04-03-18 #3

No comment
No comment
No thank you
Speak to my secretary
I’m sure I have said all I have to say on the matter

I won’t give them even a scrap of it,
That darkness belongs to me and I won’t let go of it no matter what they come at me with
Sacred and locked up, only I get to feed it
And I am sure that it is best that way

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List the places you liked to hide as a child

Mostly under the covers, an obvious place
Alongside ridiculously oversized cuddlies
They all had names
One was a long flat dog with long flat ears that lay alongside me on my top bunk
Can’t remember what he was called
We did all sorts under the covers, when we were small
Met friends
Told stories
Mostly to scare each other
Discussed what bodies we had
Enrolled in thousands of careers and areas of expertise
Solved the world’s problems
Conspired on how to ignore our grown-ups’ flaws

26-11-17 #2

She came to me on roller blades. In her audition, I wondered if anyone else was as blinded as I was. I fetched her coffee for several weeks, collecting her grateful flashed grins and stowing them in my jacket, next to my chest. There was always a second, at least, for her to look at me before someone called for her attention again. Everything was always moving, but she knew how to pause. “Where’s yours?” she said once, at some time in the morning that you only share with foxes and a crew you won’t know in six months. Later, we drag the dregs in order to stay in each other’s company, suspending the moment, steam rising between us, a smoke signal in the middle of the American diner. We walk quickly against the cold, quietly buzzing, boots clopping in a way that means we don’t have to say it. I show her where mine is at some time of the night that I now only share with her.

25-11-17

I think about what kind of gift I would give her if I dared. An image comes into my mind of a glossy paperback with a rough stick wedged through it. Not placed inside but stuck through the cover and the pages, piercing them, almost sewn in like thread, right across the middle in a vertical line. Impossible, the inexplicable violence of it completely at odds with what it means about us, her, my feelings towards her, and yet it feels like the only right answer. Earthy, and all that mothers. Who’s to answer for our such wild notions? I picture her taking it from me, looking at it seriously, and at me, eyes asking, This Is For Me, From You, This Is The Answer? I almost nod, she almost reciprocates, taking the book. The air between us presses like a vacuum, compressing us into a still scene, each part of my intention crumbled like charcoal and dried into paint. She does not touch the stick, but we both feel it as if it were caught through our bodies. We are both here, but are we ready?

Theatre Review: Wait Until Dark

Wait Until Dark - Karina Jones Jack Ellis 2 (c) Manuel Harlan edit

Karina Jones and Jack Ellis, photograph by Manuel Harlan

Presented by Original Theatre at York Theatre Royal, Tuesday 21st November 2017

Director Alastair Whatley delivers a slick, smart production of this classic thriller, bringing us a well overdue inclusive cast with blind actress Karina Jones at the helm. The performances are tight and the dynamics interesting, with touching progressive arcs. Jack Ellis’s Mike is conflicted, affectionate, and finds where his limits lie. Tim Treloar is truly chilling as Roat, encompassing in turn both the stereotypical rocking madman and a monster whose real horror is in his unpredictability.

David Woodhead’s design translates the tension of proximity throughout this Hitchcockian choreography of perfectly tuned sound and light. Every change is palpable, breathless.

The exposition is rapid-fire, enough to skip the recap for those familiar with this well-known story but perhaps a little too presumptuous for a newborn audience.

What follows is the thrilling experience of the three crooks essentially performing a duplicitous audio drama for the sole benefit of Susy; their initial fastidiousness no less captivating than their inevitable carelessness.

From the moment the tables are turned, the pace and energy snowball right through to the electrifying finale, which is played with finesse. There are moments where the action seems to skip a beat, but the rhythm thrums through all the same. Pervasive is the sense of violation, of unease and exploitation. Any triumph is slightly overshadowed by the blackness of the deeds undone in Susy’s apartment.

Wait Until Dark is playing until Saturday 25th November; tickets available from York Theatre Royal.

Theatre Review: Rita, Sue and Bob Too

Presented by Out of Joint, Octagon Theatre Bolton and Royal Court Theatre at York Theatre Royal, Tuesday 14th November 2017

Reviving this nineteen-eighties coming-of-age tale surrounding an underage affair is an interesting choice in the wake of the #MeToo campaign. Writer Andrea Dunbar’s “refusal to moralise” on what we currently know as statutory rape makes this a complex theatrical experience.

The production values are slick. The set is an impressive section of flats book-ending a distant view of a town including rolling hills and estates, complete with lights and sky. The music is fitting and evocative, used in interludes to deepen our understanding of each character’s internal situation. The acting is consistently fantastic.

Photo Credit : The Other Richard

James Atherton, Taj Atwal & Gemma Dobson. Photo by Richard Davenport.

James Atherton’s Bob is playfully predatory, carefully testing the waters before developing his advances. Taj Atwal plays Rita as naive and grumpily childlike with brief moments in which she feels comfortable appealing to Sue for serious conversation, making her conclusion all the more lonely and upsetting. Gemma Dobson stands out as Sue, giggly and easygoing with deep undercurrents of awareness and self-care.

