Posts tagged ‘time out’

18 June, 2010

Wild Horses

Theatre 503, 15 June – 10 July 2010

Reviewed for the British Theatre Guide

Don’t try to deviate from your designated channel through life. It only leads to heartbreak: lost friends and unfulfilled ambitions for Ellie (Jessica Clarke), the main character in Nimer Rashed’s Wild Horses, and a near-fatal final act derailment for the play itself.

Seventeen-year-old Ellie (that’s Eleanor, not Elizabeth) is welcomed gingerly back to Eastbourne after six months AWOL with an older man. Her eyes have been opened just enough to take the shine off the idea of a job in Tesco’s and two point four children with sweet but goofy on-again-off-again Darren (John Trindle).

Meanwhile the friends and family she left behind have – discourteously – failed to stay the way she left them, so she can’t even lord her new-found worldliness over them. Her Dad’s transferred his fatherly affection to Carol Vorderman, her best mate Zoe’s about to turn the tables and abandon her for the bright lights of Camp America – even Darren smokes a pipe now.

In short, Ellie would have been happier accepting the hand life dealt her, instead of chasing romance and ambition. Her guilt over disappearing makes her incapable of refusing anything she’s exhorted to promise, which leads to a string of broken oaths, until no one trusts her but the reassuring, though mysteriously recurring, Tom Kanji.

All of which is captivating enough, but though Rashed’s plot threads are many-hued and skilfully interwoven, all but one is hacked off and left to dangle. What’s more, the one that is given some closure isn’t introduced – or even really hinted at – until the final act.

What Rashed’s going for is a daring last-minute rug-pull à la Theatre503’s last big hit, The Mountaintop. Ideally the rug should be swept stylishly out from under us, exposing the glass floor below, so we realise with wonderment that all along the play was not what we unimaginatively assumed it was. What actually happens is the rug snags, and we’re left sprawled on bruised behinds, humiliated, birdies circling our heads as we squint uncomprehendingly at the Dadaist magic-eye ceiling tiles, until the play apologises, replaces the now-ragged rug and pretends the whole incident never happened.

It’s never a mistake to dare to try something bold and different. But as Ellie learns, when it turns out you were wrong, admitting it – to yourself and others – is the only way to move on.

Written by Nimer Rashed

Crew includes Nadia Latif (director) and Lorna Ritchie (designer)

Cast includes Jade Anouka (Zoe), Jessica Clarke (Ellie Porter), Amanda Daniels (Jen Porter), Tom Kanji (Dr Gupta/Satyajit/Shanti), Patrick Toomey (Paul Porter) and John Trindle (Darren)

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14 April, 2010

Tape

Old Red Lion Theatre Pub, 6 – 24 April 2010

Reviewed for the British Theatre Guide

Something’s rotten in the state of Michigan. In a motel room, old schoolfriends Vince and Jon (Kevin Watt and Mark Curtis, co-founders of Yaller Skunk Theatre Company) are drinking, getting high and revisiting the events of ten years ago, when they last saw one another. Jon’s perception of that night is that he slept with Vince’s ex-girlfriend; Vince sees things differently and is determined to show Jon his point of view.

That isn’t what’s rotten.

The production crams Tape’s big themes – can people change? does true forgiveness exist, and if people can change sufficiently, do we need it to? – into the intimate space that is the Old Red Lion, with explosive results. Belber’s play is pacey, dialogue-driven as opposed to wordy, and crazed through with dramatic reversals – of power balance and of self-perception. In 75 minutes, the only pause for breath is a convincingly inelegant tussle for the eponymous tape.

What’s rotten is that it’s hard to care.

For the first ten minutes, Jon and Vince each state and repeatedly reiterate that the other is a dick. They’re both right. Vince is a waster with a vindictive streak, unable to apply himself to anything more constructive than petty revenge. Jon is a self-satisfied pseudophilosopher who psychoanalyses his friends to prove he’s cleverer than them.

Which means the closest we come to emotional investment in the show is a shock of schadenfreude when the ex-girlfriend in question, Amy (Tara Carrozza), arrives and, within minutes, reframes the boys’ great moral debate as the petty schoolyard squabble it is.

Absent any love for either Jon or Vince, it takes some effort to care about the outcome of the reunion – and by extension their ongoing moral welfare – on anything other than an intellectual level. Intellectual curiosity doesn’t translate well into dramatic tension, and without that, even being towed behind the runaway juggernaut that is Belber’s script starts to lose its exhilarating appeal.

