Review: Mighty, Crypt (Vault Festival 2020)

Martini Rating: 🍸🍸🍸🍸

Jack AG Britton’s Mighty is a riotous, conceptualised combination of self-made, loop-peddled, live music, spoken word, truth bombs and statistics, witty anecdotes, recorded interviews and audience interaction. Providing a fantastically powerful and amusing discourse on body image from the male perspective, and more specifically, heightism.

Described as a ‘TED-talk-meets-theatre show’, Britton, a five foot four and 3/4 inches theatre-maker, artistically and truthfully dives into how his height has affected his self-esteem, mental health, masculinity and more, in a bitter-sweet, biopic performance. Navigating the challenges of online dating, blatant and unchallenged prejudice to short guys, companies selling shoes that discreetly add height, stereotypes, hateful conduct policies on social media and making it onto the best rides at Drayton Manor. A smattering array of topics, that he cleverly weaves together, to deliver an honest and much-need conversation starter on the broader subject of toxic masculinity. His personable approach and comedy, having a whole-heartedly engaging effect. Britton simply doesn’t take himself too seriously, but loudly, (often with a mega-phone), backs up his words with genuine facts and interviews with professionals, rationalising his displeasure at how he and others are treated whilst providing endless comedic refrain. Asking the big (or little) question: should we be taking Heightism more seriously? Expect puns!

Britton’s work is terrifically provocative and understated, for example he mentions amongst many statistics that shorter men are more likely to commit suicide, going on to then later wrap a measuring tape around his neck like a noose. Emoting this harrowing image  perfectly. Yet, he still doesn’t just lay out the problems, Britton uses and re-enacts his own responses to moments of prejudice to demonstrate that it’s okay to stand up and call someone out on it, that it won’t change until people do. Juxtaposing this with the fact that online policies don’t see threatening comments on body image outside of race/disability, i.e weight or height as determinates of hateful conduct, therefore hateful mentions regarding these won’t be taken down if reported. An exceedingly shocking and transformative notion. Whilst his moments of improv, audience participation and direct address allow him to build up rapport with his audience. As he converses with them, he consequentially leads them to question their own actions, a wonderfully reflective construction. Britton is therefore, immensely quick-witted, hugely entertaining and endlessly engaging, certainly a performer to watch out for and indefinitely mastering his craft.

Catch Mighty today at Vault Festival at 3pm & 6pm, click here to book now.

Review: Me Myself I, Pit (Vault Festival 2020)

Martini Rating: 🍸🍸🍸🍸

Carla Grauls’ Me Myself I is a striking and much-needed portrayal of humanity and it’s dulcet response to the climate crisis. Delving deep into the idea of legacy and the meaning of life, Grauls heartbreakingly captures the rate at which the planet is dying whilst humans keep on living, focussing more on legacy and online presence than the world they are actually in.

We meet Lana and Lena in a facility, where Lana, having chosen to replace herself before she dies, is having her clone Lena sign over her servitude for 100 years, should she even live that long, agreeing to taking on Lana’s identity in its entirety. The contract thus inciting Lena to adopt her life, relationship and digital presence, with guidelines explaining how to do so. But as we quickly see, the life that Lena inherits isn’t quite what she expected. The world is different to what she’s been told and the life, paper-thin, a loveless relationship with very little affection, a purposeless existence all riding on a falsified digital presence.

Going through several generations of clones, the work has a wonderfully artistic Samuel Beckett-esque monotony to it. As clone by clone goes by, the same single-perspective anecdotes being told to help the next understand who they are becoming, more birds die, forests burn, marshes swamp and houses are swallowed whole. Not only is the extent of the climate emergency therefore harshly constructed in front of us, humanity is congruently deconstructed, it’s loss of meaning, potent. With the clones almost willing the next to not sign the agreement and end the line. Humans become a mass of selfie-posting, idealism-lovers, obsessed with perfection, their image and their legacy, unable to authentically live and love and blind to their own destruction. Sound familiar? Lana’s decision to ‘go on living’ thus coming from a place of selfish vanity and insecurity, not wanting her boyfriend to find someone else, her privilege in full view as she mentions how she has paid for this service. The only ‘good’, preventative deed  regarding the climate emergency that she completes and explains to her clone, is the washing and recycling of plastics, an ironic drop in the ocean on the grand-scale of saving the planet. Grauls’ writing is therefore intelligible, reactive, sharp and clear in its call to action, whilst vibrant in its eloquence and poeticism.

