Posts tagged ‘london theatre blog’

21 September, 2009

Punk Rock

Lyric Hammersmith, 3 – 26 September 2009

Reviewed for the London Theatre Blog

Each scene of Simon Stephens’ Punk Rock is abruptly curtailed by an uncomfortably loud belch of feedback and a mangled excerpt from a rock song. By the second hour, each of these sonic interjections sends ripples of uneasy laughter through the stalls. The whole audience is on edge, braced for a shock. Stephens’ clutch of Stockport sixth formers, seen between lessons in Paul Wills’ towering, forbidding onstage library, seem incapable of reining in the impulse to probe and prod and push one another’s boundaries; everyone in the auditorium can tell someone’s going to snap.

By the time the anticipated act of violence occurs, Stephens has laid out a whole smorgasbord of potential contributing factors: unrequited teenage love; body image issues; the spectre of trouble at home; alcohol; an environment in which parents and teachers allow sixth formers to believe a C grade in an English mock means they’ll “never get out of Stockport”; plus Bennet Francis (Henry Lloyd-Hughes), a bully whose aloof disregard for those he hurts is worse by far than actual malice, and whose effect on the group debunks with ease that maxim about sticks and stones so beloved of adult authority figures.

Yet Stephens’ real achievement is that despite all the factors presented to us, when our minds reach, as they tend to do, for a simple, catch-all way to explain the tragedy, there isn’t one. It doesn’t even feel satisfactory to conclude, “it was probably a combination of all those things”.

As an examination of the overly simplistic adult tendency to classify teenage behaviour as the direct result of easily identifiable causes like alcohol, pornography and violent media, Punk Rock delivers; though no alternative theory is forthcoming, unless you count, “some people are just broken”.

Stephens’ love of language carries him away into the odd overwrought line, and Director Sarah Frankcom’s love of Stephens’ language leads to characters delivering extended passages straight out front, while the characters they’re supposedly addressing slouch behind them in a symmetrical chorus-line chevron. The script is excellent – funny in a terrifying and guilt-ridden kind of way – and it deserves to be placed centre stage, but such unnatural blocking actually distracts from the words. Or is that too simple, too immediate an explanation…?

Written by Simon Stephens

Crew includes Sarah Frankcom (director), Paul Wills (designer), Philip Gladwell (lighting designer) and Pete Rice (sound designer)

Cast includes Nicholas Banks (Nicholas Chatman), Ghazaleh Golpira (Lucy Francis), Henry Lloyd-Hughes (Bennet Francis), Harry McEntire (Chadwick Meade), Jessica Raine (Lilly Cahill), Tom Sturridge (William Carlisle), Katie West (Tanya Gleason), Simon Wolfe (Dr Richard Harvey) and Sophie Wu (Cissy Franks)

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17 September, 2009

ÁTMAN

Wimbledon College of Art,9 September 2009

Reviewed for the London Theatre Blog

In ÁTMAN (Aht-muhn), Sarah McLaughlin (alias Theatretank) demonstrates that in headphone-assisted performance, the content need not always be tailored to the form. Billed as “a performance in motion,” the production sends participants on a walk around the residential streets and footpaths of Merton, accompanied by an abridged audio-only version of Peter Handke’s Self-Accusation.

Handke’s text is an uninterrupted stream of words – mostly statements beginning with “I” – and so despite having been conceived for the highly visual medium of the stage, it doesn’t feel like it loses anything by being poured directly into the ear.

McLaughlin’s abridgement highlights passages concerned with movement and especially with walking, but that’s her only attempt at integrating the soundtrack with its setting. Unlike David Leddy’s Susurrus , probably ÁTMAN’s closest cousin in terms of format, the specifics of the route are unimportant; ÁTMAN thrives not on intentional confluence but on arbitrary juxtaposition, lining up unrelated visual and aural phenomena side by side and allowing the participant’s mind to impose its own meaning, as if from a Rorschach blot.

What that meaning might be will vary from individual to individual. I experienced one epiphanous moment of alignment, cresting the stairs onto a railway bridge just as the music swelled and a frantic tumble of phrases climaxed in a moment of silence. Had I walked more quickly – had I trusted the little yellow arrows on the pavement instead of trusting the map on my flyer, and thus not lost whole minutes backtracking – that moment would not have happened. There was no dramatic intent behind it; McLaughlin couldn’t have known it would happen. Yet I couldn’t help but invest meaning in that moment.

