LONDON CITY NIGHTS

Friday, November 8, 2019

Review: 'Who They Were' at the Etcetera Theatre, 7th November 2019

Friday, November 8, 2019 - by londoncitynights · - 0 Comments

Reviewed by David James

Rating: 

As the mercury drops and the nights grow longer, theatre takes a turn for the supernatural. I've just come off the myriad delights of the London Horror Festival, which featured some excellent plays about things that go bump in the night. It seems that even with Halloween receding into the distance this atmosphere is sticking around. Tonight's encounter with the dark side is Luke Culloty's Who They Were.

The 'they' in this equation are Eros and Florence (Lucy Abraham and Adela Rajnović), two immortal vampires meeting each other for the first time in a hundred years. They were once in a passionate relationship, but like the blood in their vampiric veins, it has cooled to an icy stillness. In a relatable twist, even a hundred years after they've broken up Eros still has some Florence's stuff boxed up in the cupboard, and now she's round to pick it up.

The first thing you note when you enter the theatre is that everything is covered in plastic sheeting, American Psycho style. Given that this is a play about vampires, they're sipping on a mysterious crimson liquid and making a toast to 'Brie' (not referring to a cheese), things are primed for the blood to flow.

Culloty has even come up with a neat twist on how Eros 'hunts'. Rather than stalk the streets like her vampire brethren she has set up a suicide hotline. If she cannot talk someone down off the ledge then she summons them to her apartment and consumes them. After all, if they were going to die anyway then what's the harm? 

That's where Joe (Ruby Herrington) comes in. She turns up expecting to be dinner, sitting down on the carpet and curiously enquiring about whether this is going to hurt or not. I've seen a whole bunch of vampire films, TV shows and media and this is a genuinely unique set-up.

But, frustratingly, Who They Were proves to be all fang and no bite. Joe decides she's not suicidal after all and just leaves, with the rest of the play seeing the two vampires coming to terms with their former relationship and find a new emotional equilibrium. 

Now, I'm not some zero attention  span thrill-seeker, but if you've already got the plastic sheeting down and the victim is willing then do us a favour and finish the job! After all, fake blood is both cheap and fun.

Similarly, the core relationship between Eros and Florence isn't given any special qualities due to their immortality. They say they haven't seen each other for a hundred years, but behave like any mortal couple who broke up a while back. Maybe that's the point, but there are ways of showing sympathetic vampires while still making them feel otherworldly - with Jim Jarmusch's Only Lovers Left Alive a great example.

It's not that I had a bad time watching Who They Were, but it feels like there were decisions taken during its production that have inadvertently drained the play of excitement, suspense and.. well, blood. If we're dealing with immortals I'd like to see passionate arguments borne of decades of history rather than tetchy sniping. If the characters lure suicidal people into their flats to eat them - then show us it! There's potential here, but it could be so much more.

Who They Were is at the Etcetera Theatre until 9th November. Tickets here.

Saturday, June 11, 2016

'Rapture' at the Etcetera Theatre, 10th June 2016

Saturday, June 11, 2016 - by londoncitynights · - 0 Comments

My favourite science fiction takes contemporary issues to extreme yet logical conclusions. The Terminator looks at endpoint of increased automation; 1984 explores a truly totalitarian society; District 9 is about fear of immigrants; and The Matrix distils millennial consumer angst by arguing that the world as we know it is an illusion. 

These things might feature whizzy special effect gunfights and exciting whiteknuckle car chases (well, less so 1984) but they also shine a light on the society, warn, anticipate and inform us about what may be just around the corner.

Lisa McMullin's Rapture sets out to do the same. Set in Britain sometime after the 2060s, four people arrive in a government facility for a mysterious 'Citizen Review'. They are: bingo-caller Oscar (Darryl Oakley), independent Member of Parliament Kameron (Rik Grayson), Big Brother celebrity Whitney (Olivia Quinn) and drama teacher Cleo (Jennifer Tyler).

