Antigone, Interrupted (The Traverse: Feb 20 – 22 : 19:30: 1hr)

“An elegant and transparent solo piece of dance”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars: Outstanding

Antigone, interrupted is somatic poetry, cathartic ritual, political embodiment. 

Lately I’ve been coming back to Jonathan Burrows’s handbook and something I read really caught my eye: Simple things sometimes accumulate in virtuosistic ways. 

That’s the beauty of simplicity: with few tools we treasure infinite assets. Antigone, interrupted is an elegant and transparent solo piece of dance where the Greek tragedy is revisited through contemporary storytelling. 

It is great to see a collaboration that actually depicts Scotland’s reality: heterogeneous, European, international. Under the direction of Joan Clevillé (Catalan), the body of Solene Weinachter (French) orbits around the myth while her voice lies behind, to gently comment about  it with the audience. Sortir-de-soi- the Anagnorisis of the character/performer of Antigone. 

French philosophy comes to mind. Solene’s movement seems to deconstruct the levels of the body, unravelling the corps sans organes (the body without organs) of Deleuze, closely linked with the Théâtre de la Cruauté ( Theatre of Cruelty) of Artaud- how the State exercises violence against the bodies, and punishes them (Foucault). Modern Day Catalonia’s situation (just to name one) comes to mind. Young bodies and old bodies getting hit, bodies stretching, bodies longing from freedom. This longing, along with Antigone’s moral fight, is sketched in Solene’s movement when she plays with disruption, intermittence, reassembly, estrangement, awkwardness. The conversation with Creon using her feet while talking is a defiance of power (mockery of modern politician’s gesticulation?). In any case, the way Solene interprets Creon and the Chorus is a clear political parody. 

Discovering the revolutionary body, Antigone, interrupted is also an analysis of desire. Desire blooms out of an absence. Freedom and desire are like Eros and Thanatos: they are interdependent. The dynamic and pulse of the choreography is anxious, violent, organic- the character is in Agon, in agony. The body recognises its own existence: it’s corrupted, it’s dirty, it sweats, it squirms, it struggles, it’s exposed, it’s naked, it’s covered, it falls, it rises. 

The ritual side of Greek drama (post-modern performance always wants to come back to that moment) is honored on this show. The clever configuration of the audience, oval and on-stage, improves audience’s immersion, like a storytelling session or a foliada around the hearth. Sharing time, just breathing, we meet the Catharsis. Word and movement are completely melted. It’s not just related with time or silence- Solene’s dance outlines her words and her voice structures her movement. Literal body language. Solene Weinachter has, like a friend would say, a Daimon that is shown on her multifaceted skills. The dramaturgy is clearly made for her comedy and naturalness. Despite being a tragedy, we couldn’t stop laughing throughout the show. Through dance, power and old-fashioned narratives can be subverted. Maybe the birth of tragedy was that.

outstanding

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Reviewer: Helena Salguiero (Seen 20 Feb)

Trojan Horse (Traverse Theatre, Feb 11-12: 1h 15 mins)

“Realistic, respectful and approached with careful integrity. “

Editorial Rating:  4 Stars: Outstanding

LUNG theatre has gained popularity recently for their creative championing of minority demographics and events neglected by the media. They have done well to establish their own verbatim style that values justice, professionalism and integrity; attributes that shine very brightly throughout Trojan Horse. Written by Matt Woodhead and Helen Monks, Trojan Horse premiered in Edinburgh in 2018 when it won both the Fringe First award and the Amnesty International Freedom of Expression Award. Trojan Horse is adapted from over 200 hours of interviews, containing public documents and speeches taken directly from public interviews. The performance follows the famous 2014 scandal that surrounded the ‘alleged’ conspiracy within Park View Academy, Nansen Primary and several other Birmingham schools by Islamist extremists, who were supposedly planning to infiltrate the curriculum by enforcing their religious ethos. 

It is in this sense of verisimilitude that LUNG really excel in honoring the story of the teachers, parents and students who were directly affected by the inquiries. The acting style was realistic, respectful and approached with careful integrity. 

