Author: laurakressly

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Trash, Rosemary Branch Theatre

Two estranged sisters dig through a rubbish tip after their mother’s funeral. Recovering heroin addict Becky, in a moment of anger, had thrown away an unopened letter from their mother containing important information. Older, responsible Diane insisted they recover it, so here they are in their funereal finery, ankle deep in trash, full of hatred, resentment and grief. New company Indigo Iris, founded by actor-producers Emma Shenkman and Georgina Philipps, debut with Arthur M. Jolly’s Trash, a two-hander with potential for absurd situation comedy that instead plays it straight, focusing on the complexity of sisterhood and familial responsibility.

Trash is a well-constructed play driven by long-standing conflict between Diane (Emma Shenkman) and Becky (Georgina Philipps). Their mother’s illness tested daughterly obligation: Diane fulfilled it, but Becky refused to and ran away. They haven’t seen each other since. Diane’s resentment spews forth in relentless verbal attacks that Becky coldly thwarts. Occasionally, the violence turns physical, with great fight direction by Gordon Kemp.

This is a tense, wordy production but the energy is full on, particularly from Shenkman. Her vicious, relentless performance counters Philipps’ low-key character and keeps the audience’s attention. Both have a hard veneer that rarely cracks and is truthful to their situation, though more emotional range would have been welcome to break up the near constant anger. As such, sympathy for either woman is difficult to summon, even though Becky doesn’t seem to by lying about being clean and Diane clearly had more than her share of trouble caring for their dying mother over the last three years. The script steers clear of a formulaic narrative arc but still satisfies through a gradual information reveal and an ending open to several possible outcomes. It’s not a happy ending, but not a stalemate either and avoids sentimentality. These women are damaged, and it will take much more than an hour in a dump together to repair their relationship.

The set design is simple but effective. Filled bin bags and a load of other stuff cover the stage, with a backdrop of an ominous gray envelope. Its ever-present dominance is a powerful signifier of the control their mother still has over them in her last attempt at communicating with Becky before her death.

This would make a good touring studio production due to its universal conflict and small scale. Indigo Iris have good instinct for choosing a well written, showcase production. Hopefully they’ll continue their producing journey with more plays less familiar to the London fringe that focused on character relationships through solid, well-crafted scripts.

The Play’s The Thing UK is an independent theatre criticism website maintained voluntarily. Whilst donations are never expected, they are hugely appreciated and will enable more time to be spent reviewing theatre productions of all sizes. Click here to make a donation with PalPal.

See What I Wanna See, Jermyn Street Theatre

Displaying The cast of See What I Wanna See at Jermyn Street Theatre. C Photography by Jamie Scott-Smith.jpg“The truth is rarely pure and never simple,” says Oscar Wilde in The Importance of Being Earnest. Indeed. We often encounter conflicts or situations where opposing viewpoints create very different stories. Michael John LaChiusa adapts three Japanese short stories by Ryūnosuke Akutagawa, including “The Grove” on which Akira Kurosawa based his western hit Rashomon, intertwining them to create a production showing that, well, we often see what we want to see and that “truth” is a flighty creature that can never be pinned down and shown objectively. See What We Wanna See, a chamber musical produced by Aria Entertainment at Jermyn Street Theatre, is a delicate, intimate performance with a strong cast. However, LaChiusa’s trilogy with loosely connected themes has little else that links them and feels like an evening of short plays rather than a cohesive, full-length musical.

As the prelude to each act, “Kesa and Morito” shows a medieval Japanese couple recently discovered having an affair. They are seeing each other for the last time. Both have plans for their final encounter and blackouts preclude discovery of their fate. “R Shomon” follows as the bulk of the first half, a thriller set in 1950’s New York. Four characters tell totally conflicting witness statements to an unseen policeman. Who is telling the truth about the death of The Husband? How is this piece connected to the opening where Kesa shares her story in a single song? The audience never finds out. The ending to this mini-musical is deliciously ambiguous with some complex musicality in the songs, but the connection to the “Kesa and Morito” prologue is tenuous at best.

The second half is the same structure. Morito shares his side of the story for the duration of a single song, then “Gloryday” is the rest of the act. This is a more compelling story than “R Shomon” and could be a longer, standalone production. A disaffected priest creates a hoax miracle that takes post-9/11 New York City by storm, making some pointed criticism of Jesus and his followers by comparing them to the vulnerable that fall for his trick. The end has a poignant twist and reiterates the show’s focus on the fluidity of truth within deceit and crime. Whilst these are good stories and maintain audience interest, there is no linking transition or any comment on the three other than presenting them together. This emphasizes the timelessness of the theme, but takes no particular point of view on it. LaChiusa’s message is consequently unclear.

