The third day of this year’s PULSE Festival was Scratch Day. This is where companies come and show their work early in production which is really interesting to watch. All the shows were at different stages, some being worked for several months while other have only been in development for less than a week. We saw a total of 11 scratch pieces over four sessions and a total range of theatre.
Session one started off with a quirky first piece by Eleanor Westbrook called Big Berg and we really enjoyed the eccentric characterisation. Although the performance was quite abstract we still found the story of a man trying to claim the land for himself easy to follow. We also enjoyed Pepper and Honey in the first session which involved a baking tutorial during the show, where members of the audience really got involved making traditional Croatian pepper and honey biscuits, which we can confirm tasted great. Despite the fact some of it was also spoken in another language, we never felt we couldn’t understand what was happening on stage.
The second scratch session was presented by Testing Ground, a programme commissioned by the festival to bring work by D/deaf and disabled artists to the stage. We immediately were intrigued by the first show The Blind Traveller when we were invited to sit at a table on the stage along with the performers. It was exciting really being in the action on stage, while there were also performers in the audience really blurring the lines between what was the audience and what was the show, which we loved. Then the next show Henry 5 brought to together football and Shakespearean language and although we’re not really football crazy we did really feel like we were in a pub with them, and couldn’t help feeling their excitement. The final Testing Ground performance was Inspiration Porn which was a very engaging delivery despite the fact the company had been working on it for less than a week.
The third session started with Haley McGee with The Ex-Boyfriend Yard Sale. We loved the relaxed approach Haley took, making us as the audience feel relaxed but also engaged with her story. It was unique combining math equations with gifts from exes to determine how much they would sell for. She managed to make maths interesting which is quiet the achievement.
In the final session of Scratch Day, it started off with Live Long and Die Out by Melanie Wilson. This piece was different in that it combined dialogue alongside three singers producing beautiful harmonies really adding to the intensity of the show which explored the themes of how we as individuals damage the planet. As audience members, we also had to write down our own answers to the question “why do we have children” in which the singers took what was written down and sang them together in three parts. We found this was much more of an engaging way to reflect on how we responded to this question as an audience. Small Nose Productions with Punch and Judy’s – A CLOWN’S Version was performed with great presence. Mark and Dan worked great as a comedic duo, while as an audience we were laughing from the moment they entered the stage. With great timing and charm, this clown version of Punch and Judy was truly enjoyable. Together they provided us with a funny and feel good show where we all left with a smile on our faces.
At PULSE 2016 we watched and loved Vincent Gambini’s magic show and when we saw he was coming back this year with a new show The Chore of Enchantment we both couldn’t wait. We both had high expectations as we love magic and we have to say, he didn’t disappoint. It was a truly enchanting performance where we were blown away by his tricks during the show. What we love about Vincent Gambini is his combination of his great skills as a magician alongside the comedy he delivers with it. We weren’t only amazed by the magic throughout the show but all of the audience were laughing out loud as well. We only wish we knew how he does it!
Scratch Day was fantastic with so much potential for some great completed pieces of theatre. We loved the versatility that was displayed throughout the day and can’t wait to see the shows later on when they have had more work put towards them.
Does this sound right up your street? Don’t miss out on Quarter Life Crisis on Tue 5 Jun, Education, Education, Education on Fri 8 Jun and Moonfall on Sat 9 Jun
So, the second day of PULSE was the annual Suitcase Prize Day, and both our first full experience of Suitcase Day, and we were not disappointed. We saw a total of 12 shows all competing for the coveted Suitcase prize, which contains a cheque for £1000, with the shows having to try and be environmentally and especially public transport friendly for touring, ideally all the props fitting into just a suitcase, hence the name.
There was such a variety of shows and we’re very glad we didn’t have the impossible job of choosing a winner. The very deserving Augmented managed to earn the title of the Suitcase Winner. The show gave such a unique, powerful but also funny insight into hearing loss and cochlear implants, and Sophie Woolley told her story with passion. We went in not knowing anything about cochlear implants, and we found the scene of Sophie dancing alone to music streamed straight to her implant very powerful. Indeed, it was a very moving and worthy winner of this year’s Suitcase Prize.
