Be Better by Urban Foxes Collective - Camden People's Theatre

Originally written for Exeunt.

Be Better by Urban Foxes Collective

Camden People’s Theatre

Devised and performed by Saskia Marland and Elena Voce

Produced by Sara Sassanelli
* * * *

Generation Y. Born in the 80’s and 90’s, and according to research conducted at the University of New Hampshire (and – surprise surprise – featured in The Daily Mail), carry with us a poor work ethic and inflated sense of entitlement. Technology obsessed, absorbed by our sense of ourselves.

Let’s just let that sit for a while, and calm our rage, because to dispute it is not the argument that Be Better by Urban Foxes Collective endeavours to make. And anyway, Huffington Post articulate the aspertion in much more substantiated terms than the Daily Mail. The major element that is discussed, however, is that we have been brought up being told we are special, enough times that we might actually believe it. 

This quite funny, slightly terrifying piece devised and performed by Saskia Marland and Elena Voce is set within the introspective chaos that prevails amongst this generation, and refers to those who are constantly fighting for the spotlight. It transpires that the only way to achieve that spotlight is to be better – to be the best you can be. Better than that, even, to be better than the best you can be. As such, we are welcomed to a cleansing ritual, in which we focus on ourselves, and cleanse ourselves of ourselves, and give birth unto ourselves. What that looks like, in practical terms, is broken down for us by Elena and Saskia, in the form of motivational and confessional monologues:

Perfect bodies. The incredible power to form your own world-changing, fulfilling, all-encompassing career. Setting the alarm for 8am even when you don’t need to get up, just because you have THAT much drive for life. Pursuing your dream career, feeling entitled to and unquestionably perfect for that career. This career will take priority over your life, so for women especially, you can forget having children. More importantly, you should forget, because the population is too big anyway. You’re doing the environment a favour. Doing your bit for the planet. Like avoiding buying the prawn sandwich at Tesco so that you are actively not supporting the unsustainable, unethical sourcing of shellfish.

Steal the sandwich instead, and then you’re screwing over the corporate monster that is Tesco. Win-win.

Oh. But then they only replace the sandwich anyway, and you’re back at square one, perpetuating the unethical sourcing of shellfish.

And Elena looks like she is absolutely about to go insane with this whirlwind of pressure imposed on her to look after the planet and not support Tesco and not have children and all she wanted was a sandwich. She is hungry, and hasn’t eaten in a while because she’s been concentrating on achieving her perfect body and suddenly the very act of buying lunch is a political statement and a crucial reflection on herself.

“On herself.” Let’s return to the solution to our (debatable) population crisis. “Women should stop having children.” In giving birth unto ourselves instead, we shed the old self, and embark on the power of the individual. Women, with the ego of an alpha male, you can fucking take on the world.

It’s a lot to ask, and it’s no wonder that Saskia (today is HER DAY) is a little nervous at first. This is where the comedy is at its strongest in the piece, and it’s a real pleasure to see the banter between the girls as they take to the microphones, and Elena declares herself as a goddess while Saskia dithers around the humble act of saying her name.

With Elena’s support, she warms to it, but it’s comparatively easier to project your ego onto the world from behind the mask of social media. After all, this is how Saskia found Elena: inspired by a photo of her on Instagram, she was drawn to seek her help under the programme #BeBetter. 

The purpose of the programme is to pursue your full potential - the potential you know you have within you. Because you are special. It is to pursue your own self-betterment, to learn ALL THE THINGS and take amazing selfies and not be distracted by the Daily Mail sidebar, by Instagram, by procrastination overload. You can embody the new you, whipping off your modest, virginal nightdress to reveal shiny gold hotpants. You can stand on a pedestal and dance seductively with fans blowing wind through your hair. The fact that this happens way too much and for far too long in the show is only a reflection on how AMAZING and SPECIAL these girls are.