Written by Stephen Belber

Crew includes Julia Stubbs (director) and Gabriela Restelli (designer)

Cast includes Tara Carrozza (Amy), Mark Curtis (Jon) and Kevin Watt (Vin)

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26 February, 2010

Alice’s Adventures in the New World

Rebecca Dunna and Ailsa Ilott in Alice's Adventures in the New World

Rebecca Dunn and Ailsa Ilott in Alice's Adventures in the New World. Image courtesy of fluff productions

Old Red Lion Theatre Pub, 23 Feb – 13 March 2010

Reviewed for the British Theatre Guide

All-female company fluff productions are pushing an Agenda with Sarah Sigal’s Alice’s Adventures in the New World, which forsakes Carroll’s allegorical Wonderland for a dialectic quest across America in search of a literal and figurative feminist ideal. Subtle it ain’t, but it is rollicking good fun.

This alternate Alice (Ailsa Ilott), whose discombobulated naiveté hides a steely core of unassailable common sense, manages to avoid tumbling down any rabbit holes, but still runs across plenty of colourful (and instructive) characters. The object of her search is her mother: not the victim of a hunting accident at all, but rather a divorcee (gasp!) living in America.

Yes, this is the Victorian era, when accidental death really was more socially acceptable than divorce – making it the perfect setting in which to explore fluff’s gender agenda. Alice is seeking her mother to find out why she abandoned her husband and children, a question (it transpires) only answerable by asking larger questions about gender equality: is it automatically a woman’s responsibility to raise her children? and what does a woman get out of marriage anyway?

Alice never finds herself short of advice on that score. From a nymphomaniac poet, who advises forsaking polite society altogether in favour of self-gratification, to a New York debutante interested only in snaring a wealthy husband, to the sage wisdom of one Mr Wilde, Alice’s journey is a parade of entertaining archetypes.

The characters are as efficiently costumed as they are characterised: a sword-belt and epaulettes for Alice’s soldier brother Henry, for example, or an extravagant cravat for her (ahem) extravagant actor brother George, quickly clipped or strapped on over the ensemble cast’s corsets and bloomers.

But – again, like Sigal’s characterisation – what little costume designer Katherine Webb chooses to use appears to be of lavish quality. The same quality, though incredibly not the same minimalism, is evident in Lily Arnold’s set – a poignant broken proscenium propped up on piles of books, and a floor of palettes, riddled with hidden compartments, through which light glows.

Completing the Victoriana aesthetic are Phil Hewitt’s terrific period-style sound machines, cranked by musical director Amelia Cavallo in full view of the audience to evoke whistling wind, rain or a clattering train.

A combination of broad humour, pantomime-style audience involvement and music hall song and dance numbers make a non-issue of the intimidating two-and-a-half-hour running time – which leaves no excuse. Go, enjoy and be edified.

Written by Sarah Sigal

Crew includes Jessica Beck (director), Amelia Cavallo (musical direction & original compositions), Lily Arnold (set design), Katherine Webb (costume design) and Phil Hewitt (lighting design & sound machines)

Cast includes Amelia Cavallo (Mrs Fitzsimmons), Rebecca Dunn (Father/Sally/Sylvia), Ailsa Ilott (Alice), Emily North (Mary/Henry/Kitty/Masha/Mrs Aylmer) and Fiona Putnam (Father Murphy/George/Eleanor/Aunt Julia/Giles/Oscar W.)

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14 December, 2009

The Stefan Golaszewski Plays

Bush Theatre, 2 December 2009 – 9 January 2010

Reviewed for the London Theatre Blog and cross-posted to The Collective Review

Two one-act plays back to back don’t usually make a successful two-act play. Right? Which suggests it’s probably no coincidence that Stefan Golaszewski Speaks About A Girl He Once Loved and Stefan Golaszewski Is A Widower work so well as a double bill; it seems likely they were always meant to be performed together.

It was clear from the plays’ debuts, a year apart at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, that they were stylistically and thematically of a piece. Each is a monologue in which Golaszewski relates romantic episodes from ‘his’ life, or a fictionalised version of it (in Widower he imagines himself in the year 2056, following marriage and a moderately successful TV career), aided by some simple props and a gift for writing fresh, cliché-free imagery.