But the brilliant shows didn’t stop there. We both have to agree that the performance of Venus from Dan Watson was a standout show for us. We loved the fun energy that immediately filled the audience as soon as Dan took to the stage. It was a struggle to stay in our seats and not get up and join the 80s Pontins dance competition recreation.
Not only was there fabulous dancing but also some beautiful singing from several of the shows. Eiger by Haroula Theatre combined their high energy movement with a singer that brought another level of emotion to the piece. Dressed. by ThisEgg and Made My Wardrobe was similar to Eiger with their mixture of live singing and physical theatre, which enhanced the true story that was being told.
Another show we both enjoyed was The Light Bulb Man by The Backpack Ensemble. We really enjoyed their imaginative use of an overhead projector, which was a flash from the past, and the silhouettes projected on stage. We were intrigued by the story and wanted to find out how it ended.
The day concluded with last year’s Suitcase Prize winner James McDermott’s hilarious Rubber Ring. We really felt like we were on the journey with him from Sheringham to the o2 to see Morrissey (even though Maddie wasn’t sure who The Smiths were!). James’s simple yet effective switch in characterisation felt like we met a range of different people despite just James being alone on stage.
What a great and varied Suitcase Day. All the shows had something to offer, we can’t wait to see these developed further in the future and Augmented next year where Sophie Woolley will hand over the Suitcase prize to the next lucky winner.
If you like the sound of these shows then you will love Quarter Life Crisis on Tue 5 Jun at 6:30pm, Education, Education, Education on Fri 8 Jun at 8pm, Our Carnal Hearts on Sat 9 Jun at 3pm and We’ve Got Each Other on Sat 9 Jun at 9pm
PULSE has got off to a great start. I was flying solo for PULSE’s opening night as Maddie was off being a talented saxophonist and I’m afraid to say I think she missed out.
Knot had the tough job of opening the festival but it is safe to say they did a seamless job. I could have watched the acrobatic duo for at least double the time I did. I was especially amazed by Nikki’s upper body strength, I struggle to do a single push-up, and from the exclamations from the audience around me, I am pretty sure I was not the only one impressed. It really makes you appreciate what the human body can do, particularly when Nikki was supporting JD on top of her shoulders! It was great seeing the intimate relationship between Nikki and JD without the need of loads of dialogue as their physicality said so much. JD’s comical timing was a nice bonus however. Edge-of-the-seat theatre.
Next on the programme was Hoipolloi’s Me & Robin Hood. I had seen Hoipolloi’s previous show The Duke at last year’s PULSE so felt I was going in less blind than I had with Knot but I find that is half the fun with PULSE. Although Me & Robin Hood was story telling with a lot more talking than Knot some similarities did surprisingly pop out at me: they both featured the performers’ relationship with their fathers and also made you think about what on stage was really the truth. Between the bank robberies and the Anglesey under 11s league final I hope there was some truth to Shôn Dale-Jones’s story but on reflection it was rather outlandish. Shôn Dale-Jones excelled in making you laugh one minute and then managing to change the tone in the blink of an eye to really make you think about issues you’d prefer not to. The show was also raising money for a great cause to help children in poverty with Street Child United.
Overall an exciting and eclectic start to PULSE 2018. I can’t wait to see so much more.
If you enjoy the sound of Knot, you will love Moonfall. Fan of Me & Robin Hood? Don’t miss Education, Education, Education or The Audit!
Next stop: Suitcase Day!
To celebrate Pulse Festival’s 18th birthday, this year we have asked two of our 18 year old Young Company members to see as many PULSE shows as they can, and blog about their thoughts.
Check in each afternoon to see what they’ve been getting up to and what they think of our #PULSE18 shows!
I am Ellie and a member of the New Wolsey Young Company.