ÁTMAN is more an experiment in free association than a piece of drama. Every participant experiences it differently according to their walking speed, attentiveness and thought processes, so as an experiment it succeeds. But because any meaning derived from it is self-generated and arbitrary, it can feel like a meandering and ultimately pointless piece of drama; like the circular walking route, after a pleasant diversion you end up back where you started. Whether to interpret (and review) it as an experiment or as drama is, like the production itself, largely up to the individual.

Written by Sarah McLaughlin after Peter Handke

1 September, 2009

Un/Familiar Fringe: Un/Afraid

Written for the London Theatre Blog, 1 September 2009

The backstage adage about not relying too heavily on technology in the theatre holds particularly true at the Fringe. If your fancy audiovisual equipment can’t be trusted to work 100 per cent of the time in a purpose-built, professionally run space, then it definitely can’t be trusted in a temporarily converted lecture theatre staffed by enthusiastic volunteers.

And yet physical and multimedia company Precarious continue to tempt fate and get away with it. Like their 2008 triumph The Factory, anomie is pure techie eye candy. Six giant flatscreen TVs are the set and often parts of the performers, too, synchronising prerecorded and rotoscoped footage with live movement so the cast can appear to fall or step or crawl partially or fully inside the false-coloured world behind the screens. As if that wasn’t enough, precise projection onto gauze or plastic film creates eerily floating apparitions: flowers or shimmering green curtains of binary code. And it all works.

Unlike The Factory, however, anomie’s multimedia aspect limits, rather than enhances, its physical theatre aspect. There are too many long scenes of performers thrashing and squirming on mattresses with their heads inside television sets, and too few of the Gestic tableaux that made The Factory a statement, rather than a technical exercise. Anomie only comes close to equalling The Factory’s images of people packaged and stored like meat when it casts aside the screens in favour of tangible props, like the reams of shiny black videotape that entangle a camcorder voyeur, or the mattress through which two potential lovers blindly explore one another.

New physical theatre company Idle Motion embrace tangible props to create onstage imagery from the very beginning in their gentler, necessarily smaller-scale production Borges and I. Stacks of second-hand books litter the stage, and their torn, clipped, punched, removed and rebound pages tumble out to form silhouetted skylines, or combine to represent an aeroplane, or stack to form a treacherous spiral staircase for Argentine writer Jorge Luis Borges to stumble around as he gradually loses his sight.

The play is a tearjerker without being maudlin, and the inventive use of books and their pages as props, characters and scenery pieces is consistently surprising and delightful, whereas anomie’s invention, while undeniably technically masterful, soon becomes repetitive. Which just goes to show: even if you can defy precedent and rely on your technology to work, you still can’t rely on it to carry your show for you.

28 August, 2009

Un/Familiar Fringe: Un/Seated

Written for the London Theatre Blog, 27 August 2009

Like waiting tables, participatory theatre would be significantly easier without the customers. Even more so than usual, participatory productions can’t exist without an audience; but many punters run away screaming at the mere mention of getting involved, and the majority of those that do turn up will be either a) secretly hoping they won’t be singled out or b) planning to take advantage of the altered audience-performer relationship to bring out some killer heckles.

Participatory companies not only have to tell a story or make an artistic statement; they’re also responsible for crowd control. As the style becomes more popular, more methods of crowd control emerge. From what I’ve seen so far, they fall into two broad categories: the carrot and the stick.

Belt Up (Nothing to see/hear), who remain my stand-out favourite company from Fringe 2008, lead the carrot-danglers. The cast of The Tartuffe – a revamped version of last year’s Red Room highlight – greet the audience while they’re still queueing and begin gently immersing them into the world of the play, in character but without getting too in-yer-face. At this point I was handed a hi-vis jacket and designated Health and Safety Officer, which was a set-up for a joke much further down the line, but which also began blurring the distinction between audience and performer.

The cast remain scattered throughout the audience as we enter the space and take up positions on a jumble of mattresses, armchairs and bedsteads. There’s a comfortable sense of being amongst friends. The raucous comedy of the play relaxes everyone further; the company’s infiltrators whisper conspiratorial asides to their closest neighbours; and by the time Orgon begins demanding volunteers it seems churlish not to leap obligingly up and play his first wife, or his daughter’s suitor.