The fast-paced dynamicity, and slick transitioning between narratives in the show meant that occasionally I had to remind myself that what I was hearing verbatim stories, and not born-fictional narrative. The cast (Komal Amin, Mustafa Chaudhry, Gurkiran Kaur, Qasim Mahmood, Keshini Misha) work excellently as an ensemble, representing the people at the heart of the enquiry with pride and respect. Mahmood is especially memorable for portraying an honorable image of the selfless Tahir Alam; former chairman of governors at Park View, who was banned from his role for undermining ‘fundamental British values’. 

In perhaps its most artful navigation of difficult topics, the piece covers some understandably heavy political content, which is offered in a way that provides context to new audiences without demeaning them. These moments are paralleled masterfully with moments of relief, even comedy. It feels almost wrong to think of laughing together given the subject matter, but in a way, it reflects LUNG’s message on human connectedness beautifully.

As in most of LUNG’s work, Trojan Horse really emphasised the extent that the media can influence public opinion by omitting fact, corrupting the truth and in this case, propagating islamophobia for the purpose of views and retweets. These messages are supported by the constant presence of mobile phones and snippets of radio broadcasts as a key source of communication in the piece. It is here that the piece begs us to confront how we make judgements. Why are we, the British public, so quick to believe the headlines rather than hunt for the full story? When do we begin to accept accountability for how our complacency feeds into the plague of mass-media falsity in Britain? The continuing popularity of LUNG’s Trojan Horse only goes to emphasize its relevance today, and that we still have a lot to learn from our past mistakes.

Trojan Horse is a brilliant example of how theatre can create space to reflect upon socio-political and economic matters that is both cathartic and politicizing. It is clear that the LUNG team are practicing the proactivity that they preach throughout their creative and production processes. The show’s engagement continues beyond the parameters of the stage space, with fundraising, community engagement consultants and an academic advisor. In writing Trojan Horse, Monks and Woodhead had recognised an injustice in the world and gave voice to the voiceless. As a Theatre graduate, seeing Trojan Horse highlighted the absolute necessity for my generation to utilise our privilege, and start writing and creating with/for our communities. In the words of Razwan Faraz: “Young people: do it, tell the story. Because the people at the top aren’t”.


“What are you doing for society?”

At the end of the tour leg, LUNG informed us that they will be taking Trojan Horse to the Houses of Parliament to fight for the Government to commit to a definition of Islamophobia. This success only demonstrates the power of this piece of documentary theatre in implementing real change, and I look forward to seeing what they have in store for us next. Please check out and sign their petition calling on the UK Government to adopt a definition of Islamophobia at: https://bit.ly/2NMe673

outstanding

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Reviewer: Paige Stillwell (Seen February 11)

I Can Go Anywhere (Traverse Theatre: Dec 10 – 21 : 20:00: 1hr 20 mins)

Photo: Lara Cappelli

Photo: Lara Cappelli

“A nail-biting reflection on identity politics”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars Outstanding

Award-winning Scottish playwright Douglas Maxwell’s new play I Can Go Anywhere sees Jimmy, a caricature of youthful optimism and mod-culture, arrive on the doorstep of Professor Stevie Thomas. Jimmy is seeking help in a last-ditch effort to be granted asylum in the UK. Dressed in his pinstripe suit and green parka combo, Jimmy is a larger-than-life comic book embodiment of all things MOD and all he wants is to prove he belongs. But Stevie, a disheartened academic, is suffering his own identity crisis, fresh from a break-up and meandering in the lows of a “transitional phase” in life.

Maxwell’s latest play follows a night of both confrontation and camaraderie between two men as they share vulnerabilities, anxieties and bond over 70’s vinyl. Both Nebli Basani (Jimmy) and Paul McCole (Stevie) hold the stage well as a partnership and their conflict offers a considerate perspective on identity politics. Eve Nicol’s direction also does well to present the character’s complex power and pride driven battle in 75 minutes, without seeming rushed or abridged. Basani’s performance as Jimmy is, no doubt, one of the best I have seen at the Traverse this year and by far the most captivating part of I Can Go Anywhere. From the moment that Stevie (Paul McCole) opens the front door, Jimmy explodes to life with an energy that is both nervous and endearing, embodying a personification of rogue mod that we recognise too well from contemporary British drama.