I joined the New Wolsey Youth Theatre for what is probably getting on for almost ten years ago now! It’s been great growing and learning with the Wolsey and I have enjoyed so many experiences from performing in the various Youth perform festivals over the years and being part of the cast in Through the Looking Glass as well as working with great practitioners and alongside other companies like Gecko and Shunt.
On top of that I also get to see so much theatre and PULSE Festival is one of my favourite times of the year. I especially can’t wait to celebrate PULSE’s 18th Birthday this year – it is funny to think PULSE and I are the same age!
So many shows have jumped out at me from the programme, but I am particularly looking forward to seeing last year’s suitcase prize winner James McDermott’s Rubber Ring and fellow Young Company members’ show Nice Guys by People You May Know Theatre Company.
My name is Maddie and I am member of the New Wolsey Young Company.
New Wolsey has been a massive part of my life and I have been a part of the youth theatre since the age of 7. I have had the most incredible opportunities to perform on stage, being in the cast for two New Wolsey Youth Theatre productions (Through The Looking Glass and The Wind In The Willows) as well as all the wonderful Youth Perform festivals!
I have also had the opportunity to see some of the best pieces of theatre right on the New Wolsey stage and during Pulse! Pulse 2018 is nearly here and I couldn’t be more excited! Pulse is an incredible 10 day festival with the opportunity to watch and enjoy so much fresh, new and stunning pieces of theatre!
There are so many pieces I already can’t wait to see including Rubber Ring by James McDermott who was the winner of last year’s suitcase prize. Nice Guys by People You May Know presenting their take on modern men facing their identity crisis.
I will also be attending my first scratch day to see the beginnings of some incredible shows! I can’t wait to see another year of individual’s incredible work at Pulse!
And that was that.
When I arrived in Ipswich, eleven days ago, I was keen to find the festival part of Pulse – the spirit of celebration and community. I found it in a few different places along the way: The feeling of connection with the faces I know from London, from work, and from the internet, and the weird way in which we reintroduce ourselves to one another when we’re in an out-of-context location. Then there’s community in the rock solid team of the New Wolsey’s youth theatre, the hardcore of which were watching every single show (those they weren’t performing in anyhow). And I’ve loved discovering Ipswich’s Mr Fabulous, who arrived at lunchtime queer cabaret from Milk Presents in top hat, cane, and Vivienne Westwood coat. Legend.
On leaving Ipswich though, I’m thinking more about identity than community. Festival programming is a complicated thing, and increasingly has to balance work that will push boundaries and blow minds with work that lots of people, y’know, actually want to come and see. Pulse sets itself a further challenge too: that the work will be ‘new’, which it mainly is. That which isn’t new-new is certainly new-ish. But what a gamble it is. Programming shows in a festival that not only haven’t been seen before; they often haven’t actually been finished yet. It’s a wonder that anyone involved can sleep at night.
Of course, the work that Pulse and the New Wolsey do to support work at an early stage of development is invaluable to artists, and to future audiences too, most of whom won’t have a clue of the help and hard cash that has fed into the stuff they’re watching onstage. That is absolutely to be celebrated. Without it, and without other venues and festivals all over the UK doing the same, the cultural landscape would look very different indeed.
But I do wonder if the identity of the festival suffers for it, from a curatorial point of view. Seeing absolutely everything in a festival is a new experience for me (apologies to Spymonkey for skipping out at their interval – I’m f**king knackered), and it has highlighted the extent to which I’m always cherrypicking the parts of a programme that interest me particularly. Left to my own devices, I would probably have booked for Jamal Harewood, Nigel & Louise, Third Angel, Breach, and Ursula Martinez, and ignored the rest. I would have missed the simmering threat of The Going Away Days, and the meta-theatricality of Vincent Gambini, both of which were electrifying, but I’d probably also have been spared a lot of the crap. Scary Shit, Hair Peace and Nel are all works that deserve to be seen… just not by me.
