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Standing on a floor utterly littered with newspapers, crisp packets, wrappers and heaven knows what else, a musician plays ‘O Sole Mio’ on his accordion. This is what greets the audience of Theatre of Heaven & Hell's comedic performance of Dario Fo's One Was Nude & One Wore Tails, performed at the Hen & Chickens Theatre Bar. A meaningful setup of biased newspaper articles, information pamphlets and branded packaging gave a loose underlying hint to the themes of this play: social class, financial entitlement, and prejudice and its ubiquity, described by Theatre of Heaven & Hell as societal “pigeon-holing”. And accompanying autumn leaves scattered around the stage seemed to connote a need for change. Whilst the accordionist seemed to bear no significance to the rest of the performance, he enabled a certain ambience of playfulness and provocation, communicating with audience members, lurking behind latecomers and following them to their seats, adding to the enjoyable “rowdy pub” sort of vibe. The performance starts with a corny musical number by a group in orange high-vis attire, rallied by an upbeat change in music from the accordionist – an entertaining and funny foreshadowing of the comical and light-hearted remains of the show. The next scene begins with a wacky and humorous display of slapstick, highlighting the grappling relationship between the slow-witted Roadsweeper (Nicholas Bright) and his philosophical peer, also, rather paradoxically, named Roadsweeper (Brian Eastty). From this scene onward, a relentless performance by Bright, really capturing the folly of his character. When becoming the Ambassador/Count, Bright embodies an efficacious transformation, taking on a haughty, somewhat flamboyant persona. The comedic relationship between him and Naked Man (Darren Ruston) was established well, equally humorous and silly. Elena Clements, playing Woman, retained a comical dryness about her throughout, highlighting the mundane lifeway of her character accustomed to fibbing to simply get by. Man in Evening Dress, played by Jake Francis, was characterised just as finely, having musteline mannerisms which coincided well with an eccentric top hat and polka-dot tie, contrasting with the banal dress of the Roadsweeper to imply his self-acclaimed importance. Equally, an intriguing performance by Ruston. Whilst only his head was visible, Ruston's expressiveness captured his intentions and identity well. The only characterisation I did not favour was that of the Patrolman (also Brian Eastty). Whilst a bland comportment fitted well his role as Roadsweeper's peer, a transformation was imperative for his role as Patrolman, and this was not achieved. However, something notable – and perhaps only specific to the performance I saw – was the loss of his stick-on moustache. Whilst one would usually ignore mishaps like this whilst performing, a clear recognition and exaggeration of this detail from Eastty and Bright commanded the audience's attention and risibility wonderfully. Overall, a very funny and entertaining performance. Whilst the politics of this play were not made too provoking or interrogative and were hence left contained in the world of the narrative, the themes were conveyed clearly through good characterisation and a high physical energy kept throughout. Whilst the props were few, as one would assume from a setting like this, they were effectual in their extravagance and eccentricity, providing the performance with admirable humour and seasoning. “Comical and entertaining.”

Unfortunately, I must start this review as I mean to end it, by stating that this performance is…underwhelming. Its biggest and all-consuming issue is its repetitiveness, and this is where I shall begin. For the very first minute and a half, as corny as it was, Anthony Noack's humour is inviting, and the character he has developed, Dave Davidson, is awkwardly likeable and endearing. His manner is quirky; his tone, peculiar and unique. It is easy to feel as though a good comedy show is being set up for us…and then that minute passes, and Noack's manner and tone are unchanging, his speech becomes robotic and monotonal, his gestures repetitious. A pattern quickly emerges whereby every sentence begins 'legato', slow and with low intonation, and becomes 'staccato' with a high intonation as he reaches its end. With one hand on the microphone, Noack uses the other, flat-palmed, to gesture towards the camera with a stabbing motion, thrusting forward with every single syllable. When coming towards the end of an argument or idea, the free hand is extended back and to the side, communicating the same intent as Dave's favourite [and my least favourite] of his repeated phrases: 'What's the deal?' This continues throughout the entire performance, incessantly without fail, for every sentence. A quick return to the corny style three minutes in suggests that there is hope yet, despite that same falling-rising tone…but no. We are now stuck with this stagnant persona for forty minutes. Noack unfortunately presents himself in this performance as an unversatile and unlayered writer and performer whose characterisation of David is absolutely lacking in depth and whose performance has very little visual appeal to salvage an audience‘s interest, especially given that Noack stands on an empty, dark stage, alone with but a stool and a glass of wine. Comedy shows, generally, aim to subvert expectation, and this is the premise of their humour, and so it is questionable that Noack has decided upon such a bland and monotonous structure for his so-called comedy. The utter lack of vigour and depth, and not to mention the complete lack of comedy, makes this 'comedy show', whose content is, of course, heavily religious –– more on that later –– resemble more a Judaeo-Christian lecturing, a teaching, a moralisation. It is easy to feel as though Noack is simply using the medium of performance to teach us about the world, about God, about our existence and the meaning of life, which perhaps is on the mark, considering the aims of the dramatic text and that David is, indeed, supposed to be a priest, but which does not make for a particularly entertaining watch. It is just too “on the nose”, so to speak. This sense of boredom and lack of depth is concretised with the employment of phrases that are used over and over again throughout the performance, most notably: 'under the sun' and, as I mentioned above, the one I personally find most jarring, 'What's the deal?', which is similar to yet another, 'What's with that?' 'What's the deal?' is said over ten times, and I am sure that this was deliberate, with Noack thinking that this must produce some comedic effect…it does not; it is simply grinding. It reduces all of the content of the performance to a mere setup to a punchline, the 'punchline' being simply that phrase. It causes the mind to consciously prepare for the phrase that is coming and treat whatever is said before it as negligible, which might be effective if this phrase actually had some comedic value or integrity; it does not, for, in itself, this phrase is completely negligible, too. There is even a far-too-long, 44-second segment involving a repeated anaphora, "A time to [this], and a time to [that]", making repetition all the more inherent to this performance. And this is without mentioning the recurrent theme of the wise man and the fool that makes a persistent and, again, needless appearance throughout. Repetition is not limited to the mere soliloquy itself, however, but extends to the 'symbolic' elements of the performance as well –– most significantly, Dave drinking his glass of wine. Every so often, Noack pauses, turns, looks at the wine and takes a slow, silent swig. He then puts the wine glass down, pauses, and finally continues talking…in the exact same manner and with the exact same conviction he has been talking this entire time thus far. When first explaining that he had "opened a bottle of the biblical beverage before the show", Dave explains that he had set out on a journey of wisdom but that "an increase in knowledge only leads to an increase in sorrow". He implies that he has acted like a fool deliberately and then states, after taking a sip, "I can control myself!" The wine, then, seems to symbolise a certain sadness that Dave is experiencing beyond his speech; it is easy to feel that Dave is covering something up, something that will come to light eventually. In other words, it seems as though Dave is an alcoholic, which is not what the symbol of the wine intends to communicate here. In fact, it is incredibly difficult to work out what purpose the wine glass actually serves, other than to generate unwillfully tense breaks for him and the audience between his lengthy speeches. Odd exclamations like "Go and eat with pleasure, and drink your wine with joy" follow his every sip, and it is clear that Noack wanted the wine to mean something, but it simply is not coming through. Upon reading the description of the recording, I read: 'Davidson struggles to maintain the momentum of his online act. However, with a liberal dose of wine, he takes the audience along on his journey'. So, the wine is being used as a means to stress relief? Presumably, this is supposed to be comedic as well? Presumably, we are supposed to sense a shift in Dave's performance as he loosens up with ‘liberal’ helping of the wine… Well, we do not. Not only are these so-called ‘liberal’ helpings mere ignorable sips, but Noack also remains just as monotonous as before after taking them, as I have written above, and the awkward and slow speed at which Dave reaches for the wine makes it seem far less like he is reaching to chug some more down to aid his spirits and more like a weird absurdist skit whose material simply fixates on the strange and the unnecessary for no good reason at all. Needless to add, this was very badly communicated. When we finally do get a slight –– NB: slight –– shift in persona as Dave holds the bottle of wine, now supposedly very merry, it is 1) far too late and hence ineffective, and 2) short-lived, for as soon as he puts the bottle down, he is back to his monotonous self. The wine glass is not the only symbol to succumb to such a fate of ill-communication, however. There are also odd close-ups on Dave's body, usually his hands but sometimes his chest: one of his clenched fists; another of him grasping the microphone after the phrase "grasping the wind"; and another of his dropping the microphone after saying "his desire shall fail"… There seems to be a lot of these attempts at symbolism hidden underneath the text that simply do not come through due to a lack of expressivity, to unrefined comedic timing, or to the fact that the symbolism is simply needless and unnecessary. I realised in retrospect that the clichéd 'drunken priest' is probably what Noack was aiming for here, and this certainly could be a premise for a comedy show, but this would innately require a degree of caricaturisation and performed stereotype, which is certainly not offered in this performance. With the mention of the priest comes the underpinning element of this dramatic text: the book of Ecclesiastes. Now, the inspirations are certainly clear, from general themes and teachings to specific references such as 'chasing the wind'. The meaninglessness of our activities, our false hopes and inane interests and desires, 'hevel', all of this is certainly communicated in this performance, but there is a huge lack of creativity and theatricality in this communication. Noack simply regurgitates the content of the biblical book with a few, fleeting and ineffective references to his character Dave’s life, job and failed marriage, etc. –– ie nothing that makes Dave a particularly original, profound or unique character worth paying attention to. What also makes this rather dull, I believe, is the fact that Dave is speaking retrospectively. There is no sense of growth, danger, risk, change; Dave has been there, has done that, and he is now here to give his friendly advice… again, rather more like a sermon than a comedy show, and not to any avail. The material, naturally, is also heavy and needs to be broken up a lot more, to give the audience some respite, to relieve them of the overwhelming theme of the meaninglessness of human action and life, and to let them actually take in the information that they have received –– this is where the comedy should have come in! A mere few jokes about rabbits entering bars, or God’s favourite sandwiches –– which, contrary to Dave’s apparent experience, I would not deem to be quite enough to uplift mourners at a funeral –– do not quite make the cut. In synopses, Noack also references ancient preaching techniques and how he wants to draw similarities between these and modern comedy shows in The Preacher, but this is quite obviously a concept merely inspiring this performance, as theory does not match up with practice. There are no allusions within the performance to this, nor are these similarities interrogated, examined or established to any considerable, effective or even apparent degree through this performance. However, the context of a comedy show is certainly a great one to explore the profound theme of hevel, and who better to tell us about it than a drunk priest wanting only to be merry and have a great time? However, these elements were simply underused in this performance. What we are left with is 'performance' used as a mere, unadulterated excuse to present a blatant translation of the book of Ecclesiastes with a few, failing jokes scattered in to [fail to] lighten the mood. “Drab, bland, uninspired.”

