Yellow Moon - B Sharp

It’s funny the way by pure accident shows with similar themes can end up being on at the same time. In some cases it even happens that the same show ends up being done within a short period of each other. In my first year of uni, I think there were three Virginia Woolfs going on in Australia at the same time. In my second year, it seemed as if the broader theatre scene was looking to our university for inspiration, as just after we did productions of Titus and Antigone, Bell Shakespeare and Belvoir followed suit. This year, it seems that after however many years of absence there are not one, not two, but THREE Howard Barker plays happening in the region (again, two of them are UOW productions). Now, after only having seen Tusk Tusk at the Wharf a couple of weeks ago, I found myself at another play about teenagers. Oh and the same play was JUST performed in Perth.

Apart from the main characters being troubled youths however, there isn’t much else that ties the two plays together. Whereas Polly Stenham is interested in the failure of middle-class families, David Greig’s poetic play is about a couple of individuals with very different backgrounds. “Stag” Lee (John Shrimpton) comes from a troubled family. With a depressed mother, an uninterested would be stepfather, and no biological father in sight, he is pretty much left to his own devices. This leads to many an altercation with the police and family services. All you need to know about Lee is that he never takes of his hat. It’s embroidered with an image of a proud male deer which as well as looking like an advertisement for a low-carb Toohey’s product, is also where young Lee he gets his nickname. Silent Leila on the other hand is the daughter of migrants, we think, she does after all dress a bit like a Muslim. No one is really sure, all they know is that she never talks. The two are brought together by coincidence, and bound together by crisis. Then follows a relatively standard coming of age story complete with a near-death experience, a hard-working montage, and a shocking revelation.

Told through narration, the play is essentially four actors in a room telling you Leila and Lee’s story, although there are clear characters throughout, there are times when it is actors describing action rather than actors playing actions. This allows a certain freedom of character, with the two older cast members moving fluidly in and out of the various adult roles that have an impact on the lives of the two young protagonists. This narrative style means that the language holds a lot of power in the text. Action is not always necessary for it is often perfectly described with language and to try and represent it would only take away from that description. However, there is always a balance that has to be struck between the narration and the acting to ensure that emotional investment is kept and Greig’s text finds this balance pretty well throughout the play, although there are times when you wonder why you’re being told things rather than just shown them. But it does offer its own beautiful moments where the characters take control of how they are depicted.

Originally written for a youth theatre company, there is a certain immaturity that remains in this script, which is at times tiresome, but also works to the advantage of the main roles. So often when scripts are written for teenagers by adults, the teenagers are either wise beyond their years, or caricatures of teenage angst. Here however, I found them quite realistic. Sure, they are extremes of teenage behaviour that are explored, but they also hit the nerve right on the head with a lot of the little details, starting with Lee’s refusal to take off his hat (the amount of fights that people got into in high school over people stealing their hats was ridiculous).

The cast is quite strong with the two young leads in Estasy and Shrimpton finding a beautiful chemistry together, brewing with hormonal desire. Their older counterparts in Danielle Cormack (who I can’t help but mention used to be in Xena) and Kenneth Moraleda bring an equally playful energy to the small stage.

The most exciting aspect of this production which I probably should have mentioned by now is the physical language that the creative team have brought to the work. Much talked about in the promotional material, but not overbearing at all in the final work, director Susanna Dowling and choreographer Johanna Puglisi have worked with a soundtrack by sound designer Ekrem Mulayim to bring a dance-like physical fluidity to the work. The result is some beautiful illuminations of the poetic text. I found that this attempt to physicalise the subtext of the work was particularly effective for Leila’s character. Given that she is such a reserved presence, there was more to learn about her through this process. When Estasy and Cormack work together this technique is especially beautiful. This physical approach was best used when it was at its most removed from plot points. Occasionally it was used to simply indicate action or place and this was when it sometimes proved unnecessary. However, overall, I was delighted by the subtle investigations into the text which the movement highlighted.