The cast of five is fantastic; in a small theatre with a four-piece band are quiet enough that the actors don’t need mics so detail isn’t lost through amplification. There is no week link; they all have the chance to play at least one substantial role with the others showcasing their range. Jonathan Butterell as the priest that loses his faith in the second act’s “Gloryday” is particularly touching. Mark Goldthorp as the reserved 1950s taxi company boss in the first half’s “R Shomon” is quietly enigmatic and counters the brashness of Marc Elliott’s Thief and Cassie Compton’s resentful Wife. The priest’s Aunt Monica as given by Sarah Ingram is light relief but still possessing emotional depth.

LaChiusa’s music is reminiscent of a gentler, simpler Sondheim with influences spanning different eras and cultures. Simon Anthony Wells’ design similarly captures the different worlds in the production. Despite compelling individual stories, great performances and some lovely songs, the audience is left questioning what they are meant to take from the production and unsatisfied by the lack of a deeper connection between the three component tales. It’s still definitely worth seeing the London premiere of this unique, cosy production by Aria Entertainment, a producer vital to musical theatre for staging new and rarely staged work.

The Play’s The Thing UK is an independent theatre criticism website maintained voluntarily. Whilst donations are never expected, they are hugely appreciated and will enable more time to be spent reviewing theatre productions of all sizes. Click here to make a donation with PalPal.

Rocky Horror Show, Playhouse Theatre

Though touring regularly, The Rocky Horror Show hasn’t appeared in the West End since 1990-1991. For a limited time, this camp, B-side parody musical returns to the Playhouse Theatre before embarking on a new UK tour. Devoted fans attend in costume and call out responses during the show, carrying on long-held traditions developed after the release of the film, The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Audience behaviour is unlike anything I’ve ever seen in the West End and the regular punters don’t quite know what to make of the anarchy, but it’s a fun night out and a cultural awakening to this cult phenomenon. This is a polished revival with some inventive touches and great performances, but does the award winning musical from the 1970s withstand the test of time? Not so much.

The casting highlight for the fans is playwright Richard O’Brien as the Narrator. A small role, but an inspiring sight to behold considering the gent is in his 70s. From the applause and screams on his first entrance, fans regard O’Brien as a god among men, or an actual god. He’s charismatic, still has a wonderfully rich speaking voice and indulges the audience’s adoration. David Bedella as Frank-N-Furter is sexy with a dangerous edge and excellent comic timing, particularly in the bedroom at the beginning of Act II. Disappointingly, he corpses a couple of times at some of the more rare audience call-outs and often loses his flow. There’s no banter with the audience; instead long pauses cause frequent disruption to the pace as the actors wait for the audience to recover from the call-out humour. The performances are otherwise excellent from this highly experienced cast of thirteen, several who have been in previous Rocky Horror Show tours. The audience have the potential to become a character and do their best to make themselves known through the call-outs and bad behaviour, including talking at full volume, taking photos and shining torches, but they are largely ignored by the cast.

The design is nuanced, with elements of meta-theatre in the cinema reel edging to remind us of its root in the film world. Frank’s reveal in a striking backlit wardrobe is used enough to create impact but not overly employed. Hugh Durrant’s set richly contrasts Brad and Janet’s pre-Frank world with the castle interior. Haze is used enough to sharpen beams of light to make a laser effect with using actual lasers or an overkill on the smoke. Costumes match those in the film and are mirrored in the audience who chose to dress up.

There’s no denying that this is a slick production of a show that, to be frank, isn’t very good. Structurally, the first act has the best numbers and consistent momentum, albeit with clunky and rushed transitions into the songs. After the interval, the story and music loses its way with ballads and plot twists that don’t fit the conventions established in the first half. Some of the new sub-plots don’t even really make sense and are introduced too late to develop properly, such as the appearance of Dr. Scott in his brief scene. Most pointedly, The Rocky Horror Show is painfully misogynistic and offensive by current social standards: there’s slut-shaming, the antiquated term ‘transvestite’ (and the character labeled as such is a rather horrible villain), rape that’s justified by the victims’ enjoyment of it, objectification and sex slavery. It can be argued that it’s all in good fun and is a product of its time, but at the time it was written these were more socially acceptable behaviours that society has now rightly condemned and tries to move past. There is no element of moralizing in the story to draw attention to these actions’ unacceptability, nor are they new enough to theatrical content to make them edgy or shocking.