To watch this virtual performance for free, click here. Love in the Time of Corona has potential to be a lot stronger and more engaging, but I am afraid I must begin that, as it stands, it is fraught with inconsistencies and lagging momentum, the former of which will be a repeated issue raised in this review. I shall start with the most successful aspects of this performance. Ivan Comisso has developed a good set of mannerisms and traits to characterise his character Jake, such as winks, know-it-all taps of his finger on his temple and cocky clicking sounds, and the repetition of this repertoire is good to build a stable sense of character in such a short amount of time. My only criticism is that there should be a lot more of these. Comisso’s overall delivery is also sufficiently realistic, though I believe the lack of realism in speech offered by the writing limits him. The overall story itself is also clear and simple, an easy watch…but I am not sure if ‘simple’ and ‘easy’ is what one would necessarily seek for entertainment, nor do I think a half-hour performance should be so plain. Now, onto the not-so-successful aspects… As mentioned in the introduction of this review, there are a lot of inconsistencies, and the most significant is the inconsistency of Jake’s view on women, which is the real fundament of this story. We learn very quickly in this story that Jake is a misogynist. He has no time for women and thinks of them as simple, over-analytical and disinteresting beings without the intelligence to hold any worthwhile conversation, particularly about conventionally masculine items such as cars, beyond an interest in what colour they are, or to hold a notable, steady job without the steadfast determination and logic of a man. In other words, a Grade A, and perhaps stereotypical, misogynist. However, this stereotypical quality is not only overly simplistic and hesitant in its delivery, upon which I shall elaborate later, but it is also pretty much extinguished by Jake’s later claims. Jake states that all women talk about is men and how attractive they are, and perhaps maybe sometimes hair products and shopping. And yet, later, he claims that some women are overly focused on their careers (which apparently, we’d been previously told that they’re not ‘man enough’ to maintain, no?) and only talk about work all the time. On top of this, he then claims that this is a trait shared by workaholic men…but are women and men not so vastly different in his eyes, as noted before? Jake goes into detail about how easy it is to lure women into bed with him, to sweet-talk them around with the help of a common romantic setting, claiming that ‘all girls give in’ after some coaxing with his simply irresistible masculine charms…but then, he says, “In my experience, all girls vary a lot from one another” and states that only a low percentage of women will actually want to sleep with him and adds, “I usually win.” Only usually? Perhaps the most irking inconsistency arises when Jake notes that it’s ‘even worse for women’ to secure their career, elaborating upon the presence of the well-known proverbial glass ceiling, as though he is aware of a feminist agenda, considerate as to how women are treated in the working world…after having just expounded his belief that working is better as chiefly a man’s preoccupation and that women are incompetent workers. I noted above that I found the misogyny presented in this text to be hesitant. I shall elaborate here. When Jake talks about women, there are some notable specificities in the language that he uses that are blatant forms of deliberate self-policing, and this is not something one would expect from neither a deluded misogynist nor from an intimate soliloquy one-on-one with the audience; we would expect full disclosure and lack of self-censorship and a devout depreciation of women. For instance, “I don’t think I’ve ever pushed too hard” or “I don’t disrespect women” ought to be replaced with the misogynist opinion that women complain too much, and the thought of ‘maybe these actions are disrespectful towards women’ should not be crossing his mind at all unless someone had challenged him specifically in this manner. To get rid fo this censorship here, to present the character’s misogynist beliefs without inhibition would really deepen the material, not only making for more consistency in Jake’s character but also a greater, and more powerful and significant learning curve or personal development for him in the end. An extension of this misogyny is seen in Jake’s homophobia. I am not sure why this really comes up in this performance, along with a past friend’s death…I imagine these were added to create a sense of deep psychology or backstory, to help us to understand why Jake is the way he is, so cold and uncaring, insular and unemotional, but these are irrelevant details in this text. The latter is also far too significant a detail to be thrown in towards the end so casually as it is, particularly considering that this is really one of the things that catalyses Jake’s change of heart. Regardless of what these pieces of information bring to the text, the details we are given about them are also inconsistent… We are told that there were two gay boys (or, rather, “two of them”, which is a successful marker for homophobia — important later) in Jake’s year at school when he was younger. We are told that they [NB: both of them] used the word ‘she’ to refer to boys…this is unrealistic, seeing as this is a trend in gay slang that has only seen its re-popularisation in the last five or so years. Before this, it was popular only in ballroom culture, a nuanced and rather concealed sub-culture that definitely would not have found its way into British secondary schools… Beyond this, we are told that they were both overly bitchy and sarcastic with one another, that they both used constant gay sexual innuendoes and that both of their manners grated on him…and yet, we are then told that one of them would never have been expected to be gay, as he acted completely so normally… Jake claims that he is not homophobic, yet somebody who uses the language noted above as well as ‘camp as Christmas’ and ‘a parody of a queer’ would not find themselves even questioning their potential homophobia and would not care if they seemed homophobic, as this is language rooted in hate and discomfort and so would not be self-policed in this way. Where specificities are concerned again here, Jake claims that calling a boy gay “in the playground [is] still the most common form of abuse”. I am not sure a homophobe would class it as ‘abuse’ specifically… If anything, he would say ‘teasing’ or something of that calibre, but, really, it is questionable if he would even note it at all… I sense that the writer did not want to go too far, that he was conscious of what message he was putting out there, of what he was writing. This does not make good, impactful and challenging theatre. To present a character who is unapologetically malicious in these ways, only to have them develop their opinions over time and ‘come to their senses’, so to speak, is a much more impactful and educational manner of presenting such a personal growth. It would challenge those who feel the same as the character to perhaps grow alongside him, learning as he does, and would relieve those viewers in discord when he finally sees the error of his ways. I would urge that the writing be more thorny, difficult, thought-provoking and uncomfortable in this way. As it stands, it seems as though Jake merely has mixed thoughts and is juggling various political perspectives with no substantial beliefs of his own and that he could easily be swayed by the right woman — as by Lauren — towards a more feminist perspective. And so the ‘development’ we see him go through feels minuscule, unsurprising and, simply put, rather lacklustre. The content in this performance does seem hugely superficial, as well as confusing, as outlined above. All of the unparticularised misogynistic and homophobic claims as those aforementioned are very standard viewpoints in current social/gender discourse and are hence used quite unimaginatively. Additionally, we do not get to know enough about Lauren, despite her being the single cause of his significant personal development and the real catalyst for change in the plot — a change which simply comes out of nowhere; suddenly, he is just seeing sense and has a completely different perspective (yet still makes jokes like that about women’s inability to parallel park…?). We do not learn what it is specifically about Lauren that causes him to open up, as surely if he is sleeping with a different woman ‘at least five days a week’, he must have come across at least a handful of women with a brain cell or two?! What is it specifically about her beyond her ability to hold an intelligent conversation, which most women surely possess? We are told that her interest in product design is a major attraction for Jake, yet we are given nothing but a superficial explanation that, when the two spoke about their admiration of the Porsche 911, Lauren “told me everything there is to know about the design of the earlier models, going all the way back to the 1940s”…which is an incredible talent, considering the Porsche 911 was not produced until 1963. There is a clear lack of research and thought that has gone into making this dramatic text. For someone who has such a profound interest in vehicular design, one would expect a lot more specialised and specific vocabulary than a mere ‘I love its design’. The amount of detail that Jake goes into about her physical appearance, down to her almost-monobrow, is the level of specificity this text deserves consistently. More importantly, I would like to know: what does Jake offer to Lauren for her to remain engaged in such a bland and unfeeling man?! More and more questions arise the more you consider the logistics of the information we are given… What specifically has made him change his entire view on promiscuity, from priding himself on and loving his hedonistic pursuits to saying that he has wasted his life on sexual exploits? This is a huge transformation of character that needs to be explained carefully and in detail. How have the context of lockdown and his meeting Lauren actually had this specific effect on him to want to delete all dating apps, completely abandon the possibility of his future hookups and focus all of his attention on one woman? [Interesting that he uses dating apps for hookups, as these are reportedly highly unproductive in procuring such relations…] What is really stopping him from simply ‘testing the waters’ with her with other women on the side? Why does he not just break the lockdown rules and continue sleeping with people? Surely, it is not too far of a stretch to imagine that someone with no care towards STIs might not care about the transmission of COVID-19… And why would he bother going through all the effort of creating a romantic setting for a woman he does not care about in the slightest, developing his cooking skills and candle aesthetics? Surely, he would have more of an ‘anyone will do’ attitude, as it were, and hook up with one-night stands, so as to not waste his time on intimate and emotion-filled settings? One should note here that emotions and intimacy are the things with which he supposedly struggles the most, which is his biggest epiphany in the end. Lastly, why the titular intertextual reference to Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez? It has very little to do with this story. There just simply is not enough information provided, and the information that we are given is simply insipid, lacking and repetitive or completely irksome and self-contradictory — like the fact that Jake is defensive about flatmate Craig’s joke that ‘he has a different girl every night’; surely, this is something he would pride himself on? Or the fact that Jake yearns for cybersex with Lauren, yet ‘has no ulterior motives’ and just wants to talk, or that the lockdown ‘should be eased soon’ and so the two will be able to meet for the first time, yet they’re ‘meeting tomorrow’. The list of inconsistencies goes on and on… More information about the character could have been provided via the setting, which I presume to be Comisso’s living room. However, very little thought, if any, has gone into the setting for this performance, which is beyond excuse, even in spite of the national lockdown. It suffers from a great deal of over-simplicity. Very few allusions to the space are really given until the very last scene when one of two potted plants comes into view along with an exercise bike and a hanging canvas print of a row of coloured motorbikes against a grayscale street background. Elements like these bring with them a sense of intimacy, that we are really in the character’s house, that we are getting glimpses of their life. It is a shame that there is not more within the frame than bare walls and, at times, the back and side of a sofa. It takes away the homeliness that a story taking place in lockdown in someone’s house would be expected to possess. It is clear, though, that these three aforementioned items were not decisively included, either… I am sure an unfeeling misogynist with a short attention span would have very little interest in such feminist items as indoor plants or a painting of a sunset. Emphasis on the exercise bike, motorbikes print and other such items would have been a stronger decision, noting again Jake’s apparent obsession with cars and vehicular design. It is clear, though, that it was understood –– to some extent, at least –– what role setting played in the performance, as Comisso’s positioning of himself and the camera in the room changes with every scene. Costume has a similar marked importance, and this is recognised too, with Comisso changing his clothes for every scene. As a last few notes, I must also add that, unfortunately, whilst in itself the intro music (by Neil Thompson) is clean and well composed, it does not fit with the mood of the performance whatsoever. Additionally, fade transitions (video editing by Howard White) are regularly far too slow and leave time for awkward and unnatural moments of Comisso staring into the camera or, even worse, enough time to see him turning off the camera to stop filming, utterly destroying any surviving theatrical illusions. I am also not sure as to why, as marked at the beginning and end of the performance, we are watching Jake through an iPad screen, which makes the fade transitions all the more confusing. I understand this is a motif for lockdown life, but this forces us to consider ourselves as a close relative or friend having a video call with Jake, which we are not addressed to be — not to mention that it looks tacky. Perhaps the time sourcing the stock image of the iPad should have been spent shortening the fades. Lastly, the inconsistency — thankfully, the last one I shall mention — of Comisso’s interactions with the camera: his holding the camera in the first scene vs it being stationary in all others. Whilst holding the camera does generate a good sense of intimacy, it needs to be decided whether the camera should be held throughout, visibly propped up and turned off each time (which I would not recommend), or left still entirely. When watching this performance, it is easy to feel as though we are simply going through the motions of a basic first-draft plot, rather than watching any profound action unfold, that ideas are being spitballed through the character’s indecisive psychology. And then his friend is dead! Just for some added drama. A most disappointing piece, I am sad to say. “An underdeveloped performance lacking intensity and depth.”