Oh wow, I just remembered that I forgot to mention that there is regular A-Ha referencing in this play. A definite positive. Kenneth Moraleda's heatfelt rendition of "Take On Me" was truly a highlight.

 - Simon

Woyzeck - B Sharp

I’m not going to lie. I feel a certain trepidation whenever I am told that a show will incorporate dance. It’s not that I don’t like dance, quite the opposite, some of my favourite theatrical moments have involved dance, (the friends who were unfortunate enough to see The Border Project’s “Highway Rock ‘n’ Roll Disaster” with me will never forget my visceral, joyous reaction to that show) it’s just that sometimes, I find that dance can be used very badly in theatre. I think it’s because of how out of place it can often seem, or tacked on, or that perhaps the best dancers in the world are not always the best actors. It may also be because I just don’t get dance and it never really seems to do for me what they director wanted it to do. At its worst it can completely take me out of the play, and even sometimes at its best it simply leaves me with the feeling one gets when watching someone play guitar really fast (Man I wish I could do that!). So I was a little bit worried about seeing Woyzeck, and as it begun with a series of dances in the Belvoir foyer, it took a short time for that fear to dissipate.

It didn’t take me long to realise that this would be the sort of play I would love to love. It does some interesting things (certainly the first show in my four year history at B Sharp that started in the foyer) has some great performances and is based around a great text which is far from treated with reverence. It’s the sort of contemporary investigation of a text that can be truly rewarding when done well. Unfortunately this one only makes it halfway. In her director’s note, Netta Yashctin says that “without forcing a concept onto the work, the audience are free to make up their own view of Woyzeck’s journey.” What this translates to is a complicated web of cultural references and theatrical techniques that often feels in need of a through line or clearer directorial vision. Instead, I was left feeling off-put as an audience member for pretty much the entire time, as each new scene came out of nowhere.

A problem I often find with work like this that when so many different techniques and references are used, with each new scene I am waiting for the trick rather than investing in the scene. Between Katy Perry, the Spice Girls and professional wrestling, to name a few there’s quite a bit of pop culture implanted into this show. Thus, with each new scene often feeling incredibly separate from those around it, I often found myself thinking “what’s the trick with this scene? Will it be a Venga boys dance number? I would really like a Venga Boys dance number” rather than worrying about the characters in the scene, or even the theatrical language. (For the record, there is no Venga Boys dance number).

However, this feeling of being on the backseat the whole time is perhaps Yashctin’s way of dealing with the presence of war in the play. This is another thing she mentions in her programme note as key to the work, yet I feel the production moved away from the physical and mental realities of war. I guess in an attempt to use a more theatrical language of movement and gesture, the harsh reality of war was softened. Instead perhaps, the feeling of unease that I felt throughout the play was the desired effect, the lingering presence of war keeping me on the back foot.

There is only one truly unifying force in this play, and that is Michael Pigott’s performance in the leading role. Woyzeck’s journey into mental decay is a hard one for any actor to take on, but Pigott does so with gusto, finding a perfect rhythm for the character’s decaying body. But more than anything else, it is his honesty in the role that really wins you over. It would be easy for Woyzeck’s metaphysical monologues to fall in posturing and falsity, but one never doubts Pigott as he negotiates the twisting and turning of Woyzeck’s existential arguments. It is Pigott’s consistency that one can hold onto throughout the show as it bounces from scene to scene.

Now I worry that this all sounds a bit negative when in fact I genuinely enjoyed the show. I don’t think I’ve mentioned yet, but there are great live musicians and for all my fears, dance was used really well. I was always sure that the next scene was going to be the one that would draw me in and leave me raving. But sadly it never quite made it there. Instead it is a production that is worth seeing for the performances, for the exciting approach to a classic text, for the opportunity to see a work that is likely to never be produced again on such a stage for a long time, but which failed to leave me in awe.

Simon

P.S. We don’t discuss this often on here, but this show has a great marketing image. This is an underrated achievement. I hate most marketing images. Perhaps not most, but certainly a lot. Thought it was worth a mention - Well done to whichever person in charge of marketing was responsible.