But like the unethical sourcing of shellfish, this super-charged approach to life is not sustainable, and we see Elena crumple beneath the weight of herself. Meanwhile, the student becomes the master as Saskia morphs into the grinding, writhing, half-naked epitome of a pouting selfie, who is more likely to have sex with herself than anyone else. But everyone will want to have sex with her, and that’s what matters. 

The chaos comes to a crashing halt when Elena arrives back on stage with blood between her legs. She has fallen off the rails, and it’s hilarious to see Saskia totter around her in high heels and a leotard decorated with plastic bags, trying to calm her down. But what of the blood? Is it her period, and thereby evidence that she is not actually an alpha male inside? Or is it that in giving birth to herself, she has miscarried? Either way, we can have no doubt that the same fate will come to Saskia, and it lands as a warning to us all to throw off the nauseating introspection that is characteristic of our generation. 

Whether we see it as a failing of our generation or not, we can no doubt do something more useful with our time than programmes for self-betterment and scrolling through Instagram. Although the show takes a primarily feminist edge, through audience interaction they assert that this message goes for everyone. And true to the lingo Generation Y grew up with, we would do well to just “get a life”. 

It’s an interesting show, with deep, catalytic ideas and a dizzyingly strong voice. I can’t wait to see what Urban Foxes do next.

http://cargocollective.com/urbanfoxescollective

The Pianist - Purcell Room - London International Mime Festival

Originally written for Exeunt.

A few years ago, I thought that I would like to learn how to play the keyboard. Armed with a free supplement that came with the weekend newspaper my parents were buying at the time called ‘Learn To Play The Keyboard’, I sat down in my bedroom, wrote the keys on with a whiteboard pen, and learnt to play quite happily with my right hand. The book then invited me to introduce my left hand to the mix, and it all went catastrophically wrong. I gave up learning soon after that, and resigned myself to tinkling away and inventing my own tunes.

Before that, however, I did learn how to play ‘A Whole New World’ from Disney’s Aladdin with one hand. But once I had rubbed the whiteboard pen off the keys, in the process of mastering this tune I often landed on the wrong note, giving a clunk to the impassioned cadence that I was otherwise emotionally invested in.

Failings breed brilliance in this hour long solo performance: lost sheet music prompts circus skills, lowering the height of a stool inspires a scene played out between his fingers, and difficulty getting through the curtain backdrop demands something like contortionism. Each time something breaks, or goes wrong, something incredible – and incredibly funny – happens as a result.

The Pianist, conceived and directed by Thomas Monckton and Sanna Silvennoinen, is sort of like that. In Thomas’ effort to arrive at his piano and play from his sheet music – a journey from dressing room to piano stool that should take no time at all – he finds obstacle after obstacle to turn the whole endeavour into a madcap, ramshackle routine that hits all the wrong keys. But boy, does he hit them well.

It helps that Thomas Monckton is just so incredibly talented, with a comic expression and physicality that is on a par with Rowan Atkinson in the Mr Bean years. We want him to succeed, and it is impossible not to fall a little bit in love with this man who tries desperately to allude to the wine sipping, tail-flicking sophistication of a concert pianist, but suffers beneath bright red socks and Einstein-esque hair.

That air of genius is finally justified when, In spite of it all, and in spite of a slightly confusing, off-kilter moment wherein the piano begins smoking and rainforest flowers appear from beneath the lid, he settles down to begin the concert. Thomas plays beautifully, and suddenly the room takes on an atmosphere quite departed from the previous haphazard, cartoon misgivings. The keys are right, the timing considered. There is not space here for comic faces (okay, maybe just one) and juggling routines.

Perhaps the fire and the flowers are a nod to a deeper understanding of where music can take us, and to frame the piano as a breeding ground for the very elements that keep us alive, alongside laughter, music and art. We might wonder why it has been worth all of the trouble of the past hour, but here we understand that the piano is this mime’s language, the realm where things fall into place and make sense for him.