Recognition of stimulus | Reaction to stimulus: fictionalisation or expulsion (performance / organic performance) | Recognition of a recipient (theatre / contractual performance) There exists in all of us, no matter one's age, race, gender or level of intellect, a degree of instinct and consciousness and the ability to think, to cognise, to process information. One key aspect of this condition is the ability and propensity to imagine and conceptualise, and, most significantly here, the relationship between the body and the mind which grants the individual with the ability to perform. There are two main types of thought: cognition and meta-cognition, i.e. thinking, and thinking about thinking. The ability to think, perceptible in all living creatures, is one premise of my personal definition of performance. The ability to think about thinking, this is theatre. Whatever we consider, think and feel has no necessary impact on anyone, on anything or even on ourselves. It is simply a mental and biological, instinctive and innate process. This tool of imagination is a tool of fiction. In thinking, we transform physical or conceptual informations into thoughts; we fictionalise the world in order to perceive and digest it. It is no struggle to relate such a process of generating fiction to performance. Our ability to imagine, to predict, to foresee, to relive, remember and invent is a performative aspect of the psyche. If we are angry, we may recall -- perhaps with some mental imagery -- the things that have made us angry, or we may imagine what we'd like to do to the person, being or thing that has caused our anger. This I refer to as fictionalisation, and it occurs after information has been recognised either consciously or subconsciously by the psyche. Fictionalisation is an internal performance of sorts. it is the mind's initial way of processing the information we have received, a technique, one could say, that is used by the Freudian Ich (Ego) to postulate how it should react to what has been done to the Es (Id). However, we may also choose, rather than to allow this anger to brew in thought, in our minds, to expel it, frantically waving our arms, screaming, cursing, etc. This I refer to as expulsion, and it has the same function as fictionalisation but, instead of the process of thinking, it is the process of physicalising thought; it is thought expelled into the material world through the body. This is quite an isolated process. When we fictionalise or expel information in this way, we are not necessarily thinking about our impact on or the significance of other people, other animals or objects or even ourselves. For example, when we automatically pull our fingers away from a burning surface, we are not thinking until perhaps afterwards about our own safety, about how bad the burning could have been or about the embarrassing presence of the gazing other; instead, we simply act instinctively, unthinking. In this way, the way we deal with information is unconscious. Because the processes of fictionalisation and expulsion are unconscious, they can find themselves enacted in dreams, in fantasies and in fears… With all of this in mind, a definition for performance becomes: the automatic and unconscious reaction to stimuli once such stimuli have been recognised by the psyche. This performance type I refer to as organic performance. Theatre, however, as alluded to above, is a meta-cognition; it is the conscious recognition that these processes, i.e. performances, have taken place –– or, indeed, are taking place. Once the dream has ended, once we've pulled our hands away from the heat source, we remember and we reflect, much like we do when attending the conventional theatre. This recognition I refer to as recipience. I shall elaborate: imagine you have a small child who bursts into a tantrum. This is a performance, for it is an expulsion of otherwise uncommunicable emotions and feelings, unmet desires, and thoughts. Once we recognise that the child is performing, we enter irreversibly and unnegotiably into a theatrical contract with them, and we are forced to perform alongside them: we walk away from them or we stand still and demonstrate our disapproval or perhaps we concede and give the child what we think they want. The child in this instance is the performer and we have become an audience member of sorts, a witness, a participant in the event. Being that the performance is an expulsion of information, we receive it (hence 'recipience'), and we are forced to react to it, but the main difference here is that we are conscious that we have received the information, and we now react consciously to it, not instinctively and naturally as we would in performance. To complicate things, though, this tantrum could also become theatre in itself. Instead of expelling feeling, emotion, desire and thought naturally and unthinkingly, as perhaps was originally the case, once the child notices we are reacting –– or perhaps the child sees a stranger looking on and acts up even more, knowing that the resulting embarrassment we will feel from their gaze might encourage us to concede quicker –– the child enters itself into a theatrical contract, too. The child is aware that its performance (containing its emotional data) is being received, and so any further performance from the child is decisive and deliberate, not instinctive and unthinking. In this way, theatre is a form of self-recognition, self-analysis, self-policing and, of course, metacognition. It recognises and demands that the self be included in the performance(s) of another. To complicate things even further, one can enter into a theatrical contract with imagined persons or groups as well as real. I shall elucidate: you have a job interview, and you look at your daily planner and see 'interview' written down for tomorrow. This is the recognition of a stimulus. Without thinking, you start imagining the route you'll have to take tomorrow to get there. This is fictionalisation. Next, you sit down and breathe slowly to remain calm. This is expulsion. Then, you imagine yourself in the interview, talking to yourself and rehearsing –– the word 'rehearsing' should not be taken overlooked here –– what you will say to the interviewer. Here, a shift happens, and you start considering what the interviewer will be thinking about you and thus how you are presenting [performing] the desired information on your abilities and traits to them. You imagine what they might generally look like, where they will be positioned in the scene, how they are sitting, whether or not they are engaged and responsive, what they sound like, what they're saying to you… this is theatre, and in its most traditional form: suddenly, we have a setting, a plot, lines, characters… You have recognised that the information you're giving about yourself will be received by someone (or, rather, is being received by the imaginary interviewer in front of you in this very moment), and so you change the way you perform the information in order to accommodate this recipient. When we praise ourselves for the good-sounding phrases we used in our imagined interviews, or when, disappointed, we depreciate ourselves for sounding terrible, when we laugh at ourselves or fill with pride, or when we repeat the phrases again and again to remember them or to rearticulate them, we become the recipients of our own performances; we enter into a theatrical contract with ourselves. As soon as we acknowledge an onlooker, someone who is both the recipient of the information we provide and the provider of information that we are to receive, whether this is a real or imagined person or even us ourselves as we self-criticise and metacognise, and as soon as we start to tailor our performances, to rehearse them, to police them, this becomes theatre. This second performance type I refer to as contractual performance. In summary, performance is a mediator between the internal and the external worlds. When this is acknowledged, be it in everyday life by ordinary people or by performance scholars and critics, this becomes theatre. Theatre is thus a recognised form of art, where art is a form of expression and expulsion. Performance is both inside and outside the mind and body of the individual, and theatre, in its obnoxious and ubiquitous presence, is inside and outside the mind and body of the group.

Drowning on Dry Land, written by Alan Ayckbourn, directed by Paul Tate, and performed at the New Wimbledon Studio. There is honestly not much to say about this performance, as simply a small amount of the notes I made applied to its entirety. I shall start with the set, lighting and sound effects. The set comprised a dining table on top of a large square patch of grass. On the dining table, a plate of cookies, a Hello magazine. Jutting out into Upstage Right, a curving brick wall (the side of a 'tower') with two arches either side of it. Flowers. Trellises. Birthday bunting. This combined with the sounds of birds tweeting, we get the impression we are outside, and with classical music playing, we find ourselves in the garden of an upper-class family. Effective. This light was perhaps too harsh, however, creating not only boiling temperature but a very bright illumination of the entire front row - things to be considered in tech. Nighttime, produced by a dimmer light yet accompanied by the same dawn chorus…at what is inferred as dusk. Furthermore, there were the ringtones later on in the performance which were produced behind the audience, sounding like a spectator's mobile, taking away completely from the scene. On to narrative. The plot of this play was highly convoluted, starting with a focus on the falling marriage of a celebrity couple and ending with a jump towards a lawsuit against sexual assault. A lot seemed to be going on in this play, but this contrasted greatly against the enthusiasm with which it was performed. The best notable performances came from Janine Pardo, playing Charlie Conrad's wife, Philip Gill, Charlie's lawyer, and Louise Devlin, an investigative journalist. Other characterisations seemed either weak or incoherent. It seemed that the actors did not understand their lines at points, delivering them blandly or, at times, without needed emphasis - and that's ignoring the many trip-ups and false starts. I found Malcolm Jeffries's characterisation particularly blurred and hard to read - not in a mysterious, alluring way. Although I found Olivia Busby's physicality strong, her character funny, her sudden change towards a hysterical and troubled disposition in the second act was very incomprehensible and incoherent for me. It seemed to have come from nowhere and did not reflect her previous characterisation. Whilst I cannot speak for the entire audience, and whilst there were certainly the few sporadic, echoed guffaws throughout the performance from certain spectators, another audience member with whom I spoke voiced my view well in stating, “I just don't get the point of it all. I'm waiting for something to happen.” I, too, felt that the energy was very low in this performance. Scenes were highly conversational (which, of course, is not objectively a bad thing), but, here, there seemed to be no events, no changes in the mood - minor discourses, yes, but no real threaded development of narrative. And the set, only slightly tweaked throughout, fed into the stasis of this. But, this monotony was then paired with moments of near slapstick, wild and boorish outbursts which not only failed to change the tone but made the overall mood of the play confused, sitting somewhere between naturalism and absurd humour. Even if this mix is coherent in the performance text, this was definitely not communicated on stage. Needless to say, the style that this play wished to achieve was extremely blurry. My first impressions of this play gave me such hope: a giggling, outrageous duo of children running across the stage, taking selfies, hiding; an egotistical lady of the house condescending the children's entertainer she had hired with talk of her young ones' ponies and petrol-operated cars. Comical and intriguing. But from the end of this scene on, everything felt lacking, low-energy and lost. The charming, humorous duo became an overused, melodramatic and predictable cutaway that misbalanced the overall feel of the performance. I could infer that this play had the potential to be a lot more. Disappointing. “Confused, convoluted and underperformed.”

Clouds, created by Time & Again Theatre Company, is a most unique performance in both the content it presents and the energy it presents it with. It is rare on today’s stage to find a period performance like this that retains such a high level of dynamism, intrigue, depth and relatability. Clouds is most certainly a delight. Unfortunately, though, I shall start this review rather negatively. The first thing the audience are greeted with on entering the house is a gentleman who presents a cast list to each audience member and tells them — despite his attire — that the date is 1913 and that they may sit anywhere they wish. He then proceeds to stand awkwardly with a nervous smile until the next spectator arrives, hiding his moving, tapping hands behind his back. Here, I already have some personal issues with this performance. I fail to see what this adds to our entry into the play, given that the box office staff have already informed the audience of the unreserved seating and could have given out these lists then, before the performance, and that the time period should be evidenced by the play’s content, the music during the overture and the publicity preceding the performance itself. It is an unnecessary feature that particularly irks me. Not only does it somewhat prepare the audience for an interactive piece of theatre, where no other interactions actually occur throughout the play, but, with the presentation of a cast list, the initial message becomes “Welcome! This is all fake and just a theatre performance! Enjoy!” and this is not the illusion one would hope to create, unless intentionally. It turns out that this gentleman is not actually part of the performance and is, in fact, an usher of sorts. This would explain the uneasy and faltering demeanour — another reason why the overture would benefit from his absence. Personally, I would quite simply recommend a spotlight on the airplane accompanied by that evocative jazz music. This brings me on to set (designed by Laura Crow). Set is extremely static, composed of only a toolbox and an airplane. This does not prove problematic, however, for the momentum of this play is so well kept both within the dramatic text itself and by actors, as I will detail later. What it does do, though, is contextualise the action of the play to one particular location, meaning that scenes outside of this are not too well differentiated. Whilst the spotlights on the airplane fade down in such scenes to mark such a change, and whilst there is very little disruption of the play’s legibility and fluidity, if not none whatsoever, I would just be wary of this stagnancy when considering what effect each separate scene should have independently to the rest. As for the airplane itself, I feel that it is perhaps a little too inelaborate and could have more interactive features. I write this because Laura Crow (playing Winifred) and Ben Hynes’s (playing Philip) characters regularly interact with the model, yet there is very little for them to do beyond tightening imaginary screws, wiping it down with a cloth, and dusting it with their hands. Hence, their interactions seem awkward or fruitless, particularly as there is a slight downward bend on the bottom side of the nose of the plane, meaning that tightening a screw really does not do anything. I did notice that the front propellor does rotate — whether or not it is supposed to do so or can do so all the way around, however, I am not so sure — and more features like this could make these moments and the model itself more believable and impressive. In its sheer simplicity, though, this set becomes vastly emblematic of the skies and hence evocative of the themes of freedom (or emancipation) and escape, and it also forces us to concentrate on the characters themselves. In all, the set helps to both focus and expand our imagination where appropriate very successfully. As with the airplane model, I found costume (provided by Crow) to be sufficiently evocative of character and time period, but