Dirty Butterfly (B Sharp)

I remember when I used to dislike Wayne Blair. This negativity was mostly based on seeing him as the guest actor in “An Oaktree” two years ago, a show where a different performer was led through the play every night at downstairs Belvoir (go here for more info). I felt that Blair failed to make any interesting choices or take any risks, and as such, the show felt really flat. I had also heard horrible things about his direction of “The Removalists” at STC last year. In retrospect, to base my opinion of him on a theatrical experiment that was not his own, and a show that I didn’t even see was perhaps unfair. The last two shows of his I have seen have been truly fantastic. The first, being Ruben Guthrie, which I certainly spoke in adoration of to many of my friends but I think because of impending overseas travel I never blogged about, and now this new production of Debbie Tucker Green’s harrowing Dirty Butterfly. It seems my opinion of Wayne Blair is now distinctly positive.

Before seeing this play, I kept hearing that it was “forceful”. This is a pretty apt description. From the moment the actors enter the space, the audience is on the back foot. At first it’s because of the language. Debbie Tucker Green doesn’t waste time with unnecessary words. While she takes advantage of repetition, she doesn’t use excess flourish, but rather writes lines that cut straight through the excess of normal speech to simply state what the character needs to say, and it is certainly a need with these characters rather than a want. This play deals with the needs of three broken individuals. Every word they speak is a plea to another character, or perhaps to something larger.

Just as the language starts to settle with you, and you’ve got a handle of its rhythms and idiosyncrasies, the content begins to push at you. It becomes apparent that the conversation being had is not in relation to any small matter, but rather that of a continuously abusive relationship. The story of this abuse, and the other character’s contrasting responses to it, are then extracted from all three characters for the audience to experience. Then, just as the audience is beginning to come to terms with the story and deal with its horrible implications, the scene changes, we are given a moment of relief (with the best use of an S Club 7 track you will ever hear) before the physical ramifications of the story we have just been told are thrust upon us in all their horror. Wayne Blair doesn’t pull any of the play’s punches, and the final third of the play is played out on a pure white floor, whilst a broken and bruised woman bleeds all over this cleaner’s dream from her many wounds and possible miscarriage. At no point are we given the chance to feel comfortable as the play winds to a tragic close.

Dirty Butterfly is an unforgiving experience. It deals with some disturbing issues that our society normally tries to sweep under the carpet: domestic violence, sexual pleasure from violence, and the simple but unachievable dreams of the underclass. That’s not to say that there aren’t a few laughs, or heart-warming moments. But they are few and far between, and are more often created by the audience in a vain attempt to find some comfort in the content. Debbie Tucker Green’s interests clearly lie in the needs of the less fortunate and here their desires and frustrations are beautifully yet horrifically articulated. This was her debut, and it is not surprising that it made quite an impact. I’m very glad it finally made its way to Australia.

There are two other noteworthy points I feel I need to make about this production. Firstly, it had a majority non-white, majority female cast – an absolute rarity for the Australian stage and something it should receive just recognition for. Secondly, the acting. I have been very proud of the last two shows I’ve seen in Sydney. Like A Fishbone at the Wharf showcased two incredible performances from Anita Hegh and Marta Dusseldorp (more on that to come) and now this show, which demanded incredible dedication from its actors. Zoe Houghton, Dorian Nkono & Sara Zwangobani all pull out stellar performances, finding the sense and rhythm of Tucker Green’s often complex language. Whether it is the joy Zoe finds in her character’s harassment of the others, or Sara’s delightful description of how she sometimes pretends to be a barista, the actors bring an incredible energy to these dark stories. I only hope this trend of exceptional acting continues.

A two way interview with Simon and Mark, regarding The Hayloft Project’s The Only Child.

M: Simon. The Only Child?

S: Good play. I had a really great time, I loved the comedy, thought the acting was all quite strong and design was beautiful. There were some glorious images (flowers) and the whole thing felt pristine.