The four are audited by a government official (Ryan Kennedy), who eventually reveals that, due to over-population and scarcity of resources, three of them will be summarily executed and only one will go free. The characters must argue for their own existence while being subjected to a prolonged and sadistic interrogation designed to induce some kind of psychological breakdown.

I wanted to like Rapture. I really did. McMullin's nightmare future is perspicacious and prescient, imagining the endpoint of the currently government's disability means tests. This is a play very obviously borne of the Conservative language of 'scroungers and strivers', in which a person's worth is judged by their contribution to the economy. Still, when you realise that this future government is 'deleting' vast segments of the population deemed to be dragging Britain down (council house tenants, the elderly and so on) your reaction is disbelief that things could get this far.

Yet, we live right now in a country where the Department for Work & Pensions has issued written guidance on suicide for staff hired to inform people that they're having their benefits withdrawn. This instructs jobcentre staff to find out what specific method of suicide the person plans, when they're going to do it and whether "they have the means to hand". Mortality statistics (released only when the government's hand was forced) reveal that more than 80 people a month are dying after declared "fit for work".

This is precisely the kind of thing speculative sci-fi (and for that matter, theatre) should be addressing. So it's unfortunate that despite this promising political bedrock, Rapture is a bit crap.

Plagued throughout by lumpen dialogue, none of the characters come close to rising above a broad sketch. These deficiencies are reflected in all-over-the-place performances, the cast pinballing wildly between emotional extremes. Weirdly, the more we learn about these people the less plausible they become; for example the recognisably sadsack underachiever eventually morphs into a genius chemical researcher paedophile.

Worse, there's a cruel streak to the writing that makes for an increasingly unpleasant watch. Each character is effectively bullied into submission; either by dredging up unpleasantness from their past, exposing their secret shame or simply informing them that their family members have been killed. I don't particularly mind plays being cruel to their characters, but here it feels as if nastiness has been mistaken for profundity. 

All this is filtered through the character of the auditor, perhaps the biggest misstep of the production. He's so evil he may as well be twirling a moustache and threatening to throttle kittens; completely at odds with the play's general treatment of its government as banally rather than explicitly evil. The character undermines the satire and social relevance of the play, inching away from reality and towards comic-book villainy.

All this is a damn shame, Rapture's heart is so clearly in the right place that you desperately want it to be good, but instead its like a rejected episode of Black Mirror. By the time the curtain fell I was equal parts annoyed and bored; the play having left an unpleasant taste in the mouth. 

★★

Rapture is at the Etcetera Theatre until 26th June. Tickets here.

Thursday, December 10, 2015

'The Godling' at the Etcetera Theatre, 9th December 2015

Thursday, December 10, 2015 - by londoncitynights · - 0 Comments

The Godling is about an insane couple who keep a caged pregnant woman. She is incubating a baby entirely covered in eyes who the captors hope will usher in a new era for the freak show. Also on stage: a suicidal/tortured ladyclown and a buttoned-down psychopath sadist. Among other delights there's wild sex, mutilation and a self-inflicted coathanger based abortion.

Running for a brief 50-ish minutes, the show merrily skips between disturbing vignettes and ideas: for example, we spend a couple of minutes discussing using bodily functions as a way to mark time. You detect a joy in getting away with subject material like this, the show depicting the captivity and torture of a pregnant woman with such immoral glee that it goes  beyond disturbing and, perversely, wraps back around into pitch-black humour.

The staging is bisected, one half devoted to the sinister duo and their eyeball-baby-messiah caper, the other to the increasingly pathetic misery of a clown. This proves to be a gap across time, and the narrative promptly ties itself up in confusing chronological knots. To put it simply, I had absolutely no idea what was going on.

