Edinburgh Festival Fringe, 13 August: Part Two

Camilla Whitehill’s Where Do Little Birds Go? tells the true story of Lisa Prescott, an 18-year-old nightclub hostess kidnapped by the Kray twins in 1966. Re-named Lucy Fuller, Jessica Butcher tells Prescott’s story through this harrowing solo performance. Humour and music are used to break up the horror of Fuller’s imprisonment with an escaped murderer who rapes her for hours on end, but some of the music transitions feel forced. Lucy loves singing; Butcher shares this love with gusto. She also wonderfully and ever so slowly transitions from the bright eyed, bushy tailed girl from Hastings who moved to London with hopes, dreams and £5 in her pocket, to a quietly streetwise, mature young woman.

Whitehill’s script contains some witty one-liners but doesn’t shy away from graphic incidents, like Lucy adventures as a nightclub hostess who offers “afters” to her best clients, and her experiences at the hands of the Krays. Justin Nardella’s set is Winston’s, the Mayfair club where Lucy worked before her capture and after her release. It cleverly uses sturdy levels to break up Fuller’s movements, but some of director Sarah Meadows’ blocking feels arbitrary. Meadows does have a good sense of storytelling, but struggles with the script’s abrupt ending. The audience never learns the how Lucy regained her freedom, though Butcher’s excellent performance draws attention away from this issue. Overall, this is a good offering from Duckdown Theatre and Heavy Weather Theatre that with further script development could be an excellent play.

My last production of the day is Katharine Rose Williams Radojičić’s Love Letters to the Home Office, which receives a one-off table reading at Summerhall. This is one of the most important plays of contemporary British theatre. Not because of innovation or style, but content: it exposes the consequences of the 2012 Home Office legislation that breaches the human rights of an estimated 50,000 families in the UK.

This new ruling states that in order for a UK citizen to bring their non-European spouse into the country, the UK partner must earn a minimum of £18,600 a year or have £62,500 in savings. With travel and technology connecting people unlike that in past generations, couples forming from all corners of the globe are becoming more and more common. The income requirement discriminates against the working poor, though. It means that if the UK partner earns the minimum wage, they must work 60 hours a week. People who work in many jobs vital to UK societal function would not be able to living in the UK with their non-EEA partners. Such roles include teaching assistants, cleaners, caretakers, administrators, technicians, support workers, receptionists, and so on. The non-EEA partner’s income and savings are not considered in the application. Basically, if you are poor, you better fall in love with someone that is a European citizen or you will not be able to live together as a married couple unless you leave the UK.

Love Letters to the Home Office uses verbatim theatre from real-life people affected by this ruling. It is a politically charged play with a clear agenda: to spread the word about this home-wrecking Tory ruling. The stories are heart rending. A little boy stranded with his mum in America calls his Samsung tablet Dada. A single mum who can’t earn the required income because she is caring for her daughter must wait until her daughter’s old enough to go to school before increasing her working hours. A woman from the Philippines is unable to attend her husband’s funeral in the UK because her visa application had been rejected. These stories go on and on. There’s also a lot of factual information in the script that quotes from government legislation and academic studies amongst the actual stories. I struggle to imagine a dynamic staging and want to hear more first-hand accounts, but the script content is still hugely powerful and a motivational call to action.

The programme contains advice on how to engage politically if you are moved to act. It also has links to the project’s website, with many more accounts from people affected by this law. The website also allows for contributions, which opens the play to potential of constant change. The script could alter with every performance in order to provide a voice for these oppressed people who did nothing more than fall in love with a non-European whilst earning less than £18,600 a year.

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Edinburgh Festival Fringe, 13 August: Part One

It’s fair to say that I’m not generally drawn to comedy or light subject matter. My favourite theatre is intense, serious and powerful, often with a heavy dose of suffering and/or death. I might need a break from all the despair after today, though. From mental health to forced prostitution to the government breaking up families, I’ve been put through the emotional wringer. These four productions are radically different in style and execution, catering to diverse audiences, but all are excellent offerings at this year’s fringe.

My Beautiful Black Dog at Udderbelly Cowgate is a rock musical/gig/spoken word/live art show created and performed by southeast Londoner Brigitte Aphrodite. It celebrates her depression, or as she calls it in attempt to accept it as part of who she is, Creshendorious. There is glitter and sequins everywhere, emphasizing her party girl highs and contrasting her lows. Aphrodite is honest, frank and a highly skilled wordsmith in her songs and spoken text. Her songs manage to be both dry and celebratory; they create a party-like atmosphere that has the audience dancing and laughing along. It is rough and ready, and intimate, like a secret basement gig by your favourite band. The projected images and song titles added an element of set, but weren’t particularly needed and sometimes hard to see on the theatre’s brick back wall. On stage with her is Quiet Boy, who provides backing vocals, guitar accompaniment and a character who tries to coax her out of the road case she sometimes hides in, but it is very much Aphrodite’s show.

