|
|||
FINANCIAL TIMES
Thursday January 22 1998
|
|||
|
|||
Mime
Dancing
hands and
tragic clowns
When Derevo's The Red
Zone played in a midnight slot on last year's Edinburgh Fringe,
audiences were divided
between those
who simply did not get it and those who got it in spades. On their presentation of the same show last week at the Purcell Room as one of the opening pieces at this year's London International Mime Festival, I am unconvinced that there is much to get.
After a sequence of deliberately
crappy post-apocalyptic circus (riding a non-existent trapeze, failing to bend an iron bar, etc. ), the pasty-faced Russian quintet move into a series of wordless and dimly lit episodes portraying evolution, gestation, love, power... the usual Human Condition preoccupations. The odd moment of serenity or deep emotion leaps out, but for the most part neither the content nor the presentation is particularly new or exciting. At one point, one of the clowns came into the audience and literally forced me to kick ass - probably the most refreshingly direct bit of criticism I have ever done.
Andrew Dawson's and Jozef
Houben's CVs include stage work with Mime Theatre Productions, Theatre de Complicate, The Right Size and Wallace and Gromit. Their joint show, Quatre Mains, presented for three nights at the ICA, was one of those so-simple-it's-brilliant strokes of genius. The title was entirely accurate: the performers were not Dawson and Houben, but their four hands (and occasionally their arms), on a raked tabletop. Their palms and digits engaged in ballet, in Esther Williams choreography, in creating a menagerie on land and under water, and even in enacting an entire 1950s horror movie about giant spiders (probably).
Throughout all this action,
the only
speech was the occasional incomprehensible syllable of vocalise on the taped soundtrack. They also performed a kind of percussion duel, during which epiphany struck: this was the theatrical equivalent of Steve Reich's clapping music - performance stripped down to the ultimate simplicity, and continuing to generate strong, direct emotions and laughter in a mode of breathtaking intimacy. |
The festival's main show,
however, is Don't Laugh It's My Life' by the Told By An Idiot company (at BAC until February 1). Since the company's first show in 1993, performers Hayley Carmichael and Paul Hunter and director John Wright have expertly mined the ferule seam of what could be called tragic clowning. They have added another three performers for this free adaptation of Moliere's Tartuffe, in which the Tatter family is turned upside down by the anival of a religiose parasite.
Wright and the company work gags
out of a variety of cheesy pop standards, reanimate a clutch of antique verbal and physical gags and bring a delightfully skewed perspective to (he proceedings, They are adept at turning from laughter to poignancy, and the second act not only includes the death of Gran - at once comical and disturbingly grisly - hut eschews the deus ex machina resolution which tacks an implausibly happy ending onto the original play; here, the family's sudden reversal of fortune is lefl shockingly to stick,
Wright, one of the former mainstays
of Trestle Theatre Company, puts three of his characters into half-masks; it is no coincidence that those who most directly engage our emotions are unmasked, most notably long-suffering wife and mother Georgia as played by Carmichael.
Ian Shuttleworth
|
||
|
|||