Charitably, you can say that The Godling is less about narrative and more about atmosphere. More honestly, I suspect that all the psycho-circus window dressing is there to disguise that the Emperor isn't wearing any clothes. As I left I had no idea who any of these characters were, why they had kidnapped a pregnant woman, what the hell a 'godling' is, what's made this clown so damn depressed - even what plane of reality this is supposed to be taking place on.

I could forgive all that if the core aesthetic was novel or powerfully communicated. But it isn't. Frankly, the creepy/scary psycho clown thing is a bit 1990s, making this a bit like a Marilyn Manson music video that's been forced to raid Poundland for props. If the show had gone all out with set and costume design then maybe it'd have found something new, but a mattress, a couple of balloons, a rickety wooden cage and cheapo Halloween costumes do not add up to a startling descent into the darkest recesses of the human psyche.

That said, it wasn't boring. I appreciate a show that doesn't drag its heels, and The Godling zips through its nonsense plot with admirable economy. There's a rate of one weird thing happening about every 3 minutes so it's at least easy to eke out some enjoyment anticipating each unlikely development.

I don't really blame the cast for any of this: they gamely chew up the scenery as they mime butt-fucking, writhe in pain or spike their arms with knitting needles. Everyone understands that subtlety isn't going to wash in this show.  Philip North in particular blares out his lines with gusto, having correctly realised that in the absence of character or plot, it's time to crank up the hamminess factor. Maria Alexe chases the same ideal and partially succeeds - though never quite looks at ease in an ill-fitting corset.

But The Godling (or at least this production of it) just doesn't work, comprehensively bungling whatever it's trying to communicate thematically or even narratively. The best I can say is that it's a mildly diverting exercise in shock, but the kind of shock that's couched in the sensibility of a 14 year old goth. 

But at least it's not boring and doesn't fanny about. Thank god for small mercies.

★★

The Godling is at the Etcetera Theatre until 20 December. Tickets here.

Thursday, November 19, 2015

'Dude Looks Like a Lady' at the Etcetera Theatre, 18th November 2015

Thursday, November 19, 2015 - by londoncitynights · - 0 Comments

Dude Looks Like a Lady is a pleasantly unpretentious experience. Shorn of frippery and glitz, the show is 'merely' four extremely funny comedians ricocheting off one another like they're in a pinball machine. The four, Amanda Stauffer, Juliet Catton, Jessica Ashworth and Leanne Davis, work through just over an hour of absurd sketch comedy, displaying an uncanny skill in skewering gender roles in society.

A highlight comes early on in a sketch that pokes fun at both romantic comedies and creepily romantic "milady *doffs fedora*" types. A woman rides the tube, a man gets on and 'accidentally' drops his papers on the floor. As the woman bends down to help him pick them up he hits play on Wet Wet Wet's Love Is All Around. Their fingers touch. Their eyes lock. It's a classic 'meet-cute'! But this is real-life, where there aren't any Hugh Grants (well, okay, there's one), so his starry-eyed advances become more Lars von Trier than Richard Curtis.

The group have identified a rich seam of comedy and they're determined to mine it for all its worth. I'm not going to list all my favourites - I don't want to spoil the punchlines - the best of which zoom in unexpectedly from leftfield. They broadly share territory with current feminist comedy kingpin Amy Schumer (and draw from the same tradition as Smack the Pony) - highlighting incongruities in male/female relationships, poking fun inwards as well as outwards.

This self deprecating streak results in a pleasingly conspiratorial relationship with the audience. The Etcetera Theatre is a small venue, yet was filled with a good natured, optimistic crowd who were obviously fans of the group. This easy relationship between audience and performer resulted in a lovely communal atmosphere, even extending to the brief moments of audience participation. 

Generally the reaction to seeing comedians scan the front row for a target is soul-consuming dread. Everyone averts their eyes as if they're suddenly antelopes in front of a lion. Not here. As they pepper random audience members with questions, there's no cruelty or malice. The guy sitting next to me even gets given a pint of beer for participating! Honestly, I've been to a boatload of comedy gigs and never have I seen the performers supplying the front row with free booze.