The party vibe abruptly drops when Aphrodite reads a (glittery) letter that explains exactly how she feels when she is fighting her black dog. Her honesty is brutal, but necessary. My Beautiful Black Dog takes a (sequined) tyre iron to the stigma and silence surrounding mental health issues. In these moments, the shine is a shallow sticking plaster, trite and useless. Rather than ending on a somber note, she ends on a song – not a happy ending, but a hopeful one. Aphrodite knows her depression will return, but next time may it be with understanding and acceptance from those around her. This production is difficult to experience, particularly if mental health issues affect you. It forces open a dialogue about mental health issues and even though it a (sparkly) genre mash-up, it is a vital show that could be scaled up to a big show, complete with lights, confetti and the sparkle it deserves.

Blind Man’s Song in Pleasance Dome is Theatre Re’s non-verbal dance theatre offering this year. As blind man Alex Judd plays keyboard and electric violin, a masked Guillaume Pigé and Selma Roth personify the images and emotions in his head. There is love, violence, travel, and a host of other encounters between the characters. There are moments of narrative, but this piece is very much open to individual interpretation. A simple, black set paired with smoke, side lighting and timeless costumes evokes the silent film era or a painting coming to life. The soaring emotion in the blind man’s music could imply that these are his memories or dreams. The mood and music varied enough throughout to maintain audience attention, and the performers’ skills in dance and mime were evident. It’s a captivating watch, if a little long. Sadly, some of the audience members were less appreciative. An older couple noisily left part way through and an American voice a few rows back at one point proclaimed, “This is stupid.” Abhorrent behaviour.

The music is richly augmented by a recorded track, but deliberately repetitive and grating at times. I found my mind wandering occasionally, but this was due to a moment triggering my own imagination. The young boy sitting in front of me had some lovely responses to the piece that drew my eye away from the stage: at times he conducted the music, at others he swayed mirroring the performers on stage, or wiggling abstractly in a dance of his own. Blind Man’s Song certainly triggers strong reactions from its audience though strangely, not all positive. It is a meditative, evocative performance if an individual permits it to be, but perhaps a challenging offering to our short attention spans.

Catalpa, Edinburgh Festival Fringe

In 1876, Captain George Anthony was hired to sail The Catalpa from Massachusetts to Freemantle, Australia to rescue six Irish prisoners. Numerous difficulties nearly scuppered the mission, creating fascinating narrative potential for songwriters and playwrights. Actor/writer Donal O’Kelly frames this nautical tale with a frustrated screenwriter who keeps being rejected by Hollywood producers. After the latest, “no”, he returns to his flat alone and enacts the entire story he sees in his head that no one appreciates. Youthful American company 35 Brookline brings this one-man show from Boston to Edinburgh with a great performance by Joseph Freeman, but some script issues and production choices prevent this play from reaching its full potential.

There are some wonderful moments. Freeman’s ability to embody honest tenderness as George saying goodbye to wife Greta and daughter Pearl, and later imagining them on his journey, are the best in the play. The model Catalapa at sea on the screenwriter’s bed with a small torch sun is simple but effective object manipulation. Freeman’s energy and commitment to the role are excellent and unwavering. In a play written 20 years ago, Freeman feels too young for the screenwriter character, though. The language doesn’t sit organically in a contemporary character of his age and a man reaching that level of bitterness is usually middle-aged rather than early-to-mid twenties, though his youth suits the characters in the Catalpa story.

The introduction of O’Kelly’s script is rushed, not giving the performer enough time to suitably build to the desperation required to carry him through the enactment of his script alone in his flat. It’s also an unconvincing scenario, and one that feels plausible with the addition of copious amounts of alcohol. The script also fails to return to the screenwriter at the end of the play, creating an abrupt ending and the feeling of incompletion.

Though the pace and energy are generally good with suitable attention paid to the more intimate moments, other climactic moments could have been slowed down more. The story depicted in lengthy and complicated, which can be hard to follow at pace. I’m unsure whether this is a script or directorial issue, but it’s easy to lose track of the story. There is much more potential for sound and lighting detail to add even more atmosphere, but this is underused. What is there is supportive of the story with the exception of a few blackouts.

This is certainly a quirky and endearing piece of theatre, but one that does not manage to fully satisfy. The story is wonderful as is Freeman’s performance, but other elements of the production don’t knit together as smoothly as they could.

Butoh Beethoven, Edinburgh Festival Fringe

Culture vulture audiences will know Beethoven, but may not be familiar with Butoh, the Japanese modern dance developed out of the devastation of WWII that translates to “darkness dance”. It wholly rejects the conventions of classical dance by tapping into the inner life of the dance’s subject. In this case, the eponymous composer and Butoh founder Hijikata Tatsumi inspire french creator and performer Vangeline.

