La Petite Mort at Eat Your Heart Out (Bristol)

La Petite Mort

Kate Rusby, Colston Hall April 2008

Kate Rusby
Colston Hall
25/04/08

Every year on my birthday my parents would take me to visit my Auntie Sue and Uncle Barry for birthday tea. Their bungalow was always warm and inviting; the

plastic coal fire always roaring. Salad, pork pie, scotch egg; battenburg. Sue had an impressively modern tupperware device for washing lettuce; a dark brown

circular tub containing a plastic mesh basket. The lettuce would be rinsed and placed into the device to be dried. The lid of the tub had a handle, which

when turned would cause the lettuce to spin, its centrifugal force flinging the water into the bottom of the tub. The lettuce would then be placed into a

large crystal serving dish and layered with eighths of tomato and freshly sliced cucumber. If we were lucky a spring onion was added to the mix.

Entering the Colston Hall this evening, birthday tea with my Auntie Sue was instantly evoked. I could practically taste the spring onions. Rusby’s audience

had the combined scent of a thousand Avon Ladies; swathes of people old enough not to worry about wearing lenses rather than glasses fought to compete with

each others overpowering scents. Estee Lauder, Joop and Poison battled to the death in the vast yet intimate space. Pearl earrings were the decoration du

jour, trends unimportant, comfort placed at the forefront of outfit decisions.

Rusby was on comedic form, providing humorous interludes between songs in her Barnsley Patois. Stories of womens prisons and ‘The Folk Police’ along with

occasional asides from her band added much needed respite from the rousing folk tunes her band trotted out competantly. Rusby’s voice was soothing and

lustrous as it poured from her body, pitch perfect yet sometimes teetering on the edges of twee. There were fleeting moments of magic, her words a susurrus

across the hairs of my arms; she seemed completely engaged in the music. Stepping back from the microphone to pay attention to each instrument she slightly

cocked her head, her fingers tapping out the rythym whilst a slightly bizarre expression of deep concentration illiminated her face; which at times contorted

oddly.

On a song that referenced spindles and bobbins and accompanied by Stylophone, I drifted away to a world of pleasant fluff, like waking up in a box of

kittens. The majority of her songs washed over me in this way and my mind was free to wander where it may. Auntie Sue could not have even contemplated the

horror that I was to turn out to be a homosexual. She has no idea even this day. Uncle Barry has a heart condition and the shock could cause him harm.

Jam and Jerasalem theme tune and Kinks Cover ‘The Village Green Preservation Society’ read less as a caring but slightly ironic achnowledgement of the nicer

elements of English culture and rather more a call to arms for the suburban audience. There was nothing challenging about this evenings entertainment; wave

after wave of pleasant folk ditty recalled better times, where knights rescued damsels and bone china was brought out on special occasions.

As the evening progressed the smell of competing perfume became the breathy smell of cheese and onion sandwich. How unfortunate that I was seated next to the

chap who had consumed such smelly lunch. During the interval a disinerested looking husband brought out his newspaper and the gentleman infront carried on

with his book. The battenburg was always the highlight of my birthday tea. Rusby brought the salad and the tupperware drainer. I might go as far as saying

she had spring onion. However, she lacked the batternburg.

Perhaps I should give Sue a call?

Michael Jones

Tunnel 228 Review

Tunnel 228
Punchdrunk  Theatre Company
Waterloo

The advertising is mysterious: directed to an obscure website advertising a company called Track and Rail Cleaning LTD. I click a link and a flash animation flickers before my eyes, the hands of a clock spinning. “Lost? Tunnel 228”. I reserve a timeslot for this as yet unidentified experience and book for a ‘crew’ of 4 people.

Having previously experienced a number of works by Punchdrunk, I have quite a clear understanding about what this might be. I can’t help but read the article in the The London Paper (http://www.thelondonpaper.com/going-out/whats-new/the-old-vic-and-punchdrunk-collaborate-on-tunnel-228) and I am enthused by Spacey’ stating that “This is all about bringing art and theatre together into something ambitious and wonderful.”

I arrive at the door to Tunnel 228 having read a little about what I might see. I am fairly excited about entering as I have had some of my most wonderful theatrical experiences with Punchdrunk; the dark cellar in The Firebird Ball, The Strobe Maze in Marat/Sade, The puppet in the bed in The Masque of The Red Death.

On first entering the space it is quite clear that it isn’t very large, nor very mysterious. It is quite simple to work out where I am going and how to find each part of the installation. I follow the masked performers pushing metal balls through gulleys and tunnels and see a chap walking up the wall and another across the ceiling. This is curiously engaging and I follow crowds of people all watching the progress of each part of this giant game of Mousetrap. The performers wear balaclava masks and plod continuously through the repetitive cycle, setting and re-setting the machine again and again.

Throughout the space there are a number of fairly beautiful objects to see; the water tank video booth and the video in the metal tube are stunningly realised and the flickering light bulbs and mechanics of the mousetrap machine are thrilling. The killing machine is terrifying and the snake like object made from pigeon feathers is quite intriguing. As art works, some of the objects within this installation are beguiling and beautiful and this is problematic within the overall experience, it is hard to get a sense of the beauty of these objects in what is essentially a dark, damp art gallery.