not without its definite faults. Whilst being quite historically inaccurate, there were features of the costume that could have been ameliorated, like the drooping sash on Sylvia’s (Jessica Balmer) dress or Lady Fitzmaurice’s (Julie Burrow) much-too-short umbrella — and not a parasol… I also found it strange that Winifred would refer to the single, grey plume on Lady Fitzmaurice’s hat as a ‘red pigeon’; either the text or costume needs to be modified here. All this considered, costume was enough to allude to an earlier time period and to sustain imagination; it could just be stronger with these more meticulous items in mind. I enjoyed the fact that aspects of Winifred’s costume change, becoming more and more dishevelled as her illness worsens, and I would have liked to see something similar evoked in the costumes of the other characters, not to evoke illness, of course, but change of time or day. Not only would this be true of the period, with women in particular required to wear varying dresses throughout the day to match morning, afternoon or evening as well as occasion type, but this would also accentuate the play’s chronology. On a similar note, I would like to quickly mention the efficacy of the use of makeup in this performance. Though this was used rather sparingly, where it was utilised, it was impeccable. Crows’s makeup in particular manages to capture fatigue and illness in Winifred’s face splendidly and, above all, realistically. This is most successful. I would just recommend a few top-ups now and again, as the heat of the stage lighting slowly saw the death of it. On to the writing. The writing demonstrates a keen understanding of the period and filters historical events and featurettes into the narrative seamlessly and effortlessly, making for a rich and convincing text. Whilst, I must admit, not a lot really happens in this play, there is nevertheless a ruthless momentum and intrigue to this dramatic text. This is not because it is particularly dramatic or vitalised, though, but because it deals with relatable matters close to the human heart, investigating identity, purpose, social standing and desire — amongst other poignant themes. Its characters become representative of key characteristics of the human condition: obsession, mortality, sociability, pride, etc., making them both relatable and immediately comprehensible. However, this also makes them rather caricaturistic, as though stereotypes of aspects of human personality, and this is definitely translated into the acting style. This is not a particularly naturalistic play, both where speech and delivery are concerned, but it is consistent throughout, meaning it generates its own language and style. Acting could still benefit from more variation, however. Lines and action aside, emotional range remains rather limited across the actors, and the caricatures presented become rather stagnant over time. This is the difficulty with creating caricaturistic characters, for they are also very fruitful in their quirks and patterns of speech or behaviour. I would just urge more consciousness of repetition with respect to this, as I did find it particularly grating in places to see these same quirks overworked again and again — for example, Theodore’s (Kieran Palmer) nervousness or expressed interest in nephrology, or Lady Fitzmaurice’s garden party (this latter being more excusable, if studied alone, given its impact on the action of the play). There remain some irregularities in the writing. As a principal example of this, it is difficult to understand exactly why and when the other characters take so much to Freddie. From very early on in the play, it is clear that Freddie is not favoured by any of the characters, and Philip and Sylvia make this particularly clear with their bitchiness and spite towards her in the first scene. Lady Fitzmaurice is the most concrete example of Freddie being disliked, nay detested, by the others, and yet all of them, including Lady Fitzmaurice, seem to suddenly gravitate towards her, almost idolising her, even. Surely that which the other characters deem as ‘determination’ would, in fact, irritate them as grinding persistence or as proving them wrong. As for acting, whilst certain gestures, movements and reactions were, again, much too repetitive, all actors were very good in this performance, maintaining energy and character very well. They were each sure of and confident in their characters, delivering lines appropriately, despite a few, excusable trip-ups, and were hence convincing and enjoyable to watch. As mentioned before, I would have liked to see a more successful emotional range from the actors, Jessica Balmer aside. Whilst I understand that the text itself limits this, there are definitely moments that could be more effective on the actors’ behalf, as primarily the case with Crow who struggles to present anger, frustration or distress cogently. Entrances and exits start to feel highly repetitive, particularly for Winifred who always seems to appear behind other characters, mainly Philip, without them noticing, joining in with their conversations or songs, or making remarks that grab their attention and alert them to her arrival. There is not much creativity beyond the dialogue itself, one might say. There are also some irregularities where topography is concerned. There are moments when characters exit, around the curtain Upstage, that characters watch them go ‘from a distance’, and yet they start to stare up the staircase, just to the right, even when characters have not quite left yet. This makes for an inaccuracy where the play’s architecture and geography are concerned. In general, all actors could be a lot quicker during transitions which often feel clunky and long. Although, this is not particularly helped by the use of lighting (designed by Tim Cooper). Primarily consisting of spotlights and fades, I find the lighting’s simplicity, overall, to be sensible and reflective of the mood and world of the play. However, especially as transitions are quite awkwardly lengthy, fades seem to become overused and repetitious, and this makes transitions seem monotonous but also disruptive with the fallible addition of music, which I shall detail shortly. However, as mentioned earlier, lighting does aid for a sense of location change and for the employment of motifs, primarily with the spotlights on the airplane model, and retains pertinence to the performance. I would just add, as a final note, that the fuchsia wash backstage needs to go. I have no idea why it is part of the lighting memory in the first place, attached to the other cues, fading and lifting along with them, and see it as highly distracting and disruptive of illusion. I found music (also by Cooper) to be very coherent, providing a relevant variety of Edwardian jazz. However, its use in transitions was often very fallible and awkward as well. Transitions were far too short for music in general, let alone music containing lyrics as was often the case. I understand the tendency to fill transitions with music, as, otherwise, they can seem rather bare or unseemly, but this is most likely because the transitions are not slick and tidy enough, not because silence is inherently a bad feature of a performance. If music has to be used, I would urge it be simply instrumental or that the transitions be long enough to allow the music to settle in the space. It takes a while for the ear to catch on to a rhythm, and so the music needs time to make its mark amongst the audience. Ironically, I do feel that certain transitions could be longer, just for permission of this effect, but only those between scenes that really demonstrate a change in tone, rhythm or plot. Perhaps this could help better an understanding of the characters’ sudden admiration Winifred, for example, with a sense of the passing of time. Overall, with the pedant within me aside, this performance remains very articulate and entertaining. Actors make for a believable world, and the variety of their characters make for intrigue. This is a very gripping and rather fruitful performance. “A captivating and empowering performance but with many irregularities and items to be buffed.”

Written by Justin Butcher and directed by Ian Talbot, Scaramouche Jones is…simply awful. In fact, it is hugely problematic, riddled with cultural, racial and historical insensitivity. I fail to see how creatives, fellow reviewers and critics of the past and present are overlooking the social implications, orientalism, lack of cultural sensitivity and downright racism that this performance gives way to. This dramatic text should be an error of the recent past, not one revived for a modern stage. Described as ‘international’, its content presents stereotype, cliché and caricature. Racial and cultural profiles are exaggerated, dramatised and unrealistic and become a means of entertainment to the detriment of the races and cultures with which they deal. When we have organised events like this in place, where a celebrity is making money off of such work, along with an entire team, where audiences are funding the work, watching the work, celebrating the work, where critics and television presenters are blindly commending the work, this becomes what is termed systemic racism. An entire infrastructure now surrounds a [perhaps unintentionally but still inexcusably] orientalist work. This is unethical. Arabian snake charmers riding camels; people of colour, or “swarthy Ethiopes” or men with faces “as “brown and shrivelled as a walnut”, as referred to in the text, eroticised or obsessed with mangoes; foreign gypsies actioning child weddings, enabling paedopilic practices and able to identify one other through songs… These are all incredibly damaging, inimical, regressive and unfavourable caricaturisations serving only to satisfy the gaze of the self-esteeming and hedonistic “Western World”. Take, for instance, the scene describing the angered cobra, after Richie’s insanely racist chanting at 39:35. ‘Ramool’ by Manzoor Khan Langa, Dhodhe Khan and Pathan Khan is played to ‘set the scene’, as it were. This is Indian music, not Senegalese, and shallow research reveals that the artists have another album entitled ‘Discovery of India: Snake Charmer’. It is clear that the creatives simply searched for snake charmer music, and after flicking through the artists’ work, ‘Ramool’ is what they finally decided upon. So, now we have a Senegalese snake charmer using Indian music in Dakar to enchant his audience. This conflation of cultures and music, used nonchalantly to create an entertaining, exotic and otherworldly [i.e. orientalist] atmosphere is the exact lack of education and care towards culture and cultural specificity of which I am writing. And this is without mentioning the lack of research demonstrated in the text: a cobra does not have a “poison sack” but a venomous gland; it would not shed only six times in the space of twenty-five years, for, on average, a snake sheds between four and twelve times annually… It is one thing to tell these orientalist tales, but it is an entirely different thing to have an actor melodramatise them, perform races and cultures, and exaggerate aspects of stereotyped identities. With no evidence of vocal and accent training, Shane Richie’s caricaturisations are not only awkward and uncomfortable but, again, incredibly insensitive — put even more bluntly, racist, making a mockery of cultural ‘identities’. No work has been done to represent these profiles well, and there has been no refinement where his accents, particularly Jamaican, are concerned, meaning that his evocations remain simple dérisions with no serious thought or critical thinking. Really, it parallels a racist telling a joke in a pub and acting out his ‘funny’ versions of non-white individuals. Repeated exaggerative gestures and an increase in volume combine to represent the Other as animalistic, primal, uncivilised and ruthless, and this is a direct manifestation of the dramatic text which places intense focus on licentiousness, violence, brutality and paedophilia within a foreign context, all whilst representing the Englishman as regal and principled, white skin as precious and beautiful, and English culture as civilised, moral and supportive and with an established judicial system, unlike all other countries detailed in the text. The writing of the dramatic text itself is overly verbose and bombastic, demanding an intense concentration — and also allowing it to get away with those many fleeting orientalist remarks, and misinformations, with its content more likely to fly over the audience’s head. Furthermore, Richie’s lack of transformativity is no visual aid to help the text lift from the page. I will admit that caricatures are distinguished well and energised — but then, the caricatures should not exist in the first place! — but Richie’s characterisation of the clown is incredibly lacking. I do not see a clown; I see Shane Richie playing a clown. This is disappointing. The voice he chooses for the clown falters regularly, and hearing a halfway point between Richie’s ‘real’ voice and that which he has chosen for the clown is a constant issue. Physicality and gesticulations also remain limited, unaided by a lack of use of space. This lack of use of space becomes one of the many repetitive hallmarks of the illness and fallibility of this performance’s structure. At the end of each ‘chapter’, Richie pops a balloon, he is then almost always seen next seated at his dressing table, gazing into the mirror or drinking from a flask of tea. The rest of the performance simply entails him walking pretty much on the spot and lifting his arms in a weak display of performativity. Visually, then, in terms of Richie’s performance, there is really not that much. That is besides the few props Richie uses and the odd shifts in perspective that happen every now and then, such as him lying on the floor in the drowning/swimming scene or staring out into the void in the Nazi grave-digging scene…and here we find the next huge display of insensitivity. Described by the British judge as restoring humanity, Scaramouche, working as a gravedigger for the Nazis, attempts to make the children in the adjacent concentration camp laugh and feel more ‘at ease’ moments before their death. Scaramouche describes his making fun of the guards, pulling funny faces, and, most significantly, reenacting the executions — the same executions that the children will see in their own fates — through comedic mime. This is presented extremely superficially, in that there is no doubt or question of this act and no further examination or deeper thinking about its effectiveness or effects. But let’s think about it ourselves for a moment… You’re a child in a Nazi concentration camp who is traumatised from being wrenched from your home, family and friends, and you’re being led — if not dragged — by Nazi soldiers to what you know will be your death, and you’re watching men and women and other children be shot and hanged to death next to you. Now, let us put a clown in that setting who is reenacting the deaths you can see before you in a comedic mime. Would this give you relief? Especially given that you are a child? Of course, it would not! In fact, it would do the opposite: you would be terrified that a strange man in your periphery is practically teasing your fate, making a light mockery of the terrors and sheer carnage before you. It would be a surreal and extremely perturbing display. So, now that we know that this is not at all a realistic, and, in fact, an incredibly evil, thing to do, the superficial compassion and feeling this scene offers is completely removed, and we are left with a clown making a mockery of Holocaust victims, those which are referred to as ‘clowns’ — and the mere fact that their faces are covered in lime does not constitute the right to label them thusly. Accompanied by ‘Cold’, a melancholic strings and piano composition by Jorge Mendez — which makes me question the copyright issues involved in potentially having snapped up a composition by an unknowing musician — an intense tragic mood for this scene seems to come out of nowhere after blazing ‘comedy’. And just when we have really settled in the [misused] tragedy of the Nazi regime, the shot quickly changes, and Richie is having another swig of tea, ready to continue his comedy. This lack of consideration towards mood management and timing completely subverts any emotion and