A row of pig masks on the back wall of the tiny theatre watches this non-speaking show that embraces the grotesque. Vangeline is dressed in a glowing white, glamorous gown made of shirt sleeves. Her makeup starkly matches, and evokes the spirit of these dead men. A red glowing heart in her hands followed by a light up conductor’s wand are a focal point, but not as intriguing as the expression that soon dominates Vangeline’s face. Her vigorous movements fill the small stage, but expression begins small, then grows into an gaping mouth and searching tongue. Her eyes are closed most of the performance but her mouth exhibits passion, struggle and ecstasy brought on by the symphony she conducts. As the music climaxes, so does she but this is not sexual…or perhaps it is?

The character the audience sees is also a non-character, more of a personification of the pleasure we feel when listening to our favourite piece of music. This creates a simple narrative, but lacks enough substance for a 45-minute performance. I want to know more about this creature but she never satisfies this curiosity. Her movements are intriguing and full of feeling, but the promised parallels between the performance and film noir never materialize. Knowing only basic information about Butoh, the tribute to the dance’s founder is not clear other than the chosen dance form itself.

Butoh Beethoven, whilst using a form unique to most audiences in this country, is certainly a cultural experience but one that is not entirely accessible to those unfamiliar with Butoh due to the lack of speech. It falls into the genres of performance art and live art and though the production contains captivating physical images and outstanding sound design, it is only fully accessible to audiences with a specific knowledge of the dance form.

Divas and Islands, Edinburgh Festival Fringe

Adam and Damien, with a trio of backing singers, narrate their doomed-to-fail relationship from beginning to end. Magnus and Sophie, a high flying city couple and the epitome of pop culture, also use narration to tell the audience about their perfect relationship and their perfect lives that really aren’t so perfect. Fine Mess Theatre present these couples with two comedic short plays, Divas and Islands to remind us that we are all flawed creatures searching through the mess that is modern life to find that one person whose flaws fit ours. Also, city workers do their reputations no favours.

Divas follows a format similar to Jason Robert Brown’s The Last 5 Years. Adam (Joel Samuels) tells their story backwards, starting with their breakup. Damien (Daniel Ward) starts at the beginning. They address the audience, but rarely directly to each other. Three women in sequined black dresses sing stereotypical diva anthems a cappella, but also step in to take on the role of the other partner and friends as a mini-chorus. Things aren’t right, though. Adam is middle class and works in the corporate world. He desperately seeks out culture: book groups, art galleries, opera, fine food and wine. Damien is a working class barista who believes Adam is completely above him. Feeling the need to impress on one of their first few dates, he creates a new biography: he works in the music industry, he lives with hipster housemates, his parents are dead, the works. Lies are never infinitely sustainable, and in this case, all does not end well. As the story unravels, what is true and what is fabrication becomes increasingly unclear, but it works well by showing the two sides to every relationship.

Though the two men are desperately in love with each other, Samuels and Ward haven’t fully captured that chemistry. The staging is that of a cabaret, with a shiny red backdrop and the men using handheld microphones. The singers are not amplified, so the sporadically used microphones seem unnecessary and an obstacle to the characters’ relationship. There is little physical contact, though it is often discussed. Not that they need to be all over each other, but it may have helped create a stronger sense of their relationship. The cabaret format is a lovely idea to frame a couple that loves the genre, but it further distances the characters from each other. More direct interaction would certainly support their relationship, though it would have to be carefully placed and in order not to muddy the contrasting chronologies.

Islands is the stronger, more polished play, but with less likeable characters and a more conventional format. Magnus (Kyle Ross) and Sophie (Eva Tausig) are performed well, and hilariously embody aspects of corporate and pop culture that everyone loves to hate. From workplace affairs to text speak, they lead fabulously comfortable lives that look perfect from the outside. A quick pace generates some great comedic moments, but they are still two people desperately seeking the perfect compliment to themselves. There is also a heavy dose of narration, but the two regularly interact so their relationship seems genuine. Though this is a two-hander, the performances and the script are good enough to keep attention throughout, but there is perhaps one subplot too many. The puzzling element is the costume design – both characters are just in underwear. The stripped back costume contrasts their carefully constructed lives, but it doesn’t really add anything to their relationship and feels gratuitous.

Fine Mess Theatre are a new company of actor-writers that focus on new writing and clearly have the courage to experiment with form and structure. Their strengths are their characters and story ideas, but the structure doesn’t always support their characters’ relationships with each other. Narration and direct address is often ignored in character-driven work, but exploring it as a storytelling device is a worthy experiment. They are certainly a company to watch as they develop and refine their style.

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The Play's The Thing UK

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Edinburgh Festival Fringe