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Produced by The Very Top Secret Dance Company and Directed by Alfred Taylor-Gaunt, Derrière on a G-String is a wonderful production charged, rather literally, with cheeky comedy and naughty melodrama. It is an absolute delight to watch and definitely leaves one wanting more. The first act, I must say, is superior to the first and is excellent in setting up both mood and structure. All performers carry confidence, energy, poise and articulacy in both their movements and caricaturistic personae. Their synchronicity is just as favourable, from tap dancing and ensemble dances to the feet-shuffling in ‘Left Bank Number Two’. These are not well classically trained dancers, that is sure, but with their devious and endearing spirits, and with mistakes seldom arising in their performance, these dancers are enough to utterly woo any audience. From expression to physicality, from dance ability to nudist courage, these performances are an utter treat. One very peculiar yet indicative and charming oddity of this performance is the use of gibberish in lieu of language. Having the performers communicate in this surreal way makes for a unified and coherent style and casts the audience into a completely different world of absurd comedy where one finds oneself observing eccentric and otherworldly figures in what one might call their natural habitat. This is a very illusive, transportive and powerful characteristic of this performance. And this is why I was so disappointed to see cast members, most notably Sammy Moore, remaining on stage during the interval and conferring with audience members, whom I presume to be friends. This is highly unprofessional in theatre, as it utterly destroys illusion. What is more, some cast members then stayed to clean up the stage with the [very capable alone] stagehands. Again, the illusion's broken, but this is a job that should be left for those so delegated. After the interval, I felt that Moore’s subsequent personae became rather unanimously and immovably cocky, and his stage time seemed to overbear the rest of the ensemble. I felt that further glimpses into the lives of other performer's personae would have been beneficial, although, given the conclusion of the performance — wherein all the action we have seen features in one, all-inclusive nightmare of Moore’s final persona — perhaps this increased focus was intentional. Given the disjointed, episodic and nonlinear nature of this performance, however, if this was the case, it is highly unnecessary. In fact, I was rather disappointed by the second act altogether, and this was mainly due to pacing. I would personally have swapped some of the shorter scenes of Act I for the longer ones in Act II, just to juggle the pacing and scene durations better. I also felt that the choreography became much weaker, too. Besides movements generated from the narrative, choreography (Alfred Taylor-Gaunt) became repetitive and somewhat lacklustre. There definitely could have been more imaginativeness in its conception. This repetitiveness extended that feeling of lack of pace, diluting the second act further, for me. That being said, choreography was followed very well by the performers. They moved — technicalities of classical dance obviously aside, as well intended, I should hope — fluidly and decisively. One other, rather important issue I would raise for this performance is its topography. Being that the stage is very wide and that the set pushes the action downstage, it is often the case when actors are standing far Downstage Left or Downstage Right that action is missed by audience members on the opposing end. This could be solved either by moving scenes that depend on these placements further upstage or by making sure that performers’ backs are never to the audience. For realism, this would not be an issue, but for such a performance that utterly depends on the visual, it is crucial that all action can be seen at all times and by all audience members. On a technical note, music (sound designed by Thomas Cheeseman) complemented this performance very well, though I would urge the technicians to instal speakers at the back of the house. Whilst I am aware this might be more of a venue-related issue, the lack of surround sound made for a rather insular soundscape, limited to the remits of the stage. I would also note that music came in rather early in the social faux pas sequences. Lighting (designed by Andrew Ellis), if approaching excessive at some stages, was equally as complementary. Keeping the overall lighting state relatively the same was a good way to not only make for coherency in style but to not distract audience focus. Set (designed by Libby Todd and constructed by Set Blue Scenery) was astonishingly dynamic, demonstrating endless and countless uses and adding to the surreality of this world, with its [positive] blatant ignorance of natural and physical form and space. Costumes were wonderfully elaborate and aided scenes to be quick and transportive in their humour. Becoming more and more ridiculous towards the end of the play, with the gigantic swan suit and the huge burglar fat-suits, was an excellent and well-conceived decision. I found myself to be rather disappointed by certain props, however. Being so elaborate throughout, and even pedantic in their lack of branding (condiments, newspapers, etc.), I found it difficult to understand why some props were so lacklustre and underdeveloped, such as the clipboard of papers to sign for the duck charity in ‘March of the Charity Muggers' or the newspapers in ‘Left Bank Number Two’ i.e. a folded wad of paper with sellotape across its middle. Props and pieces that drew attention to their artificiality, such as the Queen's (Ruth Emily Plaxton) pristine plastic wig and crown or the floppy rubber baguette, were acceptable, stylistically accurate and highly amusing, but these unbecoming and seemingly unfinished props were not so favourable. I should also note that for Alex Murray’s persona’s ejaculation at the end of ‘Morning Wood’, Murray should angle himself just that little bit more away from the door, as the tube he used was visible as a disconnected non-bodily part in his silhouette upon the door. I draw attention to all of this because the world we are presented is so microcosmic and particular, seemly and intricate, that these little irregularities and imperfections make for slight but distracting disturbances that cause the mind to have to stretch its imagination that little bit further to comply with theatre’s demands, making for a slightly more laborious experience. Overall, this is an utterly ridiculous production, in the best way possible. It takes the mundane and the everyday and metamorphoses them into a night of surreal adventure of endearment and fun. The recurring motifs, sequences and characters make for a great sense of consistency and style, and this performance is very good at finding a safe and balanced ground for the use of repetition. “A splendid and joy-filling performance of the comedic and the taboo.”

This review considers the performance of The Border at Theatre Peckham. The play, written by Afsaneh Gray and directed by Natalie Wilson, remains on tour across the UK until 6th November. I have many mixed feelings about this play. Clearly influenced by an array of modern politics affecting a large body of countries at the moment, this play struggles, in my opinion, to juggle its inspirations against its content. It has a huge issue with style and with the coherency of its subject matter but also with its manner of dealing with its own significance extending beyond the stage. For this review, I will consider what issues in current politics this play is actually addressing and then how these issues [mis]inform style, content and, above all, rather ineffective objectives. This play imagines the division (East and West) of a fictional setting, Oolia, through the construction of a fence i.e. the border. Inspired rather literally, I should imagine, from the Trumpian wall, this acts as a touchstone, of course, to a far greater politics concerning immigrants and immigration laws. The theme of foreignness thus becomes crucial to this play's progression — its very setting, Oolia, evoking some faraway, foreign country with its made-up, non-English name — and this signals a large focus on the relationship between migrants and non-migrants. This relationship is represented rather bluntly in the dramatic text, evoking the clichéd image of illegal migrants entering countries underhandedly, stealing jobs and assets and trading in underground markets. This, at least, is the image evoked by the characters of Julia's (Jazmine Wilkinson) family and the mayor (Rujenne Green). Despite the play ending with a rather positive outlook on the possibility of harmonising migrant/non-migrant relationships, the direct manner in which migrants are represented in this play, preempted by this evoked image, is quite inappropriate. The opinions of the characters on migrants, taken as fact by little Julia — and hence by the audience, being that she is our guide through the text — are proven to be true when the Migrant (Matt Littleson) takes advantage of Julia’s kindness, takes her grandmother's fruits and is then seen working alongside the Smuggler (Lucie Capel) in the black market trade. This is inappropriate, for this play consistently confirms that migrants are, indeed, multifaceted, conniving and unscrupulous in rather extreme ways, such as killing innocent stolen dogs, which I shall detail later. And to prove his worth, the Migrant must undo all he has done and prove his decency by returning Stranger (Green) to Julia. But even this is not done wholeheartedly, as he remains ever-elusive and unconvinced if he should do “the right thing”. Oh, and what a charming name the Smuggler is, too… Then there is the use of accents. All multi-roling actors assumed various cultural profiles for their rather caricaturistic characters which, one can only assume, are most definitely not in line with their own. When placed alongside a direct discourse on migrants, this is most problematic. It comes across as mocking and, quite frankly, racist, particularly when such strong, negative images are evoked of migrants and then the migrants are represented specifically as Scottish or Russian, for example, as was the case in this play. I would urge director Natalie Wilson to be more careful about the sociopolitical suggestions beyond the world of the performance, though there is a slight chance that this is an editorial issue. This rather bleak and dilute discourse on migration is not the original direction of the play, however. The