Monday, November 30, 2020
NoMad reviewed by David James
Rating:
I've been a fan of Nell Hardy for some time. Way back in 2016 I saw her in the title role of Pandemonium Performance's promenade production of Alice in Wonderland in Abney Park Cemetary. She blew my socks off and since then I've tried to see her in as much as possible, as whatever 'it' is, she's got it.
So when I was invited to a stream of her one-woman monologue, NoMad there was no way I was passing it up. I'm not sure what I was expecting from Hardy, but a blistering and brutally honest monologue about her own experiences with homelessness, institutionalisation and mental health wasn't it.
Over the course of an hour and a bit, Hardy guides us through the nightmare of processed through a juddering and underfunded social care system intentionally designed to grind those caught in it to dust. NoMad focuses on mental health treatment, making it sound like a sadistic game of snakes and ladders, albeit one with loaded dice, too many snakes and maybe one creaky ladder. But hey, at least being an inpatient means you get food, heat and a bed...
The most vivid and well-realised moments come when Hardy is explaining the physical effects of homelessness. There's the misery of getting rained on: cold and wet clothes freezing you down to the bone and no prospect of getting properly dry anytime soon; the crinkle of an unwashed, overworn sock inside a shoe that hasn't been taken off in days and a vivid recounting of how it feels to have to piss and shit outdoors.
It's in that last one that Hardy achieves something of the sublime. Much of NoMad is about a sustained assault on her sense of self and the destruction of her ego. Here, in what passes for one of the more light-hearted sequences of the show, she compares herself to a dog - both of them having a piss out in the open. It feels entirely apt, a nice summation of how homelessness erodes away human specialness as divine creatures and reduces you to a deterministic biological machine.
I went into NoMad with respect for Hardy as an actor - and left with a mild sense of awe her writing skills. Prior to this, I'd assumed she was just 'yer typical talented drama school graduate making her way through London fringe theatre scene - but there's admirable sense of purpose and precision in this writing that you simply don't encounter that often.
Plus, while the text is light on explicitly referencing politics, it's difficult to read it as anything other than a condemnation of austerity. Though it might not be mentioned by name, the degradation of care systems, the suffering baked into benefits applications and the ease with which it's possible to fall through the cracks into homelessness are all symptoms of the economic snake oil that's killed hundreds of thousands and inflicted unnecessary pain on millions more.
I'm not saying loading every Conservative politician into some kind of gigantic rocket and firing it into the heart of the sun would have actually solved any of Hardy's problems, but it certainly couldn't hurt to try.
The only flaws of note here are technical. With COVID having effectively shut down fringe theatre I've resisted reviewing plays that have been streamed online. One of the reasons I enjoy theatre so much is the visceral sense of occupying the same space as the performer, which vanishes when you're experiencing a show on video.
While NoMad's minimalist staging and soundscape probably work quite well when you're physically present in the audience, it doesn't on video. And, putting my technical hat on for a moment, especially not on incredibly low bit-rate video that constantly stutters, judders and freezes, and where the sound breaks mid-way through (thank God for automated YouTube subtitling).
But it's a testament to the quality of the show that it hits as hard as it does even with one hand tied behind its back. Watching NoMad made me positively itch to get back into a theatre - here's hoping 2021 sees this get a proper run as it deserves as much attention as it can get.
Wednesday, September 16, 2020

Virtually Opera's We Sing/I Sang bills itself as "an improvised sci-fi ritual opera". A hazily defined 'Crisis' has hit the humanity and the old world has been erased. From the ashes a new collective consciousness - Mind - has formed. Now Mind is leaving this ruined planet behind and making tracks for the stars. The lessons, thoughts and memories we take to the new reality are up to us.
Part of the Cockpit Theatre's Tête à Tête: The Opera Festival, We Sing/I Sang's Crisis is clearly heavily informed by COVID-19. I suspect this topic is going to be the case for a lot of fringe art for a while yet. The country's playwrights and performers have been deprived of an audience for far too long and are no doubt bristling to translate their experiences into plays, poems and songs.
We Sing/I Sang is an austere experience, which I guess is as much a socially distanced necessity as an artistic choice. On a largely empty stage, CN Lester improvises an opera from our prompts accompanied by a viola soundtrack from Hannah Gardiner. They stand at the rear of the stage, with the performance space occupied by Leo Doulton's masked androgynous dancer.
A lot of artists are clearly blue-balled (and blue-ovaried) after spending so long being unable to express themselves live and Virtually Opera recognise that the audience will feel that way too. As such, our thoughts shape the show as we answer questions on our phones that are projected above the performers.
We're asked "What group of people tried to take advantage of the Crisis?", "You have a memory that brought you solace during the Crisis. Who was in it?" or "What unusual ability did some people develop during the Crisis?" Our responses (and some general plot direction from 'adjudicators') shape the plot.
I replied "Conversation with bees" to the last question and watched as Lester worked their way through a verse about how, in the wake of the apocalypse, they realised that they could comprehend the faint buzzing all around them. I'm always impressed by quick-thinking improvisational skills and there's a smattering of resonant lyrical moments throughout the show.
Anyone improvising free-form opera has the benefit of being able to vamp for a few bars while they think of what they're going to sing next, but it's still fun to watch. Plus I figure that Lester (or someone backstage) is choosing what suggestions to base the show around so as not to break the atmosphere.
By and large, this succeeds in what it sets out to do and was a meditative reentry to performance after a long hiatus. The simplicity and straightforwardness of the show make it something that theoretically could be staged once society has actually collapsed. I mean, humanity would have to be completely on the ropes before we couldn't cobble together a singer, a single instrument and a dancer.
Being encouraged to be introspective about our own experiences during lockdown was also surprisingly touching. We're often casually asked how we are, but it just wouldn't be British to respond in any way other than "...fine". Getting quizzed on specific questions on your mood, memories and thoughts felt pleasantly therapeutic. And after months of staring at the walls of my cramped house I'll take whatever emotional probing is on offer.
I have a couple of criticisms. The show's IT set-up isn't great, consisting of switching between a webpage and a Google Spreadsheet. You have a limited time to enter your answers and I had to close my browser down in order to make new links appear. It just about works, though I can see less tech-savvy audience members getting frustrated as there's not much guidance in how to interact with the show once it's begun.
Also, Leo Doulton's dancing fills space but doesn't add anything interesting to the performance. He's something to look at during the singing rather than an integral part of the show and I couldn't connect his costume and choreography with Lester's singing and Gardiner's music. That's not to say I wish he wasn't there, just that all three performers should interact a bit more.
Quibbles aside, We Sing/I Sang is a great show for our mid-apocalyptic times. I'm a sucker for interactive elements in theatre and weaving them into opera kept me engaged throughout the show's concise 35-40 minute runtime.
It sounds like damning with faint praise that I was simply happy to be somewhere else at night other than my sofa, but this was great food to break a long theatrical fast with.
'We Sing/I Sang' is being broadcast online as part of the Cockpit Theatre's Tête à Tête: The Opera Festival on 17 September. Information here.
Sunday, March 8, 2020

Buried |
Graceland |
Nuclear War |
Wednesday, March 4, 2020

Wednesday, February 26, 2020