What wasn’t immediately obvious back then was how neatly the two would bolt together for their London transfer. At around an hour each they were bite-sized enough for the choice-rich, time-poor Festival theatregoer, but the double bill is substantial enough to be worth a London audience’s while. More importantly, the emotional and thematic trajectories of Golaszewski as a character and a playwright are revealed and reinforced by the juxtaposition; images, foibles and techniques introduced in About A Girl pay off with interest when revisited in Widower.

Little gimmicks used in About A Girl simply to create sight gags give rise instead to pathos when they recur in the altered context of Widower. Golaszewski’s tendency to idolise women is the quirky fulcrum of About A Girl, but Widower acknowledges the disadvantages of such an attitude when applied to a more adult kind of relationship; the wide-eyed, innocent awe of female beauty that characterises About A Girl is only briefly retrodden in Widower before tragedy abruptly erases it in favour of a whole new range of grown-up emotions like bitterness, desperation and regret.

Individually the plays are snapshots of a man at two different stages of emotional maturity. Combined, they sketch a more complete portrait of a man learning the hard way that the reality of long-term commitment can never be as idealistically romantic as rose-tinted recollections of unrealised adolescent love. Underscoring it all are the insecurities of a young playwright coming uneasily to terms with his own premonitions of future emotional disillusionment and bodily deterioration. The whole is unquestionably greater than the sum of its parts – and given all the stars, awards and praise each play received individually, marrying them is sure to result in a critical mass of acclaim.

Written by Stefan Golaszewski

Crew includes Phillip Breen (director/designer)

Cast includes Stefan Golaszewski

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17 November, 2009

Public Property

Trafalgar Studios, 16 November – 5 December 2009

Reviewed for the British Theatre Guide

At first glance, Public Property is a boilerplate Trafalgar Studio 2 production. Recognisable faces: check (Robert Daws, Nigel Harman and even Stephen Fry, phoning it in via vid-cameo). Humour that doesn’t tax the brain: check (sight gags and comic situational escalation best enjoyed after a glass of wine in the bar). Skilled but slightly overly wordy scriptwriting: check (courtesy of Sam Peter Jackson).

On closer inspection, however, this is something of a rare find: a play about three gay men in which the characters’ sexuality is almost incidental, an extra thematic layer rather than the piece’s raison d’être.

Daws is celebrated newsreader Geoffrey Hammond, who throws himself on the mercy of his ruthless publicist, Larry De Vries (Harman) after being caught by paparrazzi in flagrante delicto with 16-year-old Jamie (Steven Webb). Geoff does protest once or twice that the press wouldn’t be interested if Jamie had been a girl, but the play is more concerned with celebrity, PR and fickle public goodwill than “LGBTQ issues”. Geoff knows, despite his protestations of innocence, that this incident matters more to his reputation than any number of broadcasting gongs, and even Larry is branded repeatedly by his lowest point: the media only remembers him for being booted off the judging panel of a failed reality show.

It’s often difficult to feel any sympathy towards Geoff, who really has only his own indiscretion to blame for his downfall, but Daws does an excellent job of showing the desperation behind the bluster, and his raw vulnerability when talking to or about his offstage lover Paul provides the production’s tenderest moments. Harman is believable whether smooth-talking and in control or plain incredulous at his client’s behaviour, though he flips a little too easily between the two modes, and reacts so little to mentions of Larry’s debts and vices that they seem more a throwaway subplot than an integral part of the character’s backstory.

Jackson’s script, too, is generally sound, though a bit baggy towards the end of Act One, and overly reliant on the repeat-repeat louder-shout-shout-pause formula for writing arguments. Like most Studio 2 shows, Public Property has its flaws, but is still a satisfying enough night out; and it boasts the additional merit of sidestepping the damaging and judgmental “gay play” label which, given its premise, it could easily have been slapped with.

Written by Sam Peter Jackson

Crew includes Hanna Berrigan (director) and Helen Goddard (designer)

Cast includes Robert Daws (Geoffrey Hammond), Nigel Harman (Larry De Vries) and Steven Webb (Jamie Sullivan)

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2 October, 2009

The Author

Royal Court Theatre, 23 Sept – 24 October 2009

Reviewed for the London Theatre Blog

Tim Crouch ’s The Author is a bitter little pill, too heavily sugared and something of a kill or cure.