M: Pristine? Do you care to elaborate?

S: You walked into the intimate Downstairs Belvoir theatre, to the serene sound of a shower running into the stark porcelain of a claw foot bath. The bath sat atop perfectly polished floorboards. Obviously, this was the bathroom of someone successful. We soon learned that it was the home of Rita and Alfred, a well-to-do couple with a harrowing secret.

M: I’m yawning already.



S: I know right? When you dumb it down to its simplest elements, it’s a fairly conventional plot. But the story itself in fact takes many twists, and at times a dark comedy comes out moving it away from the simple story it could easily have been

M: It’s an Ibsen adaption yeah?

S: Yeah, not that I know anything about the original, which doesn’t seem to be a problem with this production as the story is quite far removed from the play that inspired it.

M: What did you like about it?

S: I’ve talked already about the comedy, which I think was one of the most striking elements of the play. I’m a great lover of awkwardness on stage, and the character of Henrik (Gareth Davies) was awkwardness personified. It was as if he was in a different play altogether, but rather than this being a problem, it in fact provided a great counter point to the heavy burden the text placed on the other characters.

M: Heavy burden you say. What burden?

S: Alfred and Rita have a child, Eyolf, who at the beginning of the play is missing. This is all the more worrying because Eyolf has a disability, one of his legs is crippled. The play begins with Rita and Alfred’s sister Asta in the bathroom discussing the incident, as well as Alfred’s impending return. It is clear from the start that Alfred and Rita’s relationship is far from harmonious. This is then compounded when Eyolf is declared dead, and we watch as Alfred falls to pieces, unable to leave the bath, let alone the bathroom. Throw into the mix Henrick, who is in love with Asta and gloriously unable to deal with people, and you have The Only Child, an hour and a half long investigation of guilt and recrimination in modern relationships

M: Did you love it? Why don’t you marry it?

S: But there’s the frustrating thing. It was so close to being marriage worthy, but it never quite got to the altar. Was this your experience? Am I being too harsh?

M: No you’re not too harsh. I thought it was great too. But I left wishing it’d been better. In the language, the content, the images, the form was such potential. But ultimately I felt like I’d seen the veneer of a show, the surface of an emotional impact. Never something as raw and painful as I was sure it would be. I think it glossed over all the nasty bits.

S: Do you mean in the text or the production?

M: Well the text was nasty as fuck. Thomas Henning and Simon Stone’s adaption of the Ibsen is a cutting look at moral collapse with a vicious wit and sly humour. So that rules out the text.

S: So it was the production then?

M: Set and lighting you mean?

S: Yeah, and the direction.

M: Direction then. All the theatrical elements made this play easier to bear. As you’ve mentioned they were gorgeous and really effective. But to the wrong end. The transition states, the ethereal images and stage pictures made the raw content disappear. I wanted to be rubbed raw by the uncomfortable truth of Alfred and Rita’s relationship, by their inadequacies mirroring my own personal failings but instead, everything was working to placate me.

S: Even the nudity, did that feel like gloss? Surely that was visceral. For those who haven’t seen it, there was a fair bit of nudity.

M: The naked bodies were beautiful first, visceral second. And this was to do with how they were framed. Despite Downstairs Belvoir being a tiny little space and even though I was two feet away from the naked actors, they seemed pictorial and not physical beings. Beautiful but, AHHH, I didn’t care. Is that fair enough, am I just insane or something. They were naked for ages why didn’t I get the sense it was raw?



S: I think you’re right, and I think it was partially to do with the beautiful framing, the warm lights shining back of the polished floor to give their bodies a sort of sheen rather than leaving them stark and grotesque. With the possible exception of Henrick’s initial forays into nudity.

M: Yeah that worked. I feel guilty for slamming it this way. Because I think it is such an achievement to make abundant nudity onstage beautiful first, it never felt tacky. Always an organic development of the staging. It was stunning really. It’s just that it didn’t serve the text in the right way. It slightly backed off from really being effective.