Ultimately, I Can Go Anywhere is urging us to face the way in which ignorance governs cultural identity, specifically in the process of seeking asylum in the UK. As we reel in the hostile aftershock of the General Election, there could not be a more appropriate time for a play to confront cultural identity. At times, Stevie and Jimmy’s to-and-fro of insecurities feels symbolic of the UK’s own divided identity. Here, there is a shared sense of feeling lost and a human desire to belong. For those living in Scotland in 2019 it seems ever more necessary for us to reflect on these notions and ask ourselves: What does it mean to be British today? Are our identities defined by the cultural groups to which we belong? What does it mean to belong

I Can Go Anywhere is both humorous and thought provoking, exploring notions of belonging, solidarity and authenticity in contemporary Britain. It concludes (if not a little clichéd) with a Billy Bragg style call to arms that urges the audience to look beyond appearances and judgments. Like Bragg’s political songs, Maxwell’s play uses mod culture to emphasise the collective power of music in creating solidarity amongst people. Let’s appreciate our cultural movements whether art, music or fashion, for how they help us understand how we identify with each other in this fleeting world. Maxwell states that I Can Go Anywhere evolved from desire to show that “art is far more important and powerful than politics”. Whilst the performance’s content certainly addresses this, my only qualm would be that the play’s dependence on naturalism is somewhat limiting and two-dimensional. Perhaps there was a missed opportunity here to engage with a more progressive and interdisciplinary style of performance that might explicitly confront the relationship between art and politics. 

 Despite this, I Can Go Anywhere delivers a nail-biting reflection on identity politics in the UK’s current climate of uncertainty and stands as a valuable experience for all audiences; regardless of class, culture or political views. The Traverse 2’s intimate and open space adheres to the nature of the play, allowing the audience to see and recognise solidarity with one another on the fringes of the stage space. After all, is it not the purpose of theatre to offer a moment of unity in an otherwise hostile world? 

outstanding

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Reviewer: Paige Stillwell (Seen 12 December)

Salt (Assembly Roxy, 07 -15 Nov : 20:00 : 45mins)

“A Poetic Conundrum”

Editorial Rating:  4 Stars Outstanding

If Fiona Oliver-Larkin had a magic formula for her new co-production with Al Seed, she might have mixed a little bit of Grotowski, Kantor, Alice in Wonderland, then have added some spices and at the end, naturally, loads of salt.

Far from trying to tell a linear story whilst retaining the aesthetics of a tale, Oliver-Larkin elaborates mesmerising scenic landscapes.  A poetic conundrum where the images work as oniric pulses that are splashed on the narrative, flashing throughout the piece: a marvelous and yet threatening house made of wood, salt and crystal; a submarine in a salted blue ocean; a small lighthouse; an indomitable garden where a beast lives; a still life as a graveyard made of wooden spoons; the light of knowledge that illuminates the main character at the last moment, right after a cathartic moment of biting the forbidden fruit.

This solo show with an austere scenography -that asserts the notion of poor theatre– and a noir and avant-garde study of beauty, makes use of dilated tempos to let the audience delve into the imagery (suspension very much appreciated in mime, puppetry or physical theatre). The lack of dialogue was key for the atmosphere of the show, as well as the accurate choice of making it no more than 45 minutes long.

In this fantasy world, where the strangeness and tenderness live together, we can see a little girl who uses her imagination to escape her reclusion, and plays with daily objects that become adventure companions, while an unknown being lives upstairs. The boredom of this normalised prison makes her mind work and boosts her inventiveness, to the point that fantasy and reality are blurred.

There’s a certain crescendo in terms of character’s development: the girl is afraid of beasts and dangers whilst at the end of the show -which is the travel of the heroine- she shows no fear. And that bravery makes her see the light. Plato’s cave, or just growing up?

Highly recommended for both adults and children.

outstanding

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Reviewer: Helena Salguiero (Seen 15 November)

Barber Shop Chronicles (The Lyceum, 23 Oct -9 Nov: 19:30 : 1hr 4)

“Unbridled and Exuberant”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars: Outstanding

When you enter into the Lyceum, white is the colour that pops into your head. Not a black veil in front of the eyes; not velvet, countless red. 

No. White.

When you grab a sit on the bottom row and see a rather elegant field of white hair, white skin, middle class spectators facing a stage where a bunch of black actors are dancing unbridled and exuberant, owning the whole place at the sound of Afro B… it’s just priceless. For once, you don’t feel in a museum but within a game of contrasts that actually mingle.Visual art at its best. 