It is a moving, intelligent piece that chimes from hilarity to sincerity with warmth and flair, allowing us to see the seriousness beneath the clown, as well as the clown within the pianist.

The Pianist is part of the London International Mime Festival 2015.

Private View - Plunge Theatre

Private View by Plunge Theatre - created and performed by Lilly Pollard, Tutku Barbaros and Izabella Malewska - holds up the magnifying glass to the female body. It draws from personal experience, and reflects on the strain they and other women feel from the media to look a certain way. It is honest, funny, and insightful. It is thought-provoking, and a little bit devastating.

Now, as a disclaimer, my appreciation for the show is biased: I work at Theatre Delicatessen, know the girls, and like them a lot. But this is only in so far as it is utterly heartbreaking to see three girls who I know to be beautiful, inside and out, subject their bodies to the exact same critique and rigmarole that a lot of us - men and women - shamefully apply to ourselves.

"Would you speak to your best friend like that?" Goes the old self help adage.

As such, my response to the piece was pretty emotional. There is a moment where the girls come out into the audience and tear at parts of their bodies, asking us if we think they would look better if they were thinner/bigger-boobed/different, at which point I quietly burst into tears. Because it's one thing to watch people you know do this to themselves, but it's another to be honest with yourself, and admit that you do it too.

In this latest wave of feminism, and as a staunch fan of Hadley Freeman, Caitlin Moran, Lucy Mangan, Sandi Toksvig, Sue Perkins, Jo Brand, Clare Balding, Lauren Laverne et.gloriously.al, I am inclined to the dialogue in which I declare that I am happy with my body, and my appearance. I believe that more time should be given to people, family, friends, intelligence and life-enrichment than to diets and exercise. I exercise for my health - I walk an hour every day because legs should not be wasted, I run to maintain my emotional well-being and do yoga to stretch out the day's strains. I don't actually like chocolate or sweets that much, or meat, and it's pretty underwhelming that my guilty pleasure is a whole packet of rice cakes lathered in peanut butter or houmous.

(Eugh, I know.)

But the truth is, my main motivation is that I am absolutely terrified of putting on weight, and of not seeming to gesture towards the Cara Delevingne/Karlie Kloss slim, hairless, perfectly poised aesthetic.

Karlie Kloss - Vogue Italia - Nike

Alright, whatever. So what? Is it such a bad thing to be healthy? To look after yourself? No, of course not. But the big question is, why am I doing it? Why are we doing it?

That's the scary part, and that's what Private View asks us to consider: is the ideal mirror reflection of our bodies dictated by ourselves, or by Vogue and Heat magazine? And what if that reflection is fundamentally impossible for our individual body type to achieve? It has been noted in another review of the show that it does not encompass or consider other body types, or races, or levels of disability. But the piece takes a step further than that - it speaks to women with the cosy honesty that comes with a girls' night in with a tub of ice cream, in which we all share our hang-ups, not interrogate everyone else's.

We may never shake this grip that the media holds over our perception of ourselves. It's just good old fashioned consumerism, and the very human desperate need to establish self-worth. But if this is the case, then what is most important to remember - and what is highlighted in Private View (thanks to William Ingham's lighting design, with ever shifting spotlights) - is that the Ideal Body Type is only ever a passing phase. And even if you do reach that impossible, airbrushed ideal, it only lasts as long as it takes to eat a tier of chocolate cake.

With that considered, the girls finish the show at their most beautiful - baggy t-shirts, comfy leggings and chocolate smears on their smiling faces while they dance like we all do (come on, admit it) to Bootylicious by Destiny's Child. That is not to say that they have completely renounced the cling film wrapping, waxing, make-up slathering, posing, pouting, spotlight hogging that is a significant feature of the rest of the show, but the fact that this is where they are at their happiest is absolutely crucial. It is realistic - we will not overcome self-consciousness and self-deprecation by simply putting on music and shaking our jelly. But we will damn well enjoy ourselves doing it. 

Private View is at Theatre Delicatessen until 31st January.