Andrew Twyman’s direction vividly responds, taking Grauls’ stirring and bold lead. Twyman thematically chooses to stage the destruction, the action happening on a platform above dirt and bark mixed in with plastic waste, demonstrable of the human tendency to act above and oblivious to what surrounds them. Culminating in the actors throwing the bark and then examining the plastic, a visual depiction of how single use plastic is one of the things killing the planet. Whilst the square is plain and adorned with white furniture, a clinical man-made cell of privilege, it becomes dirty with the bark demonstrating the insistence that we cannot ignore what is happening forever. The dexterity of Twyman’s direction wonderfully enhancing Grauls’ wit and humour, intuitively referencing and enacting much of what is in the text. He cleverly brings to the forefront the clones becoming Lana, adopting and copying her nuances, inflections, gestures and poses, (for her all important selfies). Intricately physicalising the contract and the taking over of Lana’s life. Lana, Lena and co. are played fantastically by identical twins Leah and Mhairi Gayer. Both are perceptive performers, self-assured and filled with clarity. Locked into the action and utterly in sync, they resiliently blaze through the piece and it’s demanding pace. Pure excellence. 

Me Myself I, ultimately asks what’s the point in living forever in a world that won’t exist? Catch Me Myself I at Vault Festival on Sunday 9th February at 4:30pm and 7:30pm, click here to book now.

 

Written by Carla Grauls

Directed by Andrew Twyman

Produced and presented by Holly White

Actor – Leah Gayer

Actor – Mhairi Gayer

Casting Director – Belinda Norcliffe CDG

Review: Patricia Gets Ready (for a date with the man that used to hit her), Crypt (Vault Festival 2020)

Martini Rating: 🍸🍸🍸🍸

A refreshingly honest, witty and affecting ‘get ready with me’ like no other.

Playing on the ‘grwm’ form made famous by beauty and lifestyle vloggers, (a trend where content creators film their processes whilst addressing their audience), Martha Watson Allpress wonderfully finds a direct medium through which to tell an authentic story of abuse. She vividly captures the trauma, the questions people often have, the stigma attached, the healing process, the need for coping mechanisms, hope, the love that convinces those in abusive relationships to stay, and more. All culminating in a funny, intelligent and heart-rendering shattering of the stereotype and this projected idea of ‘shame’ around abuse. Patricia demonstrating a women owning her own narrative and telling it how she wants to. The purpose of this being, firstly, to devolve that those who haven’t experienced it can never possibly know what it’s like and it helps if they stop trying to. Secondly, to dismember the age-old idea of the ‘broken’ or ‘battered women’ that doesn’t actually exist, she doesn’t look a certain way or act a certain way, someone now putting their life back together could be anyone you know. A powerful message of unity that reminds us that survivors are of all colours, shapes and sizes, with their own stories to tell if and when they choose.

The getting ready process is therefore acted out, whilst Patricia, (Angelina Chudi), directly addresses her audience. We hear how she bumped into her ex on the street and having been taken off-guard she has accidentally agreed to go to dinner with him that night. This mishap, is instead of her delivering the kick-ass speech she’s spent a year crafting about his violent treatment of her and her own self-worth. Whilst she ponders over what to wear, what to to say and whether to actually even go, she nostalgically talks us through her past, how they met and what it was like, to her present and then her hopes for the future. A tender and personable image of recovery, with Patricia describing and even enacting the scars that remain, juxtaposed with her ultimately demonstrating her power when faced with this impossible situation and a man she still loves. Alongside, using the semantics of words to reflect the fact that the affects can never truly be understood by anyone else. Such as ‘Abuse. Verb. To treat with cruelty or violence…’, playing with the ideology that though you understand the meaning of a word, you may not actually understand what it is like. An ingenious proposition sustained throughout.