There are tenuous links through some of the ideas in the work to the cited Metropolis or other dystopian fictions; however there isn’t really enough to drag this association very far. I find the peep show in the ladies toilets mildly amusing and am impressed by the use of lighting through the space to create atmosphere. The one to one experiences sound interesting although I wasn’t lucky enough to experience them.

As I am pumped out at the end of my experience I am unsure of the need for the involvement of Punchdrunk in Tunnel 228; the company name brings with it an expectation and a reputation of grand theatrical feats which this certainly is not. Perhaps had this been billed as an art installation featuring performance by Punchdrunk it would have been less disappointing, as really this is merely a small selection of objects in a dank tunnel. The mystery of the advertising doesn’t equate to the excitement of the experience and generally there isn’t enough going on to make this experience feel theatrical: I would much rather have seen these incredible objects in an art gallery. The work is fundamentally flawed in that by promoting this as a theatrical experience; the quality of (some) of the artworks is discredited.

With a little more cohesion and attention to its audience, Tunnel 228 could have been a thrilling and mysterious experience, much like any other of the company’s fine works. At the moment it hangs in limbo, not quite theatre, not quite art gallery, not quite interesting enough.

Michael David Jones
25/05/09

Getting To Know You (3) 4th June

Dear All,

Please join us at the Arnolfini for the next Getting To Know You, featuring presentations by Alex Bradley, Gemma Paintin and one other artist.

See you there!

Thursday 4th June 2009, 6 – 8, Bristol Arnolfini

http://www.arnolfini.org.uk/whatson/live/details/363

Kelleman Review

Kellerman
Imitating The Dog & Pete Brooks

Reviewed for Theatre Bristol
Monday 11th May 2009
Three Stars (Of Five)

http://www.theatrebristol.net/showcase/mayfest-review-imitating-the-dog-and-pete-brooks-kellerman

I am immediately put in mind of the work of theatre auteur Katie Mitchell during Kellerman, a new work by Imitating The Dog & Pete Brooks currently showing at the Bristol Old Vic. Mitchell employs cinematic live camera-work in her multimedia performances along with live sound which is created by the performers on stage using simple props to surprising effect; unlike Kellerman, which is totally pre-recorded.

The central theme of Kellerman is reminiscent of Sarah Kane’s 4.48 psychosis, exploring the mindset of madness through dreamlike imagery and cyclical repetition of key motif. The plot reminds me of any number of films (Memento, The Fall) where scenes are shown out of chronological order and the viewer gradually fed snippets of story to piece together.

As the play begins, lead male Harry is receiving psychiatric treatment in a hospital and believes he has both a wife and child, whom his psychiatrist is keen to point out do not exist. As the play shifts through various time periods, Harry’s lover Amy is a recurring character recognisable in each era by the unifying red colour of the outfits she wears. The psychiatrist also plays a key role, at times appearing as a devil upon Harry’s shoulder as well as his sympathetic shrink.

To its credit, Kellerman employs an impressive two story set, moving stage components and extensive use of complex projection. The story is mostly told through film and all vocal is pre-recorded, a massive flaw which leaves the actors as passive objects miming to the soundtrack. Lead character Harry drifts about the stage in sackcloth clothing, occasionally trudging towards the audience on an treadmill built into the set with an animated backdrop of cartoon corridors that would seem more at home in 1993 first person shooter “Doom”.

Harry is not particularly like-able as the lead role, probably due to the denial of all sense of liveness as he mimes to the overacted voice-over. On the subject of the vocal performances, an array of infuriating cockney accents can be sampled during the play; at times feeling that the director has invited Kate Nash and Lily Allen as guest performers.

I want to care for the storyline and I feel sorry for the underused actors, who have little to do than perform as puppets during the filmic elements. I wonder as to the wisdom of the elaborate staging might feel more engaged in a stripped back version of the play in which the actors are allowed to speak and engage with the text and perhaps the audience.

A scene with a bicycle and the clever alteration of perspective during a scene at a dinner table make good use of the complex staging, which often feels more distracting than useful to the plot. These moments do little to distract from the oddly processed film footage, the cartoonish graphic style of which only serves to muddy the footage and further disengage the audience from the action.

I am left with an unsatisfying piece of theatrical cinema, which appears to serve more the folly of the designer than the basic needs of an audience. Whilst the setting is neatly stylised it does not lend itself to engaging storytelling and is never used in a way which is particularly innovative nor beautiful.

I am hugely impressed with the company’s attempt to invigorate the theatrical experience using ambitious staging and am sadly disappointed that the result is less interesting than it should by rights be. The execution of the moving set design is very slick and should be applauded and further developed in future works, as an aid to storytelling rather than a story in itself.
Michael David Jones
11/05/09

The Smile Off Your Face

The Smile Off Your Face
Ontroerend Goed

I have been tied up and touched up in the dark many a time in the name of art. I approach ‘The Smile Off Your Face’ knowing I will be bound into a wheelchair and blindfolded before being led on a sensory journey.