That said, the variety on offer at Pulse is a positive in many ways. Of course it’s healthy that there is something for everyone. But, really, isn’t it important that there is something for everyone at the New Wolsey year-round? Thankfully, there is – it’s got a great programme – but if you’re going to group certain works together in a 10-day festival within that year-round programme, you need to give it a clear identity. To give one example, at lunchtime today, in This Is What Men Do, Nigel Barratt and Louise Mari led a group of community performers in a brutal, searing and emotionally exhausting recital of several thousand years’ worth of male violence. They held microphones, spoke steadily, and ate calmly around a Last Supper-style dinner table, quietly attacking one of the fundamental hierarchies of global society, and bringing at least half their audience to tears. At the other end of the day, the festival was brought to a close with some clowning.
A festival is one of those golden opportunities for theatremakers, and for venue management too. Presenting so much work in such a concentrated time, you can encourage audience members to take a chance on things that they would never normally make a trip out for, were it standing alone in another weeknight schedule. And then I know people who just blanket book everything in some festivals, because they trust the programmers so deeply. They don’t bother reading the brochure, checking the website. Now, I’m hugely thankful that I’ve had the opportunity to spend the last week and a half in Ipswich, and see so much work by so many different artists, but can I describe the quintessential Pulse show to you? Can I f**k. No idea. Can I see the similarities between something like the new Gecko piece, and Some People Talk About Violence by Barrel Organ? Or between The Wardrobe Ensemble and Jamal Harewood? Not really, no. And did I like it all? Definitely not. I loved some of it – properly adored some of it – but those 5 or 6 totally killer experiences got a bit lost in a programme of nearly 50 shows.
Big, multi-artform festivals often ‘badge’ the work in their brochures, don’t they? Like, green means for kids and orange means interactive and blue means something else. There has been an element of that at Pulse this year, with Suitcase Day and Scratch Day and Dance Day, but we’ve seen scratches and dance pieces on other days too, and then it turned out that one of the acts on Suitcase Day wasn’t actually in the Suitcase Prize, and one of the Dance Day pieces barely had any dancing in it, and it all got a bit confusing. Much better, maybe, to say that Pulse is predominantly a festival of works-in-development, or which are at the very beginning of their life. Or to leave that stuff out altogether, present scratch work at the New Wolsey in a different context, and instead bring the intelligent, small-scale works of touring theatre together – things like The Preston Bill, and Woman’s Hour, and The Beanfield, and The Future of Sex – to build Pulse into something that the people of Ipswich (and beyond) will recognise as being not only of a certain politics, but of a certain standard.
It’s slightly harsh of me to say this. Some critics regularly commit this crime – to do a work down because, simply, they wished it was something else – and it’s not escaped me that in having to write something every day during my stay in Ipswich, I’ve inched a little too close to the treadmill life of your average lobotomised reviewer, desperately trying to pull something out of their arse at 9am, before the show schedule kicks off again. Having the freedom to write in a flexible format is a gift for which I am forever grateful, but the option to keep my f**king trap shut is sadly off the table. So, with that in mind, let’s finish on a high, and give a series of shout-outs to the works – many of which mentioned on this blog already – which brought joy into my Pulse experience.
Let’s hear it for Shakti Gomez and the Zebra Cross dance; The Hiccup Project and their teenage friendship; free pizza from Barrel Organ; Ursula Martinez walking naked into the street; Sh!t Theatre fucking with your Kinder Eggs; Breach, and the full body rush of emotion I got before The Beanfield had properly even started. Let’s hear it for the fact that I’m still remembering little clever bits that I’d overlooked in This Is Not A Magic Show, and the relief that someone else volunteered to get naked in a bag with Jamie Wood (the relief). Let’s hear it for Annie Siddons shaking off her walrus, and the millions who died in the making of This Is What Men Do. Let’s hear it for Bill, from Preston. Let’s hear it for Mr Fabulous, from Ipswich.
When Ursula Martinez first starting slopping her cement around last night, the guy next to me said “oooh, that’s a good mix”.
Which was reassuring for me, as watching ill-executed manual tasks is one of the worst possible ways to spend one’s time. I’ve seen some terrible theatrical mopping in my time, let me tell you. The stress of witnessing bad bricklaying could only be worse.