Furthermore, Chudi is sensational, her performance is warm, brimming with emotion, clarity and smart choices, bouncing off her audience to boundless comedic effect. Whilst Kaleya Baxe’s direction is again smart and dexterous, helping to accurately capture Patricia’s various states of tension as she goes from embarrassment to dread, hurt yet still totally in love to motivated and enraged. The work also includes some particularly consequential sound design, paired well with the lighting, doing much to amalgamate the overall storytelling. The only thing we would actively change is to have Patricia really getting ready rather than just mime, just to see how the realism of it affects the piece. Despite it’s heavy subject matter, Patricia Gets Ready (for a date with the man that used to hit her) is exceedingly uplifting, funny and well-written, definitely worth a watch.

If you would like to see Patricia Gets Ready (for a date with the man that used to hit her) at Vault Festival click here.

 

 

Playwright – Martha Watson Allpress

Director – Kaleya Baxe

Performer – Angelina Chudi

Sound Design- Beth Duke

Production/ Technical- Steven Frost

Producer – Nur Khairiyah Bte Ramli

Review: Be Longing, Forge (Vault Festival 2020)

Martini Rating: 🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸

Bolstering an affecting and meaningful queer narrative, Be Longing is a stunning, vividly-written, dystopian paragon. Expertly navigating the morality of genetic engineering, whilst beautifully capturing the slow and painful fizzle of losing love. To put it plainly, it’s a must see!

Set in the not-too-distant present, the piece follows Sigrid and Jim, a relatively normal couple. Episodically, we experience their highs and lows, they laugh, they fight, they make up. These fast-paced snapshots engendering a charming fondness between the two of them, as well as a genuine sense of pain that they seem to cause each-other. The fluctuation of their relationship is palpable, ensuring characters remain tangible and universally relatable. Things start to turn sour when the possibility enters their relationship, of using gene splicing to create a baby from both of their eggs, (a process devoid of any sperm). Their different opinions cleverly becoming the grounds for an enamouring discourse on the morals of medalling with nature and natural selection. Jim is therefore, the clinical, matter-of-fact geneticist who cannot ignore her maternal instincts. Craving to carry a biological child, she sees nothing wrong with the anti-natural selection of the future family model, allowing not only for queer couples to conceive, but for them to box-check the features they would like, i.e skin pigmentation, eye colour and more, theoretically erasing genetic diseases and building their perfect child. This sentiment and style reminding us much of Ella Road’s award-winning play The Phlebotomist. Be Longing thus, fantastically plays on the idea of selection, pitting natural selection, the process through which heritable traits are changed and passed down, against the dystopian idea of manually selecting genes through ticking boxes and signing forms, ready for a lab to engineer it so. Sigrid, comparatively, doesn’t have a maternal bone in her body and has no desire to carry or birth a baby. It doesn’t sit so easy with her to manufacture offspring. She is unsure if she even wants to procreate at first and when it comes down to it, wishes she could leave things to chance. Counter-balancing the argument, she wonders if protesters to the lab’s experimentation are right and questions the ethics, such as what happens to the ‘half-cooked’ embryos. Lauren Gibson’s writing, is therefore a wonderfully balanced and didactic exegesis, she delivers something unimaginably complex and proficient, truthfully navigating the primal urge to want to reproduce. Writing for-the-now, her work is politically and socially aware, for example imagining the probable Tory opinion on lab’s pro LGBTQ+ work and creating a realistic idea of what the media circus around it would be like. Not only does Gibson pose these irreproachable questions and champion everyone’s right to a family, she also demonstrates her wit, leaving plenty of room for comedic relief, i.e Sigrid comparing the process to buying their baby from Argos on Click and Collect.

