Mundo Paralelo : Milford Haven
***
National Theatre Wales’s latest production, Mundo Paralelo, is a ground-breaking collaboration with NoFitState circus company. This ambitious show sees the hectic high-wire acrobatics and the mind-bending magic of the circus transported from the high top to the auditorium.
Juggling, tigh rope walking, trapeze artists and magicians are no longer the preserve of sticky fingered, candy floss eating children in seaside resorts, but a mainstay of a constantly developing and evolving art-form. But can contemporary circus succeed in portraying real, well-rounded characters rather than mere caricatures? Does it have the emotional intensity to develop a narrative? Or is it merely a dazzling distraction with no real depth?
The production is visually stunning from start to end. As the curtain rises masked black figures on the stage and figures descending from the ceiling above the audience with fibre-optic lights covering their faces show a clear intent to move away from the cute and comfortable world of the traditional circus.
This is followed by further superb spectacles which stretch the stage to its limits: an acrobat hesitates before jumping from a window suspended from the ceiling, a trapeze artist flies higher and higher, and yet still higher, until its seems inevitable that she will collide with the very structure of the theatre and a juggler contorting in a maze of twists, turns and tricks.
The show sparkles as a host of trapdoors on the stage are used both cleverly and playfully to suggest a parallel world below. This is a world full of contrast between fragile beauty and cruel darkness. A world of bitter sweet courtship rituals between a playful acrobatic ladder performer and a stubborn, independent-minded rope artist. A world of sadness and disappointment where a magician struggles to charm the object of his affections despite his remarkable gift; turning water into glass globes, and making these globes disappear into thin air.
Mundo Paraleo’s appeal lies in its departure from our rose-tinted memories of the circus and its willingness to portray a darkness which is never far from the surface of its parallel world. Following an acrobatic argument between two sleek, almost shape-shifting twins, a curtain is pulled aside to reveal one lying dead with a knife in her back. Throughout the show a menacing, ring-master figure, controls the action on stage; acting as a puppeteer as the juggler does his bidding, violently pulling the high-wire to pieces as the acrobat displays her skills and forcing the trapeze artist to swing higher and higher.
The production attempts to distant itself from the old-fashioned end of the pier world of the circus by drawing the audience into its own wonderful parallel world. This is a complex, dark world far removed from that of the top- hat wearing ring master and dancing ponies. However, this fresh outlook on the circus is not completely engaging.
We are treated to a collection of snapshots of the parallel world, rather than a complete, well-rounded portrayal, with a structured narrative. The snapshots are undoubtedly well executed, but the lack of any real narrative cohesion or carefully crafted characters means that the production feels like little more than an accomplished circus performance, rather than a fully-fledged piece of theatre.
Wednesday, 13 April 2011
Monday, 2 August 2010
The Beach: Prestatyn
National Theatre Wales’s collaborative production with Hide and Seek, The Beach, transforms a stretch of North Wales coastline, scattered with run-down resorts and neon flashing, music blaring amusement arcades, into a giant playground for adults and children alike, with not a single slot machine in sight.
This show, directed by Catherine Paskell, is as far removed from traditional sit down and shut up theatre as possible. Here, the audience has no choice but to actively participate in the quirky competitions on the sand. However our role in the production is much more than mere participants, we are continually shaping, changing and influencing it as we make decisions, develop our own ideas and act upon them.
From the very beginning we are immersed in the show as the motley crew of individuals on the beach is divided into six teams with a shared goal. That goal is to help Charlie (Mathew Lloyd) and TJ (Michael Humphreys) to bring the Missing Generation (twenty-somethings who have left to find work and better prospects) back to Prestatyn. This is no mean feat due to the persistent harassment, bullying and awkwardness of the Curtain Twitchers: the cold-hearted conservative people of the town who refuse to let young people camp on the campsite, drink coffee in the cafes or any activity that might include an ounce of enjoyment.
Following the “Curtain Twitchers” theft of the “elements” (pictures representing items that could be used to lure back the Missing Generation) each team is thrown down the gauntlet of completing a series of strange and surreal games as the only method of reclaiming the elements.
The games test our physical, musical, dancing, acting, logistical and communicating abilities, as well as our willingness to get wet and wind-swept in the process. Our team starts by endeavouring to transport cardboard cut-out adults, children, dogs, prams and all manner of luggage on a miniature cable car. This game was devised by a bitter, tortured (self-appointed) genius with an appetite for endless rules and regulations.