But, as with practically all sketch shows, there are a couple of sketches that either run on a bit long or simply don't work that well. A repeating sketch in which a police officer mishears words isn't funny the first time (the gag: her boss says "badge" and she hears "vag") and is even less funnier the third - even with a semi-predictable twist. Less egregiously there's a couple of sketches that inch into self-indulgence and could use a bit of a trim. There's also a scrappiness to the proceedings that, if you're feeling charitable, you can write off as contributing to the personable friendliness of the show, but could just as easily be an indicator that a smidge bit more polish is needed.

Even so, I can't deny I had a good time. If a comedy show makes me chuckle three or four times I'll mark it a success, and Dude Looks Like a Lady wrung countless head-thrown-back guffaws from me. These four have the enviable combination of writing and performance skills, bound up in an irresistibly infectious good-time chemistry. 

★★★

Dude Looks Like a Lady returns in Feb 2016. Dates here.

Friday, October 2, 2015

'Flush' at the Etcetera Theatre, 30th September 2015

Friday, October 2, 2015 - by londoncitynights · - 0 Comments

Though 11 years old, David Dipper's Flush has stood the test of time. Set in a contemporary London the play charts the tangled lives of some unpleasant young urbanites, all filtered through the prism of poker. The game is a constant presence; chips clattering across a coffee table and cards are shuffled and flipped. Quickly we realise that these characters are probing one another, searching for chinks in their emotional armour and exploiting them for all they're worth.

With a chronologically cut-up narrative and scant regard for the fourth wall, Flush encourages its audience to play detective. From the off we understand that dark acts lurk at the heart of the play, yet who they're committed by and to remains vague. None of the characters are very attractive people; being variously sweaty losers, sadistic lotharios, sociopaths or sadistically violent drug abusing headcases.

Regardless, these reprobates are the cards the audience is dealt, and we try our best to shuffle our hand into some kind of recognisable order. The constant spout of revelations act as the flop; working out who's fucking over whom and which character is going to end up as the chump. 

Despite the fact that we're gazing into a moral abyss, it's impressive how darkly funny these characters can be. Shane Wheeler's Charlie stands out as able to get away with saying the most brutal dialogue (for example, gleefully describing the rape and murdering a teenage) and getting a guilty giggle from the audience. Both character and performer successfully take refuge in audacity; his stories grow ever more perverse and bizarre the more we like him.

Also fun (though in a different way) is Grant Reeves' city boy Cupid. Without one word of dialogue we understand who is; his slicked back hair and chunkily expensive diver's speaking volumes. The character exudes predatory dangerousness, combining feline good looks with something cold and calculating. There's a scene where he reflexively seduces another character's girlfriend, successfully going through the motions as if it's just something he does.

All five actors eventually expose their character's dark hearts; all showing their hands as their secrets are splurged across the stage. It's all pretty compelling drama, if only to hear what atrocity they're going to concoct next. Sometimes there's a sense that this is being written to shock: a particularly eyebrow-raising moment being when one character is being needled by another about his unfaithful girlfriend, but reassures himself by "remembering when his sister got raped." Woah nelly! None more black! Mega-darrrrrk!

Moments like these belie a slight immaturity in the writing, but I don't really mind a punkish desire to rattle a few cages - at least the play never gets boring. Helping matters is that at a svelte 50 minutes the play zips along at a impressive rate. 

Consequentiall, there's little stagecraft involved and perfunctory set-design, but smart music design goes a long way towards creating atmosphere. To some, opening with almost the entirety of Smashmouth's mid-90s hit Walking on the Sun will say everything about the characters and events to follow.

Flush is a pretty damn good piece of fringe theatre and a promising debut for Break Point Theatre. It doesn't over-reach, doesn't waste the audience's time and has no qualms about morality and prudery. Best of all the show has the good sense to just let these actors have fun with their roles, all of whom are played with obvious relish. Not the most ambitious night of theatre about, but a worthwhile one nonetheless.