Lizzie Fitzpatrick’s direction is scintillating, subtle yet strong it combines intimate moments love or emotive impassioned arguments with swift changes in lighting and empowered musical underscoring to maintain a snappy pace, whilst not undermining the overall intent. The scenes in which they each take it in turns to address some thoughts to their embryo(s), documenting their journey for the baby’s future, do much to convey a realistic sense of maternal anticipation, from the nerves, to the excitement, fears and more. This is were the beauty in the design comes in.   White orbs of light, representative of the potential child surround the edges of the playing space, one sitting centre on the couple’s coffee table, these are picked up and addressed directly in these moments. Enacting as endearing, humanising letters. The suggestion of the domestic setting of their home, (i.e with the coffee table, chairs and rug), doing much to contain them as a family unit, grounding and personalising the narrative. Whilst the inclusion of the idea of infertility, through a fault in the body not the eggs, despite all of the science, brings the dystopian fantasy brutally back to earth. 

Performance-wise, Lauren Gibson’s Sigrid is a breath of fresh air, her clarity and nuanced performance phenomenally conveying the unease Sigrid has over the idea of co-parenting, as well as the unfaltering adoration she holds for Jim, Sigrid would do anything for her. Whilst Keagan Carr Fransch’s Jim is passionate and strong, Fransch providing a fantastically visceral portrayal of Jim’s inward frustrations and sharply-practical nature. Both are hugely emotive and dextrously actors.

Do not miss Be Longing on until 8th February, (with a relaxed performance at 3pm on the 8th). Click here.

 

Jim: Keagan Carr Fransch

Sigrid: Lauren Gibson

Director: Lizzie Fitzpatrick

Dramaturg: Molly O’Shea

Producer: Caroline Tyka

Writer: Lauren Gibson

Review: Lily Bevan Character Monologues, The Gift Horse at The Horse and Stables (Vault Festival 2020)

Martini Rating: 🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸

Encapsulated within in Nick Hern Books’ recent publishing of Lily Bevan’s blistering new play Zoo, are her Twelve Comedy Monologues (and one for luck), a rib-tickling collective of very human, expertly written comedy, character monologues for women, some of which featured in the BBC Radio 4 series, Talking to Strangers (co-written with Sally Phillips). Performed here by Bevan herself, Anne Odeke, Pandora Colin, Hedydd Dylan and Charity Wakefield, the twelve-ish monologues are delivered vibrantly by this cast of 5 with extraordinary prowess and comedic supremacy.

The monologues include: an overzealous guest dressed as an ass at a Nativity-themed fancy dress party, a pirate enthusiast vying for a loan to make her pirate cafe dreams come true, a strident pupil touring parents around her school and unknowingly over-sharing her observations as she goes, a tattooist who can’t quite seem to grasp scale or the logistics of helicopters, a Tudor-enthusiast determined to give newly weds the most authentic feast at their reception whether legal or not, a paranoid walker afraid of a swan who is ‘acting suspiciously’, a drunk women in the bathroom of an opera house who, after seeing Carmen is deliberating whether to tell her boyfriend she has cheated, a Hampton Court Palace shop assistant unwittingly thrust into the role of Catherine of Aragon as everyone else has Norovirus, a nervous women who cannot seem to stop asking questions during a waxing session, a Bridesmaid staging a coup on the Best Man’s speech due to his prior examples of misogyny, a blogging allotment owner berating her neighbour’s use of untreated manure, a nervous and extremely rambled voicemail following up from a steamy sex session and more.