Rita, Sue and Bob Too Production PhotosPhoto Credit : The Other Richard

Photo by Richard Davenport

We are aptly transported to Rita, Sue and Bob’s small world view. What divides the auditorium is the script.

More and more, we exist in the black and white. Political, personal and international events drive people further apart toward hyperbolic loyalty to one side or another. Dunbar’s observational, semi-autobiographical drama drags us back to the grey area. It is a stark reminder of the complexities that make up any narrative; of duplicitous truth. It spends quiet moments acknowledging lust and romantic ideation as an important feature in a victim’s experience; prominent emotions that are often silenced lest they support the wrong narrative. The women in this play describe the men as inevitable cheaters, while blaming each other for driving the unfortunate events, enhancing the long-accepted rendering that women are in control of their abuse and men are simply predictable, sex-crazed neanderthals guided by them.

Photo by Richard Davenport

The sex that fills the story is in turn played for comedy and for a feeling of longing and connection, just bare enough to drive some audience members from the room while the rest erupt in laughter, uncomfortable in some places and raucous in others. What permeates is a sense of three immature souls desperate for something, clutching at anything, with a tragically foreseeable conclusion and complete lack of just consequence. Young women shoulder the blame, burden and hurt of a careless affair while the abuser seemingly avoids any retribution and loses one family only to replace them with another, giving the impression that the cycle will go on. And of course we know it does.

Rita, Sue and Bob Too Production PhotosPhoto Credit : The Other Richard

Photo by Richard Davenport

Theatre Review: The Winter’s Tale by York Shakespeare Project

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“A sad tale’s best for winter:”

Director Natalie-Rose Quatermass transports us to two contrasting worlds in this charming, moving tragicomedy. The cold, stark modern business dress of Sicilia stands proud and stiff among winter-lit castle walls, while the other three seasons combine their warmest vibes to set the scene for Bohemia; a tumbling, skipping, rose-peach scene of music, freedom and feasts. A direct address to the audience implicates us in the potent messages of this ever-relevant script.

Live music and score by Flora Greysteel sets the tone perfectly throughout, adding a layer of richness to Shakespeare’s words that is lacking in so much live theatre today. Ben Prusiner’s delightful set design creates the perfect accompanying visuals; a frigid indoor court for the oppressed Sicilia waiting to out its demons, and the uninhibited comfort of a sunny backyard Bohemia. Keep your eye out for some resourceful bunting. Florence Poskitt’s costume design is also beautifully, subtly complementary to the nuances of the story, with Hermione’s blue velvet night-sky look a particular highlight.

Lovers Florizel (Tom Jennings) and Perdita (Jess Murray) are as heartwarming as Shepherd (Roger Farrington) and Clown (Elizabeth Lockwood) are ridiculous, while Leontes (Paul French) and Polixenes (Nick Jones) form a very sedate, steady pair of grown boyhood friends. French delivers an alarmingly recognisable Leontes; softly-spoken, taut, controlled, with flashes of spitting violence. The cowering anticipation of all around him is tangible. Claire Morley is excellent as always in her clowning conman role of a Britpunk Autolycus, singing and improvising to the audience on an intimate level during the interval, before we see Time’s desperate chorus of a cluttered collective consciousness in turmoil.

In defence of ‘rural latches’

Three characters stood out in this tale of three halves to form a trio of attractive feminist teachers for our modern age. We build from doting wife Hermione (Juliet Waters), who refuses to denounce her love in friendship for a man despite her husband’s palpably violent jealousy, to Camilla (originally Camillo, played by Elizabeth Elsworth) – the committed noblewoman who remains true to her own morals despite her volatile position between a rock and a hard place – to the magnetic Paulina (Maggie Smales),  smashing the patriarchy with elegance and eloquence from her first entrance. Her pleasure on hearing that Hermione’s child is a daughter, alongside Antingonus’s (Tony Froud) devotion to her, is a restorative draft to fill anyone’s cup. And then there is her speech on witchcraft, which… until emoji in reviews are a thing, let me simply suggest here that Smales lights several fires in this scene.

This mature cast delivers the kind of nuance to these characters which elucidates avenues we don’t often explore in Shakespeare’s works, and which makes one excited to age as an actor.

Takeaways:
More men need to listen to women.
You don’t need more than sound for effective representation of daunting stage directions (let’s be honest, Shakespeare was just trolling us with “Exit, pursued by a bear“), and it is right to focus on the emotions, rather than the gimmicks, in this story.
Women who stand up for themselves, and their true allies, stand to lose something substantial.
“It is an heretic that makes the fire, Not she which burns in’t.”

Catch the show tonight at 7:30pm at John Cooper Studio, 41 Monkgate, York. Tickets available on the door or from York Theatre Royal.

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