Then our team is sent to contend with a crazed mobile aquarium owner who challenges the participants to fill his fish tanks with water from two paddling pools using a random selection of items including a wellington boot, a colander, a gravy boat and a funnel.
The next foe is an enraged milk-maid/ cafe owner who insists that each team milk her rather lifeless cardboard cow until each glass at her cafe’s counter is full of milkshake, followed by a hostile encounter with a woman who forces the team to participate in a game of kazoo charades.
Each team returns with its hoard of “elements” to create the ultimate plan to entice the Missing Generation back to Prestatyn. All the ideas are pitched to the Curtain Twitchers who must choose their favourite (or should that be least hated). As the winners are declared everyone is invited to write a message in the sand to his/her hometown.
The production’s ability to convince grown men and women to partake in often ridiculous games is down to the success of our interaction and rapport with our enthusiastic and charming guides for the evening TJ (Michael Humphreys) and Charlie (Mathew Lloyd). Their energy is the driving force of the show, giving what could have been a rather uncomfortable, even slightly embarrassing evening of childish games, a real sense of character, and an over-arching purpose.
This production pushes the boundaries of what is possible in the theatre in Wales, as well as challenging assumptions about what is theatre. But far from being merely a series of albeit enjoyable games, the show questions and challenges our definition of home and our relationship with that place.
This show, directed by Catherine Paskell, is as far removed from traditional sit down and shut up theatre as possible. Here, the audience has no choice but to actively participate in the quirky competitions on the sand. However our role in the production is much more than mere participants, we are continually shaping, changing and influencing it as we make decisions, develop our own ideas and act upon them.
From the very beginning we are immersed in the show as the motley crew of individuals on the beach is divided into six teams with a shared goal. That goal is to help Charlie (Mathew Lloyd) and TJ (Michael Humphreys) to bring the Missing Generation (twenty-somethings who have left to find work and better prospects) back to Prestatyn. This is no mean feat due to the persistent harassment, bullying and awkwardness of the Curtain Twitchers: the cold-hearted conservative people of the town who refuse to let young people camp on the campsite, drink coffee in the cafes or any activity that might include an ounce of enjoyment.
Following the “Curtain Twitchers” theft of the “elements” (pictures representing items that could be used to lure back the Missing Generation) each team is thrown down the gauntlet of completing a series of strange and surreal games as the only method of reclaiming the elements.
The games test our physical, musical, dancing, acting, logistical and communicating abilities, as well as our willingness to get wet and wind-swept in the process. Our team starts by endeavouring to transport cardboard cut-out adults, children, dogs, prams and all manner of luggage on a miniature cable car. This game was devised by a bitter, tortured (self-appointed) genius with an appetite for endless rules and regulations.
Then our team is sent to contend with a crazed mobile aquarium owner who challenges the participants to fill his fish tanks with water from two paddling pools using a random selection of items including a wellington boot, a colander, a gravy boat and a funnel.
The next foe is an enraged milk-maid/ cafe owner who insists that each team milk her rather lifeless cardboard cow until each glass at her cafe’s counter is full of milkshake, followed by a hostile encounter with a woman who forces the team to participate in a game of kazoo charades.
Each team returns with its hoard of “elements” to create the ultimate plan to entice the Missing Generation back to Prestatyn. All the ideas are pitched to the Curtain Twitchers who must choose their favourite (or should that be least hated). As the winners are declared everyone is invited to write a message in the sand to his/her hometown.
The production’s ability to convince grown men and women to partake in often ridiculous games is down to the success of our interaction and rapport with our enthusiastic and charming guides for the evening TJ (Michael Humphreys) and Charlie (Mathew Lloyd). Their energy is the driving force of the show, giving what could have been a rather uncomfortable, even slightly embarrassing evening of childish games, a real sense of character, and an over-arching purpose.
This production pushes the boundaries of what is possible in the theatre in Wales, as well as challenging assumptions about what is theatre. But far from being merely a series of albeit enjoyable games, the show questions and challenges our definition of home and our relationship with that place.
Sunday, 25 July 2010
A Picture of Evil (or the Duality of Man)
Both The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, and The Picture of Dorian Gray tell us about the very nature of being human; the struggle within all of us to keep the fragile balance between good and evil. However, both novels are on the one hand similar in the way they deal with a man’s weakness, his willingness to succumb to temptation and sully his own soul. But at the same time, they differ in the way the fallen protagonist is portrayed.