audience is first presented with a group of dogs who perform a musical number before revealing that Oolia was once a sort of land of the free before humans arrived. Dogs being a particularly territorial animal, one would think this is a good throughway to immigration politics and the relationship between humans and space, but what happens, instead, is that another form of politics is offered, one which concerns the Anthropocene and the frictional relationship between humans and nature. Also generated, less politically, is an unwanted sense of the pre-apocalyptic which has nothing to do with this performance. Right through to the very end of the play when the dogs sing yet another musical number, with a message that reads closely to "home is where the heart is, and my heart is here", we do not see a dog again at all but once: when it is revealed that the Migrant has given Stranger to the Smuggler. The dog characters we see at the beginning completely disappear, and with it, the pre-apocalyptic politics of the Anthropocene, and this renders the entire opening and ending disjointed, insignificant and hence unnecessary. Straight after the first scene, the dogs become both over-sentimentalised objects and a symbol of possession theft, chased and adored by Oolians far and wide and stolen and butchered by thieving migrants. And what better way to convey the evil and spite of the migrants by having them steal cute little puppy dogs. This use makes far more sense within the context of this play, but I find it incredibly bizarre that the dogs are used in this initial, singsongy way. I have no idea why an utterly unrelated, cutesy musical number by dogs features in this performance at all. These are endearing and poignant as self-contained scenes, yes, but it has such little bearing in this performance, if any at all, and I would not have included it, myself. We see here the emergence of a vast friction between content and style. This is something that this performance struggles with incessantly, and I believe this is due to a misguided interest in Epic theatre. There are clearly a lot of Brechtian influences at work in this performance (character titles: the Mayor, the Smuggler, the Migrant; gestus; announced scene titles; and, most majorly, direct audience address and opening the play up to audience dialogue). However, whilst these features of Epic theatre are used, this is primarily a dramatic piece of theatre, not an Epic one. Prerecorded music, a puppet sequence, inhuman characters (viz. ghostly figures of Julia’s family or social media posters, dogs), needless gags and comedy that do not progress plot, insignificant props, these are all components of dramatic theatre, a mode of theatre which the Epic directly subverts and contradicts. It is erroneous to put these two together for any reason whatsoever. I am sure that this production wanted to be enlightening and challenging, especially having opened the floor up to public debate on the importance/meaning of voting, which I shall return to later, yet this was definitely not the case. A primary example of how this play missed the mark in attempting an Epic “style” is in its use of scene titles. All decisions made in theatre and their potential effects must be cleverly calculated. In Epic theatre, the audience are given titles before each episode which detail the events that are going to happen. This removes any shock, drama and tension, for the audience know which events will transpire already. This means that they can focus on the episode's significance as nothing but a profound moral teaching. This is hence a deep, meaningful technique that aims to realign audience focus towards the subtextual and sociopolitical significance of a play. In this performance, each scene is numbered (again an issue, as chronology is a component of the dramatic linear narrative and not the Epic) and is titled, but the title seems to focus on meaningless things such as Julia sharing her biscuit with the Migrant. In no way, shape or form does this make for distanced, reflective or didactic theatre; instead, it simply makes for an unwanted quirky and texturised narrative style. Epic theatre should not be used thusly for entertainment or intrigue, for if it is, the effects can only be disappointing, half-hearted and unrefined. The most proper use of Epic theatre in this play is when the floor is opened to the audience to discuss their opinions on voting. However, despite this usage being somewhat in line with proper Epic techniques, the outcome is extremely lacklustre and unfruitful. This is because yet another strand of politics is deliberated: voting politics. Who should vote? Why should we vote? Is voting important? How do we vote? These are but a few enquiries this sequence makes. I found this jump to be rather out-of-place structurally and felt that voting was the least important element of this play to open up to the audience. Having had so much energy, drive and focus in this play directed to the social roles, statuses and perceptions of migrants, I find it difficult to understand why so much significance was placed onto voting, something that was only just introduced and that was over and done with in the very next scene. I will note here that it is also important that when the audience is allowed to participate or speak their minds that they do so with the illusion of power and freedom and that performers retain the true agency and control of the space. With the performance overrunning and, more importantly, with the utterly unconstructive and impertinent direction this open floor went in, it is clear that performers had very little management of this sequence, clearly unprepared for answers in their inability to expand on them educationally. In fact, when one audience member stated that the older generation "are just going to die soon, so they should just shut up", I was surprised to see the cast laughing and not challenging or stifling such vile and intolerable ageist statements. What ensued – a whirlwind of spiteful, ageist voices belittling the older generation – felt unbelievably, wildly unrelatable to a performance about happy dogs and thieving migrants, whatever bland link can be found to join it all together. It was frankly a disturbing and revolting display which performers handled terribly in their clear lack of direction and intention. Deliberations became exclusive and multidirectional, going around and around with little enlightenment and with absolute purposelessness. It is important that questions asked in segments such as this are decisive, specific and lead to a clear greater objective. This performance tends to jump from discourse to discourse, never finalising or concluding its points, never successfully introducing or fulfilling its research. Whilst I can see, very clearly, how all political issues raised in this performance co-exist and combine with one another in the real world, in the world of this performance, they all seem utterly disparate, unwoven and unlinked. They are separate lines of discourse or thought that the performance chases haphazardly, forgetting to carefully guide its audience along with it. On to the more technical notes. First, characterisation. Overall, the multi-roling actors were adequately transformative, having distinctive idiosyncrasies and voices for each of their characters. However, were it not for their accompanying props, I would certainly have been confused from time to time as to what characters actors were portraying. Characterisations did tend to bleed into one another in this way, notably due to voice work, yet a proper implementation of Gestus would have aided this. Noting voice work, I will also say that, despite the faltering vocals (not really an issue, as the lyrics and nature of the numbers were endearing enough alone), diction during songs was very good amongst these performers, amongst the best I’ve seen. There were many areas of this performance that I feel were disappointing because, again, of this Brechtian influence. In regards to Stranger, for example, having such a presence throughout this performance, it is incredibly dissatisfying that Green portrays her as a gruff and hoarse male(?). I would imagine this was to eliminate any emotional impact finally seeing Stranger would have amongst the audience and to destroy the climax that has been building in the constant references to her. If done correctly, however, there would not have been any climax or emotion to eliminate or diffuse in the first place. What is left of this moment is just pure and simple disappointment. Then, there is the inconsistency of Stranger later being represented by the first and only puppet. However cute and, ultimately, cathartic this puppet reunion was, it was utterly incongruous stylistically to the rest of the performance. Music and sound (Ted Barnes) suffered a very similar fate, becoming ignorant of subject matter, moods and potential emotional impact. Examples of this: the music ended far too sharply at the end of Scene 5; at the end of Scene 13, I believe, the music was far too chirpy following the extensive murder of the dogs; and, similarly, the Smuggler scenes were set up as far too comedic with the overdramatic door creaks and accompanying mime, belittling the impact of this said murder by making the Smuggler and Migrant seem endearing. Stylistic issues aside, music was very well composed and sounds were, for the most part, realistic and synchronised with onstage action. Lighting (Neill Brinkworth) was equally effective, if perhaps a little excessive in areas. Props, however, I found to be very confused in their design. Whilst I enjoyed the blunt branding on the cereals, cookies and milk, etc., the mixed use of props and mime, along with childish plastic fruit, made for a confused aesthetic and haphazard realism. The same goes for costume (designed by Alice Hallifax), mostly being rather simplistic yet contrasted greatly with the absurd, huge hats of the Border Guards (Green and Littleson), for example. Finally, set (also designed by Hallifax). Though an odd choice of material and shape, set proved itself to be most dynamic. The constant border upstage made for a poignant and thematic image. Receiving very, very little marks from me in terms of its political potential and appeal, I mark this performance solely in the consideration of its value as a [rather fallible] piece of dramatic theatre. I do this with certainly endearing scenes and moments, along with a high-energy performance from all performers, in mind. “A confused, if endearing, performance that misappropriates too many different modes of theatre in an aim to find its feet.” Photography credit: Jack Barnes.