sensitivity — if any, indeed, existed. Again, deplorably unthinking and, ultimately, heartless. I mentioned the issue of space use, and this also combines with another: audience perspective. Sometimes, the camera placement (production design by Andrew Exeter) allows us to feel as though we are looking over Richie’s shoulder into the mirror; other times, we are shown footage shot from above with an overlay suggestive of CCTV or a hidden spy camera; sometimes, we view Richie ‘through the video camera he has set up’; and, lastly, other times, we are presented an ordinary eye-level view of Richie without this aforementioned overlay. All of this makes it incredibly difficult to discern our function as spectators (are we spying voyeurs? Distanced spectators? Active witnesses?), and there is nothing to unite these very disparate vantage points, especially given that the overlays suggest two different cameras are being used, with the timestamps, and footage and battery information being presented differently between the high-angle camera and the video camera Richie sets up. There is simply no thought behind this at all. And this is without mentioning Richie’s terribly awkward close-ups wherein he approaches the camera intrusively close for no reason at all other than to quirkily interact with the audience — again, for what reason and to what effect? What does this say about our function as spectators? Set, however, was very attractive and well organised. In fact, it was almost perfect [but then, what salvation is this, considering the rest of the performance’s success?], barring two main issues. The first is the television displaying a green screen throughout, having absolutely no purpose in the text and only standing in as a completely jarring eyesore against the contrasting red set. This should have been either switched off or, at least, set to show only white noise, which I believe would have been nearly equally as distracting but, at least, would have worked in terms of the set design’s palette. The second is the grass on the floor… Why is there grass in the basement of a theatre? Honestly, I have nothing else to add on this point; it speaks for itself. Bizarre. I admit that most of the issues I have mentioned refer to the dramatic text in itself, but the problem lies in the mere idea of a revival of this text. To use this text in education, in racial and cultural studies, in anthropological studies or in literary criticism is a very different thing from bringing it to its feet in a completely unthinking way and, as I said in the early paragraphs of this performance, to provide, albeit perhaps blindly, an infrastructure for the continuation of detrimental racial profiling and, of course, the resulting misinformations and prejudices. This is a huge problem. This text should remain on the page and is not to be performed; the very act of doing so is rather revolting. All of this being said, I shall now quickly focus on the final theatrical constituents of this production itself, starting with sound. The voiceover audios are an odd decision. Sometimes Richie delivers the line; other times, an extra delivers it through the speakers. This is inconsistent. Volume often fluctuates, making for an unsteady listening, and the audio itself is far too plain and deliberate. Their use becomes too repetitive, structured and forced, and unnecessary and literal at times where audience imagination could be permitted to flourish, instead. We do not need to hear the gunshots, for example, or the little exclaiming, ‘Mama?!’ after Scaramouche himself has just already said, ‘My ‘mother is dead’. I should mention here as well the inconsistency of the beginning ambient sounds of the public upstairs. The sound of the public fades completely with their applause and is suddenly revived when they are leaving the building. Either they are constantly there at the beginning, or they leave indefinitely early on. Decide which one, and stick with it. The inclusion of the balloons becomes negligible, as they lead up to nothing. If they had to be included, for whatever reason, I would have perhaps done the opposite and blown up them at the end of each ‘chapter’, making for a surreal and powerful final image when Scaramouche sits dead as New-Year celebrations roar from the TV. The celebratory balloons would have intensified his ‘saddening’ — although, I would say, “Relieving!” — death in this way, through juxtaposition. However, as it stands, they served no purpose, other than to signal the end of a scene. The use of props or set elements was too minimal; Richie could have done with a lot more to aid his overall lack of physicality. And moments like the magic lights trick were lacking, primarily, in this instance, because the colour grading applied post-production (editing by Stream.Theatre) oversaturated the red of the set and the red of the balls, and the filter blurred the scene, meaning the trick was difficult to see clearly and thus appreciate. Nevertheless, it was a fallible idea from the very beginning, as, other than his bald clown wig and costume — which was certainly fitting and wonderfully designed — there was very little actual clownery present in this performance. It seemed out of touch with the otherwise unresourceful character we are presented with. Overall, ignoring, if I can, the sociopolitical implications of this performance, Richie’s performance was simply very lacking. Ignoring the disturbing mood change in the gravedigging scenes, this play is monotonous and dull, and the overarching characterisation of the clown — or lack thereof — is simply pitiful. Relationships with the audience are confused, and technical elements are inconsistent. A devastatingly regressive insult of a watch masquerading as ‘comedy’. “A revival…better labelled ‘Do Not Resuscitate’!” Photography credit: Bonnie Britain

The three performances considered in this review, Nuclear War, Buried, and Graceland, are currently performing alongside one another as part of a so-called triptych at the Old Red Lion theatre. I will start with a summary of the night overall and then proceed to consider each play separately. In this review: Summary Buried Graceland Nuclear War I find it difficult to comprehend why these plays were presented together, for there is very little to relate them to one another besides the very loose and inadvertent theme of suffering or the more blatant and explicit yet very superficial theme of sex [very distinctly the by-products of average male writing]. Clearly, the concept of a triptych was misunderstood in this way. The plays present such starkly different material, with great disparities in content, performance style and level of intrigue or imaginativeness, that it is somewhat difficult not only to consider them all as interrelated pieces of theatre but to evaluate the enjoyability and strength of the “triptych” overall. The very first image we are presented with is highly erroneous. In entering the house, we enter the set for the first play, Buried (all sets designed by Anna Kezia Williams). All four of the actors that will perform are scattered around the stage, yet these actors, barring James Demaine, of course, have no place in this context; their characters have absolutely nothing to do with this first play, so why are they here? This is a cheap, ineffective and struggling way to unite the three plays, and this most certainly needs to be changed. Using an apparent school janitor to clean the stage after the close of the second play, Graceland, however, is a quirky and endearing decision, though I would recommend a more vigorous transformation, a better change of set between the plays. Throwing a white sheet over the set pieces, rubbing chalk off of the wall and calling it a new design is not particularly a sign of artistic intelligence… These plays each demand a severe amount of attention, forcing the audience to be responsive or obedient and requiring a high level of engagement and concentration, for varying reasons subject to each performance. Unless the right conditions are met [as they are, on the whole, for Graceland — and Graceland only], this is usually not a good thing for one play, let alone three. There is very rarely a chance for the audience to breathe on this evening, other than in the interval which overran…because of the high complexity of the set change, no doubt! For this reason, pacing –– in both the written texts and the performed –– is an issue across all three plays. I will say, however, that each retains a definite sense of originality, presenting materials in dimensional and, for a good amount of the time, refreshing ways. Each has a very clear and individualistic use of space and imagery and a very clearly defined mood, tone and style, though this is not always to the play’s advantage, as I will detail further below. Many choices for content and style remain rather repetitive, and the manner in which materials are communicated becomes rather predictable and unvaried. I would have liked to see more variation in all texts. “An evening of performances in dire need of cogency, clarity and stylistic refinement.” Buried Written by David Spencer and directed by Alexander Knott and Ryan Hutton. Ignoring the highly questionable presence of the other actors, as detailed in the introduction above, the very first image we walk into is most remarkably atmospheric. Mist is controlled wonderfully and has been permitted to build and settle in the air for the perfect amount of time. Such control is commendable and surprisingly rare. The set for this performance has dimension and expanse. Visually, this is a very stimulating image…until time progresses and we notice that set pieces are being used neither sufficiently nor coherently and that the large rocks that constitute a great portion of the set are simply very ill-painted and slightly crushed cardboard boxes. As soon as the lights permit a clearer view, one notices that, beyond the basic symbolistic palette of earthy browns and dark blacks, there is very little logic to be found in the pieces that constitute this design. What is the topography of this set? What do these set pieces represent all together? Dilapidation, debris and earthiness certainly remain clear motifs, but what else does this set facilitate beyond rudimentary visuals? And what specific practical functionality does it provide, other than providing various levels for a rudimentary sense of a changing visual perspective, and how does this progress plot or narrative? A most tacky design. On to the action of the play itself. This play demands an incredible amount of brainpower from its audience. The eye is commanded to follow James Demaine (Max) around the stage as he covers its entirety, darting from wall to wall and corner to corner; the ear, to listen to an unending and uninterrupted soliloquy; the mind, to piece it all together. There is not a single moment for respite or reflection as the play meanders through an extensive list of material, of Max’s detailings of memories and life events. The text is most suffocative in this way — and not in an artistic sense, drawing on the theme of live burial… This is even echoed by the lighting which remains exhausting in its sheer number of states. I will say, however, that the lighting, if a little literal in its symbolism, does retain some efficacy, successfully intensifying moments such as Max’s evocation of a KO in boxing or drowning in water, complemented by deep and timely coloured washes. For the early burial scenes, the dim and unfocused spotlight directly above Demaine makes for a very powerful visual, obscuring Coezens’s legs and aiding our imagination away from the fact that he is simply standing on a platform, very effectively. One principal reason behind why this play is so overwhelming is its propensity towards [needless] audience interaction. When audience interactions and participations genuinely drive the performance along, or when they have a particular impact or add a certain je ne sais quoi that absolutely no other technique can produce, only then are these 1) required and 2) effective. From the moment they are made, audience interactions immediately cause us to become aware of ourselves, the unspoken performer-spectator contract and the “real” world that exists beyond the play, and so this must be used only when specific to the chosen theatrical mode and style. With such an overuse of this in this performance, we become forcedly aware that this is an actor, and the only impact generated in these moments are either awkwardness or a long-awaited spotlight for the singled-out spectator and an interest amongst other spectators in how this spectator will react. Thus, interactions in their sheer, exhausting volume are completely unnecessary in this performance. Demaine consistently singles out one audience member and delivers his lines to them, and this becomes so particular to the play that it begins to subtract from any poignancy or illusive realism. These forced recognitions do not facilitate the action in any way whatsoever and should be omitted completely. A terrible and most amateur decision. Related to Demaine’s audience interactions, we have his expansive movements. Demaine covers the stage most unnaturally, often quite conspicuously darting from one side of the stage to the other simply to interact with yet another spectator across from the last. This has that dreaded tennis-match effect in theatre, where our heads are forced from left to right to follow about an overly energised performer. Then, we have the relationship between Demaine’s movement and the stage’s topography. It is clear from early on in this play that certain areas of the stage have certain significations –– Centerstage, for example, is where Max’s live burial is repeatedly portrayed. Yet, this becomes lost very quickly in the latter half of the play when, for instance, Demaine simply raises his arm stiffly to his cheek as he normally does for these burial scenes, and portrays the burial but whilst situated elsewhere, far from Centerstage. Moments like these, which become far too frequent, make for a great disruption in our reading of the stage’s geography, and these designated areas start to lose their significations and qualities. Overall, movements remain highly repetitious and outlandish. In a play of this length, such rigidity can easily be avoided. Another reason behind this sense of over-animation is the number of characters that Demaine is forced to represent. Whilst he remains transformative and proves rather good acting skill, there is already far too much for the senses to take in in this play, and these shifts in character make for further such complications. Demaine’s direction and the nature of the text do seem for a good part of the play to be in conflict with one another, and I would recommend revisiting the text and acknowledging the role of pace, how scenes could be better brought to life through a more self-contained approach [i.e. with less audience interaction] and how space and set can complement the action in a less crude way. The overall content, however, becomes rather bipartite, alternating between these burial scenes and Max’s expressions of nostalgia, for which he details his memories of relationships and interactions with relatives and friends such as with priests or the oft-mentioned Charlie. With music –– which came to premature halts far too often –– persistently marking the transitions between these, this grating sense of bipartition is much accentuated. Yet, the material presented within these two parts are endlessly permitted to bleed into one another; it is sometimes difficult to gauge when one ‘segment’ has ended and another has begun. This should be reworked [again, perhaps this is a matter of pacing]. Structure and style aside, there is a certain allure to this text. It is at points comedic and flippant and, at others, heartfelt and rather profound. The text develops a good sense of character and character background, and themes of emasculation, suffering and endurance certainly ground its content. I would just be aware of over-fragmenting the narrative, as this is certainly an issue for this play, rendering it rather stylistically predictable and hence less impactful. “An evocative and rather poignant play utterly lost to over-performativity, poor structuring and a weak use of imagery.” Graceland Written by Max Saunders-Singer and directed by Sonnie Beckett. This play is the shortest of the