Part of the allure of this selection of misfits and their stories is the absurdly relatable nature of their predicaments. Each monologue proving to be wildly variegated, yet distinctly rich with just the right dose of comedy and character. Demonstrating how masterful at her craft Lily Bevan is. Grouping these women and championing their ‘longing and loss and sadness’. Bevan intuitively touches on themes such as passion, dreams, desire, divorce, innocence, allure, the female experience and expectations, love and much more. Her dry-wit and sharp humour taking the audience on a joyful and hilarious rollercoaster, pinned together by recurring scenes, (i.e Nativity), yet they indefinitely will work as stand-alone pieces and we can see actor’s in training  picking these up in the future. They are just that good, and are cleverly often addressed to a silent character, providing even more hilarity. Whilst the comedic intelligence of the 5 tasked with delivering these pieces is perfection, each putting their own stamp on their chosen monologues, conveying and embodying the vastitude of the characters and enthusiastically staging and physicalising their situations, despite the ephemeral nature of the performance. Hamish MacDougall’s direction is at play here, the monologues vibrantly lifting from the pages.

Lily Bevan’s Character Monologues are back on Sunday 9th February, click here to book now. Click here to buy a copy of Zoo, which includes the monologues and click here to book tickets for Zoo at Vault Festival.

Review: Over My Dad’s Body, Crescent (Vault Festival 2020)

Martini Rating: 🍸🍸🍸🍸

Simon David’s Over My Dad’s Body is a sharp-witted, satirical, and wonderfully self-aware one man show brimming with heart, charm and humour.

As an autobiographical review, the plot follows Simon as he recounts how he planned to write and perform a brand new, all-singing, all-dancing show, ‘Date Night!’, before his father was diagnosed with terminal cancer. And then, somewhat to Simon’s dismay, just as he decides to quit performing, his dad, writes, performs and films his own one-man show about his illness, mortality and legacy. So what starts out as a camp cabaret, spirals through to a hilarious, bitter-sweet, remembrance of Simon’s father who tragically died months after performing his show. And, as a result, it is also a cathartic elucidation on grief and the processing of it.

This show within a show about a show, is exceedingly intelligible, poking fun at it’s own ‘vapid, self-indulgent’ form and is intuitively directed by Chris Larner, the pace, wit and humour quite literally sparkling. Simon, composing his piece to be rife with jokes, ridiculous rhyming lyrics, innuendo and smut, cleverly still leaves room for the satirical nature to be contrasted by meaningful sentiment and charm. Whilst the combination of stand-up, film footage and original songs proves to be the winning formulae and great weight can be found in the scenes where, Simon delicately recounts hearing his father’s diagnosis from him and of his rushing home to Newcastle when things got worse, before heartbreakingly describing hearing his father’s breathing stop. Whilst the archive footage of his father’s show played at the point his death is described is brutal. The consequential manipulation of this footage, to engender Simon’s father still willing him on to perform is however an ingenious twist.

Furthermore, there’s a certain beautiful monotony in the train journeys Simon makes back and forth, recounting the stations, (or at least trying to). Not only does this convey what Simon’s anxiety was like, him trying to distract himself, unsure of what he was going to face when he got there, the final journey being made in silence, with Simon carrying a chair, a physicalisation of the weight of his grief. But also,  perhaps the monotony references his father’s diagnosis and treatment, as palliative care can be a repetition – arduous and seemingly pointless, the individual facing their own mortality, perhaps the journeys do much to signify this as well. Either way, Simon David’s piece is wonderfully multi-layered and complex. Simon‘s performance itself is also sensational, his comic-timing is exceedingly astute and his voice, sublime.

If you want to enjoy a show about ‘me, myself and Si’, complete with sparkly silver suit and black beret, a performance that will definitely leave you singing ‘I’m gay, I’m gay, I’m gay’, catch Over My Dad’s Body when it inevitably returns. Click here for Simon’s website to follow his future endeavours.

Review: The Journey of a Warlike Mind, Cage (Vault Festival 2020)

Martini Rating: 🍸🍸🍸🍸

The Journey of a Warlike Mind sees Ana Luiza Ulsig push the boundaries of artistic expression to deliver a vibrant, comedically-rich and affecting feminist exposé, that intimately delves into the inner workings of the mind, beautifully charting a journey of self-discovery and transformation from within.