The sticky end of the spectrum is characterised by a technique I think of as the Embarrassment Spotlight. I experienced it last year in the hands of Three’s Company, in Auditorium. Companies using it this year include double Fringe First award winners Ontroerend Goed, with Internal, and the slightly lower-profile Tickled Pig Productions, with Parents’ Evening.

The Embarrassment Spotlight harnesses the natural inclination of the audience not to take part, and turns it against one unfortunate individual. For example: the staff of Tickled Pig’s fictional jolly-hockey-sticks institution Aultyme High (billed as “the teachers you wish you’d had”) need a volunteer to take part in a dressing-up competition. After a brief and awkward period of optimistically waiting for genuine volunteers, the cast pick a likely individual themselves and exhort him or her to join in. The combined relief of every other audience member at not being picked on themselves then prevents the nominee from refusing. If they resist, their party (and even complete strangers) will urge them to “go on” or “live a little,” safe in the knowledge that if the nominee lives a little they won’t have to (at least not in this scene).

Ontroerend Goed combine participatory with one-on-one performance, using a speed-dating format to isolate each participant with one performer, which removes the usual recourse (hoping a more gregarious audience member will volunteer first) and forces them to play ball or completely derail the performance.

Provided the company knows what they’re doing, both techniques are actually equally effective at persuading the audience onto their feet. People seem to enjoy themselves more chasing Belt Up’s carrot than avoiding Tickled Pig’s stick, but the two companies tailor their techniques to their dramatic aims. Belt Up aim to foster a sense of relaxed camaraderie, while Tickled Pig aim to recreate the terror and humiliation of a real parents’ evening. No one technique is empirically the best way of using an audience; the whole crowd control spectrum is a toolbox for participatory dramatists.

20 August, 2009

Un/Familiar Fringe: Un/Heard

Written for the London Theatre Blog, 19 August 2009

The fringes of the theatre world are going crazy for headphones. I still think Rotozaza are the only company so far to have come within touching distance of the full potential of the audio-directed form; GuruGuru, which previewed at BAC and is now installed, in revised and improved form, in Edinburgh’s free Forest Fringe venue, is both an accomplished example of the format and a focused interrogation of its implications and potential flaws.

At the BAC, two of the five particpants were short-changed somewhat (if that’s possible in a free show) by being booted out of the proceedings with ten or fifteen minutes left to run; these two now get to return, which diminishes the shock value for the other three, but is much fairer and more inclusive. The scenario is just as weird, but tweaks near the climax have made it, if anything, even more sinister (in my dreams last night I heard a voice, struggling to be heard over a wash of static, warning me “he’s trying to take you over!”).

The full potential of audio-instruction in theatre has yet to be discovered, but GuruGuru’s discussion of determinism and free will (which chimes with chilling resonance when the players in the discussion are themselves deterministically controlled) will surely single it out as a defining early work of the genre.

Also “on the headphones” at this year’s Fringe is David Leddy, who is fast becoming a big name in the Scottish theatre scene. Susurrus sends individuals out into the Royal Botanic Gardens, equipped with mp3 players and headphones à la Wondermart, but is emphatically not audio-instructed theatre. Rather than transforming members of the public into performers, Leddy’s headphones simply insulate them from the outside world and wrap them instead in the drama of Susurrus itself.

The audio element wouldn’t be out of place in Radio 4’s Afternoon Play: inspired by A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and puncutated by excerpts from Benjamin Britten’s libretto of that play, it consists of several interwoven monologues that gradually reveal a family drama that spans two generations. What makes Susurrus theatre, rather than radio drama, is that Leddy has nominated a setting (the Botanics) and a route to take around it; each of the eight scenes is associated with a location on the accompanying map.

Though the Botanics feature prominently in the plot, the audio can feel disconnected from the surroundings – largely, I think, because you’re instructed to remain in one location during the monologues, and the action stalls while you move from place to place, so the narrative segments feel like interludes in your own personal journey, rather than inextricably linked to it. Susurrus is another example of the headphone theatre genre’s potential, but only in a purely technical sense; the story it tells is separate from the apparatus used to tell it, while in Rotozaza’s work, the two are one.