★★★

Flush is at the Etcetera Theatre until 4th October. Tickets here.

Monday, July 20, 2015

'Pole' at the Etcetera Theatre, 18th July 2015

Monday, July 20, 2015 - by londoncitynights · - 0 Comments

I've only ever been to one pole dancing club - part of a depressing stag do. The place was a grubby upstairs in Manchester's Chinatown, where damp walls and stained floors were masked by strobes and neon lights. It was awful; zombified women mechanically grinding away to an audience that looked like they'd stepped out of a Daniel Clowes illustration. The experience was about as erotic as feeding time at a hyena enclosure, confirming pretty much everything I'd suspected about these places.

Pole gets elbow deep in the what, why and how of these clubs, as well as exploring the various ways in which pole dancing is perceived. As an exercise class, pole dancing is bordering on de rigueur, a conspicuous and commercially cheeky activity for bored housewives to rekindle some lost spark of sexiness. Then there's the enthusiasm for pole as a gymnastic and dance discipline; an aesthetic appreciation of the impressive human pretzels the best performers contort themselves into. Finally, ominously, comes the salubrious strip clubs where trafficked women are ritually humiliated in front of braying men.

The three performers, Amy Bellwood, Anais Alvarado and Lyndal Marwick, adopt broadly sketched roles - each of which acts as a vehicle for the various perspectives on pole. As verbatim theatre, we should assume that the stories we hear are, in one way or another, true. This is underlined by three extremely sincere, naturalistic performances that give the show a firm emotional and intellectual core.

I know what you're thinking, right? Sure, a pole dancing show with a firm intellectual core - pull the other one. Well I'm not kidding, Pole really is firmly targeted at the head rather than the crotch. Then again I can't reasonably ignore the intense eroticism throughout. After all, these are three extremely attractive women in revealing skintight outfits pulling sexy poses. I try my best to remain objective, but a shapely butt provocatively wiggling in my general direction bypasses almost all of my critical faculties.

But Pole makes no bones about being erotic - indeed, the company has fashioned eroticism into a weapon with which to needle the audience. Though we begin with the world of fun, naughty pole dancing workouts, we gradually descend into human trafficking, eventually arriving at a hellish world of imprisoned women being gang-raped to keep them in line.

This portion of the show is bleak as hell: the details of the dancer's treatment, environments and mental health soberly laid out in evocative, precise language. These are the dark consequences of 'a bit of cheeky leching'; the endpoint of lust for women objectifying themselves. We come to see the disjunct between audience and performer, one able to enjoy a no strings attached erotic experience, the other locked into personal, financial and often literal bondage.

This is powerful stuff - so powerful that it obscures the stated message of pole dancing being a way for a woman to 'safely and joyfully express her sensuality and femininity'. By the end I couldn't help but see the pole as an enormous metallic phallus; a prison cell composed of a single iron bar. Though the poses are smoothly held with easy smiles, there's an inescapable tinge of submission to them; the dancer in thrall to a symbol of immovable masculinity.

Pole is powerful stuff, perhaps a bit too powerful. There's a thread of evangelism for pole dancing as a fun, empowering pursuit throughout most of the piece - and if you ignore the sex trafficking section this would be a fine advertisement for the art as a fun hobby. Yet dark clouds are never far offstage; a miasma of oppression, dehumanisation and objectification that engulfs the positive aspects we hear.

This theatre, fascinatingly combines social activism, gymnastics and forthright eroticism. All three performers impress, the bandages and plasters that adorn their limbs standing as testament to their skill and commitment. Pole is intelligent, ambitious and exhausting to watch - but don't go if you're after cheap titillation. You'll end up (quite rightly) feeling like shit.

★★★★

Pole is at Cowgate, Edinburgh Fringe from 7-31st August 2015. Tickets here.