The fans drive the demand for The Rocky Horror Show and as such, it will never quietly fade away into retirement, despite its highly questionable themes. The skillful performances and high production values make the night enjoyable, but the story is an unpleasant relic from a time with a more limited understanding of human rights.

The Play’s The Thing UK is an independent theatre criticism website maintained voluntarily. Whilst donations are never expected, they are hugely appreciated and will enable more time to be spent reviewing theatre productions of all sizes. Click here to make a donation with PalPal.

Song from Far Away, Young Vic Theatre

Willem is 34. He moved from Amsterdam to New York City 12 years ago. After an inconveniently timed phone call from his mother on a cold New York morning, he goes home for his younger brother Pauli’s funeral. He is greeted by his father’s disappointment, his sister’s lectures and the disorientation of not knowing where “home” is anymore. Much has changed, yet so much has remained the same.

I’m 33 years old. Eleven years ago, I moved to the UK from New York City. I use the term “home” fluidly because I don’t know where that place is anymore. So far I haven’t had to suddenly return for a family funeral, but that time will come. I know too well that disarming, unnamed feeling of simultaneous comfort and sadness from remembered places and people, those that have stayed the same and those have changed or disappeared altogether. There are many things that I miss, but much that reinforces my choice not just to leave, but to stay away.

I should have been in tears by the end of Song from Far Away, especially as I saw the 11 September performance, a day indelibly impressed on my memory with an anniversary no easier to bear with each passing year. Willem unexpectedly lost his little brother to an undiagnosed heart condition; I fortunately lost no one in 9/11. I was moved at times, by Simon Stephens’ delicate language, Mark Eizel’s folksy travelling tunes, and Eelco Smits’ honest portrayal of Willem’s understated struggles. Frustratingly, I never received the cathartic cry I sought from this production though, and I should have, considering how keenly I relate to Willem.

The performance and design elements are subtly beautiful, but the production is skeletal. The changing light and shadows of time passing have more connection to the present than the character does, who is more at home in transit than in the arrival at a place. The production seems to want to be minimalist in the extreme in order to draw attention to Willem’s displacement in the world, but in doing so creates an ethereal anti-theatre that doesn’t manage to come close to the audience’s heartstrings. Willem’s extended monologue in the form of letters to Pauli opens his heart to us as he (literally) bares all, but his world is so insular that we are excluded. We can witness, but not engage.

Stephens’ script sounds like it would read better on the page than performed as a theatre piece, at least with Ivo van Hove’s chosen directorial concept. The language is undeniably beautiful and human, and creates a wonderful character, but the production concept distances and isolates him from us, reinforced in the final moments of the play. A Song from Far Away is just that – too distant to hear the details of a faintly mourning cry on cold winter’s day in New York City. We want to comfort the singer, but he is moving further out of our grasp the longer we listen.

The Play’s The Thing UK is an independent theatre criticism website maintained voluntarily. Whilst donations are never expected, they are hugely appreciated and will enable more time to be spent reviewing theatre productions of all sizes. Click here to make a donation with PalPal.

Reckless, Rose Playhouse

The pool preserving the remains of The Rose Playhouse is the sea surrounding a nameless, remote island. Fascinating, dangerous, wild or wonderful, all of the island dwellers have lengthy, close relationships with the sea, for better or worse. These intertwining, turbulent histories meet and join each other at the Old Man and his Boy, a story of a new, young love and a past love, long lost. Heady Conduct’s Reckless unfolds a timeless tale of love, truth and community dictated by the sea using narration, site-specific influences and direct address interspersed with conventional performance. The story is both sweet and saddening, but the play’s structure is disjointed and thin, occasionally unclear in time and place, causing the story to lose support and clarity. Fortunately, the scenes between characters are endowed with honesty and intimacy, and the unique performance venue is fantastically utilized by director/actor Rebecca Rogers.