To be fair to Martinez, shoddier walls have probably been built. This one looked sturdy enough, and obviously my neighbour had already vouched for the consistency of the cement. But after all that dear reader, I’m afraid to say that the rows were just too wonky, and the trowelling too inconsistent, for me to award a rosette.
Honestly though? I couldn’t give a fuck about how neat the wall was; I was just happy to see someone make some art with a half-decent design idea. Earlier in the day we’d seen another wishy-washy folksy thing about space and the internet, complete with loop pedals and Carl Sagan quote and some fucking piffle about connecting with one another, and then a perfectly well-intentioned piece about the EU referendum that was just one mediocre conversation after another. I’ve been quite upbeat about the work in Pulse this year – I know that when you set out to see every single thing in the festival, you’ll have to take the rough with the smooth – but by about half nine last night I was just so desperate for somebody to have an idea. Just one idea. Any idea! Didn’t matter that Ursula Martinez built a wonky wall; what mattered was that she provided something to think about, and something to look at.
Its simplicity is deceptive. Free Admission is essentially just a woman bricking herself up behind a wall as she talks about the things that piss her off, but the magnitude of those things is hugely varied. Irritations about social media and the minutiae of her relationships are thrown together, apparently flippantly, with instances of misogynistic abuse, racism, and widespread global injustices. Her nonchalant, eyebrow-raised delivery gives us permission to laugh, until we realise what we’re laughing at. No line here is unrehearsed or throwaway; as a structure, it’s carefully positioned.
And like the man said: “a good mix”.
I’m a terrible dance critic. For starters, I don’t know what any of the proper moves are so haven’t the first clue if they’re being done right. I generally form, ahem, strong attachments to charismatic male performers, skewing my objectivity completely, and regardless of gender, I basically love everything as soon as they put a half-decent song on.
And there were loads of good tunes in May-We-Go-Round by the Hiccup Project, so I was fucking loving it. Craig David, Spice Girls, Cher, Hall and Oates… all the classics. But, before you all start with the critical distance shit, I swear there was more to it than that.
Teenage girls are difficult to represent accurately in art. Actually, no, that’s not true. That should read: Artists often find it difficult to accurately represent teenage girls in their art. A lot of the time that’s because artists – or should I say, artists whose work is given prominence – are men, and have never observed a teenage girl from anything other than the male perspective. With that framing, teenage girls become these magical, unknowable, muse figures, until their unknowableness turns to frustration and they are instead presented as surly, unthinking bitches, powered by hormones and hate.
When women make art about teenage girls, it’s often shot through with this kind of warm regret. Not motherly exactly, but with a sense of ‘oh, wasn’t I silly back then’, or ‘here’s what I’d do differently now’. I can’t think of many works that recall the heteronormative teenage girl experience as the mixture of joy and excitement and insecurity and heartbreak that it is. At that age, everything is simultaneously a rehearsal for reality and THE MOST IMPORTANT THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED AND WILL EVER HAPPEN. Friendships are total, and fallings-out are totaller. And sex is like this magnetic cloud that wafts around your body, twenty four hours a day.
The sex thing is possibly why it’s so difficult – slash problematic – to talk about teenage girls onstage. That Lolita image has permeated too much in the past. A ‘blossoming’ pubescent body, and the feelings within in, are dangerous territory when young women are still regularly objectified and abused. It’s almost impossible to do sensitively when you’re not an actual teenage girl, and if you are, it’s far too fraught – bursting with potential disaster.
May-We-Go-Round is refreshing in that it’s two adult women revisiting their teenage friendship and schooldays boyfriends, but without (apparently) rewriting history. If there is residual break-up awkwardness, they say so and move on, and if there are regrets, they’re presented from both angles – the justification at the time, and the realisation now. Dance is a perfect artwork for depicting youthful exuberance, but it’s also the perfect artform for depicting that constant magnetic cloud of sex that hangs around a teenager’s body, and the way that the version in the imagination is almost always better than the real thing.