three. It begins with the unmarked entrance of an unpunctual and buffoon-like teacher, Mr Crichton (Anthony Cozens), who trips over and falls onto the floor after losing his footing. With no change in the natural lighting state and no significant introduction, this remains a very clever anti-illusory beginning that contextualises and stresses the immersion that is to follow. The audience are treated as though this teacher’s secondary school students. They are asked questions, reprimanded or commended, given names and identities, and even provided lines. This is done in a most impressive and seamless way, with real science textbooks being passed around the audience who will have to read from them –– only, these are no ordinary readings; lines have been stuck onto each page, and these will be read as if we “students” are asking questions, making jokes or, more rarely, following along with the lessons. This setup, and, certainly, the control that Cozens demonstrates over the text and his audience, are definitely most remarkable and intelligent. The structure and writing are very good in this respect. This play’s content, however, suffers from a ridiculous lack of realism, which is extra problematic, given that the performance style remains distinctly realistic and not absurdist, melodramatic or surreal. A certain shock factor is certainly favoured over credibility, and this makes for an acute predictability in all aspects of the performance. The material is wildly far-fetched; for example, the projection of pornography is rather [worryingly] realistic and not too wild an occurrence in a modern classroom, but then it is revealed that the main performer in this porno is actually Mr Crichton’s wife, and not only this, but there are no less than three of his co-workers behind the porno’s production. Then, there is the revelation of the alcohol, then the pistol, and then, finally, its shooting. The content gets more and more over the top but not to a comically facetious, absurd or comedic advantage; it is all simply too indigestible by the end. And this is without logicalising the material: this would never happen. Would we, the students, not know that this was, indeed, his wife? The jibing lines we are provided set this reality up as a mere joke, and it seems simply too much when this is revealed to be the truth of the situation, unbeknownst somehow to us. Why does this teacher who seems to handle the class rather well throughout, particularly with his grammatical corrections of the dirty message left for him on the board, buckle towards the end and fail to cope with the heckles and actions of his students? Why is he so steadfastly committed at the beginning yet so despondent at the end? These items, amongst others, make for too great an absence of realism. It just seems as though this performance wanted to go out with a bang, as it were –– quite literally, it seems, with the shooting of the pistol –– but this constant climaxing makes the overall text seem crude, bland. I would recommend either far lighter and more credible content or changing the style completely, from humdrum realism to chaotic absurdism or something of that calibre, to match. “A performance with a great premise but lacking in the appropriate creativity to benefit concept.” Nuclear War Written by Simon Stephens and directed by Alexander Knott. Finally, we have the feature play of the trio, Nuclear War, performed by Zöe Grain and Freya Sharp. This play remains extremely cryptic. Much like with Buried, Nuclear War forces so much down the throats of its audience –– physical theatre, dual character representation, over-diversified content, use of superfluous props, and so on –– that its meaning becomes completely lost. I shall start with content. Because of the sheer amount of material that constitutes this text, this play, which sets out to cover a lot, really says very little overall. There is very little, if anything at all, to ground this text; there are no common threads between sequences to join the material together. What we are left with is a series of existential ponderings or expressions of torpor and despondency, and these are presented alongside instructive “lectures” on scientific or philosophical thinkings, such as those about time and sex. These do not combine well to give us a cohesive and coherent text. Time, its passing and its effects, however, do become a recurrent motif but only halfway into the play, and so the only item that could join all of the otherwise disparate contents of this play together remains a seeming afterthought. The questions really remain: what is this play actually about? What is this play trying to communicate? If, for example, this sense of existentialism is the crux of the narrative, aided by these unique small pleasures that are mentioned, such as sitting Belgian waffles upon the brim of coffee mugs to change texture, flavour and sweet appeal, then this should be the sole focus of the play, and everything else, just like these pleasures, should relate back to and complement this; everything else should be secondary to this and should build upon it. A play, especially one of this length, should very rarely aim to fulfil multiple trajectories. A more focused and elucidatory narrative aim would also further aid our reading of character that is complicated by having “A Woman” be represented by two performers. A successful dualisation of character sees one character represented by two actors, each portraying a specific opposing aspect of the character’s identity or an opposing feature of their psychology. To better understand what I mean by a successful dualisation, I would recommend reading my review of Katharine Richardson and Caldonia Walton’s Weight/Wait. The “dualisation” that we see in this text is simply needless. They do not challenge our understanding of identity, for they represent characters in an identical fashion. The only thing they really do facilitate is a use of physical theatre. In fact, I find their signification to be very ill-conceived, given that they clearly do not represent “A Woman” at all times, one example being in these “scientific” lectures. The function of two actors performing this role definitely needs to be readdressed. The verbal language offered in this dramatic text has a distinct textural and sonic quality about it which is very demanding for a performer, requiring extensive practice and rigour. I commend the performers for achieving this, particularly with respect to lines delivered in unison; these can often sound robotic and slow, but the two have definitely refined this in practice. Although, I must nevertheless note that they still need to be even tighter. Both performers tripped up on their lines a few times, which is inexcusable for a performance that relies on precision and diction in such a way, and this was most subtractive. I should also add here that there is also a problem with projection, with Grain delivering her lines much louder, and hence much clearer, than Sharp. The same can be said for the physical language. Grain and Sharp definitely need to sharpen their physicality. Yet, movements were decisive, and the use of physicality, overall, made for an intriguing storytelling technique in this performance, offering an oftentimes visually pleasing symmetry. Some visuals are definitely directly borrowed and unoriginal, and the use of chalk and its significance definitely needs to be rethought, but, on the whole, this is an aesthetically pleasing piece. “A performance that seeks to do a lot, resulting in rather little.”

This review will consider The Emoji Project, which was staged at the Hen & Chickens Theatre and streamed online. I am not sure how this performance was constructed, but I imagine someone said to the various writers involved, "Write something inspired by emojis! Go!" At least, that is what it felt like when I watched The Emoji Project. And I rather hope that this is, indeed, what happened, because if the writings were conceived and compiled as they are deliberately, I would have to question Ariella Como Stoian (responsible for the production's creative concept and dramaturgy) on her methods. The Emoji Project has some really great and comical moments, and the entire cast perform throughout with vigour and energy, but I am afraid that a mere theme of emojis is not enough to group these plays together as they are currently grouped. Some texts, such as the several 'Monkey' texts by Tilney Brune or 'You Wake Up / Octopus' by Stoian, are difficult to relate to emojis at all. Whilst they both certainly deal with emotions and language, they bear very little relevance, if any at all, to emojis specifically. I have quite a big issue with 'Octopus', in fact. One expects to experience a variety of performance styles, modes and genres when presented with an anthology of dramatic texts, but one also expects there to be a palpable limit on this variation, and managing this limitation was Stoian's job here. 'Octopus' is far too different from the other texts, both in regard to its decided performance style and to its content. It simply has nothing to do with emojis, and whist the contents of the other texts differ considerably, they are still related in some way or another, notably by realism and by actor presence — and, of course, through theme. The disembodied voices of the performers of 'Octopus', the void created by the darkness of the stage, the lights used in lieu of the human body [mostly], these elements and others make this play too distinctly separate from the rest. It is a beautifully devised and well-written piece, I should clarify –– in fact, I think it is the strongest of them all, a very powerful and visceral text –– but it has no place whatsoever in this collection. Returning my focus to the rest of the performance, I shall go back to the beginning. The performance starts with a rather innocent and endearing monologue written by Stoian and performed by eleven-year-old "Emelia" over a piano instrumental. This is a nice overture that introduces us smoothly into the dramatic text and reminds us of the younger generation in the lives of whom emojis are most prevalent. It also reminds us that this is an "intergenerational" performance, as detailed in the description…which is strange to me, because it clearly is not –– regardless of the inclusion of a singular eleven-year-old actress. Whilst this is a strong beginning in theory, the execution is rather poor, I am afraid. I would recommend when working with young actors with performances like these that lines be remembered not verbatim but through chunks, concepts. This is to avoid a sense of roboticism or lack of naturalism in speech, as is found in this particular recording. It would involve, for example, giving a list of bullet points to the young actor that remind them of the ideas they are trying to get across –– that using an emoji at a funeral would be "awkward", for instance, as was one of the items Emelia lists –– so that they may convey the idea in their own manner. The young actor would use their own language and timing to express the idea in question, relying a lot less heavily and systematically on the literal text, and coming across as genuine, natural, unrehearsed. This naturalism is vital to the beginning, and, as it stands, we are already distanced from the very start by the lack of fluidity in Emelia's speech. Unfortunately, as well, this sets us up for the lack of naturalism where naturalism is needed in the rest of the texts. A huge issue across all of the texts and with all performers is the sheer lack of adequate comedic timing. I shall exemplify plainly by referring to the text, 'TEFL (Teaching Emoji as a Foreign Language)' by Phoebe McIntosh. Halfway into this text, one of two teachers enters, and upon his entrance, he delivers a joke to the audience: "I would offer you a refund, but…it's a free lesson.” At this very moment, Ingrid Marsh, playing Jeanette, holds up her poo emoji flashcard –– another joke. In theatre, two different jokes delivered simultaneously make none. An audience needs time to laugh, and this comedic timing, or lack thereof, was extremely poor here. A similar issue, the argument that ensues between Jeanette and Zel shortly after this moment is far too frantic and seems to come out of nowhere with no real stimulus. Zel claims that Jeanette's use of the poo emoji is racist, and then we have a further confrontation when Zel exclaims that their pronouns are 'they' and 'them'. In this moment, delivery is, again, poor, particularly in regard to naturalism and intonation, and timing is ill-managed. Although, the issue remains rather in the lack of coherent progression in the writing itself, I would add. However, I must say that the cast deal with ensemble interactions rather well. Though I personally found EEKORP scenes rather irritating and ineffective, the speed and accuracy with which the cast 'bounced off' of one another were above adequate. I would just recommend better diction when it comes to the speedy commercial stock phrases at the end of these specific scenes. Ironically, though, I think energy needs to be reined in quite a bit in places, and I think this is the main reason I disfavour EEKORP scenes. There is simply too much going on too early, and the texts need to be better paced out. We need time to digest what we have just seen. ‘Monkey’ scenes are good for this, but they are simply too irrelevant, as mentioned above, endearing and well-performed though they are. I would recommend, for instance, placing 'In an Emoticon Nation' by Sean Wai Keung further on into the collection and 'Happy or Sad?' by Alastair Gibbons closer to the beginning. Moving on to audience interaction and participation. What is good about this performance is that audience interaction is constant. I see time and time again in performances actors interact with audience members right at the end or the beginning and never again, or –– the worst –– interrupting a performance to do so with such little effect or reasoning. This performance, however, manages to maintain its open and direct relationship with its audience, which is great for comedy and great for the venue that this performance took place in: a pub theatre, the Hen & Chickens Theatre. However, I am still not too convinced that these interactions were necessary or progressed the performance in any significant way. It felt as though audience interaction for the sake of audience interaction, and this is not so efficacious. There is an odd fixation on gender politics throughout this performance, and this culminates in 'Lobster Emoji' by James Ireland. The collection remains unnecessarily politicised in places by this fixation, and 'Lobster Emoji' seems to come out of nowhere with its overly blunt and direct narrative. There is no issue with politicising content, of course, but the manner in which the politics here are presented is peculiar. 'Lobster Emoji' highlights a very important issue of representation, marginalisation and prioritisation of identities and their expression, and, in theory, is a very poignant text. It is, to some degree, also handled with a sense of comedy, with the lobster costume, symbolic of an assumption of the lobster as a symbol of the trans identity. However, the writing is simply too literal. It seems more like an unencumbered, blatant rant, where all other texts have been incredibly fictionalised and unrealistic –– from actors pretending to be monkeys to the emojis brought to life in 'Emoji Gameshow' by Jalice Corral, which, I should note here, is a very poor and lacklustre text that I would certainly recommend be removed from the collection with urgency. So, this ends up being a very feeble speech, important though it may be, devoid of creativity and artistic intellect. Overall, I think writing was simply rather weak, salvaged by the energised cast. However, whilst performers certainly possessed great vitality, the manner in which this was channelled was rather unrefined, and their comedic timing and naturalism need a lot of work. The dramatic texts in this collection fall short of the theme that supposedly unites them, and audience interaction, though consistent and well-organised, is simply needless and distracting from the material at hand. Enjoyable to watch though this performance is, my personal and critical responses are very different, hence my rating below. “An underdeveloped and confused performance made somewhat heartwarming by its cast.”