Written by Jackie Kay and directed by Lynette Linton, Chiaroscuro is a powerful, enlivening and unique performance. It tackles discourse on the place of female homosexuality in society with poignancy and realism, using race and culture as a way to pre-heat its exposure of this issue. Aesthetic decisions (set design by Moi Tran) in this performance are very clear. For the most part, they are minimalist, the action taking place in localised lighting states with very few set pieces, usually just a seat for each performer or one seat shared by two. There is, I must say, a slight disconnect in the visual minimalism offered everywhere else in the performance when considering the rather overwhelming aesthetic offered in the beginning and end scenes.  The beginning scene not only offers two raised platforms for a keyboard and drum kit, and microphones for singing and guitar play, but ground cluttered with floor tacks, pillars decked with mirrors and cables, and a huge chest of props in the centre of it all. There is a lot going on. At first, this is not so demanding visually, but with time, and especially when performers enter the stage to further cramp it, it does become rather untidy. The end scene follows this same principle, but this time, all performers are dressed in vibrant, glittering sequin jackets and Preeya Kalidas (playing Aisha) is venturing out into the audience. It is almost too much. All of this being said, the opening visual does have positives. Creating its very own, real-life chiaroscuro with silhouettes and shadows cast onto the floor by the lighting’s bold blues and pinks (lighting design by Jose Tevar), we are successfully transported to a nightclub, gig or some rehearsal area for live performance. More on that later. When the performers finally enter, however, is when the play really kicks off, immediately defining its own original and potent style. The performers communicate at first openly with the audience and themselves, creating a sense of openness, invigoration and excitement as they prepare their instruments and start to perform. What follows will be a mixture of closed dialogue, asides and spoken word poetry. All of these are melded together fantastically fluidly and are readdressed again and again to develop a sense of mood, texture, rhythm and personality. This performance should stand as a reference point for how different theatrical modes of expression can blend together successfully within a singular performance. Alongside style comes the performance’s method of transitions which are most commendably smooth, fluid and effective. The music (directed by Shiloh Coke), lighting and set changes made for unique transitions which felt effortless and otherworldly. Perhaps this smoothness was not absolutely polished on the night I saw this performance, however; from the performance’s midpoint onwards, performers were just slightly too slow to get to their places or off stage. Whilst the performance style of this play was for the most part very clear, there were still some moments that made for a stylistic disconnect. These moments usually found themselves paired with the representation of Opal’s (Anoushka Lucas) mental struggle – e.g. Opal’s singing is interrupted by a blackout; the rest of the ensemble then enter the stage and walk quickly and aimlessly across the space, mocking her into their microphones; they then surround her, their surreal cacophony greatening until it is broken sharply by reality. This is much too lively and contrasts greatly with the otherwise realistic acting style. It is one of a few rudimentary scenes where it feels as though the director has made the classic error of “theatremaker wants to show tension and climax so makes everything dark, loud and drilling”. Realness is a huge redeeming quality about this performance, which is why moments like that take away from its believability, illusion and momentum. Another likeable effect is had when we notice that the performers are no longer playing their instruments but that this liveness has been replaced by pre-recorded tracks. To see the performers actually playing these instruments, each demonstrating themselves as versatile and talented show-people, is refreshing, endearing and powerful. Unless the backing track repeats the melody that the performers have created, blends in seamlessly and serves as transition music as the performers abandon their instruments and move on to the next scene, backing tracks should be avoided. It felt much too unrefined and tacky to watch the performers mime their instruments. On this note, there were also rather notable moments where vocals were a little too off-kilter. The beginning was weakest for this. The very end was also not as effective as it could have been but this was due to diction. It was rather difficult to understand the performers, and for the ending, especially with one as cathartic and empowering as this, it is crucial that everything be comprehensible. But overall, these performers had very soothing, confident and mellifluous singing voices. Enough said about aesthetic and style, I would like to say a bit more about the writing, particularly its content. This performance is charged – very cleverly and subtly – with politics. As I mentioned in the introduction, the main two politics concerned in this performance are that of race and culture, and female [homo]sexuality. As aforementioned, the discourse on race and culture quickly became a way into that on lesbianism, which is most dissatisfying, as the two were presented as having equal significance and importance in this performance very early on. This performance deals with perceptions and how external, sociocultural perceptions can impact the perception of the self. This focus on the self is represented rather crudely in regards to cultural identity, evoked primarily by Opal’s aversion to mirrors, yet Opal and Beth’s (Shiloh Coke) relationship seems to come to consume the majority of the performance’s material. The discourse on race and culture and related self-perception become secondary to the discourse of sexuality, and, instead, race and culture become a way of critiquing, politicising and moralising female homosexuality and its likability. This is even perfectly symbolised by Yomi (Gloria Onitiri) handing over her black doll to Beth. This doll has a poignancy that extends past the significance it is allowed to have in this performance, and it is disappointing to see it squandered in such a way. I would be very careful as to what content one lays out at the beginning of the play and how one treats this content throughout. It is important that a performance not only exposes political injustices but that it also finalises its themes or reaches some sort of conclusion on them, even if it is a negative and indecisive conclusion which doubts solutions and consequences. Put in other words, everything you lay down in a performance must go somewhere, do something, have some sort of significance, not fade away into the plot. Despite many of the disequilibria or uncertainties that this performance holds, I must say that this is a very energised, unique, heartwarming and cathartic performance. The performers are inviting, endearing and powerful, and the content addressed is current, hard-hitting and poignant. With an original style and engrossing music, this performance is both heart-wrenching and entertaining. It is for these reasons that I rate this performance so highly. “An inclusive and heartwarming performance tackling poignant issues with impressive originality and fervour.”

Jade City is currently playing at the Bunker until 21st September. Brendan Quinn (playing Sas) and Barry Calvert (playing Monty) were excellent in pulling off both the persona and dialect of a typical Belfastian. The casting was definitely successful in choosing the right performers. Their characterisations of Monty and Sas were just as cogent, offering strong and distinct mannerisms, traits and particularities. Whilst the actors did stumble over their lines quite a bit, Quinn and Calvert were still very confident and convincing performers. Whilst the actors’ energies were faultless, they soon run out of steam for me, but this was not due to their capabilities as performers but to the writing (Alice Malseed), i.e. the strength of the plot and the characters themselves. Its structure and material became much too repetitious. I understood that the character’s Game, paired with constant interludes of reminiscence of their youth, was meant to demonstrate that the characters were stuck in their childish mindsets, in a mentality that caused them, particularly Monty, to be blind to the ramifications of their actions and to see themselves as having little responsibility in the real world. However, I felt that there were too many features that communicated this: the real world of the characters is depicted through the eyes of Monty and Sas as they regularly describe the sorts of people in their vicinity; Monty and Sas imitate other characters (e.g. Katie and the Bartender) with rather playful and lowbrow attitudes; they gain knowledge from unintellectual and indirect sources (viz. advice from Judge Judy or from Internet forums); etc. In short, there is little to ground these characters in the real, active world as adults. Whilst all of these produce a sense of coherency, comprehensibility and, above all, theme, and whilst this should, theoretically, be a mark of good writing, it becomes overkill very quickly. We come to understand the characters and the world they live in very early on, so early on that it is soon time to move on to something else. This is why a complication to the mix is necessary, yet the complication in this play, that of the fate of Katie, is a rather extreme leap. Not to mention that Monty is not represented as too sexual an individual until very late into the performance, and so his evildoings seem incongruous in that respect too. I should note here that Jade City promotes itself as an exploration into male mental health, yet I find its extremity to be very counterproductive for this, as the average male does not have sex, rape and murder in his primary consciousness. I will say, however, that the Game is a particularly useful [preliminary] tool for such an investigation, given collective male gaming culture, its prevalence and relationship with dissociation. But this is not enough to contextualise it as a realistic exploration of male mental health, and I feel that this description is quite an overstatement. Extremity aside, there is a huge sense of relatability with this play. Audience members, particularly Belfastians, will immediately identify and relate to its material, and it is clear that this is one of the objectives of the play: to create a fiction based in reality, where characters and events are tangible and founded upon real behaviour and actualities. All of this is achieved mostly, of course, not only by Monty and Sas’s mannerisms and personae but through their persistent reminiscing. This relationship with the audience is successfully evoked in the very opening where Quinn and Calvert appear in the house, as though they are ordinary members of the public who emerge from our very space and become fictitious once on stage. It is then intensified throughout the play with closed dialogue occurring within the constraints of the ring and indirect audience address taking place outside of it. This is a clever use of topography and one which makes the differing modes of the play work. More on the ring later. An issue I have with the beginning, however, but also with various segments of the play, concerns this mode of address. This seems to be a recurrent problem in the theatre I have seen of late, but it is important that the performers know whom to address their lines to –– each other or the audience? This particular dramatic text allows for a more fluid mode of address, some lines, nay scenes, being descriptive and self-reflective rather than progressive or diegetic, and this is a strong and successful feature of this performance. However, this style must be calculated and decisive, and these modes should not leak into one another as they did in the beginning and in other parts of the performance. I should note as well that whilst Quinn reacted clearly to Calvert’s closed lines, the same cannot be said the other way around for Calvert. It must also be decided what the other character is doing whilst the other is delivering his – sometimes rather extensive – lines. This performance made for some very bold and hence very notable aesthetic decisions (designer: Timothy Kelly) which I shall detail now. Though rather literal and unimaginative, in my opinion, the wrestling ring was a good image for this performance, evocative not only of masculinity and its performativity but also of the over-indulgent artificiality of Monty and Sas’s Game and of the dissonance, conflicts and tensions that will surface in their friendship. This latter was specifically accentuated by the two sitting on opposing sides of the ring, bringing their stools together or moving them apart when dis/engaging with one another. At the end, when only Sas remains, it is as though one opponent has won, linking all of this into the satisfaction and ease Sas must conflictingly feel, with the cause of the deterioration of his mental health being somewhat eliminated. The ring also makes for a degree of transportation: the ropes being lifted as though the mattress; the stool giving height to Monty as he pretends to be a seagull; etc. The most unique visual element of this performance, however, was the inclusion of the script itself, the characters’ lines being projected on a high-up screen at the back of the stage. This provides a very interesting layer to the play. It causes the text and the characters to be distanced from one another, making the characters seem as though timeless visual representations of a textual reality, or making them seem more real, that their lives are being recorded, transcribed. In both scenarios, however one wishes to interpret it, a textural, substantial sense of reality is created, and this was a strong point for this performance. But this feature also provides a layer of danger: the audience knows the lines and expects the actor to read them word-for-word, which is always very satisfying and impressive. This was not the case in this performance; not only did Quinn and Calvert miss some lines completely, but they also stumbled over their lines, starting their deliveries over, ad-libbing. This was most distracting and dissatisfying, and this feature should only have remained if the actors were confident they could pull it off. I understand that this feature could also benefit the hard-of-hearing, yet if this was, indeed, intentional, it should be noted that character names should never be omitted, as this can be hard to follow, especially when the projection lags or actors miss lines or when the formatting of the projected text is strange and changing — all being the case in this performance. This is a problem that occurs much too often in theatre for the deaf. I believe it was Quinn and Calvert’s cogent performance that really made this play. The writing, in my view, is more of a work in progress and could do with serious cuts, but it certainly has a tone, texture and rhythm which is most prosperous. I would just have liked to see more variation in the content and more congruity with regards to Kate’s relationship with the story. It is not so much of an issue of how her fate is introduced, as this is done rather effectively in its repeated subtextuality; it is, instead, more of a matter of content: how does childishness, dissociation and immaturity come together with sexual abuse? The links are certainly possible but are inarticulate in this performance which prioritises its relatability to those familiar with Belfastian life. “This play has trouble juggling its extreme and banal content but is successful in creating a texturised, escapist and relatable world.”