Suffolk – A number of unpublished letters to Jackie magazine’s infamous agony aunts Cathy and Claire has been discovered in an Ipswich attic today, leading to speculation that the anonymous advice columnists were, in fact, one lady – the late Geraldine Cooper, ex-teaching assistant and grandmother of five.
Here at the New Wolsey Theatre, we’ve been granted exclusive access to the rare haul before experts arrive to certify its authenticity. Here, we publish a selection as a companion to last night’s show by The Wardobe Ensemble – 1972: The Future of Sex.
You might think this is a silly problem but I promise you it is becoming a living nightmare.
I am 14 and I have been going out with my boyfriend for three and a half months. Everything is going really well and he is an excellent kisser, but I feel really embarrassed to be seen with him in front of other people.
You see, he refuses to wear flared trousers, and only has straight-legged corduroys. He says that he’s not going to stop wearing perfectly good trousers just because of fashion, like he’s my dad or something! Deep down I know that looks don’t matter, but I just want to go out in public with him and not have people point and laugh.
Tell me – should I end it with him?
Please help – I think I’m a freak and I don’t know what to do about it.
Last weekend I was in my best friend Janet’s bedroom with her, listening to David Essex records and crocheting, which isn’t out of the ordinary at all, when she started dancing. It was really funny – we don’t normally dance, apart from at school ceilidhs – so I got up and started dancing too.
But then, after a while, Janet gave me a kiss, and it wasn’t like a friend kiss – it was like a boyfriend kiss. And I thought it felt… just brilliant. But I couldn’t bring myself to look her in the eye so I got my jacket and went straight home but I can’t stop thinking about how I want Janet to kiss me again.
What should I do? I can’t tell anyone about this ever, ever, ever.
A worried David Essex fan.
In one of my most common dreams, I’m in a theatre watching a play, but it’s so much better than normal plays. It’s like looking back on now, from the future. It’s incredible, like they’re saying that today – 1972 – is going to be a turning point for our sexual politics, and that Ziggy Stardust will make boys and girls feel able to be honest about their likes dislikes and differences. In the dream I’m always playing the part of the girl who becomes so disappointed when she finds a forward-thinking, feminist lover, but he turns out to be just as selfish in bed as the rest of them…
This might be the daftest letter you’ve ever received, but I’m so scared that I won’t ever be able to achieve sexual satisfaction and join the new liberated generation that I dream about. The thought is terrifying. Please tell me what I can do to empower myself? How can I break free from the chains of patriarchy?
A: Have you seen this one before? It says it’s ‘not a magic show’.
B: I saw bits of it. He was doing a little excerpt at a night I went to last year, trying out tricks. And it is.
A: It is what?
B: A magic show. It’s just a magic show. I’m a bit confused about why it keeps appearing on these theatre programmes to be honest. Ha, d’you dare me to start correcting the posters? Bring out my marker pen, like THIS IS TOO JUST A MAGIC SHOW. Ha!
A: Definitely don’t do that.
B: That was great.
A: That was great.
B: That bit where all the cards were jumbled up but then they weren’t… That bit with the aces…
A: My favourite bit was the bit where he talked about how jaded we all were and how even ACTUAL MAGIC doesn’t have a massive effect on audiences anymore because we’re all so cynical…
B: What? Don’t look at me like that.
A: ”Yes it is just a magic show. I’m going to get my marker pen out and write all over his posters.”
A: That’s you, that is.
B: Well, okay. Obviously I’m not going to be a massive dick about this. I can appreciate that what he was doing was more than just magic. He was playing with our expectations of structure to make a comment on the nature of performing, and of distrust.
A: You mean you admit that you were wrong?
B: Well, no. It is just a magic show. All magicians construct a show to build some kind of response in their audience. Just because Vincent Gambini’s was a little more self-aware, does not mean it wasn’t a magic show. It’s still a stupid title.
A: Yeah whatever.
A: Okay, I’m sorry, but what about that bit where he read out the audience response to a trick before he even did the trick?! That is so much more than ‘just’ a magic show!!!