Rogers is the central narrator figure, the Harbour Master. She is the all-seeing and all-knowing, performing with a reserved omniscience. Rogers also plays the Old Man’s dead wife, a quiet enigmatic character often referenced but rarely seen. She’s a wonderful, etherial presence when she does eventually appear. The other living characters have more energy, particularly Alison Tennant as feisty, confident Girl that shy Boy falls in love with, and Blake Kubena as the Old Man, father of Boy. Kubena’s Old Man is a ball of pent up mourning that’s become a threatening obsessive, controlling his son’s every move. Though there is no issue with their performance, Kubena and Simon Rodda’s Boy look like they could be brothers in their late 20s or early 30s, not an elderly man and his teenaged son. The lighthouse keeper, played by Edward Bijl, is a watchful outsider trying to engage with the native islanders though never succeeds, resorting to desperate measures to fit in. Though the character provides some comic relief, he contributes little to the story and provides minimal plot progression.

The general atmosphere is good; atmosphere is vital to make a successful show in such a vast and unusual performance space. It gives productions here specificity of location and time period, otherwise the dark emptiness beyond the stage dwarfs the play. Nautical elements deck the back wall of the site, a hut perches precariously on the water’s edge, seagull puppets and some good sound design add specificity. The lighting isn’t fully utilized to create mood, nor does it do much to counter the sweeping grey ceiling and walls, but this island could be in a location that’s perpetually cloudy.

The use of ritual and tradition gives the story gravitas; the Harbour Master’s Festival of the Lost is a moving tribute to those drowned at sea. It connects the characters to each other and to the island, helping to counteract the loosely fitting scene structure. It also emphasizes the seriousness of the small twist at the end where the audience learns the details of the Wife’s death, and the gradual muddying of the truth with the passage of time. The most moving plot point is Boy giving a ring of his mother’s to Girl, inscribed with a medieval French saying, “pences pour moye du” or “think of me, God willing”. Historically, this ring was found during the Rose’s excavations and now lives in the Museum of London (The Rose sells replicas in its giftshop). This is a delightful nugget of Rose history bonding the theatre to this particular production.

Though Reckless is in the early stages of its expansion into a full production from a one-person show, it still needs more flesh on its skeletal frame. There are great characters and the love story at its core is wonderful, but its dreamlike atmosphere needs more detail to make the world of the play truly believable. It’s most certainly achievable, and this play will develop its sea legs as it continues its development.

The Play’s The Thing UK is an independent theatre criticism website maintained voluntarily. Whilst donations are never expected, they are hugely appreciated and will enable more time to be spent reviewing theatre productions of all sizes. Click here to make a donation with PalPal.

Tamburlaine the Great, Tristan Bates Theatre

That which goes up must eventually fall. Christopher Marlowe’s Tamburlaine the Great tells of the title role’s rise from common thug to emperor of Persia and Africa. A precursor to, and probable influence of, Shakespeare’s ruthless Richard III, the man is needlessly brutal: he orders rivals’ remains displayed on city walls, women and children killed, manipulates others to join his cause and then betrays them. Fate eventually catches up with Tamburlaine after he sets fire to books, including the Qu’ran, and proclaims himself more powerful than God.

Lazarus Theatre Company returns to form after a disappointing Henry V with a modern, concise presentation of Marlowe’s play depicting Tamburlaine as a violent, string vest wearing hood rat transformed into a suited and booted world ruler. Social mobility is the dominant theme, emphasized through Rachel Dingle’s costume design in this rags to riches tale. With visually arresting movement sequences, skillful use of light, and pointed similarities with Middle Eastern politics, immigration and Western meddling in the region, this is a relevant, well-crafted adaptation of the Elizabethan original.

The defining feature of this Lazarus’ adaptation is the extended movement sequences, with a powerfully striking one opening the show. A large cast use militaristic stylization and East Asian performance techniques to slowly travel across the stage, setting the tone for Tamburlaine’s merciless and unfeeling crusade. The choreography is precisely angular and even though the actors are well-rehearsed and the effect is visually stunning, there are hints of restrained self-consciousness from some of the company. Accompanied by deep, tonal sound design by Neil McKeown with the actors smartly dressed in modern suits, it reflects the contemporary Western political machine that coldly invades other countries. These sequences are used throughout, enough to be effective but not so much that they lose their power. No choreographer is credited, so they are assumed to be a product of co-directors Ricky Dukes and Gavin Marrington-Odedra.