Ithaca is written and directed by Phoebe Angeni. It is now available to watch on demand through the Edinburgh Fringe website. I shall start this review by commenting on the sheer eclectic and chaotic nature of this performance. The vast majority of its content is quite decidedly esoteric, and this is in no way in its favour. I should note that there is, of course, the expectation that audience members will have a sufficient understanding of Greek mythology and its relative pantheon, and it is, indeed, rather just to presume that an audience interested enough to attend this particular performance would certainly possess this relative knowledge. This is acceptable and is not what I refer to when I write here about esoteric material –– although, this focus certainly does not aid the issue of esotericism for audiences unfamiliar with the Odyssey, in particular, and surrounding texts. I shall now elaborate. There are two main constituents that render this performance pretty much illegible: one is its inconsistent style, and the other is its manner of [dis]organising its content. Starting with style, we are first presented our main character, Nobody (played by Phoebe Angeni), through a soliloquy addressing us directly via second-person narrative, and it is implied, through Nobody's various statements such as the opening line, "You asked if I was happy", that we have been in direct conversation with her up until this point. However, we are then never addressed again, and the text thus loses its quasi-interactive quality and remains self-contained. Moving on to extensive multi-roling and then onto common duologues, then poetry and interpretive movement, the language, form and mode of this performance remain entirely confused. Within the first twelve minutes of this performance, we have already been introduced to all four of these forms that will recur and interchange regularly throughout the performance's entirety, and the result is, naturally and obviously, exhausting. The style is simply far too chaotic and leaves very little time for an audience to breathe and digest the material at hand. Already in this performance, too, within these first twelve minutes, we have been introduced to completely disparate, disjointed and unfinalised pieces of information. This manner of presentation is not limited to just the beginning of this performance, though; an eclectic overload of seemingly irrelevant and unrelated information persists throughout the entire performance. First, there is the inclusion of Greek gods and goddesses, mythological creatures, etc. But, we are also in America, as connoted by the inclusion of the national anthem, 'O Say Can You See', and archetypal characters such as the valley girl and the [actually, rather offensive] extravagant female hillbilly obsessed with home delights; references to 4th July; and Angeni's bizarre and meaningless [at least, superficially] impression of Donald Trump when voiceovering Posiedon. Furthermore, Nobody is an immigrant who has now been denied citizenship and has no right to remain, and she is also a reject actress; a daughter to a disembodied, demonic voice; and a strong female [feminist?] fat-shamed by whomever she meets. Finally, following on from this latter note, there are also the odd theme of and subtle fixation on sex/gender and sexism, which, I should note, have no real profundity or significance in this text at all; for example, Posedion states that getting your feelings hurt is "a woman thing", or, when Nobody is introduced to Homer, she exclaims, "Homer? That's a man's name, you have a woman's voice." This is a lot to attempt to squeeze into a performance of only one hour's duration, and to do this effectively and coherently takes skill, articulacy and excellent organisation…things this dramatic text does not bear. Of course, we could relate Nobody's deportation and quest to find home to Trumpian cultural exclusivity and immigration politics, and so this, at least, explains why we find immigration and America in the same context, but this is simply too far a stretch and too big an effort for an audience to consider –– and this is without mentioning that this is only an inference; it is not actually clear at all as to why all of these items coexist within this text. The text needs colossal work insofar as editing is concerned. Simplicity is key! If an element is not necessary, and if its inclusion is in any way negotiable, it is ineffective and must thus be deleted. I have established that the content itself in this performance is confounding and chaotic, but what of its presentation? Nobody is someone who, as her alias implies, does not know where she comes from, what her name is, her purpose, etc. This play presents her journey of self-discovery as she journeys back home to Ithaca, a home to which she has been deported. So, at the end of the journey, what do we learn? Well…nothing. In fact, Nobody does not even manage to physically reach home, which rather compromises the entire trajectory we have been following all the while we have been watching. When Nobody does remember things about her previous life, the act of remembering is…weak. For instance, when Nobody remembers that she once had a lover –– yet another item I would delete entirely from this text, given that he features so minutely and has such little effect on the plot, and given the confusing, recurrent and semi-feminist "I don't need a man, but I want one" narrative –– one would expect this to be quite a significant event, but this is simply overlooked in the narrative, and the lover's existence is simply passed off nonchalantly as an unimportant and negligible piece of information. This is a common issue in this text. When new information is presented, it is done so effortlessly as though the introduction is inconsequential and to have been expected. For example, Homer introduces himself to Nobody and soon states, for the first time, "This is not what I expected [you to be like]", to which Nobody replies, "You keep saying that", and the audience is just to accept that this makes sense and is in keeping with what we have witnessed thus far. It is not. Nobody later continues, "You're tearing me down. I'm always wrong, always less than expected." The language here implies that the two have known each other for a long period of time, which is not the case. This lack of logical progression and chronology is further intensified by Angeni’s performance of the poem that I shall title 'The Cave of the Cyclops'. Somehow, Nobody now remembers her entire origins and history in order to translate this into poetic verse? She also says to Homer, "I don't like asking for anything, much less help, and if you know me, then you know that." So…now Nobody has a clear sense of her personality and identity? How?! With no recognition from Nobody of her sudden ability to remember her entire life, it is easy to feel cheated watching this performance — if we were ever permitted time to invest in it to begin with. More on this poem. There are several of them, and I shall start by saying that the poems themselves are actually very well written, with the strength of the poetry getting greater and greater as the play goes on. In fact, ‘The Cave of the Cyclops’ provides readers with excellent and distinct imagery and wonderful articulacy and expression. However, in the context of this performance, not only are they ill-introduced, as mentioned above, but they are incredibly stylistically inconsistent with the rest of the text. Soon, the poems come to render the performance rather bipartite: a poem and then a duologue, then a poem, etc. They are then further dampened by the accompanying physical movement being so repetitive, and limited only to the arms and upper body. Angeni’s delivery of the spoken word-esque verses is, overall, tonally repetitious, and she also needs to focus better on her breathing; she is incredibly breathy. Overall, Angeni's delivery is simply…terrible, unfortunately. She gives no thought to pacing, intonation or intention, and this is evident right from the beginning, where lines are simply reeled off, all with the exact same tone. When Nobody is first, what I shall call, for lack of a better word, abducted, Angeni's monotonal, uninvigorated and unconvincing delivery is further exposed, especially in her delivery of lines such as: "Can you hear that? Hello?", "What the fuck? Who are you?”, “Erm, no, you're not [my father]. You can't be", and "Get out of my head. You're horrible." For the most part, however, I must admit that characters are well defined, but only through voice and specific gestural/physical movement, not through any profound characterisation or transformativity. There needs a better distinction between characters at the moment she is to transform from one to another. All elements considered, this performance is very weak and has yet to find its identity and a clear, coherent voice. Its material demands far too much ignorance from its audience in regard to its lack of vigour and intelligible progression. And this is without considering all of the errors and inconsistencies that compromise the credibility of the text –– for example, Angeni’s constant mispronunciation of ‘Aeaea’, or how Poseidon curses Nobody to endure troubles on her journey home by herself, alone, yet she journeys home together with Homer, from whom she is “inseparable”, and an ever-present, spying Calypso. I would recommend limiting the chaos present throughout so that it increases over the performance's duration, especially so that Poseidon's curse and stipulations, which are fundamental to the plot, are communicated well and clearly and not lost amongst nonsensical utterances of 'pumpkin pie' and fat-shaming. This would also give the audience appropriate time to settle into the narrative. I will end on a positive note, however. Supplementary technical elements in this performance –– music, sound and lighting ––– were very well designed. Compositions were adequately dramatic, and sound, for the most part, was clear and appropriately utilised, particularly efficacious when considering the effects applied to the voiceovers of the more eerie and particularised characters, such as the sirens. Lighting was well managed, if a little too harsh in some scenes; costume was a good, if rather basic, decision; and the prop of the bow and arrow was most impressive and eye-catching. Unfortunately, though, these elements could not together salvage my critical or personal engagement. “A weak and shambolic performance, devoid of voice, meaning and logic.”

Encompass Productions's twelfth year of Bare Essentials, a night showcasing the works of new playwrights from across the globe, takes place this year in its new home, The Arts Studio in Leicester Square, London. This year, Bare Essentials presents its audience with six plays: 'Should've Gone to Lourdes', 'Monstrification of Eastern Europe', 'Town Meeting', 'Chekhov's Gun', 'Roommates', and 'Generation Disconnect and Other Love Stories'. After providing a short introductory review of the overall night, this post will review and rate each of the six plays individually. In this review: Summary: Bare Essentials 'Should've Gone to Lourdes' 'Monstrification of Eastern Europe' 'Town Meeting' 'Chekhov's Gun' 'Roommates' 'Generation Disconnect and Other Love Stories' Bare Essentials Host: Liam Fleming. Producers: Jonathan Woodhouse, Róisín Walsh and Liam Fleming. This was a diverse, entertaining and lighthearted night, showcasing a wide range of writing and performing styles from talented theatremakers. The pantomimic and engaging hosting by Liam Fleming combined the plays well, creating a jolly and interactive atmosphere. Although, perhaps his nerves were a little too visible, as pacing back and forth became quite distracting. Nevertheless, his energy was flawless. One thing I would like to draw attention to, however, is the objectives of Bare Essentials. At the beginning of the night, it was highlighted that directors and performers are handed over scripts for which they have limited time to rehearse and produce the action. As such, the focus is drawn to the performers themselves and away from fancy theatricals (i.e. we see how theatre can be made and enjoyed using only the "bare essentials"). I found that this aim, whilst its hypothesis is objectively true, was flawed. Wheelchairs, costumes, props all count as extraneous theatrical elements, and I feel it would have been interesting to really work on this concept of "bare essentials" and use the audience's imagination: a character who is a wheelchair user, performed without a wheelchair - what effect would that have? These explorative outcomes could have made for interesting theatre. However, as the claims were not strictly kept to, I couldn't help but feel they were unnecessary, or simply unconfident excuses. I also couldn't help but feel that the material created was somewhat self-uninformed, particularly in the case of 'Town Meeting'. Fleming's reaction to it caused it to seem somewhat out-of-place or unexpected - but not in a way that complemented its style. As for the inclusion of the audience, the Twitter competition was very clever, providing room for personal in-jokes and an intimate ambience. However, the final reading of the tweets felt somewhat out of place with the rest of the show. Whilst recognising the audience's input was a nice idea, I felt it would have been better to stick with just the winner and to give spectators something to peruse alone after the show. As for the layout of the audience, I found this very problematic. The heterogeneous array of chairs, stools and sofas, whilst a cute idea, provided varying height levels and hence minimised the stage's visibility. I would have suggested a more rounded seating area. “A rousing night of talent and diversity but somewhat misdirected.” 'Should've Gone to Lourdes' by Stephen Kennedy Director: Kayla Feldman. Cast: Edward Bell (as Chris) and Eddie Usher (as Brian). The writing of this short play was comical and realistic. Its pacey and mysterious reveal of the location of the characters was effective, and the leakage of other narrative elements (such as backstory, allusion to other characters, etc.) was intriguing. Energy was seldom permitted to fall; however, I felt that the long silence as Chris leaves to converse with the prostitute was much too lengthy. This would have been more apt in a longer play, but for such a short one, this caused the momentum to become a little lost. An exceptional performance from Usher who emoted the character of Brian well; unfortunately, I felt that Bell's characterisation was somewhat wooden in places, and this took away somewhat from the piece. Nevertheless, the two together fitted well and served as a humorous duo. The two seemed to understand their characters well, and a clear relationship between the two was effectively encapsulated. “A comical and endearing piece of theatre, despite conflicts with pace.” 'Monstrification of Eastern Europe' by Nina Wieda Director: Justin Murray. Cast: Rimca Karmakar (as Natasha), Ramzi DeHani (as Viktor) and Mark Keegan (as Serguei). This performance started with a crescendoing soundscape of modern-day news reports. Whilst this was a typical way of introducing political content in a performance, it did set up the rest of the action quickly and well. The singsongy self-preparation from Natasha that then followed was a nice metatheatrical hint to the fact that she was about to perform. However, Natasha's character was very inaccessible. Karmakar realised her in a very robotic, emotionless and dazed way, and whilst I understood this to be a homage to the mechanical nature of the press, when bits of her personal feelings towards her reports began to surface, the effect was less poignant than it could have been. The physical movement aspect of Natasha's scenes were very unpolished and literal, making for an awkward watch. Whilst the idea of having Natasha at the heart of the news story she was presenting was an interesting one, it was taken too literally. The repetition of and themes of corruption within her scenes, however, I found most effective, and this was intensified at the end with the gas mask being removed and placed on Natasha's face. Moreover, the use of the gas mask and bike helmet worn by DeHani and Keegan poignantly alluded to war and modernity. Effective. I found this performance to be very textured, which was effectual. The performance style of Natasha's scenes vs those of Viktor and Serguei juxtaposed each other nicely and was successful in providing varying viewpoints on the same story, marking well the ubiquity and unreliability of the news industry. However, towards the end of the piece, this became somewhat bipartite and monotonous. DeHani and Keegan's characterisations, however, made these scenes flourish in a comical absurdity. “A lot of potential can be drawn from this performance, but development is needed.” 