This storytelling masterpiece is a living example of how an actor actually enjoying the momentum can warm up the audience, let it breath and even feel grateful.

Inua Ellams’ play talks about the affairs of working-class (surprise!) black men through an intimate, tender study of masculinity’s emotional and political anatomy. Stories set in barber shops across Africa, interlinked as threads (wires in the scenography help to create this imagery) pass through the eye of a needle that spins like a hanging globe  – London.

Industrial set design, expressionist lightning and alienating effects remind us of a Brechtian play. Sheibani’s canny direction is not far from that. Articulate expressiveness highlights what Odin Teatret would call the presence of the actor and lives in different kinds of anthropological scenic art – eyes, mouth, hands and feet proficiency-. The homogeneous and impressive cast work is shaped by Aline David (the female presence in the script came to light at the after-show talk, but what about the production?). 

Along with the movement, the glowing pulse of the vocal work- phatic expressions, highly marked cadences as if the sentences were sung, voice projection- makes this a great example of what storytelling is. Needless to say, the art of storytelling is to keep the audience interested, and this production managed to keep the energy well-balanced from beginning to end – though sometimes it flirts with devolving into a stream of political or cultural references. Still, that’s what we ultimately want as an audience, to make the brain dance with the play since we cannot -unfortunately- dance on the seats.  Because If I can’t dance to it, it’s not my revolution

outstanding

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Reviewer: Helena Salguiero (Seen 8 November)

“The Monstrous Heart” (Traverse Theatre, 22 Oct – 2 Nov : 19:30 : 1hr 15mins)

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Photography by Mihaela Bodlovic

” Elegant and attentive direction”

Editorial Rating: 3 Stars Nae Bad

An obvious symbol lies on a table at the centre of the stage.

A dead beast as the first actor of an analogy game that unfolds itself like a Russian nesting doll – the monstrous, the wild, the Other, the Mother, the Daughter. A metaphor and, ultimately, a show that rushed like hot blood within a febrile body: hastily.

During a storm in the Canadian mountains, the prodigal daughter visits her mother after a long time to seek answers and amend past decisions.

The attempted analysis of the human passions and post-freudian determinism (which of course condemns women first) with clear romantic allegories (Frankestein, connection between nature and sentiments through sound and light design) fails along the way. A good idea, but unfortunately without resolution.

Director Gareth Nicoll’s taste for Shakespearean, abrupt violence and the delicate language of gestures are as easily seen in this production as his others. But even elegant and attentive direction and fairly competent acting cannot save a flat plot and circumspect script.

A neatly conducted rhythm at the first part of the dialogue becomes a self-explanatory, polarised monologue. Rather than raise drama or empathy, the self indulgent storytelling leaves one wondering if one character is listening to the story or the actress is simply waiting to say her speech.

There’s a lack of tension all the way through the script: the position of power remains always the same, embodied by the daughter, whose acting is quite hectic and leaves no room for audience expectancy at the beginning. Nevertheless, her physical characterisation is superb. The restraint of the mother was sometimes staggered by little details (dramatic hand tics in particular), but the character blossoms once she downs a dram and the actress allows herself to relax.

In short, this is a strong initial concept that craves revision. I hope that it’s returned to, for the simple reason that the idea, the discourse, the creative team’s work and the cast have so much to offer – but, unfortunately, cannot be cured from the restraints of the substandard playwriting.

Maybe the magnificence of a living bear cannot be portrayed if the insides are not beating guts, but soft stuffing.

nae bad_blue

Star (blue)Star (blue)Star (blue)

Reviewer: Helena Salguiero (Seen 23 October)

The Panopticon (The Traverse: Oct 11 – 19 : 19:30: 2hrs 45 mins)

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Photography by Mihaela Bodlovic

” A masterfully produced piece of white hot tragedy”

Editorial Rating:  4 Stars: Outstanding

Shows are a lot like types of friendship. Some primarily uplift you; they wrap you up in a distancing blanket from what’s actually out there, or distract you from what can’t be escapes. Others are more of an intellectual affair, where the value comes from what you can glean. A working partnership, maybe, as much as acquaintanceship. Some are good, some are fine, and some you cannot wait to forget.