Antic Disposition’s Macbeth is a truly captivating and impactful play, and before beginning this review, I would like to commend all actors for their nigh-on perfect Shakespeare acting. Accurate, powerful and just the right amount of emphasis between prosaic and poetic, these actors should stand as a significant reference point for all Shakespeare actors. There were a few moments, of course, where characterisation slipped, and this was particularly the case for the cast in the very opening of the play, which had me rather worried for its potential. Actors, primarily Andrew Hislop (playing Macduff), were very stiff, performing with repetitive gesticulations and monotonal voice. However, this changed significantly as the play went on, and a marvellous progression was made from Hislop, I must say. Fluidity, between one thought, line or gesture to the other, is perhaps the main feature that disrupts the near-perfection for the actors in this performance, yet this is but a minute feature at that. The biggest highlight of all adaptations of Macbeth is by far the witches, and on directors Ben Horslen and John Risebero’s witches, I have quite a lot to say. This adaptation sees these characters (Louise Templeton, Bryony Tebbutt and Robyn Holdaway) as servants, dressed aptly in the uniform of a Tudor maid. This is a very clever way of interpreting them, one which permits them to skulk across all areas of the play, to blend in with the very fabric of the story as it unfolds. It is an interestingly passive representation — as maids are commanded by chores, the witches are commanded by fate — yet the horror of this image comes with the subversive knowledge that the passive are, in fact, the active, channels for the desires of destiny and [mis]fortune. This is intensified in the cauldron scene where an ordinary tin bath and a pile of laundry are used as the materials for the witches’ spells. A most beautiful and inspiring scene. As for characterisation, however, I have mixed feelings. For all primary scenes, the witches are rather reserved, moving very little, speaking rather hushedly, staring towards the audience with a wide and daring gaze. Whilst a little underwhelming at first to see these witches so…motionless, it is a definite characteristic of these particular witches’ allure. In their subtlety and downplayed evil, we expect that there is more bubbling away below the surface than is made out to be. This sense is achieved through a combination of the text, their absurd hand positions and their glares, all under the guise of civility and calm. Yet, this character type becomes problematic and frictional when put beside the cauldron scene. In this scene, the witches are frenzied, wildly stirring, loudly shrieking. It is a complete contrast from the passive and conservative witches they have been up until this point. There is no progression between these two states which would contextualise this change, and hence there is a lack of coherency and continuity. Discontinuity aside, however, in maintaining this glare at the audience and each other, the witches were most chilling. Rehearsals had clearly benefitted them well, not blinking to break this stare at all throughout –– though much less can be said of Robyn Holdaway in this way, unfortunately. As for other characterisations, all actors made for distinct idiosyncrasies, mannerisms and behaviours, though I would have perhaps liked this to have been emphasised more in certain scenes. This is primarily the case for Harry Anton’s characterisation of Macbeth, maintaining a strong-willed, confident persona the whole way through but bearing little particularities in terms of character habitudes and deeper personality –– a significant problem, being the titular character. Death scenes, though somewhat quick and sparing, were well done and, on the whole, realistic. However, it would be better to have the bodies carried off the stage, perhaps by the witches, rather than to see the actor stand immediately and rush off stage which instantaneously destroys the illusion and impact that one has tried so carefully to craft. Perhaps a better blackout would have concealed this, instead. Fighting scenes (directed by Bethan Clark, Rc-Annie Ltd) were actually very good and continued to be engaging despite their recurrence. This performance also manages to conceal just enough murder, gore and drama to be mysterious and intriguing instead of overcooked. A slightly darker colour of fake blood could have aided realism, however. As for music (composed by James Burrows), this was definitely atmospheric and epic, invoking a sense of severity, action and voyage. However, the music for the overture was left to go on for far, far too long before anyone entered the stage. Lighting was adequate, but, as I mentioned earlier, blackouts could have been darker, particularly at the sides of the stage, though I understand that this is also a matter of natural lighting due to the windows of the church. Being a rather long traverse stage, I felt that the lighting was sufficient and impressive in that its intensity allowed it to pervade the stage’s entirety. The appropriate lights were definitely chosen for this performance, despite the offstage overflow. As for topography, directors Horslen and Risebero and all actors demonstrated a very good awareness of space, action being viewable from all angles. The only issue with visibility was perhaps in tighter scenes such as the cauldron scene and some aspects of the fighting scenes. Finally, costume (designed by Hanna Wilkinson). Costume seemed to reference too many time periods, with Macbeth’s leather coat, early 1800s menswear, early 1900s womenswear, and the Tudor maid outfits. Though this made for a lack of realism, the silhouettes fitted sublimely together and felt cohesive. Macbeth’s costume made him seem as though an ordinary member of the working class amongst gentlemen, evocative, especially with his witchy dealings, of a sort of daring Van Helsing. Lady Macbeth (Helen Millar) and Lady Macduff’s (Bryony Tebbutt) costumes, however, ranged from beautiful to terribly frumpy and ill-fitting. Overall, a very confident, powerful and cogent piece of theatre. All actors were convincing, clearly understood their text, and made little to no mistakes. Decisions in this adaptation were bold, impressive, coherent and cohesive. Beaming with vitality, intrigue and visual appeal, this play is a definite must-see. “Captivating, dark, aesthetically pleasing, this play is everything one would hope it to be.”

