Category Archives: Reviews

Winnie Hopper (James Mills)

Winnie Hopper is a playful and minimalist piece of physical theatre presented by two immediately likeable performers; the work of two new artists, Jenny Lyn and Andrew Simpson, and is one of the few Snapshots of work still in development available to be seen during the Manipulate Festival.

Winnie Hopper - Jenny Lyn & Andrew Simpson - Fri 5 February 2016 -4916It is easy to see that there is a great deal of passion for the material on the stage and the work that has been created thus far is brave and explorative. The idea for the play stems directly from a true story involving Lyn’s grandmother, who welcomed a soldier from WW2 into her home and leaves her feeling betrayed and violated after robbing her and dissapearing. During the Q&A Lyn describes this story with great excitement and includes many lovely visual details including her grandmother pushing a pram full of vegetables up the steep hills of her street.

Unfortunately this moment, and other magnificent ones like it, have not yet made it into the work which left me wanting more at times.

The piece opens with Lyn and Simpson singing a simple folk song about a woman who suffers a physical assault from a man and whilst this is a powerful message sung beautifully its contents prepare the audience for an act of violence that never happens and as a result it distracts from the physical work.

 

During the Q&A they expressed a desire to work on more material to increase the length of the piece, which currently sits at around twenty minutes, however it may be better to examine their current work closer and develop those existing ideas to create a larger impact. It is important to remember that this is still a work in progress from two young and highly intelligent theatre-makers. There is fantastic potential within this work and the and ideas that exist make for a wonderful starting point that can only improve.

There are many gorgeous moments to be found in Winnie Hopper. The stand out moments being the times when they highlight the different natures of the two characters in the story and bring a real sense of intimacy, or a lack thereof, to the relationship. There is potential, with hard work and self-examination, for Winnie Hopper to be magnificent and I personally will be watching their development in the future excitedly.


How the Light Gets In (Josh Widera)

Manipulate Festival featured a series of free events showing performance scratches of pieces currently under development. One piece presented in this programme of ‘Snapshots: Artists @ Work’ was Laura Cameron-Lewis and Shona Reppe’s How the Light Gets In.
How the Light Gets In discusses the phenomenon of hoarding and what it is like to have a hoarder as parent. Partially autobiographically, partially fictional, the piece in its current form approaches the topic from a variety of viewpoints. It shows elements of autobiographical storytelling, shadow-play and musical theatre. The scratch was followed by a Q&A session with the artists. It was an interesting insight into the working progress of the duo and while not complete, the piece reveals some interesting ideas and potential.

While the developed piece will star Camille O’Sullivan, the director and writer Laura Cameron-Lewis stood in as performer on a minimalist stage featuring a bamboo mat and background screen. Shona Reppe, best known for her puppet theatre shows, took on the role of a visible stage hand, kneeling on a green carpet next to an overhead projector at the front of the stage, projecting onto the screen paraphernalia and randomly assembled items – some common, others obscure.

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The excerpt begins with a move to Japan following a failed relationship, contrasts European and Japanese ‘ways of life’ and aesthetics. In a frail and vulnerable state, having left everything behind, the protagonist finds herself comforted by the minimalist Japanese aesthetic and the idea of wabi-sabi: seeing beauty in something imperfect or incomplete. The scene serves as a juxtaposition to the environment of hoarding left behind.

The dialectic of these contrasts and the symbolism of the scene unfortunately remain stereotypical. Clichés of minimalism versus endless consumerism, orient versus occident and a benevolent, intrigued gaze on the mysterious other make this part fall short. However, the use of projections and shadows to slowly paint an image to the narrative, the mixed use of the projection for background imagery as well as abstract tea ceremony tell an absolutely enjoyable story.

How the Light Gets In - Laura Cameron-Lewis & Shona Reppe - Sat 6 February 2016 -5577The escape to Japan also gains a little more significance later on, when the protagonist clashes with her past during the attempt to clear out the mother’s house after her death. One can feel the anxiety and dread of the performer when she realises that even in her death, her mother pulls her back into this universe of clutter, baggage and regalia. The symbolic and geographical escape is rendered impossible in her mother’s final attempt to keep holding on to everything: even and especially over her dead body, the daughter is forcibly returned and re-collected. This makes one think about the horrors of a horder’s legacy. Nature or nurture? Either way, is there an escape from all the trappings?

Ultimately there are many interesting questions to be explored, that were already implicit in the material. Some elements, such as a song half-way through the piece and a style of gesticulating performance that showed little confidence in the script’s inherent evocative power, were underwhelming but might improve, once Camille O’Sullivan accepts the part.

