There are four stops along the way. At the highest point, we sip berry juice and gaze narcissistically into a mirror set into the ground, a pair of white ice skates hanging above, to one side an open dictionary marked at the definition of ‘memory’. Further down the terraces we meet the black widow (Marialucia Carones) and white bride (Serena Gatti), voicing laments and lullabies with their bodies, as harsh cracks and explosions sound across the hills, a posse of men posed on chairs above them. Our two ice-skaters appear as silent witnesses to the action. As we move on to Il Cemetero del Tempo (The Graveyard of Memory), a distorted recording exhorts us to ‘never look back’; the cemetery of decomposing metal beds and rusted gates becomes the site for a symphony of distressed dances and obsessive-compulsive actions. At the final stop, the lakeside Funerale del Tempo (Funeral of Time), we witness a wondrously beautiful scene: the widow close to the lake’s surface; the bride suspended on a harness terrifyingly high from one of the top branches of an extremely tall and magnificent old tree; the posse of men now dressed in vermillion red lounging on the banks, looking as if they are made from the same red brick of the house behind them. From clay we are made, to clay we return: dust to dust, ashes to ashes…

The third part of the trilogy, Kind of Blue (titled in English) returns us indoors, this time not to the black-box theatre but to a smaller white-cube gallery space in which we are seated on scaffolding, overlooking the only performer (our astronaut, Mauro Carulli), who in turn is placed inside a metal tower with a playground slide attached, and a bicycle leaning against it. The room becomes the site for a three-sided projection, on two walls and a floor, creating an unsettling and vertiginous perspective. There are echoes from the earlier two sections of the trilogy, but the connecting threads to this third piece feel slighter than the links between one and two – perhaps because we are meeting new characters (live and on film), and those we have already met have faded out of the action for the most part, their headless bodies passing by on the conveyer belt of film to each side of us, their heads arriving, like John the Baptist’s, as offerings on plates at the dream dinner party. Thematically, the main text used – from Nietzsche’s Also Sprach Zarathustra, reflecting on summit and abyss not as diametrically opposed concepts but as one and the same thing – ties us in very neatly to part one. The return to childish pleasures on the slide and the bicycle harp back to a section in Riflessi in bianco e nero in which we hear the gentle sounds of music boxes and ball games whilst gazing upon the antics of the occupants in the distressed playground of the Cemetery of Memories.

Each of these three parts of the Trilogia dell’Assenza is a self-contained and autonomous show. Kind of Blue is the newest of the three, and comes accompanied by a small exhibition/installation of photographs and other research materials. During the three-week run at Tenuta dello Scompiglio, the shows have sometimes been presented as separate works, and sometimes as a three-part experience over an afternoon and evening. The first and third part, sited as they are in theatre/gallery space, could be happily toured or presented in other theatres or arts centres. And even though the second show of the trilogy is site-specific to the spaces of Scompiglio, it could potentially be reworked for other spaces. Each of the three feel complete, but there is a special resonance in seeing all three together, noting the echoes and references and developments of the themes throughout.

Taken as a whole: this feels like a truly contemporary theatre – one that is indeed a crossroad of the arts (to steal a line from Jean-Louis Barrault). Original texts and found texts (from Nietzsche, Murakami, Pinter et al); autobiographical confession mixed with poetic reflection and semiotic wordplay; movement theatre and performance actions; montaged soundscapes; video projected in many different settings; short film; sets and structures that invite physical action; aerial performance; inventive lighting; installation in the landscape… the list of ways and means seems pretty endless. But the senses are not overloaded: there is time to savour each new development; there is space to really see and hear and feel what is being presented. The deep themes addressed – loss, failure, memory, regret, the passing of time – could, in other hands, lead to a heavy and wearying audience experience, but the balance is kept between light and dark. Absurd humour often cuts in to relieve the work of any overly oppressive elements, whilst also allowing us to feel the pain and angst of the individual and universal experiences of shame, bereavement and regret that permeate the work. Partaking of all three shows together in one sitting, it feels as if we have been fed a very generous and nutritious theatrical feast.