Wilde’s Dorian Gray is a complete, complex character, who is more or less, responsible for his own downfall. Lord Henry Wotton, may have influenced Dorian, and introduced him to a new way of thinking, and the novel that will become a blueprint for his own life; but it is Dorian’s decisions and actions alone that lead him astray. The Dorian who tries to resist, who tries to mend his ways, tries to better himself (even if this is for only a very short period of time) is the same Dorian that causes Sibyl Kane to commit suicide, who kills Basil Hallward and blackmails an old friend to dispose of the body. Within this character there is both good and evil. Dorian has the power, and the ability to choose his path, and he knowingly chooses to act in an immoral, debauched and heartless manner.
Whilst Dr Jekyll, although the same individual as Mr Hyde, seems to be two completely different beings. This is due to the change in name, change in appearance, and the complete change in attitude, actions and opinion. Dr Jekyll (or should that be Mr Hyde) is not a good man doing evil deeds, rather Dr Jekyll is a good man leading a good life, whilst Mr Hyde is an evil man leading an evil, immoral life. This character is not a complete character, within which lies both good and evil, rather he is one individual that has both a completely good and virtuous persona, and another completely evil persona. Dr Jekyll is not responsible for the actions of Mr Hyde, and Mr Hyde feels no obligation to Dr Jekyll.
The physical battle between good and evil may be more pronounced in The Strange case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde due to the fact that both men cannot exist at the same time. If Mr Hyde goes on a rampage, stealing, attacking and killing, this is only possible, because at that exact moment Dr Jekyll does not exist. Mr Hyde conquers and overpowers Dr Jekyll, until, in the end, Dr Jekyll ceases to exist. Only Mr Hyde, only the purely evil individual prevails.
The mental battle between good and evil is more pronounced in The Picture of Dorian Gray, precisely because the battle is waged within the one individual. Dorian does, at times, doubt the path he has taken, and regrets some of his most callous and heartless acts. Dorian shows that he is not completely evil, but loses the battle with his darker side. Evil prevails because Dorian allows it to prevail, believing that he will never face the consequences of his actions.
However, the end result in both novels are scarily similar good does not defeat evil. The individual, the human being dies, leaving a legacy of evil and suffering.
Wilde’s Dorian Gray is a complete, complex character, who is more or less, responsible for his own downfall. Lord Henry Wotton, may have influenced Dorian, and introduced him to a new way of thinking, and the novel that will become a blueprint for his own life; but it is Dorian’s decisions and actions alone that lead him astray. The Dorian who tries to resist, who tries to mend his ways, tries to better himself (even if this is for only a very short period of time) is the same Dorian that causes Sibyl Kane to commit suicide, who kills Basil Hallward and blackmails an old friend to dispose of the body. Within this character there is both good and evil. Dorian has the power, and the ability to choose his path, and he knowingly chooses to act in an immoral, debauched and heartless manner.
Whilst Dr Jekyll, although the same individual as Mr Hyde, seems to be two completely different beings. This is due to the change in name, change in appearance, and the complete change in attitude, actions and opinion. Dr Jekyll (or should that be Mr Hyde) is not a good man doing evil deeds, rather Dr Jekyll is a good man leading a good life, whilst Mr Hyde is an evil man leading an evil, immoral life. This character is not a complete character, within which lies both good and evil, rather he is one individual that has both a completely good and virtuous persona, and another completely evil persona. Dr Jekyll is not responsible for the actions of Mr Hyde, and Mr Hyde feels no obligation to Dr Jekyll.
The physical battle between good and evil may be more pronounced in The Strange case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde due to the fact that both men cannot exist at the same time. If Mr Hyde goes on a rampage, stealing, attacking and killing, this is only possible, because at that exact moment Dr Jekyll does not exist. Mr Hyde conquers and overpowers Dr Jekyll, until, in the end, Dr Jekyll ceases to exist. Only Mr Hyde, only the purely evil individual prevails.
The mental battle between good and evil is more pronounced in The Picture of Dorian Gray, precisely because the battle is waged within the one individual. Dorian does, at times, doubt the path he has taken, and regrets some of his most callous and heartless acts. Dorian shows that he is not completely evil, but loses the battle with his darker side. Evil prevails because Dorian allows it to prevail, believing that he will never face the consequences of his actions.