Up until the final 15 minutes it’s a curiosity, an experiment for experimentation’s sake. We, the audience, are both stage and set dressing. Adrian, the archetypal gushing theatre enthusiast, speaks up from among our ranks, encouraging conversation, an exchange of views. Other performers, including Crouch himself, playing himself, reveal themselves in our midst one by one. Between them they recount a story surrounding a fictional production staged by Crouch.

Except they aren’t just relating their experiences of this notional production: an in-yer-face affair crammed with violence and abuse that has caused audience members both to walk and to pass out. They’re apologising for their part in it. Apologising to us, the audience, because theatre makers are beholden to their audiences. They need us, the consumers of their art, to understand their intentions and to forgive them.

And until those final 15 minutes that’s all The Author is: an acknowledgement of the absolute power the audience wields, seasoned with interrogations of the audience’s ingrained reluctance to exercise that power, to intervene in events onstage, however reprehensible they find them. It’s all necessary to prime us for what comes next, but it takes its sweet time doing so, and in the meantime it all feels a bit insular, a bit inconsequential, even a bit masturbatory: the mores of the theatre being discussed, by theatre makers, through the medium of theatre, using a fictional piece of theatre as an allegory, to theatregoers.

Then comes the turnaround, and in those final 15 minutes The Author is revealed for what it has really been all along: a daring act of self-flagellation by Crouch on behalf of provocative art and controversial artists. Personally present, without the ablative armour of a fictional character, and having questioned for over an hour why audiences choose not to act against onstage villainy, the playwright reveals himself as the worst kind of villain, or at least the most easily demonised. There’s nothing insular or inconsequential about his closing monologue, delivered to a pitch-dark auditorium – and yes, people sitting close to him do plead with him to stop, though not forcefully enough for him actually to do so.

The medicinal value of this bitter little pill remains to be seen. If next month The Stage reports mass walk-outs and stage invasions at Sarah Kane revivals, we’ll know it had some effect; but I suspect the thick sugary coating may well interfere with the active ingredients, and a few patients will undoubtedly refuse to swallow the pill at all.

Written by Tim Crouch

Crew includes Karl James and a smith (directors), Matt Drury (lighting designer) and Ben & Max Ringham (music & sound designers)

Cast includes Tim Crouch, Adrian Howells, Vic Llewellyn and Esther Smith (themselves)

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2 October, 2009

Money

New SHUNT Space, 30 September – 22 December 2009

Reviewed for the London Theatre Blog

The machine fills the New SHUNT Space from floor to ceiling. It clanks, rumbles, whooshes steam and gushes water. The specifics of how it works and what it does are stubbornly obscure from within as well as without. In that regard, it’s a bit like investment banking.

Bear with the comparison. Provided you’re willing to risk a few unaided leaps of logic, it does eventually make a surprising amount of sense. (In that regard, it’s a bit like the production staged inside the machine: Money, a SHUNT event inspired by Émile Zola’s novel L’Argent.)

The machine is the undisputed star of the production, which, after a few deliberately confusing false-starts, eventually reveals itself as a parable about the dangers of stock market speculation. As a performance space, the machine is constantly, wondrously surprising; just when it seems it has nothing left up its sleeve, whole new rooms emerge from under ingenious camouflage.

Its steampunk pistons and flywheels also drive the plot, such as it is; we, the audience, are speculators suckered by the smug Saccard into investing in the machine, despite neither him nor us knowing what it does. SHUNT’s playful sense of humour goes to work here, as we’re shown a gallery of ‘artist’s impressions of the future’ – Photoshopped images of the machine in the desert, coasting along railway tracks or perched halfway up a mountain.

The production itself is a series of disjointed scenes and encounters, ranging from the Kafka-esque (as Saccard pitches his ‘vision’ to eccentric business moguls who entertain guests only in the sauna, or travel only by footcycle) to the Python-esque (as Saccard turns a board meeting into a blackly comic game of condolence one-upmanship) to the weirdly voyeuristic (as we sip champagne and observe events occurring two storeys below, through two layers of plate glass).

Each individual scene is entertaining, often humorous, but it’s difficult to identify the purpose of the whole by examining the parts, and a certain amount of imagination is required to fill in the blanks. In that regard, it’s a bit like the machine itself; and the machine itself, as I’ve mentioned, is a bit like investment banking. It’s inhabited both by presentable official staff and by unacknowledged, sinister unknowns. It has levels and mechanisms that aren’t revealed until the very end. And as it barrels towards disaster, the obvious exits are sealed off, forcing those foresighted few to abandon ship by less conventional means.