As someone who has previously experienced a raft of similar pieces, I expect to be asked to smell, perhaps to taste. I expect to be touched (but not explicitly). I do not expect to be challenged. I am jaded.

It is with this not altogether positive attitude that I begin my journey. My hands are tied together, blindfold applied and a kindly man in a buttoned up black shirt asks I feel stressed. I do not.

As I begin my journey I become aware of how disorienting the sense of motion is when one cannot see. I feel slightly motion sick. Fortunately I am quickly brought to a stop and the sensory assault begins.

I smell burning. I smell cinnamon. I hear a constant ambient soundtrack which makes me feel like I am on the set of an Enya video. Lying on a bed, I am asked to answer intimate questions about myself. Information is solicited from me which I freely give, with little sense of this being a two way process; I do not feel that the performers really care for my answers.

The Smile Off Your Face is a tricky piece of work to review. Lyn Gardner of The Guardian refuses to call it theatre, referring to it instead as ‘one-to-one therapy’. There is something both satisfying and infuriating about how passive an experience this is and I agree with Lyn that it isn’t a piece I would wish to experience twice.

There were times when the performance did manage to take me by surprise; the physicality of a bearded male performer and the liberties he took with me where thrillingly playful. A lady with a penchant for Marzipan pigs made me smile. The ending of the experience (which I shall not spoil) was both beautiful and oddly cinematic.

Had I not experienced this kind of sensory work before, I think I would have enjoyed this more. There is potential here for a very challenging and perhaps liberating piece of work and I am conflicted in my thoughts about the piece;  the company has created a bold and confident experience which many will really enjoy, but at the close I am left with no lasting images or thoughts about what I have experienced.

This kind of experience based work is most satisfying when it feels dangerous and challenging. There is a power in the submission required (my body being manipulated by strangers in the dark) that could be further played upon.

Reviewing this kind of work is very subjective and for me the intimacy feels forced and feels one directional. Some of the set pieces within the experience are nicely played but generally there is little holding the piece together. The experience feels like a series of abstract moments with little cohesion as a whole; the sum total not adding up to more than each component part.

Michael David Jones
08/05/09

John Moran and His Neighbour Saori

JOHN MORAN AND HIS NEIGHBOUR SAORI
Tuesday 5th May, 9pm
Reviewed by Michael David Jones for Theatre Bristol/Mayfest

http://www.theatrebristol.net/showcase/mayfest-review-john-moran-and-his-neighbour-saori

Star Rating: Three Stars (of Five)

I find myself not moved but soothed by tonight’s performance in which John Moran and his real life neighbour Saori work together to create detailed portraits of scenes observed and recreated from Moran’s life.

Moran takes the stage wearing an unassuming outfit, his manner as confidently casual as his clothing. Saori appears oddly childlike in each of the costumes she wears, which delineate each new character she performs. Saori performs short sequences of movement to soundscapes created by Moran, often played through a discreetly placed ipod and sometimes accompanied by what I assume is live vocal and guitar.

The performance is split into sections, some from his fabled large scale operas and some depicting moments observed by Moran, who kindly informs us of this format at the beginning of the show. These sections hang together loosely, perhaps not hugely compelling within the wider narrative but not disinteresting. What does compel is the razor precision of Saori’s movement, enacting the relating movements perfectly in time with each sound as it occurs on the cut and paste soundtrack.

A scene in which Saori recreates the nuances of movement of a barmaid in a busy dance bar is developed gradually through precise repetition, each cycle becoming more detailed as Moran and Saori first show the isolated movements of each character, before combining their solo performances to depict the ‘full’ scene. The effect is mesmerising.

Moran is suffering from a sore throat this evening and this proves useful in deciphering which vocals are live and which are recorded; not that this matters, the performance lulls you into an unquestioning hypnosis. I am ambivalent to stories about celebrity friends and crave the moments when the performance really pulls together, which it often does.

Moran is very like-able as he conjures and deconstructs scenes before our eyes, anally elaborating on the number of beats per minute of the soundtrack and speaking with a slightly apologetic delivery. He appears like a lonely genius, amused by the perfection of Saori’s movements but languishing in his obsessive need to deconstruct and reconstruct moments of his life. The result is oddly compelling. “What kind of man, when he is starving and struggling to eat, would spend days at his computer making a portrait of his neighbour telling him to shut up?” he asks, or words to this effect. Placed together the composite of scenes paint a distinct portrait of Moran as a very talented and terrifyingly attentive figure.

I ponder how different the performance might be if the soundtrack and accompanying movements were not so perfect; what would happen should Saori move out of sync or step out of place. As it happens everything occurs with perfect timing and I leave the theatre feeling that I have witnessed something extraordinary made very ordinary. Moran is undoubtedly a superb composer and Saori an incredible performer. Tonight’s show is very like-able, expertly performed and strangely melancholic.

Michael David Jones
05/05/09