Shona Reppe’s operates the projector, blurring the lines between tech staff, stage hand and commentator. One moment she is loudly slurping drinks, mimicking the extended family and funeral guests, in the next she underlines the narrative with precision and meditative calm.


Keep The Cross High (Christiana Bissett)

 

Arriving at the venue, windswept from the most recent of storms, I initiated myself to manipulate with this ‘snapshot: artists @ work’. An accessible and encouraging strand to the festival, the shorter works in progress allow for audience engagement with a piece in an early stage of its development.

One performer is ready to go as we enter the room: Laura Wooff is dressed in contemporary military gear and sits atop piles of paper. When we are stationed in the seating bank she elegantly folds two paper planes and childishly puppeteers their flights to hummed renditions of Les Marseilles and God Save The Queen. This introduction is strong however the comparison of the hundred years war with contemporary conflicts is lost a little further into the work. The use of paper folding however, is a strong plot device with plenty of potential for development returning throughout the play.

A second performer slightly confuses the action as the two present forms of Joan. Playing with language, French, Italian and hints of sign languages, the difference between the two persona is not quite pronounced enough at this stage to warrant the split, however both performers deliver impressive deliveries of text, a mix of verbatim and creative writing.

The paper returns in a visually stunning image of an origami sword unfolded, questioning the nature of force and violence. Again the crumpling of the same page foreshadows the burning of the lead character in chilling subtlety.
Images such as these show great potential for the completed work and both actors delivered rich and energetic performances. Overall, the event was  an engaging look into the ideas and concepts of this work in progress.


Torn (James Mills)

Torn by Faux Theatre is an emotive and passionate piece of theatre that is told with great heart and humility. Often physical theatre can be scary for the casual theatre-goer but Torn manages to throw this idea out the window and, despite having no dialogue, this is one of the most accessible and sympathetic shows I have seen.

The piece itself is simple in form – but that’s not to say it isn’t complex. It revolves around a woman, played by Artistic Director Francisca Morton, who has suffered the painful loss of a loved one – whether this is through death, a break-up or something else is up to the audience to decide. Despite the heavy source material, Torn remains constantly charming and often very funny and reveals a very effortless human experience that will take you on a journey through joy, fun, sorrow, loss, desire, envy and acceptance. Anybody who has experienced any form of loss will readily relate to this strong performance.

The presence of a live Foley artist,  Barney Strachan, adds another layer of performance. There are times when you can see him preparing a sound-effect you recognise and you understand exactly what this will do to the character on stage and you cannot help but laugh at the anticipation. Of course it adds far more than just humour and it lends itself massively to creating texture and depth in the piece that would not be possible otherwise. Strachan is, in equal parts, removed and connected to the performance on stage and it is all gels together beautifully.

 

When Physical Theatre is done correctly it should be open, accessible and immensely enjoyable. Torn achieves all of this effortlessly and is not to be missed.


Threads (Irina Glinski)

Ach, I don’t know.

 

On the one hand I know that Threads, a UK premiere from Quebecois company Theatre Incline, is a reworking of a folk story of female empowerment, a self-described ‘mythological tale that is on the side of life’.

 

And that’s great. I’m on board. I love me some female empowerment.

 

But Threads an engaging and well-performed piece that is frustratingly blemished by a few annoying flaws.

 

A mountain woman – or spirit? – is ravished by an ogre and condemned to live an entrapped, lonely life amidst the sandy fallout of war. The offspring of this violence is an initially irritating but eventually quite sweet daughter, born with a gammy foot and a mane of red hair.

 

The production is visually striking – the heap of sand centre stage continually offers up creative opportunities for buried prop treasure  – but it is marred by some intrusive and sentimental narration. A wise female voice over-elucidates the threads of love binding a mother and child, oddly reminiscent of Vanessa Redgrave endlessly compounding the virtues of love in Call the Midwife. After a while this begins to grate: perhaps if the narration hadn’t been so focused on constant exposition, the narrative weight could have been picked up by the two very gifted performers and puppet-masters, Jose Babin and Nadine Walsh.

For a piece so concerned with exploring the most essential of human relationships, I would have preferred to have had a stronger one with those on stage, rather than having Redgrave 2 chiming in with flowery maxims on all-healing strength of a mother’s love. This type of language sits at odds to the brutal and bloody signifiers of rape on stage, and not in a way that leads to any greater understanding of either.

Threads gives us some beautiful effects, an interesting take on mythology and the puppetry is first rate. Unfortunately, its impact is undermined by the simplistic philosophy of redemption and the narration that over-elucidates the story.