I should note before starting this review that my views on this performance do not seem to reflect those of the vast majority of the audience members. Having studied a countless array of audiences, though, I do believe this is because of the mode of performance that the play alludes to and the recognisable performativity of mainstream LGBT+ culture, particularly the pervasive and liberating performativity of the letter G. I believe this play set out to achieve a lot more than its execution permitted it to, and the biggest problem with it, as seems to be the biggest problem with a huge amount of theatre at the moment, was its style. In the play’s overture as the audience settle, the three performers, Fizz Waller (playing Mary), Camille Willhem (playing Becky) and Nicholas Marrast-Lewis (playing Felix), are scattered across the stage filling out forms on clipboards, rather mimetically at that; fast-forward to the first scene, and the characters are interacting with one another in closed dialogue about how excited/nervous/indifferent they are about participating in a camp; fast-forward a little more and they’re quizzing the audience on LGBT history; closed dialogue again; asking the audience to vogue... This play seriously needs to address the function of its audience, how performers address them and for what reasons. It would make PERFECT sense for this play to present its audience with problems and conflicts in a mimetic style of theatre, only to interrupt this sporadically, making the mode didactic, instead, to quiz the audience on issues relative to those raised in the scenes they have just watched. This does not have to be a direct “What do you think ___ should have done in this situation?” because if done seriously, that would be drab and taxing, but could be done in a more covert, indirect and, overall, clever manner. Such questions about LGBT+ history could then be relevant to the rest of the performance and its characters, rather than proliferating its own, distinctive, self-contained list. However, these characters would then need a modal readjustment, too, for they would have to be representational rather than simulative. By this, I mean that the loveable but utterly needless aspects of these characters — e.g. Mary’s love affair with a vicar (more on that later) — should give way to a more realistic tension or issue experienced by the community, Mary’s affair being awfully hyperbolic. I do believe this was attempted in early scenes where a [pitifully dull] conflict emerges between Becky and Felix about Becky’s bisexuality. But the content needs to be a lot deeper than this if it is to inspire or be remotely progressive in any way whatsoever. “I’m bisexual. Bisexuality is a thing.” “No, it’s not. You can’t be.” This is a very fruitless discourse that doesn’t seem to take off or go anywhere. This stimulative/representational/didactic triangle is a huge issue for this performance. It is not at all sure of itself. Is it attempting to raise awareness? Or to politicise LGBT+ issues? Is it a way of helping others through their sexuality? Is it simply a realm of escapism to encounter humorous and captivating characters? It would seem as though the performance is attempting to be all of these at once, which would be impossible to successfully achieve unless strategically and intelligently structured in a manner that presents clear problems, resolves them with its audience and then gratifies and rewards them. Perhaps this latter was the intention with presenting its audience with the gay card. There are such little Easter eggs throughout this performance which suggest to me that the play is somewhat heading in the right direction, that its intentions are there, but it needs a serious structural reconfiguration and to completely readdress its mode and style but also its objectives, desires and intentions. I have said that the issues deliberated in this performance are rather fruitless, but I feel this is quite an understatement. Instead, they are extremely vapid in my opinion. This play has an extreme focus on sexuality yet the only sexualities addressed are the neo-traditional: heterosexuality, homosexuality and bisexuality. It confuses me that, with their frequent references to other motions in the LGBT community, such as gender fluidity, that the performers did not address any others — queerness, pansexuality and asexuality being the next most obvious. Yet, the focus was primarily on male homosexuality and female bisexuality. There was very little said about lesbianism, and what was said was disguised under Waller's idiosyncratic, melodramatic and, above all, simulative characterisation type, making it fruitless once again. In fact, women’s sexuality remains highly vague in this performance, as ironic as that is with two-thirds of the cast being female. But then what is a “woman”? Gender and expressions of gender (other than, again, the mainstream — in this case, voguing) are not deliberated at all, either. In fact, atypical gender representations are actually quite disparaging in this play, the message in the quiz scene, in particular, being that dressing up as the opposite sex in history, regardless of sociocultural, economic, status-related, etc. issues, denotes gender fluidity or transsexuality. This is not the case, as wishful for evidence the cast may be. Then there comes the issue of expressions of sexuality, presented somewhat stereotypically in this performance through promiscuity and adultery. This leads me back to Mary’s love affair where the message is that cheating is acceptable and comedic if it is to discover one’s true sexuality. Felix’s promiscuity is slightly counteracted by his hesitancy to act upon his homosexual desires or sexual habitudes, yet this remains another fruitless Easter egg, for it is not addressed as to why this is the case. There is the argument of his seemingly counterintuitive identity as a “top twink”, but this does not justify his hesitancy, only a frustration. I wonder if the cast felt it was not in their capacity or their right to talk about other categories of the LGBT+ community. This is not the case. More voices on the issues of the community can only ultimately benefit it. Besides, this is not about challenging the reality of these individuals but, instead, the existing perceptions of them. Believing that the so-called “majority” or the “average” will not understand limits any likelihood of change, being that it is these very groups that, after having understood, are the only ones who will change anything politically. Didactic modes and politics aside, this is definitely a play of comedic value, and the premise of a gay camp attended to achieve one’s gay card at graduation is a pride-invoking, subversive and endearing premise. However, I feel that most of the play’s energy and likability teetered around the character of Mary. Whilst Becky’s character remained, overall, unchaining and difficult to engage with — due to her vast emotional unavailability — and whilst Felix’s character slowly began to take off towards the latter part of the performance, it was clear that the writer had a certain favouritism which benefitted the character of Mary. Mary was the richest character of the trio, having clear desires and sub-objectives and a clearer backstory and personality, as evidenced by the number of laughs she received vs the others. Her ad-libs were also very humorous and well-tailored to the moments which demanded them (the main door being unintentionally locked, or bold statements from the audience in interactive scenes, etc.). This brings me on to characterisation. Having the strongest character but also multiroling, Waller was definitely the most transformative and energised of the three, and her characterisation was utterly engaging and endearing. However, character changes could have been smoother and less conspicuous. It would have been just as humorous to see her reenter the stage as the teacher, instead. As for Marrast-Lewis and Willhem, their performance was very monotone, though I would say that this was partially due to the writing. When coming out of character for the quizzing/voguing or when Marrast-Lewis pretends to be a teacher and Willhem one of Felix's mothers, there is also extremely little change in character/persona. Whenever the audience is interacted by any of these performers, however, there is a massive tendency with all of them to come out of character. This disrupts not only the momentum of the play and its text but provides it with a different and (creatively speaking) self-unaware mood. The concept of a camp, again very subversive, is a positive and fun one. However, there is very little comprehensibility offered in this play as to what the camp actually is and why it is so important. It is first made out to be more of a summer camp where one discovers, explores and defines one’s own sexuality; but then it is made out to be some kind of education establishment where one has to prove one’s knowledge of the LGBT+ community and will also be quizzed on it. Metacognitively, these do loosely relate in some way, but how they are both specifically utilised together in this camp is not explained. And what has all of this got to do with yoga? When Cher enters, this is when it becomes exceedingly ridiculous for me. Such an unnecessary and overvalued part of the performance. I understand how important her role is as a gay idol, but why is she giving a speech at the camp? And why does this have little to no effect on the characters? Again, my problem with this is style. Fourth wall broken, audience members on stage, hyperbolic and metatheatrical celebrity representation, structural pitfall where the narrative is interrupted and the plot does not suffer or progress from it — all of these reasons make it a sore standout of a scene. For Becky’s only reaction to this to be to state “Classic camp!” really bothers me. You have not depicted enough the identity of the camp to be able to say that. The audience cannot understand what that means, how ordinary a random speech from Cher is in this camp. Finally, a little note on the gay card. Whilst it speaks for itself as a reward and is quirky and relatable enough to be left unexplained, whilst also giving the audience a very cute and rather prideful souvenir, it should still be explained as to why it is so important to the characters. To summarise, this performance has an interesting ground, yet it is highly convoluted and loses itself to its unstable style and mood types. Its sociopolitical value is very low, being that the [very few] discourses it gives the floor to are so very basic and repetitional. Where this play does succeed, however, is in its campy and particular comedy. A lot of editing is required. “A convoluted performance, unsure of itself and in need of vast structural and stylistic change, however comedic.”

Unfortunately, there is very little positive I have to say about this performance, but I will start with the good-ish comments that I have. In the overture, the audience are confronted with a spot-lit, centerstage stool upon which sits a crown. A rather thick mist consumes the air, and suspenseful classical music (Kai Everington) plays. This is a good beginning, evoking the content and focal point of the play very well in the simplicity of this powerful and stagnant image. The blackout (lighting by Ricky McFadden) and sound of King Richard’s footsteps which follow are just as atmospheric. However, the crown could have been aligned better with the centre point of the stool, and the music should be allowed to fade entirely before anyone enters the stage. It is such pedantic features that discern the seasoned from the novices. What follows is an overstated line-share between the ensemble who creep about each other concentrically. Here is my first true issue with the play. This monologue is originally intended for the audience’s ears, but should the ensemble wish to deliver it to each other, that would also be fine. But you cannot do both. Actors’ address alternated between audience members and fellow members of the ensemble, making for a stylistic disconnect. This was an issue that occurred a few times throughout the performance. Decide who you are addressing your lines to and stick with it. Also on the matter of lines, it was clear, as per usual, that some actors did not understand their own, or there were moments when the lines did not entirely match the action, such as when characters told others to "be still" and yet there was very little visible agitation in the first place. As tirelessly often the case with Shakespeare, actors in this performance either overplayed or downplayed. Energy, admittedly, was unfaltering, but it is where this energy was going that was the problem. As for physicality, actors could have also greatly improved. Representations of disfigurement were OK but could have been made even more grotesque than a simple limp or arched back. This is where costume, the likes of which I shall detail shortly, could have come in handy. That such themes like these are permitted to continue in modern theatre just for the name of their originator is strange to me, but that is more an issue of personal politics. Then there are the fight scenes. I have never yet experienced a fight scene wherein fighting practically does not take place. I am sad to say that Matt Coulton, director of movement and fights, was very misguided in this way. A simple shout and a charge do not constitute a dramatic or engaging battle, not to mention the chosen weaponry which I shall also detail later. Not only were these moments of action completely dissatisfying in terms of visual impact, but whenever there was [finally!] such a moment, its duration was less than a minute. A similar dissatisfaction can be found in death scenes: short, lacklustre, unrealistic and bizarre, especially when sword-stabbing is represented by positioning the sword between the arm and the body... Pacing! When actors are unsure of what to do when they have no lines, if they feel uncomfortable being in the limelight, or if they have not rehearsed retentively enough how to act when dialoguing with another actor, you will find that they pace. Their feet begin to shuffle, they wobble from side to side, all in an attempt to remain lively and engaging. They feel they need to move for their personal performance to be enjoyable and impactful. Pacing was a massive issue in this performance. Everybody paced! Confidently assume your postures and positions, your personae and your intentions. Find a stance and stay in it. Facial expression is enough to carry your otherwise silent performance. Do not move too much but also do not freeze. However, if you do find that you feel you have no presence or reason to be, this is a directorial fault, and your character should not be on stage at all. Pointless onlookers, especially in Shakespeare, are something that diseases the stage. Costumes (Simon Stewart), like most elements of this performance for me, were utterly inadequate. Not only did they signal a multiplicity of time periods, they were also assembled with very little effort or care. I cannot begin to fathom why skinny jeans and canvas shoes, belts and turtlenecks were permitted to worm their way into this performance. And what did actually exist of the costume was relative to fancy dress. Then the props, another complete mismatch of thick, bulky wooden swords and slimline, painted plastic ones. The sack containing the severed head... why is it so obviously unfirm and un-head-like? It felt as though the visuals of this performance, minus that of the overture, were significantly overlooked and secondary, yet they are so undeniably vital to this [visual] art form. I will say, however, that the use of puppetry was most endearing, and the manner in which they were characterised – their movements, their utterances and sounds – made them a humorous and cute addition. Watching these puppets was like watching a different performance, however… and that is a bad thing for a number of reasons, one of which being that they had no real place there. Stylistically and materially, they are very incongruous with the performance, though I do commend the theatre company’s creativity in overcoming the issue of child representation on stage. Nearly every single thing in this performance felt undercooked and unconsidered, most bluntly exemplified by the unyielding use of repetition – most notably the fight scenes and coronations. It felt as though the fundamental principles, the very basics of theatremaking were overlooked, e.g.: do not come out of character in the aisles – wait until you are off stage and out of sight; do not visibly wait in the aisles for your cue; know to whom you should address your lines; etc. I am sorry to be blatant and crude, but this performance really was like watching a group of amateurs play dress-up. There was very little artistic value in this performance, and it is difficult for me to find something constructive and more elaborate to say than what I have in this review. Very disappointing. “An utterly somnolent piece of theatre; unseasoned, underdone and meriting little attention.”