Masterfully combining storytelling and dramatisation with movement, poeticism, dance, caricature and music, the work follows Eva on the most arduous journey of them all. Inside her own mind, as she finds the way to the bottom of her heart. Based on a true episode of a mental breakdown, which occurred during the impeachment process of Brazil’s first female president, Dilma Rouseff, in 2016, Ulsig playfully challenges her audience to decide which stories are her own and which are borrowed from friends, though all are irrevocably true and as result, remarkably affecting. This collection of narratives artfully weaves together, juxtaposing the abstract with realism and comedy with despair to form a bitter-sweet adventure through imagination, fantasy, mystery, laughter and tears. Resulting in a Herculean exegesis on the female experience and ingrained patriarchal structures, from our silence in the face of oppression and sexual abuse to our attitudes positive or negative towards men. Ultimately concurring that the change first comes from within, beginning with seeking your essential voice.

Ulsig thus dextrously displays the complexities of finding this essential voice, staging the inherent tension between the voices which inhabit our minds. Eva’s many selfs proving to be a battleground she must persist through however difficult or painful it is. An emotive and witty demonstration of the importance of our mental health and the healing process, with the ugliness of pain and scars of trauma being powerful contrasted against the the beauty of transformation and learning to love and feel again.

Ulsig is an enamouring writer and performer, there is true hope, beauty and poetry to her words and the performance of them. She is vibrant, sharp-witted and intelligible, using a plethora of representative costume and props to spin an exhilarating adventure, hurtling at 100 miles an hour, cleverly using movement, music and dance to balance, segment and emote. Her characterisation and ability to instantaneously embody the many facets of Eva’s imagination is wondrous, from an excitable little boy, to a tobacco-smoking, ‘outside-eye’ film director, her melancholic and frail heart, to the manly man she is in potentially in love with, to Shakespeare himself and more. Eva’s relationship with men, through these imagined male figures, is therefore broken down, does she hate men? And if so, why does she hate them? Thus cleverly capturing the conflict and resolution of our brains. We also hilariously see Eva wrestle with the idea of love, is she in love? Is marriage what she wants? Or is it because that’s what’s expect of her? Whilst we heartbreakingly see her come face-to-face with the repressed scarring of sexual abuse. An exquisite snapshot into the modern female experience. Ulsig also beautifully frames her work with the character of Rose, a seeming signifier of all the women who have gone before Eva and all the women that will come after her. The narrative begins with Rose rising from her tomb, from the dead, from the past. She alerts for an imminent war and Eva’s journey begins. At the end Rose fades, a memory.

If you want to witness Ulsig’s prepossessing art and skill, catch The Journey of a Warlike Mind today! Click here.

 

Written and performed by Ana Luiza Ulsig

African Dance Supervision: Joana Marinho (Brazil)

Costume Design: Camila Crus (Brazil)

Rehearsals / Sound collaboration: Mariana Santos Silva (Portugal/UK)

Performative writing collaboration: Joseph Dunne-Dowrie (UK)

Character development collaboration: Olavo Cavalheiro (Brazil)

Artistic and Graphic Design: Sofie Ulsig cargocollective.com/sofieart & Radoslav Nedyalkov radographic.com

Photos by Aidan Huxford

Review: VOiD, Pit (Vault Festival 2020)

Martini Rating: 🍸🍸🍸🍸

In our opinion great theatre makes you think and makes you feel, Tutti Tutti Productions’ VOiD does just that.

Coming with a strong content warning, i.e ‘themes of rape, sexual abuse and knife crime’, VOiD is as expected an empowered and gut-wrenching drama, that keeps its audience on the edge of their seats, proving to be gripping, cognitive and raw.