Bird (Irina Glinski)

Sita Piaraccini is a wild-haired, wide-eyed, intoxicating creature of innocence who has somehow found herself the sole human survivor in a post-apocalyptic world. She constantly fusses over a mound of earth, scrabbling to bring order in to a disordered landscape. She is desperately hungry; taunted by the rude interjections of her own stomach, she forages for scraps inside tin cans and reluctantly gnaws on a piece of wood. She’s the sort of post-apocalyptic survivor that we would all hope to be, but deep down we know we are not: pragmatic, hopeful and kind.

The performance is supported by Foley artist and musician David Pollock, who creates the sort of organic, wholesome sounds that I haven’t heard since childhood, and that would not be out of place alongside the best of Oliver Postgate. From the gentle pad-pad-padding of bare feet on dry grass, to the feathery flutterings of wings that suggest she is not totally alone in this world – every sound is a fulfilling joy, giving great depth to this piece.

Bird - Sita Pieraccini - Thu 4 February 2016-4305.jpgWhat is so brilliant about Bird is that everything on stage is relatable on a most primitive level. Piaraccini’s performance is nuanced and clever. There are no words uttered – for what good are words when there is no-one to talk to – but we are still acutely aware of her pains and her loneliness, thanks to her ability to express emotion even with the flicker of a finger or the turn of her head. Ultimately it is a simple little tale, but one that shows that Piaraccini really gets what it is to be human.

 


Bird (Annemarie van Peer)

The most immediate impression of Bird is the minimalism of the set. A young woman (Sita Pieraccini) is dressed in rags, lying on a patch of soil while cradling a long stick, the image aided by sounds such as the rustling of leaves, the crumbling of dirt or footsteps on different terrains that are made live by foley collaborator David Pollock. It may not seem like much, but this, along with Pieraccini’s incredible control of physicality and facial expressions, is enough to build an entire world on this nearly empty stage.

The story is simple: a young woman, or rather something closer to a childlike creature, is trying to survive in a post-apocalyptic world. When there is no-one left to talk to, the need for words disappears, and the simplicity of the woman’s thoughts and emotions radiates from her expression.12592495_1316282718388252_3625314454664232215_n

Pieraccini playfully mimics the creaking of her favourite tree, drawing joyful laughs from the audience. And when she manages to befriend a little bird, brought to life with mime and Pollock’s soundscaping, gasps are audible, as if the audience can truly see the little animal fearlessly perch on Pieraccini’s head, drawn in by her excitement. Her attitude shifts from survival to something more akin to truly living, looking out for that moment when her friend returns, bright little sparks of hope radiating from her expression.

With a story as simple as this, the ending becomes obvious quite early on. However, this doesn’t seem to matter, since the skilful expressiveness of the performance holds the attention. The focused silence is tangible as the story approaches its climax. The audience holds its collective breath as the final few emotions flicker across Pieraccini’s face,  and hang heavy in the way she moves across the stage, beautifully punctuating the events.

As a theatrical piece, it is indeed simple, yet refreshingly so, and brings so much more than one might expect at first glance. Regardless of any of the events throughout, the lack of speech and Pieraccini’s focus and delight make the world seem just a little lighter. It is a joy to watch, and that joy remains even after emerging from the theatre.

 

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Gareth Vile 28 Jan (9 days ago)

Dear All This is the latest line up for the young critics @ manipulate progra…

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Gareth Vile 4 Feb (2 days ago)

ace!

Annemarie van Peer

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Hi Gareth,

Here’s my review for Bird!
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Annemarie
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As you walk into the theatre to take your seat, one of the first things that sticks out is the

minimalism of the set; a young woman (Sita Pieraccini) dressed in rags, lying on a patch of

soil while cradling a long stick, the image only aided by sounds such as the rustling of leaves,

the crumbling of dirt or footsteps on different terrains that are made live by foley collaborator

David Pollock. It may not seem like much, but this, along with Sita’s incredible control of

physicality and facial expressions, is enough to build an entire world on this nearly empty

stage.

The story is simple; a young woman, or rather something closer to a childlike creature, trying

to survive in a post-apocalyptic world. When there is no-one left to talk to, the need for words

disappears, and the simplicity of the woman’s thoughts and emotions radiates from her

expression. As Sita playfully mimics the creaking of her favourite tree, joyful giggles are

drawn from the audience. And when she manages to befriend a little bird, brought to life with

mime and soundscaping, gasps are audible, as if the audience can truly see the little animal

fearlessly perch on Sita’s head, all drawn in by her excitement. Her attitude shifts from

survival to something more akin to truly living, looking out for that moment her friend returns,

her bright little sparks of hope radiating from her expression.

With a story as simple as this, the ending became predictable quite early on; however, this

doesn’t seem to matter. The focused silence is tangible as the story approaches its climax, a

collective breath held as those final few emotions flicker across Sita’s face and hang heavy

around the way she moves across the stage, beautifully punctuating the events.