However, the end result in both novels are scarily similar good does not defeat evil. The individual, the human being dies, leaving a legacy of evil and suffering.
Sunday, 18 July 2010
Longing for the impossible?
Have you ever read a book, seen a film, or watched a performance and then thought I wish I could go back in time, or experience a different culture? I must admit, I have always had an over-active imagination, and find myself enthralled by the locations of books, dramas and films. This is usually quite harmless, I will become obsessed with discovering as much information as possible about the country or historical period, before I move on to the next object of interest.
I don’t attempt to temper my curiousity, but see it rather as an opportunity to discover new places, peoples and cultures (even if this is only through reading books). However, at times the smallest reference to a place can fire my imagination: I was reading The Odyssey when the mere mention of the Nile caused a huge urge to go to Egypt (I would have gone immediately if I had the money). This is part of the joy of reading a book or watching a play, the curiousity it creates and the longing to learn more.
However, what happens when a piece of art makes you long for a place that has never existed, and never will exist? By this, I don’t mean Dr Who creating a longing for alien planets or Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings creating a longing to live among elves or dwarfs, but rather a piece of work that creates a by-gone era, seen through rose-tinted glasses. It could be a production that creates an image of a close-knit community, that was never in fact that harmonious, it could be a portrayal of happiness and co-operation, where in reality there was only ever strife, or it might create a political or ideological utopia, that is impossible to realise.
That is the double-edged sword of effective, moving art: whilst transporting its audience from their hum-drum lives to its own world is a pleasure, the journey back to reality can be a let down.
I don’t attempt to temper my curiousity, but see it rather as an opportunity to discover new places, peoples and cultures (even if this is only through reading books). However, at times the smallest reference to a place can fire my imagination: I was reading The Odyssey when the mere mention of the Nile caused a huge urge to go to Egypt (I would have gone immediately if I had the money). This is part of the joy of reading a book or watching a play, the curiousity it creates and the longing to learn more.
However, what happens when a piece of art makes you long for a place that has never existed, and never will exist? By this, I don’t mean Dr Who creating a longing for alien planets or Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings creating a longing to live among elves or dwarfs, but rather a piece of work that creates a by-gone era, seen through rose-tinted glasses. It could be a production that creates an image of a close-knit community, that was never in fact that harmonious, it could be a portrayal of happiness and co-operation, where in reality there was only ever strife, or it might create a political or ideological utopia, that is impossible to realise.
That is the double-edged sword of effective, moving art: whilst transporting its audience from their hum-drum lives to its own world is a pleasure, the journey back to reality can be a let down.
More than a feeling?
So far I have been to see four of National Theatre Wales’ productions and since seeing the latest show in Barmouth I have decided how I would put the shows in order of preference. This was easier than I thought it would be, and has got me thinking about how I judge a production. What makes a production effective and successful? Perhaps more importantly, what makes a production memorable? Are great performances and a good technical production enough? Is there a certain extra something that takes a drama from good to great? If so, what is it?
I think I have discovered that extra magic that makes a production (at least in my eyes) great: the performance’s emotional affect, its ability to move its audience. The performances that I have enjoyed the most (both by NTW and other companies) have been those that have stirred my emotions, revived memories, and have shown a real depth in their understanding and portrayal of human feelings. This may seem a run of the mill observation, but there is a difference between a good emotional performance, or a series of good emotional performances, and a drama that actually moves its audience.
Personally, it is the small details that usually create an impact, it might be a few lines of a song that brings back memories, or has a particular resonance, a turn of phrase, piece of clothing. These things might be meaningless to the rest of the audience, but that feeling of familiarity, of a shared emotion, shared feeling, resonates after the curtain falls, and much of what was said is forgotten. It is those fleeting moments of emotion, when the dramatist or director has created an invisible string connecting the audience and the stage, that truly make a production memorable and moving.
The plays that remain fresh in my mind, those that I remember weeks and months after seeing them, the ones that play on my mind, and won’t let go, are those that wake something inside me. I don’t go into a theatre looking for an emotional rollercoaster (or even a gentle tug at the emotions), but a true piece of drama will grab hold of you, whether you like it or not.
I can forgive a production that is full of those little moments of shared joy, and sadness a multitude of other sins: over-long scenes, self-indulgence, stretching the end of a production. However, a production that is perfect, in terms of the acting, and the technical elements, but lacks a beating heart is never going to impress.
