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.

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.

What 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.

 

Torn (A review by Isabel Stott)

Clutching a crumpled white paper programme we enter a dimly lit world of white paper, paper, paper, paper…

A single light bulb hangs from the ceiling, alongside a similar sized crumpled ball of paper hanging from a thread; symbolising the meeting of two worlds – the human and imaginary – which is about to unfold, in paper and plot.

A paper bath, a paper cupboard, a paper chair, toaster and floor. A single man with a single microphone stands to one side in the warm light, surrounded by an array of household objects. He dons a pair of high heels with such dead pan expression that the audience giggles, and as he crunches over gravel, we imagine a paper woman’s footsteps approaching her paper house…..

Torn tells the story of a woman longing for love, whether it be a love lost or a love not yet experienced. A single human interacts with paper objects; the angrily red lined paper of a bill alongside an equally angry facial expression, a confused face as a paper telephone emerges from the paper bubbles of the bath at the sound of ringing.

The woman’s lover is represented by a hardened pair of empty jeans, with which she dances, sings, cuddles and caresses. Her obvious delusion and desperation for something which simply does not exist instils the action with a sadness and melancholy, and the physical storytelling is clear without the use of words. The simultaneous creation of sound alongside action in such a way is entertaining at first, but becomes confusing as not all noise is created by him: his purpose and presence becoming perhaps more stylish device than theatrical necessity.

However, I can’t ignore the wonderful moment when the two humans on stage finally acknowledge each other and begin to interact, even if it is just to correct each others work and carry on…

I can’t argue that Torn is lovely to look at and sensually stimulating, using sound and smell to enhance the story, but I feel it is somewhat lacking in any depth of emotion or meaning. It certainly creates a feast for the eyes, ears and nose, but leaves the real human heart and head longing for more….