Written by SHUNT Collective after Émile Zola

Crew includes Francesca Peschier (scenic artist), George Tomlinson (head of construction) and Paul Ross (chief carpenter)

Cast includes Serena Bobowski, Gemma Brockis, Lizzie Clachan, Louisa Mari, Hannah Ringham, Layla Rosa, David Rosenberg, Andrew Rutland, Mischa Twitchin and Heather Uprichard

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14 May, 2009

Tunnel 228

Old Vic Tunnels, 13 – 23 May 2009

Reviewed for the London Theatre Blog

If you’re reading this, chances are you missed your opportunity to experience Tunnel 228, and you want me to tell you what it was like. But having spent an hour under Waterloo Station experiencing it for myself, I find I’m reluctant to spill the beans.

While I decide whether or not I’m in a giving mood, here are the publicly available facts. Tunnel 228 is a free but limited capacity art-exhibition-cum-theatrical-installation, the result of a collaboration between Punchdrunk, the Old and Young Vic theatres and a selection of contemporary artists. Booking had been open, but kept hush-hush, for four days when The London Paper gave the game away, prompting the remaining slots to book up in a matter of hours.

While I disagree with Matt Trueman’s suggestion that the freesheet’s article invited undeserving participants to the event, for three reasons – a) it smacks uncomfortably of elitism and arbitrary judgments of ‘worthiness’ to experience art; b) the article was an innocuous one on page six that would most likely only have appealed to Punchdrunk fans anyway; and c) his notional ‘deserving’ fans had a four-day headstart – he does make one vital point. Tunnel 228 isn’t meant to be found (i.e. stumbled upon at random); you’re meant to find it (i.e. actively seek it out).

The booking site, disguised behind a tacky frontpage advertising a rail cleaning service, is difficult to find unless you know you’re looking for something (if not exactly what that something will turn out to be). The entrance to the venue is nearly impossible to locate unless you’ve found the website.

Even once you’re inside, there’s no guidance to be had from the stewards: they’re mute unless they’re telling you what you aren’t allowed to do. The onus is on you; on your self-motivated voyage of discovery. Will you attempt to figure out the origin and purpose of the Rube Goldberg machine? Hunt down the man immortalised in mural form on various walls? Seek out all Slinkachu’s miniature dioramas? Or just make it your mission to explore every corner – even the ones you’re not sure you’re allowed in?

That’s all I’m giving you in the way of hints. You’ll thank me if, as Old Vic Artistic Director Kevin hopes, the tunnel reopens in the autumn, and you can experience the thrill of discovery unspoiled.

Participants include Punchdrunk, Old Vic, Young Vic, ATMA, Lightning & Kinglyface, Kate MccGwire, Luke Montgomery, Polly Morgan, Petroc Sesti, Slinkachu, Vhils, Hugo Wilson, Xenz and Busk

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8 May, 2009

The Contingency Plan

Bush Theatre, 22 April – 6 June 2009

Reviewed for the London Theatre Blog

If anthropogenic climate change is the greatest challenge currently facing mankind, then right now Steve Waters’ The Contingency Plan at the Bush Theatre is the most important artwork in the country.

Either individually or combined, On the Beach and Resilience – the independent but complementary constituent plays of Waters’ double bill – trumpet an uncompromising challenge to conventional, optimistic projections regarding the results of our effect on the climate.

In On the Beach, glaciologist Will Paxton (Geoffrey Streatfeild) returns home to Norfolk after an extended stint in Antarctica, to present his new girlfriend Sarika (Stephanie Street) to his parents, and to confront his reclusive father Robin (Robin Soans), who gave up glaciology two decades ago to observe sea birds on the salt marshes.

In Resilience, Sarika likewise presents Will to the Ministry for Climate Change, where he faces off against Colin (also Robin Soans), the colleague that discredited his father, in an attempt to convince the new Conservative government to legislate according to his own radically pessimistic predictions of coastal flooding in Britain.

If you can see both (highly recommended), see On the Beach first. If you can’t, see Resilience: though its focus is squarely on the policy makers and not those affected first hand by the crisis, it contains not only the best laughs (mostly courtesy of David Bark-Jones’ dangerously clueless Minister), but also the most important science.