S: I think that was the main thing that stopped this production from being absolutely devastating, was that it backed off at all the wrongs moments. Just as I was on the edge of my seat, there was a blackout or a joke to let me off the hook. The most obvious example was when Rita joined Alfred in the bath and began to seduce him.

M: And…….blackout.

S: I was left thinking why didn’t they just have sex? It would have horrific in the wake of what had come before. But we seem to have lost sight of our interview form. Did you have a problem with the transitions?

M: Not really. I accepted the blackouts as a convention that was consistent, they weren’t overly long. It was the inbetween images and subtle shifts that annoyed me. FUCK SIMON. This is so frustrating. I loved it. I loved The Only Child. It is a confident, aesthetically assured, devastatingly performed production by a young company under the restless direction of Simon Stone. I hated The Promise. I thought this Hayloft work was awesome. BUT. It could have been so much better and all I can think about is What If? What IF? WHAT IF? This sucks.

S: I had the same problem. In the past couple of days I’ve had several conversations about the play where half way through, I realise I sound like I hated it. Which I didn’t. It’s just that it could have been one of the shows of the year, and it just didn’t quite get there.

M: Everyone should see it though yeah?

S: Absolutely. They’re one of the most important companies in Australia at the moment, and this is further of evidence of that.

M: So we keep hearing. I’m glad that this time, Hayloft and Simon Stone lived up to hype. But they could have exceeded it.

S: ARGH! I’m normally frustrated when things are bad, not when they are good.

M: ARGHHHGGGHHHHH!!!!

Simon and Mark

Thom Pain (based on nothing) - B Sharp

Written By Will Eno
Directed By Sam Strong

Monologues are hard. In my first year at university we put on a production of Gary Owen’s Ghost City, which is essentially a collection of 25 monologues. It was a very useful exercise for us in terms of developing as actors, and while I thought it was quite a strong show (some of my classmates might disagree) I spoke to a lot of people who simply thought, “two hours of monologues… not really a good thing”. I’ve often wondered why this is the case and I think it’s because in life, we rarely listen to one person speaking for extended lengths of time, there’s generally some sort of dialogue. If we are listening to the one person speak for an extended period, it’s generally in a classroom or lecture situation, experiences we don’t normally associate with captivation. That being said, last year I went to a couple of one-person shows that I thoroughly enjoyed. Radio at the Old Fitz, was a beautiful story, tenderly acted by Andrew Bibby, and My Name Is Rachel Corrie, offered a strikingly personal insight into the Palestine/Israel conflict that brought me to tears. However, even in these works, there were moments when the labour of listening to the same voice for over an hour hit home and I tuned out. Therefore, it was with a certain amount of trepidation that I approached Thom Pain (based on nothing). I knew Luke Mullins was a talented actor, and I had also heard good things about Will Eno’s script, but would it be enough to keep me interested? In short, yes.

At the heart of Thom Pain is a story of lost love. It would perhaps be too simplistic to say that it is Thom’s story, because one is never really sure who Thom Pain is, and whether anything or in fact everything is personal. The telling of the story is broken up by moments of existential contemplation, stand-up comedy, and audience interaction. If anything, it is this relationship, between audience and performer which is the core of Thom Pain.

The stage is completely bare, apart from a chair and a glass of water and from the moment the lights go down, the audience is on the back foot. I find it highly disappointing that in these days of OH&S the head usher has to tell us beforehand that the play will begin with an “intense blackout” (as opposed to a more placid “greyout” I suppose) because it somewhat spoils the surprise. However, as I discovered earlier in the year at Benedict Andrews’ The City, blackouts can really affect you whether you know they’re coming or not. Something about being plunged into darkness for an extended period of time sets some sort of inner alarm bell off, warning you that you’re vulnerable. Perhaps this fear is why so many mobile phone lights were visible in the audience at this point. More likely some people are just shit. Regardless, there was something truly wonderful about Luke Mullins appearing out the darkness with the lighting of a match. It was even better when he returned to darkness and kept talking, asking questions about how he looked. This production stopped you from getting comfortable for a long time. For the first fifteen minutes you were never quite sure what was coming next, and it was only after you got used to expecting the unexpected that you allowed yourself to relax. This settling was of course subverted later on.