13 August, 2009

Un/Familiar Fringe: Un/Explained

Written for the London Theatre Blog, 12 August 2009

Now that I’m no longer a Fringe virgin, I find that when scanning the programme for appealing shows, my eye is naturally drawn to companies and shows I enjoyed last year.

On the one hand, that’s the advantage of a year’s experience: unlike last year, the Fringe isn’t a totally unfamiliar land, and I have known landmarks of quality I can use to navigate. On the other hand, the landscape is one of shifting sands, and it’s difficult to get sucked into exciting new worlds and experiences without occasionally leaving the familiar, solid ground behind.

So here’s the plan for Fringe ‘09: for every show or company I revisit from last year, I’ll seek out something else that’s similar in style or content but otherwise totally unfamiliar, then compare them side by side and see how the shock of the new compares to the security of the old.

3 August, 2009

Hot Air

Rosemary Branch Theatre, 2 – 22 August 2009

Reviewed for the London Theatre Blog

If the director feels the need to stand on stage following the curtain call and announce that the show is still being revised and all feedback is welcome, it’s probably too early to be inviting the press. I suspect that when new company Ten Pence Short invited the London Theatre Blog to the preview of their debut production, Hot Air, they weren’t after a review so much as a bit of feedback to aid revision, and perhaps a couple of quotes for their Edinburgh Festival flyers.

Whether or not I suspect correctly, I don’t feel it would be fair to measure an unfinished piece of work with the same yardstick as an Olivier Theatre production. So listen up, Ten Pence Short! By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll only be Eight Pence Short, because I’m giving you my two pence. Boom tish.

Notes for Laura Cairns, playwright: you obviously have a strong grasp of the nuts and bolts of drama. You’ve got two characters who don’t get on, and a reason why they’re forced to endure one another’s company, creating conflict, which is the essence of drama. And a social networking site dedicated to burgling the recently deceased? I applaud your inventiveness, although I’m not sure you’ve really thought the idea through.

Other than that the play is a bit depthless. The characters reveal information about themselves, but neither one changes or learns anything. You raise potentially interesting moral questions without exploring them. The ticking clock is a tried and trusted method for generating tension, but you defuse it anticlimactically with a deus ex machina ending that excuses you and your characters from actually facing any of the moral challenges you set up. Lose the final phone call, or have it come too late.

Notes for Nick Bruckman, director: there’s enough comic material in the scenario and the lines that you probably don’t need to resort to silly physical business to get laughs. Also, there’s a scene in Hot Fuzz with an amdram production of Romeo and Juliet that ends in a bonkers song and dance number; compare and contrast the end of Hot Air.

Notes for Laura Cairns (Margot) and Alice Dooley (Elizabeth): Margot is highly strung and Elizabeth is excitable and a bit dim. For 40 minutes. Free Fringe audiences will walk out the moment their attention starts to drift.

A quote for your flyers: “Hot Air is unflinchingly daft.” With a bit of revision, you might be able to up that to “a darkly comic and surrealist ode to the detached and decaying morality of the internet age” – but you aren’t there yet.

Written by Laura Cairns

Crew includes Nick Bruckman (director)

Cast includes Laura Cairns (Margot), Alice Dooley (Elizabeth)

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9 July, 2009

Last Seen

Almeida Theatre, 8 – 12 July 2009

Reviewed for the London Theatre Blog

It can’t be long now before the practice of equipping theatre audiences with headphones goes mainstream. The technique has rapidly filtered from London’s fringe, where it’s used in experimental scratches to create audio-controlled audience-members-as-performers, to the Almeida, one of the larger off West End venues, where it’s used as a tool to solve some of the problems inherent in outdoor promenade. Next stop, the West End, where presumably it’ll be used to provide DVD-style commentary or something.

Whether or not a West end production would utilise the technique’s full dramatic potential, chances are it would have the budget to overcome some of the technical issues that blight the Almeida’s production, Slung Low’s Last Seen.

The company use chunky ear-defender type radio ‘phones and miked-up actors to ensure that even those in the audience who can’t see the action can at least hear every nuance of the dialogue. A sound tech accompanies the procession around the streets of Islington, armed with a bulky backpack that broadcasts incidental music and sound effects to accentuate the actors’ voices or underscore silent sequences. The technology vastly improves the outdoor promenade format, helping maintain an atmosphere that could otherwise easily be shattered by background noise.