The Panopticon is a singular type of play: it’s like having a witty, irreverent friend who also spontaneously beats the shit out of you. It’s cool, you agreed to it, and honestly there’s a lot of heart and soul in the neverending chest-stamping and throat-chopping, but nonetheless beaten ye shall be. The Panopticon is a masterfully produced piece of white hot tragedy, an important artwork – but if the content warnings plastered around the Traverse Lobby don’t tip you off, it’s not welcome territory for a frail disposition.

The premise of the story is easy to ramp into: a young girl named Anais is put into a home built in the shell of a disused panopticon: a prison wherein all prisoners may be seen from a central tower, and never know if they’re being watched. It becomes a damned succinct example of ‘setting-as-overall-metaphor’, and sets up a rollercoaster ride of extreme highs and disorientating lows centred around the lives of the troubled and shunned, and the tragedy of a loveless childhood.

The star of the show, both literally and performatively, is Anna Russell-Martin as Anais: an acerbic, highly troubled young woman for whom the lines between reality and psychosis are not so much blurred as violently shaken together. Russel-Martin offers a masterclass performance in the title role: running the gamut from charming and rambunctious to devastated to utterly destroyed, whilst still maintaining rock-solid continuity of character. Anyone who’s been to a few theatre productions has likely seen grief, rage and joy played out – when watching Russel-Martin, it’s like seeing them for the first time.

Beyond the easy classification of “who is the main character”, the ensemble cast is both a blessing and a curse: a group of performers so uniformly talented that it makes picking a starting point incredibly difficult. Do you start with Laura Lovemore, whose attention to consistent physicality not only makes every one of her characters distinct, but wholly individual? Kay McAllister, who portrays beauty of spirit and acidic tragedy like an angel in a crack den? The wonderfully afflicted bravado and uncertainty of Louise McMenemy’s Shortie, the edge-of-unsettling vibrancy and humanity of Lawrence-Hodgson Mulling’s John, the kaleidoscope-esque multiplicity of Martin Donaghy. There’s simply too much good to unpick here without it turning into a bullet-pointed gush list, but suffice to say, they’re an ensemble cast dream team. Wholly professional, wholly consistent and an absolute joy to watch.

I would be remiss, however, not to highlight my two favourite performers: Gail Watson and Paul Tinto. Tinto, rugged yet approachable, almost singlehandedly carries the light of optimism for the majority of the show with a charisma and earthy crunch that turns what could easily have been a trying, one-note archetype into what may be one of the show’s more understatedly complex roles. And Gail Watson. Gail Watson! Chameleons would weep and don monochrome jackets out of shame. No matter the demands of the myriad parts she plays, each is done with nuance. Personality. Although Eddie Murphy’s Norbit may have traumatised me away from films where one actor plays every part, if Gail Watson were headlining? I might be persuaded to invest in the necessary therapy to enjoy it.

These players would be delight enough on their own, but when cast into sets as well designed and dramatic as those created by the incredibly talented stage team, it only serves to elevate. Not only are they clever to the point of enviousness, they are (much like everything from the lighting to the sound ops) integrated to the point of seamlessness. It’s very much like watching a morbid dollhouse play itself to pieces: a rare treat to watch though perhaps, given the subject matters, not a constant delight. The team behind The Panopticon commit entirely to the concept of theatre as illusion-making, and the results are wonderfully encapsulating.

Of course, perfection is theoretical, and this production proves that fact. Though the viscerality of the acting cannot be denied, the fight choreography felt too floaty and impactless for most of the violent scenes to carry home the needed drama. And although the digitally projected visuals were inspired, oftentimes they felt more like a palate-cleanser to cut the drama rather than an off-angle surprise to elevate it. This is less of an issue with, say, the visualization of the mental sensation of an orgasm, but is fairly noticeable on the subject of psychotic dreams.

It feels prescient to state here that, if you haven’t already guessed, this isn’t a show that flinches when it comes to deeply upsetting events. The plot features things that would certainly warrant thorough show research and consideration for anyone with prior trauma, and even if you don’t, make sure not to go on a bad day. It’s a white hot furnace of dismay, but it forges something deeply important and meticulously well performed.

It might be the darkest show I’ve reviewed for Edinburgh49 yet, but it’s a shining star on the theatrical horizon.

outstanding

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Reviewer: Jacob Close (Seen 11 October)