Performances from the company of 15 are good, with delivery occasionally broken and overindulgent. These moments are rare and don’t affect the pace or energy of the cast as a whole. Particular highlights are Kate Austen as the aggressive, trackie-bottomed Techelles who is Tamburlaine’s number two. She never loses her fierceness, even when Tamburlaine’s success means she has to wear a fitted dress. Robert Gosling is the simpering, camp Mycetes, Emperor of Persia. He’s a great contrast to Prince Plockey’s earthy Tamburlaine. Alex Reynolds is the captured prisoner Zenocrates that Tamburlaine woos and makes his bride. Her transition from victim to doting wife is a disturbingly good example of Stockholm Syndrome, reinforcing Tamburlaine’s power and manipulation. Lorna Reed plays three smaller roles, with a calm strength and subtly powerful voice. She would make an excellent Hermione or Lady Anne. The bombastic Bajozeth, Emperor of the Turks, is played by Alex Maude and is a joy to watch, particularly when imprisoned and force fed by Tamburlaine.

There are few weaknesses in this Lazarus production, but those that are present are minor. Tamburlaine’s final speech has too many pauses and the use of five identical crowns can cause confusion as to which character is the most important at any given moment. There was also an unsatisfying lack of blood considering the play’s violence. However, fringe productions tend to not have a dry cleaning budget; having the Mads Mikkelsen-as-Hannibal Lector suits cleaned daily would cost a small fortune. Artistic director Dukes’ flair for updating classical theatre with contemporary relevance and visual staging is at its finest in Tamburlaine the Great and is certainly worth a watch, particularly as it’s a play rarely staged.

The Play’s The Thing UK is an independent theatre criticism website maintained voluntarily. Whilst donations are never expected, they are hugely appreciated and will enable more time to be spent reviewing theatre productions of all sizes. Click here to make a donation with PalPal.

We Just Keep Going, Hen & Chickens Theatre

Everyone’s family is messed up, with mother/daughter relationships an infamous source of tension. At the start of We Just Keep Going, Ruby (Elle van Knoll) and her mum Susan (Hilary Tones) recently relocated from San Francisco to England after Susan split from Ruby’s dad for hinted-at sinister reasons. As time passes, Ruby grows up and both ladies are in the dating scene, leading to even more conflict between the two. Though the subject matter is rather serious, the delivery most certainly isn’t. Elle van Knoll’s script is full of hilarious one-liners and situation comedy; director Helen Oakleigh intuitively adds pace and timing. The scenes are excellent stand-alone pieces and the company has good chemistry, though the performances are occasionally too heightened and the transitions are lengthy, particularly considering the scenes are numerous and short. Despite these issues, this is a great effort from new company VK Unlimited.

This is van Knoll’s debut as a playwright; as well as playing the lead role and producing. For a debut play, the script is very good. Van Knoll has a great sense for character comedy and narrative arc; her choice of episodic structure is an effective storytelling device. Ruby and Susan’s conflicting history and personal issues show some depth, though there is more of a focus on Ruby rather than Susan. Ruby’s character has a clearly defined journey that van Knoll skillfully captures, but similar character development in Susan wouldn’t go amiss as she recovers from her divorce and finds her independence as her daughter grows up. The male characters, Michael (Scott Westwood) and David (Sam Parks), get less attention though their story of estrangement is just as interesting as the women’s troubled family history. The interval wasn’t particularly needed at the current length, but with further development and character exploration, We Just Keep Going could become a full-length play.

The performances from the company of four are wonderfully funny, but don’t always feel genuine in moments of high conflict and revelation. Westwood’s and Parks’ performances feel uncommitted at times, understandingly so as they are less developed and have less stage time than the women. When Michael (Ruby’s boyfriend) and Sam (Susan’s boyfriend) eventually clash, their fight, choreographed by Andrei Zayats, feels restrained and staged rather than convincingly violent. Tones has a lovely, warm quality that is a great contrast to van Knoll’s spikiness. Westwood and Parks have a similar dynamic that is an effective mirror.

Though the comedy is the main feature of this play, it has potential for a darker focus as well, what with the themes of abuse and abandonment that feature. For a first production, We Just Keep Going is good, but a more balanced use of comedy and characterization would make this an excellent play with meaty roles that are a treat for any actor to play.

The Play’s The Thing UK is an independent theatre criticism website maintained voluntarily. Whilst donations are never expected, they are hugely appreciated and will enable more time to be spent reviewing theatre productions of all sizes. Click here to make a donation with PalPal.