Adroitly written and performed by Sophia Capasso, the piece is a playfully ominous story that challenges its audience to decipher between Ali’s reality and her imagination. On the surface, she is a feisty young women who has always felt invincible, but something has changed, she feels suffocated and exhausted with the world, (particularly the world glued to her finger tips), she wants it to go away and at points it does, in the form of episodic blackouts. When she snaps, breaking her phone and blacking out again, she stabs a man outside of Shepherd’s Bush Tube Station, are the allegations she makes against the man the truth or has she convinced herself to believe an imagined version of events, does she know more than she’s letting on? A tangled web unfolds, providing multiple questions, a remarkably engaging format through which we hear it all from Ali herself. The play vicariously traversing the boundaries of identity, dancing on the edges between monster and victim, which are both shown in equal measure. Also delivering a powerful exegesis on mental health and how we treat it, questioning how helpful it is to simply medicate as well as what the true meaning of sanity is.

The smashing of Ali’s phone and the freeing euphoria she subsequently describes, provides a strong message about our reliance on smart phones in this digital age. Capasso, (Ali) then cupping the air where a phone used to be, describing it as an addiction, an itch we need to scratch. Yet, a phone symbolises much more than this here, it’s an example of a falsified reality, something as aforementioned VOiD wonderfully navigates. Referring to the fact that what we post online is usually never the full story, a highlight reel of how we want to be viewed, with how we interact often not being how we would in real life, the digital version of us is therefore falsified or enhanced. As earlier mentioned, the piece also touches upon rape as well as the criminal justice system. It torturously captures the flaws in ‘the system’ and unwarranted treatment of victims, such as disbelief in their claims entirely and asking questions like ‘what were you wearing?’. Whilst the prison system and its ability to rehabilitate is dextrously debated alongside this.

Bruce Webb’s direction is fantastic, incredibly paced, full of vibrancy and depth, creating a darkly sinister atmosphere that twist and turn, continuously playing with the audience. Whilst Capasso’s performance is absolutely stunning. Her delivery is gritty and complex, perfectly conveying the multiple layers and extremities of Ali. We were in awe.

Catch VOiD now, go, go, go! Click here.

 

Director – Bruce Webb

Performer and Writer – Sophia Capasso

Review: The Wild Unfeeling World, Cavern (Vault Festival 2020)

Martini Rating: 🍸🍸🍸🍸

Casey Jay Andrews’ The Wild Unfeeling World is a crisp and relevant reimagining of Moby Dick, lyrically exploring a plethora of potent themes such as isolation, mental health and the quest for help. Andrews situating the tale in the not-so-distant past, her adaptation becoming a socially conscious story for the now, the ‘Wild Unfeeling World’ of today as it were. Perfectly capturing how easy it is to fall into solitude in the big smoke, especially when your world starts to crumble. The great whale Dylan is therefore, humanised, transformed into a modern, London women on the brink of self-destruction, having hit rock bottom and feeling utterly alone, she is frantically searching for a something, someone or somewhere to neutralise her self deprecation and a great journey of self discovery ensues. The narrative culminating with her finding affinity with a lost whale she discovers in the Thames, a beautifully tragic nod to the juvenile bottlenose whale who died of such a fate in January 2006. However, whale-lovers do not despair, as the tagline of the show warns, ‘expect whale facts’.

The most charming part about Andrews’ work is quite simply how much of an exquisite storyteller she is, projecting a certain warmth and clarity, revelling in the beautiful simplicity of her own work, breaking the fourth wall to juxtapose silliness against sincerity, surrealism against irrational hope. Ultimately presenting a suburban fable in which bad luck and questionable decisions can make or break you and there’s a fine line between the two. Andrews’ vision thus proves itself to be incredibly visceral and poetic and her narrative, charming and hugely moving. Whilst the writing is intelligible, factual and scientifically driven, the personable, charming nature of it balances and warms the heart.