Golem - 1927 - Young Vic

“We are a high definition human race.”

Technology has taken over our lives. It defines our friendships, dictates our love lives and intrudes on our family life. Its prominence is bolstered by a consumerist culture, propagated by greed. Our sense of free will is consistently compromised because due to the media, and due to advertising, it is difficult to establish whether a decision is made by our own minds or as a result of subliminal messages. 

Yes, we get it: it is all profoundly negative, but is sold to us as something positive. "The world is at your finger tips!” “We are living in the modern age!” et.al. This is not new information, but this discord is the subject matter of Golem, the latest production from 1927, a company whose work innovatively combines Tim Burton-esque animation with quirky performances and live music.  

In the story, we follow the life of Robert Robertson, a man at the height of the mundane in a seemingly pointless job, backing up technological back-up with pencil and paper. He is in a politically driven rock band with his sister, but in all their years they have never played a single gig. He enjoys visiting his friend’s shop and buying his inventions, even though they inevitably break after a week. That is until he invents the Golem – a man made of clay who obeys all of its owner’s commands, but is the embodiment of the consumerist, technology-mad mentality as yet undiscovered by these characters. From here, Robert’s sense of himself spirals out of his own control, taking his work and his home life with it. 

The style of the piece is extraordinary, in its composite parts. The animation that creates the world that the performers move in is fun and intricately drawn, and the music, in both performance and score, is both haunting and delightful. The performers themselves, all clipped vowels, exaggerated physicality and futuristic costumes, are truly remarkable. But once we have established the novelty of the work, there is very little left for us to discover, particularly within a storyline that projects towards the world we already know.  

There are some genuinely thoughtful, provocative elements to the piece, for instance the fact that for the most part, the animations run from right to left, hinting that the ensuing decisions and events are a backward step for humanity. Within this, it is interesting that the Golems are always male - prominent genitals and all - and of the characters we see on stage, it is only men who own one. As an added layer, applause resounded in the audience when the Golem tells Robert that his love interest, Joy, is just a frumpy 35-year old who will try to manipulate him into having children, and that he can do better. 

In these moments, the piece is surprising, and successfully articulates issues beyond the foundations of the emptiness of newness that comes with the 21st Century. But otherwise, it communicates that emptiness all too well, and the perpetual boredom that precedes the perpetual upgrade of our lives becomes a mainstay mood of the piece. I just wanted the piece to upgrade, beyond the occasional new App. 

http://www.youngvic.org/whats-on/golem

Kraken by Trygve Wakenshaw - Soho Theatre - London International Mime Festival

Trygve Wakenshaw - Kraken

Originally written for Exeunt.

There is a recurring theme to the hilarity of this darling, disgusting, light-hearted solo show from mime artist, Trygve Wakenshaw. It is in seeing the inevitable next step in his actions, wishing it wouldn’t happen, and watching it happen regardless. 

His entrance sets the tone, in which his gangly limbs make their way towards a stool with his clothes on, while his existing, identical clothes are attached to puppet strings. The strings are not quite long enough, and the only solution is to leave his clothes behind. To describe the scene as “cheeky” is true to more than one connotation.

Besides the stool and these clothes, the stage is bare and Trygve's inventiveness is endless. Forget logic, forget necessity: through mime alone, we journey from a galloping horse, to a unicorn, to seeing Trygve swallow the unicorn’s horn. We see his innards fall out of a hole in his side, then watch as he cooks those innards, and as the sound of the cooking conjures up a hissing snake. He doesn't even have to ask: suddenly, the audience create the sound of a snake charmer keeping the snake at bay, controlled by a loop-pedal at Trygve's feet. This is all accompanied by a sweet little voice exclaiming “Ouchy” and “Oh yeah” and “Aaah!”, a face full of expressions and command of his free-falling physicality that mark him as an addictive performer to watch.