The image the audience are presented with as they enter the performance space is sensory, peaceful and light. Two performers, Megan Noakes and Max Curtis, lie together under an ascending and falling blanket of plastic guided by the rest of the ensemble. The image is airy and serene. When lighting states change and this image is recycled, it becomes elemental: the blanket, now blue or green, seems to take the form of water, displacing itself airily and fluidly. This image is beautiful and most definitely raises a concern similar to the age-old concept of the swimming swan: graceful above water, frantic below to keep itself afloat. Whilst we are presented with a certain tranquillity, it is the material, plastic, which produces it. Whilst potent in its message, this image is significantly overused in the arts at the moment and hence becomes rather unoriginal and bland. It seems that the rather literal and direct approach is the only approach of late to smother the theatre. Nevertheless, this plastic sheet becomes a staple for this performance. When it has seen its end, it is replaced by a long sheet of, what I assume to be, polycotton fabric, and its usage is pretty much the same. This performance's material does become highly repetitious and, unfortunately, I must say quite boring in places. Children playing hide-and-seek, tumbling in and out of the fabric becomes a recurrent, if not constant and overused, motif, and it disallows the performance to say much else. It could do with a serious edit in this respect. Overall, this performance is trying to tackle two worlds: Mia's personal world, her life and journey; and the external world, the deteriorating and manic. It was successful in demonstrating the realities of each but not the effects that the external world was having on Mia or how these worlds really related to one another. This was crucial because, otherwise, the worlds seem disconnected and bizarre to pair with one another. It felt as though the ensemble were depicting singular and unrelated snippets of human life. What is missing is a stronger, more direct common thread, For example, I imagine that the incorporation of the Tech Giant (Abigail Smith) is supposed to link capitalism, mass production and buying incentives with the destruction that high-brand manufacturers, factories and gross consumerism cause to the environment and natural world. This connection, however, the very thing which justifies its presence in a performance about the Anthropocene, was not made, nor was any of this related directly to Mia herself as a mother. All we got from this scene was that Mia wanted to buy something… This scene's significance was then further distanced by and lost to the rapid succession of vines, pregnancy tests and the milestones of growing up… and then suddenly Mia is losing her child to a monsoon? Everything felt very disjointed and unrelatable. More crucially, if Mia is so worried about seeing her child grow up in such a broken, frenetic and diseased world, and if this is the crux of the performance, I fail to see why director William Townsend would have her child grow up so problem-free and so quickly. Within minutes, we fast-forward through her child's (Liberty Bliss) life and see absolutely nothing of the external world and its impact upon either of them. We are unsure if Mia's suspicions and concerns were justified and realistic, nor are we able to find relief if they had no effect whatsoever. We are not shown anything. On this note, I also felt that Mia's relationship with her daughter is very oddly depicted as she is dismissed by her and runs, instead, to her father. There is very little to go off of in this performance to understand the actual function of the child in Mia's life or Mia's relationship with her, once she is born. It is also rather easy to feel cheated when we have waited so long for Mia's child's birth, and then she's an adult within two seconds. Being that the performance is supposedly about the Anthropocene and its challenges to new-mother Mia, I was surprised to see how little the Anthropocene featured in this performance. A plastic sheet, a few news reports and a monsoon are not enough to contextualise the dramatic text in the Anthropocene epoch. Other, less important moments, were also enabled too readily to divert us away from the main plot, such as seemingly unrelated vines like 'Look at all those chickens'. These moments of comedy should have served more as moments of repose rather than being so deeply integrated and consumptive as they were. As for movement, I would have liked to have seen more variation, particularly in scenes involving the fabric or plastic sheet, but also in the overture: Noakes and Curtis's yanking one another back to resume their snuggling became very overdone very quickly. As a simple note, when the couple is on the floor in the actual beginning, it would be more effective to start to move into the next position as soon as the plastic sheet is raised; otherwise, it seems too artificial and robotic. It should look as though the rising of the sheet gives glimpses into a reality that is already happening, not one which awaits our viewing for animation. I should also note here the importance of discarding the material properly, not just off the side of the stage but well out of view. As well as being more visually pleasing, this would have also prevented some performers from tripping over it as they did. Topography is a big problem for this performance. It is clear that performers are attempting to give both sides of the traverse stage a good view, but this dampens the overall movement. It is acceptable to have one side see something over the other, as long as this is balanced overall. Decide confidently on one side to show the movement to if you feel it is tricky to show it to both, and make a habit of performing neutral movements in profile view – something which was done in this performance but not often enough. Whilst music was quite repetitive, it did do its job in creating a successful atmosphere. Lighting, on the other hand, was very pleasing overall, but I would like to see more dynamism, more state changes that reflect the chronology of the performance. The absence of stage lighting and the use of handheld LEDs is always intriguing, though I feel their usage was ommittable in this performance. It should also be noted that when they are used in what I shall call the news reporting sequence, performers should decide whether the news is coming from them as presenters/reporters or if they are simply 'reading' the news from the light source. In other words, when delivering the news, are you directing it to Mia or to the audience? Decide on only one whose mode address all ensemble members will use in this scene. This performance has a lot of potential, and its material is very promising when considered singularly. It just needs some tweaking to join these personal and external worlds together and to reflect on what material and whose voices are the most crucial to this performance and which ones can be deleted – and it could definitely benefit from less of the running/hiding children! As a personal reflection, though, I do find it very sad and most dissatisfying that even when the Anthropocene makes a titular appearance, our focus still remains on its effects on ourselves as humans. “A mesmerising and pretty performance but in need of careful structural readjustments."