Some of my favourite moments in theatre are when you ask yourself the question was that meant to happen? Surely that can’t have been rehearsed? The most memorable for me was the time during Exit The King when Geoffrey Rush’s wig fell off and he quickly replaced it whilst mumbling, “You weren’t meant to see that. 1, 2, 3 and you’re back in the room!” The ultimate pay-off was later in the show when the wig was taken off to reveal Rush’s decaying body, one performer exclaimed, “That’s never happened before!” The solution to the problem was almost too good to be random. Throughout Thom Pain I found myself wondering time and again what was detail and what was accident. By the end I had come to the conclusion that nothing was left to chance, it was just good theatre. This included a great piece of audience plant work, where someone ran out of the theatre, and Mullins ran after him saying goodbye, only to remark unhappily “cunt!” while returning to the stage. For a moment I was genuinely fooled, and was sure that this “random” audience member had just got a text message about his wife being in labour. Unfortunately, the text went on about the exit for just a little bit too long, and I recall being very disappointed upon realising that it was faked. But you were just as unsure when the glass of water was spilt, or when a light came up on a different area of the stage to where Mullins was standing. Throughout, the audience expectation was played with, culminating in the final section of the play where an audience member was brought up onto stage to help Pain finish the story.

Luke Mullins’ meticulous performance was stunning. He had impressed me before, particularly with the STC Actor’s Company, but this was a new level of his work for me. I’m sure that that is in part due to the intimacy of Downstairs Belvoir, but I also feel that the text gave him a lot of room to explore to the full realm of his abilities. No gesture was out of place, and his voice moved through its registers as if he was singing. He gave the words sufficient bite to confront you, but he also kept the sense of intimacy required for us to care about his stories. He also generated a lot of trust, which was important because of the playful nature of the work. I didn’t really mind when he made me jump in my seat by screaming “boo!” in my face, and I was more than happy to watch him as he laughed to himself for a while after commenting “I have a vibrant inner life”. The details created a fascinating portrait of a man, who almost made not wearing socks with a suit look good.

After a somewhat disappointing finish to the last B Sharp season, I’m once again excited about this strong start for one of my favourite spaces. Will Thom Pain be another Ladybird, the standout beginning that was too hard for the rest to live up to? I guess I’ll find out at the Lonesome West next week.

- Simon

Review: Whore - B Sharp

By Rick Viede
Directed by Christopher Hurrell

Whore is Rick Viede’s coming of age story about a young girl, Sara (Rhiannon Owen), who travels to London with a desire to become “interesting”. This desire leads her to work as a prostitute after meeting Tim (Paul-William Mawhinney), a fellow young Australian who has earned a significant amount of money in the trade. Tim teaches her the rules of the job and we watch as their friendship and lives develop concurrently, going from the initial exhilaration to disillusionment. This all takes place in 10 segments as we go through the 10 steps to a happy life that a self-help author offers Sara at the beginning of the play. The various characters that Tim and Sara encounter are played by the experienced Keith Agius and Ben Mortley.

The script won the 2008 Griffin Theatre award, and is solid enough. It reminded me of Ross Mueller’s Concussion - naturalistic scenes, interspersed with rock songs and hyper-real monologues, minus the problematic meta-theatrics. However, like Concussion, I found the production somewhat confused. The play moved between naturalism and stylisation often, but more often than not I felt the stylised moments, such as the bath with no water, were the demand of practicality rather than dramaturgy. This was most jarring during the penultimate scene, as I watched actors clumsily move between the stylised world of mime, and the naturalistic world of blood-smeared props.