The words are minimal, and when no words come despite setting up a stage mic as if he is about to speak, he mouths, “I’m a mime!” with all the shrugging shoulders to suggest, “Well what did you expect?” There is a sense that Trygve has been flung onto this stage, been expected to perform and is simply making the best of it. As such, his performance sits between self-aware and self-defining, and between a modesty and boldness that means he can get away with clambering over the front row to kiss his audience members. In fact, he is welcomed with open arms.

Trygve trained in clowning under the school of Phillipe Gaulier. In an interview with Gaulier in 2001 by Dominic Cavendish, he describes of his practice that “People have to find a way of being beautiful and surprising.”” As a piece of theatre, Kraken embodies these attributes in droves. The seamlessness by which each little scene blends into the next is as remarkable as the act itself, with all the flair of a magician, self-deprecation of a classic clown and an odd elegance to his darting, awkward limbs.

It’s just brilliant. Tryvge may enter on puppet strings, but we are the puppet as he controls the volume of our participation, whether or not the stage is lit, and where on his body we might kiss better his stab wounds from the unicorn horn. We go voluntarily, willingly, into Trygve’s world, and it is a welcome relief to simply bask in the silliness of it all.

Kraken is part of the 2015 London International Mime Festival. 

http://sohotheatre.com/whats-on/kraken/ 

Made in Britain - Old Red Lion Theatre

Sarah Bryan and James Rallison - Made in Britain - Old Red Lion Theatre

Originally written for Exeunt.


Made in Britain

Directed by: Jonathan O’Boyle

Written by: Ella Carmen Greenhill

Two people, two stories, one pool of water. 

Suicide, cancer. A daughter deserted by her father, a boy punched on the nose by a bully in the playground. Broken Britain, and politicians with holiday homes on the coast. A man who tops himself on cheap vodka and paracetamol because, between the daytime TV and the Job Centre, he just can’t do it anymore. A girl working in retail and living for the chocolate in the staff advent calendar. Christmas shopping, and discovering that her suffering mother’s favourite soap is discontinued. 

The next generation, watching their parents disintegrate beneath a system that has failed them: beneath a cancer that is claiming their livelihood. 

It’s enough to make you angry. Enough to see Danny’s tear-stained face, hear the words “I never meant to hurt anyone”, know he is about to commit an act of violence but feel okay about it. It’s enough to feel real hatred for the Nina’s father when he says he cannot help her with her mother. 

Helplessness, in the face of the unhelpful. 

Yet, these characters sit in the water together. They are not alone, and their individual stories told in parallel finally culminate in their meeting, on the outskirts of a G8 protest against the unjust political system that Danny blames for his father’s demise. Something like romance is hinted at, and it is not until now that we realise how cold the rest of the piece has been. The final message is that Nina should have faith in herself: she can help her mother, and she won’t get it wrong, despite her assertions that she will. And why? Because it matters too much. Meanwhile, Danny walks towards the crowds of protestors, douses himself in gasoline and lights a match. 

Because it matters too much. 

It’s heavy stuff, that is made all the more potent by the sweet attention to detail so rich in Greenhill’s text. Although the ideas of the play lack a fresh perspective, or much depth, they are at least firm, and trade well with the metaphors in the smaller stories in the piece. However, the intrigue this provokes is sometimes met with ambiguity, or thwarted by outright declarations of the play’s political messages, as if a placard is held up before the audience to belittle the ensuing action. This aside, it successfully escalates towards a shrieking protest at the state of the nation, given chillingly through James Rallison’s performance. The play bounces between the characters smartly, and the performances by him and Sarah Bryan carry all the warmth and charisma of true storytellers. 

Despite its occasional dips in clarity and refinement, the play is brave, and bold, and filled with rays of light that are equally as heartbreaking as the pools of darkness. It is a bleak look at the story of contemporary Britain that we know all too well, but with a message of hope  - we, like Nina and Danny, are all in that pool together, sharing in small moments of humanity.

http://www.oldredliontheatre.co.uk/old-red-lion.htm