Regretxit is a campy, energised and unpredictable performance. It is most definitely a memorable experience but as a piece of theatre, it remains highly unsure of itself. The story this play tells, that of Matthew (Matthew Cleverly) who falls in love with a swindling, immigrant heartbreaker who plays him for a green card, assets and money, is a clear and directional premise. However, the story unfolds within a disorderly array of cultures: queer culture, foreign culture, British culture, Welsh culture, etc., and all of these make for not only an ill communication of the narrative but also of themselves. Binding the narrative in these contrasting cultures causes it to lose its singular voice, and one starts to question what this play is actually about, the narrative seeming more as a device, a touchstone to lead to other, more important subjects. Is it really just a particularised depiction of situational queer love? Or is it a criticism of British politics and the immigration system? Or on the so-called nature of the immigrants themselves (which is most unfavourable)? The problem, I believe, is rooted in this play’s propensity towards a particular mode: the use of stock characters. The performance becomes swamped with shallow, cliched and stereotypical caricatures: game show hosts, sock puppets, vogue dancers, etc. There are simply too many. The sheer amount of material, and the vapid way it is approached, means that none of it can be deeply addressed. In this performance, Cleverly gives too much attention and focus to unnecessary details and forgettable one-liners. This becomes a problem when the main narrative starts to suffer from it. For example, the Teresa Mae sock puppet: it is humorous, it refreshes the mood of the performance, and it helps to contextualise Matthew and Anton’s relationship, but this sock puppet monologue is not essential, and neither, really, is this mood change. But it is quirky and could be useful. However, the problem comes with the duration of this cutaway. The scene gains a life of its own as Matthew is harassed by the sock puppet, and it goes on for so long that it feels like there is a separate plot going on, rather than a tool to contextualise the main narrative. Where this use of cliched personae is not inherently a problem to this performance is when it drives it forward, adding texture and tone. For example, Cleverly’s portrayal of Anton as a virulent, hard-voiced, harsh, dominant Ukrainian man. This is a caricature that a [British] audience can quickly recognise; it gives us immediate information about his character and helps us to focus more on his position/influence in the story. This is how these stock characters should be used. However, Cleverly’s accent was very wobbly, teetering from Russian to German, and I have a rather serious issue with the subtextual influence of this character which this unstable portrayal exacerbates. But more on that later! This use of stock characters is a major problem for this play, and this goes hand-in-hand with the play’s performance style which jitters between karaokes, presentations, soliloquies, poetry recitals… It lacks a clear and progressive sense of setting, tone and, most importantly, voice. Voice is utterly lost in this performance. We do not gain enough information on Matthew to deeply understand his character, his intentions, objectives and desires. We are not allowed to root for or empathise with Matthew, because everything is simply much too hectic, and why would his misfortune have any effect on us whatsoever when we know he'll be dancing to gay pop idols in a few minutes’ time, having the time of his life? The need for repose, for reflection, to breathe is very overbearing in this play, exacerbated by Cleverly’s high-energy and physical performance. Cleverly races through the text, multiroling, jumping from performance style to performance style – there is simply too much going on to be able to digest the performance to its true potential. Even the very set becomes inundated, swamped with throwaway props. The use of such props is comedic and playful; however, I feel their function in this performance is misunderstood by Cleverly. When Matthew clears the set, he speaks as though he is starting afresh and treats the props as souvenirs of the narrative, symbols, vignettes, objects of memory. They are treated as if they have earned a language of their own and speak directly of the story. This is not the case. The props are used predominantly during musical sequences as throwaways to draw attention to over-sentimentality. It is but a campy, self-contained and self-referential mode of storytelling, yet these props are ultimately treated as the story themselves. I will now move on to the subtext of this performance. Matthew reveals to us very early on in the play that he did not vote during the Brexit referendum, that he had no concrete opinions on Brexit worth his vote. Compare this with the end of the performance where Cleverly is coaxing the audience to sing with him about how powerful post-Brexit Britain will be as a nation and how marvellous and yielding a notion Brexit is. Something has happened to cause this contrast, but what? The only substantial subject in this performance is the idea of foreignness, conveyed by, amongst other features: recordings of news reports, the significance of immigrant-related acts, speeches by Teresa Mae, and, of course, the character of Anton. This latter is of paramount importance. Unrefined and heavily cliched, the character of Anton serves as a synecdoche for the immigrant, for the foreign man. Deliberately paired against Brexit’s effects on immigration, which are first quite astutely presented as unjust and cruel, Anton becomes a significant representation of the good-willed and hard-done-by immigrant and evidence against these unfair acts. However, when Anton is proven to be conniving, malicious and deceitful, the only positive reflection of the foreigner is erased; in its place, exotic getaways which become sites of destruction, pillaging, murder and violence. Matthew settles with Englishman Clive, a symbol of homosexual liberation – contrasting again with the gay-baiting, married and seemingly heterosexual Anton – and an honest, compassionate and generous lover, unlike his foreign predecessor. I hope this exposure has made it clear that, whether it intends to be or not, this performance is highly racially and, moreover, xenophobically charged. It uses a very peculiar, though admittedly not illogical – and that is why it seems fair, conventional and realistic – act by a [fictional] foreigner to justify the effects of Brexit on immigration laws. With very little content, despite the abundance of material, there are few other conclusions to draw from this performance. I am not sure if the intention was to make light of the inevitable, or to generate a sense of patriotism and pride for the irreversible, but a theatremaker needs to be hyperaware not just of the efficacy or success of each individual scene but of how all of these scenes come together and what message they convey in their assemblage. I rate this performance very lowly not only for its hectic and flavourless lack of coherency and style but also for the sociopolitical themes which emanate from it so naturally, acceptedly and readily. “A terribly ill-conceived and undercooked performance, not only theatrically but politically.”

I will start this review by stating that I only ever consider performances as self-contained subjects of analysis; that is to say that original motives and intentions, actor profiles and rehearsal processes or economic/sociopolitical success beyond the performance itself are of no direct interest to me here. Instead, I consider how successful a performance was: how effectively characters/persons/personae were portrayed and story or narrative carried; or how effectively the political messages of the performance were elucidated, justified and/or conveyed. I say all of this because I do wish to commend the honourable objectives extending beyond the performance itself that the theatre company, Away with the Clowns, wish to achieve. Listed as one of the top 20 richest countries in the world, it is disgusting that homelessness remains an issue in Britain today, and the way Britain continues to treat its citizens, prioritising some elect few over others is just as abominable. Away with the Clowns want to raise awareness of this huge issue, to de-stigmatise and clarify it in representing a day in the life of a homeless person, inspired by the show’s writer and only performer Lucas Bailey’s true encounters with homeless people. The main message of this performance is that homeless people are normal people, humans with feelings just as the rest of us. This is a reality that goes without saying. However, this performance, unfortunately, does a huge — and obscure — disservice to its cause. I fail to understand how a voiceless, clownesque and, above all, inhuman character is supposed to represent a real, complex, human person. I understand the company’s objective to ease their audience into such hard-hitting, serious and guilt-invoking issues by the use of comedy, but an over-reliance on mime, puppetry and tomfoolery does not lead them into an endearing false security but instead drags them forcefully into the world of buffoonery, laughter and, actually, derision. One audience member stated that she understood Bailey to be vulnerable, and whilst this was certainly a theme presented multiple times throughout the performance, there is nothing particularly eye-opening about it. The so-called vulnerability we see is not only cliched begging and hypothermia — not to discredit the reality of these, of course — but coinciding with the rest of the material, this is not a vulnerable person that is presented; this is a clown. We have not seen anything particularly humanised about this performer. As soon as a performer enters the stage with a red nose, the stage is immediately fictionalised, purely for entertainment and hence disingenuous. To whittle human language down to absurd, nonsensical and one-word phrases like “Kiss?” or “Pomegranates?” is the opposite of enlightening; it oversimplifies and also renders ridiculous what it sets out to achieve. Not only does this so-called “technique” represent the homeless as ludicrous and troglodytic but it also pulls upon a vast history of the animalistic sociocultural view of the homeless: the id-led, uncultivated and monosyllabic; the inferior, incongruous and lesser-than. The reasoning behind decisions like these are far too poetic and not in a readable way. That is to say that however romantic and rich images like the sock-puppet birds, symbolic of a short-lived, passing friend, seem to the creators, this is far from as impactful for audience members. Instead, moments like these are just cute and quirky, not profound and meaningful. More specifically — and most horrendous in my view — the sequences where Bailey is walking or running on the spot and suddenly jumps into a crouching position and hisses, groans and gurgles, again uttering a nonsensical mix of “tweet”s and “yes”s, dehumanise and monstrify the homeless. These sequences present them as gremlin-like, mad and volatile. For the creators to think this is a positive and progressive feature is ridiculous to me and far beyond any comprehension or relatability from me. I think the problem is that there is a vast misunderstanding of the importance of context. The context here is a performance, and with theatre being inherently fictitious and illusory, all performances create separate dimensions and worlds which an audience is forced into. It is the duty of the theatremaker whenever they deal with actual issues to represent it coherently — not necessarily realistically, but coherently — to bridge the world of the performances to the real world, to expose subtext and hidden meaning and to elucidate well realities and actualities. The real decisions, meanings and reasonings behind this performance are incredibly coded in performativity, they are made to seem far from any reality, though they are taken directly from our very own. Context is missed in the writing as well, I believe, insofar as the fact that Bailey evidently pulls from many different moments experienced with many different people, and though there are many similarities, of course, the lack of subjectivity and particularisation makes the imagery and subtext difficult to manage and to grasp. Though the homeless often make street art and street performances, they are not constant puppeteers or joke-mongers. This is not a principal, minutely means of survival; it is exhausting. I fail to see what the company are trying to raise awareness of exactly… Is it the mere fact that homeless people exist? Or is it what they go through on a day-to-day basis? Because the content and material of this performance most definitely lean towards this former objective, which is most dissatisfying and disappointing but also uninformative. There is more to their struggles than begging and cold nights. Where is the abuse, the fights, the police-led move-alongs, the fatigue, the desperation, the forced scavenging? To name an non-extensive few. Presenting us with such a parodic and showmanly persona does not demonstrate the insanely negative or the cruel. How does asking every single audience member for a kiss equate a profound and desperate yearning for love, compassion, solidarity, friendship and belonging? It doesn’t. Realities are severely downplayed or misappropriated as comedy, not successfully translated at all in any way, shape or form. Even the very title has little to do not only just with its subject matter but even with the content of the performance itself. Much too overthought, to an esoteric extent. I will ask bluntly: if the truth of the work lies in the post-performance Q&A, technique descriptions and the campaigns outside of the performance, what is the reasoning for the performance in the first place? What is the performance actually doing that nothing else can? How is this walking, talking, LIVE art form challenging our perceptions and realities clearer and better than any other mode of expression? How is it opening our eyes? In this performance, the homeless individual is reduced to a caricature, dehumanised and stereotyped. A few cold shudders, a few street performances and many a clichéd hat-presenting supplication does not represent the realities of homeless people but, instead, a secondary and all-too-familiar interpretation of them. It is clear, especially after the Q&A, that no in-depth research has been carried out to present the audience with anything other than the experiences they are familiar with. I would strongly suggest further communications with homeless individuals, and, if this is an issue the theatre company really do feel so strongly about, I fail to see why they did not cast real homeless people in the performance, recounting their experiences and enriching the material and content. If I have not made it clear enough, I am saying that, rather than the reality of the homeless, what is represented in this performance is an everyday perception — the few things which the audience already witness themselves in the streets of the UK and already know. No awareness can be raised from this. And for a performance that aims to marry the audience with their equals, the use of fragmentation, buffoonery and animalism is an obscure way of going about it and a surefire way to create more alienation. The over-performative nature of this piece of theatre makes it almost entirely unrelatable to real-life issues. “Miscalculated, misguided and misinformed, this performance falls miles away from its otherwise honourable objectives.”