Will’s solution is that there is no solution; there’s nothing left to do but retreat inland and abandon the coast to the North Sea. Before Resilience’s interval he reels off a list of draconian-sounding measures, including compulsory purchase and demolition of non-carbon neutral homes. Waters and his agent are adamant that the science used in the play is sound and rigorously up to date.

Downers don’t come much bigger, but neither play ever ceases to entertain, even when Soans’ characters show their similarities by breaking out the visual aids. Hard science and the accompanying pessimism are counterbalanced by dramatic flair in both the text and the performances. While the big issue naturally and rightly dominates, Will’s relationship with his father gets nearly as much exposure; and Street, along with Susan Brown as both Will’s mother and Tessa, Minister for Resilience, fly the flag for women finding footholds in predominantly male arenas. Soans’ portrayal of two similar but distinct obsessives, one comical, one eventually somewhat sinister, particularly stands out.

The only ray of hope in Waters’ predicted stormfront is that both plays are set a few years in the future. If the science is as solid as he claims, we can only hope the policy makers don’t greet him as Chris greets Will – at first jovially, then later bitterly, as “Nostradamus”.

Written by Steve Waters

Crew includes Tamara Harvey (director, Resilience), Michael Longhurst (director, On the Beach), Tom Scutt (designer), Oliver Fenwick (lighting designer) and Emma Laxton (sound designer)

Cast includes David Bark-Jones (Chris), Susan Brown (Jenny in On the Beach/Tessa in Resilience), Robin Soans (Robin in On the Beach/Colin in Resilience), Geoffrey Streatfeild (Will) and Stephanie Street (Sarika)

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17 April, 2009

A Place at the Table

Camden People’s Theatre, 15 April – 2 May 2009

Reviewed for the London Theatre Blog

Making verbatim theatre interesting to watch is notoriously difficult, and Daedalus Theatre haven’t helped themselves by choosing as their primary source U.N. Security Council Report S/1996/682, which is exactly as dense and undramatic as it sounds.

The report concerns the 1993 military coup in Burundi. The Central African country’s first Hutu president, Melchior Ndadaye, was democratically elected and subsequently assassinated, initiating a civil war between Hutu and Tutsi peoples. As the play’s sources testify, no one is sure where responsibility for the assassination lies. Military officers blame mutinous troops, but none of these mutineers were ever interviewed by the U.N., and Jean-Paul Kamana, fingered as the man behind the curtain, is considered a mere scapegoat.

It’s ripe material for a verbatim play. The situation in Burundi is not common knowledge in the U.K., and at its best the format is perfectly suited to peeling away layers of deceit and misdirection such as seem to be at work here. Sadly, I left no wiser about Burundi than when I arrived.

The punctuation and paragraph codes of the report are all verbalised, emphasising the obscuring power of U.N. Officialese a little too well and rendering most of the main source material near incomprehensible. Promisingly, material from blogs and personal interviews ‘translates’ the first few sections into a more easily relatable form; but the company seem not to trust this format to hold the audience’s attention for more than twenty minutes.

The production is riddled with business designed to overcome the inherent problem with the verbatim form. The audience sits with the cast around a huge wooden table, as if we are U.N. delegates being briefed on the situation. This works. After twenty minutes the cast start playing musical chairs, and after half an hour the gimmicky little physical setpieces begin.

In one corner a woman wrangles and tangles herself with the cords of two phones. Later, a fish is gutted and beheaded on a block. Removable panels of the tabletop reveal pockets of soil full of buried mobile phones. A lot of it seems to mean something, but there’s no cohesion: the sense is that director Paul Burgess is just throwing out image after image in the hope that the audience will decode their own meaning from it all. By the end of the play, so much is happening at once that it’s hard to concentrate on the verbal testimony, and impossible to follow the slideshow of helpful contextual material.

A Place at the Table has a couple of rock-solid concepts – the subject matter and staging – at its heart, but glommed around them is a mass of shiny little distractions that serve only to obscure the truths verbatim theatre is supposed to expose. It turns out it’s possible to make verbatim theatre that isn’t static enough – who knew?

Crew includes Paul Burgess (director/designer) and Cécile Feza Bushidi (choreographer)

Cast includes Naomi Grossett, Lelo Majozi-Motlogeloa, Jennifer Muteteli, Anna-Maria Nabirye, Grace Nyandoro and Susan Worsfold

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