'Town Meeting' by Toby Parker Rees Director: Sam Dunstan. Cast: Josh Morter (as the Bandleader) and James Unsworth (as the One-Man Band). This piece was endearingly convoluted, chaotic and ludicrous. It tackled the very notion of plot in an original and almost melodramatic way. However, there was perhaps a bit too much confusion taking place, especially for such a short duration. It needed something to tie it all together so that the audience could engage with the material. Perhaps this thing was what was intended by "the tragedy", but because this was made cryptic and left unexplained, its potential to be a concrete platform to secure the audience's understanding of the chaos of the piece was flawed. It was unclear what time period this was set in: costumes were periodic, and yet the characters spoke modernly, referring to parts of modern everyday culture, as with the One Direction lunchbox. This would perhaps have been workable if that necessary grounding motif was left for the audience to be able to comprehend the world of the play. The interaction between Morter and the audience was good, immediately marking this performance as an immersive and loud one, and the pantomimic relationship between the two characters was comical and endearing. There were many moments, however, when Morter came out of character, and this severely disrupted the otherwise alluring mayhem. One thing this piece did certainly demonstrate is the difficulties one can run into when enabling audience participation, as, on the night I watched this performance, a spectator was invited to the stage and refused to leave. Whilst Morter clearly understood the piece well enough to be able to improvise his way out of awkward situations, moments like these - which are almost bound to happen - should be noted in rehearsals, for it was clear Morter did not know what to do. “Endearingly chaotic but missing a layer to thread the havoc together.” 'Chekhov's Gun' by Ben Beck Director: Liam Fleming. Cast: Duncan Mason. This piece victoriously manipulates the psychology of its spectators. The recurring motif of a pink elephant was an efficacious way to control spectators' imaginations, and the constant predictions of spectators' thoughts, and claims that someone in the room will die, were bold and fruitful. What was perhaps the most successful element of this piece, however, was the ominous skulking from Mason. Mason wandered on stage during the interval only to have attention drawn to him after a sudden blackout. This was then followed by moments such as the revealing of the gun, and Mason weaving through the audience. This constant movement and remaining eye contact served as a powerful omen. The only largely negative thing about this performance was the ending: Mason is dragged away by the host of the show, Liam Fleming. Whilst this was a clever idea, the execution was terrible. The shouting/kicking/screaming from Mason was over-exaggerated and wooden, and the whole drag-out was very tacky and awkward to watch. I felt that a simple blackout, or even having Mason leave the room to finish the job in private, so to speak, would have been much more effective and haunting. Followed by a pathetic gunshot sound effect, the ending was very anticlimactic. However, I will note that the twist of having Mason attempt to shoot himself was smart. “A thought-provoking and ominous piece of theatre.” 'Roommates' by Matthew Fowler Director: Ali Wright. Cast: Rebecca Hutchins (as Molly) and Phoebe Batteson-Brown (as Emily). This was a quirky and humorous piece of theatre. The ambiguity of the twins' location was charming and engaging, taking twists and turns with references to "prison" and the outside world, as examples of many. This ambiguity was even present in the title. The identical costumes (pink hoodies, white trousers and fluffy socks) paired well with flippant dialogue to portray a relationship between the characters. Whilst pauses were sometimes overdone, energy was kept high, and momentum, smooth. Performance was very good from both performers, and the lack of movement made for an intimate, self-contained feel, enhanced by the mother's music playing from outside. “A smart and lovable performance.” 'Generation Disconnect and Other Love Stories' by Kate Christopher Director: Lucy Foster. Cast: Andrew Gichigi, Roann McLoskey and Alexander Pankhurst. This piece gave an interesting and stylised angle on the concept of love. The whooshing sound effects between scenes gave the piece structure and coherence as well as being reminiscent of the scene transitions of a TV show or something of that calibre (i.e. they gave the piece movement and prepared the audience for a different scene with every sound). Characterisation was OK from Gichigi and Pankhurst and good from McLoskey; however, I would have preferred this play to have pulled more upon the notion of performers as opposed to actors. That is to say, I felt that the recurrent characters of Peter and a birdwatcher, amongst others, weakened the focal point of the piece. In contrast, the stylised scene in which characters expressed emotions through the use of terms commonly found on social media (e.g. "Follow me", "Like me"), although somewhat unoriginal, was effective, and more moments like these, as opposed to naturalistic dialogues, would have served the focal point better. Some physical movements were superfluous but, on the whole, fitted the style of the piece well. “An interesting starting point for an interrogative piece of theatre.” Photography Credit: Encompass Productions.

The full title of this play is: Captain Flinn and the Pirate Dinosaurs: The Magic Cutlass This was definitely a weak performance, from both a conceptual and executional standpoint. Whilst certain visuals and ambiences created in this musical are powerful and impressive, these remain practically the only elements of interest. With very little presence, beyond that naturally camp and flamboyant air which we immovably associate with drag queens and pantomime dames, Miss Pie (Mark Middleton) is the first character to be presented to the audience, leaving the stage and wandering around the tent to greet and mingle. Whilst Middleton definitely retains a certain degree of wit, with his quick-fire and readied responses to children’s statements and questions such as “You’re a boy!” or “Why are you wearing a wig?!”, it is energy, vitality and specificity of character that Middleton distinctly lacks here. Despite his heightened voice, not demanding a particular amount of effort or thought, there are few idiosyncrasies that particularise and define this character for us. This all worsens when Miss Pie is called back to the stage to begin introducing the play. A mixture of fallible writing and lacklustre characterisation, this introduction is flavourless, humourless and cricket-inciting, engendering no audible laughter from the audience on the afternoon I attended this performance. This lack of enjoyability is later accentuated by the absence of successful transformativity between characters, an issue not unique to Middleton but particular to the entire cast…more on that later. The character of Miss Pie conjures a very particular style of theatre that is not congruous with the rest of the material of this performance whatsoever. It feels as though theatre company Les Petits took inspiration from stock characters –– indeed, from arts such as pantomime or drag –– and imagined that this would be a sure-fire way to invoke joy in young audience members, but this does not consider this character’s significance, relation and coherency [or, rather, lack thereof]. In fact, I think the entire narrative of a primary school production should be omitted completely. It adds absolutely nothing to the text and only complicates our reading of the two worlds, these being ‘real’ world in which Miss Pie resides and the world of the dinosaurs. It is not made clear as to what relationship these worlds bear to one another or what is real and what is not, and this is too complex a layer to add on last minute, with Miss Pie attempting to cover up her pupils’ disappearance. I say that Miss Pie is the first character to be presented to the audience, but Middleton is not the first performer. Throughout the performance’s highly conspicuous setup — I fail to understand why this was not already set up before the audience enter… — performers are clearly visible from either side of the thrust stage. In fact, the entire backstage area is on show, and this seems to be deliberate or, at least, unapologetic, given the set design (Zoe Squire). This is an issue that persists throughout the entire performance, utterly obliterating illusion, especially in scenes using shadow theatre, the [in]efficacy of which I shall detail shortly. How effects are achieved is exposed, dampening them considerably, and visible costume changes lessen the believability of characters. On the subject of performers, characterisations were harshly similar, with the only real variations being within lines or in the characters’ statuses and relationships within the world of the play. As mentioned before, there was very little transformativity amongst the cast, with Stephan Boyce being [not strong but] the strongest in this respect, and this especially became a problem when multi-roling occurred. The different performers’ takes on the characters were utterly dissimilar, and actors were unable to portray their exactitudes, a good example of this being Middleton’s vs Boyce’s interpretation of the brachiosaurus. Diction was also a massive problem across the cast, particularly during songs, though this was not so much an issue for Ellie Pawsey. For the most part, it was a struggle to understand any of the lyrics. The performers’ use of space was also questionable. In fact, overall topography was incredibly poor and ill-conceived. Not only was the naturally slightly less visible material, such as the use of small puppets or shadow puppets, performed too far Upstage or too far Downstage, further complicating visibility, but delivery remained imbalanced to one side in particular, Stage Left. It was rare to have any action, if not fleeting or ill-weighted, delivered to the audience Stage Right. This includes both musical numbers and action during dialogue, audience address or asides. On a more positive note, however, I will say that performers did possess relentless energy and vitality, even Middleton when not performing as Miss Pie. In this way, it is not necessarily the capabilities of the performers themselves that I have an issue with but with direction (Hal Chambers) and, more intrinsically, with the writing of their characters. The text for this performance is especially fruitless, both unfunny and unrewarding. It is dull, repetitive and relies far too much on puns, heavily overusing them. This is particularly erroneous given that puns should, indeed, be intended for a maturer audience, given that the appropriate and here necessary ability of abstract thinking does not develop amongst young people until the age of eleven at the very earliest. These puns are hence highly unfruitful from their very concept onwards. It is clear that the text is desperately attempting to be comedic, yet jokes and gags just fall flat consistently. The same type and style of material is used over and over again, and this often has an effect on the intrigue as far as structure is considered, especially when the dinosaurs’ entrance is imminent. When the dinosaurs are due to enter stage, lighting states (lighting by Matt Leventhall) change drastically; crescendoing, dramatic music (composed by Jack Graham Thomas) plays; and the sound (also designed by Graham Thomas) of dino-stomping echoes around us. These moments, ironically, are extremely impressive and show great artistic promise, but they do become rather overused, as this occurs thrice. It is also a shame that the lead-up here is greater than what we are finally presented. This is never ideal. That being said, the T-Rex’s costume (costumes designed by Zoe Squire) is rather sublime. A humongous presence on stage, this costume is particularly mesmerising. However, as previously mentioned, lack of backstage concealment meant that costume changes were highly visible, and so any favouritism towards this character would be immediately thwarted in the direct and concretised knowledge that this is really just a performer under a piece of cloth. On top of this, as though illusion could not be broken any further, there was a gaping hole in the back of the costume, exposing Middleton’s legs. Overall, there was very little effort to conceal human physicalities beyond this example, the most irritating case being the animation of the brachiosaurus. Ventriloquism, or a certain physicality that presents the puppets as significant focal points, is best with puppets like these; otherwise, it is quite distinctly a puppet head controlled by a talking human. This was emphasised in this performance by the sheer lack of movement from the brachiosaurus puppet beyond its mouth, meaning that most movement actually came from actors — though this was more the case for Middleton’s animation. Children are not as easily fooled as one may desire to think, and this is highly worth noting for this musical. It seems, however, that this lack of care towards exposing the puppeteer behind the puppet is somewhat deliberate, with Pawsey, when portraying Pearl, states that she and her triceratops character have never seen each other “face-to-face” before, a metatheatrical joke considering that Pawsey has been playing the role of the triceratops up to this point. This metatheatre is most uncalled for and unseemly. All in all, costumes and puppet pieces ranged in quality, from this rather cogent giant T-Rex costume to the strap-on wings to represent a pterodactyl. There was a lack of colour and overall visual intrigue in these puppets, and the lighting and set did not complement this at all, I must admit. On the note of set and tech, I shall now return to the shadow box at the back of the stage. Used both as such and as a screen for projections, this is a dynamic item by nature, yet this was not at all used to its full potential. Firstly, there is the problem of the size and placement of the box. Placed far Upstage, the box is relatively difficult to see, particularly when smaller items are presented upon it. Then, the shadow puppetry was rather mediocre. The introduction of the pirate dinosaurs, with just a rigid claw cast onto the screen, was pitiful, and, as I wrote above, how any shadows were cast was revealed in the lack of backstage concealment — a problem by which it must now [hopefully] be obvious that I am particularly irked. However, the diving shadow sequence is absolutely divine. This is a very mesmerising — if a rather tiny and short-lived — display and demonstrates imagination, dynamism and comedy. The sea-life puppets that follow are just as magical. I am just irked once more by the topography puppeteers follow, with a once-again imbalanced stage and with human physicality being far too exposed, most notably with the hermit crab. Projections, though irritatingly simplistic, were just about sufficient for this performance, however. A final note on music. If somewhat unoriginal in terms of overall sound, music was the most impressive feature of this performance. It was very well composed and sufficient in suspense and drama. Lyrics were more doubtable and repetitive, however, and not in a necessarily catchy way, but these nevertheless retained the vitality of the music and complemented theme. Overall, this is a highly unbefitting performance. Besides some impressive sensory elements, those which solely increase my rating, there is very little to take away from this performance. The design of props, of music and lighting, those features which extend from and complement the dramatic text itself, are those that render this performance watchable and somewhat enjoyable, but there is very little quality and intrigue to be had in this performance. Sitting on the furthest row with a good sight of plenty of child audience members, I can bravely say that I did not see a single smile or laugh from a single child. In fact, one child even stated that they were bored, and another that they had “no idea what’s going on”. “A performance professing to do a lot and verily doing incredibly little.” Photography Credit: Gail Harland.