B: Yeah, fair dos, that was good.
A: ‘Good’?! It was more than ‘good’! It was near-genius theatricality!
B: Like Columbo.
A: It was an example of— hang on. What?
B: Columbo. It was like an episode of Columbo.
A: An episode of Columbo?
B: Yeah. In Columbo – right? – you see the murderer doing the murder – right? Or, if not actually doing the actual murdering, you see them setting it up and covering their tracks and doing all this weird suspicious shit with gloves on. Right?
A: Right. I guess.
A: I have literally no idea why you think Vincent Gambini is like that.
B: Well, in Columbo, the one thing you know for certain is that Peter Falk is gonna show up, get bad vibes from the killer in, like, 2 seconds flat, then spend 90 minutes squinting at secretaries until he’s worked out what’s what. We know that’s gonna happen. In Gambini’s show, we know that’s he’s gonna do magic. Whatever stupid name he’s given his show, we know he’s gonna do magic. We know this because his conversation is so theatrical. I mean, the opening moments have him talking about himself in the third person and apparently rehearsing. We never believe that a trick hasn’t worked, because we have been primed to treat the entire thing as a work of fiction. We know, from the very start, that this is not real, but that, nevertheless, ‘magic’ is gonna happen.
A: Well then, if that’s the case, every train journey you ever take is also “just like Columbo”, because you know where its headed before you leave the station.
B: Don’t be so basic. If Columbo was like a train journey, no-one would watch it. The important thing about Columbo is that the route is not predictable. Those weird, suspicious actions enacted by the killer at the start of the episode are both loaded with meaning – ie: that guy definitely did it and is 100% the killer – and strangely void of meaning – ie: what is he doing with that umbrella and record player? Why is he re-recording that voicemail? Why is he gonna kill a dude that he was just being so nice to? What the fuck is even happening, basically.
A: So that bit in the magic show where Vincent Gambini reads out the audience response before he even does the trick… That bit’s like a killer in Columbo, doing all his prep?
B: Yes, but so’s everything else here too. Remember the bit when the woman at the back shouted out about the fish?
A: Yeah, course.
B: Why d’you think she did that?
A: Because he’d shown us the fish before, and said that the fish would do a dance at the end…
B: Exactly. He’s telling us, every step of the way, what is gonna happen. The woman at the back had remembered the fish – she knew the fish dance was coming, and was excited to see it. So she called out for it.
A: Okay, okay, so Vincent Gambini is like Columbo. Fine. But how come we still don’t know how he did those things?
B: Interestingly, it’s because he’s not actually like Columbo at all.
A: I hate you so much sometimes.
B: No, really. This Is Not A Magic Show is like Columbo The TV Show, but Vincent Gambini is is not Columbo The Detective. That’s why my point stands – that after all this, it is a magic show after all.
B: The whole point of Columbo The Detective turning up in Columbo The TV Show, is to provide motive. That’s what the audience are missing from the start. That’s why the killer’s actions are confusing to begin with. That’s why you’re compelled to watch. Without the ‘why’, you can’t know the ‘how’.
A: But I still don’t know how!
B: Yes you do. He even says in that bit about the guy with the beard. He doesn’t actually mix all the cards up. He just makes it look like he does. Remember that bit? The “I’m not a wizard” bit?
A: Yes, but I saaaaw him.
B: No you didn’t.
A: But I did though.
B: You think you saw him, because you never had Columbo around to reveal his motive. You became compelled by the theatricality of his actions, his storytelling, which all seemed to point to a natural conclusion, several natural conclusions: the performance of magic. But that wasn’t his motive.
A: It wasn’t?
B: Of course not. Look at the title of the show.
A: But I thought you said the title was stupid!
B: Yeah, I take that back. I’ve thought about it a bit more now. Soz.
A: So what was his motive?
B: There are a few options I suppose. Maybe… to make an argument about high/low culture, about artsy snobbery, about the vulnerability of performers, about audience tolerances, about pretence and reality, about the aesthetic relationship, about apathy and cynicism in the face of wonder. Something like that. The one thing for certain though, is that his motive wasn’t to do magic.