I think I have discovered that extra magic that makes a production (at least in my eyes) great: the performance’s emotional affect, its ability to move its audience. The performances that I have enjoyed the most (both by NTW and other companies) have been those that have stirred my emotions, revived memories, and have shown a real depth in their understanding and portrayal of human feelings. This may seem a run of the mill observation, but there is a difference between a good emotional performance, or a series of good emotional performances, and a drama that actually moves its audience.
Personally, it is the small details that usually create an impact, it might be a few lines of a song that brings back memories, or has a particular resonance, a turn of phrase, piece of clothing. These things might be meaningless to the rest of the audience, but that feeling of familiarity, of a shared emotion, shared feeling, resonates after the curtain falls, and much of what was said is forgotten. It is those fleeting moments of emotion, when the dramatist or director has created an invisible string connecting the audience and the stage, that truly make a production memorable and moving.
The plays that remain fresh in my mind, those that I remember weeks and months after seeing them, the ones that play on my mind, and won’t let go, are those that wake something inside me. I don’t go into a theatre looking for an emotional rollercoaster (or even a gentle tug at the emotions), but a true piece of drama will grab hold of you, whether you like it or not.
I can forgive a production that is full of those little moments of shared joy, and sadness a multitude of other sins: over-long scenes, self-indulgence, stretching the end of a production. However, a production that is perfect, in terms of the acting, and the technical elements, but lacks a beating heart is never going to impress.
Too popular for its own good...
Can an artwork, an artist, author, book or drama be too popular for its own good? Does the fact that something is popular automatically mean that it has artistic or cultural value? Or is the opposite true: does the fact that something is popular with the masses mean that it is automatically lowbrow or culturally insignicant?
Popularism is a problem for the arts. In order to resist being labelled as elitist or irrelevant the arts must engaged with the general public, and must create and commission work that speaks to everyone in the country from the baron to the binman. However, everyone in the art world is not comfortable with the idea that art could, and should be accessible to all. Some continue to believe that a creative work, be that a play, painting, book or a song, must be complicated, and only comprehensible to a tiny minority, to be of any artistic worth. How many Turner prizes have been awarded to an artist who’s work is attractive, pleasing to the eye and appreciated by the public? And how many times has the prize gone to an individual who’s work is unfathomable to the vast majority of those who view the exhibition?
The fact that a work of art is so pretentious and complex as to make it unpopular, does not mean that the work has more cultural value than an extremely popular piece. After all, is it not the aim of art (in all its forms) to amuse, entertain, to tell us somthing about ourselves and our society? And how can it do this successfully, if it does not reach out and speak to the whole of society? The most popular pieces are those that speak to us in our own language, on our own terms, and try to understand us.
Popularism is a problem for the arts. In order to resist being labelled as elitist or irrelevant the arts must engaged with the general public, and must create and commission work that speaks to everyone in the country from the baron to the binman. However, everyone in the art world is not comfortable with the idea that art could, and should be accessible to all. Some continue to believe that a creative work, be that a play, painting, book or a song, must be complicated, and only comprehensible to a tiny minority, to be of any artistic worth. How many Turner prizes have been awarded to an artist who’s work is attractive, pleasing to the eye and appreciated by the public? And how many times has the prize gone to an individual who’s work is unfathomable to the vast majority of those who view the exhibition?
The fact that a work of art is so pretentious and complex as to make it unpopular, does not mean that the work has more cultural value than an extremely popular piece. After all, is it not the aim of art (in all its forms) to amuse, entertain, to tell us somthing about ourselves and our society? And how can it do this successfully, if it does not reach out and speak to the whole of society? The most popular pieces are those that speak to us in our own language, on our own terms, and try to understand us.
Saturday, 10 July 2010
After the actors leave the stage, the audience go home and the crew clear the set, what evidence is there that a performance has ever taken place? A book exists after the reader has finished the story, and can be re-read at leisure, a CD remains as a testament of the music long after the band has argued and gone their separate ways, and a painting will stand the test of time, years, often centuries after the painter as gone to the big easel in the sky. But a theatre performance, by its very nature is a fleeting art form. A CD may be recorded of the cast of a musical, or a performance may be released on DVD, but once the curtain falls the actual performance has finished. You may read all the reviews you can find of the performance, ask each audience member to re-live what they saw on stage, but nothing can re-create the moment once it has passed. This is part of the magic of the theatre, its transience is very often what makes it so special.
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