Consolation, Bridewell Theatre

Carol (Holly Joyce) moved to a village in Carcassonne to rebuild her life after a devastating divorce and her son had grown up. She is convinced that in a past life, she was a medieval troubadour called Guy in the time of the Cathars. Raymond (Danny Solomon) is an actor working in the second-rate tourist attraction that Carol stalks, and longs for a life in the more exciting London. With a poetic, reflective script by Nick Wood and direction by Natasha Wood, Consolation has riveting moments between these two damaged, conflicting characters as they travel on parallel journeys of self-discovery, but at two and a half hours with a lengthy, slow-burning beginning, the production could use a trim. The slow development and several sub-plots lend a real-life complexity to the story, though the last to be introduced has insufficient expositional time considering its importance to the play’s conclusion. Despite the script’s need for additional development, this is a moving character piece unsentimentally following two individuals as they come to terms with the insubstantiality of their dreams.

By far, the best scenes are between Carol and Raymond. She’s middle-aged and needy; he’s young and cynical. Both struggle to live in the present, instead finding solace in imaginary worlds. Their conflict is charged and spiky; their softening and opening up to each other is rewarding. These scenes are a welcome break from lengthy conversations Carol has with the meditative voice in her head and the languid, but beautiful, projections from Raymond’s workplace and the fantasies in Carol’s head. Also good are the awkward skype conversations between Carol and her theatre technician son Jamie (Tom Grace) and his girlfriend, Laura (Nathalie Barclay). Jamie and Laura are projected onto the ever-present, multi-purposed large screen, further enhancing the discrepancy between Carol and Raymond’s real life in conflict with their fantasies.

There are numerous themes at play here, dreams and ambitions versus reality, and the dreams never fulfilling expectation dominate any others. There is also a nod to mental health issues, living as an immigrant, running away from real life, family loyalty and the politics of domestic terrorism. The latter isn’t exposed until the end after subtle foreshadowing and provides a convenient dénouement, but feels underdeveloped and unneeded. The central focus of the story is Carol and Raymond’s personal journeys, which are captured with nuance and truth by Joyce and Solomon. Their electric confrontations are the bright focal points of Consolation with chemistry that makes this production worth watching, but half an hour of the script could easily go and not be missed.

This is a good offer from Strasbourg’s Theatre Voliere, bridging the gap between UK and continental theatre in an increasingly small world, with human stories that are capable of transcending international boundaries.

The Play’s The Thing UK is an independent theatre criticism website maintained voluntarily. Whilst donations are never expected, they are hugely appreciated and will enable more time to be spent reviewing theatre productions of all sizes. Click here to make a donation with PalPal.

Forest Fringe Digest: Part Two

A male photographer is photographing a female celebrity who is tired of being so superficial. She wants this photo shoot to show her “true self”. She wants to be “real”, and we’re all hanging out in the studio with them in Action Hero’s Wrecking Ball. Audience expectations are immediately challenged on entry when invited to grab a beer from a cooler onstage, and this boundary remains blurred for the duration. Communication is attempted between the two characters, but neither is really listening and what they say doesn’t really have any meaning, pointedly ironic in characters striving for stripped back honestly. The performance is both funny and uncomfortable as the audience watches their professional relationship cross into the manipulative personal. This is a text-based performance with imagery rich language highlighting the absurdity of their encounter, but it triggers a good amount of reflection on our own behaviour. We all carefully construct our images, particularly in social media, yet at the same time we want to be genuine (whatever that means). This is an excellent, polished piece that is provocative in subject and the actor-audience relationship.

Search Party’s My Son & Heir is without question the funniest thing I’ve seen this year in Edinburgh. Real-life couple Pete Phillips and Jodie Hawkes playfully examine the prospects of their young son, born in the same year as ‘baby Cambridge.’ The two little boys have little in common, though. Pete and Jodie share their hopes for their son in a cheerful, pink chaos that soon disintegrates into relentless judgments on their parenting methods and a stream of ‘what ifs’ capturing the anxiety and pressure to raise a perfect child. The message evokes sympathy and reflection, even from those without children. It’s an outstanding blend of comedy and social commentary on the perils of being an ordinary parent without heaps of cash to throw at your child. Their gleeful, child-like anarchy quickly turns vicious, creating pointed contrast between the haves and have-nots, but ends in a message of love. Perhaps the ending tends towards sentimental, but in a world where money is a large factor in success and a good life, it is also an ending of hope.