A: How do you know?
B: Have you even been listening?! Because the title of the show is This Is Not A Magic Show! Because he stands there and tells us that it’s all pretend! Because magic isn’t real! That’s the intended ending of this show. That’s the killer being taken to prison. The tricks are just part of the set-up.
A: You are so jaded. Seriously, I have never met anyone as jaded as you before. You need to find a way to put some joy back into your life. You’ve just seen what is basically the most astonishing magic show of all time and all you can fucking talk about it that fact that it’s not real, and that we can’t trust nice things.
B: Well, we can’t. In this case anyhow.
A: I hate you.
We’ve reached the halfway point now, although in terms of work, we’re closer to the finish line than the start. Last weekend was packed with work – full days of scratches and almost back-to-back shows. Much of it has been lovely, really really nice. But while that makes for an enjoyable afternoon with a cider and a few mates, another festival visitor suggested that across the whole theatre industry, there was simply too much work being made that didn’t affect the world around it, didn’t leave any lasting mark on its audiences. There’s a fine line, after all, between ‘lovely’ and ‘inconsequential’.
Last night’s programme was different; totally energising. Two political works, and then a third which sticks two fingers up at classical acting. Fists it, basically.
The first was The Beanfield, by Breach, which I first saw in a really really early preview before last year’s Edinburgh. Back then, it was on an awkward stage in a too-small venue, and I think I mis-read the whole tone of the piece. I didn’t see what it was trying to say about pretence and remembering at all. Now, at the end of the show’s journey, and after many audience members had seen what I had missed, I got a genuine, physical full-body tingle as they read the string of emails that forms the first scene. The Beanfield is a show that mixes documentary filmmaking with historical re-enactment, and tells the story of the ‘battle’ of the beanfield, when a convoy of travellers on their way to Stonehenge for the 1985 summer solstice were attacked by police. Their homes burned and children taken away, the lo-fi DIY re-enactment by Breach loses none of its potency, and as I fought back tears, I realised that part of what made it so special is that none of these company members were even born in 1985. If those involved won’t right those wrongs, then a new generation must keep the story alive.
A Machine They’re Secretly Building, by Proto-type, is about the worldwide digital surveillance culture that began in the post-war period and boomed with the arrival of the internet. Our online data is being stored without our consent. Even before the guys at the New Wolsey post this online, a copy of it will sit in a huge data storage facility in Utah, because it’ll be taken right out of the email I send to Jeni and Jack from the theatre’s marketing team. Proto-type’s show is fascinating. It is heavy with information, and probably strongest when it represents facts over speculation, but is structured so well that it never feels like reading some dry essay. The space is well constructed too, with performers reading from what look like ‘top secret’ Cold War spy files from an old metal filing cabinet, but also live balaclava videos, like a Pussy Riot intervention. Simple but striking.
After that, it was back to another show that I haven’t seen since it was nowt but a work-in-progress. My first encounter with Barrel Organ’s Some People Talk About Violence had felt like witnessing alchemy; the magical formation of something right in front of you. I knew that the company were keen to mix up roles and swap members of the ensemble, but I think I’d always kinda assumed that something about the show would eventually become set, or fixed, or otherwise done. Not so. Some People Talk About Violence remains so fresh and relaxed and elastic. And joyful. Mixing up a story about depression with light-hearted skits and games isn’t just a pacing technique either – it’s representative of the weird, episodic nature of life; the way that someone living in a bubble can get pushed to the edges of everyone else’s narcissism. The girl is only ever in the peripheral vision of her family and friends, and her audience too. The fact that my abiding memory of last night will probably be the two cast members spitting biscuits at each other, is a replication of the way we turn away from sadness wherever we are.
These three shows – unflinching and important – have left me feeling totally recharged for this evening’s work. I kinda can’t believe I’ve never seen Sh!t Theatre before. So pumped to put that right.
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