This performance begins with an odd, two-part introduction. The first is a greeting by performer Charlotte Laporte who comments on audience members as they enter, telling them "jokes", or ridiculing them, before giving them one of three coloured cards which will determine their category for visa checks. This greeting I found to be completely impertinent with the performance. Laporte asks audience members debase and bewildering questions like if they look back at their faeces in the toilet after defecating... Perhaps this is to represent the infringement of privacy by immigration control offices, the link between such and this performance I will detail later, but there is such a thing as too much. I found her presence in the rest of the performance to be absolutely unnecessary, and her switch from gibing and dictatorial at the beginning to subservient, docile and dopy throughout the rest of the show was extremely strange. The second greeting is far more fitting and successful in its comedy. It involves Leanne Shorely and Sophie MacArthur whose job is to welcome the audience into the performance space whilst performing silly yet humorous activities such as cleansing their shoes by pumping air onto them through a small plastic balloon inflator. Their absurdity communicated the comedy and content to follow very well and was much more pertinent to the material. Their campiness and vivaciousness were delightful and intriguing, a joyous welcome to the island. Even their plastic leaf skirts, contrary to Laporte’s highly questionable orange hi-vis jumpsuit, fed well into the themes of artificiality and over-exoticness. Once the audience is seated, they are forewarned of a mysterious and powerful leader of whom they should be wary and respectful. This makes for a good juxtaposition when Fernanda Mandagará enters rather showily and exuberantly in a Brazilian samba costume, feather headpiece and all. Mandagará was very mesmerising throughout the performance. There were a few moments where her delivery could have been more fluid and smoother, especially in moments of [conspicuous] improvisation, but she was very good overall. As implied before, her assistants, Shorely and MacArthur, were just as endearing in their effervescent and cheerful ways. All performers had high energy, keeping the island alive, as it were. But just what the island was is a different story... Mandagará is a fatherless Tropicalian but also a goddess, self-obsessed who used to be a dancer but is now temporarily the president until the new president comes back. There’s also a gorilla who wants to steal bananas, a seeming war going on beyond the performance space, another god, the real God, in the sky and a world-ending mud flood. This is a LOT for an hour's performance. Whilst I commend director Ramiro Silveira and, as the play’s writer, Mandagará for being able to cram so much content into such a small time-frame, and whilst I understand that this overwhelming storm of material is part of the show’s appeal, it makes for a very sloppy and incoherent script. If a performance is about everything, it ends up being about nothing. This performance was very politically charged, though its politics were, again, too frenetic and were in need of a more clear-cut premise. This performance successfully breaks down the “western” ideal of the exotic exposes faults in not only Orientalist thinking but, most blatantly, the British immigration system. That the mud flood makes the Tropicalia Island one of three most powerful territories in the world is a good critique on the British Empire, along with many similar others, and the preference to one’s own kind and the distinction between Tropicalian and Tropic-alien is a very clever critique on modern racism and patriotic values and of visa regulations. But then there's the war and the culling of the indigenous which complicates the getaway feel of the island and opens up a different discourse of the so-called poverty-stricken, barbaric and combative Third World. There is then an entire scene dedicated to explaining to the male audience members how to survive the sex-ridden streets, what to wear, how to act, where to go. This is a feminist narrative but also a feature that directly contrasts with the island’s traditional mating dance, led by provocative female dancers. There is a vast lack of clarity and direction in this performance. And what does any of this have to do with a rendition of ‘Copacabana (At the Copa)’? I would note as well that whilst the performance sets out to use Brazilian particularities as the ground for its material, other cultures, too, are stereotyped and represented in this performance, leaning towards borderline cultural appropriation. Audience interaction and participation was a bold and, overall, successful move for this performance. Again, the first introduction is highly questionable, but the visa checks, banana handouts and sporadic interrogations were funny to watch. There was the danger, however, of the audience becoming a little too distanced from the material. That is to say that there is, yet again, an uncertainty in this performance: is it audience participation? Is it fourth-walled spectation? Or is it metatheatre, as found at the end of the performance when Mandagará reveals that it was all a show, that everything was fake and the world is not actually ending? A good breakdown of the exotic but a bad breakdown for structure and quality. There are a few other elements that could do with some ironing out. The ending, for example: leave the stage! Rather than telling the audience that it is time to go and shooing them on their way, leave the stage and raise the houselights and cue them to go subliminally, instead; otherwise, it makes for an awkward ending but also destroys the world of the performance that you’ve spent the hour producing, however metatheatrical you intend it to be. And a last small note on the gorilla: the gorilla should have far more stage time, not only for the endearing quirkiness of an animal mascot and life-size puppetry but also because his murder does not feel as impactful with such little exposure. “A whirlwind of a performance, entertaining and otherworldly yet in dire need of clearer focus, theory and direction.” Photography credit: to Leandro Facundo.

Written by Kenny Emson and directed by Eleanor Rhode, Rust is currently performing at the Bush Theatre in London. This story is nowhere near original and was quite lacklustre in its direction and premise, which was disappointing. The content of scenes, which were very short and suited more for cinema, became repetitious after a while, making for a lack of depth. What this performance does do, however, is demonstrate the insidious addictiveness and short-lasting relief and intrigue that affairs bring many people. Its characters, Nadia (Claire Lams) and Daniel (Jon Foster), are good representations of the lack of self-worth and self-love and the apathy, boredom, and dissatisfaction that all associate themselves with adultery and drive people towards it. It illustrates a humanly need for love, affection, escapism and freedom, and its ending makes a start to exemplify the complexity of the emotions of the adulterous, insofar as self-deprecation and conflicting feelings and beliefs. A very human play. Lams and Foster fell short of a naturalistic performance. Oftentimes, their characterisations were robotic and their deliveries were overemphatic. This got much better as the play went on, but the beginning was particularly dreadful. Moments of intimacy, on the whole, felt rather natural, though a few kisses were quite visibly hesitant or artificial. Lams also had the tendency towards the beginning of the performance to accompany every line with a gesticulation to represent the emotion behind it. This was very rudimentary and should have been left in initial rehearsals when trying to figure out her character. I will say, however, that these actors were very good at assuming different positions within the performance space during blackouts, making little to no sound whatsoever. However, with the length of the scenes being so short, these contrasts were often quite hectic to watch – this is an editorial/directorial issue, though. This performance claims to be "ultra-contemporary", but besides its set and cinematic scene structure, there is not much of a contemporary quality to it. Though expansive, the set (Max Johns) for this performance was quite minimalist, consisting of a king-sized mattress covered in pillows. This was a good metaphor for their copious sex and promiscuity, their lives and lifestyle consumed, more and more towards the end, by their extra-marital affair. However, it did demand a lot of imagination from the audience in places, in order to understand the topography of the house and to consider the space as liveable and stocked. Whilst this demand was somewhat eased by the dialogue, and props like the fake blood, it became particularly difficult to read moments such as when Nadia dances on the table – is she still dancing on the table when she dances later on? – or when she finds the third mobile phone in the finale of the performance. The audience is also shown that the front window is on the opposite side of the bed to the lights, yet the front door is on the same side as them. I would advise a more careful consideration of the logistics of the house's topography. Sound (designed by David Gregory) and lighting (designed by Jess Bernberg) made for an easier reading of the house. Sound was facilitative, edited well and blended in seamlessly and realistically with the action on stage. The lighting made for a sense of airiness and ethereality. It was a brave decision to have fluorescent tubes as the primary lighting source for this performance, having no direct or blunt significance to it, especially with the varying colours not representative of mood or tone. However, I found it to be evocative of the sort of utopian getaway which this space signified for these characters. This was most conveyed in moments of inebriation or euphoria where Daniel and Nadia would stumble through them, causing them to sway gently as though wind chimes. I also thought it was interesting to have their arguments or conflicts in the same area as this lighting, causing the ideal utopia to confront the painful reality and ramifications of their doings. “Not an overly imaginative performance but one which rings true of human desire.” Photography credit: to Helen Murray.