There are three routes, and each audience member only gets to see one, but occasionally you can catch glimpses of set pieces not intended for you: a fully laid dinner table through a park gate is a reminder that the stories you see are never the entirety of what the city has to tell. Every passer-by wearing headphones or a hands-free set feels like they could potentially be a player. Though all you ever do is follow and listen, there’s an exciting sense of exploration and discovery without the attendant dangers of the unknown.

But – and though it most probably isn’t the company’s fault, it’s still a big but – the headphones pick up interference far too easily. Some of the dialogue sinks under waves of static, which can be physically painful on the ear, and the music under one potentially very poignant moment has to share the airwaves with a local pirate radio station broadcasting from a nearby window.

The technology is simultaneously the best and worst aspect of Last Seen. Without it, the production would be at best pedestrian and at worst inaudible. Because of it, the production will be discussed more for its technical flaws than for its dramatic merit (as I’ve demonstrated). What the production definitely is, though, is a glimpse of how the technology could positively impact theatre, whether as a dramatic technique in itself or as a facilitatory tool, once its shortcomings are ironed out. The theatre world might just have to wait until the technology catches up to its vision.

Reviewed for the British Theatre Guide

Across the road a family is falling apart in fast-forward. My bulky headphones shut out the traffic and the conversations of passers-by, instead underscoring the scene with poignant music. Then I take a step forward to get a better view, and my headphones start picking up pirate radio.

This incident, like most of the niggling little technical problems in Slung Low’s outdoor promenade piece Last Seen, is not the company’s fault, and as such it doesn’t feel fair to criticise it. But it so interferes with the mood of the moment that it’s impossible to describe the experience of the production without mentioning it.

The audience, divided into three groups, follows three different miked-up storytellers – who can speak directly into their headphones, which shut out all other sound – around Islington, where a story unfolds. The headphones solve one of outdoor promenade’s major problems by making sure everyone can hear the performers at all times, and also enhance the experience by adding incidental music and sound effects.

It’s a sound idea in theory, and Slung Low execute it as well as humanly possible. A mixture of live and recorded speech, plus music and effects, dovetail with action on the street and in restaurant and flat windows, all without a single timing mishap. The system helps sidestep the promenade malaise (witness a scene, walk for a bit, witness another, walk some more; you get some exercise, but no artistic outcome, from the walkabout format) by allowing dialogue to continue while on the move.

But the headphones intermittently pick up interference, which is at best distracting and at worst overwhelms the dialogue or sound. It’s impossible to forget that you’re wearing them and lose yourself in the action.

The story itself, in my case, is Simon Burt’s Reason Season Life Time: an almost literal trip down Memory Lane with Terrance, whose many regrets haunt him through the residential streets of Islington. Burt’s script engages fully with the location, and Barry McCarthy loads Terrance’s voice with longing and indignation in both the live and pre-recorded dialogue.

It’s a story about the interaction of the physical and spiritual, which questions whether escaping a memory could be as easy as escaping the place it was born. Unfortunately, the show runs for less than a week, which probably isn’t long enough for Slung Low and the Almeida to resolve the technical issues – which means that story may never take its rightful place centre stage.

Written by Simon Burt (Reason Season Life Time), Lolita Chakrabarti (Joy) and Matthew David Scott (The Great Bear)

Crew includes Matt Angove, Laura Clark, Ben Eaton, Will Edwards, Heather Fenoughty, Lucy Hind, Alan Lane, Jack Lowe, Victoria Pratt, Ben Pugh, Richard Warburton and Jenny Worton

Cast includes Lolita Chakrabarti (Joy in Joy), Francis Lee (Dixie in The Great Bear) and Barry McCarthy (Terrance in Reason Season Life Time)

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17 June, 2009

The Mountaintop

Theatre 503, 9 June – 4 July 2009

Reviewed for the London Theatre Blog

In this imagining of Martin Luther King Jr’s last night alive, award-winning young American playwright Katori Hall boldly combines hard historical fact and in-depth character study with a comparatively barmy supernatural twist. It’s a volatile concoction that could corrode the credibility of a lesser play, but which instead provides an already dynamic production with a surging second-stage boost.