As The Wild Unfeeling World is based on such a renowned piece of literature it is inevitable that Andrews references other great literary works and their authors such as J.M. Barrie and Peter Pan, mentioning Barrie’s theorising on desire paths and Kensington Gardens where it all began, Andrews hiding these gems like intoxicating secrets throughout. Another skilled element is the technical design of the piece, underscoring controlled by Andrews herself, dictates the atmosphere, conveys emotion, moves the plot along and sets the pace, wonderfully enhanced by some dexterous lighting. And when coupled with the directly addressed scientific musings on whales and the world, there is a slight National Theatre: A Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time vibe to it. Clear, sharp and smart, yet relatable and poignant. The sound design is also aptly reflective of the ocean, the setting of the original fable, demonstrating the importance of water to the piece. For instance, Dylan remarks about how she finds tranquility in the Sea Life Centre marvelling at the underwater exhibits, she is also pursued down a body of water (the Thames) past famous war ships by Ahab, in this version, a ginger cat seeking revenge after being clipped by Dylan’s car (Moby Dick – A White Renault Clio), whilst Dylan as aforementioned comes face to face with a Whale in the river, wading in the water and frantically calling for help – symbiotic to her own need for help. In Ahab’s pursuit real water is chaotically utilised. We did say silliness counterbalances the meaning-making.

To conclude, if you want to witness water being thrown, cats seeking revenge and a women on the brink, encapsulated in skilled storytelling, catch The Wild Unfeeling World at Vault Festival this week. Click here to book.

Review: Black Terror, Cage (Vault Festival 2020)

Martini Rating: 🍸🍸🍸🍸

***Black Terror is very much still in development, performed here as a staged reading with script in hand. With that being said, Kalungi Ssebandeke’s piece is transcendent, affecting and smart, opening up a meaningful dialogue on knife crime, violence, the Black Experience and inherited trauma.

Ssebandeke’s narrative sees a young 21st Century boxer transported to 18th Century London where he meets Georgian Bare Knuckle Boxer Bill Richmond, a former American slave. It soon transpires that the youngster was caught in a fight and tragically stabbed, is he dead? Dying? Hallucinating? Or actually in 18th Century England? Questions the character begins to wrestle with. What ensues is provocative collision of our reality and the past. Ssebandeke using history and the known facts about Richmond to paint a likeness for the purpose of coaching the young boxer on courage, discipline and respect, ultimately rising above racial hatred. Teaching him the importance of boxing, that to settle things in the ring allows both parties to live to fight another day. A perhaps too late sentiment that warns against lashing out as this can be dangerous and unnecessary. Meaning the work is wonderfully driven by its bold stance against knife related crime, providing a powerful exegesis on that which claims so many young lives each year.

As aforementioned not only does the work tackle violence and crime but also race, with the young boxer recounting how he was spat at by a white man in a park whilst reading a book by Molineux and then subsequently threatened, looked at like an animal he retaliated. The vivid description of the pain and anger this caused is abruptly tangible. With Richmond then going on to articulate about this pain being passed down but dulled a little in each generation, intriguingly building a picture of the theory of inherited trauma, as well as societal change. Perpetuated by Richmond then listing all of the successful and known Black boxers that came after him, stating how he was with them through it all.

Black Terror is historically sound, delivering a witty and engaging, factually accurate account of Richmond’s life and of Georgian Bare Knuckle Boxing. We hear about stances, recorded fights and Richmond’s technique for dodging punches, learning of his funded education in England, his being born into slavery in Staten Island, his endorsement by Thomas Pitt, that he was a cabinet maker and that he got married and had several children. However, a point for further development, in its infancy, Black Terror perhaps doesn’t focus enough on the young boxer, the historical facts and boxing knowledge are excellently researched and sewn in, but we felt like other than the mention of the racism he faced in the park, we don’t hear much about the young boxer’s life. Perhaps this is deliberate to make him indistinguishable and thus, is suggestive of the fact he’s one of many attacked in this manner, but there definitely is more scope for developing the character and his backstory. 

Kalungi Ssebandeke is a stunning actor, able to bring to life both characters, bounding around the stage and even holding on to a script. His performance was vibrant, warm and heartfelt. So for something performed beautifully, stripped back and unequivocally meaningful, pop in and see Black Terror. Click here to book.