As a theatrical piece, it is indeed simple, yet refreshingly so, and brings so much more than

one might expect at first glance. Regardless of any of the events throughout, the lack of

speech and Sita’s focus and joy make the world seem just a little lighter. It is a joy to watch,

and that joy remains even after emerging from the theatre.

-Annemarie van Peer

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Birdheart Review (Georgia Nelson)

Puppetry is something I’m unsure of: I find it hard to empathise with an inanimate object. However, during this performance of Birdsong, I am certain that each audience member was hanging onto every little movement of the brown paper puppet all the way through the show. I was invested, and I cared.

 

The play begins as the brown paper creature emerges into the world, or a desert island version of it, and begins to discover its sense of self through movement. It plays, dances, and thrashes around flawlessly. The creature takes on different physical characteristics: a face, a foot, an arm, even breasts. All perfectly choreographed through the use of magnets and an unyielding concentration from the puppeteers.

What was most moving about this piece was how I was able to recognise the same character or spirit in the creature within its many forms. The creature is funny, charming, curious, and seemingly has an enthusiasm for just being. I am able to connect with it, because I recognise its curiosity in its physical form and the world it has emerged into.

A key turning point for the character is when it sees itself in a mirror and begins to become less inhibited and more self-aware. He soon recognises his solitude in this world. It sits down for a tea party for two, completely alone. It was striking to me how (audibly) moved the audience was by this representation of solitude that was created by two puppeteers in unison. A sort of melancholic irony, I suppose.

The puppeteers did something magical in bringing new life to the stage. They created heaven and earth, and took on the role of a higher being that controls how we discover and recognise ourselves. They showed us how we cannot control what forms we will take in our lives or how we will develop, but what we can do is find freedom within ourselves. The creature pulls a feather from within and becomes a bird and we are left asking what our feather is, and what will it transform us into?


Macbeth: Without Words (Faye Ryden)

Macbeth: Without Words is a stylised performance of Shakespeare’s Scottish play, a play which needs no explanation. This adaptation was brought by Ludens Ensemble to the Manipulate Festival at the Traverse Theatre.

Experimental takes on Macbeth are not completely unfamiliar – the NTS did a one man version and various Polish companies have explored it from provocative perspectives. The Ludens ensemble use techniques reminiscent of the work of Anna Helena Mclean and abstract physical European theatre traditions, through incredible voice work and a loop pedal.

Something has to be said for the versatility of the three actors in this piece. All manage to play the comedic roles whilst also adopting the tragic roles of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth – to name but two – in quick, sometimes immediate,  succession. The images created through their movement and their relatively sparse set are what keeps the attention drawn to the piece although occasionally the images seem too literal for such an abstract piece.

Sometimes, the themes of power and violence are lost in the dynamic collision of film, music and action. The use of slides with extracts of text sometimes detracts from the action taking place on stage and feels like a crutch to fall back on. Rather than letting the audience interpret the actions and movements of the actors, the viewers are given the scene to read and then watch. I feel Without Speech would be a more accurate title after watching this performance as words are offered in every key scene.

The piece and performers seem very aware of its own mockery of the Scottish tale and they do garner a handful of laughs, an impressive feat when it comes to Macbeth. (Is this a comedy I see before me?)

 

12662686_1315103208506203_8008293209660572666_n

Animation is used in the key scenes such as the famous “Is this a dagger” scene which creates a fantastic image of Macbeth grasping for this dagger and highlights his descent into madness. However, sometimes the use of animation/videos fall short as it seems to be there just to add to the abstract nature of the piece.

The actors perform beautifully and the intention of the piece is clear. After leaving the theatre, there are some interesting images that were created that stay with you: Ludens Ensemble demonstrate the power of visual theatre even as they teeter on the brink of chaos.


 OPPRESSED CREATURES/ AND THEN HE ATE ME (Sarah Farrell)

OPPRESSED CREATURES

As a medium, animation is a new experience. Much of the interim chat was therefore lost on me. It was definitely a meeting of the minds for the geekier animators and yet for a layperson most definitely entertaining. There were such a wide variety of styles in the programme that you definitely got bang for your buck. This coupled with some lovely interjections from the animator himself made the experience worthwhile and creatively engaging. Oh, and the films were rather great too.

AND THEN HE ATE ME
And then he ate me was a beautiful reimagining of some – let’s face it – pretty familiar stories. Visually this show had a whole heap of tricks up its sleeve: from shoes representing a whole person to a forest made with an overhead projector. Its delivery was refreshingly irrelevant however there is a bit of an argument for its tonal shifts being a bit repetitive as a convention. Overall though, this was one visually delicious production.

(Sarah Farrell)


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