The man in the King’s shoes is David Harewood, who seems to be aiming for a career playing inspirational black leaders (he’ll soon appear on TV as Nelson Mandela). Harewood convincingly recreates the booms, swoops and tremulous vibrato of King’s legendary oratory, maintaining the vocal cadence of a preacher even alone in the privacy of his motel room. He evokes a man consumed continually by a struggle he ironically believes he alone can carry to conclusion.

He’s matched and challenged by Lorraine Burroughs as motel maid Camae, who surprises King with her views – rooted in the same beliefs as his own, but a step removed in their conclusions – and by proving no mean orator herself. Her presence brings out King’s roving eye and patriarchal views to contrast his civil rights work, which makes for much more interesting theatre than a blindly reverent onstage beatification.

Camae is also the crux of that sudden supernatural gear-change, which, far from derailing the play, not only provides some unexpectedly surreal and comic moments (mostly involving one-sided telephone conversations) but also allows us to experience anew through King’s eyes events he didn’t live to see. Thus The Mountaintop is upgraded from period character study to a history with an immediate bearing on the modern world, drawing causal links between the life and death of King and the appointment of Barack Obama to the White House.

Written by Katori Hall

Crew includes James Dacre (director), Libby Watson (designer), Emma Chapman (lighting designer), Richard Hammarton (sound designer) and Dick Straker of Mesmer (video designer)

Cast includes Lorraine Burroughs (Camae) and David Harewood (King)

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10 June, 2009

The Moon The Moon

Southwark Playhouse, 9 – 20 June 2009

Reviewed for the London Theatre Blog

The Moon The Moon explores, with harrowing psychological realism, our ability to harm one another even with the best of intentions. Attempting to cure the Man (Jon Spooner, who also directs) of a suicidal malaise, the Young Woman (Suzanne Ahmet) and the Older Man (Tim Chipping) progress, always with a genuine desire to do good, from an over-anxious suicide watch to drugging, incarceration and worse.

The Moon The Moon explores, with escalating surrealism, the blurred relationship between perception and reality. His memory and identity fractured by grief, the Man must choose between his human rescuers’ kill-or-cure approach and the unfathomable alternative offered by his supernatural suitor, the Moon (Helen Cassidy).

The Moon represents the Man’s memory of his wife, a dour but sentimental Scot, whom he must rediscover and petition for forgiveness before his keepers will be satisfied that he’s ready to leave the safety of his prison. Cassidy’s performance is restrained, and consequently cannot save the odd over-prolonged scene, such as when the couple read aloud from one another’s diaries, from becoming static and dull.

The Moon, a redheaded deity with a dirty mind and a knowing, mischievous kink in her cheek, makes no secret of the fact that she desires the Man romantically, whereas the mortal couple feel a more clinical responsibility to fix what’s broken inside him. Yet while they advocate rose-tinting and distorting his past as a route to recovery, she encourages him to acknowledge and own his grief rather than amputate it. Cassidy proves herself a versatile and confident character actor, successfully conveying the fickle and unknowable, yet flawed and human aspects of a being that wouldn’t look out of place in the ancient Greek pantheon.

Rhys Jarman’s set – a stark, bare stone basement – is full of nifty concealed compartments containing cupboards and windows.

Rhys Jarman’s set is walled with dozens of doors which allow the various competing forces in to influence the Man, but none of which can be opened from his side. The only way for him to reach back towards any of them is through Jarman’s giant moon – part window, part spotlight, given a cool luminescence by lighting designer Ben Pacey.

At its best, art invites multiple valid interpretations without becoming so diffuse as to sacrifice the clarity of the creators’ intentions.

The Moon The Moon is many overlapping things, but never feels like collage. Its elements complement rather than contradict one another, allowing interpretations from the supernatural to the naturalistic to coexist without ever suggesting that Unlimited Theatre are in anything less than complete control.

Written by Clare Duffy, Jon Spooner and Chris Thorpe

Crew includes Jon Spooner (director), Rhys Jarman (designer), Ben Pacey (lighting designer) and Mic Pool (sound designer)

Cast includes Suzanne Ahmet (The Young Woman), Helen Cassidy (The Moon), Tim Chipping (The Older Man) and Jon Spooner (The Man)

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