I also thought the performances felt slightly too big for the space. Downstairs Belvoir puts you so close to the action that the every hint of feeling is laid bare. This works beautifully for plays such as Ladybird where we see a cast truly inhabiting a text. I felt that for much of this play however, the actors lacked the subtlety the space demands. Mawhinney, who I was greatly impressed with recently in Dennis Kelly’s DNA at the Old Fitz, has a talent for making large reactions feel natural, and if anything his voice was too soft at points, but I found the other actors lacked integrity in crucial moments.

Director Christopher Hurrell describes the play as a “crime thriller” but the problem was that I was never thrilled; I was never on the edge of my seat, because I found myself confused by the form. The numerous blackouts also hindered the building of tension despite the rockin’ soundtrack.

The soundtrack was in fact one of the most exciting parts of the project. A collection of local Sydney bands wrote the music for the play, under the curatorial eye of sound designer David Heinrich, a member of the band Lions At Your Door, but much more importantly, a founding member of Adelaide’s The Border Project whose Highway Rock ‘n’ Roll Disaster remains one of my favourite productions to date. This sort of collaboration between the theatre and music industries fascinates me as an artist who intends to be a part of both. The songs were quite good, and the soundtrack is currently being sold online at www.fbiradio.org.au, however, I can’t say that I found they played any great part in forming my experience of the play. They simply felt like a way to try and keep the energy going through the blackouts and had limited success in this role.

Belvoir’s downstairs theatre has the power to be so affecting, yet I have found that every performance I have seen there since the season opener Ladybird has failed to take advantage of the intimacy the space offers. I hope that the newly announced August to December season will rectify this.

- Simon

Review: Ladybird(B Sharp/small things productions)

By Vassily Sigarev. Translated by Sasha Dugale.

The strength of Ladybird was in the language, adapted or localised by Ian Meadows and the company to match the casual, violent and limited vocabulary of any group of kids in town on a Thursday night. “I just, like, kept kicking him for like fifteen minutes, ay.” This simple approach made this Anti-Putin Russian play feel more crucial and important to our context than any Australian play recently programmed at B Sharp. As it was adapted by the company, the actors seem to really own the language, which contributes to some truly excellent performances, specifically Sophie Ross as Lera and Ian Meadows as Dima.

The coarseness and brutality of the language is reflected in the design by Justin Nardella, the stage rakes up with a construct of junk, a mess of TV’s, antiques and take away food wrappings. While this does make for some interesting playing spaces, for the most part the set is completely superfluous and at worst rather distracting from the realities of the language. The TV’s embedded in the set flicker on and off with AV that has no bearing on the performance and really seems like an attempt to incorporate vision for visions sake. Yes, indeed we are living in a world of advertising, shock! Far more effective would the play have been if we were allowed to just engage with these ‘cool’ young actors and the text standing alone.

In terms of affecting my emerging practice, Ladybird highlights the problems inherent to incorporating design in theatre. Where is the line between an illuminating and beautiful design that is inseparable to the action of a performance and a pointless add on that is tacted on to a text? I’m certainly not sure yet. It is to Ladybird’s credit that this split was so obvious, for I would not have been able to make this distinction if the texts adaption were not so keen and so dazzling.

Mark.

Ps. Also. Herbal Cigarettes? I was frustrated by this claustrophobic party not smelling anything like one. In fact it smelt more like a Body Shop, or a room full of incense. I say to hell with the audiences sensitive nostrils, give us the real smell of decay.

____________________________________________________________

I disagree almost completely about the set being superfluous. Rather than take away from the realities of the language, the set offered the perfect frame, its overbearing nature highlighting how all these coarse, brutal characters are merely products of their harsh environment. It allowed for the simplest of scene changes and the two “trick” moments, where Slavik disappeared through a newly discovered hole in the ground and then again through the fridge door, were just magic. The only element I found to be tiresome were the TVs, which I agree felt quite token, as if they had been added late and not fully explored. However, their being switched off added a nice accent to the final moments of the play, certainly a much nicer effect than the half-hearted attempt at snow falling that was simply not required.

Overall, I thought the show was outstanding, with remarkable performances of a fascinating text. An exciting start to the next section of the B Sharp season.

Simon