Last up is Christopher Brett Bailey’s This Is How We Die, a spoken word and music performance that is deceptively simple but leaves you with overloaded senses and a feeling of having traveled around the world at a million miles a second. When I first saw This Is How We Die at Battersea Arts Centre several months ago, I was so moved that I wrote two responses: an immediate visceral reaction that probably isn’t particularly well written followed by a reasoned review. I wanted to experience this piece in a smaller space, and Forest Fringe did not disappoint. Bailey’s delivery was more intimate and personal, and sitting in the front row was a full-blast experience. This piece isn’t for everyone, though. A couple of people walked out, and responses have been polarized; you either love this piece or you hate it.

The Play’s The Thing UK is an independent theatre criticism website maintained voluntarily. Whilst donations are never expected, they are hugely appreciated and will enable more time to be spent reviewing theatre productions of all sizes. Click here to make a donation with PalPal.

Forest Fringe Digest: Part One

As Edinburgh Festival Fringe has become more and more mainstream with success often determined by a large budget and a slot in one of the top six or so venues, truly experimental, progressive work doesn’t get as much attention anymore. Fortunately, Forest Fringe has re-calibrated the focus with a curated festival, independent of the fringe since 2007, creating a space where true experimentation is encouraged, and operating on a financial model that means all performances are free.

For two weeks, they are filling Out of the Blue Drill Hall with performance, live art, installations and other works that defy categorization. Their programme is astonishingly varied, providing a platform for emerging and established artists to present work. Forest Fringe also gives audiences a focal point rather than having to wade through thousands of shows in the fringe programme to find truly innovative work. I could happily take up residence at Forest for the duration of the festival, but have to limit my choices. Starting with Volcano’s Black Stuff and ending with Christopher Brett Bailey’s This Is How We Die, I also experience Made in China’s new show, Tonight I’m Gonna Be the New Me, Action Hero’s Wrecking Ball, Eggs Collective’s work in progress Late Night Love and Search Party’s My Son & Heir.

A walk to a “secret location” ends in a dimly lit warehouse for Volcano’s show about the effects of coal mining. It is a promenade production that literally destabilises the audience, who have to walk over a floor covered with large chunks of the black stuff. Four actors taking on roles both historical and fictitious physically capture miners’ suffering in horrific working conditions. Disappointingly, in a piece with such a focus on introducing the characters at the beginning, their individual stories are neglected in favour of the visual and aural. Some of the metaphors make sense, like the animalistic dining scene showing the reduction of the miners to baser creatures, others are less clear. I still don’t understand the incorporation of Anna Karenina and playing cricket in their pants. Black Stuff is surreal and abstract, but so much so that any message or idea trying to be communicated is almost completely lost.

Late Night Love is a sweetly nostalgic, and very funny, piece revolving around a phone-in radio show the three members of Eggs Collective listened to as teenagers. Having not grown up in the UK, I missed a lot of the cultural references, but the teenaged idealism about love and relationships is universal. Power ballads and dating conventions are gently mocked, but lovingly remembered. The two-way radios on each table are underused, but an interesting device that places the audience inside the radio show listened to in the dark. Though quite structurally loose at this point, it’s a show that speaks fondly of a specific era and development stage of teenage girls.

Made in China’s Tonight I’m Gonna Be the New Me blurs the line between truth and fiction through founders Tim Cowbury’s and Jessica Latowicki’s real-life relationship laid bare onstage. The premise is that Tim has written the show that Jess performs as Tim runs the lights and takes notes at the back. Jess dances inside a metal box wearing sequined hotpants and a halter top, an object for our delectation, and presumably Tim’s. She soon hijacks the script that descends into the two picking at each other’s faults, empowering herself as the audience are voyeurs of their argument. What is truth and what is fiction? This blurring is far more interesting to consider than the argument typical of a long-term relationship that unfolds. The made-up story of Tim’s death returns the piece solidly to fiction, again made more interesting in the idea of fantasizing about a partner’s death (we all do it!) than the story itself. I expected the content of Tonight I’m Gonna Be the New Me to be far edgier than it was, though the ideas within the performance are certainly fascinating on several levels.

The Play’s The Thing UK is an independent theatre criticism website maintained voluntarily. Whilst donations are never expected, they are hugely appreciated and will enable more time to be spent reviewing theatre productions of all sizes. Click here to make a donation with PalPal.